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underskz · 4 months ago

Text

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility.

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both.

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that you can’t quite sate yourself, barely sated by these comments.

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession.

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight.

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon.

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get.

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university.

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well.

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession.

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch.

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain.

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place.

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day.

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find.

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now.

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars.

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing.

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it.

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down.

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera.

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy.

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy.

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more.

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!”

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might.

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone.

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain?

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route.

You always do.

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request.

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall.

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others.

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation.

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home.

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > <

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing.

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball.

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box.

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.”

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table.

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay.

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.

“Need to charge my phone!”

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back.

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months.

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins.

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word.

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore.

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh.

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head.

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him.

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it.

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher.

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start.

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out.

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now.

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down.

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together.

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him.

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!”

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop.

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.”

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site.

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue.

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air.

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly.

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind.

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start.

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out.

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes.

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous.

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again.

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked?

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this.

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth.

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up.

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.”

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more.

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare.

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.”

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.”

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible.

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped.

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust.

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm.

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly.

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage.

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips.

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you.

“I’m still gonna stream.” The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums.

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his.

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape.

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.”

You blink.

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss.

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee.

“Okay.” You grin at him.

#mark x reader #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader #nct smut #nct 127 smut #– miki writes #– mark

2K notes · View notes

elikajinnie · 20 days ago

Note

Heyy, could you do 5 and 14 with Jake pls?

Love you work btw!!!

P: Roommate!Jake X Fem!Reader (NSFW 18+)

Warnings: Mutual Pining, Jealousy, Emotional Tension, Possessive Behavior, Unspoken Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, Teasing, Sexual Tension, Dom/Sub, Wall Sex (kinda?), Touch-Starved!Jake, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex (wrap it up folks,) Praise Kink, Dry Humping, Degrading, Needy!Reader, Dom!Jake, Rough Sex, Munch!Jake, Oral Sex (Fem!Receiving,) Dirty Talk.

Synopsis: The tension with Jake has been building for months. You try to ignore it, to play it safe. But when another ruined date ends in a heated confrontation, the truth slips out and so do his hands. One kiss, and suddenly, pretending you don’t want him isn’t an option anymore.

5. "You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?" 14. "Just one kiss? Or are you planning to leave me wanting more?"

a/n: surpriseee! I’m actually posting smut instead of letting it rot in my docs this time.. I’ve always been a little unsure about sharing smut here, especially with all the mixed opinions on enhablr… but honestly? Fuck it. I wrote it, I liked it, and maybe you will too. so yeah. enjoy! Reblogs and commentary are appreciated!

You weren’t expecting much from your first year of university, maybe some decent lectures, too many all-nighters, and a shoebox-sized dorm that smelled vaguely of instant noodles and poor life choices. What you definitely weren’t expecting was being assigned a roommate like Jake.

And, well... you didn’t mind it.

He was cute—like, actually cute. Tall, warm smile, hair that flopped into his eyes when he laughed, and a voice just raspy enough in the mornings to make brushing your teeth in silence feel slightly inappropriate. But more importantly, Jake was easy. Easy to talk to. Easy to live with.

He made dangerously good ramen at 2 a.m., always added an egg like a chef or something, and somehow never minded sharing. He watched movies with you on quiet nights, quoting dumb lines or laughing at scenes he clearly knew by heart. And he never, ever interrupted you while studying, just quietly slid a granola bar or bottle of water onto your desk when you were too deep into your work to notice how late it had gotten.

You’d look up and catch his retreating back, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair messy from his own unfinished assignment. And maybe your heart would thump once. Maybe twice.

But it was fine. Really. He was your roommate. And you were lucky to have one who didn’t suck.

Right?

Yeah, well—he sucked when it came to the topic of boys. Or more specifically, your hopeful hookups.

It was honestly kind of ridiculous how he always seemed to know.

You weren’t careless. You had his schedule memorized—well, sort of. You both kept a shared calendar on the wall, filled with messy scribbles and color-coded classes, so it wasn’t like you were stalking him. You just... planned accordingly. You knew when he’d be gone for hours, off to some late lab or a campus event, and you took those precious windows of alone time to invite over whatever cute guy had caught your attention that week.

The pattern was always the same: drinks, music low, a little harmless flirting on your tiny couch. Maybe things would get close, hands on knees, mouths hovering, but before anything remotely good could happen, you'd hear it.

