don’t wanna take your golden light

Jake knows it. Of course he does. It’s his favourite habit of yours, one he picked up too even though there’s no research study on the benefits of the penis of sleeping without underwear on. Still, for solidarity, as he says, he’s started doing that, too. And, hey, quickies before going to bed or as first thing in the morning are easier this way.

The next thing you know, his lips press on your naked shoulder feather-like as the pads of his fingertips brush your pussy lips, collecting and smearing your arousal all over it.

“What are you doing?” You shout-whisper to him, frantically looking around the vast room in case anyone were watching in your direction, but none of the boys were, thankfully.

“Needed to feel you,” he murmurs, syrupy sweet, resting his head in the crook of your neck, turned towards the television even though he’s not really focused on whatever it is they’re watching. “Been thinkin’ about it since you showed up in those leggings.”

He got distracted in the middle of a boring scene of the movie and suddenly remember you were there, beside him, without any panties underneath your pyjamas, and he’s weak for you— he couldn’t resist such a temptation.

“What if they notice?” You lean in to whisper to him, but he simply shrugs in response, not really bothered by the remote possibility.

Heesung’s sitting beside him, and next to him, on the opposite side, there’s Jay. Some of them are comfortably sat in the puffy chair beside the couch, the others are sitting on the carpet, eating popcorn.

And you— you are getting fingered by Jake in the middle of an action scene where the protagonist nearly dies tragically.

“No one is going to notice,” he whispers back. Famous last words.

His fingers move, you freeze when they brush your clit, slow and tentative, but also like he knows exactly what he’s doing, how to touch you. He knows your body in a way that only he’s ever known it. He moves in tight, slow circles, then a bit more rapidly, then strokes your clit up and down, then again he moves in circles, until your face is all hot and you squeeze at his wrist, warning him you’re getting close.

You see, you hear him fucking chuckle.

The good thing is, nobody is paying attention to you and Jake, exactly like he predicted. Still, you’ve got to be quiet and not let any sound escape you, because that’s gonna draw all the attention towards you, and that’s the last thing to hope for. Jake bites down your shoulder, gently but possessively, as you fall apart thanks to him, to his fingers, to his touch. You squeeze your eyes shut, firmly grasping Jake’s wrist as you feel yourself getting wetter between your legs.

Jake’s fingers move in exploration, and the playful, cocky smirk on his face turns into him biting his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he inhales deeply through his nostrils. He’s imagining all the stuff he wants to do to you, all the stuff he’d do if the rest of his friends wasn’t here in the same room as you two. All the positions he’d have you bent in, the flavour of you onto his tongue, the sight of his release slowly dripping out of you. Suddenly, he’s very stiff in his own pyjamas, and there isn’t much either of you can do about it without being too obvious. Would he be a bad friend if he kicked everyone out just to fuck you now and there?

Probably. Does he care? Not much.

But before he can fully realise it, his fingers are moving on his own, prodding at your hole, getting lost feeling all that sweet dew coating your pussy. He wants to dive in and eat you out until your legs are shaking, until he fucking chokes on it. His digits enter you slowly, and your eyes widen in shock because what the fuck, you’d just recovered from your orgasm, what is he trying to do?

But Jake craves your pleasure, he physically yearns for your orgasms more than you do, more than he cares about his own. You feel him, pressed against you, hard and hot and wanting, and you know he needs you. Just as much as you need him, maybe even more.

His fingers pump in and out of you slowly, excruciatingly so, to the point you see stars each and every time the tips rub that sweet, spongy spot inside of you.

“You’re so wet,” he half-moans into your ear, thumbing at your clit. “Fuck, I need you. Need to have you, baby.”

His mouth finds your neck, he fingers you faster, faster, until his fingers are all coated with your wetness.

You don’t even try to speak, sure that your voice would betray you. You’re already struggling at holding back your moans. You just squeeze his wrist tighter, sinking your nails into his skin as he makes you come onto his fingers like the good girl you are.

He notices, of course, bites his lip so hard he nearly tastes blood on his tongue.

“Yeah, like that, baby. Come for me. Show me you’re really mine.”

“Need you. Jakey, I need you,” you blabber incoherently, looking at him with big, doe eyes, pleading him silently.

He blinks, takes a look around the room to see if any of the boys noticed anything. What can he do? Can he really get up and drag you to your shared bedroom and leave everyone else in the living room?

Yes, no doubt. He’ll do anything, he’ll kick everyone out if he has to.

“Bedroom?”

“Please, baby.”

When the two of you suddenly disappear, no one’s really surprised.

“Where did they go?”

“To fuck, wasn’t it obvious?”

And again, no one’s surprised at all.

Jake knows it. Of course he does. It’s his favourite habit of yours, one he picked up too even though there’s no research study on the benefits of the penis of sleeping without underwear on. Still, for solidarity, as he says, he’s started doing that, too. And, hey, quickies before going to bed or as first thing in the morning are easier this way.

The next thing you know, his lips press on your naked shoulder feather-like as the pads of his fingertips brush your pussy lips, collecting and smearing your arousal all over it.

“What are you doing?” You shout-whisper to him, frantically looking around the vast room in case anyone were watching in your direction, but none of the boys were, thankfully.

“Needed to feel you,” he murmurs, syrupy sweet, resting his head in the crook of your neck, turned towards the television even though he’s not really focused on whatever it is they’re watching. “Been thinkin’ about it since you showed up in those leggings.”

He got distracted in the middle of a boring scene of the movie and suddenly remember you were there, beside him, without any panties underneath your pyjamas, and he’s weak for you— he couldn’t resist such a temptation.

“What if they notice?” You lean in to whisper to him, but he simply shrugs in response, not really bothered by the remote possibility.

Heesung’s sitting beside him, and next to him, on the opposite side, there’s Jay. Some of them are comfortably sat in the puffy chair beside the couch, the others are sitting on the carpet, eating popcorn.

And you— you are getting fingered by Jake in the middle of an action scene where the protagonist nearly dies tragically.

“No one is going to notice,” he whispers back. Famous last words.

His fingers move, you freeze when they brush your clit, slow and tentative, but also like he knows exactly what he’s doing, how to touch you. He knows your body in a way that only he’s ever known it. He moves in tight, slow circles, then a bit more rapidly, then strokes your clit up and down, then again he moves in circles, until your face is all hot and you squeeze at his wrist, warning him you’re getting close.

You see, you hear him fucking chuckle.

The good thing is, nobody is paying attention to you and Jake, exactly like he predicted. Still, you’ve got to be quiet and not let any sound escape you, because that’s gonna draw all the attention towards you, and that’s the last thing to hope for. Jake bites down your shoulder, gently but possessively, as you fall apart thanks to him, to his fingers, to his touch. You squeeze your eyes shut, firmly grasping Jake’s wrist as you feel yourself getting wetter between your legs.

Jake’s fingers move in exploration, and the playful, cocky smirk on his face turns into him biting his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he inhales deeply through his nostrils. He’s imagining all the stuff he wants to do to you, all the stuff he’d do if the rest of his friends wasn’t here in the same room as you two. All the positions he’d have you bent in, the flavour of you onto his tongue, the sight of his release slowly dripping out of you. Suddenly, he’s very stiff in his own pyjamas, and there isn’t much either of you can do about it without being too obvious. Would he be a bad friend if he kicked everyone out just to fuck you now and there?

Probably. Does he care? Not much.

But before he can fully realise it, his fingers are moving on his own, prodding at your hole, getting lost feeling all that sweet dew coating your pussy. He wants to dive in and eat you out until your legs are shaking, until he fucking chokes on it. His digits enter you slowly, and your eyes widen in shock because what the fuck, you’d just recovered from your orgasm, what is he trying to do?

But Jake craves your pleasure, he physically yearns for your orgasms more than you do, more than he cares about his own. You feel him, pressed against you, hard and hot and wanting, and you know he needs you. Just as much as you need him, maybe even more.

His fingers pump in and out of you slowly, excruciatingly so, to the point you see stars each and every time the tips rub that sweet, spongy spot inside of you.

“You’re so wet,” he half-moans into your ear, thumbing at your clit. “Fuck, I need you. Need to have you, baby.”

His mouth finds your neck, he fingers you faster, faster, until his fingers are all coated with your wetness.

You don’t even try to speak, sure that your voice would betray you. You’re already struggling at holding back your moans. You just squeeze his wrist tighter, sinking your nails into his skin as he makes you come onto his fingers like the good girl you are.

He notices, of course, bites his lip so hard he nearly tastes blood on his tongue.

“Yeah, like that, baby. Come for me. Show me you’re really mine.”

“Need you. Jakey, I need you,” you blabber incoherently, looking at him with big, doe eyes, pleading him silently.

He blinks, takes a look around the room to see if any of the boys noticed anything. What can he do? Can he really get up and drag you to your shared bedroom and leave everyone else in the living room?

Yes, no doubt. He’ll do anything, he’ll kick everyone out if he has to.

“Bedroom?”

“Please, baby.”

When the two of you suddenly disappear, no one’s really surprised.

“Where did they go?”

“To fuck, wasn’t it obvious?”

And again, no one’s surprised at all.

“No, I’m serious!” You gesture wildly, nearly sloshing your drink. “Like, is it really that fucking hard to find the clit? Is basic anatomy that complicated?”

“Here we go,” Jay groans again from the floor, leaning back against Sunghoon’s legs. They’re playing some racing game on mute while everyone else talks over them. Reina cackles. “Who are we talking about?”

“That guy from Delta Sig I went home with last weekend.” You take a long drink. “Forty-five minutes of the most mediocre dick of my life and he had the audacity to ask if I came.”

“Did you fake it?” Liv asks, already knowing the answer.

“Fuck no. I told him the truth and he got all butthurt about it.” You roll your eyes. “Like sorry bro, maybe develop some skills.”

“Brutal,” Sunoo says, grinning as he passes the joint to Niki.

“Honest,” you correct. “I don’t have time to protect egos. If you can’t make me cum, I’m not gonna lie about it.”

Across the room, Jungwon is watching you with this amused smirk, one eyebrow raised. He’s been quiet most of the night, nursing the same beer, legs spread wide in that infuriatingly confident way guys sit when they know they look good. And he does look good—black t-shirt, gray sweatpants, hair falling into his eyes just right. “What?” you challenge, catching his stare.

“Nothing.” But his smirk deepens. “Just sounds like you’ve been picking the wrong guys.”

“Oh please.” You lean forward. “Like you’d be any different.”

Something shifts in his expression. His eyes darken, and he tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Want me to prove it?”

The room doesn’t exactly go quiet, but you feel like it does. Your stomach does this weird flip. “Prove what?” You keep your voice steady even though your heart is suddenly racing.

“That you’ve been fucking the wrong guys.” He says it so casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. But there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at you.

Reina makes a choking sound beside you. Someone—maybe Heeseung—mutters “oh shit” under their breath. You should laugh it off. Make a joke. Change the subject. But you’re drunk enough to be bold and curious enough to wonder if he’s all talk. “You’re that confident?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” No hesitation. “I am.”

The challenge hangs in the air between you. You’re aware of everyone watching, waiting to see what you’ll do. Maya’s eyes are wide. Jay looks like he’s trying to figure out if he should intervene. “Okay.” You stand up, and Jungwon’s smirk falters for just a second—like he didn’t expect you to actually take him up on it. “Prove it.”

You start walking toward the hallway that leads to Jake’s bedroom, and after a beat, you hear Jungwon follow.

“Are they really—” someone starts.

“Yup,” Reina says, and she sounds absolutely delighted.

Jake’s bedroom is dark and quiet, muffled music and laughter filtering through the door. You flip on the lamp, suddenly aware that you’re alone with Jungwon and you just agreed to let him— “You don’t have to,” he says, and when you turn, he’s standing close but not crowding you. “If you were just calling my bluff.”

“Were you bluffing?”

“No.”

The word sends heat straight through you. You step closer, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “Then stop talking and do it.”

For a second he just looks at you, and then his hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You sure?”

“Jungwon.” You grab his shirt. “I swear to god, if you’re going to do it, then—” He kisses you. Not rough, not tentative—just sure. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and honestly? The confidence is already working for you. His lips are soft and he tastes like beer and something minty, and when his tongue slides against yours, you make a sound you’ll probably be embarrassed about later.

But he groans in response, walking you backward until your legs hit the bed. You fall onto it and he follows, hovering over you, one hand planted by your head while the other slides under your shirt. “This okay?” he murmurs against your mouth.

“Yes, fuck—yes.”

His hand skims up your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your bralette, and you arch into the touch. He’s taking his time, kissing along your jaw, down your neck, finding that spot behind your ear that makes you gasp. “Sensitive here?” he asks, sounding pleased.

“Shut up.”

He laughs, low and warm against your skin. “You’re mouthy.”

“You have no idea.”

“Guess I’ll find out.” He sits back and pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion, and—okay. Okay. You knew he was lean but you didn’t know he looked like that without clothes. He catches you staring and smirks. “See something you like?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.” But his hands are gentle as he reaches for the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to nod before pulling it off. Your bralette follows, and then his mouth is on your breast and coherent thought gets significantly harder.

He’s good at this. The guy knows what he’s doing with his tongue, circling your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. His hand works your other breast, thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching until you’re panting. “Jungwon—”

“Hmm?” He switches sides, giving your other breast the same attention, and you thread your fingers through his hair and tug.

“Stop teasing.”

“I’m not teasing.” He looks up at you through his lashes, and the sight of him between your breasts does something to you. “I’m being thorough.” His hand trails down your stomach, fingers playing with the button of your jeans. “Can I?”

“Yes, god, yes.”

He unbuttons them slowly—too slowly—and slides them down your legs along with your underwear. You’re completely naked and he’s still half-dressed, and something about that makes you feel exposed in a way that’s not entirely uncomfortable. Jungwon sits back on his heels, just looking at you, and you fight the urge to cover yourself. “Stop staring.”

“Can’t help it.” His hands slide up your thighs, pushing them apart. “You’re so fucking pretty.” The praise makes your face heat. You’re not used to guys taking their time like this, looking at you like you’re something worth savoring.

“Let me know if anything doesn’t feel good,” he says, and then his mouth is on your inner thigh, kissing and biting a path upward until his breath is ghosting over where you need him most.

The first touch of his tongue is light—experimental. He licks a broad stripe up your center and you gasp, hips jerking. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he does it again, more pressure this time. “Fuck,” you breathe.

He hums against you, and the vibration makes your toes curl. Then he finds your clit with the tip of his tongue, circling it slowly, and—oh. Oh.

You’ve had guys go down on you before. Most of them acted like it was a chore, something to rush through to get to the “main event.” But Jungwon is eating you out like he has all the time in the world, like he’s enjoying it as much as you are.

He alternates between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit, reading your body’s reactions—when you moan, when your hips buck, when your thighs start to tremble. And when he slides one finger inside you, crooking it just right while his tongue works your clit, you actually see stars. “Holy shit,” you gasp, one hand fisted in his hair, the other gripping the sheets.

He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the combination of his mouth and his fingers pumping into you is almost too much. You’re making sounds you’ve never made before, completely uninhibited, and he’s groaning against you like getting you off is getting him off. “Jungwon, I’m—fuck, I’m close—”

He doesn’t change what he’s doing. Doesn’t speed up or switch techniques like so many guys do right when you’re on the edge. He just keeps that same perfect rhythm, fingers curling inside you, tongue circling your clit, and you come harder than you ever have with another person. Your whole body goes taut, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crash over you. He works you through it, only lightening his touch when you start to squirm from sensitivity.

When you can finally breathe again, you look down to find him watching you with the most self-satisfied expression you’ve ever seen. “You were saying?” he asks, and you want to be annoyed but you’re too blissed out to care.

“Okay,” you admit. “Point proven.”

He crawls up your body, kissing you deep, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. His erection presses against your thigh through his sweatpants, and you reach down to palm him through the fabric. He groans into your mouth. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” You push at his shoulders until he rolls onto his back, and then you’re straddling him, grinding down against his clothed cock. “Unless you’re done proving yourself?”

His hands grip your hips, helping you rock against him. “Fuck no.” You lean down to kiss him while your hand slips into his sweatpants, wrapping around him. He’s hard and thick, and when you stroke him, his hips jerk up into your hand.

“Condom?” you murmur against his lips.

“Wallet. Back pocket.” You climb off long enough for him to shove his sweatpants and boxers down, and—yeah, okay, the confidence makes sense. You grab his wallet from his discarded pants, finding the condom and tearing it open while he strokes himself lazily, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Let me,” he says, taking it from you and rolling it on. Then his hands are on your waist, lifting you, positioning you over him. “Go slow. Take what you need.”

You sink down onto him inch by inch, and the stretch is perfect. He fills you completely, and when you’re fully seated, you both groan. “Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes, hands flexing on your hips.

You start to move, rolling your hips, finding a rhythm. His hands guide you but he lets you control the pace, watching where you’re joined with an expression that’s almost reverent. “Touch yourself,” he says, voice rough. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”

The words send a fresh wave of arousal through you. You brace one hand on his chest and bring the other between your legs, fingers finding your clit. You’re still sensitive from before, and it doesn’t take much—just a few circles while he thrusts up into you, hitting that perfect spot inside. “That’s it,” he encourages, sitting up to mouth at your neck, one hand gripping your ass to help you move. “You’re so fucking hot like this. Taking what you need.”

You’re close again, impossibly, and when he bites down on your shoulder at the same moment his cock hits deep, you shatter. Your orgasm rips through you and you feel him follow seconds later, groaning your name against your skin as he pulses inside you. You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. His hand comes up to stroke your back, gentle and grounding.

“So,” he says after a minute, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Still think I’m no different?”

You lift your head to glare at him, but there’s no heat in it. “Okay, fine. You were right.”

“Say it louder, I don’t think they heard you outside.”

You smack his chest and he laughs, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. The gesture is surprisingly tender for what just happened. “Holy shit,” you say, the reality of the situation finally catching up. “We just fucked in Jake’s bed.”

“Yeah, we should probably…” He gestures vaguely. You climb off him carefully, and he deals with the condom while you hunt for your clothes in the dim light. There’s something surreal about getting dressed in comfortable silence after what just happened. Like you’ve done this before, even though you haven’t.

When you’re both decent, you catch sight of yourself in Jake’s mirror. Your hair is a mess, lips swollen, and there’s a hickey blooming on your collarbone. “Shit.” You touch it gingerly.

Jungwon comes up behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Sorry. Got carried away.”

“It’s fine.” You try to fluff your hair into something less “I just got thoroughly fucked.” “Everyone’s gonna know, though.”

“They already know.” He grins. “We weren’t exactly quiet.”

Your face heats. He’s right—you definitely weren’t quiet. “Oh god.”

“Hey.” He turns you around, hands on your shoulders. “You good? This isn’t… weird?”

You consider it. By all accounts, it should be weird. You just fucked one of your friends on a drunken bet. But looking at him now, his hair messy from your hands, expression open and a little concerned, it doesn’t feel weird. “I’m good,” you say honestly. “You?”

