Professional Yearner (jake Sim Edition)
professional yearner (jake sim edition)
summary: growing up, you had two heroes: jake and sunghoon. thick and thin, chaos and crayons, they were always there. so when your ex dumped you for "being so oddly close to your best friends” well… fair. but what he didn’t get is that you never needed him. you’ve always had jake sim and maybe that was the problem.
genre: fluff | best friends to lovers | jake's a professional yearner
characters: best friend!jake x f!reader
words: 13k??
warnings: kissing? making out? thats it!
The schoolyard was too hot. The kind of heat that made your socks stick to your ankles and your patience wear thin. It smelled vaguely like cheese sticks and someone’s forgotten gym shirt. And in the middle of it all—Jake Sim was crying.
Not the loud, hiccuping kind. No. Jake cried the way the sky threatened rain—quiet, heavy, trembling on the edge. His eyes were red, his mouth pressed into a thin, brave line, and his fingers clutched a half-crushed grape soda like it might hold him together.
Across from him stood Minhyuk Kang. Middle school tyrant. Bad haircut. Worse personality. He was smirking like he’d won something.
You weren’t having it.
Your backpack hit the ground as you stormed across the yard, fists curled tight. Your heart pounded in your ears. You didn’t even think—just moved, fueled by friendship and blind loyalty.
“Hey!” you shouted, voice cracking. “Pick on someone your own size, you—oversized… loser!”
Not your best. You were eleven. Your brain was still 60% Capri Sun.
Minhyuk blinked, unimpressed. Then shoved you. Hard.
You hit the pavement with a thud, landing on your butt. Your backpack burst open–papers, pencils, and one private doodle of a sparkly unicorn horse went flying across the asphalt.
Laughter erupted around you.
And then—
That sigh.
That tired, long-suffering sigh that said “I’m getting tired of this,” from a boy who was spiritually seventy-five years old.
Park Sunghoon.
He approached with his hoodie sleeves covering his hands and his cap tilted sideways, like he couldn’t be bothered but also like he was already deciding how to fix this. He stopped beside you and glanced at the chaos—Jake’s glassy eyes, your scraped knees, Minhyuk’s dumb smirk.
Without saying a word, he gave Minhyuk a look.
The kind of look that could curdle milk. Or send boys twice his size packing.
Minhyuk flinched. Then, like the coward he was, mumbled something about catching his bus and slinked away.
You blinked up at Sunghoon. Jake sniffed beside you.
And then—without coordination, without thinking—you and Jake both lunged forward and wrapped your arms around Sunghoon at the same time.
He froze. Sighed again. But he didn’t pull away.
“I’m gonna be stuck looking after you two for the rest of my life, aren’t I?” he muttered.
You grinned into his sleeve. “Yep.”
“Definitely,” Jake added, his voice a little wobbly but smiling now.
Sunghoon didn’t say he loved you.
He didn’t have to.
The cafeteria buzzed around you—noisy, fluorescent, filled with the sound of trays clattering and people trying too hard to sound casual. Jake was nursing a carton of strawberry milk, lazily spinning it between his fingers. Sunghoon sat across from him, trying and failing to look like he wasn’t deeply regretting his protein bar.
Jake leaned over dramatically, voice pitched just loud enough to reach Sunghoon but still just out of your range. “Look at her,” he whispered, grinning. “In love. Disgusting.”
Sunghoon didn’t look up. “I give it two minutes before she makes us throw up.”
You shot them a look over your shoulder and tossed a crumpled napkin in their direction. “Shut up. I’m talking.”
Jake put on a high-pitched falsetto immediately. “‘Hi baby. No, baby, you hang up first. No, you.’”
Sunghoon chimed in, completely deadpan. “‘Babymuffin. Babylove. Babyback ribs.’”
You bit back your laugh and turned away, pressing the phone closer to your ear, trying to keep your voice soft. “No, I’m not ignoring you. I’m with Jake and Sunghoon.”
There was a pause.
Then, flat and cold: “…Again?”
Your stomach dropped. Just a little.
“I told you I’d be with them today,” you said. “It’s the championship game.”
“You said you’d try to come to my gig,” came the reply, sharper now. “You promised. But of course you’d rather play cheerleader for those two.”
“It’s not like that,” you said, your voice tightening. “I told you weeks ago this was important. They’ve worked so hard for this—”
“Jesus. Do you even care about me?” he cut in. “Or am I just the guy you date when your real boyfriends are busy?”
Your hand clenched around your phone. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re always choosing them. Every time. Like I’m your backup plan—”
“They’re my best friends.” You snapped now, barely keeping your voice down. “You knew that from the beginning.”
And that was when you noticed: the table had gone silent. Jake wasn’t spinning his milk anymore. Sunghoon’s jaw was tight. Both of them were watching you.
“And you’re supposed to be my girlfriend,” your boyfriend hissed through the line. “But I guess that means nothing to you.”
You stared down at the table.
Then, softly, with every ounce of control you had left: “You should know that Sunghoon and Jake are–.”
Click.
The line went dead.
The phone hit the table with a muted thud.
You didn’t look up. Not right away. Your arms crossed, your nails digging into your sleeves. Your heart pounded too fast, too hard, and it wasn’t even from the words. It was from how familiar this had started to feel. Like you were always apologizing for choosing the people who never made you feel like a second choice.
Jake’s voice came low, tight. “What’d that idiot say this time?”
Gone was the teasing lilt, the sunshine tone. He looked like he was one bad sentence away from marching across campus and settling it the old-fashioned way. Sunghoon nudged him under the table but Jake didn’t look away from you.
You finally glanced up, eyes tired. Your voice came quiet. “It’s your championship day. Let’s not ruin it.”
Jake held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary. His jaw flexed.
But he nodded.
For now.
—
You kept your arms crossed, head low, your gaze fixed somewhere on the cracks in the pavement. Not in a sulking way. Not even angry. Just… heavy. The kind of quiet where the world felt muffled, like someone had turned the volume down on everything.
Jake didn’t say anything. Not at first.
He just walked beside you in silence—his steps matching yours like second nature. Every few moments, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushed your sleeve, but he didn’t try to fill the quiet with noise. Just stayed close. Present. Like always.
Then, after a beat, he gently bumped your shoulder with his.
You didn’t look up, not right away. But you felt it. That familiar nudge. Like he was reminding you: hey, still here.
A few more steps passed before his voice came, light but careful.
“How many fingers am I holding up behind my back?”
You stopped walking.
Your breath hitched, just a little.
God. That game.
It used to be your thing. A childhood ritual for every scraped knee, every bad grade, every time you wanted to cry but didn’t. Jake would hold his hand behind his back and make you guess. If you got it right, you’d get a prize—usually something ridiculous. A neon sticker. A broken crayon. One time, a scribbled picture of you with superpowers and him as the hulk.
You hadn’t played that game in years.
But the second he said it, a small appeared on your lips.
You glanced sideways.
“…Seriously?”
Jake smiled. The kind that barely lifted one corner of his mouth—the one that felt like a secret. Like it was just for you.
“C’mon,” he said, eyes glinting. “Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”
You swallowed.
“Two,” you murmured.
Jake didn’t break eye contact. Just slowly turned and held out his hand behind his back, showing you—
Two fingers.
You let out the softest breath of a laugh. The kind that didn’t really sound like one. Just a shaky little puff of air. But it was enough to lighten your shoulders.
Jake grinned, triumphant. “Correct. Prize pending.”
You shook your head, a real smile threatening your lips now. “You still owe me for the time you cheated and held up zero.”
Jake’s eyes widened in mock horror. “That wasn’t cheating. That was high-level psychological warfare.”
“You made me do the chicken dance in front of my mom for a sticker.”
“You did it twice.”
“You said the first one lacked commitment.”
Jake was laughing now, soft and golden, and you couldn’t help it. You laughed too. Quiet. Cracked around the edges. But real.
The silence between you didn’t feel heavy anymore.
He tilted his head toward the lecture hall ahead. “Go grab a seat,” he said softly. “I’ll get you a coffee.”
You blinked. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he said, already backing away. “Unless you’d rather have emotional support gummies.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile was warm. “Coffee, please.”
Jake gave you a little salute—two fingers, same as before. “Coming right up, princess.”
You stood there for a beat too long, then finally made your way into the lecture hall, choosing a seat near the back. You slung your bag down beside you and reached into your pocket, fingers brushing something crinkly.
You frowned. Pulled it out.
Your favorite candy.
The exact brand. The exact flavor. Not something you’d had on you today.
Your breath caught.
Jake.
He must’ve slipped it into your pocket when he bumped your shoulder. Probably while you were distracted. Quiet. Thoughtful. Stupidly considerate.
You stared at the wrapper like it meant something. Like it said everything he couldn’t.
You tucked it into your bag gently, like it was something precious.
Outside, somewhere in a line too long for a Tuesday afternoon, Jake was probably ordering your coffee with extra sugar and exactly two pumps of vanilla.
Because of course he remembered.
Of course he always did.
And maybe you didn’t say it out loud.
But in that moment—you didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Because no matter what, you had Jake.
—-
The bleachers vibrated beneath your feet, alive with nervous energy. Late afternoon sunlight poured across the field in gold streaks, turning everything too bright, too cinematic. You stood at the railing beside Niki and Sunoo, fingers curled tight around the metal bar, heart pounding harder than the game announcer’s voice overhead.
Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
Are you seriously ditching my gig for those two idiot friends of yours?Again? Really?You’re always doing this.You say I'm important, but it’s always them.You’re not dating them. You’re dating ME.
You rolled your eyes.
There was no use replying. You’d tried. He never got it.
Jake and Sunghoon weren’t just friends.
They were everything. They were your history. They were your present. They were scraped knees and matching science fair disasters. They were the reason your parents felt safe sending you to college. They were Sunday family dinners and sleepovers that never really ended.
They were home.
And okay—maybe your gaze drifted toward Jake a little more than it should’ve lately. Maybe it always had. Not in a way you noticed at the time. Not in a way that meant anything.
Just… in a way. As a friend, cf course. He was just…always sweet. What could you do?
Your eyes found him instantly.
Jake—number 10.
Sunlight caught the edges of his hair, wind tugging at the loose strands near his ears. His jersey clung to him, damp with sweat, legs quick and sure as he shouted across the field. His eyes were locked in, his whole body moving with this reckless kind of energy that made him hard to look away from.
Not that you were trying to look away.
You shook your head and scanned the field again, trying to find Sunghoon—but your gaze found Jake instead.
Again.
The crowd roared as the clock ticked down. 2–2. Final minute. The tension in the air buzzed through your chest like a live wire.
“I can’t watch,” Sunoo muttered beside you, peeking between his fingers. “He’s gonna pass out.”
“Shut up,” Niki hissed. “It’s getting good.”
Your eyes tracked Jake’s every step. He had the ball now—legs moving like water, flowing past defenders like they weren’t even there. Sunghoon flanked beside him, silent and steady, drawing players away.
Then Jake cut sharp to the left.
A beat.
A breath.
And then he kicked.
The ball soared.
Time stopped.
It flew past the goalie—clean, sure—and hit the net with a glorious, perfect thwack.
Silence.
And then chaos.
The stadium erupted. Teammates swarmed the field, screaming, leaping, colliding into Jake like a tidal wave of celebration. People were crying. Someone was waving a flag. You might’ve blacked out for a second.
But Jake—Jake didn’t stay buried in the huddle.
He pulled himself out.
Looked up.
And saw you.
And then, he ran.
Straight through the chaos, through teammates and coaches and cheering fans.
Right to you.
“PRINCESS, DID YOU SEE THAT?!” he yelled, already grinning like he couldn’t contain it.
You didn’t even think.
You ran.
You jumped into his arms—legs around his waist, arms around his neck—and he caught you like gravity didn’t exist between the two of you.
He spun you around, both of you laughing, breathless and weightless in the middle of a stadium filled with noise.
“That was insane, right?!” he said, still spinning, still grinning like a madman.
“You’re insane!” you yelled back. “That’s my best friend!!”
He held you tighter for a second.
You barely noticed how close you were. How steady his hands felt against your waist. How natural it felt to be in his arms.
You didn’t think too much about the way your laugh curled into something softer as he smiled at you. Or how your fingers lingered at the back of his neck just a moment too long.
You were just happy.
And Jake?
Jake was still looking at you like you’d hung the stars yourself.
But then you saw him.
At the edge of the crowd.
Your boyfriend.
He was standing stiffly, guitar slung over his back, eyes dark. He looked right at you. Then at Jake.
Then back at you.
And you saw it happen—saw the confirmation of every suspicion he’d ever thrown at you. Every insecure question. Every argument. Every pointed “you’re always with them.”
His jaw clenched.
And then he mouthed it.
Two words. Sharp. Final.
We’re done.
And he turned.
—-
The door slammed open behind you with enough force to shake the picture frames.
You didn’t check to see if Jake and Sunghoon were behind you. Of course they were. You could hear their footsteps trailing in, less hurried than yours but tinged with the same confused urgency. Like golden retrievers caught in a rainstorm—uncertain, blinking, too loyal to run.
“I cannot believe he dumped me!” you snapped, flinging your bag onto the floor like it had betrayed you. “He. Mr. Can't-Name-Three-Films-By-Studio-Ghibli. Mr. ‘I think astrology is fake but also I’m a Scorpio so that’s just how I am.’”
You kicked your shoes off, one of them narrowly missing the umbrella stand.
Jake ducked.
Sunghoon raised his eyebrows and wisely stayed quiet.
“I mean,” you huffed, voice going up a pitch as you spun toward them, “he plays the same three songs on guitar and called Christopher Nolan ‘overrated.’ And he—that man-child with a Spotify playlist called ‘sad vibez’ and no vowels—broke up with me?!”
Sunghoon winced. Jake looked like he was watching a house on fire and wondering if throwing himself into it would help.
You threw your hands up in disbelief. “I was going to dump him! I had a list! A literal note in my phone! And this man—this emo scarecrow of a boyfriend—had the audacity to beat me to it?!”
You stormed to the living room and collapsed onto the couch like it owed you reparations, arms flung over your face as you let out a long, frustrated groan.
“I can’t believe this. He said I was emotionally unavailable. Me! The girl who went to all his stupid open mic nights and pretended his lyrics weren’t just stolen posts from 2018 Twitter in stupid long verses.”
In the hallway, Jake leaned toward Sunghoon.
“Should we, like… say something?”
Sunghoon didn’t even look away from you. “Absolutely not.”
Jake frowned. “You’re the stable one. You talk to her.”
“You’re the one in love with her.”
Jake made a wounded sound in the back of his throat. “That’s not—I mean—I’m—”
“You literally made her tea last night and wrote her name on the mug in sharpie like a loser.”
Jake whispered, “It was a nice mug.”
You sat up abruptly, glaring at them like a storm cloud with a vendetta. “HEY. Tweedle Dee. Tweedle Dum. Shut the hell up. I’m having a justified crisis.”
They both stiffened like they’d been caught shoplifting.
You threw yourself back onto the couch again, dramatically draping your arm across your face.
Silence.
Then—
“She definitely just called us Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,” Jake whispered.
“You’re Dum,” Sunghoon replied flatly.
“At least I didn’t cry watching Tangled.”
“…You said you wouldn’t bring that up again.”
“Then stop being Dum.”
You let out a guttural groan. “Can one of you just bring me ice cream or, like, a time machine so I can go back and tell myself to swipe left?”
Another pause.
Then quiet footsteps.
And a moment later, something cold landed in your lap.
Your favorite ice cream.
Jake didn’t say a word. Just sat on the floor in front of the couch, back leaning against it like it was the most natural thing in the world, head tilted slightly to look up at you.
He didn’t smile. Not fully. Just that soft, familiar curve of his lips that you’d seen a thousand times, always reserved for you. The kind that didn’t ask for anything, didn’t demand a response—just offered quiet presence.
Sunghoon dropped onto the floor beside him with a sigh, already scrolling through Netflix.
And you?
You breathed. For the first time all day, you breathed.
It didn’t erase the anger. Didn’t fix the betrayal. Didn’t un-stupid your ex.
But it made your chest ache a little less.
Because even in your most unhinged, spite-fueled, mascara-streaked moments—you still had this.
You had your boys.
—-
Your room was quiet, except for the low hum of the party a few buildings down—the bass thudding like a heartbeat through the floorboards, too far to join, too loud to ignore.
The fairy lights on your wall glowed soft and golden, casting little halos across your shelves, your pillows, the stack of unread books by your bed.
You sat cross-legged on your comforter, oversized hoodie bunched around your hands, hair damp from your post-meltdown shower. There was still a tightness in your chest, the kind that didn’t quite hurt, but hadn’t let you breathe fully in days.
Sunghoon stood behind you, a hairbrush in his hand.
“You sure you don’t wanna go?” he asked, gently easing the brush through the tangles near your crown.
You shrugged, slow and small. “And see him all over her? I’d rather chew glass.”
Her—being the bass player in your ex’s band. The one he swore was “just a friend” until he posted a ten-second Instagram story of himself shoving his tongue down her throat. Classy.
Honestly, you still didn’t know what you ever saw in that idiot.
Sunghoon sighed. You felt it more than you heard it—low and long, his breath ruffling a strand of your hair.
He didn’t say anything else. Just kept brushing, slow and steady, like he could detangle your hurt the way he was detangling the ends of your hair.
He always did this.
Ever since you were ten and crying after a costume mishap in the school play. He’d walked you home, sat you down, and—wordlessly—grabbed the brush from your desk. He’d been doing it ever since. Whenever your heart cracked, he patched it up strand by strand.
He even used your products now. Knew the exact amount of leave-in conditioner. Knew how to finger-detangle without tugging too hard. Knew when to talk—and more importantly, when not to.
You sat still, head tilted slightly forward, letting the rhythm lull you. The brush paused near the ends.
Then came the voice.
Quiet. Measured. A little softer than usual.
“He didn’t make you happy.”
You opened your mouth. But before anything could come out—
“Not once,” Sunghoon continued. “You bent so far backwards for him I was scared your spine would snap. And he never once met you halfway.”
You stared at your lap. Said nothing.
“I know it’s only been two days,” he said, letting out a little laugh, “but honestly? The air’s been easier to breathe without him around. Jake and I Fortnite danced to High School Musical in the living room earlier. Jake even tried to do a backflip.”
You snorted. Couldn’t help it.
Sunghoon grinned behind you. “Almost died. But I’ve never seen the boy look so free.”
You hummed, lips twitching faintly. “He wasn’t that emo.”
“He had stupid hair,” Sunghoon said flatly. “And he smelled like cigarettes and insecurity.”
You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling.
“He called The Wind Rises boring,” you muttered.
Sunghoon gasped, mock horror in his voice. “Criminal. Unforgivable.”
He gently brushed the last of your hair over your shoulder, like a finishing touch. Then crouched in front of you, eye-level now.
And when he spoke next, the teasing was gone.
“You are the actual sun,” he said softly. “And he made you feel like a flickering lightbulb. That’s not love. That’s dimming someone just to feel taller.”
Your eyes stung, just a little.
Sunghoon didn’t flinch. He never did, when it came to you.
“I hated him from the beginning. Jake started calling him ‘the ashtray’ after the second time we all hung out. Not even behind his back. Just… said it.”
That made you laugh—truly laugh—for the first time in days. You shook your head. “You two are mean.”
“We’re honest,” Sunghoon corrected, getting to his feet. “And we love you. More than that guy ever could.”
You didn’t answer. Just looked at him.
And he didn’t say anything more.
Didn’t need to.
You let your head fall back against the headboard and sighed. “Okay. If you keep monologuing in my ear like this, I’m never gonna change.”
“Change?”
“You want me to go to this stupid frat party, don’t you?”
He smirked.
“Get out,” you said, pointing at the door. “Shoo. Go do your weird little victory dance with Jake.”
He walked backward, ruffling your hair on the way like a proud big brother. “She’s back,” he sing-songed, a grin tugging at his lips.
“Not if you keep talking.”
He opened the door with a dramatic bow. “I’ll tell Jake you caved.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered even after he was gone.
And yeah, your heart was still cracked.
But it felt a little less sharp now.
A little easier to carry.
And when you looked at your reflection in the mirror, your hair brushed smooth, cheeks still warm from laughter—
You didn’t look like a girl trying to forget.
You looked like someone learning how to feel light again.
—
As soon as Jake stepped through the door, he barely made it three steps before he was swallowed by chaos.
“JAKE! JAKE! JAKE!”
A rush of frat boys and soccer teammates surged toward him, loud and reckless, lifting him up like some war hero. His legs kicked midair as they carried him toward the heart of the party, chanting his name with increasing volume.
“JAKE! JAKE! MVP! MVP!”
Fairy lights spun above him, casting halos over sweat-damp foreheads. The bass pulsed through the floor, the air thick with beer and adrenaline and championship glory. Jake laughed, a little breathless, a little panicked.
“No—no, I’m good, I swear—”
Then… you saw him. Your ex. And her.
They were near the kitchen—your spot. The one you always waited at after his gigs. The one where he used to pull you into those tired, post-show hugs and whisper how glad he was you came. Now? He was there with her. Arm thrown over her shoulder like it belonged there. Like it hadn’t been around you last week. She was laughing like she’d earned it. Like she hadn’t been “just a friend” two seconds ago.
And the worst part? He looked fine. Smiling. Relaxed. Comfortable.
You weren’t sad. You didn’t miss him. But god, you were angry.
He moved on like you were an old t-shirt. Like you didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t just made you feel like you were the problem for weeks on end. Like he hadn’t convinced you to shrink for him—and then left anyway.
You stood there for one second. Just long enough to feel the burn in your chest. Long enough for your hands to curl into fists at your sides. Long enough for the blood in your veins to scream Really? Already?
Then you turned.
Fast.
Didn’t look back.
You didn’t know where you were going, only that the party felt too loud and too quiet all at once. People brushing past you, drinks in the air, music thumping. And still, all you could hear was your own pulse.
“SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!”
You blinked—and somehow, it was your voice leading the chant.
Your heels dug into the floor. Your lip gloss was smudged. There was probably mascara under your eyes. You didn’t care. You didn’t want to care.
Someone handed you a shot. You didn’t ask what it was. You downed it like medicine.
It burned. But that was the point.
You slammed the glass down on the nearest surface. “ANOTHER!” you shouted, voice cracking, spinning in place. “Let’s go! If I’m gonna be replaced, I might as well be unforgettable!”
Someone whooped. Someone clapped. Someone handed you another.
You tossed it back.
You weren’t spiraling. You were burning.
And the only thing worse than being dumped… Was being replaced this fast. Like you didn’t even leave a dent.
You were angry.
Angry that he got to be fine. Angry that she got to stand where you used to. Angry that your hands still shook while his were busy holding someone else.
And yeah, you’d moved on too. You didn’t want him back. Not for a second.
But it still felt like something had been stolen from you.
And you needed control. Any kind.
So when someone handed you another shot, you took it. And when someone said, “You okay?” you laughed so hard it echoed. Loud, sharp, cracked.
“Never better,” you said, the words tilting sideways like your balance.
And then he stumbled toward you.
Tall. Drunk. Slurring your name like he knew you. Like he mattered.
“Hey,” he grinned, “you’re the girl Jake never shuts up about, right?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Yeah,” he said, swaying. “In the locker room. He’s always like ‘she’s so funny, she does this scrunchy angry face when she’s mad,’ and like… he’s totally into you.”
Your stomach twisted—but your face didn’t budge.
“Cool,” you muttered. “Love being a conversation topic.”
“He thinks you’re amazing,” the guy said, nodding like he just solved world peace. “Hey—have you ever considered going bald?”
You stared. “Excuse me?”
He squinted. “I bet you’d look hot with a buzzcut. You have a strong jaw. That’s what matters, right?”
And maybe it was the alcohol. Or the smoke in the air. Or the ache in your ribs.
But you laughed. Loud. Too loud. And you grabbed his wrist.
“Got scissors?” you asked.
He blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”
“Bring them. Let’s find out.”
He stumbled into the kitchen drawer and came back, holding up a dull pair of kitchen scissors like a prize.
You snatched them, raised them in the air. “Thank you, brave soldier,” you said dramatically. “Now go lay down before you die of alcohol poisoning.”
And you turned, marching up the stairs like a woman with a mission and a pair of scissors she had no business holding.
Jake was mid-conversation when Jungwon ran up, breathless.
“Dude. DUDE. Your girl—she just went upstairs. With scissors. Talking about rebirth.”
Jake blinked. “What?”
“She said something about French bangs and reinvention and then took the stairs like a goddamn hurricane.”
Jake didn’t even think.
He ran.
Bolted through the crowd, shouldered past two people doing body shots, and took the stairs two at a time.
Because he knew you.
He knew that look. That chaos. That split-second decision to feel anything other than the helpless, boiling anger clawing through your chest.
He remembered it from middle school, when someone said your braces made you look like a robot and you tried to cut them out yourself with nail clippers. He remembered it last year, when your cat died and you bleached your bangs at 3AM.
Jake had always known your brand of chaos.
And he had always shown up before it got too far.
Now, he shoved open the bathroom door with zero hesitation.
“Don’t—”
The words died in his throat.
Because there you were.
Standing in the middle of someone else’s bathroom, scissors in hand, eyes glassy and smile way too proud.
“Jakey!” you beamed. “I did it!”
He froze.
There was a pile of hair on the counter. Your bangs—if you could call them that—sat uneven across your forehead. One was short. The other… shorter.
One eye was half covered. The other? Wide, glassy, wild.
Jake covered his mouth with both hands.
“Princess,” he whispered.
“Do I look like Tyra Banks?” you asked earnestly.