The jingle of keys. The unmistakable sound of the door unlocking.

Cue the door swinging open and Jake stepping inside, always with the same casually surprised expression. “Oh,” he’d say, as if he wasn’t ruining your entire night. “Didn’t think you’d be home.”

Your date would tense. You’d force a tight smile. And within minutes, they’d be grabbing their jacket, muttering something about having an early morning. You’d stand there, still a little breathless, lips just barely swollen with possibility, watching Jake toss his bag onto the floor like it was any other night.

And when the door shut behind your date?

You’d turn to him, crossing your arms, annoyed but trying not to show it. “Weren’t you supposed to be out until, like, ten?”

Jake would blink at you, all innocent. “Yeah. But the event got canceled.” Or, “Lab ended early.” Or, “Wasn’t really feeling it.”

Every. Damn. Time.

At first, you thought it was just bad luck. Coincidence. But after the fifth time—maybe sixth—you started wondering if it really was just that. Because Jake never seemed all that sorry. In fact, sometimes you could’ve sworn he looked almost... pleased.

So after the seventh fucking time it happened, you kind of gave up.

No more cute guys in your apartment. No more risky almosts on the couch or stealing kisses in the kitchen while Jake was supposedly gone. You adapted—started meeting people off campus or agreeing to go to their places instead.

It wasn’t ideal, but at least you would not hear the sound of Jake’s damn keys in the lock, his perfectly timed entrances sending everything crashing down.

But even then... it never stuck.

Because the guys you met? They never lasted. Maybe a few dates, maybe one night if you were lucky, but nothing ever felt solid. And it wasn’t just you being picky—it was Jake.

Somehow, without fail, they all brought him up.

“Your roommate’s kind of intense, huh?” “He stared at me the whole time like I’d killed his dog.” “Is he always that... territorial?”

Territorial.

That one stuck with you longer than it should’ve.

You always laughed it off. Said Jake was just protective, or weirdly good at making people uncomfortable without trying. But deep down, there was this annoying little voice in your head whispering things you didn’t want to hear.

Because yeah, Jake was protective. He made you ramen at 3 a.m. He knew your class schedule better than you did. He always walked on the outside of the sidewalk and handed you a jacket when you forgot yours. He never touched you in a way that crossed a line, but his presence was always there, just close enough to feel it. And now, without meaning to, you’d started adjusting your life around him.

You didn’t bring guys over anymore. Not because you didn’t want to. But because they never stood a chance. Because Jake was… someone else entirely.

Sweet in a way that wasn’t performative, he didn’t flirt with you for fun or toss compliments around just to get a reaction. He just was. Always thoughtful, always present. The kind of guy who remembered how you took your coffee without asking, who stayed up to watch your favorite comfort movie just because you’d had a bad day. He was cuddly, too, the kind of casually affectionate that ruined you. Throwing an arm around your shoulder on the couch, falling asleep too close during movie nights, letting his legs tangle with yours like it meant nothing. Like you were just that comfortable.

He was smart, too. Unfairly so. He didn’t even have to try—acing tests, explaining things to you with that patient tone that made you feel less stupid and more seen.

And, yeah. He was hot. So hot.

Stupidly hot, if you were being honest. Shirt half-ridden up while stretching, messy hair post-nap, low voice in the morning kind of hot. You used to think the attraction was harmless, just a surface-level thing. A little eye candy to make your living situation more bearable.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped being funny.

Because unfortunately, Jake had managed to set your standards sky-high without even trying. The bar? Ruined. Crushed under the weight of every time he handed you a snack wordlessly, every lazy smile he threw your way, every casual brush of his fingers against yours that shouldn’t have made you feel anything—but did.

You tried to cheat around it. Tried going for guys who reminded you of him. Guys who were tall and kind and maybe wore the same kind of rings or had a similar laugh. But none of them made your heart skip the way Jake did. None of them made your skin flush just by saying your name. And eventually, you had to face the truth.

Somewhere in the mess of shared ramen, missed hookups, and one too many movie nights that ended with you biting your lip and pretending not to stare at his stupidly perfect jawline—

You’d developed a crush on Jake.

And worse? You didn’t know what to do about it.

It was supposed to be nothing. No strings, no messy feelings. Just a roommate. Just a guy.

Just a stupidly… hot guy.... Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You were mid-spiral, head buried in your laptop under the pretense of studying, when you blinked up—and instantly regretted it.