“I’m great.” His smile is genuine. “That was—”

“Really good,” you finish.

“Yeah.” You stand there for a beat too long, and then you clear your throat. “We should probably get back before they send a search party.”

“Right. Yeah.” He opens the door and you walk out first, down the hallway back to the living room where the entire group is absolutely not pretending they weren’t waiting for you. The silence when you walk in is deafening.

“So,” Reina says, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Scale of one to ten?”

“Reina!” Maya looks mortified.

You just laugh and drop back onto the couch. “Solid eleven.” The room erupts. Jay throws a pillow at you. Sunghoon looks like he wishes he could disappear. Heeseung and Jake are cackling. Liv just gives you a knowing look and passes you a fresh drink. Jungwon sits down across from you, and when your eyes meet, he smirks. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling back.

Yeah, you think, taking a long drink. This is either the best or worst decision you’ve ever made.

It’s after three AM when the party finally winds down. People are crashed on various surfaces—Niki and Sunoo sharing the big armchair, Heeseung sprawled on the floor, Jay and Sunghoon having claimed the other couch. Maya and Jake disappeared into his room about an hour ago. You’re pretty sober now, sitting on the balcony with Liv and Reina, sharing a cigarette and watching the campus lights below.

“So,” Liv says, passing you the cigarette. “You gonna talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“You fucked Jungwon.” Reina isn’t one for subtlety. You nod.

“And?”

You take a drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. “And it was really good.”

“We gathered that from the sounds,” Reina says, grinning when you flip her off. “But like… are you gonna do it again?”

“I don’t know. Probably not?” Even as you say it, you’re not sure you believe it. “It was just a drunk thing.”

“A drunk thing where you came so hard we heard you through the door,” Liv points out. Your face heats. “Oh my god.”

“I’m just saying.” She shrugs. “That kind of chemistry doesn’t come around often. And you’re both single. Why not?”

“Because he’s part of the group,” you say, voicing the concern that’s been nagging at you since you got dressed. “If things got messy…”

“Things don’t have to get messy,” Reina says. “People have casual sex all the time.”

“Not with their friends.”

“Sure they do.” Liv stubs out the cigarette. “Look, I’m not saying marry the guy. But if you both enjoyed it and you’re both adults… I don’t see the problem.”

You don’t have a good argument for that, mainly because you’re still thinking about his hands on your body, his mouth between your legs, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. “I’ll think about it,” you say finally.

Your phone buzzes at 4:17 AM. You’re in your own bed now, having gotten an Uber home with Liv and Reina. You should be asleep but you keep replaying the night in your head.

jungwon: you up? i can’t sleep

You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back. you: same

jungwon: kept thinking about earlier

Your heart rate picks up. you: yeah?

jungwon: that okay?

you: yeah. me too

There’s a long pause where you watch the three dots appear and disappear several times.

jungwon: look, if tonight was just a one time thing, that’s cool. but if you ever wanted to do it again with no strings. you said it yourself. good sex is hard to find

You bite your lip, thumb hovering over the keyboard. This is probably a bad idea. You should say thanks but no thanks, keep things simple.

you: no strings?

jungwon: none. just two friends helping each other out

you: friends who fuck

jungwon: exactly

you: you’re sure this won’t make things weird with the group?

jungwon: only if we let it

You think about what Liv said. About chemistry and being adults and not overthinking things. you: okay

jungwon: yeah?

you: yeah. but we need rules

jungwon: rules work

you: we can talk about it tomorrow. when we’re sober

jungwon: sounds good. for the record though

you: ?

jungwon: you taste amazing

Your face goes hot and you let out an embarrassing sound even though you’re alone in your room. you: go to SLEEP jungwon

jungwon: sweet dreams 😏

You toss your phone aside and press your face into your pillow, smiling like an idiot. This is definitely a bad idea. But god, you kind of can’t wait to make it worse.

You meet Jungwon at a coffee shop off campus, neutral territory where you’re less likely to run into anyone from the group. It’s Tuesday afternoon, and you both have a gap between classes. He’s already there when you arrive, sitting in a corner booth with two iced americanos, and when he sees you, he slides one across the table. “Wasn’t sure how you take it,” he says.

“Black’s fine.” You sit down across from him, suddenly feeling weirdly nervous. Which is stupid—you’ve literally had his dick inside you. A coffee meetup shouldn’t be the awkward part. But he seems to sense it because he grins. “This is weird, right?”

“So weird,” you admit, and you both laugh, and just like that the tension breaks.

“Okay.” He leans back, fingers drumming on his cup. “Rules.”

“Rules,” you agree. “First one: no one can know.”

“Agreed. Jay and Sunghoon would lose their minds.”

“Jay would literally try to fight you.” You take a sip of coffee. “And Maya would never let me hear the end of it.”

“So we’re careful. No disappearing together at group things unless we have a good excuse.”

“And we stagger leaving,” you add. “Like, if you leave a party, I wait at least twenty minutes before I go.”

“Smart.” He nods. “What about texting?”

“Keep it normal in the group chat. If we’re gonna hook up, we text privately.”

“Works for me.” He studies you for a moment. “What about other people?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Other people?”

“Like, are we exclusive? Or can we still hook up with other people?”

It’s a fair question, even if something in your chest tightens at the thought of him with someone else. Which is stupid. This is purely physical. “We can do whatever we want,” you say carefully. “But if either of us starts hooking up with someone else regularly, we should probably end this. Easier that way.”

“Makes sense.” He seems to hesitate. “And if one of us catches feelings?”

“Then we stop immediately.” You meet his eyes. “That’s the most important rule. This only works if we’re both on the same page.”

“Agreed.” He holds out his hand across the table. “So we have a deal?”

You shake his hand, trying to ignore how warm his palm is against yours. “Deal.”

“Cool.” He doesn’t let go right away. “So… your place or mine?”

Heat pools in your stomach. “Eager?”

“You’re the one who wore that skirt.”

You glance down at your denim mini skirt, then back up at him with a smirk. “I have class in two hours.”

“That’s plenty of time.”

His apartment is closer, a small one-bedroom he shares with Heeseung who’s conveniently at class until five. The second the door closes behind you, his mouth is on yours, backing you against the wall. “Been thinking about this since Saturday,” he murmurs against your lips, hands sliding under your skirt to grip your ass.

“It’s only been three days.”

“Three days too long.” He picks you up and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to his room. It’s surprisingly clean—bed made, clothes put away, posters of various bands on the walls.

He lays you on the bed and steps back, pulling his shirt over his head. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch, admiring the view. “Like what you see?” he asks, echoing your words from the other night.

“You already know I do.”

He grins and climbs over you, settling between your legs. “Want to try something?”

“Like what?”

“You’ll see.” His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist. “Trust me?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and you mean it.

He hooks his fingers in your underwear and drags them down slowly, and you’re already wet just from the anticipation. He spreads your legs wider, thumb brushing over your clit almost teasingly before he slides two fingers inside you. “Fuck,” you gasp, hips rolling against his hand.

“Still sensitive from last time?” He pumps his fingers slowly, curling them just right.

“A little.”

He leans down to kiss you, swallowing your moan as he works you open. When he adds a third finger, the stretch makes your toes curl. He finger-fucks you until you’re panting, right on the edge, and then he stops. You make a sound of protest and he laughs. “Patience.” He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a small vibrator.

Your eyes widen. “You just have that?”

“Ex left it here.” He turns it on, and the low buzz fills the room. “Never thought I’d use it, but…”

He presses it against your clit and you nearly jackknife off the bed. The sensation is intense, overwhelming, especially when he slides his fingers back inside you at the same time. “Oh fuck—Jungwon—”

“That good?” He sounds smug, but you can’t even be annoyed because he’s right. It’s so good you can barely breathe.

He works you with the vibrator and his fingers, watching your face intently, adjusting based on your reactions. When you’re close, thighs shaking, he leans down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth through your shirt.

You come with a cry, back arching, and he doesn’t stop until you’re pushing his hand away from oversensitivity. “Holy shit,” you pant.

He turns off the vibrator and sets it aside, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Good?”

“You know it was.”

“Want to keep going?” Instead of answering, you sit up and push him onto his back, straddling him. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans, and you grind down against him, making him groan.

“Your turn,” you say, working his belt open. You take your time getting him naked, kissing down his chest and stomach, enjoying the way his muscles jump under your lips. When you finally get his jeans and boxers off, his cock springs free, already leaking. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he hisses through his teeth.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you cut him off, and then you take him in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand flying to your hair. Not pushing, just holding on as you work him with your tongue. You take him as deep as you can, hollowing your cheeks, and the sounds he makes are incredibly satisfying.

You pull off with a wet pop. “You gonna tell me what you like?”

“That,” he says breathlessly. “I like that.”

“Be specific.” You lick up the underside of his cock. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Fuck—okay, um, tighter grip, and—yeah, just like that.” His hips buck when you comply. “And twist your hand a little when you—oh god—“

You find a rhythm that has him falling apart, alternating between your mouth and your hand, and when you cup his balls gently, he swears. “I’m close,” he warns, tugging your hair. “If you don’t want to—”

You double down, taking him deeper, and he comes with a groan, spilling down your throat. You swallow and work him through it until he’s shaking. When you pull off and wipe your mouth, he’s staring at you like you’re some kind of miracle. “You’re really good at that,” he says, voice wrecked.

“Right back at you.” You climb up to lie beside him. “This is gonna be fun.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pulling you closer. “It really is.”

The first group hangout after your arrangement starts is at someone’s house party on Thursday. One of the senior volleyball guys is throwing it, and the place is packed by the time you arrive with Liv and Reina.

You spot the guys in the backyard—Jay and Sunghoon playing beer pong against Jake and Heeseung, Sunoo and Niki smoking by the fence. And Jungwon leaning against the porch railing, red cup in hand, talking to some girl you vaguely recognize from Psychology. Something ugly twists in your chest before you can stop it.

“Don’t,” Liv says quietly.

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.” She steers you toward the drinks table. “Remember the rules.” Right. The rules. You can both do whatever you want. It doesn’t matter that the girl is touching his arm, laughing at something he said. It doesn’t matter at all. You pour yourself a strong drink and down half of it.

“There you are!” Maya appears, already tipsy, Jake trailing behind her. “We’ve been here for like an hour, where were you?”

“Reina took forever getting ready,” Liv says, throwing her under the bus.

“Excuse me, this face is a work of art.” Reina gestures at her makeup. “It takes time.”

You tune them out, eyes drifting back to Jungwon. The girl is still there, but now he’s looking at you. When your eyes meet, he says something to her and starts walking over. “Hey,” he says when he reaches your group, giving everyone a casual nod before his eyes land on you. “You just get here?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” His cup is empty. “I’m gonna grab another drink. Want to come?”

It’s a normal question. The kind of thing he might have asked before. But Maya and Reina exchange a look, and you want to die. “Sure.”

You follow him to the drinks table, hyperaware of the space between you. “That girl,” you say as he pours vodka into his cup. “From Psychology?”

“Mina. Yeah.” He adds red bull, not looking at you. “She was asking about the midterm.”

“Right.”

“You jealous?” He’s smirking now, voice low enough that only you can hear.

“No.”

“Liar.” He leans in slightly. “You look really good, by the way.”

You’re wearing low-waisted jeans and a cropped black tank top, simple but effective. “Thanks.”

“Having fun yet?”

“I just got here.”

“Want to have more fun later?” The suggestion in his voice is clear.

“Maybe.” You take a sip of your drink. “If you play your cards right.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Two hours later, you’re drunk and high and dancing in the crowded living room with Reina and some people from your Communications class. The music is too loud, bodies pressed too close, and you’re sweaty and happy and not thinking about anything.

Until hands settle on your waist from behind. You know it’s Jungwon before you even turn around—you’re getting familiar with his touch. He’s behind you, moving with you, and it takes everything in you not to lean back against him. “Thought you were playing beer pong,” you say over your shoulder.

“Got boring.” His breath is warm against your ear. “This is better.”

You shouldn’t be doing this. People will notice. But the room is dark and crowded, and everyone’s drunk, and his body feels so good against yours. You let yourself grind back against him, just a little, and his grip on your waist tightens.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.

“You started it.”

One of his hands slides lower, fingers playing with the belt loop of your jeans, not quite dipping under but close enough to make you ache. “Your place or mine?” he asks.

“Mine. Liv’s staying at her girlfriend’s.”

“Meet you there in twenty?”

“Make it fifteen.”

He shows up in twelve minutes. The second you open your apartment door, he’s on you, walking you backward until you hit the wall. His mouth is hot and demanding, tasting like weed and whatever he was drinking, and you can’t get enough. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he groans, hands everywhere at once.

“You were talking to that girl for like twenty minutes.”

He pulls back to look at you, grinning. “You were jealous.”

“Shut up.”

“You were.” He kisses down your neck. “That’s cute.”

“I wasn’t—” You lose your train of thought when he bites down on your pulse point.

“Whatever you say.” His hands slide under your shirt, pushing it up. “Can I take this off?”

“Yes.”

Your shirt and bra hit the floor, and then his mouth is on your breast and you stop caring about anything else. He takes his time, sucking marks into your skin that you’ll have to cover tomorrow, and when he drops to his knees in front of you, your brain short-circuits. “These too?” He’s already unbuttoning your jeans.

“Please.” He gets you naked efficiently, and then he’s lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, face level with your pussy.

“Hold on to something,” he advises, and then his tongue is on you. You grip his hair with one hand, the other braced against the wall, as he devours you. He’s not gentle about it—licking and sucking and fucking you with his tongue until your leg is shaking and you’re barely staying upright.

“Jungwon—fuck—I’m gonna fall—”

He stands up, and before you can process it, he’s lifting you. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you to your bedroom, laying you out on the bed.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much.”

He strips quickly and you admire the view—he’s fully hard, cock jutting up against his stomach. When he settles between your legs again, you expect him to reach for a condom, but instead he slides down your body. “Want to try something else,” he says, kissing your inner thigh.

“Yeah?”

“Can I go down on you while you suck me?”

Heat floods through you. “Like 69?”

“Yeah.” He looks almost nervous. “If you want.”

“Okay.” He repositions so he’s on his back, and you straddle his face, leaning forward to take his cock in your hand. The angle is different like this, and when his tongue finds your clit, you gasp.

“Fuck—sorry—” You’re distracted, and you force yourself to focus, wrapping your lips around him.

It’s intense, trying to concentrate on getting him off while he’s making you feel so good. Every time you take him deeper, he groans against your pussy, and the vibration makes you moan around him.

You’re dripping on his face, riding his tongue, and his hands grip your ass, pulling you down harder. The obscene wet sounds fill the room, and you’re so turned on you can barely see straight.

When he slides two fingers inside you while sucking your clit, you come with his cock still in your mouth, and he follows seconds later, groaning your name. You collapse beside him, both of you breathing hard. “Holy shit,” you say eventually.

“Good?”

“So good.” You turn your head to look at him. “You’re full of ideas.”

“I like making you come.” He says it so casually, like it’s a fact. “Want to see how many times I can do it.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“If you want it to be.”

You glance at the clock—it’s barely midnight. “How many orgasms are we talking?”

“How many can you handle?”

“More than you’d think.”

His smile is wicked. “Let’s find out.”

Forty minutes and two more orgasms later (one from his fingers, one from actually fucking), you’re a boneless mess in your sheets and Jungwon looks unreasonably smug. “I think I won,” he says.

“You didn’t—I made you come too—”

“Twice. You came four times.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.” But he’s smiling, tracing lazy patterns on your hip. “You okay? Not too much?”

“I’m great.” And you are—exhausted and satisfied and floating. “You’re really good at this.”

“So are you.” He kisses your shoulder. “We work well together.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “We do.” Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it and find a string of messages in the group chat. maya: where did everyone gooooo

reina: i saw y/n leave and jungwon left like right after 👀

jay: oh god not this again

sunghoon: can we NOT

heeseung: let them live lmao

reina: i’m just SAYING

liv: leave them alone

You show Jungwon the messages and he laughs. “We’re not subtle,” he says.

“Not even a little bit.”

“Does it bother you?”

You think about it. The teasing is annoying, but it’s not like you’re ashamed. “No. Does it bother you?”

“Nah.” He stretches, all long limbs and satisfied energy. “Let them speculate. As long as we don’t confirm anything, we’re good.”

“Agreed.” You type out a response. you: i left because i was tired. stop being weird

reina: SURE

you: i hate you

reina: love you too babe 😘

You toss your phone aside and curl into Jungwon’s side. He wraps an arm around you automatically, and it feels dangerously comfortable. “Should you go?” you ask. “It’s late.”

“Do you want me to?”

You should say yes. Letting him stay feels too intimate, too couple-y. But you’re tired and warm and he’s already half-asleep. “You can stay if you want.”

“Okay.” He’s already drifting off.

You lie awake a little longer, listening to his breathing even out, trying not to think about how right this feels. It’s just sex, you remind yourself. Really good sex with someone you trust. That’s all. You almost believe it.

Friday afternoon you have Intro to Film Studies, and you’re running late because you definitely overslept after Jungwon didn’t leave until 6 AM. You slide into your usual seat next to this guy Marcus from your dorm building just as the professor starts. “Rough night?” Marcus whispers, grinning.

“Something like that.” You’re trying to focus on the lecture about French New Wave cinema when your phone buzzes.

jungwon: you left your underwear in my car

You freeze. you: WHAT

jungwon: black lace ones. very nice btw

you: how did they end up in your car???

jungwon: you really don’t remember?

And then you do remember. Wednesday night, he picked you up after your late class, you made out in his car in the parking garage, things escalated, and apparently you forgot to put all your clothes back on.

you: oh my god

jungwon: don’t worry, heeseung didn’t see them

jungwon: i hid them before he got in

you: this is a nightmare

jungwon: or it’s funny

you: WHERE ARE THEY NOW

jungwon: my pocket

you: JUNGWON

jungwon: what? they’re safe

you: you’re insane

jungwon: you like it

You bite your lip to keep from smiling, hyperaware that you’re in the middle of class. you: i’m in class

jungwon: so am i. keeps things interesting

you: i hate you

jungwon: you definitely don’t. not after the sounds you were making wednesday night

Your face goes hot. you: STOP

jungwon: come over after class?

you: can’t. studying with maya

jungwon: tomorrow?

you: there’s that party at the phi delt house

jungwon: sunday then

you: sunday works

jungwon: it’s a date

you: it’s not a date

jungwon: right. forgot. just two friends fucking

you: exactly

jungwon: can’t wait 😉

You shove your phone in your bag and try to concentrate on the lecture, but it’s useless. You’re too busy thinking about Sunday, about his hands and his mouth and the way he says your name when he comes. This is getting dangerous. But you can’t seem to stop.

The party Saturday night is massive—Phi Delt always goes hard. You show up with your girls, already tipsy from pregaming, and immediately lose track of everyone in the crowd. You’re in the kitchen mixing a drink when someone bumps into you, sloshing vodka on your hand. “Shit, sorry—oh hey!”