Jake blinked. Took a step forward. Then another.
And slowly—so gently—took the scissors from your hand.
His voice dropped to a hush. Steady. Calm. Familiar.
“Hey,” he said. “Let’s put these down, yeah?”
You pouted. “But I wasn’t done.”
He gave you a small smile. “You were perfect before you even started.”
Your lips parted.
His eyes searched yours, scanning every flicker of emotion you were trying to bury beneath alcohol and eyeliner and rebellion.
“You don’t need to do this,” he said. “You’re angry. I get it. I swear I get it. But cutting your bangs at a frat party is not justice.”
You blinked. The world tilted slightly.
“He moved on,” you whispered. “Like I was nothing. Like I was just a placeholder.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. His grip on the scissors hardened.
“You were never a placeholder,” he said, voice sharper now. “You were the whole damn story. He was just a footnote.”
Your eyes welled, but no tears fell. Not yet.
“You’re angry. And you have every right to be,” he said, stepping closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “But don’t punish yourself because he couldn’t see your worth.”
Your lip trembled.
“You think I’m punishing myself?” you asked.
Jake smiled softly. “Princess, look at your bangs.”
You let out a snort. A real one. Ugly and sharp and full of sudden breath.
“I look like an art student who lost a bet.”
Jake laughed. “You look like you could start a girl gang and lead a revolution.”
His voice dropped again. Gentle. Unshakable.
“But you still look like you. And you look perfect.”
You didn’t know what possessed you, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Like holding onto something solid in the middle of a storm.
Jake leaned down, resting his forehead against yours.
“You don’t have to set yourself on fire to prove you're still burning,” he whispered. “You’re enough. Even when you’re mad. Even when you're messy. Even with gravity-defying bangs.”
Your breath hitched. The room stilled.
And finally, finally, your heart began to slow.
You closed your eyes.
And Jake just held you there.
Right in the middle of the chaos, in someone else's bathroom, with scissors on the counter and party noise below—
He held you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like he’d always been the one who would.
—
The next morning came quicker than you wanted. Your head throbbed, your mouth tasted like the inside of a frat house, and your body ached in weird places. But none of that mattered.
Because the second you looked in the mirror— “AAAAAAAAAAAH!”
The scream tore through the apartment like a war siren.
Sunghoon shot upright in bed, blanket wrapped around his legs like a noose. “WHAT THE—?!”
Jake fell off the couch with a dramatic thud, landing in a heap of hoodie and boxers. “SHE’S DYING, SHE’S BEING KIDNAPPED, THE LOVE OF—”
Both boys sprinted down the hallway like the apartment was on fire.
They crashed into your room, out of breath, expecting blood or a ghost or at least an explosion.
Instead, they found you standing in front of the mirror, gripping your bangs in both hands like you could physically undo last night.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” you wailed, your voice cracking halfway into a sob. “WHY DIDN’T ANYONE STOP ME?!”
Jake froze.
Sunghoon stared.
“I told you we should’ve hidden the mirror,” Sunghoon muttered.
“We have a bathroom,” Jake hissed back.
You whirled around dramatically, face streaked with tears, eyes wide and watery, holding up a sad tuft of hair like it was a smoking gun.
“I ruined my life!”
Jake opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Because, truthfully?
Your hair looked like it had been through a war. A bad one. Like a rodent got stuck halfway through building a nest and gave up. It was uneven in four different directions. The bangs… bent at angles. You defied geometry. Possibly physics.
Sure, you looked pretty. Beautiful. Perfect, even.
But that was only because Jake was in love with you.
And love had a way of turning disaster into art. Even when the art looked like a sewer rat.
Sunghoon sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll make pancakes.”
He turned and walked out without waiting for a response. Pancakes were your household’s official emergency protocol.
Jake stayed. Still in the doorway. Still barefoot and half-asleep, but trying really hard not to laugh and even harder not to love you more for looking like this and still somehow being the most you he’d ever seen.
You looked up at him with trembling lips, eyes full of absolute heartbreak.
“I look like I lost a fight with a Edward Scissorhands.”
Jake blinked. “C’mere.”
You didn’t hesitate.
You launched yourself at him like a flying koala, knocking him flat on his back. You landed in a tangled heap of limbs and cotton and regret, curled into his chest, face shoved against his hoodie.
“I’M UGLY!” you wailed.
Jake didn’t even flinch. He wrapped his arms around you, full-on bear-hug style, holding you like he was trying to glue your shattered pieces back together.
“No, you’re not,” he murmured.
You let out a sound that was half sob, half snort, and buried your face deeper into his chest.
“You’re not ugly,” he said again, voice quieter now. “You’re the cutest person I’ve ever seen with a rat’s nest on their forehead.”
You groaned. “I look like Coconut Head from Ned’s Declassified.”
Jake snorted. Actually snorted.
Which made you groan even louder and smack his chest half-heartedly.
“I’m never going outside again,” you mumbled.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “We’ll start a new civilization here. No mirrors. Unlimited pancakes. Sunghoon and I will scavenge for food outside, bring it back here to feed you and our rat children.”
You sniffed.
“I’ll knit you a beanie,” he added. “It’ll say ‘emotional damage’ in rhinestones.”
From the kitchen, Sunghoon shouted, “There’s only enough chocolate chips for one stack, so I’m taking nominations for who’s had the most public breakdowns in the past 24 hours.”
“I CUT MY OWN BANGS AT A FRAT PARTY!” you yelled into Jake’s hoodie.
“And we have our winner!” Sunghoon replied.
Jake chuckled beneath you, brushing a strand of hair gently out of your eyes—or at least tried to. One strand was… vertical.
You blinked up at him. “I want them gone.”
Jake smoothed his hand through the top of your hair. “Let me try to fix them?”
You squinted. “Can you?”
“No,” he admitted. “But if I mess it up, you’ll get to yell at me instead of yourself.”
You stared at him.
He gave you that stupid little grin—warm, patient, already yours.
You sighed. “Deal.”
Jake grinned wider, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Okay. Let me grab scissors, YouTube, and a whole lot of…uh…prayer.”
You smiled, soft and reluctant. But real.
Because even with tragic bangs, a hangover, and your dignity in shambles—
Jake made it all feel survivable.
Maybe even a little bit okay.
You were still in Jake’s lap, curled up like a broken barbie from a 6 year old with plastic scissors, when he sat up slowly, fingers brushing back your hair with more care than you thought anyone could ever use on someone so messily undone.
“Alright,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Let’s fix this rat’s nest.”
You sniffled, eyes puffy. “You mean my hair?”
Jake’s lips quirked. “Same thing.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Say one more dumb thing and I’ll cry again.”
He grinned and stood, effortlessly lifting you into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Jake—” you squeaked, clinging to him. “What are you doing?!”
“You’ve clearly lost your decision-making privileges. You’re emotionally unstable. And you keep sniffling like a baby bird,” he said matter-of-factly. “So, I’m airlifting you to your redemption arc.”
You buried your face into his hoodie. “You smell like detergent and protectiveness.”
“You smell like tequila and impulsive choices.”
He walked you into the bathroom and set you carefully onto the counter, warm hands steady at your waist as you adjusted your balance. The moment you were settled, he stepped between your knees without hesitation, reaching for the comb and scissors.
You blinked. Suddenly, the bathroom was a little too quiet. A little too warm. And Jake was a little too close.
“I’m gonna try to even these out,” he murmured, running his fingers gently through your bangs. “Try being the keyword.”
“I feel like this is where I die.”
“You look like a girl on the brink of a villain origin story.”
“Perfect,” you muttered. “Make me look dangerous.”\
As you sat still on the bathroom counter, knees lightly brushing his chest. Jake picked up the scissors again, his brows drawn tight in concentration.
He was taking it seriously. Too seriously. His tongue peeked out just slightly as he combed a section of your hair, eyes sharp, focused like he was performing life-saving surgery instead of fixing your tequila-fueled haircut.
You smiled—couldn’t help it. Because how was he still so cute, even now? Even while fixing the disaster you made of your bangs, looking like an overworked stylist with something to prove.
He tilted his head, snipped gently. Paused. Tilted again.
“Stop smiling,” he muttered, eyes still fixed on your hair.
“I’m not,” you said, definitely smiling.
“I can feel it.”
You laughed softly. “You’re just cute when you’re stressed.”
That made his hands falter. Just a little.
But he didn’t say anything. Just cleared his throat and kept going, slower now—more careful. Like he was stalling. Or maybe... savoring.
Jake leaned in just a little, brow furrowed in quiet concentration. “Hold still,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
You blinked. “What—”
“There’s a bit of hair on your face,” he murmured.
His hand came up gently, fingers brushing the side of your cheek as he tried to sweep away the tiny, stubborn strand that had clung to your skin. You froze.
Because Jake—without even thinking—tilted your chin up with one hand, and with the other, he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered against your jaw, fingers grazing your cheek, and then staying there.
You froze.
Jake didn’t move either.
His hand remained cupped on your face. His thumb brushed your skin. And his eyes—God, his eyes were locked on yours like they were holding something he hadn’t meant to let show.
You could feel the shift in the air. Heavy. Quiet. Like the entire world was holding its breath, waiting.
His gaze flicked to your lips. Just for a second.
And then it flicked back.
But it was enough.
Your heart stuttered. Your knees curled inward, brushing his hips. He leaned in—slowly, almost unconsciously. You could feel his breath now. Feel the tension between you, burning like something fragile and explosive all at once.
You didn’t move.
Neither did he.
It was so close. One more inch. Half an inch. Less than that.
You could see the way his lashes fluttered when he blinked. The way his jaw clenched like he was holding something back.
His forehead almost touched yours.
And just when you thought he might do it—just when your lips parted like they were waiting—
“GET YOUR DAMN PANCAKES!” Sunghoon’s voice echoed through the apartment like an accidental earthquake.
You jolted.
Jake stepped back too fast, hands dropping like they’d been burned.
You blinked hard, your pulse pounding.
“Right,” you said, hopping off the counter like it wasn’t shaking beneath you. “Breakfast.”
“Let’s go,” Jake said, voice too casual, too quick.
Neither of you looked at each other as you walked out of the bathroom.
But your fingers were still tingling.
And Jake’s heart was still lodged somewhere in his throat.—
The three of you were seated around the kitchen table. You sat across from Jake. The air smelled like sugar, butter, and unbearable tension.
Normally by now, you and Jake would’ve been locked in a battle of sarcastic wits, tag-teaming insults about Sunghoon’s tragic playlists or the sociopathic way he peeled his oranges.
But this morning?
Silence.
Sunghoon was the only one talking.
And he noticed.
“…So I told her, yes, I do moisturize, actually, and no, you can’t just borrow my $60 toner like it’s a sample at Sephora,” he said, pausing only to cut a triangle of pancake. “Anyway. These are the fluffiest pancakes I’ve ever made. Probably because I put love into them and not repressed rage, for once.”
You nodded absently. Jake let out a weird little hum like he was underwater.
Sunghoon squinted at you both.
He continued, tone flattening: “Also, I’m quitting college to become a juice bar cult leader. I’ll sell turmeric shots and emotional detachment.”
Sunghoon blinked slowly.
“…Hello?”
Silence.
He dropped his fork dramatically. “Okay. What is going on?!”
You and Jake looked up at the same time, startled like toddlers caught stealing cookies.
“You’re both being weird,” Sunghoon said, stabbing his fork in the air like a courtroom prosecutor. “Aren’t you usually bickering by now? Or pelting me with toast? Or roasting my skincare routine?”
You blinked. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Jake coughed. “Totally fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Sunghoon snapped. “You’re sitting there like someone died. Did the bang trauma finally kill your friendship? Was it the haircut? Did a ghost tell you to never speak again?”
Sunghoon turned to Jake. “And you. You haven’t insulted me once. Not even when I said I wanted to start a juice cult.”
Jake shoved pancake in his mouth. “I support your passions.”
Sunghoon froze.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Who are you two?!”
You and Jake exchanged a glance.
Sunghoon’s jaw dropped. “No. No. No—”
“What?” you said too quickly.
Jake sipped his coffee like it was spiked with sedatives.
Sunghoon pointed at both of you. “Something happened. I don’t know what. But if this is about some repressed ‘we accidentally almost kissed while trimming tragic bangs’ situation, I swear to god I will scream.”
You choked on your juice.
Jake muttered, “N–nothing happened.”
Sunghoon leaned back, crossing his arms like a dad about to issue consequences.
“Right,” he said. “And I’m emotionally stable.”
He stood suddenly and grabbed his coat off the hook by the door.
You looked up. “Where are you going?”
Jake jolted upright. “Wait—wait. What? Where ya goin’, man?” His voice cracked slightly.
Sunghoon didn’t even blink. “Out.”
Jake laughed nervously. “Nooo, don’t go. We’re having a good time. Bonding. Pancakes. Healing.”
“Yeah,” you said with a smile that definitely wasn’t panicked. “Stay. We can watch something. I won’t even make fun of you for picking a romcom from the 60s.”
Sunghoon narrowed his eyes.
“…You two are being so weird right now.”
Jake blinked. “What? No.”
“Totally normal,” you said simultaneously.
The tension between you and Jake buzzed like a power line. Sunghoon stared. You and Jake sat a full cushion apart on the couch, but somehow it felt like you were breathing the same air.
After a pause, Sunghoon grabbed the doorknob.
“I’m gonna get some more eggs, we ran out of them.” he muttered, and slammed the door behind him.
Silence.
One beat.
Two.
Then you and Jake both shot up and retreated to your rooms at the exact same time, slamming your doors like a choreographed sitcom exit.
You paced around your room.
Back and forth. Arms crossed. Hair bouncing (the parts you hadn’t murdered). You could still feel the ghost of Jake’s hand on your jaw.
Yes. Okay. Sure. You almost kissed him in the bathroom. But let’s review.
You were vulnerable.
You just got dumped.
Your bangs looked like they were cut by a raccoon with ADHD.
It meant nothing.
…Right?
You stopped and groaned into your hands. “It was the vulnerability. I was emotionally compromised and Jake’s dumb face got too close.”
You paused.
“…Jake’s dumb, pretty face…”
—
Late in the afternoon, you wandered into the kitchen with a bowl of greens and the vague desire to do something normal. Something quiet. Something safe. Your fingers moved on autopilot as you chopped vegetables—lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers—something about the rhythm calming the noise in your head.
Until you heard it.
The shuffle of feet down the hallway. That familiar cadence. Soft, unhurried. Jake Sim.
You paused mid-slice.
Jake walked in a second later, completely unaware you were already there—ramen in one hand, phone in the other, texting with his usual boyish ease. The hoodie he wore was slightly rumpled. His hair still damp from a shower. He looked so effortlessly himself it made your chest ache.
He looked up.
And froze.
Your eyes met for one long, breathless second. Too long. Too much.
Then he spun around so fast he nearly dropped the ramen.
He stood in the doorway, awkwardly half-turned, clearly debating whether bolting would make things better or worse. The silence was loud.
After a beat, he cleared his throat and forced himself to turn back.
“Cool,” he said, voice pitched an octave too high. “Great. Dinner.”
He grabbed a pot from the cabinet like it was a lifeline. Filled it at the sink with determined focus, pretending not to glance at you from the corner of his eye.
You turned back to your chopping. Tried to focus.
But the air in the kitchen had shifted—thicker now. Heavier. Like all that nearly-spilled affection from the bathroom was still clinging to your sleeves.
You could feel him next to you. Could sense every inch of space he left between you. Could feel every inch he didn’t.
Then you both reached for the stove.
At the same time.
Your fingers brushed.
You both flinched.
“Sorry—” you mumbled.
“No—you—uh—go ahead—” he said quickly.
It should’ve been fine. It was a stove. It was cooking.
But it wasn’t.
Now you were standing shoulder to shoulder, the side of his arm barely grazing yours every few seconds, and it was like touching static. Every brush sent sparks to your spine.
His noodles boiled. Your chicken sizzled.
And still, neither of you moved.
Jake kept stealing glances—tiny, fleeting ones, like he couldn’t help it. Like he needed to make sure you were real. You weren’t looking at him, but you felt him looking. You felt it like a pulse.
Your heart wouldn’t stop tripping over itself.
This is nothing, you told yourself. It’s proximity. It’s leftover tension. You’re vulnerable, fresh off a breakup. You’re not—
You reached for the pan.
Too close.
Your fingers hit the hot edge. Hard.
“Shit—ow!” you gasped, jerking your hand back.
Jake turned like he’d been shot.
“What happened?!” His voice was sharp with panic as he lunged toward you. “Are you okay?!”
“I just—I touched the—” Your words tumbled over each other as you blinked at your hand, already stinging and red, the skin rising into a welt.
Jake didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed your wrist with both hands—gentle but urgent—and rushed you to the sink, flipping the faucet with his elbow. The cold water hit the burn and made you wince.
But you barely felt it.
Because all you could feel was Jake’s hands wrapped around yours. His thumb against your pulse. His breath too close. His panic louder than yours.
“You okay?” he asked again, eyes never leaving the burn. “Can you feel this? Are you dizzy? Why aren’t you saying anything—why are you—”
He stopped.
Because you were smiling.
Barely. Just the smallest curl at the corners of your mouth.
But it was there.
And so was he. Right there in front of you, looking like he was breaking apart from how badly he wanted to keep you safe. Like your pain physically hurt him.
No one had ever looked at you like that before.
And suddenly, everything shifted.
Because in that moment—burning finger, cold water, trembling hands—you knew.
You were falling for Jake.
And maybe you had been for a while.
The realization made your chest tighten. Made your throat close. You looked at him and your heart skipped like it knew this moment mattered.
Jake helped you sit on the counter, still holding your hand like it might disappear. He moved carefully—so carefully—as he opened the first aid kit, his lips pressed together in a worried line.
He dabbed ointment on the burn with a lightness that made your chest ache. His brows furrowed as he wrapped the bandage, his thumb stroking the back of your hand like a whisper.
“You never pay attention,” he muttered, voice tight with concern. “Always spacing out. Always in your head. It’s like you want me to have a heart attack.”
“You make me worry so much it’s insane,” he whispered. Like he hadn’t meant to say it. Like it spilled out before he could catch it.
You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Not when your pulse was roaring in your ears and his touch made you feel like you might float out of your body.
Then you heard it—quiet, almost to himself.
“God, you’re the only person in the world who makes me feel like this.”
“Like what?” You mumbled.
“Like I’m going fucking insane.”
Jake’s eyes widened a second too late. Like he’d only just realized he said it out loud.
You stared at him.
“…Say that again,” you whispered.
“I didn’t—” he started, panicking. “I didn’t mean—”
You slid off the counter slowly. Your hand still throbbed—but your heart was louder. Too loud.
You looked at him. And in his eyes, you saw everything.
The longing. The panic. The thousand things he wasn’t saying.
And then—
“If you’re gonna keep having slow-burn movie moments in the kitchen, at least don’t do it in the kitchen.”
You both jumped.
Sunghoon stood in the doorway, a grocery bag in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other. His eyebrows were already in judgmental orbit.
Jake stammered, “We weren’t—!”
“You were,” Sunghoon said, breezing past. “You were doing the eye thing.”
“What eye thing?” you asked, flustered.
“The longing one. With the breathing and the tragic backlighting. The tragic yearning...it’s disgusting.”
—
The BBQ joint was already full when you walked in—heat rising from tabletop grills, laughter spilling over like steam, the air thick with the smell of sizzling meat and farewell speeches. You stood at the entrance for a second, bag slung over your shoulder, your heart thudding a little faster than necessary.
You weren’t even sure why you’d come.
Sunghoon had bailed last minute, claiming a “group project emergency,” and you could’ve easily ghosted too. But something had pulled you here—maybe the closure, maybe the company, maybe the quiet, ridiculous hope that things might feel normal again. That you might feel normal again.
Your eyes swept the room, searching for a familiar face.
And there he was.
Jake, halfway across the restaurant, hunched slightly in his chair as he laughed at something someone said. His hair was a little messy like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His denim jacket hung on the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up as he reached for the grill tongs, utterly unaware that he’d just knocked the breath out of you.
You took a step forward. Small. Tentative. A part of you hoping—aching—that maybe he’d seen you already. He saved you a seat.
But then you froze.
Because a girl slid into the chair beside him.
She was pretty. Confident. One of those girls who didn’t need to try to draw attention. She leaned in with ease, like they already knew each other. She laughed, tossed her hair, said something that made Jake glance over and smile—polite, soft.
Not your smile.
Your feet stayed planted. Your throat tightened, jealousy wrapping around your chest like a rope. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t even know what it meant. But there it was.
That empty chair had never not been yours before.
And now, suddenly, it wasn’t.
You blinked hard and turned on your heel, moving so fast it felt like fleeing. You didn’t care where you sat—anywhere but there. Anywhere but near him and her.
Jay looked up from his grill station just in time to see you drop into the seat next to him with the force of someone trying to bury a feeling. His eyebrows lifted, chopsticks paused mid-turn.
“Woah,” he said, startled. “Dramatic entrance. Everything okay?”
You forced a smile that didn’t quite make it past your cheeks. “Peachy.”
Jay looked unconvinced.
You stared hard at the sizzling grill in front of you. The sound of meat crackling felt louder than the conversations around you. Too loud. Too sharp. But not sharp enough to cut through the coil of emotion in your chest.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Jake glance your way. Brief, unsure. You didn’t look back.
Instead, you reached for a piece of lettuce like it wronged you in a past life and stabbed your chopsticks through it.
Jay watched you for a moment, then cautiously leaned in. “Sooo... wanna tell me why you look like you’re about to wrestle that cabbage?”
You didn’t answer.
Because on the other side of the table, Jake was laughing again. Soft. Casual. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t been on the verge of kissing you in a bathroom two weeks ago. Like he didn’t used to look at you first when he walked into a room.
But today, he didn’t.
He looked at her.
Something sharp twisted in your gut. Something bitter.
Jealousy, maybe. Or disappointment.
Not that he was talking to someone else.
But that he let her sit there. That he gave away your spot like it never mattered.
Your jaw clenched. You shoved the lettuce into your mouth like it was responsible for your emotional spiral.
Jay winced in sympathy. “So… no comment?”
“None.”
“Cool, cool. I’ll just assume you’re possessed and move on.”
He turned back to the grill, wisely choosing not to push further. You didn’t notice, but your shoulders stayed tense. You didn’t speak. You didn’t breathe right. Your fingers picked apart a piece of grilled pork until it was unrecognizable.
Across the table, Jungwon raised his voice.
“Hey! Let’s talk about the class’s power couple!”
You looked up mid-chew. Wrong move.
“Jake and her, obviously!” he said, pointing at you both with a grin like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You nearly choked on your lettuce. “Yang Jungwon, I will throw this piece of meat in your face if you don’t–”
Jay coughed into his drink. “Here we go.”
Jungwon beamed. “What? You’re always together. It’s, like, a known thing.”
Someone else piped in. “It’s true. Jake’s always doing the sweetest things for her. Didn’t he bring you bubble tea for a whole week when you got your wisdom teeth out?”
“And didn’t he carry your whole bag once when your wrist hurt?”
“And hold your umbrella even though he was getting soaked?” Everyone at the table nodded, laughing. Agreeing. Smiling at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You flushed.
Jake stayed quiet.
Still across the table.
Still next to her.
And still not looking at you.
The realization hit slow and hard—like a wave you’d tried to outrun finally catching your heels.
Everyone saw it.
Everyone had always seen it.
Except you.
Until now.
Your throat felt dry. Your chest felt hollow. And your skewer? Obliterated. You stabbed through the last piece of beef with more aggression than necessary.
Jay leaned over and whispered, “You’re gonna set off the smoke alarm if you keep grilling that poor meat.”
You didn’t respond.
Because the chair he used to save for you wasn’t yours anymore.
And for the first time—you realized how much that seat had mattered.
You didn’t even realize how tightly your hands were gripping your chopsticks until your knuckles turned white. Your jaw ached from how long you’d been clenching it. Everyone at the table laughed at something you didn’t hear, and it felt like you were underwater—sound muffled, air thick, eyes locked on your untouched plate.
You hadn’t meant to care so much.
It was just a chair.
Just a seat at a dinner party.
But it was your seat. The one he always saved without asking. The one he used to pat with a grin like, "Reserved for royalty." The one where your jacket used to end up without thinking, your chopsticks already unwrapped by the time you sat down.
So seeing someone else sitting there—smiling like she belonged there—felt like stepping into a memory and realizing it didn’t remember you back.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
You weren’t together. Not really. Not even close.
But god, that seat had never been up for grabs before.
You slid into the open spot across the table like it didn’t burn, even though every movement felt like betrayal. Like you were betraying yourself by still hoping for something you couldn’t even name.
And then, he tapped your shoulder.
You stiffened immediately, already knowing it was him.
Jake.
The very air changed when he was around. Lighter, tighter, like it had more weight and less oxygen at the same time.
“Hey,” he said, voice easy. Too easy.
You didn’t look at him.
Tap.
“Princess.”
You froze.
Your throat tightened.
Because Princess used to be the softest thing in the world. A tease. A comfort. A reminder that he knew you, saw you, adored you in all the quiet ways he never said aloud.
But now?
It felt… different. Tainted.
It didn’t land the same when your chair was already taken. When he’d let someone else into the only space you thought was sacred.
So you didn’t turn.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t soften.
He hesitated—like he felt the shift, too.
“Hmph,” you crossed your arms like a child.
Jake’s voice dropped, lower this time. “Why are you mad at me?”
You still didn’t answer.
He let out a slow breath and walked around the table instead, crouching beside your chair like a boy trying to pick up something broken.