Jake had come back from his shower at some point without you noticing. Steam still clung faintly to his skin, hair wet and dripping as he towel-dried it lazily with one hand. His grey sweatpants hung loose and low around his hips, the waistband dipping just enough to make your brain short-circuit. The plain black T-shirt clung a little too well to his chest, still damp in spots, and seriously, who gave him the right?

Your mouth went dry. And the worst part? You weren’t even being dramatic. You could feel the heat bloom across your cheeks, creeping lower, settling somewhere in your stomach and spreading.

Dripping. That was the only word your brain could hold onto.

His hair was dripping.

You were dripping.

Fuck.

Jake looked up just then, catching your gaze before you could look away, and smirked faintly, like he knew exactly what was going through your head. He tossed the towel over his shoulder and crossed the room toward the kitchen, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t out here looking like a walking wet dream. “Want anything?” he asked, voice rough from the heat of the shower. “Gonna make tea.”

You blinked at him, nodded way too fast, and muttered something that vaguely resembled “Sure.”

You watched his back as he moved, broad and unfair, and tried very hard not to melt into your chair. This was fine. Everything was fine. You were not attracted to your roommate. Not at all.

Right?

…right?

You buried your face back in your textbook the moment Jake turned away, determined to focus—actually focus—on something other than the image of him shirtless and dripping wet.

Studying. You're studying. Not thirsting over your roommate.

You recited that to yourself like a mantra, highlighting a sentence you didn’t even read and pretending the words weren’t blurring on the page. You could hear him in the kitchen, casually rummaging around. The clink of a mug. The quiet hum he made when he found what he was looking for. It was so domestic it made your heart ache.

A few minutes later, you caught the familiar scent of chamomile and cinnamon before you even heard him approach.

“Here,” Jake murmured, placing a steaming mug on the desk beside you.

You looked up—and nearly forgot how to breathe.

He was close. Way too close.

One hand settled on the back of your chair, warm and solid behind your neck. The other landed on the desk right beside your arm, making the muscles in his forearm flex slightly, veins standing out beneath skin that was still flushed from the shower. His shirt stretched tight across his chest from the angle, and his damp hair hung just barely in his eyes, water still dripping occasionally onto his collarbone.

You could smell him. Clean soap, a hint of mint, and something unmistakably Jake. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he leaned in closer, voice dipping near your ear.

“What are you reading?”

You froze.

His breath brushed against your skin, hot and barely-there, and it sent a shiver straight down your spine. You swallowed, throat suddenly dry, fingers tightening slightly around your highlighter like it could anchor you to reality. “I—uh…” you started, blinking down at your page like you’d never seen words before. “Psych… something. Case study. Doesn’t matter.”

Jake hummed, low and lazy, like he was amused by your sudden brain short-circuit. He didn’t move away right away. Just lingered, casually caging you in without touching you, like he had no idea what he was doing to you. Or worse... like he did.

You refused to look at him. If you did, you weren’t sure you'd survive it.

“Your tea,” he said, finally pulling back, but not without letting his fingers brush your shoulder lightly. “Just how you like it.” And with that, he strolled back to the couch like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just turned your bones to jelly with one breath and a flex of his arm.

You stared down at your textbook, heat crawling up your neck, and wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust from pure, helpless want.

This… was getting dangerous.

You were starting to think you were losing your mind.

Because lately, something had shifted. You didn’t know how or why, but Jake… Jake had started testing you. Not in obvious ways, he wasn’t throwing out dirty pickup lines or cornering you in the hallway like some walking cliché. No. That would’ve been too easy. Too manageable.

Instead, he was teasing you. Flirting—more than usual. And not the playful, harmless kind you were used to. This was different. Suggestive. Low voice, drawn-out words, that smug smile he wore when he caught you staring too long at his hands, his mouth, him.

And he knew.

You could see it in the way his eyes flicked to your lips mid-conversation, or how he leaned just a little too close when reaching for something behind you. He’d started using your name more, saying it like a secret, like it tasted good in his mouth. It sent a weird, warm shiver down your spine every single time.

What was worse? He was getting touchier, too.

At first, it was subtle—his thigh brushing yours on the couch and staying there. His hand finding the small of your back when you passed in the narrow hallway. Then it escalated. Light fingers trailing along your arm when he walked by. Pulling you into his side during movie nights like it was second nature. Fixing the hem of your shirt when it rode up, his knuckles grazing your stomach like it meant nothing.