You turn to find Mina, the girl from Jungwon’s Psych class. Up close she’s even prettier—long dark hair, perfect skin, bright smile. “No worries,” you say, wiping your hand on your jeans.

“You’re friends with Jungwon, right?” she asks. “I’ve seen you guys together.”

Something in your chest tightens. “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“He’s so sweet.” She’s making herself a drink, completely oblivious to your internal crisis. “We’ve been studying together for Psych. He’s really smart.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Are you guys like… together? I don’t want to step on any toes.”

The question catches you off guard. “Oh—no, we’re just friends.”

“Cool!” She seems genuinely relieved. “I was thinking about asking him out. Do you think he’d be into that?”

You should say yes. Or say you don’t know. You should definitely not feel like you want to throw your drink in her face, because you have no claim on Jungwon. That’s the whole point. “You should ask him,” you say, forcing a smile.

“I think I will!” She bounces off, and you’re left standing there feeling weird and hollow.

You down your drink and make another one, stronger this time. “Easy there,” a voice says, and you turn to find Jay watching you with concern. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You’re drinking like you’re not fine.”

“I’m just trying to have fun, Jay. Is that allowed?”

He holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. Just checking.”

You feel bad immediately. “Sorry. I’m just… it’s been a week.”

“Want to talk about it?” You shake your head no. “Does this have anything to do with Jungwon?”

Your head snaps up. “Why would it?”

“Come on.” Jay gives you a look. “I’m not stupid. Neither is Sunghoon. We know something’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Right. And you guys just happened to leave that party within five minutes of each other for completely unrelated reasons.”You don’t say anything. “Look,” Jay says, his voice gentler. “I don’t care what you guys do. You’re both adults. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’m not going to get hurt. It’s just casual.”

“Is it?”

Before you can answer, Jungwon appears in the doorway, Mina trailing behind him. When he sees you, something flickers across his face. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

Mina touches his arm. “I’m gonna go find my friends, but text me about that study session?”

“Sure,” he says, and she leaves.

You feel Jay watching both of you. “I’m gonna go find Sunghoon,” he says pointedly. “You two… talk. Or whatever.”

When he’s gone, Jungwon moves closer. “You okay?”

“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seem tense.”

“I’m not tense.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t look convinced. “You want to get out of here?”

“I just got here.”

“So?”

“So people will notice.”

“Let them notice.” His hand brushes yours, brief but deliberate. “Come on. Please?”

You shouldn’t. You should stay at the party, hang out with your friends, stop making everything about him. “Fine,” you say. “But you leave first.”

You end up at his place again. Heeseung is gone for the weekend, so you have the apartment to yourselves. The second the door closes, he’s kissing you, and it feels different somehow. More desperate. Like he’s trying to prove something. “What was that about?” you ask when you break for air.

“What was what about?”

“With Mina.”

“Nothing. She wants to study together.”

“She wants to do more than study.”

He pulls back slightly, looking at you. “Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“You are.” He sounds pleased.

“I’m not—we have rules, Jungwon. You can do whatever you want.”

“So can you.” His jaw tightens. “Didn’t stop me from wanting to punch Marcus when I saw him sitting next to you in the library yesterday.”

“You saw that?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re just study partners.”

“I know.” He kisses you again, softer this time. “This is stupid, right? We shouldn’t be jealous.”

“Right.”

“Because it’s just casual.”

“Exactly.” You’re both quiet for a moment.

“For the record,” he says finally, “I’m not interested in Mina. Or anyone else.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “This—what we have—it works. I don’t want to fuck it up by bringing other people into it.”

Relief washes over you. “Yeah. Same.”

“So… exclusive, then? Just while this is happening?”

“Just while this is happening,” you agree.

“Good.” He kisses you again, and this time when you end up in his bed, it feels different. Slower. More intentional.

He takes his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin he exposes. When he finally settles between your legs, he looks up at you. “Tell me what you want,” he says.

“You.”

“Be specific.”

“I want—” You’re breathless already and he hasn’t even touched you yet. “I want your mouth.”

“Where?”

“You know where.”

“Say it.” His breath ghosts over your inner thigh.

“My pussy,” you say, face heating. “I want your mouth on my pussy.”

“Good girl.” The praise makes you clench around nothing, and then his tongue is on you and you forget how to think. He’s devastatingly thorough, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit, sliding his fingers inside you when you start to squirm. You’re panting, desperate, right on the edge when he stops.

“Jungwon—”

“Want you to come on my cock,” he says, reaching for a condom. He rolls it on and slides into you in one smooth thrust, and you both groan. The angle is perfect, hitting deep, and when he starts to move, you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him closer. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes against your neck. “So wet for me.”

“Don’t stop—”

“Not stopping.” His hand slides between your bodies to rub your clit. “Want to feel you come.”

It doesn’t take long. The combination of his cock and his fingers pushes you over the edge, and you come with a cry, clenching around him. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck as he pulses inside you. You stay like that for a while, catching your breath, his weight comfortable on top of you.

“You’re staying tonight, right?” he asks eventually.

“Yeah,” you say, and you don’t even pretend to think about it. “I’m staying.”

He rolls off you to deal with the condom, and when he comes back, he pulls you against his chest. You let yourself relax into him, listening to his heartbeat slow. This is definitely more than just casual. But neither of you says it out loud.

Three months in, and you’ve gotten good at this. Really good. You and Jungwon have the routine down to an art form. You don’t leave parties together anymore—one of you leaves, the other waits at least half an hour. You vary whose place you go to. You keep your hands to yourselves during group hangouts, no lingering touches or loaded looks. In the group chat, you bicker and joke like you always have.

To everyone else, the initial excitement has worn off. Whatever was happening between you two seems to have fizzled out. Even Reina has stopped making comments. Which is perfect, because it means no one notices that you’re fucking almost every other day.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon in mid-October, and you’re sprawled across various surfaces in Jay and Sunghoon’s apartment. Maya and Jake are tangled together on the loveseat, Liv is rolling a joint at the coffee table, Reina is painting her nails on the floor. The guys are scattered around—Jay and Sunghoon playing FIFA, Heeseung scrolling his phone, Sunoo showing Niki something on his laptop. And Jungwon is sitting across from you in the armchair, looking completely relaxed, like he wasn’t buried inside you this morning before your 9 AM class.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” Reina announces. “Can we order food?”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Sunghoon says, not looking away from the TV.

“Your point?”

Everyone starts debating what to order, and you catch Jungwon’s eye across the room. He raises an eyebrow slightly, and you know exactly what he’s thinking about. This morning, you pinned against his shower wall, water streaming over both of you, his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet even though Heeseung wasn’t home. You bite your lip and look away before you start smiling like an idiot.

“Earth to Y/N,” Niki says, waving a hand in front of your face. “You alive in there?”

“What? Yeah, sorry.”

“I was asking about that guy you were telling me about.” He grins. “The one from a few weeks ago?”

Your brain stalls. “What guy?”

“You know, when we went to get coffee last week. You were telling me about hooking up with someone and how he was like, insanely good?”

Oh shit. You do vaguely remember that conversation—you and Niki had gotten coffee between classes, and he’d been asking about your dating life, and you’d maybe been too honest about how good the sex had been lately. You’d kept it vague, hadn’t mentioned names, but still. The room has gotten quiet, everyone paying attention now. “Oh,” you say, very aware of Jungwon’s eyes on you. “That was… nothing. Just some guy.”

“Some guy who’s apparently the best fuck you’ve ever had,” Niki says, looking way too entertained. “Those were your exact words.”

“Niki—”

“What? I’m just saying, that’s high praise coming from you.”

Reina sits up straighter. “Wait, hold on. You’ve been holding out on us? Who is this mystery man?”

“It’s not a big deal—”

“Best fuck of your life sounds like a big deal,” Liv points out, though she’s trying not to smile. She’s the only one who knows the truth, and she’s clearly enjoying watching you squirm.

“Are you still seeing him?” Maya asks.

“It’s casual.”

“Is it that guy from your Econ class?” Reina guesses. “The tall one with the man bun?”

“No.”

“The bartender from that club we went to?”

“No.”

“Give us something,” Sunoo pleads dramatically. “We need details.”

You absolutely cannot look at Jungwon. “There are no details. It’s just… casual hookups. Nothing serious.”

“But the sex is good?” Reina presses.

“Yeah,” you admit, because denying it now would be weird. “The sex is really good.”

“How good are we talking?” Heeseung asks. “Like, good good, or like, mind-blowing life-changing good?”

Your face is burning. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?”

“Oh my god, it’s mind-blowing life-changing good,” Reina says gleefully. “Look at her face!”

“I hate all of you.”

“What makes it so good?” Maya asks, genuinely curious. “Like, what’s he doing that’s so different?”

“Maya!”

“What? I’m trying to learn here!”

You risk a glance at Jungwon. He’s very still, expression carefully neutral, but there’s something in his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else entirely. “He just—” You struggle for words that won’t give anything away. “He pays attention, I guess? Like, he actually cares about getting me off. And he’s… confident. Knows what he’s doing.”

“Size?” Reina asks bluntly.

“Oh my god, Reina!”

“What? It’s a relevant question!”

“I’m not answering that.”

“So it’s good,” she concludes. “Noted.”

“Can we please order food now?” you beg.

Jay takes pity on you. “Yeah, let’s vote. Pizza or Thai?”

The conversation mercifully moves on, and you finally let yourself breathe. But when you glance at Jungwon again, he’s looking at his phone, jaw tight. Shit.

The group ends up ordering pizza, and by the time it arrives, you’ve almost forgotten about the awkward conversation. Almost. You’re halfway through your second slice when your phone buzzes: jungwon: can you come help me with something in the car?

You frown at the message. You all walked here, no one drove. you: what?

jungwon: just come outside for a sec

You make an excuse about needing air and head downstairs. Jungwon is waiting by the building entrance, hands in his pockets. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Really?” He looks at you. “Best fuck of your life?”

Oh. “You’re mad about that?”

“I’m not mad.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not—” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just don’t love the idea of you telling Niki about us.”

“I didn’t tell him about us. I kept it vague. He doesn’t know it’s you.”

“But you were talking about me. About our sex life.”

“Is that not allowed?” You cross your arms. “We’re not together, Jungwon. I can talk to my friends.”

“I know that.” His jaw ticks. “I just—forget it.”

“No, what? Say what you’re thinking.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Did you mean it? What you said up there?”

“About what?”

“About it being the best you’ve had.”

Your stomach flips. “I… yeah. I meant it.”

His expression softens slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You step closer. “Why, did you doubt it?”

“No, I just…” He trails off, looking almost embarrassed. “I liked hearing it, I guess. Even if I wasn’t supposed to be the one hearing it.”

“You’re so weird.”

“You like it,” he says, echoing your texts from months ago.

“Maybe.” You glance back at the building. “We should go back up before someone notices.”

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. “Come over tonight?”

“Jungwon, we just saw each other this morning.”

“So?”

“So we’re supposed to be keeping this low-key.”

“I am keeping it low-key. No one suspects anything anymore.” He tugs you closer. “Please? I want to try something.”

“You always want to try something.”

“And you always like it.” He’s smirking now. “Come on. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

You shouldn’t. You’re supposed to be at the library studying for your midterm tomorrow. But the way he’s looking at you makes your resolve crumble. “Fine. But I can’t stay over. I really do need to study.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

You show up at his apartment at eleven, after spending three hours actually studying with Maya. Heeseung is home this time, playing video games in the living room. “Hey,” he says when you walk in. “Jungwon’s in his room.”

“Cool, thanks.” You’ve been here enough times now that it’s not weird anymore. Heeseung barely looks up when you head down the hall and knock on Jungwon’s door.

“Come in.” He’s at his desk, laptop open, but he closes it when he sees you. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You drop your bag by the door. “What did you want to try?”

“Impatient.”

“I have a midterm at 8 AM. Get to the point.”

He stands and crosses to you, and there’s something different about his energy tonight. More intense. “I want you to tell me exactly what you want.”

“I always tell you what you want.”

“No,” he says. “You tell me when I ask. I want you to take control. Tell me exactly what to do.”

Heat pools in your stomach. “You want me to… boss you around?”

“Yeah.” His hands settle on your hips. “Think you can do that?”

“I—” You’re flustered now. You’re used to him being in charge, confident and directing everything. The idea of flipping that dynamic is…

“You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “If you’re not into it—”

“I’m into it,” you cut him off. “Just… give me a second.” He waits, patient, and you take a breath. You can do this. You’ve been sleeping together for three months. You know what he likes, what makes him fall apart.

“Okay,” you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “Take off your shirt.” He complies immediately, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.

“Jeans too.” He unbuttons them, pushes them down with his boxers, and kicks them away. He’s already half-hard, and the sight makes your mouth water.

“Lie down on the bed.” He does, and you take a moment to just look at him. He’s gorgeous like this—all lean muscle and smooth skin, cock thickening against his stomach, watching you with dark eyes.

“Touch yourself,” you say. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, and you watch, mesmerized.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.

“You.” His voice is rough. “Always you.”

“What about me?”

“The way you taste. The sounds you make when you come. How good you feel wrapped around my cock.”

You’re definitely wet now. You start stripping, taking your time, and his eyes track every movement. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathes.

When you’re naked, you climb onto the bed and straddle his thighs, just out of reach. “Stop touching yourself.” He does, hand falling to his side, and you lean down to kiss him. It’s slow and deep, and when you pull back, his pupils are blown. “I want your mouth,” you say.

“Where?”

“You know where.”

“Say it.” His breath ghosts over your inner thigh.

“My pussy,” you say, face heating. “I want your mouth on my pussy.”

“Good girl.” The praise makes you clench around nothing, and then his tongue is on you and you forget how to think.

You’re straddling his face, thighs bracketing his head. The position makes you feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time. “Eat me out,” you order. “Don’t stop until I come.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His tongue finds your clit immediately, and you gasp, gripping his hair for balance. He’s good at this—you’ve known that since the very first time—but something about being in control makes it even better. “Just like that,” you pant, rolling your hips against his face. “Fuck, your tongue feels so good.”

He groans against you, hands gripping your ass, pulling you down harder. You ride his face shamelessly, chasing your pleasure, and when he slides two fingers inside you, crooking them just right while his tongue works your clit, you actually see stars. “Holy shit,” you gasp, one hand fisted in his hair, the other gripping the sheets.

He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the combination of his mouth and his fingers pumping into you is almost too much. You’re making sounds you’ve never made before, completely uninhibited, and he’s groaning against you like getting you off is getting him off. “Jungwon, I’m—fuck, I’m close—”

He doesn’t change what he’s doing. Doesn’t speed up or switch techniques like so many guys do right when you’re on the edge. He just keeps that same perfect rhythm, fingers curling inside you, tongue circling your clit, and you come harder than you ever have with another person. Your whole body goes taut, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crash over you. He works you through it, only lightening his touch when you start to squirm from sensitivity.

You’re still trembling when you climb off him, and his face is wet, lips swollen. He looks incredibly pleased with himself. “Good?” he asks.

“So good.” You kiss him, tasting yourself. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

“No?”

“No.” You wrap your hand around his cock, and he hisses. “I want to ride you. But you don’t get to touch me.”

“What?”

“Hands behind your head.” He complies, lacing his fingers behind his head, biceps flexing. You grab a condom from his nightstand and roll it on, and then you’re sinking down onto him, both of you groaning at the sensation.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel amazing.”

“No touching,” you remind him when his hands twitch.

“This is torture.”

“This is fun.” You start to move, rolling your hips, finding the angle that makes you both moan. “Watch me.”

He does, eyes glued to where you’re joined, then traveling up to your bouncing breasts, your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Tell me what you want,” you say.

“Want to touch you. Want to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress.”

“Not yet.” You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs, changing the angle. “Oh fuck—right there—”

“Yeah?” His voice is strained. “That feel good?”

“So good—” You’re close again, which should be impossible but apparently Jungwon has ruined you for anyone else. “I’m gonna come again—”

“Let me see.” His hands are fisted in his hair, knuckles white from the effort of not touching you. “Want to see you fall apart on my cock.” The words push you over the edge. You come with a cry, clenching around him, and he groans.

“Can I touch you now?” he begs. “Please—”

“Yes—”

His hands are on you immediately, gripping your hips, and he thrusts up into you hard. You’re oversensitive and it’s almost too much, but then he’s sitting up, wrapping his arms around you, and kissing you desperately. “You’re incredible,” he pants against your mouth. “Fucking incredible—”

He comes with his face buried in your neck, and you hold him through it, both of you slick with sweat. When you both catch your breath, he flops back onto the bed, bringing you with him. “That was—” he starts.

“Yeah.”

“We should do that again.”

“Definitely.” You glance at the clock and groan. “Shit, I really need to go study.”

“Stay,” he says. “Just for a little bit.”

“Jungwon—”

“Please? We can study together. I have a midterm tomorrow too.”

You should say no. Should go back to your apartment and study alone like you planned. But his arms are around you and you’re comfortable and warm, and maybe staying for an hour won’t hurt. “Fine,” you say. “One hour.” You stay for three.

A week later, you’re at another party—this one at someone’s house off campus. It’s someone’s birthday, you’re not sure whose, but the music is good and the drinks are strong and you’re having fun. You’re in the kitchen with Liv and some people from your Communications class when you see Jungwon walk in with Heeseung and Jake. He spots you immediately, and you quickly look away. You’ve been good about not staring at each other at parties. Good about acting normal.

But then some girl approaches him—blonde, pretty, wearing a crop top that shows off her abs—and you watch as she touches his arm, leans in close to say something in his ear. Your stomach twists.

“You okay?” Liv asks quietly.

“Fine.”

“You’re glaring.”

“I’m not glaring.”

“You’re definitely glaring.” She follows your gaze. “It’s just some random girl. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know that.”

But when the girl laughs at something Jungwon says, her hand still on his arm, you feel something ugly rise in your chest. This is stupid. You have no claim on him. You’re not together. He can talk to whoever he wants. You turn away and pour yourself another drink.

“Want to go dance?” Liv suggests.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” You spend the next hour on the makeshift dance floor, deliberately not looking for Jungwon, deliberately not caring where he is or who he’s talking to.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

You’re getting another drink when you feel someone behind you. “Having fun?” Jungwon’s voice in your ear makes you shiver.

“Yeah. You?”

“It’s alright.” He’s close enough that you can feel his body heat. “Want to get out of here?”

“Busy tonight.”

“Busy with what?”

“Just… busy.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“You tell me.”

You turn to face him. “That girl you were talking to. She was pretty.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Liar.” He steps closer. “For the record, she asked for directions. That’s it.”

“I don’t care.”

“You clearly do.” His hand brushes yours. “Come over. Let me prove I only want you.”

You should say no. Should make him work for it. But the look in his eyes makes your resolve crumble. “Fine,” you say. “But you’re leaving first this time.”

By the time you get to his apartment, you’re both frantic. You barely make it inside before you’re tearing at each other’s clothes, kissing desperately. “You drive me crazy,” he mutters against your lips, walking you backward toward his room. “Watching you dance with those guys—”

“I wasn’t dancing with anyone specifically—”

“Didn’t matter. Wanted to punch all of them anyway.” He gets you naked and on his bed, and then he’s between your legs, and this time there’s an edge to it. Like he’s claiming you, proving something. He eats you out until you’re crying, overstimulated and desperate, and then he flips you over.