Your gaze stayed glued to your half-torn napkin.
“Is it… about the seat?” he asked, voice gentler now. Like maybe he already knew the answer. Like he knew exactly what that seat meant.
Your silence answered for you.
Jake swallowed hard.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he murmured. “She sat down before I even before I realized you were coming. I swear, I wasn’t trying to—”
“To what?” you cut in, quiet but sharp. “Replace me?”
Jake flinched.
You regretted it instantly. But not enough to take it back.
Because that seat—that tiny, stupid thing—meant something. And tonight, he let someone else take it like it didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “I should’ve waited for you. I should’ve saved it.”
Your hands tightened in your lap. “Forget it.”
“Princess,” he said again, softer now. Pleading. Like maybe if he said it right, it would mean the same thing it used to.
But it didn’t.
Not tonight.
You looked up, finally meeting his eyes.
And he looked wrecked. Not in the dramatic, cinematic way. Just quietly ruined. Like he hadn’t realized how deep this cut would go. Like he was only just now understanding what he’d done.
You turned away before it could get worse.
Before your face could say too much.
Jake didn’t move.
Didn’t say another word.
Just sat there beside you like he would’ve done anything to rewind the night and start over.
But some things you couldn’t undo.
You were chewing in silence, half your brain stuck in a loop of spiraling thoughts and the other half… fully aware of Jake beside you. The way he kept glancing at you every few seconds. The way his leg bounced under the table like he had something to say but didn’t know how to say it.
You shifted in your seat.
He didn’t look at you, but he nudged your knee gently with his.
Then came his voice—soft, tentative, like he was knocking on a door he wasn’t sure he was allowed to open.
“I still owe you a prize.”
Your head turned.
Jake was already half smiling. That crooked, boyish smile that always cracked something open in your chest.
You blinked. “…What?”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“…Two,” you whispered.
Jake turned, hand still hidden behind his back—and slowly revealed two fingers.
Your breath hitched. Just barely.
He smiled wider now, eyes lighting up like he’d been holding that hope in all night.
“Correct,” he said gently. “Which means…”
Jake stood up suddenly, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Wait here.”
You blinked again. “What? Where are you going—?”
He was already walking off, dodging servers and plates of steaming food. He made a beeline toward the front of the restaurant where the owner stood at the counter, scribbling on receipts.
From your seat, you watched him gesture animatedly. He pointed to a pen. Then to a napkin. The owner blinked, clearly confused, but handed him a small notepad and a black pen.
You watched Jake furrow his brows, crouching at a little side table and scribbling furiously, tongue poking out slightly as he focused. His shoulders hunched like he was working on something important.
He returned a minute later, cheeks flushed with effort, pen still tucked behind his ear like an afterthought.
Without saying a word, he slid the paper toward you.
“Your prize,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes.
You looked down.
It was a drawing.
A bad drawing.
Stick figures, crooked lines, and a questionable attempt at your haircut—short, jagged bangs that stuck out at odd angles, cartoonishly captured in the most chaotic way possible. You almost laughed.
But then your eyes caught the words scribbled underneath:
‘Even with that haircut, you’re still the prettiest girl in the world.’
Your breath hitched.
You looked up.
Jake was pretending to sip water, very invested in the contents of his cup.
Your fingers tightened around the edges of the paper.
“…You’re such an idiot,” you whispered.
His gaze finally flicked to yours.
And even in the low lighting of the restaurant, you saw it.
The softness.
The hope.
The fear.
Like he didn’t know how you’d take it—but he meant every word anyway.
Your throat was suddenly too tight.
You didn’t say anything else.
You didn’t have to.
Because you were still holding the drawing.
—
You slipped your bag over your shoulder, the strap digging slightly into your coat as you muttered a quick goodbye to Jay and Jungwon. They teased you on the way out—of course they did.
The air outside hit your face like a wall. Sharp. Cold. Honest.
You exhaled, breath clouding in the dark. The city lights blurred into little golden halos around you as you wrapped your scarf with clumsy fingers, your hands still shaky from the night. From everything.
And then—
“Wait—hey!”
You turned.
Jake.
He was jogging after you, his jacket flapping open behind him, cheeks flushed red from the heat inside meeting the cold outside. His hair was a little windblown. His eyes found yours like they always did—easily, like home.
You blinked, lips parting. “What are you—”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” he asked, breath puffing in the cold. He slowed beside you, steps syncing with yours before you even answered.
You paused, your fingers still tangled in your scarf.
“…Weren’t you still talking to her?” you asked softly. Softer than you meant to. Your voice barely carried.
The silence stretched between you.
Then, wordlessly, Jake reached for your scarf.
You froze.
“Here,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours. “You always do it too tight.”
He didn’t wait for permission. His hands moved gently, expertly—unraveling the mess you’d twisted, smoothing the soft fabric like he’d done it a hundred times. Like muscle memory.
His knuckles grazed your jaw as he tucked the ends in.
You held your breath.
And when you finally looked up, he was already watching you.
You, wrapped in the coat he gave you. In the scarf he’d fixed. In the silence he hadn’t tried to fill with anything other than quiet care.
“I’d rather be walking us home,” Jake said gently. Not a question. Not even a request.
And still—you let him.
The two of you walked slowly, the glow of streetlamps casting long shadows across the pavement.
Jake was rambling beside you—something about Jungwon’s tragic karaoke and lettuce on a grill—but your mind was somewhere else entirely.
It was on him.
It was on every version of him.
On all the times he showed up when he didn’t have to. On all the gentle, quiet ways he loved you without asking for anything back.
On the umbrella he always tilted toward you.
On the bubble teas and playlists and dumb printed emoji sheets.
It hit you so hard you physically stopped walking.
Jake didn’t notice until he took two more steps and realized your footsteps had vanished.
“—and I swear, if he ever touches a mic again—wait, hey, you okay?”
He turned around.
You stood there, frozen in place, eyes wide and glassy like you were realizing something you couldn’t un-realize.
Jake’s face shifted instantly.
“W-What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping forward, concern flashing across his face. “Did I say something? Are you—”
You didn’t answer.
You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him—just like that. No hesitation.
You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, arms looping around his back like you needed to hold something steady. Like he was the only thing steady enough to hold.
Jake stilled.
Completely.
And then his arms came around you.
Slow. Firm. Certain.
You felt his hand press gently into your back, the other cupping the back of your neck like he was trying to piece you back together with touch alone.
Your voice cracked when it came out.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His breath hitched. “Tell you what?”
“That you’ve been in love with me.”
Silence.
Jake went still again. His hand flexed slightly against your back.
You pulled back just enough to see him—your hands still clutching his coat, his eyes wide, mouth parted, heart in his throat.
“That would’ve made everything so much simpler,” you said, voice trembling. “Maybe I wouldn’t have dated that idiot. Maybe I would’ve chosen you. A long time ago.”
Jake looked stunned. His lips parted like he wanted to say something—but you didn’t let him.
“I thought you were just being nice,” you whispered. “I thought… you saw me, maybe, like a sister. I didn’t know…you–”
His brows drew together. Something deep and aching passed across his face.
“I’m sorry,” you went on. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it. You’ve always been there. Always. And I never looked at you the way I should’ve. Not until it was too late.”
Jake stared at you like you’d just knocked the air out of him.
And then.
He cupped your jaw with both hands.
Thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks. Fingers resting gently, reverently, like you were porcelain. His eyes were locked on yours, searching. Burning.
And then he leaned in.
The kiss wasn’t tentative.
It was everything he’d held in.
Years of friendship, of quiet pining, of every moment he almost let it slip and didn’t—it all spilled into that one kiss.
His lips found yours with a kind of desperate relief. Like coming home. Like breathing after drowning. Like maybe, finally, he didn’t have to hold it back anymore.
Your hands curled into the front of his coat. You tilted up into him, breath catching as he deepened the kiss—his hands sliding into your hair, one curling at the nape of your neck, the other still cupping your jaw like he couldn’t bear to let go.
His lips moved, with tenderness, with the kind of aching care that made your knees weak and your chest full to bursting.
When he finally pulled back—just barely—you were both breathless.
Your noses brushed.
His hands didn’t move.
He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes still closed, as if he couldn’t look at you and survive it.
“You didn’t have to see it back then,” he whispered. “I loved you anyway. I always have.”
You closed your eyes.
And kissed him again.
Because you didn’t need to say it yet.
You were already saying it in every breath.
And Jake?
Jake held you like he’d waited his whole life to because well…he did.
Because maybe you hadn’t fallen first.
But you were falling harder now.
You barely made it halfway down the street before you stopped again—just to kiss him.
It started soft.
His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing lightly beneath your cheekbone as your lips pressed to his, slow and testing, like you were still trying to figure out how this all worked now. How it was real. His nose brushed yours. Your fingers curled in the collar of his coat, tugging him just a little closer.
You took three steps.
Then stopped again.
This time his hands slipped lower—one landing on your hip, the other skimming the small of your back as he leaned in again, mouth warm and insistent. His kiss deepened, lips parting against yours, breath catching in his throat as your fingers found the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged, just a little.
“Jake,” you mumbled against his mouth, your nose nudging his cheek, “we’re literally in public.”
He didn’t move away.
Just smiled against your lips. “Not my fault you’re addictive.”
You rolled your eyes.
And then kissed him again.
Longer. Slower. Your body pressed into his chest as his arm wrapped firmly around your waist. He tasted like cinnamon gum and the cold air between you. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before his lips found yours again, open and hungry now.
By the time you reached your building, the two of you were fully drunk on it—on each other.
He had you backed up gently against the brick wall by your door, your back hitting it with a soft thud. His hands braced either side of your head. Yours slid down his chest, fingers dragging across the buttons of his jacket before slipping underneath and fisting in his hoodie.
His forehead rested against yours, your noses brushing.
“I can't believe I get to do this now,” Jake whispered, breathless, lips still ghosting over yours. “Like this. With you.”
You smiled, whispering back against his mouth, “I should’ve kissed you years ago.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, his mouth dipping lower, kissing along your jaw before finding your lips again. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to fall in love with you like this.”
Your arms curled around his neck. You were just about to pull him back in when—
“OH MY GOD. MY EYES!”
You both jerked away.
Jake turned first, one hand still protectively on your waist. You peeked around his shoulder, blinking through the haze of hormones and heat.
Sunghoon.
Standing frozen a few feet away, grocery bag in hand, jaw dropped so hard it could’ve cracked the sidewalk.
“SERIOUSLY?!” he shouted, voice breaking with disbelief. “MY ONE NIGHT OUT?! THIS IS WHAT I COME HOME TO? TONGUE WRESTLING? ON THE DOORSTEP?”
You immediately hid your face in Jake’s shoulder, laughing so hard you nearly collapsed.
Jake just grinned. “You’re just jealous you’re bitter, old, and single.”
“I LIVE HERE, YOU FERAL ANIMALS.”
You peeked up, cheeks burning, still giggling like a teenager. Jake reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers like he’d been doing it forever. His thumb traced slow circles on your skin.
Jake giggled, stepped in, slow and sure, until there was barely an inch between you. His hand let go of yours only to slide around your waist, pulling you in until your chest brushed his. His other hand found your jaw again, thumb grazing your cheekbone.
And then he kissed you. Again. Harder this time.
Behind you, Sunghoon made an actual gagging noise. “CUT IT OUT! This is why I prayed for your downfall, Jake.”
Jake just tugged you toward the elevator, still holding your hand.
—-
You barely made it into the apartment before Sunghoon yelled from his bedroom, voice muffled through the door:
“I’M NEVER WASHING YOUR LAUNDRY AGAIN.”
You and Jake burst into laughter, tripping over each other as you kicked off your shoes, still tangled in giggles and flushed skin and stolen kisses.
Jake followed you straight to your room, still holding your hand like it was his favorite thing in the world. His other hand? Firm on your waist. His mouth? Absolutely relentless.
The second the door clicked shut, he was on you again—his lips warm and insistent against your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. He kissed you like he couldn’t stop, like he didn’t want to stop, like he was mapping every inch of you with his mouth.
You laughed breathlessly, leaning back against the wall as his hands framed your face and his mouth finally, finally met yours again—deeper this time, slower but more demanding, like he was memorizing you.
“Jake—” you gasped between kisses, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, “we have class at eight tomorrow.”
He didn’t even blink. Just leaned back in and kissed you again, his thumb brushing along the underside of your jaw as he tilted your face up to him. “I don’t care,” he whispered against your lips.
You barely had time to respond before his mouth crashed into yours again, open-mouthed, his hand sliding from your cheek down to your waist, gripping just tight enough to make your knees weak. Your fingers threaded into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer as your back hit the door, and you swore you felt the room spin slightly.
When you finally broke apart, panting, your lips felt swollen, kissed raw. Your heart was racing.
“So,” you murmured, dazed and breathless, “does this mean we’re… dating?”
Jake blinked, cheeks flushed, lips red. Then he grinned, cocky and breathless. “Are you asking me out?”
You rolled your eyes, still pinned between the wall and his body, smiling despite yourself. “It’s the least I could do, considering I didn’t realize you were in love with me for, like, a decade.”
Jake laughed—a low, husky sound that made your stomach flip. He leaned in again, brushing your lips with his, soft and slow this time. “You don’t owe me a single thing,” he whispered, one hand still at your waist, the other stroking your cheek like you were something fragile.
Then—just like that—he kissed you again. Harder. Messier.
He angled your chin just right and slotted your mouths together in a way that made you exhale a broken sound against his lips. His tongue teased against yours, slow and devastating, and when you whimpered into the kiss, he tightened his grip on your waist like he couldn’t help it.
It wasn’t just kissing anymore. It was kissing like gravity didn’t exist.
“Gosh,” he murmured against your lips, breath ragged, “I can’t stop. You’re like—” kiss “—a drug or something.” Kiss. “A really addictive one.”
You giggled mid-kiss, your hands sliding up into his hair. “You’re insane.”
And then SLAM.
Your bedroom door flew open like a jump scare.
Jake jumped away from you like you’d just been caught stealing a national treasure.
Before either of you could process what was happening, Sunghoon stormed into the room, dragging Jake into a headlock mid-sentence.
“WHAT THE—!” Jake shrieked.
You collapsed onto the wall, laughing so hard your knees buckled. Sunghoon grumbled something incoherent as he dragged a flailing Jake down the hallway like a sack of potatoes.
“I’m trying to sleep,” Sunghoon barked. “And instead I get moaning and giggling through my wall like I’m living in a romcom directed by Satan.”
Jake was breathless. “I wasn’t even going tor—”
“Yeah, yeah, pipe it, dumbass.”
Sunghoon slammed Jake down onto his bed and slammed the door behind him like it owed him peace.
You were still giggling in the hallway when Sunghoon’s door creaked open again. He stepped out looking 800 years tired, hoodie wrinkled and hair in chaos.
“And you!”
He pointed at you.
You stood straighter.
He stared. Then sighed.
“…Sleep well,” he muttered.
But just as he turned away, he mumbled under his breath: “God, you’re so happy it’s disgusting.”
And you were.
You were dizzy, breathless, borderline giddy.
Disgustingly happy.
And it felt perfect.
—
You laid in bed, the blanket tucked snugly beneath your chin, heart still racing from the absolute whirlwind that had been your night. Your lips were still tingling. Your cheeks ached from how much you’d smiled. Everything inside you buzzed, giddy and light, like you were a teenager with her first real crush.
Only this wasn’t a crush.
This was Jake.
You giggled into your pillow, kicking your feet beneath the covers, limbs wriggling like your body had no idea how to contain this much happiness.
Then—
Ping.
Your phone lit up beside you.
Jake 💙 i miss u already hehe
You let out an actual squeal, smacking your pillow with both hands, grinning like a complete lunatic.
God.
You’d never felt like this before. Not even with your ex. Not even close. This was warm. This was exciting. Safe. Stupid and lovely all at once.
This was Jake.
Still smiling, you typed back quickly, almost shy:
can u sneak back in?
You held your breath, eyes glued to the typing bubble.
But before it even disappeared—you heard it.
The quiet creak of a door unlocking.
You bolted upright.
Heart stuttering, you threw off your blanket and padded toward your bedroom door, cracking it open just enough to peek into the hallway.
And there he was.
Jake.
In pajama pants and a hoodie, hair tousled and fluffy, tiptoeing across the hallway like some cartoon burglar. His socked feet made no sound, but his face was full of mischief, lit up with a secret smile like this was the best part of his whole night.
He looked up and spotted you, then quickly pressed a finger to his lips.
“Shhh,” he whispered, a ridiculous grin tugging at his mouth.
You had to bite down on your knuckle to keep from laughing. He was impossible.
He reached your door in two quiet steps, gently pushing you backward into your room with both hands on your shoulders, like you were something delicate.
Just as he was about to step in—
SLAM.
Sunghoon’s door burst open like he was a horror movie jump-scare.
Jake froze.
You froze.
Both of you turned slowly, like kids caught red-handed raiding the snack cabinet.
Sunghoon stood in his doorway, hair sticking out in ten different directions, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, expression one hundred percent done with everything.
Jake opened his mouth, already guilty. “We—”
“Go. To. Sleep,” Sunghoon said flatly. His voice had the kind of force only a sleep-deprived man could deliver. “You absolute rabbits.”
You immediately clamped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter as Jake stepped back like a scolded puppy, both hands in the air.
“Okay okay! We’re sleeping!” he whisper-yelled as Sunghoon groaned, rubbed his temples, and slammed his door shut again.
The second it clicked closed, Jake leaned down toward your door and whispered with a grin:
“Tomorrow night, I’m climbing through your window.”
You giggled, heart racing again, and whispered back, “You better.”
And he did.
He really did. But he also got caught by Sunghoon. Again.
More Posts from Jaeyuniversal and Others
yang jungwon — love me.
P. fem!reader x bf!jungwon (17+) | W. unprotected sex, jungwon is needy & whiny, kissing, cursing, biting, creampie, mentions of a handjob, breast play, marking, dacryphilia, biting, cockwarming, getting fucked into subspace, pussy slapping, petnames, desperate jungwon & other things i forgot | WC. 3.3k | A,N. wrote this while listening to lights on by normani so i felt n a s t y, anyways this was a request! thank u for requesting <3
in which.. jungwon gets a boner mid cuddling session.
hot.
that's the only word running in jungwon's head. well along with needy.
hot. he felt so fucking hot. and so ridiculously needy.
he felt every nerve ending in his body blazing with heat that's almost borderline painful. fingers twitching to grasp or hold onto something that will ground him before he lost his sanity. his breathing gradually becoming more irregular. the seconds he was counting in his head to get his breathing under control slowly became unusually prolonged before being forgotten completely.
all the blood that should've been pumping in his head to keep his logical side working rushed down his entire body to accumulate in his pulsing cock. he was so fucking hard right now.
and it made him feel so guilty. there was absolutely no reason for him to feel like a dog in heat when literally nothing has happened. the urge to just fuck something almost making him spiral when you're just laying besides him, curled on yourself with your back against jungwon, you're just there.
sure it could've been the way he's been pressing his hips against the curve of your ass, or it could've been the way you were too sleepy and tired to push his cold, veiny hand away when it sneaked under your sweater to cup your breast— fuck. he basically brought this onto himself.
but how could he not practically glue himself against you? you felt so warm. so nice. so cuddly. he loved you so much. needed you so close to him at all times possible. if he could he would genuinely bury himself inside of you. the attempts of him pushing himself down your sweater and poking his head out of your neckline just to kiss you for hours to remain close were nothing.
his arms wrapped around your waist to hold you as close as possible weren't doing it for him. nor was the way his nose was nuzzled into the back of your neck— nothing at the moment could satisfy him.
and he wanted more. needed more. craved so so much more so fucking badly. he felt like if he wasn't inside of you in the next five seconds he might as well explode.
but at the same time how could he? not when you complained about how tiring your day was. not when you already felt fatigued enough to basically melt in his arms when he suggested a cuddling session, fuck and he was the one to suggest it, what was he thinking?
none of that mattered anymore. not when you were on the brink of drifting onto a deep sleep. teetering on the edge of remaining conscious completely. soft, almost unnoticeable whimpers leaving your mouth when you felt so comfortable. so satisfied and comforted in the arms of your lover, clad in his hoodie after a stressful day.
completely unaware of the dilemma jungwon was going through right behind you, unaware of the fact that he was a mere few seconds away from ripping his hair out of his scalp.
well that was until you heard him whimper.
fuck if only he remained stoic. maybe he wouldn't have nudged his raging boner against your ass. the simple friction making the noise leave his throat before he could even process it or try to swallow it down. and you for sure heard him.
he could just play it off, breathing in deeply and ignoring the way his arms unconsciously tightened around you, he tried to speak— “won, are you okay?” shit.
“yeah! i'm fine just— a cramp. yeah i just got a cramp in my leg.” chuckling next to your ear he 'played it off’, trying to not catch your attention further with the way he moved his hips further away from yours. pushing his lower half away from your body in hopes of saving himself from the embarrassment and humiliation of getting hard from cuddling.
“are you sure, baby?” you questioned, clearly not buying his lame excuse. i mean come on, you knew him better than anyone there was no way a simple cramp in the leg would make yang jungwon, your unreasonably strong boyfriend whimper. not when he's suffered through an entire sore body after a long fucking session with you that lasted an entire night (and morning) and didn't even complain one bit.
a cramp in the leg? had him whimpering like a whiny boy behind you?
“yeah, doll. don't worry about it— fuck!” him blabbering on to defend himself somehow backfired instantly as you suddenly pushed your ass against him, his clothed cock coming in contact with the curve of your ass once again making him almost see stars. he cursed under his breath even more when you wiggled your hips against his. making his hardened length twitch uncontrollably in his boxers.
“you're a terrible liar.” you reached behind you, cold fingers sneaking under his shirt this time, tracing the back of your fingers against his chiseled abs. the action making him gasp in sensitivity. closing his eyes, jungwon's arms went limp around you. after neglecting his own needs for hours now he felt like his body was betraying him from the smallest sensual touch from you.
your hand then moved downwards, toying with the hem of his sweatpants, then they went lower. to palm his dick through the two thick articles of clothing. the sensation making your boyfriend behind you gulp. his eyes closing unknowingly as his hips jerked forward into your touch. “touch me, doll. please.” he breathed shakily into your ear before biting the shell of it needily.
you then pushed your hand below his sweatpants, hand squeezing around his throbbing cock to relief him quickly, you could feel the dampening spot of his precum right under your palm while jungwon nuzzled his face closer into the back of your neck. eyes closed and breathing heavy as he felt his body becoming lit ablaze with heat.
“right here, princess.” he moved his shaking hand towards your own, bringing yours inside of his boxers to finally feel your cold fingers around his raging dick. pulsing warm precum that webbed between your fingers while you squeezed and stroked him. “like this baby?” turning your head towards him to whisper the words which had him groaning your name against your skin.
it was so fun to see him so needy like this. so desperate and so turned on. you could tell there was not a singular coherent thought in his mind other than his hard cock and how wet your pretty pussy must be by now. the urge to fuck you against the mattress of your bed building up inside him further. he needed you so bad.
and though you were teasing him by brushing your fingers against his sensitive tip harshly, or with the way your hands suddenly tightened around his length before loosening, you were no different from him. but you pushed the feeling of the pooling wetness in your sticky panties to the back of your head. ignoring your need for the time being just to rile up your cute boyfriend further.
jungwon who usually was in control, so collected and loving in heated moments was whimpering behind you as you palmed his weeping cock. you weren't going to let go of this opportunity so quickly.
“feels good, baby?” you whispered, pressing your ass further against the base of his cock while your hand stroked his tip. the sensation of your movements had jungwon's eyes rolling to the back of his head. nodding along dumbly to your words as his hips jerked more into your hand.
he felt the way his climax was building up in his abdomen, the feeling making his eyebrows furrow in complete pleasure before he tried to desperately push your hand away with his own weak one. not wanting to cum if it wasn't deep inside of you.
“fuck— doll, i'm close. so close. i need to be inside of you right now.” he breathed heavily, his rough voice in making the barrier of your thoughts and need disappear almost instantly. the heat in your core and throbbing of your clit suddenly seemed so overwhelming. you wanted and needed him just as badly as he did you.
with a simple and quick nod from you, jungwon's hands quickly removed both of your clothes, pushing his sweatpants along with his boxers down his legs before discarding them carelessly onto the floor then deciding to move towards your own sleeping shorts, hooking his finger under the hem after lifting himself up to litter kisses down your neck.
once he dragged your shorts and panties down, his arms moved towards your hoodie (that was his), thankful that he decided to stay shirtless today. lifting his hoodie from your body to continue his descent of kisses down your shoulders and stomach.
on usual days, jungwon would take his time to scissor you open with his fingers deep inside of your cunt and his lips wrapped around your clit for hours. but today—he couldn't do that. not when he felt his cock twitching against his abs and the leak of precum reaching his thighs.
he needed to be buried so deep inside of you this instant.
quickly laying down behind you, his arm sneaked under you to toy with your hardened nipple while the other gently lifted your leg open, pushing his hips against yours to finally allow his rock hard cock to push against your wet folds. the feeling of his tip poking against your sopping entrance had the two of your groaning in complete euphoria.
“yeah, baby? feels good?” and there he was. your teasing boyfriend who would go to extreme, unfathomable lengths just to see you begging for his touch, in tears because of his pleasure and your mind reeling because of his actions.
and who were you to deny him of any of this? not when he has you wrapped around his finger, not when he has your body twitching in sensitivity and need right under him.