You’d lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember the exact tone of his voice when he whispered something stupidly innocent that somehow left your entire body buzzing.

And the he never acknowledged it. Never pushed past the edge. Never made a move that gave you permission to call it what it was. So you were stuck—trapped in this torturous middle ground where everything he did made your heart race and your thighs clench, but none of it could be labeled. You couldn’t confront him. Couldn’t risk misreading it and ruining everything.

But still... you couldn’t help but wonder:

Was he playing with you?

Or were you already too far gone to tell the difference? All you knew was that Jake kept leaving you high and dry.

Every time.

A brush of his hand here, a whispered comment there, lips inches from your skin, that stupid smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing to you—and then? Nothing. He’d walk off like it hadn’t happened. Like your pulse wasn’t still hammering in your throat and your thighs weren’t pressed tightly together under the desk.

It was maddening.

Your body would buzz for hours after. Skin hot. Mind racing. You’d sit in the quiet of your room, staring at the wall like it owed you an explanation, still breathless from nothing and everything.

So, naturally, you tried to smother the need. Drown it in distraction. You started saying yes to the flirty DMs, to late-night invites, to lingering touches from boys who looked nothing like Jake but felt safe—distant. You let them take you out, let them kiss you, sometimes more. You told yourself it helped. That maybe if someone else could make your heart race again, Jake would stop invading your head.

But they didn’t.

No matter how hard you tried, it was always the same. Their hands didn’t feel like his. Their voices didn’t curl around your name the same way. No one ever looked at you the way Jake did when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You’d leave their rooms unsatisfied, unsaid, untouched in the way that mattered. Worse—sometimes, you’d come home and find Jake sprawled across the couch in nothing but sweats and a shirt, hair messy, eyes tired, and mouth tilted into that crooked, lazy smile. He’d glance up and say, “Have fun?” like it didn’t matter at all. Like he wasn’t watching you come home flushed and frustrated and wishing he was the one undoing your buttons instead.

It felt like punishment.

Or maybe a game.

Either way, you were losing.

And Jake? He was still sitting there—unbothered, untouchable—and somehow still everywhere, all at once.

You weren’t proud of it.

You hadn’t planned to let it go that far, not in the library of all places, but the guy was cute, persistent, and more importantly, a distraction. His lips were soft, eager, and his hands were already roaming beneath your sweater as he backed you into the far corner of the third floor—dead quiet, barely anyone around. Just shelves, soft fluorescent light, and the illusion of privacy.

You let yourself melt into it. Let him kiss down your jaw, hands sliding along your waist, fingers pressing just a little too high under your shirt. You closed your eyes and tried to pretend.

Tried to pretend it was someone else.

You barely heard the cough over the blood rushing in your ears.

You both froze.

And then—his hands still on your waist—you looked up to see Jake standing just a few feet away. Expression unreadable. Lips pressed together. One brow slightly raised. His eyes flicked from you to the guy—and then, calmly, to a shelf just over your shoulder. “Sorry,” Jake said coolly. “Need that book behind you.”

The silence was deafening.

Your mouth opened—no words came out. The guy stepped back quickly, awkwardly wiping his mouth like a kid caught red-handed. You were still leaning against the shelf, heat crawling up your neck, heart pounding in your chest as Jake casually stepped forward, reached around you—around you—and pulled a book from the shelf like he hadn’t just caught you mid-makeout.

He didn’t even look at you. Just nodded once, muttered, “Enjoy your study session,” and turned on his heel.

Gone.

Just like that.

You stood there for a moment, stunned, lips still tingling and whole body suddenly ice-cold, while the guy awkwardly asked if you wanted to keep going. You didn’t.

You mumbled some excuse and left a minute later, heart racing, Jake’s voice echoing in your ears. Enjoy your study session.

He hadn’t even sounded mad. But somehow, that made it worse, because something in his voice—low, clipped, polite—felt like punishment.

Like the slow tightening of a string that was about to snap.

And after that day in the library… Jake changed.

Not toward you, exactly. He still brought you tea. Still shared his ramen. Still dropped his hoodies in your lap when you complained about being cold. But something in him had gone quiet. Tense. Sharp around the edges.

It wasn’t until the next time you tried to talk to someone, just a casual conversation with a guy from your elective that you really noticed it. You were sitting on the quad, sunlight warm on your legs, smiling at something the guy had said, when Jake appeared behind you like a shadow. He didn’t say anything at first. Just hovered, arms crossed, eyes locked on the guy like he was measuring how fast he could take him down.