“On your knees,” he orders, and you comply, ass in the air. He slides into you from behind and you both groan. The angle is deep, almost too much, and when he starts to move, you can barely breathe.

“You feel so good,” he pants, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “So fucking perfect.”

“Harder—”

He complies, fucking into you relentlessly, and you fist the sheets, moaning into the pillow. “No one else gets to have you like this,” he growls, and the possessiveness in his voice shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. “Just me. Right?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—just you—”

One of his hands slides around to rub your clit and you come with a scream, clenching around him. He follows right after, collapsing on top of you.

When you can both move again, he pulls out carefully and you both clean up in silence. There’s something heavy in the air, something unsaid. “Stay,” he says when you start to get dressed.

“I can’t keep staying over, Jungwon. People will notice—”

“I don’t care anymore.” He catches your wrist. “Stay.”

You look at him—really look at him. His hair is a mess, lips swollen from kissing, and he’s looking at you like you’re something precious. This is getting too real. Too intense. You’re supposed to be keeping things casual, but nothing about the way you feel when you’re with him is casual anymore. “Okay,” you say quietly. “I’ll stay.”

He pulls you back into bed, and you curl into his side, listening to his heartbeat slow. “Y/N?” he says after a while.

“Yeah?”

“This thing with us…” He trails off.

Your heart pounds. “What about it?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

But you’re both thinking the same thing. This stopped being casual a long time ago. Neither of you is ready to admit it yet.

November hits campus like a cold slap. The trees are bare, everyone’s walking around in puffer jackets and beanies, and the semester is hitting that point where everyone’s exhausted and stressed and living on coffee and spite.

You’re in Advanced Marketing on a Thursday morning, half-asleep and trying to absorb information about consumer behavior models, when Professor Chen makes an announcement. “Before we start, I want to introduce a new student joining us. This is Daniel Choi—he’s transferring from NYU. Daniel, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”

You glance up and—oh. Daniel is tall, with broad shoulders, dark hair styled back, and an easy smile. He’s wearing a navy sweater that probably costs more than your textbooks, and when he speaks, his voice is warm and confident. “Hey everyone. I’m a junior, majoring in Marketing and Communications. Just moved here from New York, so still figuring out the campus. Looking forward to getting to know you all.”

“Wonderful,” Professor Chen says. “Why don’t you take that seat next to Y/N? Y/N, raise your hand?”

You do, reluctantly, and Daniel makes his way over, sliding into the seat beside you. “Hey,” he says, smile widening. “Thanks for letting me sit here.”

“It’s not really my seat to give, but sure.”

He laughs. “Fair point. I’m Daniel.”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Then Professor Chen launches into the lecture, and you try to focus, but you’re aware of Daniel beside you—the way he takes notes on his laptop, occasionally glancing over at your notebook like he’s comparing, the expensive cologne that’s subtle but noticeable.

When class ends, he turns to you. “Hey, I know this is random, but do you think you could help me out? I’m completely lost on where anything is on this campus.”

“There are maps—”

“I know, but they’re confusing as hell.” He gives you a slightly sheepish look. “And Professor Chen mentioned you’re a great student. I could use someone to show me around, maybe fill me in on what I’ve missed in class so far?”

You should say no. You’re busy. You have your own classes and your friends and your… whatever Jungwon is. But Daniel seems nice, and it’s just showing someone around campus. “Sure,” you find yourself saying. “I have a break after this. I can give you a quick tour.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” His smile is genuinely grateful. “Can I at least buy you coffee?”

You spend the next hour showing Daniel around campus—the library, the student center, the various academic buildings, the good food spots versus the ones to avoid. He’s easy to talk to, asking questions about classes and professors, and he’s funny in a dry, clever way that makes you laugh.

“So NYU to here,” you say as you walk past the quad. “That’s a big change.”

“Yeah.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “My dad got relocated for work, and the family moved. Figured I’d come with them rather than stay in New York alone. Plus, cheaper tuition as an in-state student.”

“That’s fair. How are you liking it so far?”

“Campus is nice. People seem cool.” He glances at you. “Present company especially.” It’s flirty but not obnoxiously so, and you feel your face warm slightly.

“Wait until you experience your first real winter here,” you say, deflecting. “Then we’ll see if you still think it’s nice.”

“I’m from New York. I can handle cold.”

“This is different. This is Midwest cold. The kind that hurts your face.”

He laughs. “I’ll take your word for it.”

You show him a few more buildings, and by the time you’re done, your break is almost over. “This was really helpful,” Daniel says. “Seriously, thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Can I get your number? In case I have questions about class or campus stuff?” It’s innocent enough. Just a new student wanting help navigating. You give him your number. “Thanks.” He saves it in his phone. “I’ll see you next class?”

“Yeah, see you.” You watch him walk away, and you’re surprised to find yourself smiling a little.

You don’t think much about Daniel over the next few days. You’re busy with midterms and work and your friends. And Jungwon. Especially Jungwon.

You’ve been spending even more time together lately—studying at his place, grabbing food between classes, and obviously still hooking up regularly. It’s gotten to the point where you have a toothbrush at his apartment and he has spare clothes at yours. It should worry you how domestic it’s becoming. It doesn’t.

You’re at his place on Saturday night, both of you on his bed with your laptops, supposedly working on separate assignments but really just procrastinating together. “I’m so sick of this essay,” you groan, flopping backward.

“How much do you have left?”

“Like, three pages.”

“That’s not bad.”

“It’s three pages I don’t want to write.” You roll over to look at him. “Entertain me.”

“I’m busy.”

“No you’re not. You’ve been on the same paragraph for twenty minutes.”

He closes his laptop with a sigh. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Something that isn’t homework.”

He shifts closer, hand sliding up your thigh. “I can think of something.”

“We literally had sex an hour ago.”

“So?”

You laugh and push his hand away. “You’re insatiable.”

“Only with you.” He’s smiling but there’s something in his eyes that makes your chest tight.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it and see a text from an unknown number.

unknown: hey! it’s daniel from marketing class. hope this isn’t weird but i had a question about the assignment due next week?

You smile and save his contact. you: not weird at all! what’s your question?

“Who’s that?” Jungwon asks, and there’s an edge to his voice.

“New guy in my marketing class. He transferred from NYU.”

“And he’s texting you?”

“He had a question about the assignment.” You glance at Jungwon. “Why?”

“No reason.” But his jaw is tight, and you recognize that look. He’s jealous.

Your phone buzzes again. daniel: professor chen mentioned something about a group project? do you know if groups are assigned or if we pick our own?

you: we pick our own! usually groups of 3-4. i can add you to mine if you want? we still need one more person

daniel: that would be amazing. thank you! also totally unrelated but are you free tomorrow? wanted to check out that coffee place you mentioned and could use the company

You hesitate. It’s just coffee. Daniel is nice, and he’s new and doesn’t know anyone. It would be rude to say no. you: sure! i’m free around 2?

daniel: perfect. i’ll meet you there

You set your phone down and find Jungwon staring at you. “What?”

“You’re getting coffee with him?”

“He’s new. He doesn’t know anyone. I’m being nice.”

“Right. Nice.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“Jungwon, it’s just coffee.”

“Does he know that?”

“Know what?”

“That it’s ‘just coffee.’ Or does he think it’s a date?”

You sit up. “It’s not a date. We’re literally just getting coffee. Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“You clearly do.”

“I just—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Never mind. Do whatever you want.”

“I am doing whatever I want. That’s kind of the point of this arrangement, remember?”

The words come out harsher than you intended, and something flashes across his face—hurt, maybe, or anger, you can’t tell. “Right,” he says quietly. “The arrangement.”

The air between you feels heavy, wrong. You want to take it back, to explain that you don’t actually want to get coffee with Daniel, that you’d rather spend tomorrow with Jungwon like you spend most days. But you don’t say any of that. “I should go,” you say instead, closing your laptop. “It’s late.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I have an early class tomorrow anyway.” You gather your stuff quickly, and Jungwon doesn’t try to stop you. When you leave, he doesn’t ask you to stay like he usually does. You tell yourself it’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Coffee with Daniel is actually really nice. He’s waiting outside the café when you arrive, and he lights up when he sees you. “Hey! Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

Inside, the place is cozy and warm, smelling like espresso and cinnamon. You order your usual and Daniel gets some complicated drink with like five different modifiers. “High maintenance,” you tease as you find a table by the window.

“I know what I like,” he says, grinning. “Can’t fault me for that.”

You spend the next hour just talking. He tells you about growing up in New York, his family, his friends back home. He asks about your life, your major, your friends. He’s a good listener, asking follow-up questions, seeming genuinely interested. It’s easy. Comfortable. And he’s cute—you can’t deny that. The way he smiles, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. The way he leans forward when you’re talking, giving you his full attention.

“So,” he says eventually, stirring his drink. “Do you have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend, or… partner? I don’t want to assume.”

Your stomach drops. “I—no. Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” He raises an eyebrow, curious, not pushy.

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

You shouldn’t tell him. It’s none of his business. But something about the way he’s looking at you, open and interested, makes you want to talk about it. “There’s this guy,” you say slowly. “We’ve been… hooking up. For a few months now. It’s supposed to be casual but lately it feels like…”

“Like it’s not casual anymore?” Daniel finishes.

“Yeah.”

“Does he know you feel that way?”

“I don’t know. We don’t really talk about it.” You take a sip of your coffee. “It’s stupid. We had rules. No feelings, no complications. And I’m the one who’s complicating it.”

“Feelings aren’t stupid,” Daniel says gently. “And if he’s worth anything, he feels the same way.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then he’s an idiot.” He smiles. “For what it’s worth, any guy who has you and doesn’t want more is definitely an idiot.”

It’s sweet. Maybe a little too sweet, a little too flirty, but you find yourself smiling back. “Thanks, Daniel.”

“Anytime.” He checks his phone. “Shit, I have to go. Meeting my parents for dinner. But this was really fun. We should do it again?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Cool.” He stands, shrugging on his jacket. “See you in class Tuesday?”

“See you then.” You watch him leave, and you’re not sure how to feel. Daniel is nice. He’s attractive and smart and funny, and he’s clearly interested in you. But he’s not Jungwon. Your phone buzzes.

jungwon: you busy tonight?

You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back. you: studying with maya. why?

It’s a lie. You don’t have plans. But you need space to think, to figure out what you’re doing.

jungwon: nothing. just wanted to see you. have fun studying

The guilt sits heavy in your chest.

You avoid Jungwon for the next few days. It’s not hard—you claim you’re busy with midterms and assignments, which is partially true. But really, you just need time to sort through your feelings.

Because the truth is, you’re falling for him. Have been falling for him for months now. And the idea of telling him and having him not feel the same way, of losing what you have, terrifies you. So you throw yourself into other things. Classes. Assignments. Your friends. And Daniel.

He texts you throughout the week—memes, questions about class, random observations about campus life. It’s friendly and light and uncomplicated. You tell yourself that’s why you respond, why you agree to study together in the library, why you sit next to him in Marketing and laugh at his whispered jokes during lectures. But you know that’s not entirely true. You know you’re using Daniel as a distraction. And it’s not fair to him.

On Thursday, you’re leaving your Marketing class with Daniel when you run into the group. Literally—you turn a corner and almost collide with Maya and Jake.

“Oh! Hey!” Maya says, then notices Daniel. “Who’s this?”

“This is Daniel. He’s new. Daniel, this is Maya and Jake.”

“Nice to meet you,” Daniel says, friendly and charming.

“You too,” Maya says, but she’s giving you a look. “We’re all getting lunch. You want to come?”

“Oh, um—”

“You should definitely come,” Jake says. “Whole group’s gonna be there.” Your stomach sinks. Whole group means Jungwon.

“I don’t want to intrude,” Daniel starts.

“You’re not intruding,” Maya insists. “The more the merrier. Right, Y/N?”

“Right,” you say weakly.

Lunch is at the student center food court, and by the time you arrive with Daniel, everyone else is already there—Maya and Jake, Liv and Reina, Jay and Sunghoon, Heeseung and Sunoo and Niki. And Jungwon. He’s sitting at the end of the table, and when he sees you walk in with Daniel, something shutters in his expression.

“Everyone, this is Daniel,” you announce. “He just transferred here.”

Everyone introduces themselves, welcoming and friendly, and Daniel fits in easily. He’s charming and funny, and within minutes, he’s got Reina laughing at some story about his first week on campus. You sit across from Jungwon, and the tension is suffocating.

“So Daniel,” Sunghoon says. “Where’d you transfer from?”

“NYU.”

“Damn, that’s a downgrade,” Heeseung jokes, and everyone laughs.

“I don’t know,” Daniel says, and his hand brushes yours on the table. “I’m liking it here so far.” The touch is casual, probably meaningless. But Jungwon’s eyes lock onto it, and his jaw clenches.

“How do you and Y/N know each other?” Niki asks.

“We have Marketing together,” you say quickly. “I’ve been helping him get caught up.”

“Y/N’s been a lifesaver,” Daniel adds. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.” It’s innocent. Friendly. But the way he’s looking at you is… not. And Jungwon sees it.

“That’s nice,” Jungwon says, voice flat. “Y/N’s good at helping people.” There’s an undercurrent there that makes you flinch.

The conversation moves on, everyone eating and talking, but you’re hyperaware of Jungwon across from you. He’s barely touched his food, just pushing it around his plate, and every time Daniel says something that makes you smile, Jungwon’s expression gets darker.

“So Y/N,” Reina says. “You still seeing that mystery guy? The one who’s so good in bed?”

You want to die. “Reina—”

“What? I’m just asking!”

“What mystery guy?” Daniel asks, curious.

“There’s no mystery guy,” you say firmly. “Reina’s making stuff up.”

“I’m literally not. You told Niki about him.”

“That was months ago.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone?” Daniel asks, and there’s hope in his voice.

Before you can answer, Jungwon stands abruptly. “I gotta go. Got class.”

“But we just sat down,” Heeseung protests.

“I forgot I have to talk to my professor about something.” He grabs his bag and leaves without looking at you. The table goes quiet for a beat.

“What’s up with him?” Jake asks.

“No idea,” Sunoo says, but he’s looking at you thoughtfully.

“Maybe he’s not feeling well,” Maya suggests.

You know that’s not it. You know exactly what’s wrong. “I should—” You start to stand. “I should check on him.”

“Why?” Reina asks.

“Because we’re friends. And he seemed upset.”

“I’ll come with you,” Daniel offers.

“No,” you say, too quickly. “I mean—you should stay. Finish eating. I’ll be right back.”

You don’t wait for a response before hurrying after Jungwon. You catch him outside the building, heading toward the parking lot. “Jungwon, wait!” He stops but doesn’t turn around. “What was that?” you ask when you reach him.

“What was what?”

“You know what. Walking out like that.”

He finally turns to face you, and the look in his eyes makes your chest hurt. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

“You really don’t know?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You show up with that guy, he’s all over you, looking at you like—” He breaks off, running a hand through his hair. “And you’re just letting it happen.”

“He’s not all over me. We’re friends.”

“Does he know that? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like he thinks you’re something more.”

“Even if he did, why do you care? We’re not together, remember? That’s the whole point.”

“Right,” he says bitterly. “The arrangement. How could I forget?”

“Jungwon—”

“Are you into him?”

The question catches you off guard. “What?”

“Daniel. Are you into him?”

“I—no. Not like that.”

“But you could be.” It’s not a question. “If things were different. If we weren’t…” He gestures between you, unable to finish the sentence.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Maybe. He’s nice. And he’s—”

“Uncomplicated,” Jungwon finishes. “He’s not sneaking around. He could actually take you on dates, be seen with you, give you what you want.”

“What I want?”

“More.” He steps closer. “You want more than this, Y/N. I can see it. And I can’t—”

He stops, and your heart is pounding. “You can’t what?”

“I can’t give you that.” His voice is rough. “This—us—it’s supposed to be casual. No strings. That’s what we agreed.”

“And what if I don’t want casual anymore?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “What if I want more?”

He stares at you, and for a moment you think he’s going to say it—that he wants more too, that this has been killing him the same way it’s been killing you. But then he looks away. “I can’t,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

It feels like the ground has been pulled out from under you. “Right,” you manage. “Okay.”

“It’s fine.” You’re backing away, fighting tears. “You’re right. This was always supposed to be casual. My mistake for thinking it could be anything else.”

“That’s not—”

“I should get back. Everyone’s waiting.” You turn and walk away before he can say anything else, before you completely fall apart in front of him.

When you get back to the table, Daniel takes one look at your face and frowns. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just… tired. Long week.”

“Want me to walk you home?”

You should say no. Should put some distance between you and Daniel before this gets messy. But you’re hurt and angry and you don’t want to be alone. “Yeah,” you say. “That’d be nice.”

As you leave with Daniel, you don’t see Jungwon watching from across the quad, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like his world just fell apart.

You don’t talk to Jungwon for the rest of the week. He texts a few times— casual messages asking how you are, if you want to study, if you’re okay. You respond with short, noncommittal answers.

The group notices. How could they not? You and Jungwon have been attached at the hip for months, and suddenly you can barely be in the same room. “What happened between you two?” Liv asks when you’re alone in your apartment.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been miserable all week.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re avoiding him. And he’s been moping around like someone kicked his puppy.” You don’t answer, just stare at your laptop screen without actually seeing it. “Did something happen with Daniel?” she presses gently.

“No. Daniel’s just a friend.”

“Does Jungwon know that?”

“It doesn’t matter what Jungwon thinks.”

Liv is quiet for a moment. “You should talk to him. Actually talk. Because this? This is worse than whatever you’re avoiding.”

You know she’s right. But you’re scared. Scared that if you talk to Jungwon, you’ll have to end things for real. That you’ll have to accept that he doesn’t want what you want, that these past few months have meant something completely different to him than they have to you.

So you do what you’ve been doing—you avoid him. And you spend more time with Daniel.

It’s Friday night, and there’s a party at some senior’s house. You show up with Liv and Reina, already a few drinks in from pregaming, and the place is packed. You lose your friends almost immediately in the crowd. You’re making your way to the kitchen when you spot Daniel. “Hey!” He brightens when he sees you. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it.” You’re definitely drunker than you thought. “Having fun?”

“More fun now.” He hands you a drink. “Here. It’s strong, fair warning.” You take it and down half of it in one go. “Rough week?” he asks.

“Something like that.”

The music is loud, bass thumping through your chest, and Daniel leans in closer to be heard. “Want to go somewhere quieter? Maybe talk?”

You should say no. You know where this is going, and it’s not fair to Daniel or to yourself or to— “Sure,” you say.

He leads you upstairs, finding an empty bedroom, and closes the door behind you. It muffles the music, making it easier to hear. “Better?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He sits on the bed and you sit next to him, suddenly very aware that you’re alone together in a bedroom. “Can I ask you something?” Daniel says.

“Sure.”