“so good. so so good. please, baby. i need you so bad.” you begged him just how he likes it. voice desperate and shaky the way you knew had him losing his mind. and he fell right under your spell when he kept thrusting his hips to allow his cock to brush against your wetness.
letting the squelching sounds of your arousals combine with your needy moans. whimpers and whispers of his name fell past your lips, your hand wrapping around his own that cupped your breast, his index finger brushing against your nipple every now and then just to make you twitch in his embrace.
you were growing so desperate under his continuous teasing. his torture that made you crave him more, and right when he began to bite along your shoulder harshly you broke. tears aligning your waterline while shaky begs and mewls escaped your throat.
not able to take it anymore. you needed him so bad. your hunger for him to be so near, so close and so deep in you in every way possible increased by the second. yearning for him to be as snug and connected to you as humanly possible.
and jungwon's resolve finally dissipated, he kissed your jaw one long, tender kiss before he angled his hips against yours, letting your walls welcome him as he pushed his cock slowly inside of you.
and gosh he was so big. no matter how many times he had fucked you, his dick always had you in awe of just how perfectly thick and long it was. his raw length stretching you out so nicely. the burn between your walls felt so delicious to you as you mewled his name loudly.
his breathes altered between needy gasps and shaky groans of your name. your tightness always making him feel on edge, if he could fill you up right now he totally would. but he couldn't ruin your experience like this. not when he was so used to making you cum atleast once before even thinking of emptying his load inside of you.
jungwon knew that you were unbelievably close already. with the way your walls were practically sucking him in so tightly. the way your chest heaved in breaths heavily, his finger tips brushing against your chest and ribs whenever you inhaled in too deeply just to control yourself. yet none of it was working. not when your boyfriend began to thrust himself in so slowly and deeply. allowing you to feel every single vein aligning his cock.
being the tease he is, he decided to push you even further towards the edge. his hand that fondled with your tit now moved down, brushing against your stomach and hip sensually before it settled between your legs, jungwon then suddenly picked up the pace. pressing his palm against your lower stomach to feel the bulge of his cock so deep inside of you.
the feeling of him so close, so deeply connected to you had both of your minds reeling. slowly losing touch with reality as the only thing your brain processed was how close jungwon was to you. both emotionally and physically. he nudged your head with his own, making you turn your face towards him and letting him press his lips against yours.
the two of you now breathing each other's air. so intimately close. drowning in the other's presence and pleasure. sinking further into the euphoria that only the two of you could provide one another. “right there— oh my god.” you whispered against his lips when his middle and ring finger lowered to rub against your pulsing clit.
“fuck— jungwon..” you whimpered his name so sweetly, grinding your hips against his when he began to roll his length inside of you so deliciously, barely pulling two inches out before pressing himself deep into your welcoming cunt again. allowing the head of his cock to kiss your cervix with every thrust. "so good, doll. doing so good for me." his lips brushed against yours with every word.
skin on skin, sweat rolling down between both of your bodies as you connected and pleasured each other so sensually. your bodies becoming one, moving in sync with the purpose of chasing your high desperately. jungwon's tongue brushed against your cheek, licking up the tears you didn't even notice rolled down your eyes as your head was getting foggy with the mind numbing sensation of the tightening coil in your abdomen.
right on the brink of your orgasm with the way jungwon began to slowly pick up the pace, his fingers restless as they abused your clit. pushing you further and further on edge just so you can fall and he can capture you.
“i'm s-so close.” you sobbed against his mouth, eyes closing as the ecstasy just kept on building up and up and up. jungwon nodded to encourage you to cum, to finally unravel in his arms so he can please you more.
“yeah, baby? gonna cum for me?” breathing out heavily, his lips littering wet kisses around your jaw, he mindlessly kissed and sucked along your skin. leaving marks he couldn't even put a name on as he slowly ascended into complete intoxication on you.
minds disoriented, bodies on fire as your hearts beat in sync to chase relief. “gonna cream around my cock like a good girl, doll?”he smiled against your skin, moving his lips towards yours to quieten your sobs as you began to teeter on the edge, completely helpless as jungwon's fingers remained circling your clit, hips still pistoning against yours as the soaking wet sounds of your arousal echoed in the room.
a mix of your wetness combined with his settled in your inner thighs, making the noises sound all the more nasty as his balls smacked loudly against your entrance with every thrust. the pressure building up in your abdomen increasing intensely. in a pace you couldn't even process it but jungwon noticed of course, with the incessant tightening of your walls he quickly kissed you. shushing your sobs as he pressed himself so deep into you.
“go ahead, angel. make a mess for me.” those were the last words you heard before your ears began to ring. your body jerking and shaking between jungwon's arms as he fucked you through your orgasm, his hand that was rubbing against your clit switched to landing slaps against your wet pussy. the sensations of his tip pressed against cervix, the slaps sending jolts of electricity throughout your body while he continued to bite on your lower lip were so fucking overwhelming.
he was everywhere. you felt him everywhere, taking over your body, your soul, your mind and senses all at the same time. driving you into absolute insanity as he tightened his hold on you when you tried to push him away, slowly beginning to feel the dizzying pleasure of being intoxicated. completely high on elation and pleasure.
“j-jungwon— p-please stop-”you stuttered against him, eyes rolling into the back of your head when jungwon only kept increasing his pace, seemingly chasing his own high now. desperation evident in all of his movements as he started to act and move on pure instinct. dazed and completely out of it as he wanted nothing more than the tight coil in his abdomen to snap. his climax to finally wash over him and for him to fill you up with his seed entirely.
“i can't— fuck. i need to fill you up so badly, doll. i need you.” he whimpered against your neck, thrusts turning sloppy and uncoordinated as his cock twitched uncontrollably in your wet walls that milked and sucked him for all his worth. your fingers tightened around the sheets as you felt intense waves of pleasure cascade down your body, unable to differentiate in whether you're cumming again or you're being overstimulated. everything felt so good. everything felt too good. too overwhelming.
broken sobs and choked whispers of his name were all what your throat could produce right now. being fucked into a subspace that made you felt like you were floating and drifting through cloud nine. you felt so unbelievably good with the way jungwon kept his tip pressed so harshly against your bruised cervix, goosebumps aligning your skin as you finally felt jungwon reach the edge of his pleasure before diving in.
a broken chain of fuckfuckfuck made its way past the echoing sound of your heartbeat in your ear. you could process the way he filled you up so well. painting your walls white with his warm load, keeping himself pressed so close to you as his shaky hands tried to keep your twitching leg open, both of you reaching such an unbelievable level of delirium that left your heads aching in pleasure.
jungwon's swollen lips returned to pressing against your shoulder, his hand gently and carefully lowering your leg before wrapping around your waist. he looked over at you, taking in the heavenly sight of your fucked out expression. a sheen layer of sweat making you glow so brightly in his eyes.
his body was so fatigued after reaching the peak of his euphoria, the pleasure and satisfaction running through both of your veins as you laid in each other's embrace to catch your breaths. your eyes remained closed, still feeling the throbbing of his cock inside of you that made you moan his name out breathlessly.
“you alright, doll?” he chuckled softly, hand lifting up to tenderly caress your cheek, cooing when you moved your face closer to his touch, “mhm” you quietly hummed in reassurance, the waves of slumber descending down onto your quickly as you held him close to you.
your boyfriend quickly shifted your positions, turning you around gently after pulling out, he smiled endearingly when you whined at the loss of his length in you, quickly peppering you with kisses as he pushed your face into the crook of his neck just how he knew you liked it. he swiftly pushed himself back inside of you, holding you close when you murmured in satisfaction and content again, eyes shut tightly as you began to slowly drift off to a deep sleep.
“sleep well, doll.” with one final kiss to your head, you both fell into a much needed sleep.
a,note. reposted cuz i love nia ♡ + this wasn’t proofread !
that’s me, baby. (lhs)
WARNINGS: SMUT so mdni, nsfw twitter link, kisses, clit rubbing, belly bulge, neck grabbing, hair pulling, everything is consensual, cursing, making out, unprotected sex (pls don’t), proofread but i'm sorry if there's mistakes! (Imk if i missed something pls!!)
genre: smut
anon’s req: “i've thought of this alot, heeseung and belly bulges >I//<”
pairing: bf!heeseung x afab!reader
wc: 4k
the evening had settled into a comfortable rhythm as you and heeseung relaxed on the couch in his living room. you were perched on his lap, enjoying the close, intimate proximity. the conversation was light and easy, punctuated by occasional kisses that were sweet and lingering.
so, what’s the plan for the weekend? you asked, your voice teasing as you leaned in for another kiss. heeseung’s lips met yours eagerly, his hands resting gently on your hips. his touch was soft at first, but there was an underlying tension that hinted at a deeper connection.
as you continued talking, you could feel the warmth between you both intensify. heeseung’s hands began to move more deliberately, his fingers grazing your sides with a growing sense of urgency. you shifted slightly on his lap, feeling the evidence of his arousal pressing against you.
you decided to test the waters, rubbing against him in a way that felt both teasing and intentional. the reaction was immediate. heeseung’s breath hitched, and you could sense the tension in his body. a mischievous smile spread across your lips.
seems like you’re enjoying this, you said, your voice low and suggestive. you continued to shift your hips, feeling the warmth growing between you.
heeseung let out a soft groan, his eyes dark with desire. you’re soaking wet, he said, his voice rough with need. his fingers moved to your hips, guiding you closer as he tried to manage the growing urgency. i can feel how much you want this.
the acknowledgment only spurred you on. you shifted your movements to increase the contact, rubbing against him with a more deliberate intent. heeseung’s hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your clothes.
fuck, you’re so wet, heeseung muttered, his voice strained. he began to rub your clit through your clothes with a focused touch. his movements were slow and deliberate at first, each stroke designed to build the pressure and intensity.
the sensation was overwhelming. you could feel every touch as if it was magnified, and your breath grew heavier with each passing moment. heeseung’s fingers worked in a steady rhythm, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp and moan.
does that feel good? he asked, his voice a mix of anticipation and desire. his eyes were fixed on your face, watching every reaction as he continued his ministrations.
yes, you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. it feels incredible. you arched your back slightly, pushing into his touch as your body responded to his skilled fingers.
heeseung’s touch grew more insistent, his fingers rubbing your clit in a way that made the pleasure build slowly but intensely. the moment stretched on, the sensation of his fingers combined with the heat between you creating a prolonged, intoxicating experience.
don’t stop, please. you could feel the pressure mounting, your body trembling as you approached the edge. the slow, deliberate pace of his touch made every moment feel like it was stretched out, heightening the anticipation and desire.
come on, heeseung murmured, his voice a low, encouraging whisper. cum for me.
the combination of his touch and his words was too much to resist. you felt your body shudder as the climax hit you, waves of pleasure crashing over you with an intensity that left you gasping. heeseung continued to rub you through your release, his touch steady and guiding.
after the waves of your climax had subsided, you rested your head against heeseung’s neck, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breath as you tried to steady yourself. the aftershocks of pleasure still made your body tremble slightly, and the intimate contact between you both was both comforting and exhilarating.
heeseung’s hands were still on your hips, but his touch had softened to a tender caress. he could feel the dampness of your panties against his lap, and a satisfied smile curved his lips. he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, you did so well.
you managed a weak, contented smile, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. thank you, you murmured, your voice still breathless. that feels so good...
heeseung’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. i’m glad you think so, he said softly. but i want to continue this somewhere a bit more private. his voice was filled with a mix of tenderness and desire, and you could sense the anticipation in his tone.
before you could respond, heeseung effortlessly lifted you into his arms in a bridal carry. his grip was strong and secure, and you felt a sense of safety and closeness as he held you against him. you nestled into his embrace, your head resting on his shoulder.
let’s do this upstairs, he said, his voice low and filled with promise. i want to make sure you’re completely taken care of. his words were both reassuring and electrifying, making your heart race with excitement.
heeseung carried you up the stairs with a gentle but purposeful stride, his arms keeping you close as he navigated the familiar path to his bedroom. the anticipation of what was to come next was palpable, the connection between you both growing stronger with every step.
as you reached the top of the stairs, heeseung’s lips found yours in a soft, lingering kiss, a final reassurance of his affection before the more intense exploration of your desire continued. the promise of the night ahead hung in the air, and you couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.
as you entered his bedroom, heeseung gently set you down on the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on yours with a deep, dark hunger. his hands cupped your face as he leaned in for a kiss, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that contrasted with the intense desire in his gaze. the kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration that quickly deepened into something more passionate.
you responded eagerly, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. the heat between you both intensified, each kiss growing more urgent as you lost yourselves in each other. heeseung’s hands roamed down to your shoulders, his touch sending shivers through your body.
with a soft, teasing smile, you began to slowly remove your clothes. you started with your blouse, your fingers deftly unbuttoning it while keeping your gaze locked with heeseung’s. each button undone revealed more of your skin, and heeseung’s eyes darkened with every inch that was exposed.
as you shrugged off the blouse, heeseung’s hands moved to your waist, his touch exploring your bare skin with a mix of reverence and eagerness. his kisses followed the path of your exposed neck, trailing down to your collarbone. each kiss was deliberate and tender, the sensation of his lips against your skin creating a delicious contrast to the heat of his breath.
you shifted slightly, giving him better access as you continued to undress. your fingers worked on the clasp of your bra, and with a practiced motion, you let it fall away. heeseung’s breath caught at the sight, his eyes tracing every curve of your body with a look of pure adoration.
heeseung’s lips found yours again, his kiss fierce and hungry as he guided you to lie back on the bed. his hands traveled down your body, his touch igniting every nerve. he took his time, savoring the feel of your skin against his, his kisses following a path from your lips to your chest, lingering on each sensitive spot.
as your panties were the next to go, you slowly slid them down your legs, heeseung’s hands helping you remove them with a careful touch. once they were discarded, he didn’t immediately dive into the next step. instead, he took a moment to appreciate the sight of you fully exposed, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and awe.
good god, you’re beautiful baby, heeseung whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion. his hands cupped your thighs, spreading them slightly as he moved between your legs. his kisses returned, this time focusing on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his lips brushing softly against the area just above your cunt.
the sensation of his lips, combined with the anticipation of what was to come, had you shivering with need. heeseung’s hands explored your body, his touch both gentle and possessive as he slowly made his way up, pausing to savor every moment. each kiss and caress built the tension, heightening the connection between you both.
finally, heeseung’s fingers traced the dampness that had already accumulated, feeling the evidence of your arousal. his touch was reverent as he began to rub your clit with a slow, deliberate motion. his kisses continued, now moving up to your neck and collarbone, his breath hot against your skin.
the pressure and pleasure from his touch were overwhelming. heeseung’s movements were steady and focused, his fingers expertly stimulating you while his kisses and murmurs of encouragement only heightened the experience. the moment stretched out, each touch and kiss adding to the intensity of the pleasure building within you.
let me know if you need anything, heeseung murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the rising waves of desire. i’m here for you.
you moaned softly in response, your body arching toward his touch as the pleasure continued to build. the combination of his fingers rubbing you, his lips on your skin, and his whispered words created a symphony of sensations that made every moment feel both intense and intimate.
the scene continued to unfold, with heeseung’s touch becoming more urgent as you both approached the peak of desire. his kisses grew more fervent, his touch more insistent, until you could no longer distinguish between the pleasure and the intensity of your connection. the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of desire and affection.
as heeseung’s fingers continued to work their magic on your clit, the pleasure began to build to an overwhelming crescendo. his kisses were fervent, and you could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against you. you reached down with a teasing smile, your fingers wrapping around his hard length.
heeseung let out a sharp intake of breath as your touch made contact. fuck, just like that, he groaned, his voice trembling with need.
you stroked him slowly, your hand moving up and down his shaft with a deliberate rhythm. you’re so hard hee, you whispered, your voice sultry. i can feel how much you want this.
heeseung’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, lost in the sensation of your touch. you’re driving me insane, he admitted, his voice strained. i need to be inside you, but i wanna make you feel good first princess.
you continued to stroke him, your touch firm but gentle, teasing him as you felt the warmth of his skin. the rhythm of your hand was slow and steady, building the tension between you both. i want you inside me too, you murmured, your voice filled with a mix of desire and satisfaction.
heeseung’s breathing became more ragged, his hands gripping your hips as he tried to hold back his own urge. i don’t think i can wait any longer, he said, his voice a low rumble of need.
with a final, deliberate stroke, you released him, your hand sliding away as heeseung repositioned himself. he guided his tip to your entrance, the anticipation making both of you tremble. he took a moment to savor the closeness, his fingers brushing against your skin as he leaned in for a heated kiss.
ready? he asked, his voice a low growl.
you nodded, your body aching with anticipation, i’m ready, you whispered, your voice trembling with excitement.
heeseung pushed into you slowly, the sensation of him filling you inch by inch causing you to gasp. each thrust was deep and deliberate, his eyes locked with yours as he filled you completely. the connection between you both was intense, the fullness of him inside you creating waves of pleasure that made your body shiver.
heeseung’s hands tightened on your hips as he began to move, his thrusts steady and purposeful. his breaths were heavy and erratic, the pleasure overwhelming both of you as you adjusted to the new depth of connection.
heeseung’s grip on your thigh tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh with a possessive intensity that left you breathless. the roughness of his touch sent a thrill through you, making you crave more, and he used that grip to angle your hips just right, allowing him to sink even deeper inside you. the sensation was overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and fullness that made you feel like you were on the edge of something dangerous and exhilarating.
fuck, i can feel how tight you are, heeseung growled, his voice rough and filled with need. he pulled back slightly, only to drive back into you with deliberate force, each thrust making your entire body jolt with the impact. the pace was slow at first, almost torturous in its precision, as if he was determined to make you feel every inch of him.
your hands, needing something to hold on to, instinctively reached up to grip his hair, pulling him closer as you tried to steady yourself against the onslaught of sensations. the softness of his hair between your fingers was a stark contrast to the roughness of his movements, grounding you as he pushed you closer to the edge.
heeseung leaned down, his lips just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. do you feel that? he whispered, his voice thick with lust, each word sending a shiver down your spine. he took your hand and guided it to your belly, pressing it firmly against the bulge he was creating with each deep thrust. that’s me, baby. i’m all the way inside you, he said, his tone possessive and dark, his eyes watching your every reaction with a mix of pride and desire.
your fingers trembled as you felt the hard outline of him through your skin, you took a look at your belly seeing him move inside you, and the reality of how deep he was inside you making your mind spin. your grip on his hair tightened, pulling him even closer, as if the physical connection could somehow anchor you in the overwhelming sea of sensations.
heeseung, b-big! you gasped, your voice a desperate plea, almost disbelieving of the intensity of the sensation. it was like nothing you’d ever felt before—the sheer fullness, the way he was stretching you to your limits. your words were cut off as heeseung thrust into you harder, his movements no longer slow and controlled but rough and unrelenting. each thrust forced the air from your lungs, the intensity building as he picked up the pace, his control fraying with every moment that passed.
yeah, that’s right, he murmured, his voice low and dark, lips brushing against your ear. i’m right here, baby. i want you to feel me everywhere. he was relentless now, each thrust making that bulge in your belly more pronounced, more impossible to ignore. your breath caught in your throat, your fingers twisting in his hair as you tried to anchor yourself in the storm of sensations.
heeseung suddenly lowered his head, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck. he sucked hard, leaving a mark as his teeth scraped lightly against your skin, moaning against your skin, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. he moved down to your collarbone, his lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you wild, before moving lower, sucking on the soft flesh of your breasts, leaving a trail of bruised kisses in his wake.
it’s so deep, you whispered, your voice shaky, filled with a mix of awe and desperation. the way he was filling you, the way he was forcing your body to accommodate every inch of him—it was almost too much, and yet you craved more, wanting him to push you even further. your back arched off the bed, your body straining toward him, needing more of his touch, more of his lips on your skin.
heeseung’s eyes darkened with even more desire at your words, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. you love it, don’t you? feeling me this deep, knowing that i’m filling you up completely. his tone was rough, his words tinged with pride and possessiveness, like he was reveling in the way your body was responding to him.
your only response was a whimper, the sound escaping your lips as your body tightened around him involuntarily. the way he was speaking to you, the roughness in his voice combined with the sheer physical sensation, sent you spiraling closer to the edge. heeseung felt you clench around him and groaned, his hips stuttering for just a moment before he regained his rhythm, thrusting into you harder, deeper.
fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight, he groaned, his voice strained as he struggled to maintain control. his free hand slid up your body, his fingers wrapping around your throat lightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, to remind you of the power he had over you in this moment. your grip on his hair loosened slightly, your focus shifting to the feeling of his hand on your throat, the way it made your pulse quicken, your breath hitch in your throat.
look at me, he commanded, his voice dark and dripping with lust. i want to see your face when i make you fucking cum on my cock. the authority in his tone left no room for hesitation, and you forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. the look in his eyes sent a jolt of desire through you, making your body tighten even more around him. your hands slid down from his hair to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as you tried to hold on to something solid, something real.
heeseung’s grip on your throat tightened slightly, his thumb brushing against your jaw as he thrusts into you with a brutal rhythm. each movement was rough, almost punishing in its intensity, but the way he was watching you—like he was drinking in every reaction, every moan, every gasp—made it clear that he was savoring this moment just as much as you were.
fuck, so so tight, he groaned again, his voice rough and filled with a desperate need. you feel so fucking good, baby. i can’t get enough of you.
heeseung, please, you whimper, your voice a desperate plea as the pressure inside you builds to an almost unbearable level. the way he was thrusting into you, the way his hand was still pressing yours against that bulge in your belly—it was all too much, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge of release. your hands instinctively tightened on his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to hold on, needing something to anchor you amidst the storm of sensations.
please what? he growled, his grip on your throat tightening just slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watched you struggle to find the words. you want to come? is that it?
you nodded frantically, your eyes pleading with him as your body trembled beneath his relentless pace. yes, please, i need to— you tried to say, but your words were cut off by a sharp intake of breath as he slammed into you harder, his thrusts rough and unrelenting, each one making that bulge in your belly more pronounced. your hands slipped from his shoulders and grabbed at his arms, your fingers digging into his skin as you held on for dear life, needing something to ground yourself in the overwhelming pleasure.
you can’t even talk, can you? hmm? heeseung chuckled darkly, but there was a breath less quality to his voice, a sign that he was just as affected as you were by the intensity of the moment. you’re so fucking full of me that you can’t think straight.
you could only moan in response, your mind too foggy with pleasure to form coherent thoughts. the sensation of his hand guiding yours over your swollen abdomen, combined with the roughness of his thrusts, drove you closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with the need for release. your grip on his arms tightened, your fingers digging into his skin as you held on for dear life, feeling like you were on the brink of something explosive.
heeseung’s free hand moved to grip your thigh again, pulling you even closer, his pace relentless. i want you to feel me everywhere, he growled, his voice low and filled with a dark desire. i want you to remember this, how fucking deep i am inside you, how you’re mine.
heeseung, you gasped, your voice a desperate plea as your body tightened around him, the pressure building to an unbearable level. the intensity of his movements, the roughness in his voice, the way he was making you feel so completely filled—it all sent you spiraling toward the edge. your hands slipped from his arms to his back, your fingers digging into his skin as you held on to him, needing to feel him, to know that he was real, that this moment was real.
cum for me, baby, heeseung muttered against your lips, his voice rough and commanding. i want to feel you creaming all over my cock. his words were the final push you needed, your body arching beneath him as you cried out, the pleasure crashing over you in waves, each one stronger than the last. your hands tightened on his back, your fingers clutching at his skin as you held on for dear life, feeling the intensity of your release, the way it made you shudder and gasp for breath.
heeseung groaned loudly as he felt you tighten around him, his own release following closely behind yours. f-fucking hell…! this feels so— he thrust into you one final time, burying himself as deep as possible as he spilled inside you. the sensation of him filling you completely, combined with the sight of the bulge in your belly, made your orgasm last even longer, your body shaking with the force of it.
as you both came down from your highs, heeseung’s movements slowed, his touch becoming gentler. his hand remained on your belly, tracing the outline of the bulge with his fingers as he pressed soft kisses to your forehead. the contrast between his roughness moments before and the tenderness now only made the intimacy between you more intense.
you did so good, baby, he whispered, his voice filled with affection as he stroked your skin. you’re amazing. his words were soft, but there was a warmth in them that made your heart swell, the emotional connection between you two just as strong as the physical one.
you were too exhausted to respond, your body limp beneath him as you tried to catch your breath. heeseung noticed and smiled softly, his hand moving to cup your face as he leaned in for a tender kiss. the kiss was slow and sweet, a stark contrast to the intensity of what you’d just shared, but it felt perfect, a soothing balm after the storm.
rest now, he murmured, his voice gentle as he pulled you close, his body still connected to yours. i’m not going anywhere. his words were a promise, a reassurance that he was here, that he was yours, and that he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
the two of you lay there, tangled together, your bodies still connected as you caught your breath. the room was filled with the soft sound of your breathing, a comforting reminder of the intense connection you shared, both physically and emotionally.