You introduced Jake, voice light, a little unsure. The guy offered his hand. Jake didn’t shake it. Just gave him that same polite, empty smile and said, “Didn’t know we were doing office hours out here.”

The guy left two minutes later with an awkward laugh and a mumbled excuse.

You turned to Jake, brow furrowed. “What was that?”

He just shrugged, all innocent. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You laughed it off at the time, even though it sat heavy in your chest.

But then it kept happening.

Every time a guy so much as stood too close, Jake would show up—leaning into your space, slipping an arm around your shoulder like it was second nature, voice a little too casual as he interrupted. If someone tried texting you and he happened to see it on your screen, he'd make some offhand comment like “Another one already?” with a tilt of his head and a tone that made your stomach twist.

He was never mean. Not directly. He didn’t need to be. His presence alone was enough to drive everyone else away. And you couldn’t decide what scared you more—the fact that Jake was acting like that… Or the fact that part of you liked it.

Did that make you a bad person?

No. You didn’t think so. Not after that day.

You’d been walking back from class, a little distracted, earbuds in and sun warm on your shoulders. You hadn’t even noticed the guy trailing a few steps behind you, some rando you vaguely recognized from a party weeks ago—until he caught up and said something under his breath.

At first, you didn’t catch it. Then he said it again, louder this time.

“You dress like that and expect people not to look? Come on. You’re clearly asking for attention.”

You froze, spine going rigid. Not out of fear—just disbelief. Because you were so tired of this shit. Of people thinking they could say whatever they wanted, get in your space, chip away at your confidence like it didn’t matter.

And then, like some twisted act of fate—Jake appeared.

He’d just been walking by, hands in his pockets, probably heading somewhere casual. But the second he picked up on the guy’s tone, his whole posture changed. His jaw tightened. His stride slowed, and before you could say anything, Jake was there, stepping between you and the guy with his body angled like a shield.

“The fuck did you just say?” he asked, voice calm but sharp enough to cut steel.

The guy blinked, stammered something that sounded like a backpedal. Jake didn’t flinch. Just stared him down, low and steady, as if daring him to try again. “I don’t know what kind of response you were hoping for,” Jake continued, voice dangerously smooth, “but here’s mine: don’t talk to her like that. Don’t talk to anyone like that.”

And that was it.

The guy didn’t fight back. Just scoffed, mumbled something bitter under his breath, and walked off with his pride dragging behind him.

You stood there, frozen in place, heart pounding as Jake turned back to you, the anger in his expression softening instantly. “You okay?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

He looked at you for a second longer before exhaling. “Don’t listen to assholes like him,” he said, voice gentler now. “Wear whatever makes you feel good. Confident. You look—” he hesitated, his gaze flickering downward for a second too long, before dragging back up to your eyes. “—you look great.”

You didn’t call him out on it.

Didn’t say a word about the way his eyes dipped again, this time lingering a little too low, lingering like maybe he wasn’t just being protective. And you definitely didn’t mention the way you liked it. Because that would make this too real. And you were still clinging to the lie that Jake was just your roommate. Just a guy. Just someone who looked out for you.

Even if everything he did lately said otherwise.

Spring came fast.

One day it was hoodies and oversized jackets, and the next, the sun was out, the windows were open, and your tiny university apartment started feeling like a sauna by midday. Naturally, your wardrobe adjusted accordingly. Shorts. Tank tops. Loose-fitting tees that barely grazed the tops of your thighs.

Nothing dramatic—just comfortable.

But you noticed it.

The shift.

At first, it was in the way his conversations got shorter. Not cold—just distracted. He’d pause mid-sentence on a call with a friend when you walked into the room, eyes flickering over your legs before snapping back up to your face like he hadn’t just looked. Like he wasn’t still thinking about it.

He started pulling at the collar of his shirt more often, mumbling something about how hot it was. You caught him watching you from across the room, the tip of his tongue resting against the inside of his cheek, like he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.

He never said anything. Not really. But his eyes lingered now. Traced over your bare thighs, the curve of your waist, your chest. His jaw would tighten. His grip on his coffee mug would shift. Sometimes, he’d be mid-sentence and suddenly forget what he was saying.

And you noticed.

God, did you notice.

The silence would stretch just a little too long. His tongue would dart out to wet his lips when you bent over to grab something from the fridge. The air in the apartment felt heavier, like the tension had weight. Like every brush of your arm against his, every moment you shared the couch, every laugh that ended too close was leading somewhere neither of you wanted to name.