“That guy you mentioned. The complicated one. Is it… are you still involved with him?”

You take another sip of your drink. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s complicated.”

“Does he know how you feel?”

“I told him. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Then he’s an idiot.” Daniel shifts closer. “Because you’re incredible, Y/N. Smart and funny and beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to be with you.”

“Daniel—”

“I like you,” he says. “I know we just met, and maybe the timing is shit, but I really like you. And if this other guy can’t see what he has, then…”

He trails off, and then he’s leaning in, and you realize he’s going to kiss you. You should stop him. You should explain that you’re not over Jungwon, that you’re not in a place to start something new.

But you’re drunk and hurt and you want to feel wanted by someone who isn’t afraid to show it. So you let him kiss you. It’s nice. He’s a good kisser— soft lips, careful hands, nothing like—

The door opens. “Y/N, Liv’s looking for—” Jungwon stops dead in the doorway.

You jerk back from Daniel, but it’s too late. Jungwon saw. And the look on his face— betrayal and hurt and anger all mixed together—makes your stomach drop. “Jungwon—”

“Sorry,” he says, voice tight. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He’s gone before you can say anything else, door slamming behind him. “Shit,” you breathe.

“Who was that?” Daniel asks.

“I—” You stand up, suddenly feeling very sober. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, wait—” But you’re already out the door, pushing through the crowded hallway, trying to find Jungwon. You catch him on the front porch, about to leave.

“Jungwon, wait!” He stops, shoulders tense, but doesn’t turn around. “It’s not— that wasn’t—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he says, finally facing you. “You can kiss whoever you want.”

“It didn’t mean anything—”

“Didn’t it?” His eyes are hard. “Looked like it meant something.”

“I was just—I was upset and drunk and he was there—”

“And I wasn’t,” Jungwon finishes. “Because you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

“You told me you couldn’t give me more! What did you expect me to do?”

“I don’t know!” He’s yelling now, and a few people on the porch are staring. “I don’t know, Y/N. But I didn’t expect you to move on in a fucking week.”

“I’m not moving on! And even if I was, why do you care? You made it clear you don’t want—”

“I never said I didn’t want—” He breaks off, jaw clenched. “Fuck.”

“What? You never said you didn’t want what?”

“You!” The word explodes out of him. “I never said I didn’t want you. I said I couldn’t give you more, and that’s different.”

You stare at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I’m terrified, okay?” His voice cracks. “I’m terrified because this stopped being casual for me months ago, and I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be what you need.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. “Jungwon—”

“I see the way Daniel looks at you. Like you’re everything. And I want to be that guy— the one who can take you on dates and hold your hand in public and tell everyone you’re mine. But I’m scared I’ll fuck it up. That I’ll lose you completely.”

“So instead you’re losing me anyway,” you say quietly. He flinches like you hit him. “I’m falling for you,” you continue, and the words feel like jumping off a cliff. “I’ve been falling for you for months. And it’s been killing me because I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”

“I do,” he says desperately. “I do feel the same way. I just—”

“You just what?”

“I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Jungwon, we’ve already ruined it. Pretending we can keep things casual when we both feel more—that’s what’s ruining it.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can see him struggling with something. “If we do this,” he says finally, “if we make this real— what if it doesn’t work? What if we end up hating each other?”

“What if we don’t?” you counter. “What if it’s amazing?”

“What about the group? If things go bad—”

“We’ll figure it out. But Jungwon, I’d rather try and fail than spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face, and then— “Fuck it,” he mutters, and then he’s kissing you.

It’s different from every other kiss you’ve shared. More desperate, more meaningful. Like he’s pouring everything he couldn’t say into it.

When you break apart, you’re both breathless. “So,” you manage. “Does this mean—”

“It means I want to be with you. For real. No more hiding, no more pretending.” He cups your face in his hands. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“Even the group?”

“Especially the group.” He smiles, and it’s tentative but real. “They probably already know anyway.”

You laugh, and it feels like relief. “Probably.”

“What about Daniel?”

“I’ll talk to him. Explain. But Jungwon, there’s nothing there. It’s always been you.”

“Yeah?” His smile widens.

“Yeah.” He kisses you again, softer this time, and you hear whooping from inside the house. You break apart to find half your friend group watching from the window—Reina and Liv and Maya and the guys all grinning like idiots.

“FINALLY!” Reina screams, and everyone laughs. Jungwon pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you, and for the first time in weeks, everything feels right.

“So,” he murmurs against your hair. “Want to get out of here? I think we have some things to talk about.”

“And by talk you mean—”

“Actually talk,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “We should probably figure out how to actually do this relationship thing.”

“We should,” you agree. “But maybe we can do the talking back at your place? I’m still kind of drunk and these heels are killing me.” He laughs and takes your hand— openly, for everyone to see— and leads you toward his car.

As you leave, you glance back at the house and catch Daniel watching from the doorway. He looks sad but understanding, and he raises his cup in a small salute. You mouth “sorry,” and he nods. You’ll explain everything to him later. Right now, you just want to be with Jungwon.

You wake up to sunlight streaming through Jungwon’s window and his arm draped across your waist. For a moment, you just lie there, listening to his steady breathing, trying to process that this is real now. You’re actually dating Jungwon. Your phone buzzes— multiple times. You reach for it and find the group chat exploding.

reina: SO ARE WE GONNA TALK ABOUT LAST NIGHT OR

maya: I KNEW IT

liv: you all owe me $20 btw

jay: jungwon if you hurt her i’m fighting you

you: good morning to you too

reina: GOOD MORNING??? THAT’S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY???

you: yes we’re official

reina: EXTREMELY

you: and we’ve been hooking up since that party in august

heeseung: AUGUST?????

reina: I FUCKING KNEW IT

Jungwon stirs beside you, eyes fluttering open. When he sees you, he smiles— soft and sleepy and genuine. “Morning,” he says, voice rough.

“Morning.” You show him your phone. “We’re famous.”

He scrolls through, laughing. “They’re ridiculous.”

jungwon: i’m not going to hurt her

jay: good

reina: now that that’s settled TELL US EVERYTHING

The “mandatory celebration” ends up being at Jay and Sunghoon’s that evening. By the time you and Jungwon arrive— together, holding hands— everyone else is already there. “THERE THEY ARE!” Reina shouts. “The happy couple!”

Maya rushes over to hug you. “I’m so happy for you!”

Jake hands you both drinks. “So, real talk. How long have you actually had feelings for each other?”

“I’ve liked her since before we started hooking up,” Jungwon says. “Remember that party in July? When you wore that black dress?”

Your face is burning. “You never said anything.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t think you were interested. And then the bet happened and… well, you know the rest.”

“What about you?” Liv asks.

“Probably that first morning after,” you admit. “When we were texting about the arrangement and he was being all careful. That’s when I started thinking he might be different.”

Several drinks later, everyone’s sprawled around the living room. You’re tucked into Jungwon’s side on the couch, and it feels so natural. “Real talk,” Jay says, tone serious. “I’m happy for you guys. But—” He looks at Jungwon. “—you hurt her, and we have a problem.”

“I know. And I’m not going to hurt her. I’m—” He looks at you. “—I’m in love with her.”

The room goes silent. Your heart stops. “What?” you whisper.

“I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. I was just too scared to say it.”

“I love you too, you idiot.” You’re shaking your head. “I’ve been in love with you for months.” His smile is brilliant. He kisses you, and this time it’s softer, more tender.

“Okay, we’re leaving,” Reina announces. “Before this gets too cute.”

After everyone leaves, you and Jungwon stay on the couch. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “About loving you.”

“I meant it too.” You shift to straddle his lap. “I love you, Jungwon.”

He cuts you off with a kiss. “Want to go home?”

You end up at his place. The second you’re inside, he’s on you, kissing you with urgency. “Bedroom,” you gasp.

“Too far.” He lifts you, carries you to the couch. You land in a tangle of limbs, laughing, then his mouth is on your neck. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“Show me,” you challenge.

He does. He takes his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin. When you’re both finally naked, he hovers over you. “This is different now. Better,” he says. “I get to keep you.”

“You always had me.”

“I know. But now I don’t have to pretend I don’t want forever.”

“Forever?”

“Too soon?”

“No.” You pull him down. “Not too soon.”

He makes love to you slowly, thoroughly. More intimate. More real. Every touch feels like a confession. He enters you with a groan, and you wrap your legs around him. The rhythm is unhurried, sensual. He angles his hips just right, and his hand slides between your bodies to rub your clit. “God, you feel so perfect,” he breathes. “So tight and wet for me.”

“Jungwon— fuck— don’t stop—” He doesn’t. He keeps that perfect pace until you’re trembling. When you come, clenching around him, he follows right after with a moan of your name.

When you’re both spent on his couch, you feel something settle in your chest. “We should move to the bed,” he says eventually.

“Heeseung’s going to be home soon.” You gather clothes and make it to his room. “Stay,” he says.

“Obviously.” You curl into his side. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The next morning, you wake to Jungwon’s alarm. Your head is pounding. “Turn it off,” you groan.

“We have brunch in an hour.”

Forty-five minutes later— after a shower where Jungwon pressed you against the tile and made you come on his fingers— you’re dressed and heading to the diner. You walk in holding hands. The sight of your friend group crammed into booths makes you smile.

“There they are!” Maya calls. You slide in next to Liv, Jungwon beside you, arm over your shoulders.

“So,” Sunoo says. “Now that you guys are official, does this mean we have to watch you be gross?”

“We’re not going to be gross,” you protest.

Jungwon immediately kisses your cheek. “Can’t promise that.”

“How long did you actually know?” you ask.

“I knew from the start,” Liv says. “You’re my roommate. You think I didn’t notice when you’d come home at 3 AM with hickeys?”

The conversation shifts to other topics, and it’s easy. Normal. Like nothing’s changed except now you don’t have to hide.

Later that day, you’re back at Jungwon’s, on the couch watching a movie. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Always.”

“Why did you kiss Daniel?”

“Honestly? I was drunk and hurt and he was there. It was stupid.”

“Did you… were you interested in him?”

“No.” You shift to look at him. “He’s nice, but I was so hung up on you.”

“Good.” He kisses you. “Because I was losing my mind.”

“Every time I was with him, I kept thinking about you.”

“You have me now.” His arms tighten. “For as long as you want me.”

“Forever, remember?”

“Forever,” he agrees.

“Want to order food and spend the rest of the day in bed?”

“Is that code for something?”

“Food, bed, probably some making out, definitely a nap.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Later that night, after Chinese food and another round of sex— with you riding him while he gripped your hips and watched you with dark eyes— you’re lying in his bed. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For what?”

“For being brave enough to tell me how you felt. I would have lost you if you hadn’t.”

“You wouldn’t have lost me. I was too far gone.”

“Speaking of which,” he says. “You could just keep some more stuff here. Make it official.”

“Jungwon, we’ve been officially dating for less than 24 hours.”

“So? We’ve been unofficially together for months.”

He has a point. “Fine. I’ll bring some stuff over tomorrow.” And he’s grinning from ear to ear

Three weeks later, you’re at another party— pre-Thanksgiving. This time, everything’s different. You and Jungwon arrive together, hands intertwined. When he pulls you onto the dance floor, you don’t worry about who’s watching. “Having fun?” he asks.

“So much fun.” You loop your arms around his neck. “This is better than hiding.”

“Way better.” He kisses you.

Later, in the kitchen, Daniel approaches. You haven’t really talked since that night. “Hey,” he says. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” Jungwon gives your hand a squeeze and steps away.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Daniel starts. “For that night. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“No, I’m sorry. I should have been clearer. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“It’s okay. I get it now.” He glances at Jungwon. “That’s him, right?”

“Yeah. Not so complicated anymore.”

“Good. You seem happy.”

“I am. Really happy.” You hesitate. “Are we okay?”

“We’re okay. Friends?”

“Friends,” you agree.

He leaves, and Jungwon returns to your side. “That looked like it went well.”

“It did.” You lean into him. “Everything’s good.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Everything’s really good.”

You stay like that, watching your friends scattered around— your family. And Jungwon, solid and warm behind you. “I love you,” you say.

“I love you too.” He kisses your neck. “Want to get out of here?”

“And do what?”

“Go back to my place. Watch a movie. Make out. Order food. Fall asleep together. All the boring couple stuff.”

“That sounds perfect.” You say goodbye to your friends and head out.

“Your place or mine?” Jungwon asks.

“Yours. I already have a toothbrush there.”

He grins. “Look at us, being all domestic.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

As he drives through the quiet streets, his hand finds yours, and you think about how different things were just months ago. When you were both pretending, both scared, both holding back. And now you’re here. Together. For real. “What are you thinking about?” Jungwon asks.

“Just… how happy I am. How glad I am that we figured this out.”

“Me too.” He brings your joined hands up to kiss your knuckles. “Best decision I ever made.”

“Proving you could make me come?”

He laughs. “No. Although that was a good decision too. I meant taking a chance on this. On us.”

“We both took a chance.”

“And it paid off.”

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “It really did.”

Back at his apartment, you fall into your routine— changing into his drawer of your clothes, brushing teeth side by side, collapsing onto his bed. “Movie?” he asks.

“Sure. Nothing too intense though.” He puts on a comedy, and you curl into his side. This is your favorite part. Not the sex— though that’s amazing— but this. The quiet moments. The casual intimacy.

“Hey Y/N?” Jungwon says softly.

“Hmm?”

“I’m really glad you’re mine.”

You lift your head. “I’m glad I’m yours too. And that you’re mine.”

“Always,” he promises, and kisses you.

Your fingers freeze mid-twist in the hem of your dress. Mindlessly exposing your knees.

Half the room low gasps. Someone snorts. Others laugh a bit too loudly, people your age crane their necks, searching for accomplice in embarrassment. Even you turn your head, looking for your friends to share an amused, disbelieving smile with.

And all of you are suddenly curious and aware, and maybe a little dumb.

After it’s the kind of subject we only speak about once a year.

That’s when you see , him. Jake. From the corner of your eye.

Jake’s sited two rows back across the aisle, just behind your friends and their families. Spine straight. Hands clenched on his thighs. Face calm, reverent, unreadable. The saint at rest.

Except—

He look a bit more tired than usual. His eyes dip, just for a second—

To your knees.

To the wrinkled fabric you’ve been worrying on. Then his gaze snaps up, colliding with yours. you don’t even stand it a second and just directly turn back around, that “sorry for existing typa behavior” that you hate about yourself.

It couldn’t have been more than two seconds. Two awkward, desert-dry seconds.

When you risk a quick glance, His attention is back to the priest like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t been looking at you at all. Like you imagined it.

Jake? No way. He doesn’t look at you like that. He actually doesn’t look at anyone like that.

Suddenly you feel wrong. Like maybe your dress is stained and no one told you. Maybe there’s something on your face. Maybe your knees look awkward. Too bare. Too obvious. Too much.

You resist the urge to check. To wipe at your mouth. To smooth your dress again. To twist around and confirm whether Jake’s still looking — or if he ever was.

Good girl. Be still. Be quiet. You don’t turn around. You don’t look for Jake. At Jake. You don’t ask yourself why your pulse hasn’t settled.

Because the priest has begun.

“Desire,” he says, as you take your deepest breath, “is not a sin in itself. It is a trial.” His voice is calm and practiced. “The body,” he continues, “is a battlefield. What you do with it determines whether you rule it or whether it rules you.”

You swallow, lowering your eyes fading in your cogitations.

“There is submission,” he says, “and there is domination. Both exist in God’s design. The danger lies in confusing control with righteousness.”

Your thighs press together before you realize you’ve moved, wrinkling the white fabric of your dress some more.

“Purity,” the priest continue, “is not ignorance. It is discipline.”

You listen.

But do you really? Yeah, god made everyone imperfect, yeah there’s a plan. yeah, the doctrine. Original sin and all that. Maybe yours is that ugly, gnawing need to be wanted. To be looked at and not overlooked. To be desired down to the bone.

And somewhere between the pulpit and the pew—wedged awkwardly between your faith and that gnawing little knot of guilt in your chest—you start to wonder if you’re really the only one here fighting off thoughts that have absolutely no business being inside a church.

Surely not. Statistically, that would be ridiculous. But—-your eyes scan discretly around you—if there are secret perverts sitting politely between the hymnals and the folded hands, and somehow it isn’t you… then who, exactly, is it?

You caught the priest assistant, Sunghoon lingering a look on you at that right fucking moment, as you regain consciousness and stop bit your lower lip. He’s giving you that one look that tells : you’re doing a remarkably poor job of pretending purity princess.

You’re asking for it, huh, he’s probably thinking.

You try to get it together, while your thoughts misbehave. Spectacularly sharing them thru eyes contact with that Sunghoon guy.

Maybe you’re ovulating. That has to be it. Because why else would your mind go there—imagining him in those same church clothes he’s wearing now, backing you into the confessional, crowding that small space until there’s nowhere left for you to escape. Just to force his hand under your already humid and smiring with anticipation panties, like he has some right to check. To make sure you’re still what you’re supposed to be. Still a good girl. Still unprepared, unready, unstretched.

Just to leave you, legs parted, wanting more, with your juice drying on his finger for his own fun.

you can almost feel those cold, veiny hands on you—enough to make your back oh so lightly arch before you can stop yourself.

Reality comes crashing back the moment your parents stand up. The sudden rustling of people around you breaking your… very unchurchlike train of thought.

Incredible. Truly. Your brain picks church—of all places—for that.Fucking get a grip.

Most of it, you missed. You rise in a too quick move, smoothing your dress with hands that are too sweaty, slipping into the current of families clustering together, voices overlapping in familiarity.

You’re fine with this part. This is not the reason you take three type of diferent pills to calm your anxiety. You greet people automatically. Smile where expected. Nod at the right moments. Ask polite questions you don’t really care about.Your normal social self.

It’s only when you notice who your parents are greeting now that something in you tightens.

Jake’s parents.

Of course…

Your mother hugs his with the kind of warmth she reserved for people she’s already decided are good and above, and his father easily laughs with yours.

And you? You angle your body away on instinct, already planning your escape to the youth group, when your mother’s voice cuts in.

“Don’t just hover,” she says. “Say hi, love.”

“Ms Sim, Mr Sim” you reply smoothly bowing your head, with that shy smile, greeting and chatting as you try hard not to look at Jake, “…I’ll go catch up with friends, have safe trip home.” You bow, almost excusing yourself.

but your mom raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve been ‘catching up’ for weeks. Stay here. It’s impolite.”

Before you can try countering, Jake’s mother steps closer as elegant and unhurried as always, smiling like she knows exactly how things are supposed to go.

“Jake,” she says gently, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. “Why don’t you to go join the group too. Walk her over, okay?” It’s perfect. Kindness, handled exactly how you wished you mom would have.

His mother gives you the“good girl eye” the one in between “if I had a daughter like you…” and “my poor child…” you’re used of reiveving from her since childhood.

Jake turns to you. You meet his eyes too late, then look away too quickly.

There it is. This, is the part you’re bad at. Not people. Not conversation. Just him. Just Jake freaking Sim.