© yvnempire 2024, do not copy, steal, remake or brand my content as yours.
anxiety - n.rk
pairing: stranger!nishimura riki x fem!reader
synopsis: you meet him on a quiet night — a stranger with sharp eyes and a colder edge, nothing like anyone in your sleepy suburb. he won’t talk, barely looks at you, but something about him lingers. maybe you’re just curious. or maybe you’ve seen him before.
featuring: ni-ki & jake of enhypen
genre: childhood friends to lovers, a sprinkle of angst, smut, skinship, kissing, etc.
warnings: smut (18+), difficult relationships with parents, love at first sight lowk, vulnerability, themes of implied watching (not rlly stalking) but it isn't graphic, riki smokes cigs, uhhh i think that's it?? lowercase intended heh
playlist: anxiety by doechii, clarity by zedd & sacrifice by enhypen
(smut warnings under cut)
wc: 9.120k
a/n: this is way longer than i expected but it came to me in a dream... enjoy! also i'm gonna start a perm taglist! comment on any of my fics or send an ask to be added! <3
smut content: riki's PACKING, they cum in their pants lol, dry humping, deepthroating kinda, backshots LMAO, missionary, dom!riki x sub!reader, degradation & praise kinks, creampie, like SO MUCH cum... n e ways! fluffy aftercare, unprotected sex (wrap b4 you tap), tit fucking, oral (m. receiving), choking, everything is consensual, riki and reader are both so down bad for each other... lmk if i missed anything :3
(not proofread)
-ˏˋ⋆ 7 months ago ⋆ˊˎ-
it was raining the day you first felt it — that creeping sensation at the back of your neck, like invisible fingers brushing against your skin.
not a storm, not anything dramatic. just that kind of soft, cold drizzle that seeped into your clothes and made the world feel like it was holding its breath. gray sky melted into gray pavement, the horizon smeared like a half-finished painting. you were standing under the chipped awning of the old bakery on the corner, the scent of yeast and sugar mixing with the rain, waiting for your usual thursday pastry that was always slightly overbaked but comfortingly warm.
you remember scrolling through your phone, aimlessly, as your friend, jake, rambled beside you about something he saw on tv. you weren't listening. you were too aware of the feeling — that hum beneath your skin. subtle but unshakable.
“there’s someone watching me,” you’d said earlier that morning, trying to brush it off with a laugh as you stirred milk into your coffee. “it’s my anxiety.” jake didn’t look up from his phone. “or maybe you’re watching yourself spiral.”
you’d rolled your eyes. maybe he was right. midterms were looming, you hadn’t slept in days, and your brain felt like it was being slowly pulled apart by rubber bands. but still. the feeling didn’t go away.
it got worse.
you’d been fidgeting, switching the weight on your feet, chewing the inside of your cheek. and then, like something calling your name without a sound, your eyes had drifted across the street.
that’s when you saw him.
a boy. or maybe a man — it was hard to tell, the rain blurred everything. tall, impossibly still, wearing a black hoodie that clung to his shoulders. he wasn’t under any kind of shelter. he stood alone, soaked to the bone, his face half-hidden by the hood, his gaze fixed. not on the road. not on the buildings. but on you.
you stared. you didn’t recognize him. not really. and yet something deep in your chest stirred like a memory. like a name you almost remembered. like a dream you’d had once and forgotten by morning.
you glanced down for a second — a message lighting up your screen.
when you looked up, he was gone.
no footsteps. no splash. just… gone.
you never told jake. what would you say? you didn’t even know what you’d seen. maybe nothing at all.
maybe your anxiety really was watching you. maybe it had grown arms and legs and a face hidden under a rain-soaked hood. maybe it had always been there, just waiting for the right day to show itself.
either way, it started then.
and it never really stopped.
-ˏˋ⋆ present day ⋆ˊˎ-
the hallway is too quiet for a friday night.
you shuffle down the corridor with a tied-up trash bag swinging limply at your side, socks stuffed in your duck slippers, slapping against the cool tile floor. the overhead light flickers once, buzzing faintly. classic.
you reach the stairwell, already bracing yourself for the sharp chill of the outside air, when you stop short.
he’s there.
leaning against the railing of the third-floor landing, hoodie pulled up over his head, cigarette dangling between his fingers — even though this is strictly a no-smoking building. he doesn’t flinch when you turn the corner. just keeps staring out at the dim skyline, face barely visible under the shadow of his hood.
you slow down, blinking.
he’s not familiar — not really. you pride yourself on knowing every face in this sleepy apartment complex, whether through polite nods in the mailroom or awkward elevator silences. but him? nothing. no name. no room number. just angles and silence.
and yet… something about him rings in your head like a half-forgotten dream.
his profile is soft, almost too pretty to be real. sharp jaw, dark lashes, bangs dipping into his eyes. he looks like he doesn’t belong here — like someone plucked him out of a bigger story and dropped him into yours by mistake.
"hey," you offer, voice casual, just above a whisper. "you new here?"
he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t answer.
awkward.
you shift the trash bag in your hands, trying again. “i live on the second floor. don’t think i’ve seen you around before.”
still nothing. just a small exhale of smoke that curls into the cold night air.
rude, you think. but not in a mean way. more like… distant. careful.
you lean against the opposite railing, letting the silence stretch for a few seconds.
"you look familiar," you say, eyes narrowing. "have we met before?"
this time, his gaze flickers. not quite to you — just past you. a twitch of recognition, maybe. or annoyance.
you can't tell.
but your brain is racing. you know him. you must. maybe in passing. maybe in a memory. maybe you’ve just seen him out here before, on the edge of your vision, existing quietly in the corners of your routine. maybe your subconscious noticed him long before you did.
he stubs out the cigarette and walks past you without a word.
you don’t move. you just watch him disappear down the hall, hoodie covered by a black jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets.
"okay then," you murmur to yourself, staring after him. and you can’t help it — the way your eyes linger on the spot he stood, heart ticking a little faster.
there’s something about him.
you just don’t know what. yet.
───
it's raining the next time you see him.
you’re standing under the overhang by the front entrance, fumbling with your umbrella, when the door swings open behind you. you glance back — and it’s him. again.
hoodie. same brown timberlands. same unreadable expression.
you swear he pauses when he sees you, just a fraction of a second. but maybe that’s in your head.
"you smoke a lot for someone living in a no-smoking building," you say without thinking, half a joke.
he doesn’t laugh. but his lips twitch, barely, like maybe he almost did.
he steps out into the rain without an umbrella.
"hey!" you call, surprised. "you're seriously just gonna walk in that?"
he doesn't stop. doesn't answer. but this time, he does glance back at you over his shoulder. eyes dark. thoughtful. like he’s trying to decide something.
“i’ve seen you before,” you say — louder, more certain now. “i just don’t remember where.”
his mouth parts, like he might say something. but then he turns and keeps walking, rain soaking into the fabric of his hoodie, blending him into the gray of the street.
and you're left standing there, umbrella unopened, heart kicking strangely against your ribs.
───
it’s quiet in the laundry room — too quiet. the kind of quiet that settles in your chest and presses down, like you’re underwater. the overhead light flickers occasionally, buzzing in protest, but no one’s bothered to fix it. you wouldn’t usually be here this late, but your sheets were stained and the smell was driving you insane. so here you are, half-past midnight, leaning against a rickety folding table, waiting.
your phone barely gets signal this far in the basement, and the wi-fi’s always spotty. it’s just you, the low groan of the washer, and your own thoughts trying to make conversation.
until the door creaks open.
you don’t jump, but your spine straightens on instinct. you don’t have to look up to know it’s him — the presence is immediate, unmistakable. that stillness in the air that follows him like a shadow. you finally glance up, and there he is. same black hoodie. same too-quiet footsteps. same face that looks like it doesn’t belong here. like it was carved into something older than this tiny suburban building.
he doesn’t say a word. just drops a bag on the floor and begins sorting laundry like it’s the most normal thing in the world. like you haven’t already seen him twice this week, always at night, always alone, always watching without watching.
“seriously?” you say, trying to keep your voice light. “do you just hang out in weird corners of this complex to freak people out?”
nothing.
he lifts a pair of dark jeans, shakes them out. you watch his fingers. they're pale. long. too clean for someone who lives in this building. you’ve lived here your whole life and never seen him before last week — and yet...
he feels familiar.
“okay,” you continue, stepping off the table now. the room feels colder suddenly. “do you live here? or are you like... a freak with laundry privileges?”
still nothing. you laugh under your breath, but it sounds too loud in the silence. your heartbeat starts to climb your throat.
then he says it. quiet. low.
“you used to wait outside the bakery every thursday. same dark purple coat. hair in a slick bun. you never looked both ways when you crossed the street.”
the words stop you cold.
“what?” you ask, your voice barely audible.
he still doesn’t look at you. he presses a button on the washer. it whirs to life.
“i remember,” he says simply.
and then he walks out.
no explanation. no glance back. just leaves you standing there, spine prickling, air thick with something you can’t name.
you don’t move for a long time. the washer keeps spinning. and somewhere in the back of your mind, a door creaks open — something old, something buried. you know that voice. you know it.
but from where?
and why now?
───
you see him again the next week.
it’s late. everything always is these days. late nights, late thoughts, late feelings that come crawling out of places you’ve spent years trying to bury.
he’s there again by the mailboxes, half-shrouded in the dim glow of the overhead light. same hoodie, same stillness. like he’s always belonged to the dark. like the world moves around him, but never through him.
you don’t say anything this time. just glance at him, let your eyes linger a little too long. the silence stretches like fog between you, thick and almost heavy.
when you get back to your apartment, you sit on the floor of your room, knees to your chest, staring at nothing. trying to remember.
because it’s not just déjà vu. it’s more insistent than that. it’s something sharper. something that presses at the edges of your mind like a dull knife.
you know him.
or—at least, you’ve seen him before. not in this life maybe, but in another version of it. in a hallway, maybe. in a photograph. in a moment you never thought would matter until it does.
you try to pull it apart, memory by memory. but your brain is tired and tangled, the way it always is when you think too hard about the past. especially your own.
your mom used to say you were dramatic. that you let small things become monsters under the bed. “don’t be so sensitive,” she’d snap, when you cried over things she didn’t understand. “you make everything so hard for yourself.”
your dad never said much at all.
they were loud in the wrong ways. silent in the ones that mattered. and you learned early how to turn your feelings into puzzles with missing pieces — complex enough to keep you distracted, but unsolvable enough to stop you from ever really facing them.
and yet, riki… there’s something about him that pulls at those missing pieces. like maybe he was one of them. like maybe he slipped into your life through a crack in the wall and waited, patiently, for you to notice.
was he from your old school? a kid from your neighborhood? someone you passed in a crowd once and never forgot, even if you didn’t realize it?
you hate not knowing. hate how it makes you feel like a child again — helpless and unsettled. desperate for answers no one’s willing to give.
maybe that’s what this really is. not fear. not obsession. just the ache of a memory that refuses to resurface.
he’s a question mark in human form. and you’ve never been good with uncertainty.
you don’t see him again for days.
which should be a relief. it should give you space to think, to forget. but it doesn’t. it just makes everything louder. the silence, the questions, the feeling in your gut that something is watching you — or waiting.
your sleep turns thin and restless. shadows stretch too long across your walls. you start leaving your bedroom light on. just in case.
one night, you wake up at 3:12 a.m., heart racing for no reason at all. it takes a second to realize what pulled you out of sleep — a sound. something light. deliberate.
a knock?
you hold your breath. wait. nothing.
you get up anyway.
there’s no one at the door. of course not. but something catches your eye as you start to turn back — something lying just at the edge of your doormat. small. folded. a piece of paper.
you hesitate, then pick it up. it’s blank on the outside. no name. no writing. nothing.
you open it slowly.
inside, in rushed, almost messy handwriting, are six words:
“do you really not remember me?”
your throat goes tight. your first instinct is to look around, scan the hallway, check the peephole twice. there’s no one.
no sound.
just that question burning in your hands.
do you really not remember me?
your fingers shake a little as you fold it back up. your brain is moving too fast and not fast enough at the same time. and that feeling — the one that’s been gnawing at you for days — it blooms in your chest like a scream that never makes it out.
because now it’s real. now you know you aren’t imagining it. the familiarity, the tension, the way your spine goes rigid every time you see him —
he knows you.
he’s known you.
and maybe you did know him once, too. maybe you still do, buried under everything you’ve forgotten on purpose.
you think about the look in his eyes that first night. the way he never said a word. the stillness of him.
you think of the hallway. the sound that woke you. the note.
you think of how you told your friend the other day, half-laughing, half-serious: “there’s someone watching me, it’s my anxiety.”
but what if it’s more than that?
what if it’s not just in your head?
what if it’s him?
───
it hits you in the middle of folding laundry.
something about the way your fingers move. something about the light slanting in through the kitchen window. warm, but not comforting. and all at once, you’re not in your apartment anymore.
you’re in a house. someone else’s. maybe your own. there’s music playing — muffled through a closed door. a cheap stereo with tinny speakers. old j-pop, the kind that loops endlessly on cassettes. the wallpaper is peeling in one corner.
and then—
a voice. soft. younger. yours.
"why do you always hide when they come home?"
someone's sitting in the hallway. knees pulled to their chest. head down. shadows in the space between them like they’re both in different dimensions.
and then he looks up.
not the man in the stairwell. not riki, not yet. just a boy. sharp eyes, hollow cheeks, hair too long in front. there’s a cut on his lip. fading purple under his eye.
“because it’s safer,” he says.
the air warps around that line, like heat off asphalt. she wants to reach for him, wants to say something back, but the memory curls tighter around her, swallowing the end of it before she can hold on.
then it’s gone.
just like that.
you blink down at the pile of laundry in your lap, hands gone still.
your chest feels tight. throat aching, like you swallowed something heavy. the apartment feels colder than it should. that voice — his voice — still rings somewhere in your bones.
because you’ve heard it before. not recently. years ago.
and suddenly you’re thinking about your father’s anger. how he used to break things before he yelled. how sometimes he didn’t yell at all. how the silence always scared you more. how you stopped inviting friends over after age ten. how there was one boy you let in. once.
his name—
you press the heel of your palm to her forehead, hard, like you can shake it loose.
it won’t come. not yet.
but the shape of it is there, curling at the edges of a memory like smoke. and the boy with the bruised mouth and quiet eyes — he's not a stranger.
not even close.
later that night, you can't sleep.
there's a weight on your chest that won’t lift no matter how you shift under the sheets. it’s not insomnia — it’s memory. something clawing at the back of your skull, begging to be seen.
so you get up.
the air in the apartment is too still. even the hum of the fridge feels distant. you don't bother with the lights. just moving barefoot and slow, like any noise might scare the truth away.
the closet in the hallway creaks when you open it. you kneel. pushing past shoeboxes, tangled cords, the mess of forgotten things. until your hand hits the one you’re looking for.
a red box. scuffed corners. cheap velvet peeled at the edges. inside: scraps of a childhood. yours.
old keychains, broken friendship bracelets, polaroids faded to brown. concert tickets. a snow globe from sapporo. and then—
a photograph.
creased down the center. color bleeding with age. a summer day, maybe. you’re younger. seven or eight. awkward teeth, sunburnt nose, some awful haircut her mother swore looked cute. and beside you —
a boy.
not smiling. just… there. close, but not touching. eyes dark and watchful even then.
and it’s him.
riki.
only it wasn’t his name back then, was it? he went by ni-ki.
your breath catches. you sit back on your heels, heart thudding in your ears.
how could you forget? they lived on the same street. just four houses down. his mom used to walk him to school until she didn’t anymore. and then he stopped coming altogether.
after that, he vanished. until now.
until the stairwell. until the way he didn’t speak but looked at her like he knew everything.
you swallow the sick twist in your stomach. the sudden, sharp cold shivering down your spine.
why was he back?
and why you?
you leave the photo on the kitchen island.
maybe it’s careless, maybe even stupid, but you tell yourself it’ll make more sense in the morning. you’ll wake up, look at it with clearer eyes, and it won’t feel like your chest is caving in. besides, you live alone. and it’s just a photo.
just a photo.
you drag yourself to the couch, the blanket scratchy against your legs, exhaustion curling into your limbs like smoke. you fall asleep fast — but it’s the wrong kind of sleep. thick, dreamless, heavy with something you can’t name. a noise pulls at you. a door. or a voice. or your own heart cracking open.
you wake up just as the first light creeps through the windows. your mouth is dry. your tongue tastes like copper.
something is off.
you walk into the kitchen, still half in a fog—and stop.
the photo is gone.
you freeze, staring at the empty spot where it had been, your thoughts moving too fast and too slow all at once. the red box is still there. untouched. the lid sitting open like a mouth waiting to swallow more. you check the floor. under the fridge. between papers. nothing.
no one could’ve taken it.
the door was locked. the windows haven’t budged. you were here. you were alone.
a chill slides down your spine, sharp and crawling. you think of him again. the way he looked at you in the stairwell. not confused. not curious.
just watching.
like he already knew what you would find.
your breath catches. you don’t even realize you’ve backed up until your shoulder hits the wall.
you don’t understand what’s happening, but something is— and it’s closing in.
the silence hums in your ears. the wind slips against the glass like breath. and then you see it.
something on the kitchen table.
not the photo. but something folded.
small. white. placed exactly where the photo had been.
your name is written on the front.
in handwriting you almost recognize.
you stare at the folded paper like it might burn through the table. your name, in soft, slanted letters—almost familiar, like a half-remembered dream. the kind you wake up from with your chest tight and eyes wet, but can’t explain to anyone without sounding insane.
your fingers hesitate.
you don’t want to touch it. you want to burn it. you want to leave the apartment and never come back.
but your hand moves anyway, like it isn’t yours. like you’re being pulled by something older than memory.
the paper is heavier than it looks. the kind of paper someone saves. the kind that lives in boxes under beds, waiting to be found.
you unfold it slowly. deliberately.
the first line makes your stomach drop:
“you used to laugh with your whole face.”
your throat tightens. your vision blurs at the edges. you keep reading.
“i remember when you were afraid of thunderstorms. you’d hide under the table with that stuffed bear. the one with the missing eye.”
you sink into the nearest chair. it creaks beneath you. your heartbeat pounds in your ears like thunder.
how does he know that?
no one remembers that.
not even your mother—too busy fighting shadows of men who never stayed long enough to learn your name.
you blink hard, trying to push away the sting in your eyes. your hand shakes as you reach the last line:
“it’s okay if you don’t remember me. i remember you.”
the note isn’t signed.
but you already know who it’s from.
and you’re not sure if that makes it better… or so much worse.
you find yourself standing at the corner of the street, unsure of where to go or how to breathe. the note is heavy in your hand, the words on it are still too real. still too impossible to wrap your mind around.
but you can’t ignore it anymore. you’ve been running from something, running from the truth, but it’s all catching up with you. and it starts with one thing—one person—who might just hold the answers.
you text jake. i need to talk to you.
he replies almost immediately: come over. i’ll make coffee.
you don’t hesitate. your body moves before your brain can catch up.
jake’s apartment smells like coffee, like books, and like something homey you can’t quite place. you’ve always liked it here—quiet, safe, with jake’s easy smile and the way he always listens like he doesn’t have a million things on his plate.
but today, when he opens the door, his smile falters. his eyes linger on the note in your hand before he invites you in.
“what’s going on?” he asks, his voice soft. “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“worse,” you murmur, sitting down at the kitchen table. “riki. the guy from my apartment building. the one i’ve been thinking about.”
jake’s face changes. his usual calm demeanor cracks for a split second, but it’s enough. enough to make you sit up straighter, enough to make your heart skip a beat.
“what do you mean, the guy you’ve been thinking about?” he asks carefully. “y/n, you’ve been telling me you’ve never met him before. he’s just some weird guy who shows up at random times. are you sure you’re okay?”
you hesitate. the note is still in your hand. you want to show it to him, but something holds you back. you can’t explain this to him without sounding insane.
“he knows things, jake. about me. about my childhood. stuff no one would know.” you pause, swallowing hard. “it’s like he’s been... watching me.”
the silence in the room thickens. jake stands still, his hands gripping the edge of the table. you can feel his mind working through it, piecing things together. finally, he exhales sharply.
“you know who he is, don’t you?” jake’s voice cracks just a little, and you hate that you can hear it.
“he’s riki,” you whisper. “i know it.”
jake looks like he’s just seen a ghost too. but it’s worse than that. it’s betrayal, old wounds you never knew were still there.
“how do you know him?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
jake runs a hand through his hair, his face tight with something you can’t read. "riki... he was my best friend back home. we were inseparable when we were kids, after he randomly showed up one day. before everything in his home town happened. before he disappeared from there."
you lean forward, your heart racing. "why did he disappear?"
jake looks away, his eyes shadowed with memories. "riki got tangled up in some bad stuff, y/n. things that don’t go away, things that ruin people. he got in with the wrong crowd—gangs, debts, all kinds of shit. he disappeared from there too and... no one ever really knew what happened. but the rumors started. they said he ran. he left everything behind."
your throat tightens. “but... he didn’t.”
jake’s gaze is heavy, dark. “no. he didn’t. he’s been trying to stay hidden ever since. but some ghosts don’t stay buried, y/n.”
your chest tightens. you’ve been living in the shadow of something you can’t even remember fully. and now it’s back.
───
later that night, you find yourself standing in front of riki’s door, your heart hammering in your chest. you knock once, twice, and wait.
the door opens slowly, and riki stands there, eyes wide, almost guilty. he looks different in the light, darker somehow, worn and tired. but the same fire is still there. it’s still riki.
“you know, don’t you?” he says, his voice tight, like he’s holding something back.
you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “you disappeared. you ran. kept running. and i don’t understand why.”
riki’s eyes flicker with something—pain, maybe. “it’s not that simple. there’s things you don’t know, things i can’t tell you.”
you step closer, ignoring the hesitation in your chest. “i need to know, riki. everything. i need you to tell me.”
his jaw clenches. but then he opens the door wider, his shoulders slumping as he gestures for you to come inside.
you step into his dimly lit apartment, your heart racing. the room feels charged with something unspoken, like the air is holding its breath.
“i didn’t want you to get involved in all of this,” riki says, his voice raw. “but now that you know, i can’t just leave you hanging.”
you take a step forward, your hand trembling as you reach for him, the tension between you unbearable. “you’re not alone in this anymore, riki. i’m here.”
he looks at you, eyes haunted, like he’s trying to decide if he can trust you. then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.
you freeze for a second, the intensity of it taking you by surprise. but then your body reacts, pulling him closer, kissing him back with everything you’ve been holding in. it’s messy, desperate, like neither of you knows what’s happening but can’t stop it.
his hands are everywhere—on your waist, your back, your neck—like he’s trying to memorize you, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
your heart is racing, your body pressed against his, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s on fire.
riki pulls back, his breathing shallow, his forehead resting against yours. the tension between you two is still there, but it's different now — softer, like a thread connecting you in a way neither of you can fully explain.
"y/n," he says, his voice low but intense, trembling slightly. "there are things i never wanted to tell you, things i couldn't bear to say. i thought it would be easier to push you away, to make you hate me before you found out... but i can't do it anymore. i can't keep lying to myself."
you step back a little, your chest tightening as you watch him. his eyes are full of so many emotions—regret, pain, love—but it’s the last one that makes your heart ache with something you didn’t expect.
"i’ve been in this dark place for so long, y/n. i never thought i could get out of it. i pushed everyone away, especially you, because i knew if i let you in, you’d see the mess i am... but you’re the only one who’s ever mattered. i’ve always known it, even when i was too afraid to admit it. i love you."
his words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable. and you feel something inside of you break wide open—something you’ve been trying so hard to protect, trying to hide.
“i’ve always loved you,” riki continues, his voice softer now, almost like he’s confessing a secret that’s been buried for too long. “even when i tried to run from it, even when i tried to push you away... you were always the one. always.”
you can barely find your voice, overwhelmed by the tenderness in his words. "riki, i—"
but he shakes his head, cutting you off gently. "no, listen. i know i’ve hurt you. i know i’ve been distant, but everything i did... i did it because i was scared. scared of losing you. scared of what you’d think of me if you knew everything. but i can’t hide anymore. not from you. i’ve never stopped loving you. not even for a second.”
tears sting the back of your eyes, but you blink them away, letting his confession settle inside you. your heart feels too full, too full of emotions you don’t know how to contain. you take a deep breath, your voice trembling when you finally speak.
“i’m not going anywhere, riki,” you whisper, the words catching in your throat. “i never was. i don’t care about the past... i don’t care about what happened before. i care about you. i’ve always cared about you.”
for a moment, neither of you moves. the world feels so quiet, like everything has stopped, and it’s just the two of you in this space—this moment where everything you’ve both been hiding finally comes to light.
riki steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face, his thumbs brushing over your skin. his eyes are soft now, almost like he’s memorizing every detail of you, like he never wants to forget this moment.
“can i kiss you again?” he asks, his voice so soft, so unsure. it’s like he’s asking for permission, like he’s afraid of making the wrong move.
you nod, your breath catching in your throat. “please,” you whisper.
and then, his lips are on yours, gentle but urgent, like everything he’s held inside of him is pouring into this kiss. his hands slide to your back, pulling you closer, and you melt into him. you kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding onto, everything you’ve been feeling but never knew how to say.
when you pull back, both of you breathless, riki presses his forehead to yours, his hands resting gently on your hips. his eyes are full of that same tenderness, that same love that’s been there all along.
“i love you, y/n,” he whispers again, this time with more certainty, more peace. “and i always will. no matter what.”
and in that moment, you know, without a doubt, that everything—every question, every fear, every hesitation—has been worth it. because now, in this space, with him, everything feels right.