One night, you walked into the living room wearing a cropped tank and boyshorts, ready to call it a night, only to find Jake sprawled on the couch in just a pair of loose gym shorts, damp from a late workout. His skin glistened slightly under the dim light, and his hair stuck to his forehead.

He looked up at you—slowly. Quietly.

Didn’t say a word for a beat too long.

“You trying to kill me?”

You blinked. “What?”

Jake smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned back, arms stretching behind his head, the motion making his muscles flex and his abs pull taut. “You can’t just walk around looking like that and expect me to concentrate.”

Your heart did a full somersault.

“I live here,” you said, trying to sound unbothered, even though your voice had gone slightly breathless. “I’m comfortable.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your legs, then dragging back up, slower this time. “I can see that.” He turned back to the TV like he hadn’t just sent a shockwave through your entire nervous system.

You swallowed hard, shifting your weight as you lowered yourself onto the far end of the couch—far, like that would somehow help. It didn’t. Not when the heat from his body practically reached you. Not when the soft sounds from the movie blurred into white noise, your attention caught on the way his chest rose and fell, the light sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.

You were hyper-aware of everything. The way your thighs stuck slightly to the couch’s faux leather. The way the fabric of your shorts rode up when you crossed your legs. The way Jake’s eyes flicked over to you every few minutes, barely noticeable—except that it was every few minutes.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

But then his foot brushed against yours.

It could’ve been accidental. Could’ve—if it didn’t linger just a second too long before pulling away.

You glanced at him.

He was still watching the screen. Calm. Blank-faced.

You leaned back, pretending to adjust your position, stretching your legs out until they rested next to his. You felt, more than saw, the way his jaw clenched.

Another scene passed. Quiet. Tense.

Then you felt it—his fingers, just the lightest brush, trailing over your ankle. Slow. Testing.

You looked at him again, and this time he was already looking at you, eyes darker, that playful glint nowhere to be found.

“You sure this is comfortable?” he asked, voice low. Rough around the edges.

You nodded. Slowly. “Yeah.”

Jake’s hand slid a little higher, up your shin, warm and deliberate. “Cause you’ve been squirming since you sat down.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively, and you hated how obvious it must’ve looked. But Jake didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. He just shifted closer.

You could feel the heat radiating from him now, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and something so Jake it made your head spin.

“You always wear stuff like this to bed?” he asked, fingers ghosting over the hem of your shorts.

“Only when it’s hot,” you whispered, not trusting your voice any louder.

He hummed, eyes dropping to your legs again, but slower now. Lazier. He reached over, fingers brushing your bare thigh—light, barely-there, but so charged it made your breath hitch. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, half to himself.

Your heart was pounding now, wild and loud in your chest. And when you didn’t pull away, didn’t say stop, Jake leaned in—his palm resting against your thigh, thumb rubbing slow, hypnotic circles against your skin. “Say something,” he said quietly, voice at your ear. “Or I’m gonna keep touching you like this.”

You didn’t say a word. You just leaned into it. And his hand slid higher.

You didn’t remember what movie was playing anymore. Whatever it was, it faded completely into the background, muted voices and shifting colors on the screen, all irrelevant now compared to the slow, heavy thrum of heat building between you.

Jake’s hand stayed on your thigh, fingers moving in lazy, circling strokes. Teasing. Testing. He didn’t look at you when he spoke again, like the words weren’t really meant for you, just thoughts slipping from his lips.

“You know,” he said, thumb brushing just under the hem of your shorts, “it’s kind of unfair.”

You tilted your head, pulse racing. “What is?”

“That you walk around here looking like that and expect me to sit through a whole movie without getting distracted.”

You didn’t answer. Just gave a soft, amused hum, your legs shifting slightly beneath his hand, as if inviting him closer.

And he took the invitation.

Slowly, Jake leaned in, his body turning toward you until your knees bumped, his palm trailed further up your thigh, warm and sure, until he was cupping the curve just above your knee, thumb dragging across bare skin in rhythm with the pounding in your chest.

His other hand lifted and pushed a strand of hair away from your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek as his eyes met yours—intense, unblinking, like he was trying to read you.

Still, you didn’t speak. You didn’t really need to. Your silence said enough. The way your breathing picked up. The way your fingers curled slightly against the couch cushion. The way your legs opened, just a little more, letting him settle between them.