Because around Jake, you’ve always felt this… The gap. Since middle school. Since spelling bees and gold stars and teachers comparing you with soft smiles.

Your effort, his ease, you studying until 2 a.m, and him just existing.

“Sure,” he says, like there was never another option.

Shit, shit, shit. You start feelling it… The anxiety.

Jake falls into step beside you down the aisle, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, shoulders close enough to look friendly, far enough to stay saintly, just socially acceptable. An d you only want one thing : get away. Just to calm that thing that is going on in your stomach.

You don’t realise, but Jake can feel your tension radiating like heat. Your shoulders rigid, your eyes everywhere except on his face, and your stomach probably hollowing out with that familiar unconfortable churn you get whenever he’s near.

He’s memorized it by now: the way you try to straighten your spine, pretend you’re fine, pretend he doesn’t make you want to puke from nerves and something else.

God, it’s pathetic.

And it’s perfect.

You, are so perfect.

He sees everything you try to hide, enjoy every little bit. The awkward fidget, the way your eyes dart anywhere. Every stutter, every forced smile, he catalogs it all.

Fuck, Jake wants to do you so bad it hurts; wants to shove you against the nearest pew, yank that dress up, and fuck until you’re crying his name instead of choking on it.

Keep it together, Jake. Golden boy. Church darling. You can’t let the mask crack.

“You alright?” he asks, voice light—like he’s just the nice guy checking in, as if he wasn’t getting off on your every reaction.

“Hm?” You blink up at him, wide-eyed, caught off guard.

It’s brilliant, that deer-in-headlights thing you do, it just, never gets old.

His gaze drops. Lower. To those fingers you’ve been white-knuckling since the sermon started. “You’ve been clenching your hands all night.”

Your eyes snap down. Fingers guilty half-second too late. And your anxiety rize. Jake can practically see it takes form…

Good.

“I… didn’t realize,” you mumble, voice barely there, with that akward smile.

“I know...” Jake is mesmerized, he watches your breath hitch. You’ve been doing this all service, twisting those fingers like they’re your only anchor. And yeah, he’s been watching. Longer than tonight actually. Longer than you’ll ever guess. “I mean,… I thought maybe you weren’t feeling well,” he continues, “You looked tense.”

A small, strangled laugh escapes you—like you’re one wrong breath from vomiting. Fuck. That sound shoots straight to his cock. He wants to push harder, make it a bit worse, make you dizzy with it maybe. But he need to control himself, If you ever realise, if you ever guess that he’s getting off on your disconfort it’s the end.

“No, I—it’s just a bad habit.” Your hands flap uselessly. Awkward smile plastered on. Stop, he imagines you screaming internally. He almost smirks.

He hums instead. “You should stop.” Another beat. Thin and charged. “I mean…” his eyes drop to your dress. “Look here.”

Jake brushes the threadbare spot you’ve been torturing. Two fingers. That’s all. No grab, no force, just the lightest graze, and your reaction is immediate.

He watches it ripple: pressure sinks through fabric, heat blooms, shiver rockets up your thigh. Goosebumps explode across your legs. Breath snags hard. Thighs twitch in the slightliest way together, desperatly, before you clamp them still.

Fuck. He wants to spread those thighs so bad right now, make you twitch for hours—-Stop! Keep it together, Jake. Control it.

He should stop, he need to. But teasing you is so addicting. “Look,” he murmurs, with that softer smile tilting, almost fond. “its thinner here… than here.”

His veiny hands doesn’t retreat. His fingers slide, slow, deliberate, along the curve of your thigh. Fabric bunches between histhumb and forefinger. His knuckles drag bare skin for three perfect, torturous second. Warm and rougher than you expected from him.

You hadn’t noticed the wear. But he did. On every spot of every cloth you were around him.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Right…” You say taking a step back.

hm? Are you trying to get away? Maybe he did go a bit far, he think. but…

“You’ll stop?” Jake say gently enough to make you doupt if it is a question or a soft command.

And you nod, more like a reflexive. But to him it’s like you’re being obedience, a pathetic state of you that make his dick twitch. You, doing everything he order you to.

He doesn’t move. Tempted to try a bit more.

“Don’t just nod.” It’s almsot imperseptible but his voice drops lower.

“Say yes.”

Your mouth goes dry—he sees the swallow stick. Another traitor nod slips out that make him wanna grab on your jaw, but the word scrapes free finally.

“Y—yes.”

Fuck, Jake fucking loves it. His smile blooms full. The polite one everyone love, yeah. But in this case, he’s just satisfied. Pupils flaring wide for half a heartbeat.

His hand twitches toward your head, like he wants to pat you, like a good pet, but suddenly he snaps out of his little ego trip and reroutes it to your shoulder, remembering he’s not supposed to be this blatant… but oh how he wants it.

Fuck it. It’s not the agreement that gets him half hard. Not even close. It’s the surrender in your personality. The way you surrender without a word, without a fight. How can you be this submisive, angel ? The way you don’t fight back. The way those doe eyes almost beg him to leave you alone… somehow that makes him go harder. Makes him need it.

At first, he didn’t get it. Why this pulls him in so much. Why the simple fact that you’re uncomfortable makes his brain—and apparently his dick—start running the show.

You too don’t get it yet.

Key word : yet.

To say all of this started with pity-hatred would be putting it mildly.

It was the first time in his entire fucking life Jake’s ever felt something so disgustingly potent crawl inside his chest. He still remembers the exact second you got him hopelessly addicted to the sick thrill of having power over you.

Two years ago, at the regional spelling bee auditorium, behind the scenes while everyone was rehearsing—the perfect little prodigy with your too-neat hair and modest knee-length skirt who was supposed to be untouchable— was in some other school senior's arms, pressed against a dark corner backstage’s curtain. His mouth on the side of your neck, leaving wet marks.

His hand shoved so far up under your skirt Jake could see the skin of your inner thigh flexing. And you moaned, a shy whimpering that punched straight through Jake’s balls, as your hips rocked forward shamelessly chasing for more.

That was that. The day Jake realized hate and want could live in the same heartbeat and feel exactly the same.

His first public hard-on. Right there sitting on folding chairs in front of hundreds, cock throbbing painfully against the zipper of his khakis while he watched you sitting down silently next to him. You, the only girl he’d ever really wanted, who got finger-fucked like she was starving for it minutes ago, and then spelling: Floccinaucinihilipilification.

You were his first real crush. His stupid, innocent puppy love.

His first heartbreak.

And—most importantly—his first real taste of rage.

How could you fucking dare give those sounds toa stranger. For days he observed you, just to realise his pure crush on you turned you into an angel you actually weren’t. 

Those moans looped in his skull for weeks. The way your cheeks flushed such a violent pink. The glassy, faraway look in your eyes right before you came. The shuddering, thighs trembling, the tiny, broken cry slipping out as you soaked that bastard’s hand.

Jake came so hard that night he saw stars. Ropes of thick cum painting his stomach while his brain short-circuited, replaying nothing but your wrecked face over and over.

First time he’d ever jerked off thinking about someone specific.

First time he experienced the pleasure of rolling over and fucking a pillow thinking of a girl inner thighs while begging for repentance.

And first time he understood what it meant to want to own someone.

From that day forward it stopped being about trophies, debate medals, perfect report cards, or the endless parade of “suitable” playdates his mom tried to arrange. None of it hit the same as the urge to touch you.

Nothing got him stupidly, painfully hard like the fantasy of finally cornering you—maybe in the back stacks of the library where you always fall asleep with your cheek smushed against an open textbook, or in an empty chem lab after hours.

He daydreamed to wash your mouth out with his tongue until you tasted like him. Wanted to bruise the skin that should’ve always belonged to him.

Wanted to be the first—and only—one to rip new sounds and reactions out of that pretty face. He wished to experiment his new obsessions on you.

And suddenly he realised that every time he smiled that gentle, angelic, good-boy smile while quietly dismantling your confidence, your eyes would go glassy, stomach visibly clenching like you were trying not to cry right there.

And fuck, that made him leak in his briefs.

It was weird. And it was scary. The thought of being purposely bad to someone was against everything he believed in.

Still, no award ceremony, no valedictorian speech, no other girl ever gave him that same feral rush. Nothing got him harder, faster, than watching you shrink under his saintly cruelty.

It’s your fault. He persuaded himself. You, turned him into a sinner.

By the time you reach the youth group, voices overlap and the moment dissolves. You both join your friends suddenly aware of your own body in a way that feels like a low vibration under your ribs.

The group is seated in a loose circle, attention focused on Brother hoon, who sits on a low chair at the end of the circle, hands folded, expression impassive.

“As Father mentioned tonight,” he says, “desire is not something to fear. Strong feelings do not make us bad people.” He smiles softly. “They make us human. What matters is how love and understanding the path of god guides them.”

He looks around the circle.

“Does anyone have a passage they think speaks to that?”

Silence.

People avoid eye contact. Someone shifts. But Jake raises his hand without hesitation.

“John 3:16,” he says evenly. “It reminds us that love is intentional. Chosen. Sacrificial. And that sacrifices vanish a lot of sins.”

Nods ripple through the group. You hesitate, then speak before you can stop yourself.

“First Peter,” you say quietly. “4:9.” You swallow, then continue. “It says that above all, we should have fervent love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins.”

Brother Sunghoon's smile deepens.

“That’s very good,” he says looking at you, “both of you.” You lower your gaze, warmth creeping into your face. Heat floods your cheeks. Oh, how pathetic it feels to crave that tiny scrap of recognition, like a dog waiting for a pat on the head. But from him? It's everything. You drop your gaze to your lap, fingers twisting the hem of your dress, a stupid smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Across the circle, Jake watches. He sees it all: the way your eyes light up for Sunghoon, the flush that creeps up your neck, the shy curve of your mouth.

Head over heels, aren't you? For that guy?.

Jake's jaw tightens. Your lips... His nails dig into his palms without him realising until he feels the warm trickle of skin tiring. Your lips, could smile at him instead. Why couldn’t they he’s always so good to you. So gentlmen. You could at least thank him for always having you in his mind. those same soft lips of yours you btting nervously could be parted around his cock as a thank you, no? You could look at him with those same shy eyes, through those long lashes, begging for that guidance he will surely give you better than anyone else. He’d be so good to you if you letted him. He clenches harder.

You have no idea the storm you're stirring in him, do you? All innocent and fluttering for the wrong man. Fuck he’s doing it again…

Jake reajust himself in the chair, hopping no one noticed, and study keep going until brother Sunghoon claps his hands once, gentle but decisive.

“Let’s do this, for this week exercise” he says. “I want you to pair up with someone,” he gesture, encouraging. “talk together about a desire, something, anything. that is stuck within you and let the other one show acceptance and understanding. It’s about recognizing when it isn’t ours to indulge, and how understanding it helps us accept it, then guide it. Not repress it as a danger. But how to dominate it.”

Murmurs spread. People already turn toward safe friends, prepping harmless confessions: I procrastinate so much…, I love junk food, I desire to skip Bible study sometimes, oops, haha. You do too, wayving at your friend, already scripting something bland and forgivable in your head. Something oh so harmless, that anyone could say “it‘s okay! How about journaling about it?” to.

Then Brother Sunghoon adds, almost offhand adds“Let’s keep it simple… I’ll pair you.” He starts calling names. Your heart drops with each one. Until he reaches you.

“You… With… Jake.” He smiles.

NO.

No,no,no,no.

Your breath catches, sharp and shallow. The room tilts a little. Why you? What could you possibly tell him? Something safe, or... God, what if anything slips out? He’s that good at talking people thru… Your hands tremble, chest tightening like a shrinked shirt. Air feels thin. It’s is a trap, isn't it? Another way for him to see how beneath him you are—frumpy little you, with your buttoned-up blouses and anxious fidgeting, spilling your soul to perfect Jake. Why does it have to be him? Your pulse hammers in your ears, vision blurring at the edges. Breathe. Just breathe. But your lungs won't cooperate, and the panic coils tighter.

He flashes that pure, trustworthy smile everyone melts for, raises his hand in a small, casual hi~ wave. Your friends shoot you those smug, giddy looks—“You’re so lucky!”—like this is some divine rom-com moment.

For one wild second you consider faking illness. Clutching your stomach, bolting for the bathroom, anything. God must be punishing you. This is divine retribution dressed in flannel and soft brown eyes. Or maybe Jake engineered it, whispered to Sunghoon, pulled strings. No, that's paranoid. But the thought makes your stomach churn harder.

“Keep in mind,” Sunghoon adds brightly, “accept with open arms. Show your partner grace. Try to find healthy paths forward together.”

Open arms…

Everyone stands.

You hesitate half a beat too long—long enough that Jake notices—then force your legs to move. Chin up. Shoulders squared. You flash him the smile you’ve practiced in mirrors a hundred times: sweet and polite, that you think look effortless. No one would ever guess how much it costs you, how your heart's racing like it's trying to escape your chest.

You meet him halfway across the room.

“So,” he says quietly, leaning in just enough that his voice stays private, “where do you wanna do this?”His tone is light. Curious. As if the answer doesn’t matter at all. and some jaleous girls side eyes you.

But, the answer genuinely doesn’t matter,.

No it actually does.

It matters so much your throat is closing around it. You need open space. People. Fresh air. A clear line of sight to the bathroom so you can bolt when the panic claws up your esophagus and you have to puke your shame into a toilet stall. Anywhere but—

“I think…” You chew the inside of your lower lip raw, teeth catching skin. Your hand drifts up, nails slidding between your teeth before you even register the motion. Bite. Release. Bite again. You scan the room like there’s an escape hatch nobody told you about. “Anywhere. Anywhere’s fine…”

Jake watches the whole pathetic performance. A second too long. His eyes darken, pupils swallowing the soft brown until they look almost black. He’s already picturing it: those same nervous teeth replaced with something thicker, your lips stretched and glistening, shy eyes flicking up at him while you choke on praise and drool. Fuck. He’ll break that nail-biting habit one day. Replace it with better habits. On your knees. Swollen mouth. Full of him.

“Study room, downstairs then.”

No.

No!!

The word screams in your head but your mouth stays shut. Those coffin-sized side rooms. No windows. No air that isn’t recycled through his lungs first. No witnesses. Bathroom a whole hallway away. You’ll suffocate. You’ll die in there. You’ll—

You nod too fast. Legs move on autopilot. You trail half a step behind him like a scolded puppy…

Inside, the room is smaller than you remembered. Sterile. Dim. One lamp throwing long shadows. Just a table against a the wall. Two chairs. Jake fucking Sim.

And your heart hurts. You want to go home…

Jake let's you go in first and the room is small you can just smell the clean cotton of his shirt and the faint cedar of whatever cologne he wears. He pulls out your chair, oh so gnetlemenly, and you drop into it so fast the legs scrape. You curl your hands into fists so he won’t see the trembling.

When Jake joins and sit… he’s too damn close. His knees bracket yours, because there isn’t anywhere else to be. You decide to make an exercice out of trying to keep yours sealed tight long enough not to touch his.

You fold your hands on the hem of your dress and suddenly flash back to when Jake told you to stop hits.

You stop.

He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. And you stastically are. Because it’s hard to calm your heart by pointing at five things in a room where the. things you see are a lamp and Jake. The silence settles, not really awkward. but as present as a third person you almost count.

Your eyes locks on the door handle behind him. He locked it. Of course he locked it. Why did he locked it? And why is there no window in the room. why is there no ventilation too? No other sounds than your breathing slowly catching.

Your vision blur in the corners.

Shit, shit, shit.

Jake tilts his head, gets closer, concern creasing his brow in that perfect, practiced way. “Hey… you okay? You look…” He pauses, voice dropping softer. “You look a bit stressed.”

Liar. He’s not concerned. He’s enjoying every seconds. You can’t feel it too much in your own head, to see the way his gaze drags over your flushed cheeks, your bitten lip, the slow frantic rise and fall of your chest. Your panic is turning him on and he hates himself for it and he loves it more.

“I—I’m fine,” you whisper. Your tongue feels thick. “Just… It’s hot. In here.”

fuck it’s almost summer, and the church can’t have a window or some kind of fan in a corner.

“You sure?” He leans forward. Elbows on the table. Closer. “Your hands are shaking. You’re pale.” His fake worry drips from every syllable like honey. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You want to scream leave me alone. Instead your mouth opens and closes like a dying fish. His finger shyly catch on chin to makes you look at him. And nausea surges, hot climbing your throat. The room spins. You lurch to your feet.

Bad idea, angel.

Your legs give out like wet paper. You don’t even stumble gracefully, you literally crumple forward, knees hitting the floor hard between Jake’s spread thighs, nails scraping at the wood between his leags. The impact jars up your spine, but the real pain is the way your chest locks tighter, air refusing to come in more than frantic little sips.

He freezes for half a heartbeat. Eyes wide. Then something darker flickers across his face.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Hey—hey, I-I think you’re having a panic attack.”

He should call for Sunghoon. He knows he should. Yell. Open the door. Get the saintly brother in here to lay hands and pray he can calm your allergy to him.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead his hands shoot out.One clamping around your jaw, firm enough to tilt your face up to his, the other slids to cradle the back of your neck just like he’s been rehearsing in his dreams for months.

“Easy,” he murmurs, thumb stroking once along the edge of your lower lip—almost tender. “Breathe for me, okay? You’re safe. Just breathe.”

You try. God, you try. But your lungs are made of stone. Your vision swims. Tears already sting the corners of your eyes because everything feels too loud, too close, too him.

Jake’s jaw ticks. His voice drops lower. “Come here.”

He hauls you up, not roughly, but with purpose, straight into his lap so you’re straddling him face-to-face. Your knees bracket his hips on the narrow chair; your dress bunches high on your thighs. His hands stay where they are: one still gripping your jaw, the other curled possessively around the back of your neck, keeping you from looking away.

You’re close enough to see the flecks of brown in his dark irises, the tiny scar on his upper lip, the way his pupils have blown wide. Close enough to feel every ragged exhale fan across your mouth.

“Still not breathing right,” Jake says, voice low, almost disappointed. His thumb strokes once along the seam of your lips, “open your mouth, angel.”

Your lips and eyes tremble, stay sealed. Terror and humiliation glue them shut.

He exhales sharply through his nose. Then two thick fingers push past your teeth without preamble. They hook over your tongue and press, stretching the soft inner skin of your cheeks until they pull tight, until your jaw screams from the angle. You gag hard, helpless, the sound is wet and obscene in the room you’re ashamed.

“Fuck,” he hisses, hips twitching once beneath you. His cock is already straining against his jeans, pressing insistently against your core through thin fabric. “Breathe, thru your mouth. In through your nose… out slow. Come on.”

You try—God, you try—but every inhale shoves his fingers deeper, every failed exhale drags more saliva spilling over his knuckles, dripping down your chin and his hand. Your tears stream freely now and a choked, broken whimper vibrates around the intrusion.

He groans low in his throat, head dropping back a bit to enjoy the show.

“You’re fucking killing me like this.”