“i love you too, riki,” you say softly, the words more sure now. “i always will.”
and the kiss that follows is more than just passion—it’s a promise.
he breaks the kiss and leads you to his bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed. he pulls you onto his lap and crashes his lips against yours once again.
but this kiss, it’s different than the others.
it’s hot. fiery. desperate.
his tongue bullies its way into your mouth, fighting for dominance which you happily give him. as you continue making out, he becomes increasingly handsy. they fly from your jaw, to your shoulder blades, sliding down to rest on your ass. he grips your clothed flesh with desire.
and that's when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness settled between his legs. pressed against your burning hot core.
you gasped into his lips and he swallowed it up eagerly.
he rolled your hips down onto his crotch, seeking friction to ease his hard on. groaning into the kiss, he broke it, tilting his head back.
you carefully observed how his adam’s apple bobbed each time he swallowed, your self control fading into nothing. reaching out to grab his neck, you lightly apply pressure as you leave sloppy, wet kisses all over his jaw. your eyes drop to his collarbones, noticing his hoodie getting in the way.
you shift in his lap, knees sinking further into his bed as your hands find his shoulders for balance. riki looks up at you, eyes half-lidded, lips parted slightly like he’s caught between breath and want. his hoodie is bunched up from where your fingers had tugged at the hem earlier, and when you reach for it again, he doesn’t stop you.
you pull it over his head slowly, your fingers grazing warm skin as the fabric slides up and off. beneath it, he’s wearing a black tank top that clings to him in all the right places—soft cotton stretched over lean muscle, tracing the shape of his chest and the dip of his waist.
his collarbones catch the low light of the room, sharp and defined, leading down to the elegant curve of his neck. you can see the slight rise and fall of it as he swallows, your gaze drifting lower to the sculpted line of his biceps, muscles flexing subtly under your weight, like he’s holding back.
he looks devastating like this—relaxed and bare in a way that feels forbidden, like you’re seeing something no one else is allowed to.
"you’re staring," he says quietly, a flicker of amusement in his voice, but there's a softness to it too, like he doesn’t mind being seen this way. like he wants you to look.
you smile, brushing your fingers across his shoulder, down his arm, feeling the strength beneath the surface. "can you blame me?"
he laughs under his breath, hands settling at your hips, warm and steady. "not really."
you lean in closer, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, right where it meets his collarbone. he shivers under your touch, and you feel it in your core—how easy it is to fall into him, how right it feels to be here like this.
you push him further on his bed, his back hitting the soft comforter, hands never leaving your hips.
he captures your lips once again in a kiss that's delicate, like he’s trying to process everything but he can’t. are you really here with him right now? his childhood best friend who he forced himself to cut contact with—but then again, did he ever really cut contact with you? he had to make sure you were okay one way or another, so he watched from the shadows. even if it meant sacrificing his greatest love. you.
as if you could sense the gears overheating in his brain, you pull away from him and stare into his familiar brown eyes. he pouts and you see a glimpse of ni-ki. the scared, eight year old who you’d give up anything to protect.
he cradles your face like you’re made of glass and whispers, “are you sure you want this, angel? because once i start… i don’t think i’ll be able to stop.”
you nod your head, but that doesn’t seem to be enough for him, “words, baby. i need words, hmm?” you bite back a flustered smile, “yeah ni-ki, i want this. you.”
he grins hearing his childhood name fall out of your soft, sweet lips and picks you up off his lap so he can rest with his back against the headboard.
settling back on his thighs, and becoming increasingly impatient, you roll your hips against his, surprising him.
he lets out a breathy moan, urging you to continue. you want to hear each of his pretty sounds.
pressing your clothed clit into the tip of his dick, he closes his eyes, biting his lip. you feel him pulsing beneath you, the thin layer of his sweats not doing much to hide his arousal.
neither of you have ever been this turned on just by kissing, heavy petting, and grinding. but neither of you dare to stop. it feels too good, like a craving you’ve subconsciously had.
riki pauses the movement of your hips, being the first one to break this careful, but familiar, tension between you two. “baby, give me a sec. i’m c-close,” he mutters.
wanting to see what he looks like when he finishes, you grin, dragging your hips down harder and slower, in a teasing manner. he groans, but with the same teasing energy, bucks his hips up into yours, allowing you to feel just how big he is—and he knows it, too. judging by your reaction, he can tell it’s been a while since you’ve both been intimate with someone else.
feeling his release closer than he’d say out loud, he takes control of your movements, speeding them up. you can feel how badly he needs this. how desperate he needs you.
the friction of his covered cock rubbing repeatedly on your sensitive clit, feels better than anything you’ve ever tried with others or yourself. you’re both panting, forehead to forehead, when everything comes crashing down. riki releases into his gray sweats, making a mess. he swears he’s never cum that hard. and your panties get increasingly sticky and uncomfortable.
basking in the aftermath of your shared orgasm, riki gently holds you by the waist, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. lots of “you did great,” “that felt so good, baby,” and a lot of whining. “i need you so bad,” “please, angel, i’ll make you feel so so good.”
who are you to deny your first and only love?
you slowly stand on wobbly legs, stripping, giving riki a show.
he gawks as you remove each item of clothing, starting with your shirt. he’s surprised you aren’t wearing a bra but when your perky tits come into his eyesight, he’s right in front of you. grabbing—licking—whatever’s closest to his mouth and hands.
feeling a bit exposed, while he’s still fully clothed, you whimper into his mouth, silently asking him to take his clothes off as well.
speeding up the process, he rips his tank top off and finally. finally. you get a glimpse of what he always hides under his baggy hoodies. sculpted by the greek gods, you nearly drool at his defined torso. reaching out to drag a hand down his abs, riki shivers at your gentle, yet burning, touch.
you back him up so he sits on his bed and slowly sink to your knees. he leans back on his palms, quiet, but watching you like a hawk. you bring a hand up to cup his bulge, not caring about the sticky stain he’s left.
he groans, low, hot, and it goes straight to your wetness, practically leaking on his floor.
with your hands gripping his waistband, you look up into his dark eyes, clouded with lust, and he nods lifting his hips. yanking his sweats down, you’re met with his hard cock, slapping his abs. “no boxers, huh?” you smugly ask, as if he anticipated this. “nah, not when i’m relaxing, sweetheart.” sweetheart. the name he called you the last day you saw him as kids.
staring at his flushed cock, you lick your lips, ready to devour the man sitting in front of you.
you start by gripping his base, your fingers not fully wrapping around him. how the fuck are you supposed to fit him inside your mouth? a problem you’ve never faced, but for riki? you’d be stupid not to choke on it.
giving his tip sweet little kitten licks, you dig your tongue into his slit, as if you were trying to drink up all his precum. “fuck,” he grunts out, hoping you didn’t discover how sensitive he was at his tip.
he thinks you didn’t, but he should really know better.
you focus all your attention on his swollen head, sucking softly and jerking off the rest of his lengthy dick. his back falls flat, resting on his bed, while he lets out a symphony of moans.
abruptly, you pull off him and when he leans up on his elbows to see why, he’s met with the sight of spit falling from your lips, landing right on his tip. then, his vision goes white.
you lean down, shoving him in your mouth, lips stretched around his girth.
you take him halfway, and the stretch alone is painful already. knowing this might be an issue, riki speaks up, “fuck, you don’t have to take all of me, this already feels so—” but you cut him off, when you sink your mouth further, his tip hitting your throat.
you swallow around him and he whimpers. he’s never felt anything like this before.
when he’s tried to hook up with girls in the past, they normally gave up after a minute of trying to unhinge their jaw to please him.
but with you? he should’ve known you’d be the one to make him proud.
noticing how surprised he is, you start bobbing your head up and down, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.
it’s messy, wet, and loud. but neither of you care. not when riki is whimpering beneath you so prettily.
his tip repeatedly slams into the back of your throat, making you gag but it just turns him on more. his thighs start to tense and he knows he’s close to his second orgasm.
feeling him twitch in your mouth, you hollow your cheeks and ignore the tears streaming down your face. only focused on his pleasure. you know exactly what will push him over the edge, so you bring your mouth up his cock, lips wrapped carefully around his tip.
swirling your tongue around it, occasionally focusing on his slit, you bring one hand up to his balls and the other to wrap around his base, applying pressure to the vein running along his shaft.
one second later, your mouth gets flooded with his sticky, hot cum. rope after rope shooting from his enlarged tip. his dick is pulsing in your mouth and his cum never ends. it’s spilling out of your mouth onto the floor, but you try and swallow everything you can, not wanting to waste even a drop.
his chest is rapidly rising and falling when you pull off of him with a pop. you wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your shirt and smile sweetly at him, acting like you didn’t just suck him so good his soul left his body.
“damn, baby, didn’t know you wanted me that bad.” he says through a smirk. “calm down nishimura, i could’ve filled up a gallon of water with how much you came,” you bite back. he just looks at your tear stained cheeks and a sense of pride swells in his chest.
while he’s lost in his thoughts, you stand up, knees bruised from his hardwood floor.
glancing between his legs, you notice he’s still hard. how much cum does he have for you? you wonder, taking off your jeans and panties in one go.
now that you’re both fully naked, riki gets up off his bed and approaches you, holding one of your hands. he spins you around, taking in your fully nude body for the first time.
noticing his staring, you open your mouth, “are you just gonna stare or fuck me?”
smoothly, he leads you to lie down on his bed, “patience, princess, be good for me while i take care of you, yeah?” oh you’re gone already.
he leans down to kiss you and your hands find his nape, gently grabbing the hair trailing down his neck.
you mistook riki for an ass guy, when his fascination with your tits makes you break the kiss. he’s sucking gently on your right nipple, his free hand finding your left boob.
moaning gently, you tip your head back into his pillow that smells like comfort, and something musky, but it’s something extremely riki. you instinctively arch into his touch, bare core desperately grinding into the air of his bedroom, desperate for friction.
he senses your neediness, bringing his stiff cock down to rub between your soaked folds. his tip catches your clit, eliciting soft whimpers from your parted lips. using your slick as lube, he lines himself up, stopping before he goes further. “condom?” he sweetly asks. you whisper, under your breath, “n-no, i’m on birth—,” however, you don’t get to answer him when you feel his tip slide into your awaiting hole.
both moaning in relief, he stays with just his tip in, preparing you for the stretch that’s about to come. you relax a bit, a signal for him to push a bit further, cutting off his action with a loud moan.
it’s better than any porn he could dream of, and he’s only about two inches in. the sheer girth of him alone makes it feel like he’s splitting you open in the best way possible.
you look down, thinking he’s halfway in, when in reality, he’s about a fourth of the way inside you. meeting his eyes, he senses your nerves, bringing a hand down to rub your sensitive bundle of nerves.
it helps distract you from the pain, allowing him to slide half way in. he groans at the sensation of your warm, wet walls, engulfing his aching cock. “baby, you gotta relax… you’re s’tight,” he drunkenly mumbles. you can only whimper in response, exhaling as you try to calm down.
once your breathing has returned to a normal state, riki slowly pushes in more, but it all comes to a halt when you wrap your legs around his torso, pulling him all the way in.
he moans, caught off guard, guessing your patience snapped like a thin wire.
as his thick length rests inside you, you can’t help but let out a string of moans, incoherently babbling about how big he feels, and how deep he’s reaching.
“f-fuck. baby, please, can—can i move?” he forces out. you hum in agreement.
he slowly pulls out until only his tip is sheathed inside your warm pussy, then pushes back in all the way. your eyes roll into the back of your head, “fuck. s—s’big, riks.” his pace steadily increases until he notices how your boobs bounce with each thrust he gives you.
he brings his head down, lips wrapping around one of the perky budd, giving you even more pleasure than you knew what to do with.
loud moans grace his ears, the only other sound being skin slapping.
his attention is dragged back to your face when one of your hands reaches for his and brings it up to your neck. his pace falters for a bit until his face contorts, realization dawning over his lust filled features. “oh? does my baby wanna be choked? dirty slut.” you nod in response.
feeling the pressure of his cold ring clad fingers wrapping around your burning flesh, you let out a sigh of relief, the tension in your tummy building at a rapid pace.
riki suddenly pulls out of you, flipping you on all fours, placing a pillow under your stomach. he drags your hips up, kneading the plumpness of your ass. he slams back into you, reaching even deeper in your guts, as he hovers over your back.
“you like feelin’ me this deep, hm?” he takes your hand and places it over the bump you feel with every thrust. your noises are muffled by his bed, which ticks him off—he wants to hear every sound that slips through your mouth. noticing that you liked things a bit rough, he pulls your hair, bringing you flush against the hardness of his chest.
he stills inside you, letting you feel every inch, twitch, and pulse. he’s holding off his orgasm for as long as he can, but he’s not sure how long he can last when you keep clenching around him.
he knows it’s unintentional, but it feels too good, he just needs a second.
you can feel him breathing down your neck when you begin to move. he tries stopping you, but to no avail, you start bouncing on his stiffened cock.
“f-fuck. gonna—cum,” he moans when he attempts to pull out. you push him back down, needing to feel him fill you up. “no. inside,” is all you can muster when he makes a sound of confusion.
slowly gaining confidence, you turn around, and flip him over so you’re on top of him.
flustered by the change in positions, riki gasps when you start to move. his hand finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles.
the band in your stomach starts building, fueling both of your desperation.
your orgasm comes crashing down in waves, pushing riki to buck his hips up, fucking you through it. “that’s it, baby, let it out. c’mon, be a good girl f’me and make a mess,” he mutters out, wanting to prolong your pleasure for as long as he can.
as you cum, your walls uncontrollably clench around his dick, making it harder for him to slide in and out. he starts to chase his own high, gently placing your head back on his pillow and picking up your legs to rest on his shoulders.
he pistons in and out of you, mind hazy, consumed with the need to cum inside of you.
groaning, he stills in your abused cunt, flooding you with the gift of his cum. each pulse, you clench around his hard cock, milking him dry.
he’s on cloud nine, feeling the way you’re taking everything he could possibly offer you.
just as he thinks he’s nearing the end of his high, you whisper in a sultry voice, “you’re still hard, riks,” which makes his skin flush a deep red. his balls tighten and somehow a couple more ropes of cum shoot into your womb. he doesn’t know what you do to him, “take it out on me, baby, i can’t imagine how pent up you must be…” and that does it for him.
wanting to try something new, he straddles your torso, pushing your plush tits together. he aligns his sensitive cock between the flesh and slowly slides through. you stick your tongue out, trying to lick his tip each time it peeks between your boobs.
his cock is nearly too thick for your tits to wrap around him, but he doesn’t care. the sight is more than enough for him to finish.
he’s already close.
the sensitivity gets to him when you begin to hold your tits together, giving him an unobstructed view of you. each time your tongue laps at his slit, he feels himself growing closer to the high he so badly craves.
what really does it for him, is when you spit between your breasts, further lubing his cock. with a low, drawn-out moan, he paints your tits and face with his cum. the sight is too much, his balls go into overdrive, pulsing out more and more ropes of his white, messy load.
your mouth hangs open, wanting to taste more of the salty substance. he thinks you’re perfect.
he collapses on top of you, feeling spent and tired. it’s only when you whine about the stickiness between your legs, on your boobs, and on your face that he gets out of bed, rushing to his bathroom.
he makes his way back over to you with a warm washcloth, and the softest touch you’ve ever felt. he gently cleans the mess he made, only now realizing how much cum he gave you.
and you took all of it. his good girl.
once he’s done wiping away his mess, he picks you up bridal style, heading back to his bathroom. to your surprise, he drew you a bath, with scented candles—lavender. he remembered your favorite.
he helps you into the tub, climbing in behind you. he shampoos your hair, conditions it, and even washes your body with such care, it brings tears to your eyes.
after many hushed whispers, he drains the bathtub, helping you dry off and get into your (his) clothes.
you both get back into his bed, snuggled against one another, riki’s embrace wrapped around you warmer than any blanket could provide.
“riki?” you whisper, afraid to shatter the delicate silence. he hums in response. “please don’t leave me again,” you say trembling, a silent tear slipping down your cheek.
he turns you to face him, “hey, hey, hey, baby, i’m right here. and i know what i did was shitty, you deserved an explanation. but. i couldn’t let you get caught up in what i was doing. it was risky, i couldn’t be what you deserve,” he croaks out, tears wetting his lashes. now it was your turn to comfort him, “oh my riki,” you cooed, cradling his face.
“you did what you had to do, but what’s important is that you’re here now. with me. okay?” you plant the softest kiss on his plump lips. “okay,” he says with a small smile.
you don’t let go. neither does he. his hands stay on your waist, tentative but needing, like he’s still trying to memorize the feel of you. your fingers linger against his jaw, your thumb brushing the damp skin beneath his eye. there’s silence between you, but it’s no longer heavy—just full. thick with everything that couldn’t be said before.
his lips brush against yours again—slower this time, deeper. like a question. and an answer. you lean in, the way you sigh into him. it’s not desperate, not rushed. it’s reverent.
when he pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath is shaky. “i missed you,” he whispers, voice barely audible. “missed you so much i forgot how to breathe without it hurting.”
you cup his face in both hands now, heart aching in the best way. “i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.”
and then you kiss him again—like a vow sealed in warmth and want. like a beginning.
reblog if u enjoyed this! and comment or send an ask to be part of my perm taglist <3
[ @jaeyuniversal ] prod. 250419
min’s tracklist
⤑ lee heeseung (이희승)
──. ♬ ݁˖ mix 1: you broke me first
⤑ park jongseong (박종성)
ׂ╰┈➤ producing mixtapes…
⤑ sim jaeyun (심재윤)
──. ♬ ݁˖ mix 1: nonsense
⤑ park sunghoon (박성훈)
ׂ╰┈➤ producing mixtapes…
⤑ kim sunoo (김선우)
ׂ╰┈➤ producing mixtapes…
⤑ yang jungwon (양정원)
ׂ╰┈➤ producing mixtapes…
⤑ nishimura riki (西村力)
──. ♬ ݁˖ mix 1: anxiety
My name is Abed.
I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔
The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war. Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚
Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty. What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️
I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍
If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support. Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨
Thank you for taking the time to listen. 🙏
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i’ll keep you in my prayers <3 sending light love and hope for better days! 🫶🏼🫶🏼
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now playing: jaeyuniversal
¡! minnie ❞
¡! any pronouns
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¡! mbti: entp-t
¡! sim jaeyun ult
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¡! slow updates (i’m a uni student…)
¡! my blog will contain fluff & suggestive content (smut)
please do not interact with my blog if you are: homophobic, racist, sexist, ableist, transphobic, etc.
My Journey to Escape the War in Gaza
My name is Abdelmajed. I never imagined I’d be sharing my story like this, but life in Gaza has become unbearable. I am a survivor of the war here, and in the blink of an eye, everything I once knew—my home, my safety, my community—was ripped away from me.
The war has transformed Gaza into a graveyard of broken dreams. The buildings that once stood as symbols of life and resilience are now piles of rubble. Every corner is filled with the echoes of explosions. Every moment is shrouded in uncertainty. There is no security. There is no stability. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
Basic needs have become luxuries. Food is scarce. Clean water is even scarcer. Hospitals are overwhelmed and under-resourced, and there is almost no medical care to be found. Every night, families go to bed hungry, praying they’ll wake up to see another day. The cost of basic necessities has skyrocketed, and it’s become a daily battle just to survive.
I’ve seen things I never thought possible—standing in long lines for a piece of bread, rationing every drop of water, and watching my people suffer in silence. I have lost everything—my home, my safety, my dignity.
Escape from Gaza is my only hope, but it’s almost impossible without financial help. The cost of evacuation is far beyond my means, and without support, I’m trapped in a warzone with no way out.
I’m reaching out to you now, in the hopes that someone, anyone, can help. I am not asking for luxury. I am asking for a chance—just a chance—to live. A chance to escape this never-ending cycle of fear, destruction, and loss. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere safe, where I can begin again, where I can find hope once more.
Any amount you can give will help me get closer to safety. Even the smallest donation will make a difference—it could be the lifeline I need to survive. If you are unable to donate, please share my story. The more people who hear it, the better the chance that I can find the support I desperately need.
Your kindness and support mean the world to me. You’re not just helping me escape a war; you’re giving me a chance to live, to rebuild, to breathe again.
Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.
Vetted by @gazavetters
#minnie — 04’ liner — they/she/he#
$ ABOUT ME $ TRACKLIST $ TAPES $
[ @jaeyuniversal ] prod. 2025
cherry pits - psh (m)
this work contains smut - minors please do not interact
pairing. dad!sunghoon x fem!reader
synopsis. Your alarmingly empty bank account forces you to find a last-minute summer job so that you can afford a trip with your friends. The extremely handsome customer that comes into the store just happens to be a young single dad who's renovating the old house next to yours. The tension that settles between the two of you as you start helping him fix up his house soon becomes unbearable, but it's all one-sided anyway, right?
(Spoiler: wrong.)
genre. DILF AUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!, neighbors au, s2l, summer au, slight age gap (reader is 21 and hoon 26), reader is so down bad over sunghoon its actually crazy but also extremely relatable cause this is sunghoon we're talking about, fluff and smut, sex gets freakyyy ngl
word count. 12.9k
a/n. hey sisters had no time to write anything this week so i am coming back (everybody boos) with a repost yayyy!!! i actually love this story idkw i just find it fun so i hope you guys will enjoy rereading / reading it !!!! as always let me know ur thoughts.. even if they're just incomprehensible screaming (bad or good).. im happy w anything ok bye!!!
You’ve always wondered about the ratio of cherry to pit. Such a big pit for so little flesh, isn’t it? Yet that’s never stopped you from biting into the small fruit, eating what you could and spitting out the unwanted part. You actually rather enjoy this whole process. Bite, eat, spit. You could repeat this with huge bowls of cherries at a time until they upset your stomach and you had to stop for your own good.
Bite, eat, spit is exactly what you’re doing when, with a trembling finger, you finally brave to open your banking app and check your balance. It’s the beginning of summer, and after two semesters of intense studying and too-much-coffee drinking, you think you deserve three long months of doing nothing but hanging out in your childhood bedroom and eating the food your parents buy and make. You’re especially looking forward to the vacation in Mexico you have planned with your friends at the end of August.
One look at your bank account and your dreams of white beaches and seas so blue you couldn’t tell them apart from the sky shatter around you, the sad, low numbers on the screen sneering at you mockingly. You were sure you had saved enough money from part-time jobs and generous relatives, but now you regret all of those night-outs and lazy takeaways. If you had cut down on those, maybe you wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of finding a summer job at the last minute, which you would definitely have to do if you wanted to eat something on that dear beach of yours and not just starve to death under the glaring sun.
That was it - tomorrow, you’d go and get a job. Today, however, you’d enjoy your last day of respite and eat some more cherries, or maybe make some jam and a pie so your parents wouldn’t chide you for eating them all, and then go pick some more from the three trees in your backyard. You’d sit outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun while you read or, if you couldn’t be asked, while you listened to the bustle of the old and worn-down house next door being renovated. You’re surprised someone had the courage to buy it and give it a new life, but you assume that’s the kind of courage that comes with having time and money.
Yesterday night, you’d heard a little girl playing outside until her mom called her in saying it was time to go, so you made up a story of your neighbors being newlyweds that had decided they’d had enough of the city and wanted to raise their daughter in a calmer town far from busy streets and loud honks. You could bring them some cherries, maybe in jam or pie form, as a housewarming gift.
Unfortunately, the day passed and you were too busy doing nothing to actually get around to baking, so you decided to do nothing some more and then go to bed, needing rest before your big job hunt.
You’d gravely overestimated the amount of job opportunities in your small hometown, only receiving apologetic looks from the store owners as they tell you they don’t need any help, or worse, already have someone. Damn those 16-year-olds who only get summer jobs so they can blow their whole pay in a couple weeks before school starts again. You, on the other hand, need that money for important things, like sipping on a cocktail at a bar with a seaview.
The local hardware store next to the train station is your saving grace. It looks quite small from the outside, but once you step inside, rows of lamps and mirrors in all shapes and sizes along with all kinds of household needs welcome you, followed by a section for gardening and pet caretaking. The basement is where all the paints and brushes were, as well as the more technical (technical to you, at least) products, like bolts and tools or kitchen and bathroom appliances.
A lot of people undertake renovations in their homes during their free time in the summer, so it’s important for the store to have their experts helping out customers in their dedicated aisles rather than working behind the till and restocking the shelves, which is what you will be doing for the next two months. The pay is slightly above minimum wage and with twenty-one hours of work a week, you’ll earn more than enough to enjoy your vacation. You start tomorrow.
Your co-workers are happy to welcome a new face into their team. They’re nice even if they have the tendency to drone on about different types of tools and the importance of choosing the right brush for the surface you’re painting, which you don’t particularly care about, but you think you might as well learn as much as you can during your time here; it might always come in handy later.
As you expected, it isn’t the most stimulating job ever, but you aren’t bored out of your mind either. You make small talk with customers as they explain their purchases, some more defensively than others, even if you didn’t ask. You make sure to restock the shelves correctly and sometimes ask for help when you feel your arms giving out after hours of carrying heavy stuff. When no one’s in, you like to rearrange the cute bathroom decorations so that they make a little rainbow of toothbrush and soap holders.
You were daydreaming about what you would do with your friends in Mexico and all the cherries you could eat there when a man so handsome you thought he was a part of your dream walks in. He doesn’t notice (or maybe he just ignores it, you’re not sure) your gawking and smiles at you, saying “hello” before turning his attention to the map which details where everything is stored at the entrance of the shop. You manage a small “h-hello” back that probably doesn’t even reach his ears, and you curse yourself for doing a poor job of greeting a customer just because said customer looks like he’s been pushed from the heavens above onto this unworthy earth by the other angels who were jealous of his beauty.
You stay put behind the counter the whole time he’s there to avoid the potential embarrassment of running into him in a random aisle and making a fool of yourself. There isn’t much to do anyway, so you rearrange the organic protein bars and chewing-gum at the counter and count all the money in the cash register to distract yourself. He doesn’t spend a very long time browsing and after twenty minutes, you see him approach with a cart full of the biggest cans of paint the store offers. It’s mostly white paint, but there are some browns and grays, and one of pink as well.