His free hand slides down—under the hem of your dress and you jolt when it goes past the lace edge of your panties, until his palm flattens over your lower belly. Big. His hand is big. Spanning so much skin you feel tiny, fragile and kind of owned. He presses firm rhythmics. Up on the inhale, down on the exhale. Forcing your diaphragm to obey.

“Like that,” he whispers, breath mingling with yours. “Good girl. Follow my hand. In… out…”

The pressure make your insides wierd, his fingers stretching your mouth, petting your tongue like something precious turn your brain mushy. His palm grinds slightly more possessive, close enough to the fabric of your panties that your clit drags on the friction you can’t ignore. His head tips; his lips brush your temple once barely there.

“If you need to puke,” he rasps, voice cracking with restraint, “tell me, I don’t give a fuck.”

The words hit meaner than he usually speaks. He’s diferent more dominating. A soft, shattered sound tears from your throat: half sob, half plea. Drool glistens on his fingers, strings of it connecting to your swollen lips when he finally, agonizingly, slowly, withdraws them.

Three minutes. Maybe four. Your breathing stuttered, catched, steadied and now ragged gasps smooth into something almost even.

His hand stays splayed on your belly. You feels your hands again finally, resting on your thighs, when you look at them you catch on the buldge of is cock throbing beneath you with every shaky inhale you take. But you don’t look away, and not at him.

And jake doesn’t speak for a long beat.

Then, barely audible he says: “Better?”

Your tongue still tastes like the salt of his skin. You can’t answer too everwelmed, and suddenly fresh tears slip down your cheeks.

His thumb strokes once over your lower stomach, just gentle now.

“Shhh, Good girl,” he breathes. And the praise sinks into you like a cold patch on your fever, even as you tremble in his arms, with nowhere left to hide, “There you go,” he murmurs, voice all honeyed, post-crisis soft. “You’re okay, angel. Just breathe. It’s alright. Everything’s alright.”

Jake speak in the same tone people use on scared puppies or crying kids. Like he handed you a participation trophy for almost blacking out in his lap.

You’re calm(ish). Breathing steady. Heart still hammering, sure, but no longer trying to punch through your ribs.

Jake, though?

Jake is not calm.

The thick, insistent ridge of him presses up against your core through his jeans and your bunched skirt. Hard enough that every tiny shift of your hips drags a low hiss from between his teeth. You feel it twitch when you swallow. Feel it throb when your breath hitches. He’s leaking through the fabric—you’re almost sure of it—and the realization makes fresh heat flood your face.

You can’t look at him.

Not for the next two minutes that stretch into a miserable eternity.

So you do the only thing your body knows how to do when cornered: you tuck your face into the warm crook of his neck. Hide there. His skin smells like cedar and clean sweat and something faintly metallic—like he’s been biting the inside of his cheek too. Your nose presses against his pulse. It’s racing faster than yours.

His hand slides up. Fingers card gently through your hair—slow, soothing strokes from crown to nape. Petting you like you’re fragile porcelain.

His other hand drops and settles high on your bare thigh, thumb resting just under the hem of your panties. Not moving. Just… there. Claiming space. Testing how long you’ll let it stay

How the fuck are you this cute? Jake thinks, jaw tight. Hiding in his neck like a scared little cat. All flushed and messy and still trying to be good.

But the next thought comes faster and uglier:

How do he turns this into you coming completely undone under me?

He turns it over in his head like a Rubik’s cube he already knows the solution to. Every angle. Every justification.

You’re already so wet. Jake can feels it. you’re shaking because you wants it too, you’re just too shy to admit it. I could fix that. He thinks. I could make you need me so bad you’d forgets how to breathe without my permission. Make you crawl. Make you beg. Make you thank him for every things.

This is toxic as hell.

But what if it’s good for both of you?

What if Jake could give you exactly what you’r too scared to ask for, and once he’d you experience it, maybe these sick thoughts will finally shut the fuck up? Like finally playing that one game you’ve been obsessing over for years, beating it in one all-nighter, and then never touching it again because… meh. Done. Satisfied.

Yeah… He’s bad at lying to himself…

“You feel better?” he asks quietly, lips brushing your temple.

You nod against his neck. Tiny. Barely there.

He exhales like he’s been holding the breath for centuries.

“You know…” His voice drops lower, almost confessional. “I get like that too. Around you.”

You freeze.

“Not… not exactly like that,” he adds quickly. “But I feel… off. Not myself. Wired. Like my skin’s too tight.”

Silence. But you can hear his heartbeat so distinctly.

You shift barely an inch, and realize too late how it looks: the straps of your dress fallen off your shoulders, hair a wrecked halo, cheeks stained and humid. You look fucked already and he hasn’t even kissed you nor touched you.

Jake’s bangs are messy now, falling into his eyes. He looks… different. Maybe hungrier. Less like the golden youth-group Jake and more like some guy who’s been starved and have his. first meal in front him.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Jake half-smiles anf it’s devastating. You never saw him like that.

The thoughts flood back so fast he almost groans out loud.

He never really watched porn. Didn’t need to. But his brain’s been running a private channel starring you for months. You biting your lip when you’re nervous? Jake wants those lips on his cock instead. You tugging your hair when you’re frustrated? Jake want his fist wrapped in it while he fucks you till you cry. You fidgeting with your skirt hem? Jake wants to flip it up, spread you open, pull out dripping and smear the mess across your panties until you’re glazed and whimpering his name.

Jake’s fingertips graze a stray strand from your cheek. Your breath stutters. He smirks every time your eyes dart away.

“You’re uncomfortable around me, hm?”

You shake your head so violently your hair whips his chin.

He chuckles softly and dark. “It’s okay.” His humb traces your cheekbone now, slowly, deliberatly, cataloging every twitch. “I don’t mind. Actually… I kinda like it.”

His eyes follow his own touch like he’s hypnotized.

“You hate me?”

Another violent head shake.

“I won’t believe you if you don’t speak, angel.”

“I…” Your tongue darts over dry, bruised lips. You swollow dry.“I don’t hate you…” The whisper is so quiet it barely exists.

But it’s enough.

He readjusts under you. A deliberate grind that makes you gasp. and he smiles, soft and so fucking fond it hurts.

“You know…” His thumb drags over your bottom lip, pressing just enough to part it. “I tried everything to not think of this. Doubled prayer time, knelt till my knees bruised. Ran till I puked. Anything to exhaust my body, starve my mind. But the harder I tried to kill it… the clearer the pictures of you got. You. Just you. Every fucking time.”

“…What?” you whisper.

“I’m doing the exercise right now,” he says, voice cracking just a little. is head drops to your neck this time. He inhales deep your perfume, your fear-sweat, your arousal. “Fuck, it’s weird saying it out loud.”

Your heart skips a beat painfully.

“It’s just… I keep fantasizing. Obsessing. You’re the only one I think about when I—” He cuts himself off, lips brushing your skin. “I don’t know what to do. What should I do, hm? Tell me.”

Brother Sunghoon’s voice echoes in your skull like divine intervention gone wrong: Accept with open arms. he said Show your partner grace. he said. Try to find healthy paths forward together. He said.

Your hands fly to his shoulders gripping like he’s rock on your chest.

“You… what kind of thoughts?”

He fights the grin. Loses. It spreads slow and victorious across his face.

Got you.

He leans in until his mouth ghosts your ear.

“When you bite your lip? I want to replace your teeth with mine. Want to suck that plump little mouth till it’s swollen and you’re whimpering into my tongue.”

Your thighs clench involuntarily.

“When you chew your nails? I want them scratching down my back while I’m buried so deep you forget your own name.” You swallow. “Want to see those same fingers wrapped around my cock, slick and trembling, guiding every inch down your throat till you gag and swallow every drop I pump into you.”

His hand slides higher on your thigh—fingertips grazing the damp edge of your panties. Fuck what a pool.

“When you tug your hair? I want my fist in it. Pulling just hard enough to make your eyes water while I fuck your mouth slow. Pull out to wipe the mess across your lips like the lips balm you always put on and ends up licking. I want to make you taste how wrecked you make me.”

Jake’s touching you everywhere he shouldn’t under your dress. Grazing his way up your hips, teasing the small of your back, mapping out every spot he’s dreamed about ruining.

“Ahhh, sorry… it’s probably just wierd,” he lies smoothly, voice shy and coaxing. “I think it’s like, hormones and curiosity. Once I… do it. Once I get it out of my system, it’ll stop. I’ll be normal again.”

So that what it is. That’s what Sim Jaeyun had in his head all allong. “You’ll accept this part me, hm?”

“Hm?”

He’s eyes are doing this puppy thing “…That’s what the exercise is for, right?”

Fuck… The exercice…

Your panties are soaked. You can feel it all hot and sticky, more than the fabric can hold. Your clit throbed in time with his words and he just don’t shutted up. You’re dizzy again, but for a different reason.

Maybe you’re trying to help. Maybe you’re just that far gone. Maybe you just want that buldge that much… And it’s okay.

Cause love and acceptance erase a lot of sins, no?

“You… want to try?” you whisper.

Jake thrives. His eyes darken and travel everyplace he want to touch, mark and own. “Will you let me?”

For a second you almost see that shadow behind the soft dark of his eyes, the part you never saw before, and think not anyone ever saw.

You’re too wet, too shaky and too lost in the heat radiating between you, to be able to think twice so—-

You nod.

“Say it.” His eyes beg, lips tasting your with a graze.

“Ok…Yes.”

He exhales like the war is finally over and he’s the only soldier left standing. “Good,” he breathes, thumb dragging slow across your bottom lip one last time, bitting his, like he’s sealing a contract.

And just like that, his daydream becomes reality.

Jake’s eyes go black, his pupils swallowing everything soft and church-boy-ish about him. They rake down your body like he’s already mapping every place he wants to bruise, bite, own. His hands flex and fingers twitching with the too many impulses that come at him in once: rip that dress? pin your wrists? spread you wide? make you cry his name? God itself shouldn’t witness the thoughts he’s having right now.

He’s still trying to convince himself that, this, is just hormones. Just a phase. Just the exercise.

But the lie is thinning fast as his dick take control over his brain.

“It’s your fault… I wasn’t like that before you,” he mutters, voice low and cracked. “You sat there with your smile, biting your lip, tugging your hair, fidgeting like a nervous little thing—and it’s like you’re begging me—to… Take control. You think that’s fair?”

You blink up at him, chest heaving. “Wh… why am I the problem? It’s your—”

He cuts you off by hauling you up effortlessly, spinning you until your ass hits the edge of the table. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, lays you flat on the cold wood. and yanks one of your legs high, hooking it over his shoulder.

He bites down on the inside of your calve and you iss, teeth sinking just enough to make pain bloom brightly and hot.

You yelp, and the sound bounces off the walls. He smirks against your skin, tongue flicking over the fresh mark. “Why so uncomfortable around me, hm? Allergic?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Shaking your head. Too shy. Too overwhelmed. Too wet. He lets your leg fall. Steps in closer, with one leg on the table, and leans down for your mouth.

You panic, your hands fly up, palms flat against his mouth, pushing him back an inch.

“What?” His voice drops dangerously soft against your palm.

You shake your head again. No. Not that. Not yet maybe.

“You said I could try anything,” he reminds you, eyes narrowing like a sad puppy.

“Not… not that.”

He looks unhappy. Jake jaw ticks, then his hand shoots to your jaw firmly, tilting your head to the side.His lips find the nape of your neck instead and sucks hard. He marks you, and you feel the bruise blooming already.

“I’ll make you beg for a kiss,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “I’ll make you crawl for it.”

His fingers hook the thin straps of your summer dress and with one smooth tug the fabric slides down your arms, pools at your waist, then drops to the floor entirely. You’re left in nothing but damp cotton white panties and your red Converse and white socks, shivering.

His palms cover your breasts too hard at first. You wince, brows pinching. He watches your face like it’s scripture. Adjusts. Squeezes again. Just a bit softer. Then harder. Jake is testing and learning every twitch, every hitch in your breath.

You finally open your eyes and meet his.

To realise he’s gone. Gone gone.

Not Jake anymore. Something trance-like. Pupils blown. Breathing shallow. Mouth parted like he’s receiving a vision.

“Jake…?”

“Let me see,” he rasps. “All the kinds of faces you can make.”

He drops his mouth on your nipple with his dark eyes on you. ANd feel his thick lips, fangs grazing. Tongue swirling slow, then flicking sharp. He captures everything: the way your fingers dig into his shoulders to push him away, the helpless rock of your hips against his bulge, the little space between your parted lips where silent cries keep slipping out.

He’s addicted.

He tries for your mouth again. And you block him. Again. He growls like an unhappy dog in his throat. Grabs your hips and jsut forces them down hard against his cock to make grind you along the length until you yelp and yelp and yelp again.

His thumb traces your lips. Slips inside. Hooks your cheek. Fuck, he loves this view: your brows bending in that perfect needy arch, eyes watering, lashes clumping. His favorite expression. The cry-baby you.

“God bless you for being such a perfect little cry baby,” he mutters. “He made you for me. Look at you. You’re built to fall apart under my hands, hm?”

Your brain short-circuits. What the hell is he saying? This isn’t Jake. This is—

Three fingers shove past your lips. Stretch your mouth wide. He hyperfixates—watching the way your tongue flattens, the drool that pools, the way your throat works around the intrusion.

“I always see it,” he says, voice wrecked. “You biting your crayons, your nails, your lips... Every little anxious quirk. Makes me want to replace them all. Want to fuck your mouth until you’re choking on me instead of anything else .”

You hear his zipper.

He’s stroking himself now, slowly, his head bumping against the drenched cotton between your thighs. Soft whimpers escape you both.

He stops everything. Focuses on the wet patch. The sticky mess you’ve made.

“Fuck… how can you be this wet?”

His thumbs presses and stroke everywhere you wet yourself, traces the shadow of your entrance through the fabric, firmly, slowy. And you slap a hand over your mouth, eyes darting to the door.

“Jake—someone could—”

He doesn’t hear you. He’s too far gone.

He keeps smearing your slickness, adding his own leaking precum until the white cotton is translucent, clinging, buried between your folds.

Both your breaths come faster, heavier.

“I want to fuck you so bad.” He notches the head against your clit with forces pressure. You jolt—whole body arching.

You stare at him, and a sudden realization hits: he’s touching a pussy for the first time. No?

He’s acting like he want to force it inside, but he doesn’t even know where and what it really looks like up close. He’s on instinct, hunger mode. It’s thrilling. And it’s terrifying. He won’t listen. Won’t stop. So your trembling hand slides down. Brushes him. He’s veiny, swollen. So hard it hurts to touch.

He snarls. Grabs your wrist. Forces your fingers around his shaft. Makes you strock it.

“Fuck—”

You line him up—head nudging your entrance, with only the soaked fabric between.

He thrusts so shallow and desperate. The head pushes in stretching the cotton, stretching you. You arch violently. His breathing is obscene, so freaking loud and ragged.

“I’ll fuck you… fuck, I wanna fuck you so bad.”

He slams a palm on the table beside your head.

“Fuck—we can’t—” he say, but doesn’t stop. His thrusts turn erratic. Wet sounds fill the room rhythmic. Every shallow push forces the fabric deeper, almost tearing, almost letting him in.

“I want inside—fuck—I want to fuck you so bad.”

“I want to go so deep you scream.”

“I want to feel your clench around me.”

You’re close—too close—from the friction, from his wrecked expression, from the way he’s losing every shred of control. You grab his wrist, with your still trapped between his hand and his cock’s hand, and guide his fingers.

He follows. And memories flash him: the day he caught you getting fingered in secret. The way your hips bucked. The sounds.

He laughs dizzy, “I forgot… you’re a little slut, right?”

Two fingers shove inside you. No preamble. He just fuck your inside roughly. He curls. Scissors. Pumps. No pattern. Just chasing every reaction. Every flutter. Every jolt.

“How can a dick even fit in here, hm?” he mutters, completely out of his mind. “Fuck—”

Your orgasm builds terrifyingly fast. You try to fight it. Try to stay quiet. But the more you clench, the harder it hits. Your legs snap shut around his hand.

He watches from above, literally transfixed, as your body contracts, back bowing, thighs trembling.

Right when you’re about to tip over—

He pulls out. Completely.

You jolt. Thrash. Palm slams the table. Other hand clamps over your mouth. Legs convulse, and you see white for a second. The denial is stronger than any full orgasm you’ve ever had. And Jake drinks in every second—your arched back, your shaking thighs, the way you’re offering yourself without words.

Your back…

He grabs your leg. Flips you onto your stomach, the cold table shocks your nipples.

“Wait—”

He yanks your panties up so hard you’re forced onto tiptoes.

His cock slides between your fabric and ass. Its hot, thick, fucking the crease hard. Jake’s palm clamps the back of your neck and it cuts oxygen just enough to make your brain fuzzy, make everything narrow to the drag of him against you.

He grinds. Strokes your clit with the soaked cotton pulling. Faster. Faster. Meaner.

You both break at the same time. He groans and bites on the arm that hold you down, as hot and thick ropes of cum paint your back. Your legs buckle a bit a,d your orgasm crashes as silently as possible, shattering, legs trembling so hard you almost collapse.

Both of you are shaking. Breathing like you’ve run marathons.

It’s over.

But he grabs your arm. Pulls you down. You fall to your knees. “Let me see your face.” He brushes sweat-damp hair back. You look exactly like his dream: wrecked. Lips swollen. Eyes glassy.

He towers over you. Cock still half-hard and leaking. You lean forward. Press your lips to the head, with your tongue flat against the thick vein underneath.

“Ahh—-” he snaps. One hand fist your hair. Thrusts shallow, fucking the last of his cum into your mouth, to gradually fuck the back of your throat.

You gag. Tears spill. And he loses it completely, watching the tears track down your cheeks, feeling your throat work around him.

“Fuck… that’s it. Take it all.”

ANd you take it all. Every shallow thrust into your mouth, every pulse against your tongue, every drop he spills down your throat, he watches like it's the holy prouf that he’s in fact one of god’s favorite. Your eyes water and tears track hot down your cheeks. You gag softly once, twice, but you don't pull away.

Jake groans low, wrecked, fingers tightening in your hair. "I love you," he rasps, voice cracking on the words like they've been clawing at his throat for months. "Fuck—I love you so much it hurts. I want you bad. So fucking bad."

He releases with one last shudder, flooding your mouth. You cough, choke a little, saliva and cum dripping from the corner of your lips as you gasp for air. Before you can even wipe your chin, he yanks your head back by the hair, sharp enough to make you gasp, and tries to crashes his mouth to yours—-

Then his phone buzzes—sharp, insistent, vibrating against the table like a slap back to reality. He. literally freezes. His lips one millimeter away.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

He wanted this to never end. He pulls back slowly, breathing ragged, passing a frustrated hand in his hair and answers the call with shaking fingers.

You sink back onto your knees, dazed, chest heaving, trying to piece yourself together while the world rushes back in too loud, and too fast. You can't hear Jake’s conversation: just muffled voices, his low "yeah, Mom," "okay, got it." His free hand reaches for yours, squeezing once, grounding.