You thank God for those twenty minutes because they allowed you to get a hold of yourself so that you didn’t gape at him like a dead fish instead of scanning his articles, which is what you are very professionally and expertly doing. “That’s a lot of paint,” you comment lightheartedly, partly just to prove to yourself that you can also speak in front of this man.
“I know,” he chuckles, and it seems unfair that his voice should be just as attractive as his face. “The previous owners of the house I just bought had terrible taste in wallpaper and wall colors, so I have to repaint basically the whole house. Everything has to go, really. The floors, the furniture, the lights.”
“Sounds like you’re going to have a busy summer. That’ll be $132.76, please.”
“I’ll pay by card,” he says as he brings his wallet out from his back pocket and inserts his card into the reader, which allows you to look freely at his tanned arms and the veins that protrude here and there. He can’t be older than thirty, so there’s probably not that much of an age difference between the two of you, but damn does he look more mature in the sexiest way possible than all of the male college students you’re used to seeing on a daily basis. If anything, he reminds you of the hot young Linguistics professor your whole department likes to drool over.
The beep of the payment being accepted snaps you out of your daze. “And yeah, it’ll sure be a busy summer. I’ll need a lot of stuff from here, so you might have to get used to seeing me around,” he says with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this walking Greek god of a man is actually flirting with you, but the glint in his eyes tells you it wasn’t just an off-hand comment.
“I could get used to that,” you surprise yourself by replying confidently, your smile mirroring his as pretty dimples appear on each side of his face.
You hand him the receipt and notice his eyes flickering down to your name tag before trapping yours in his gaze once again. You don’t think you ever want to look away. “I’ll see you around, Y/N,” he says and walks out with his cart and his tons of paint before you can say anything, lest ask his name, except for “see you.”
You take a deep breath in and another out when he’s out of sight, trying to calm your racing heart. You can’t wait to rave to the girls’ group chat about this, but one of your coworkers calls you for help and you have to put the handsome stranger to the back of your mind for a while.
—
That weekend, your parents ask you to do something about the cherries slowly starting to spoil in the fridge, so you put on your headphones and listen to an audiobook for entertainment, then get to pitting. It feels wrong to listen to The Kiss Quotient and its many smut scenes when your parents are coming and going out of the room, but what they don’t know won’t kill them; you just try to keep your reactions to a minimum during the extra spicy scenes.
Pitting cherries is an arduous task that always takes longer than you think it will, but you never complain about it. You’ve found the perfect technique of cutting them in half around the pit, turning the small fruit without squeezing it, extracting the stone and making sure it doesn’t get confused and end up in the bowl with the pitted cherries, all without tiring your wrists after ten minutes. A surprise pit in a cherry pie can add to the charm of a homemade dessert, but you’d rather not have to spit out five of them while trying to eat one slice.
You prepare a crumbly dough to make two classic American-style pies and fill four jars with cherry jam that you cook while the doughs rest. It’s almost offensive how small the cherries become as they cook, the amount that fills those four jars having filled eight before, but you decide there’s no reason to take it personally since the cherries don’t do it on purpose, and put the jars away to cool down. You roll out the first rested dough and despair for a bit when it keeps on falling apart, but it just makes it more satisfying once you have it perfectly thinly rolled out and covering the tin. The second one is a bit nicer to you and you only have to try rolling it out twice.
Two hours later, as the sun finally starts to relent and a cooler breeze flows through the air, the pies are all baked, cooled and ready to be eaten. You leave one for you and your parents to enjoy later, then head over to the next house to greet your new neighbors with the other pie. You knock and wait for a good thirty seconds before getting any sort of response, making you think no one’s in.
“Y/N?” a semi-familiar voice calls out, and your head whips in its direction. If this were a cartoon or a 2012 teen show, you’d probably drop the pie tin, but thankfully, your hands aren’t that sweaty, and the shock of the man from the other day at the store being your neighbor isn’t that great, because of course, of course he’s your neighbor. You’re Y/N, after all; the almighty gods above would never let you have a boring, uneventful summer. Of course the hot new man in town is your neighbor.
“Oh! Hi! Guess we’re neighbors. Ha,” you say with a clumsy smile, holding the tin over your forearm as your other hand shields your eyes from the sunlight so you can look at him without squinting your eyes.
“Neighbors?” he repeats as he joins you on the front porch, taking off his gloves dirtied by the mud and using the back of his hand to wipe off some sweat from his forehead. The sweat makes his hair stick to his face and there are small beads of it falling from his hairline down onto his white t-shirt. You detect the slightest of stubbles on his chin and upper lip, probably from not having shaved for just a day or two. He’s even tanner than when you saw him a few days ago, and his thick eyebrows form a straight line as he frowns in what you guess is tiredness and perhaps confusion from seeing you in regular clothes and holding a pie tin on his porch. For a second, you’re scared he might think you’re some kind of stalker, but you nod and tilt your head towards your house.
“Yep. That one just over there behind you.”
He turns his upper body to take a look at your house and nods slowly as he turns back around, gaze finding yours again like the other day at the store. You have no idea who this man is - hell, you don’t even know his name - but good lord are you attracted to him, especially when he gives you that unreadable smile that shows off his dimples.
“Huh. What a coincidence,” he says, and that could mean anything in the world, but you hope he means it in a good way. “I’m Sunghoon, by the way.” he adds, extending his hand for you to take, which you do, and the simple action of shaking his hand without eye contact ever breaking is enough to send shivers down your spine. Hopefully, this goes unnoticed by this Sunghoon.
A walking wet dream. That’s what this man is. He’s walked right out of your deepest Wattpad-induced fantasies and into the house next door. Probably doesn’t help that you’d been listening to literary porn just fifteen minutes prior.
“Is that pie?” he asks as he releases your hand.
“It is, cherry pie I made myself with cherries from our backyard. A housewarming gift, if you will. Here,” you reply, offering him the tin.
He takes it from your hands, the tips of his fingers slightly grazing yours, on purpose or not, you’re not sure. He lifts some of the aluminum covering the pie and peeks underneath, then hums appreciatively. “Thanks, it looks really good. I’ve been living off of ready-meals and casseroles from the neighbors, so this’ll be really nice.”
“Well we’ve got tons of cherries, so feel free to ask whenever you want some,” you offer, and he nods. A small silence settles between the two of you and you’re about to excuse yourself so it doesn’t get awkward when he invites you in, asking if you’d like to have a piece with him.
“If you want to, I mean. I was gonna take a break anyway,” he says somewhat coyly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. You’re surprised to see him being anything else other than confident and self-assured, but it only makes him look cuter in your eyes.
“Sure,” you accept with a smile, letting him lead you inside the house.
“Sorry, it smells like paint all over the house. That’s why I was outside, doing some gardening while I aired the house out,” he explains. “Let me just get some plates and a knife out. And something for us to drink. Do you want to drink something? I’ve got water, or some iced tea or lemonade. The grandma across the street made some for me,” he says all at once, and you suppress a giggle at his sudden nervous behavior.
“Sunghoon?”
“Yeah?” he responds almost immediately, turning to you just as you both reach the kitchen.
“Just water is fine.”
A shy smile makes his dimples appear once again as he nods. “Okay, sounds good.” You help him carry everything to the back porch and set down the glasses and a jug of water on a table with two chairs around it.
“The porches are the only parts I won’t have to fix up too much, for some reason.”
“You’re going to redo the whole house yourself?” you ask, surprised, as you pour two glasses of water and he serves you a slice of cherry pie (“there might be some stray cherry pits, so be careful,” you warn as he sets a slice on his plate).
“A lot of it, yeah, but I’ve also got some people to help out. My dad’s a carpenter so I know my way around these things, but I also know it’s better and faster to have more than one man on the job, so some guys he works with come a couple times a week.”
“Yeah, with the state this house is in, you’d need more than a summer if you did everything yourself,” you comment, and he chuckles, agreeing. “My friends and I used to make stories about how this place is haunted, you know,” you say jokingly.
“Please don’t jinx my house from the get-go,” he says, making you laugh.
“Sorry, sorry. It’ll be nice seeing it all fixed-up, actually.”
“Have you lived here long?” he asks, looking at you thoughtfully as he takes another bite of the pie. “This is really good, by the way.”
“Thanks. And yeah, my whole life. I go away when semester starts but come back for the holidays and the summer.”
“So you're a student?”
“Yeah, just at the state university a few hours away. Not too far away that it’s a hassle traveling back, but not too close that I go home every weekend. What about you, what do you do?”
You wait for his answer while he swallows his mouthful and take another bite yourself. “I teach,” he starts as he dabs the corners of his lips with a napkin. “Fifth graders, on the other side of town. I used to live in a small apartment near the school I work at but it’s nicer, having more space. I saved enough money to buy this house and fix it up, so here I am now,” he says, gesturing to the house and the garden with his arms.
You notice his use of the first person pronoun when he talks about where he used to live and his house now, which makes you wonder if it’s just him, even though you were sure you heard a woman and a young girl’s voices the other day. Surely, if he wasn’t single, he wouldn’t have invited you in or given you flirtatious looks, right? Or were you reading totally wrong into this and he was just an exceptionally friendly person?
You put these questions to the side and continue chatting with Sunghoon, letting the subject of his marital status come up on its own during your conversation. And indeed, you get your answer when he tells you about the different parts of the house he plans on having, one of them being a bedroom for his daughter.
“Oh, so you have a daughter? How old is she?” you ask as you take a sip of water, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Considering his age, you expect that his child will be one, two years old max, so his answer makes you almost choke on your drink.
“She’s turning eight this summer.”
“Eight?” you repeat as you set your glass down, looking at him wide-eyed. So much for nonchalance. “But you’re so-”
“Young? Yeah, I know,” he interrupts with a knowing smile, probably used to this kind of reaction. “I’m 26,” he adds, then watches as you do the simple math in your head. When you turn to him with a surprised look, he answers your question before you’ve even asked it. “Yep, I had her when I was 18.”
“Wow,” is all you can say. “Can I ask what happened?”
“Sure. I mean, it’s nothing extraordinary or anything. I was in my last year of high school, and I got my girlfriend at the time pregnant. We’d only been dating four months but her parents wouldn’t let her get an abortion. They’re really religious. They took care of our baby, with the help of my parents, while I went to community college and she retook senior year since she had to drop out halfway through the year. No, we’re not together anymore, if you’re wondering,” he says, catching you off guard, as if he’d read your thoughts.
He chuckles before sighing and continues. “If none of this had happened, we’d probably have broken up before going off to college and proceeded to forget about each other. We started out living with her parents, then got that small apartment I told you about when she found a job. We’re not on bad terms by any means, but we’ve just not been in love since Chaeryeong turned 2, probably. We’ve been more roommates than a couple for the past six years. And you know, we kept on living together for Chaer mainly, but she’s found a new boyfriend and I wanted to have my own place. Which has led me here.”
You nod slowly, letting the whole story sink in. “You’re both handling this situation really maturely, it sounds like. I’ve heard of so many teenage parents fighting all the time and not taking care of their kids properly.”
“She’s already got a weird parental situation, it’s the least we can do for her to behave like adults, you know.”
“Right, of course,” you say, nodding again. Your hot new neighbor was actually a DILF, you realized a bit inappropriately, perhaps. Cherry on top.
He tells you a bit more about his daughter and you keep talking until your dad calls you, asking you why you’re not home at dinner time, and you only notice then how long you’ve been sitting there with Sunghoon, just talking. You tell him you feel bad for taking up so much of his time but he shakes your apologies off.
“It was my pleasure, really. And thanks again for the pie, I think Chaer will love it.”
He walks you to the front door and calls out your name after you’ve waved goodbye and started walking. You didn’t know you had been expecting him to do anything until you heard the hopeful tone in your own voice. “Yeah?”
“You any good with kids?” he asks, leaning against the doorway with crossed arms and a smirk that makes your heart flutter.
Although you’ve only got one older brother, you have younger cousins as well as older ones that have babies of their own, so you’re not a complete stranger to kids, but more importantly, you like them. They have the world to learn, but they say surprisingly smart things and have really cute faces.
“I’d say that I am, yeah,” you reply, a smile growing on your face, mirroring his expression.
“Good,” he says, and pauses a second for good measure. “I’ll see you later.”
“See you later, Sunghoon,” you say as you turn back and head to your house, letting him enjoy the view of you walking away.
On the short way home, you realize that you completely have the hots for your neighbor, although you probably knew that before. Is it twisted that you like him more now that you know he’s got a kid? Probably a little bit, but you’re not going to fight it. He’s single, after all. And not even thirty. A five-year gap isn’t unheard of.
Your parents ask you where you’ve been as you set the table and get ready for dinner. “Just over at our new neighbor’s house to give him some pie and say hi,” you say as you toss the salad in its bowl, spreading the dressing evenly.
“Ooh, the neighbor,” your mother echoes knowingly, wiggling her eyebrows, and steals a leaf of lettuce when it falls from the bowl because of your vigorous tossing. “We should have him over at some point, welcome him into the neighborhood. I’ve seen him a bit, you know. Out painting on his front porch or when he was in his garden the same time as me. He’s a very attractive young man,” she says, lowering her voice so your dad doesn’t hear even though he’s outside grilling the meat. “Do you know how old he is? Looks a bit young for a homeowner to me, but who knows what young people are up to these days.
“He’s twenty-six, and he’s saved a lot of money. Plus, I don’t think that house was very expensive. From what he’s told me, the renovations will basically cost as much as the house itself. He’s also got a kid.”
“Aw, must be a cute baby,” she says as your father walks in, carrying a tray of steaming barbecued steaks and potatoes.
“She’s eight,” you say bluntly, causing them both to look at you with wide eyes.
“Oh, right, then. Happens,” your mother says, bringing her glass of water to her lips and taking a sip from it. “Is he still with the mother?”
“They broke up a while ago, but they’re on good terms,” you say, and your mom nods slowly at the information.
“So, he’s single, huh?” she says, trying to hide her smile, earning herself a groan from your dad and a chuckle from you.
“C’mon, mom!”
“What? You can’t deny that he’s attractive, and he’s single. Plus, you two must get along well if you spent a couple hours talking. Sure, he’s got a kid, but you love those, don’t you?”
“Mom, you of all people would know kids aren’t pets. Dating someone with an eight-year-old isn’t the same as dating someone with a cat.
“No one’s asking you to be that girl’s mom,” she says, dishing out some meat for the three of you. “I’d go get that man, if I were you.”
Your dad shakes his head and you eat your food as you listen to them bickering with a smile. You think about what your mother said - should you go and get Sunghoon? Your heart says yes, but your brain is a bit more reluctant. Another part of your body, lower down there, is screaming ‘yes’ at you.
He does live right by, after all.
That night, you FaceTime your roommate and best friend from college and bring her up to date about ‘the hot man from the store the other day.’ She paints her toenails but listens intently as she always does when you talk about boys, humming and chuckling here and there.
“God, Y/N, I didn’t know you had daddy issues, of all things.”
You gasp fake-dramatically. “Excuse me, I do not! I was attracted to him before I knew he was a dad, I’ll let you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let me know when you guys actually hook up, I’m curious whether older men are actually better,” she says, making you scoff.
“I hope he is. I’m very much tired of those boys that don’t know where the clit is and use too much tongue.”
“You know, when I complain to my mom about guys, she always tells me to wait it out a few years. She says they get more mature and, well, she didn’t say that outright, but she very heavily implied that the sex is much, much better. Kinda gross hearing it from her, but it’s good information.”
You hum. “Well, he’s not that much older… But let’s hope that it still makes a difference,” you say, and then move on to another topic.
—
One thing that eating cherries has taught you is that if you want to enjoy eating the sweet flesh, you’ll need to deal with the pit as well. Ever the grand philosopher, you realized soon enough that this was applicable to real life and not just your favorite fruit. Wanna get a good grade on your test? Gotta study for it. Wanna go on holiday to Mexico? Gotta find a summer job and earn money.
Wanna make your way to Sunghoon’s bed? Gotta seduce him.
Over the following days, you stand behind the counter at the hardware store, elbow perched on the hard surface, head resting on your palm and vision fuzzy as you daydream about your next encounter with Sunghoon. More often than not, a customer will clear their throat to awkwardly let you know of their presence and you’ll have to exchange your imagined dialogue with Sunghoon for a quick apology and some pleasantries; more often than not, a coworker will call out your name for some help just as you get to the juicy part of your reverie. In those moments, you always feel like you’ve been caught red-handed watching softcore porn, even if no one knows the last thing about what goes on in your head, nor do they care.
Much like the first time he walked into the store, when he does again on a Thursday morning, you think your daydreams have just gone too far and you’re now hallucinating. But, lo and behold, this is the true Park Sunghoon in the flesh, and he smiles and waves at you as he strides in before disappearing behind one of the many aisles.
You spend the next fifteen minutes going over witty conversation starters that will surely make him fall for you, only for you to stutter out a “h-hi, Sunghoon,” when he finally reaches the counter.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he jokes, and you laugh a bit too hard for a comment that isn’t that funny.
“How are the renovations going?” you ask as you scan his articles - some more paint and brushes, lots of tile glue, a bunch of nails and two different sizes of turnscrews. He frowns in concentration at the snacks next to the counter until he caves in and gets a chocolate protein bar that’s more sugar than protein.
“Pretty okay,” he starts. “I’m in a bit of a rush, cause Chaer is already coming in two weeks and I need to have finished at least the interior by that time. My dad’s friends helped me get the roof done, so that’s good, but now they’re all busy with other sites so it's just me. Right now I’m redoing the tiles in the bathrooms. You need so much damn glue,” he says with a chuckle.
You think for a second, then timidly offer, “I could help out, you know. If you needed me to.”
He looks at you with raised eyebrows, halfway through getting his card out of his wallet. “Really?”
“I mean, I don’t have much experience with this kinda stuff, but I’ve picked up a few things here and there from working here. If it saves you time, I could do the easy things. This job isn’t particularly physically demanding so I’ve still got energy at the end of the day. That’s $78.96, please.”
A small smile appears on his face as he inserts his card into the reader. He punches in his code and then returns your gaze. “That could be nice, actually.”
And that’s how you find yourself over at Sunghoon’s house in denim shorts and your dad’s old t-shirts almost everyday for the next two weeks, helping him fix up the old two-storey home. He measures out the perfect length for wood planks or marble tiles that you assist him in fastening to the floors of different rooms and he fixes holes in walls that you paint over afterwards. Sometimes on your breaks, you share a bowl of cherries that you brought from your garden. (One morning, you tried to make cherry juice out of them, but when after almost two hours of pitting the liquid barely filled a glass, you decided that it was too much effort and that you’d keep on just eating them and baking the occasional pie.) You asked him to tell you what each of the rooms upstairs would be and you realized that the window of his room faced yours directly. The blinds were down as they had always been, so you hadn’t known what the room would be.
“I’ve been sleeping on the couch since I haven’t gotten around to fixing up this room yet. Guess I should get to it, though,” he says, giving you a look that blurs the meaning of his words so that you’re not sure what he’s implying, which happens a bit too often with Sunghoon.
And you’d think that spending the better part of two weeks with the current man of your dreams would be amazing, right?
Wrong. It’s unbearable.
Maybe that’s exaggerating it - it’s mostly fun, and sometimes unbearable. Usually, you’re an avid fan of sexual tension, especially with attractive men like Sunghoon. Lingering gazes, eye contacts when there shouldn’t be any, remarks with a deeper meaning that they let on, barely-there touches on the back of your hand or on your waist that manage to take your breath away. These are all very fine things that keep your heart bouncing and a blush on your cheeks, but they are supposed to amount to something more in the end. Maybe you’re impatient, but after two weeks of sending sex through your eyes to Sunghoon, you get the feeling that he doesn’t reciprocate your desire. One afternoon, you’d made sure to go and sunbathe in your bikini at the exact moment he was doing some work outside, and even then, he merely gave your body a one-over and disappeared a few minutes later inside his house. When he came back about ten minutes later, he could still barely look at you.
At the same time, there’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing when he stands close behind you, letting you feel the warmth of his chest against your back, big, rough hands enveloping yours as he demonstrates how to cut a plank of wood with the machine. There’s no way the way he smirks when the action turns you into a stammering mess is innocent, either.
Yet nothing happens. The tension is thick enough to be cut with a knife, but maybe Sunghoon hasn’t bought cutlery yet. The air is already heavy from the heat and the relentlessness of the sun, but this thing between you and him makes it almost suffocating, in somehow the best yet worst way possible. You’re this close to simply throwing your naked body at him, and it doesn’t help that you see his flexing, working muscles and beads of sweat on his hairline everyday. On the days he wears shorts, which is most days, all you can think of is getting off on his thick thighs, of his hands holding you tightly by the waist, of the way he’d look at you, eyes clouded over, of the words he’d whisper in your-
Your phone buzzes, interrupting you in your horny downward spiral. It’s your dear mother telling you to come home for dinner. As you pick up your phone, a second buzz. Ask Sunghoon if he wants to eat with us.
You find him in his bedroom, adding the last touches to the walls. “I think I’ll be able to sleep here starting tomorrow night. I just need to go buy a bed,” he says when he sees your figure standing in the doorway.
“We can go together if you want,” you blurt before you can stop yourself. Hoping it’ll make you seem less weird, you add, “I’ve got really good taste in furniture.”
“Is that so?” he questions, turning to you with a smile. “I’d appreciate the second pair of eyes, actually. There’s a lot of things I need to get.”
“Yeah, I didn’t wanna comment on it, but I think you’ll end up needing more than a couch, a plastic dining table and two chairs,” you tease, making him roll his eyes lightheartedly. “We can go to that huge second-hand store they have just outside of town. You’ll be surprised how good - and cheap - the furniture is there.”
“Sounds good,” he nods, and checks his watch. “Are you going home?”
“I am. My mom’s invited you over for dinner, if you’d like,” you say, tilting your head at him.
He raises his eyebrows in delighted surprise. “I’d love to. Just need to shower first.”
“That’s fine. I’ll go home, just come over whenever you’re ready.” You exchange quick see you laters and you head home, taking a shower yourself and making sure to use your best-smelling body lotion.
Sunghoon arrives half an hour later with a bouquet of roses in his hands and an award-winning smile on his face. You let him in and he greets your parents, offering your mother the bouquet. “Sorry I took so much time getting here, I wanted to pick these out as a thank you.”
You can tell your mother is pleased to the heavens as she waves him off, leading him inside your house. “That’s awfully nice of you, Mr Park-”
“Call me Sunghoon, please,” he says with a warm smile.
“Right, Sunghoon. And no worries, you’re just on time. Please, sit.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Oh, no, you’re working all day fixing up that house, just sit and relax. We’re very happy to have you over, aren’t we?” your mother says, sending a very obvious smile your way, which makes you furrow your eyebrows and shake your head lightly at her, silently telling her to shut up. Sunghoon chuckles at the exchange but says nothing and you want to bury yourself and your mother ten feet underground.
Sunghoon sits across from you at the dinner table, which allows you to stare unabashedly at him as he works his charm on your parents. He’s the neighbor, so technically, he’s not a boyfriend you brought home to meet them, but still, you can’t help but compare him to those few boys that you did bring home. None of them were a disaster, but none of them went as smoothly as this, either. There were always some awkward silences and dry chuckles with your past boyfriends, but Sunghoon clearly knows how to make parents happy. Maybe because he lived with his ex’s parents for so long, or maybe because he’s a parent himself. Either way, it only adds to your desire to take all of his clothes and let him rail you into next week. Too bad he clearly doesn’t feel the same way, you remind yourself with an audible sigh, which makes him look curiously at you, but you brush it off with a smile.
You watch as he accepts a beer, compliments the food and the house, talks football with your dad, accepts another beer, and shares teaching anecdotes with your mom, who herself is an elementary school teacher. You jump in every now and then when you have something witty to add or someone asks your opinion on something, but most of the time, you sit back and enjoy, happy that everything is going well.
You bring out your infamous cherry pie that you’d baked the previous day along with some vanilla ice cream for dessert, and smile when Sunghoon tells you how much he’d been waiting to have some of it again, trying not to blush as his gaze stays focused on yours for a second too long. Thankfully, your parents don’t notice, too busy cutting themselves a slice.
He stays for another hour or so, until the sun has set and the streetlamps and the moonlight are the only things keeping the world visible. Your mom forces him to accept tupperwares full of leftovers from the night and makes him promise to come back with his daughter. Sneakily, she tells you to help him carry the tupperwares home even though he’s more than able to do it himself, then hugs him goodbye, hurrying you out of the door.
Sunghoon hasn’t yet changed the lightbulbs to more efficient ones, so his kitchen bathes in the faint glow of the overhead lighting as you put away the leftovers in his fridge. He stands a bit to your right close behind you, closer than needed to simply hand you the tupperwares he was holding. When everything is stored, you turn around, but you’re trapped between his body and his arm that holds the fridge door open. With his free hand, he takes you by the waist and pulls you gently towards him. “Careful,” he says so quietly, it’s almost a whisper, and closes the fridge door behind you.
He’s never been this forward with you, and even though you’ve fantasized many times about this exact moment, now that it’s really happening, you don’t know what to do except to search for an explanation in his eyes. His eyes that are looking right into yours and are a bit clouded over, from the alcohol or the proximity between the two of you or both, you don’t know, but that also have the twinkle of a smile in them.
His lips are close enough to kiss, you think, and as if on cue, his gaze drifts down to your slightly parted lips. “You’re very pretty, Y/N,” he says, before sealing your lips with his own. You respond immediately to his kiss - you’ve thought too much about it to stand there and do nothing - but it’s all so slow and so soft that you’re not sure if it’s actually happening, so dreamlike it all feels.
You’re called back to reality when his other hand finds your waist, your own hands coming up to his shoulders before one of them snakes its way to the nape of his neck, tugging lightly at his hair. This seems to change something in Sunghoon, who all of a sudden tightens his hold on your waist, his arms wrapping around it to bring you closer to him. His kiss gets faster and deeper too, and, to your surprise but not your distaste, a bit desperate. You’re happy if you have on him half of the power he has on you. You taste sweet vanilla ice cream and tangy beer on his tongue, and it’s not at all unpleasant. It makes you want to eat cherries together so you can then taste them in his kiss.
A lustful sigh escapes your lips and then the warmth disappears all at once. Sunghoon looks at you like you just woke him up from a deep slumber and takes a step back away from you. You call out for him worriedly and the sound of his name seems to make him think he did something terribly wrong.
“I-I’m sorry, Y/N, I don’t know what came over me. We shouldn’t do this, it’s not- I shouldn’t have done that,” he sighs, looking defeatedly at the ground.
“Why?” you ask quietly, almost inaudible.
“You should go home,” he snaps, then closes his eyes as if in pain, cringing at his harsh tone. “I’m sorry. I think you should go home, it’s getting late,” he repeats, softer this time, but the words still sting.
“O-okay,” you say to the floor, already feeling tears well up in your eyes. You feel like you just got rejected by your high school crush, and the humiliation makes you want to crawl into a hole and die.
Sunghoon sighs again. “I’ll let you know tomorrow about the furniture shopping, yeah? Chaeryeong is coming in the morning so we can go with her.”
“O-okay,” you repeat, surprised he still wants to do that with you. “Good night, Sunghoon,” you say without looking at him and scurry out of his house.
“Good night, Y/N,” Sunghoon answers to the emptiness after you’ve left, touching his lips with the tips of his fingers and feeling the ghost of your kiss there.
—
Truth be told, you haven’t always loved cherries. Because of a heinous lie your older brother had made you believe when you were just six years old, you hadn’t eaten cherries for two summers in a row. It was the summer your parents had finally allowed you to eat cherries as they came from the trees in your backyard - beforehand, they’d been too scared that you’d choke on the pit or swallow it unknowingly, and had always prepared purées or other forms that cherries can take for you to eat, so to be finally handed the small fruit and told “go ahead, try it,” felt like an honor.
A simple “don’t forget to spit out the pit” from your mother had sufficed for you to be careful, and yet, your brother had thought a fear tactic would be more effective. “If you swallow it, a tree will grow inside your belly and make you puke out cherries,” he’d lied when it was just the two of you at the outdoor table.
“Really?” you asked him in disbelief, horror written all over your face as you looked at the seemingly harmless yet deadly fruit in your hand. You’d already eaten two and were in the middle of eating a third; your brother nodding ‘yes’ in response was all it took for you to spit out the cherry furiously and immediately start sobbing, afraid you’d swallowed one even though all three pits were right there on the table, a guarantee that no unwanted flora would grow inside of you.
Your mother rushed outside at the sound of your wailing and quickly put two and two together when she saw your brother laughing uncontrollably while you hid your face in your hands, desolately imagining your future as a walking cherry tree. She held you tight in her arms as she told your brother off and reassured you that he was just playing a stupid prank on you. Still, the simple thought of swallowing a pit had terrified you and you were unable to eat cherries for the remainder of the summer and the one after that.
This is the story you tell Chaeryeong and her dad as the three of you sit outside together, making them laugh - although, a few minutes later, when Sunghoon is gone to the bathroom away, Chaer leans over the table and whispers, “It’s not true, is it?” so you reassure her that you’ve eaten cherries your whole life and have never had one single root take life in your tummy.
It’s been a bit over a week after you shared that kiss in his kitchen, and the awkward atmosphere is just starting to fade. You’re glad he didn’t ignore you after that night, even if pretending nothing happened when both of you are very aware that something did happen is only the slightly better alternative. It’s a refreshing change from boys that sleep with you and then act like you don’t exist, for sure.
The kiss hasn’t done anything to burst the tension; if anything, it’s made it even more electric. You catch him looking at your lips more than once and you wonder why he still acts the same way as before when he’s made it very clear he didn’t think kissing you was a good idea. Catching him shirtless one night in his bedroom doesn’t help, and neither does him catching you staring at him - you’d quickly shut the curtains, but it was too late, and he’d seen you ogling his toned chest and abs.
At least, the fact that Chaeryeong is here forces a bubbly atmosphere upon you, and you hope you’re not crazy when you notice him fondly looking at the both of you interacting. Chaer is an outgoing little girl and seems to have liked you as soon as you complimented the toy puppy in her hand, saying you used to have the same and it was your favorite.
The day you went food shopping was practically hell to get through. One evening, you were holding onto Sunghoon for dear life, finally kissing him, and the next afternoon, you were browsing through the endless aisles of your local IKEA, holding his daughter’s hand and pretending like you hadn’t kissed her daddy.
When it got to the bedroom part of the store, you and Chaer decided to try all the mattresses and find the most comfortable one. You usually were never one for seating and laying on random beds in stores, but there was a kid with you, so you were sure it’d be fine. When you found the one you liked most, you looked up at Sunghoon from your position and said, “This one’s pretty good, Sunghoon.” His immediately reddening cheeks told you everything you needed to know and you quickly sat up, clearing your throat. He tested the mattress by pushing his palm against it and muttered a “yeah, it’s pretty good” before scribbling down the number of the mattress onto the small sheet of paper customers use to remember which products they wanted.
Of course, now that Chaer is with him and most of the work in the house is done, save for some minor things that Sunghoon can finish up on his own, you spend a lot less time together. You hate that you miss him so much. You miss the way he makes you feel, like your whole body is on fire with just one look or one touch, the way his stupid jokes make you laugh or how endeared he looks when he talks about his daughter. Seeing him with her only adds to your stupid crush - he’s doting, protective and caring, makes sure she has everything to be happy and manages to treat her at once like the kid that she is but also like a human that has opinions and feelings. He’s a really good dad, and that does nothing whatsoever to stop your DILF fantasies, although now, it’s really Sunghoon that you want, and the fact that he’s a dad isn’t a dealbreaker, it just makes him that much better.
You hate that you miss him, and yet being with him is somehow worse, because you can’t do any of the things you want to do. You fall asleep one two many nights dreaming about his lips and how nice it’d be to feel them again - on your lips, on your neck, everywhere. You want to feel him everywhere, and this longing lust is starting to drive you crazy. You’d never wanted anyone this much.
He invites you over for dinner one night, and the look he gives you when he opens the door sends a shiver right down your spine. “Hi, Y/N.”
“Hi, Sunghoon.”
He leads you into the kitchen with a hand on your waist, even though you’ve been in his house many times before and need no assistance getting there. A small, horny voice at the back of your head tells you that tonight may be the night, but you quickly shut it down, not wanting to get your hopes up all on your own.
Sunghoon serves you a glass of red wine, and you ask him what the occasion is. “Just to celebrate the house being almost done,” he answers with a smile.
Dinner would have gone as usual if Sunghoon wasn’t practically staring you down the whole time, eyes full of something you can’t quite put your finger on and that drives you crazy. His gaze lingers on you every time you speak, and he punctuates the syllables of your name like he’s trying to get a feel for them on his tongue.
Your heart is pounding in your chest when the clock strikes nine p.m. and it’s time for Chaeryeong to go to bed - you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle being alone with Sunghoon, and you might have to make a run for it, Cinderella-style.
Chaer goes to the bathroom to wash up and change into her pajamas, and when she comes back, she asks - no, demands - that you’re the one who tucks her in, and who are you to say no to the cutest little girl on Earth? She holds you by the pinky as she drags you up the stairs to her room then buries herself in her covers, tapping on the bed next to her body for you to sit there. “Okay, now we can talk without Dad around,” she says all business-like.
She tells you about the boys at her school and the birthday party she went to last week and the latest drama with her friends. The both of you are too busy chatting and giggling to hear footsteps coming up the stairs and stopping at her door, hiding behind the wall. After ten minutes, she yawns loudly and says, “Can you call Dad? I think he’ll be sad if he doesn’t wish me good night.”
“Of course,” you reply and kiss her on the forehead, wishing her a good night yourself. You’re only half-surprised to find Sunghoon at the doorway, waiting for his cue.
“Wait up for me, yeah? I’ll just be a minute,” he says, that smile still on his lips, that smile that keeps you hoping.
“Okay,” you whisper, and head downstairs, nervously taking a sip from your wine glass as you wait for him on the living room couch.
He is indeed back in a very short time, too short a time for your nerves to settle, so when he sits down close to you on the couch, body turned towards yours, you can feel your heart in your throat. He traces the rim of his glass with the tip of his pointer finger and you both watch the slow movement for a bit, a heavy silence hanging over both of your heads. You wait for him to talk because you’re too scared of what you might say if you start the conversation.
“Y/N, I’ve been thinking,” he starts shakily, “about um, our kiss, the other day-”
“Oh, we don’t need to talk about that,” you quickly interrupt, waving your hand in dismissal at him. “You made it clear you didn’t like it-”
“No, that’s the thing-”
“And that you thought it was a bad idea-”
“No, just listen-”
“So let’s just forget about it, and-”
“Y/N,” Sunghoon says in a stern voice, raising his tone just enough to make you stop in your rambling.
“Yeah?” you look up at him, eyes wide open. Expecting, as always.
“I haven’t once stopped thinking about that kiss,” he says, sounding out-of-breath. “I handled it awfully, and I’m so sorry that I made you feel like I didn’t like it, because, God, I liked it. A lot,” he chuckles. “Maybe even too much.”
There they are, the words you’ve been dying to hear. Yet all you can say is a stupid “Oh.”
“I just… I was tipsy, and Chaeryeong was coming the next morning, and I panicked. I didn’t know what to do for the rest of the week, and you didn’t say anything, so I didn’t, either. But I can’t pretend like it isn’t there.”
“Like what isn’t there?” you echo, voice almost low as a whisper.
“You know… this,” he replies, voice as low as yours. Slowly, one of his hands comes up to trace your jawline. You release a shaky breath as you set your wine glass on the coffee table and rest your hand on his knee.
“Are you sure about this? ‘Cause if you tell me that you want me… then I’ll be all yours, Sunghoon,” you murmur, hands slowly sliding up his thigh. He takes you by the wrist and puts your hand right on top of his already growing erection, letting you know exactly how he feels about you.
“God, can’t you see what you do to me? I want you so bad, Y/N,” he almost growls, and with that, his lips are on yours, trapping you into a kiss far hungrier and more ferocious than the previous kiss, your mutual intentions finally laid out in front of you for you both to see.
Sunghoon wastes no time as he grabs you by the waist and brings you to his lap, sitting you on top of his crotch so that you can feel his hardening cock against your core. The kiss turns desperate in mere seconds, and you’re relieved to see that Sunghoon seems to have been waiting for this as long and with as much ardor as you have. Your hands are fisting his hair, tugging almost harshly, while his hands roam the expanse of your back until they settle on your ass, grabbing at it to press you closer to him. You can’t stop yourself from moaning into his mouth when his erection rubs over your core in just the right way, and he takes that opportunity to add tongue to the kiss, deepening it.
You start to grind yourself against him, which he helps you do by slightly rutting his hips into yours and bringing your ass closer at every movement. Quickly, you fall into a rhythm so perfect and that feels so good, you think you might explode right then and there. Forget riding his thigh, this is infinitely better.
Needing to catch your breath, you pull away from the kiss, but your lips find his jaw immediately and you start pressing wet, needy kisses there and down his neck, sucking in some spots so that light bruises appear. “Fuck, Y/N, that feels so nice,” he breathes, eyes shut closed. His scent drives you crazy, and his small praise makes you double down on your actions, almost biting the soft skin of his neck.
As you continue kissing him there, occasionally returning to his lips for more, his hands roam your thighs and then up your back, snaking themselves under your t-shirt and finding the clasp of your bra, quickly doing away with it. He pulls away just so he can help you out of your top and takes your bra off of you, hands caressing your sides as he admires your half-naked body in all its glory. You take his hands and bring them to your chest, resting your hands on top of his as you continue grinding onto him and let him play with your boobs. “You’re so fucking hot,” he practically moans, making you chuckle. You reach for the hem of his t-shirt, because it’s only fair that you get to see him too, and you bite back a moan when he uses the absence of your hands on his to pinch your nipples lightly, then takes one in his mouth, catching you off-guard. You forget all about your plan of undressing him as his tongue flicks at the perked bud, your hands finding his hair again as you moan unabashedly.
“S-Sunghoon,” you breathe, the combined feelings of his now fully hard cock pressing against your clothed but soaking cunt and of his warm mouth around your nipples really getting to your head and making you see stars, so that all you can say is his name. “Please,” you beg, you’re not sure what for. Mercy, perhaps. Or release.
“Please what, baby?” he asks, and the nickname goes straight to your core.
“I don’t- just, please, Sunghoon, please,” you say incoherently, making him chuckle.
“Okay,” he says as if he can read your mind, and you think he actually does when he lays you down on the couch, fingers finding the zipper of your shorts. He unbuttons them and slides them down your legs along with your soaked panties. He makes sure they’re fully off of your body before running his palms up both of your legs, from your ankles to your hips.
“Don’t tease, please,” you plead, too desperate for him to take his time.
“As you wish, princess,” he smirks, and brings a finger to your folds, sliding it down to gather some slick before pushing it inside your hole. Your back arches as an instant response to his touch and you let out a small whine, already craving for more. “Fuck, so wet, and all for me, yeah?” he questions, his eyes not once leaving your glistening pussy.
“Yes,” you breathe out, mind too fuzzy to produce a longer sentence.
“That’s a good girl,” he coos, and adds another finger, pushing all three of his knuckles in and massaging your sweet spot as soon as he finds it. When he’s found a rhythm for his motions, he finally looks up at you and curses himself for not having watched your face earlier. Head tilted back in pleasure, mouth agape as your breathing gets more and more irregular and eyebrows scrunched together, you look like the definition of sex, and it takes everything in Sunghoon to not start touching himself.
He forces himself to look away from you only to focus back on your pussy and notices your swollen clit that is begging for attention. He licks it tentatively, and when your back arches at the feeling of his tongue on you, he dives in completely, licking a stripe up your folds before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking at it like he did with your nipples earlier. The pace at which his fingers are pumping out of you quickens and you’re pulling so hard at his hair, you think you might rip some strands off. You feel yourself getting close, and you’re reminded of all those frustrating encounters with college boys where they stopped right before you came, so you can’t stop yourself as you desperately chant “oh my God please don’t stop please don’t stop,” not even noticing the way you’re holding his head down against your clit and bucking your hips into his face.
Your orgasm hits you like a truck - this is probably the first one you’ve received from someone other than your own hand or your vibrator in the past year and a half. It takes your breath away, and you’re left gasping for air for a good thirty seconds, your mind reeling from the intensity of such pleasure. When you calm down, you lift your head to look at Sunghoon who’s already watching you with a grin on his face, your slick coating his chin and mouth.
You plop your head back down with a groan when realization hits you. “I’m sor-”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Sunghoon commands, hands rubbing your still-trembling thighs. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he marvels, and you can’t help but giggle.
“Really?”
“Really.”
After another couple of seconds, you sit up on the couch and send Sunghoon a mischievous look. My turn, you think, and if his smile is any indicator then he seems to have understood. “Let me thank you,” you say, gesturing at him to sit up himself as you lower yourself to your knees on the couch in front of him.
You look up at him from between his thighs then unclasp his belt and undo his jeans. He lets out a shaky breath and says, “You don’t need to do this, you know-”
“Don’t be a gentleman, Sunghoon. I want to do this and I know you want it too. It’s pretty obvious,” you tease as you run your hand over his erection, watching in delight as his eyebrows furrow and his eyes close. “Now help me get these off of you.” He nods and raises his hips so you can take his jeans and underwear off, imitating his actions from before as you take your time to get them over his ankles and caressing his legs until they reach his crotch, watching as he takes his t-shirt off as well so that you can finally see him entirely. You’d caught glimpse of him shirtless before as he worked in his garden, but the sight still manages to take your breath away. Taut muscles and sun-tanned skin, laid bare right before you. This is what they mean by sculpted like a Greek god, you think.
You haven’t done anything, yet his head is already laid back against the top of the couch, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he gulps in expectation and chest rising visibly at every intake of breath. You must’ve saved a thousand souls in your previous life to be deserving of such an image.
You spit in your palm before taking him, starting out by slowly moving your hand up and down his shaft, then rubbing small circles against his tip, the small moan-like sighs that leave his lips letting you know you’re doing a good job. You gather some saliva in your mouth and spit on his length to add some lubricant and smirk when he lets out a low fuck. You bring your head closer and lick his balls, taking one at a time in your mouth and sucking very gently, making the volume of his moans increase. “Just like- fuck, just like that, Y/N.”
You then lick a long stripe up his cock and swirl your tongue around his tip when you reach it, humming at the taste of precum there. Sunghoon gathers your hair in a makeshift ponytail so it doesn’t get in your way, and finally looks down at you, blown away by the beautiful sight of your flushed cheeks and your mouth around his cock. He groans when you take him deeper and unconsciously bucks his hips into your throat, making you gag around him. He loves that feeling but doesn’t want to hurt you so he grabs your face and makes you look up at him, lust and worry written all over his face as he apologizes, but you quickly stop him. “It’s okay, I like it. You can do it again,” you say, and smile before wrapping your lips around him once more.
“Fuck, are you sure?” he asks and you hum, sending vibrations all over his body.
“God, o-okay,” he says, in disbelief that you’re okay with him practically fucking your throat and even liking it. And you do like it - you love letting him use your mouth to get off, just like you had earlier with him. He must have amazing core strength because he’s able to buck his hips into your mouth rapidly as he holds your head tight in his hands. The way you keep coming back for more every time he lets you breathe is enough to drive him crazy, but after a couple minutes, he stops you from taking him in your mouth again.
“I can’t- I don’t wanna cum like this,” he breathes, looking just as fucked-out as you do.
“Where, then?” you ask, kissing him all over his thighs as he trails his fingers through your hair. “Inside?”
He groans at the offer but shakes his head, eyes shut as if trying to calm himself down. “I haven’t got any condoms.”
“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, still pressing kisses on his warm skin. You’re far too desperate to feel him inside you to let a lack of condom stop you, especially when you don’t even need one.
He lets out an umpteenth shaky breath and makes you look up at him. “Are you sure?”
“Sunghoon,” you say, looking him dead in the eyes, “I’ve never been more sure of anything.” You’re relieved when he smiles and nods, bending down to trap your lips in a heated kiss for good measure. Something about being in this position, kneeling in front of his spread thighs and having to look up at him, turns you on even more.
“Okay, then,” he says, still smiling as he pulls away, holding you gently by the chin. “I don’t think I’ll be able to last long, and I want to feel you cum around me. So, tell me, what’s your favorite position, princess?”
The question takes you aback but you answer it anyway, looking at the ground. “Reverse cowgirl…” you admit shyly, a small smile spreading on your lips.
“Reverse cowgirl, huh?” Sunghoon repeats, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking. “Come here, then,” he says, and helps you up, making you turn around so your back faces him and seats you down on top of him, keeping your hips raised. He takes his cock inside his hands, pumps it a few more times before guiding it to your entrance, pressing kisses to your shoulders and nape to make you relax.
You moan at the simple feeling of his tip teasing your entrance and Sunghoon whispers “I know, baby” against your skin. “Sit down for me,” he commands gently, and you oblige, lowering your hips slowly to feel all of him stretching you out, the both of you moaning in synchronization when he bottoms out.
Sunghoon wraps an arm around your middle and pulls you onto him so that your back rests against his chest and you can let your head hang back next to his. “Let me do all the work, yeah?” he murmurs into your ear, and you hum in response. He doesn’t move for a bit, roaming his large hands all over your body until he feels your walls relax around him. One of his hands finds your breasts, playing with each nipple in turn, while the other finds your clit. It’s all so much but so good that you’re already a moaning mess before he’s even started moving. “Ready?” he asks, but you’re too far gone to answer.
His pace starts out slow, but you’re impatient and whine as you try to move your hips against his to go faster, which makes him tut. “I told you I’d do the work, didn’t I?” he asks, pinching one of your nipples in reprimand. “So be good for me and stay still, Y/N. I promise I’ll make you feel good.” You whine again but stop moving, heeding his words.
“Perfect,” he whispers and kisses your neck before picking up the pace, shushing you when your moans get too loud.
“I’m sorry, just feels too good,” you manage to let out.
“I know, but you need to stay quiet, baby,” he says, yet gets rougher with his thrusts, which does not help in the slightest. His hand that was on your breasts comes up to cover your mouth, but he quickly decides to make you suck on two of his fingers instead, muffling your moans a bit.
His fingers on your clit haven’t relented this whole time and after just a few minutes, you feel that familiar knot tying itself again in your stomach and you know you’re mere moments away from it coming undone. Judging by his rapid but clumsy thrusts, Sunghoon must be close too. He pounds into you like you’ve been wanting him to ever since you first set eyes on him as he entered the hardware store, hitting your g-spot over and over again. Tears roll down your cheeks and you whimper around his fingers, biting down on them as your second orgasm hits you.
You’re practically sobbing as he helps you ride out your high, his movements sending your body into pleasant overstimulation until he reaches his high too, the feeling of your pussy clenching tightly around him pushing him over the edge. Ropes of his semen paint your walls white, and there’s enough of it for him to become a father of two. You whine as he pulls away, and feel his cum slipping out of you and onto the couch underneath you. Before you can catch your breath, he asks, “Baby, can I do something very dirty?” and you nod without thinking much. This man could do anything he wanted to you, and you’d thank him for it.
He settles you back down onto the couch, kneels on the floor, head level with your core, and sticks his tongue inside your hole, making you yelp in surprise and overstimulation. You don’t understand what he’s doing until he comes back up and makes you open your mouth with his thumb, then spits inside it, telling you to swallow. You do as he says and taste his cum, laughing in disbelief at what he just did - and at how much you liked it. “Fuck,” you giggle.
“Was that too much?”
“God, no,” you say, and he smiles. You open your arms, gesturing for him to get back on the couch. He rests his head between your breasts, the both of you sighing in contentment as he rubs small circles on your belly and you graze your fingers through his hair. He’s so silent that you think he’s fallen asleep, but he speaks up after a while, voice soft and calm like you’ve never heard before.
“We should go get cleaned up…” he says, and you hum in agreement, “...but it’s so nice here,” he finishes, making you giggle.
“If we get cleaned up quickly now, we can cuddle in bed right afterwards,” you argue.
“You’re right. Infallible logic. You’re so smart, you know that, Y/N?” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Of course I know that,” you joke. “Let’s go,” you say, kissing the top of his head.
You take a shower together, cleaning each other and leaving kisses here and there, or touching in places you shouldn’t touch and that maybe lead to more, right there in the shower. Now that you’ve had a taste, you’re insatiable, and you warn Sunghoon that the both of you are in for a very long night, to which he answers that he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Once you do fall asleep, (which isn’t until two rounds later, and you’re surprised either of you have this much energy), however, you’re holding each other tightly, the fan on high so that you don’t feel all sticky, being so close to each other. Even if you wake up here and there because he shuffled or he snored too loudly, it’s one of the best sleeps you’ve ever had.
—
You wake up the next morning by small giggles and snorts that come from none other than Park Chaeryeong herself, who’s buried herself between you and her dad, shaking her body to wake the two of you. You’re glad that you listened to Sunghoon when he told you to put on a t-shirt of his as well as some underwear so neither you or Chaer would have a fright when she came and woke you up as she liked to do every morning. “You had a sleepover!” she exclaims excitedly when she sees you’ve finally opened your eyes, looking at her with a sleepy expression and a smile.
“We did!” you reply, trying to keep the same level of excitement.
“We did,” Sunghoon repeats, taking his daughter in her arms to hug her tightly and blows a raspberry in her neck to make her laugh.
“You didn’t invite me!” she shrieks when her dad’s left her alone.
“Sorry, sweetheart. It was just me and Y/N.”
“No fun,” she pouts, laying on her back and crossing over arms before turning back to her dad. “So, is Y/N my new mom?” she whispers even though you’re right there. You gasp at her question, making wide eyes at Sunghoon who just snorts, and you can’t tell if she’s genuinely asking or if she’s an eight-year-old with an advanced sense of irony.
“Of course not. Is Heeseung your new dad?” he asks, mentioning his ex’s new boyfriend. Chaer shakes her head.
“No. He’s Mommy’s boyfriend.”
“Exactly, and Y/N is Daddy’s girlfriend. Isn’t she?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you, smirking.
“She is,” you reply, and Chaer turns back to you, giggling. She snuggles close to you, wrapping an arm around your middle, and you’re taken aback by the sheer cuteness of it all. You look at Sunghoon with a fake pained expression, and he smiles endearingly at the two of you before sighing and joining you in your hug. He rests his arms around you and his daughter, kissing the top of your heads in turn.
“My girls,” he mutters in your hair, and you smile peacefully.
There’s a lot of things you have to talk about with Sunghoon. You know your parents - especially your mom - will be okay with the two of you together, but will his parents be? And once semester starts again, what will happen? You’ll have to go back to campus and he’ll have to stay here - will a three-hour drive be a dealbreaker, or will you make it work?
The thing is, there’s no point in thinking about all of this at this moment. You’ve got the whole summer to figure things out. For now, you’ll eat cherries and spit out the pits, and everything will be perfect.
this is a one shot, there will not be a part two!
permanent taglist: @k-ingzo @bbujiikseu @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts (ask to be removed/added!)
© asahicore on tumblr, 2023. please do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works. feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
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