He mouths at you silently, puppy eyes soft again: You okay? With his phone still hooked between ear and shoulder, he reaches out, rearranges your tangled hair with careful fingers, wipes the tear tracks and spit from your cheeks with his thumb and sleeve. Jake helps you too, tug your dress back up over your shoulders like nothing happened.

The call ends, and you don’t even realise it. There’s only that strange feeling of calm in you, like the anxiety is gone. And maybe too much of Jake’s presence. There’s nothing. You just don’t think anymore. And it feels somhow so pleasing.

"Hey." Jake’s hand slides to the back of your neck, with a gentle pressure turning your face to his. "My mom called. Your parents got an emergency thing from work. We're taking you home."

"Hm?"

He studies your expression, you’re in the stars right now, and oh how he wish he could keep you there. A soft, fond smile tugs at his mouth. His eyes drop to your lips. He bites his own. Leans in. But you suddnely flinch, almost dodge again.

But he goes for your cheek instead. With a soft, chaste kiss. Just a brush of lips.

"It's okay," he murmurs against your skin. "I won't do anything you don't want me to." He shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over your shoulders. Leans close again, breath warm against your ear. "Sorry… for your back."

And the rest of that. damn night is blurs. Like a lucid dream.

You vagly get the church bathroom mirror, your lips swollen, neck marked you hidded under his jacket, the sticky mess on your lower back cooling under. If this wasn't church, if it wasn’t jake… And you, anyone with eyes would know exactly what happened.

The ride home… you don't remember words. Just the echo of Jake's mom asking if you have a fever, calling you "angel" in that sweet-mom voice while your thighs stick together and your pulse won't settle.

One solid fact was that he slipped a Snickers bar into your pocket—his pocket, technically his yeah, since you forgot to give his jacket back when you bolted from the car and ran hometo shower.

It's still on your nightstand weeks later. Melting slowly in its wrapper. Proof the fever dream was real. That the reasons your wetting your panties since, is Jake. Jake and the way used you.

And if you thought that one night would kill the anxious buzz you get whenever Jake's within five meters… Wrong.

Now it's worse. One look from him across the youth group room and you're rushing to the bathroom to wipe the insane rush of wetness between your thighs. And the slapping the idea of literally eating your nails in front of him with the expectation that he ends up fucking you hard some place.

Jake's side isn't better.

That night he slept better than he ever had. First weeks of summer felt golden. He thought he had you and basta. But you went from anxious-around-him to full avoidance. If it weren't for church services, the country club brunches, the upcoming youth group trip—he wouldn't even catch your shadow.

The dreams came roaring back. but Stronger. More vivid. More real.

He needs to see you. Hold you. Now.

The country club brunch is packed, linen tablecloths, clinking silverware, parents laughing too loud. And jake half-hard, eyes in void thinking of fucking you doggy style and bend you until you scream for him to stop. You see him first. He catch you second trying to regain consciousness with his meter long eyespack. You’re across the lawn, through the crowd, eyes locked. Neither of you looks away. But in Jake head it might as well be an halucination.

His mom calls yours over and he snap. You’re here, like really here. More plates are insisted upon. "We need another setting—Jake, scoot over, sweetheart."

Your heart slams so hard you taste copper. By some divine cruelty (or blessing), you're seated right next to him at a table too small for five. Everyone chats: weather, golf scores, your perfect tenis perfs, college plans for both of you.

And—-

Jake's hand slides under the table. Under your tennis skirt. You freeze mid-sentence. His palm is bigger than you remember, rougher, hoter from whatever secret workouts he does to punish himself.

He squeezes your thigh hard. And you know what it is. A punishment. You try to keep your face neutral. Smile at someone's joke. His hand creeps higher. You yank his wrist away and bolt upright.

"Sorry—restroom."

You walk—fast—to the farthest one possible. When a hand catches your wrist near the doors. He drags you into some ladies' room stall. Locks it.

"Jake—what are you—"

"Why are you avoiding me?"

You're stunned silent.

Why? WHY?!

"You're even avoiding me now…" He crowds you against the wall. The stall is spacious and tiny at the same time. His body heat is everywhere. "I accepted you. You accepted me. For who we are. So why avoid each other?"

"What… what are you talking about?"

He bends. Mouth at your ear. "That you're a needy little slut…" Voice calm, natural, like he's reading the weather. "And I have weird… fucked-up desires about you."

You meet his eyes. And the scariest part is that he's not even trying to hide it. Just says it like fact.

"Are you… Jake…"

His head drops to your shoulder, kissing your neck. a hand slides to your hip. "I'm hard."

Your brain short-circuits.

"I still dream about you. It didn't go away. I fuck my hand remembering your throat squeezing me. Your insides clenching. I even got hard in the last days of school just because you finally stopped biting your nails."

You're breathing too loud and he straightens and locks eyes. His thumb grazes your lips. "Have you let someone else touch you?"

Head shake.

"Sunghoon?"

Shake.

"Any of the guys at the club?"

Shake.

His smile blooms slowly, victorious. "I knew it. So we're good to each other?"

"Hm?"

"I've been thinking about it, angel. About God's plan. Maybe we're meant for each other. Don't you think?"

You bat your lashes in pure incomprehension. He slides a hand around your neck, gently but possessive.

"I like to bully you…" He says as his thumb strokes your pulse. "And you love it when I use you. Right?"

He looks at you like a kid begging for the one toy he can't live without. And now the toy… Is you.

You've circled it in your head too. Mostly terrified he'd tell his friends, or confess it to father or any brother from the church. But once the panic faded with rationality… you realized… That, maybe, you never hated him.

You just wanted to be special. To someone. To him. The person everyone loves, and you couldn’t reach. To have something only you get from Jake. His dark dreams. His secret desires. Let that be yours. Only yours. The saint's secret dreams.

You nod.

He smirks. "Say it."

"…Yes."

His expression lights up brighter than when he won valedictorian last spring.

"You'll be mine?"

You shy half-nod. Eyes on his. "…hm."

"Good girl. My angel." He attacks, soft kisses everywhere except your mouth. Jaw. Cheek. Temple. Collarbone. Throat. Shoulder. Each one reverent. Worshipful. You melt. Your legs get weaker and weaker, but Jake wedges a thigh between yours to hold you up. He stops at your lips, with his thumb traces them.

"Why won't you let me kiss you?"

You whisper: "I… wanted to give my first kiss to my boyfriend."

He clicks with starry eyes, searching. "You've never been kissed?"

Another head shake. His pupils blow dark. Saint Jake is gone.

"Let me kiss you then."

"Why would I?"

"Let's date." He almost order you simply and logical. "How can I let someone else have you if you're mine? Let's tell our parents later. Let's tell everyone—so no one tries anything. wierd with you."

Very rich coming from him.

"I'll take such good care of you." He kiss your jaw. "I'll let you have anything you want." Kiss your neck. "I'll reward you when you're good. I'll help you with… everything…"

Anything? Really anything?

"Would you…” you hesitate, “Would you withdraw from head of youth group? Give my name?"

Jake smirks. "If you're mine… anything."

He closes the toilet lid and sits. Drags you forward slowly by the wirst. "Then… will you let me kiss you?"

You half-nod, but then whisper: "…Okay."

You lean in for a peck, but he pulls back.

"I want to see you on your knees. Come here… and beg me for a kiss."

Your heart jackhammers. But the idea… You don't hate it. So you execute. You sink on your knees on cold tile, yyes up at him. And just like that he exhales hard. Head falls back against the wall for a second.

"God… your eyes from this angle." His hand runs through your hair until his fingers find the rubber band and he slides it off. Jake twists it around his own wrist like a trophy. "I love how wrecked you look already."

You beg him for the first time, shy and softly trembling. "Please… kiss me."

He don’t even makes you wait of act up, Jake just pulls you up. And gives you your first kiss. His. No one else's. He's hungry. Hungrier. His lips bite yours, all gentle then sharp. His tongue sucks yours into his mouth like he's starving. It’s wet, and you try to move and wipe your mouth, with one hand Jake cups your jaw. The other fists your hair.

You pull back gasping.

"Jake—our families. They're waiting. They'll question—"

He scoffs with a smirk, eyes completely blown.

"No one would ever believe what's happening right now. Because it's me. And it's you."

He doubles down. Grabs the unspent hem of your skirt—the one you didn't realize you'd stopped fidgeting with, and stuffs it into your mouth.

"They could never imagine you're about to show me how wet you are by sliding these panties down and spreading your legs for me, right angel?" "Or that you're gonna fuck yourself on my hand after."

an electric shock runs through your whole body. "And after I taste you… I'll keep your panties. So when I miss my angel, I can remind myself until I catch you again. Hm?"

He sits back. Stroking himself slow. Pulling your hair just enough to keep your eyes on his.

No one would ever guess.

He's right. The end ~

Afterstory :

Just note that these two Never go all the way until their wedding night lmao. They got very creative but never really do it! (And yes five years into marriage, during one very drunk games night with the boys, Jake get cocky, lost a bet, and “lent” his wife to Jay for like… 15 minutes. He watched. He hated it. Never happened again. Lesson learned: some fantasies look better in his head than in real life. And keeps her all to himself like the possessive prayer-boy he still is. 😏

Anyway thanks for riding this rollercoaster with me at first the plot was reader turns 18 and can suddenly hear people desires (any cherrymagic lover in the room???) but then one day she try to wake up sweet pure ikeu and discover he's obssesed by her and somehow it turned into this shit tada. Sleep tight, dream dirty love y'all and can't wait to hear you hehehehehe 💕 I'm tired... Lassiie...

MASTERLSIT

I summon the holy TG : Thk u so so much to my girlypop @jayjw16enxp@nithxhoon, @ikeuatic @puphees @raven-unkind @hoondrop @heekolazz @thesundys @w2hoonki @jaerisdiction @keuri @v-irtujake @moasshi @wonnies-girl @seungiesdoll @jakeintoit @s4eungie @scarett-lover23 @loveminlive @isagistar @aarriiaa1

@eemchaee @gunilsguns @ashayein @1-800-peakyblinders @choeryyxyz @simj4ke @heavenlyjake @heeevangelizesmevangelizesme @heeseung64 @sotyphoonyouth @mheretoreadff @heejunluvr @choeryyxyz @hoonprksung @schniti-is-in-the-house @ii2sanrio @woniedoyouloveme @saeris-world @gonorrheaisme @soobiverse @ikeubae @wonarchy @04angelbaby

“pick something,” jake murmurs, scrolling through endless thumbnails on the porn site you both dared each other to open. his voice stays low, teasing, the way it always gets when he tries to play it cool about something that definitely isn’t. “something not too weird. i don’t need you judging my search history later.”

you snort and kick his ankle lightly. “you’re the one who suggested this, sim. don’t chicken out now.”

he grins, teeth flashing white in the dark. “fine. this one.”

he clicks on a video with a generic title — “couple, spooning, slow and intense”. the kind that starts with soft kissing and ends with the girl biting her lip to stay quiet. the second the moans spill from the tiny speakers you both flinch and he slams the volume down to almost nothing.

“shit, jay’s right there,” jake whispers, glancing over his shoulder. jay doesn’t stir.

you try to focus on the screen, but your body already reacts. the couple looks a little like the two of you — same height difference, same lazy intimacy. the guy’s hand slides under the girl’s thigh, pulling her leg back as he sinks into her from behind. slow. deep. no rush.

jake shifts beside you. the mattress dips. his bare arm brushes yours. neither of you speaks. the video keeps playing. your thighs press together instinctively. jake’s breathing changes — shallower, rougher.

halfway through, your eyelids grow heavy. the adrenaline of doing something stupid and risky mixes with the late hour and the warmth of his bed. you yawn, curling onto your side, back to his chest the way you’ve done a hundred times during movie nights.

“sleepy?” he asks, voice barely above a breath.

“mhm. you can keep watching if you want.”

he doesn’t. the laptop screen goes dark a minute later. jake sets it on the nightstand, then slides down behind you, one arm draping loosely over your waist. his chest presses to your back, knees tucking behind yours. spooning. normal. except tonight his hoodie on you rides up, and the only thing between your ass and his crotch is thin cotton — yours and his.

“night, dummy,” he whispers against your hair.

“night, jakey.”

sleep takes you both fast.

you wake to heat.

not the normal sleepy warmth of sharing a bed, but something better. thicker. your body hums, core aching in that slow way that only happens after dreaming about hands and mouths and friction. jake’s arm stays around you, but it tightens. his palm spreads low on your stomach, fingers just under the hem of the hoodie.

and against your ass — good god.

he’s hard. throbbing. the thick line of his cock presses right between your cheeks through his sweatpants, pulsing every few seconds like it has its own heartbeat. you feel the damp spot where he leaks through the fabric, warm and sticky against the back of your panties.

your breath hitches.

jake stirs. a low, sleepy sound rumbles in his chest. his hips roll forward once — instinctive, unconscious — grinding his erection harder against you. the friction makes you bite your lip so hard you taste copper.

“fuck,” he breathes, voice gravel-rough with sleep and something darker. his hand flexes on your stomach. “are you awake?”

you nod, barely. the small movement pushes your ass back against him. he groans softly, forehead dropping to the back of your neck.

“shit, sorry. i was dreaming and—fuck, you feel…” he trails off, hips rocking again, slower this time. deliberate. “you’re so warm.”

your heart hammers. jay sleeps less than ten feet away, breathing steady and deep, completely oblivious. the risk should make you stop. instead it makes you wetter. you feel yourself soaking through your panties, the fabric clinging.

“jake…” your voice comes out a shaky whisper.

he stills. “tell me to stop and i will. swear.”

you don’t.

instead you arch just enough to rub back against him. the low curse he lets out vibrates through your spine.

his hand slides lower, fingers dipping under the waistband of your panties but not pulling them down. just teasing the soft skin right above your clit. “you’re soaked,” he whispers, awed. “all this from me just… pressing against you?”

“shut up,” you hiss, embarrassed and turned on and so ready it hurts.

he chuckles darkly, the sound muffled against your hair. then his fingers move — slow, careful — sliding your panties to the side. cool air hits your slick folds for half a second before the blunt, hot head of his cock replaces it.

he pulled himself out of his sweats at some point. you didn’t even notice. now the thick tip nudges between your lips, sliding through your wetness, coating himself. he groans again, quieter this time, the sound barely escaping.

“gonna be so quiet for me, yeah?” he breathes right against your ear. “don’t wanna wake jay while i’m buried inside you.”

the words alone make your pussy clench around nothing.

he pushes forward.

just the head at first — thick, stretching you open so slowly it burns in the best way. you grab the pillow, biting down to keep from moaning. jake’s hand flies up to cover your mouth anyway, gentle but firm.

“shh, baby. i got you.”

he sinks in inch by inch. the angle feels perfect — spooned tight, your leg slightly lifted by his thigh. when he bottoms out, hips flush to your ass, you both shudder. he’s so deep. you feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbs inside you like he’s fighting not to come already.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “so fucking wet and tight and—god, i needed this.”

you turn your head just enough to meet his eyes in the dark. they’re blown black, pupils swallowing the warm brown. “then move, jake. please.”

he kisses your shoulder — soft, almost reverent — then starts rocking.

not thrusting. not yet. just slow, grinding rolls of his hips that keep him buried to the hilt, dragging against that spot inside you with every motion. the wet sound of it is obscene in the quiet room — soft, slick, rhythmic. you pray jay stays asleep.

jake’s hand stays over your mouth, the other sliding down to rub tight circles over your clit. his fingers are slick with you. every time he circles, your walls flutter around his cock, squeezing him.

“feel that?” he murmurs. “you’re gripping me so good. like you don’t want me to leave.”

you whimper against his palm.

he speeds up — just a little. the bed creaks once. you both freeze. jay shifts in his sleep, mutters something, then goes still again. jake’s heart hammers against your back. he waits ten full seconds before he dares move again, slower this time, more careful.

but the restraint only makes it hotter.

he fucks you like that for what feels like forever — deep, lazy strokes, grinding against your ass, fingers never leaving your clit. every thrust pushes a tiny, helpless sound out of you that he catches with his hand. sweat slicks the space between your bodies. the hoodie rides all the way up; his bare chest sticks to your back.

“you’re so perfect,” he whispers between thrusts. “my best friend… taking my cock so quiet while my roommate’s right there. fuck, i’m never gonna get over this.”

you come first — sudden and sharp, walls clamping down around him so hard his rhythm stutters. your moan muffles into his palm, body shaking, thighs trembling. he fucks you through it, slow and steady, whispering praise against your neck. “good girl, that’s it, come all over me—fuck, you’re squeezing so tight—”

when you finally go limp, he pulls out for half a second, flips you gently onto your stomach, and slides back in from behind in one smooth glide. the new angle lets him go even deeper. he covers your body with his, chest to your back, hips rolling in a slow, filthy grind that has the head of his cock kissing your cervix on every stroke.

“gonna come inside you,” he pants. “is that okay? want you to feel me leaking out of you tomorrow when we’re eating breakfast with jay like nothing happened.”

you nod frantically, pushing back to meet him.

he groans, low and broken. his pace picks up — just enough to chase his own release without shaking the bed too badly. one hand braces beside your head, the other reaching under you to pinch your nipple through the hoodie. the dual sensation sends sparks down your spine.

when he comes, he buries his face in your neck to stifle the sound — hot, pulsing spurts flooding deep inside you. you feel every twitch, every throb, the way his cock swells even thicker as he empties himself. he keeps rocking through it, milking every last drop, until he finally collapses beside you, breathing hard.

for a long moment the only sounds are your mingled breaths and jay’s steady snoring across the room.

jake kisses the back of your neck, soft and lingering. “you okay?”

you nod, smiling into the pillow. “more than okay.”

he carefully pulls out, tucking your panties back into place like he’s sealing his cum inside you. the thought makes you clench again. he chuckles softly, rolling you both so you face each other. his arm wraps around you, leg sliding between yours. his cock, still half-hard and slick, rests against your thigh.

“round two when jay leaves for class tomorrow?” he whispers, lips brushing yours in the dark.

you kiss him — slow, deep, tasting the promise on his tongue. “only if you let me ride you while he’s in the shower.”

jake grins against your mouth. “deal, baby.”

you fall asleep again like that — his cum slowly dripping out of you, his arms tight around your waist, jay none the wiser across the room.

the next morning jay stumbles out of bed at 7:30, yawning, scratching his stomach. “morning, lovebirds,” he teases, not even glancing twice at the way you and jake tangle together under the blanket. “didn’t hear you guys come in last night. must’ve crashed hard.”

jake’s hand squeezes your hip under the covers, thumb brushing the wet spot on your panties.

“yeah,” he says, voice perfectly casual. “we were up pretty late… watching stuff.”

you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

jay just shrugs, grabbing his towel. “whatever. i’m showering. don’t burn the dorm down while i’m gone.”

the second the bathroom door clicks shut, jake rolls on top of you, eyes dark and hungry again.

“your turn to be quiet this time,” he murmurs, already pushing your panties aside for the second time in less than six hours.

you smile up at him, legs wrapping around his waist.

“make me.”

© jongst4r, 2026

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