Jake’s gaze dipped lower, and then he was moving again—leaning down, slower this time, the kind of slow that made your skin prickle in anticipation. His face hovered just above your chest, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath through your thin top.

“Comfortable still?” he murmured, lips ghosting the curve of your collarbone.

You swallowed, throat tight. “Mm-hm.”

Jake smiled against your skin, a slow, wicked thing. His hand slid higher up your thigh, palm firm now, possessive in a way that made your stomach flip. “You keep humming like that,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours again, “I might start thinking you like this.”

You didn’t break his gaze.You just let out another soft hum, sweet and quiet, but so full of meaning it made his eyes darken.

The room felt too hot. The air thick. Your body buzzing.

And still, neither of you moved to finish it.

It was a slow unraveling, like pulling at a thread, knowing eventually everything would come undone.

And you were letting it happen. Maybe even hoping for it.

Jake’s breath against your skin, the weight of his hand on your thigh, the way his eyes watched you like he was waiting for a green light, it was all so heavy, so close, you could barely think. His lips were just about to brush lower, his fingers tightening slightly, when—

Rrring. Rrring.

The shrill sound of your phone sliced through the tension like a knife.

You both froze.

Your body went rigid, Jake’s hand still warm against your skin, his face hovering so close to your chest you could feel the air shift as he let out a quiet, sharp breath.

“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, straightening up with a frustrated exhale as you reached for your phone with trembling fingers. You didn’t even check the name before answering, still breathless, your voice cracking slightly. “Hello?”

“WHERE ARE YOU?” your friend’s voice practically screamed through the speaker, making you wince. “You promised! We’re literally outside the club—do not bail on me again!”

You blinked, trying to reorient yourself. “Wait—what?”

“The club?” she repeated. “Short dress? Bad decisions? You swore you'd come tonight. Don’t make me come drag you out myself.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear for a second, glancing at the time—and then it hit you.

You had promised her.

The plan had been made days ago. A night out. Something about dancing off stress, drinking too much, maybe making out with a stranger in a dark corner, back when you were still desperately trying to exorcise your Jake problem. You glanced up, and Jake was already watching you, leaned back now, his jaw tight, a muscle ticking as he waited.

Your friend shouted your name through the phone again, snapping your attention back. “Okay, okay—I’m coming,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead, your skin still tingling from where Jake had touched it. “Give me twenty.”

“Ten!” she demanded. “You better be wearing something hot!” The call ended before you could respond.

Silence settled between you and Jake again, heavier this time. He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at you, shoulders a little tense now, his hands clasped loosely between his knees.

You shifted, suddenly too aware of your barely-there clothes, your flushed skin, and how close you’d come to letting everything snap. “I, uh…” you stood slowly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I forgot I made plans.”

Jake’s gaze dragged over you—slow, unreadable. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I figured.” But his voice didn’t carry the same heat as before. It was quiet. Cool. Like something had shut behind his eyes. Like maybe he hated the reminder that you still had other places to be. Other people to see. Other guys who weren’t him.

You didn’t give Jake a chance to say anything.

Didn’t let yourself look at him for more than a second, because if he so much as breathed the wrong way, you already knew what would happen. You’d fold. Stay. Crawl right back onto that couch and into the dangerous gravity of his hands, his mouth, his everything.

So you bolted for your room, muttering a rushed “I’ll be quick,” before shutting the door behind you.

You moved fast. Thank God you’d already showered. No time to overthink. No time to wonder if he was still sitting on the couch with that same unreadable expression, or if he’d gotten up, pacing the room like he always did when he was trying not to say something.

You yanked open your dresser and grabbed the black dress you’d shoved in the back last week—short, slinky, barely-there. Something your friend had convinced you to buy during a “hot girl summer” phase you were now very thankful for. You slipped it on, the material hugging your skin like a second layer. It left your shoulders bare, dipped a little too low at the back, and hit mid-thigh like it had no business pretending to be modest. Next, you pulled on your comfiest heels—chunky, easy to dance in—and moved to the mirror. You did your foundation, brows, a little concealer. The rest could wait for the club bathroom. You were already running late.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you applied gloss to your lips, and not from nerves about going out. Because through the cracked door, you could feel it.

Jake’s gaze.

Heavy. Lingering. Burning into you with every shift of fabric, every bend of your body, every subtle adjustment of your dress. You didn’t even have to look to know he was still there. You could feel the tension in the air like static, the way it clung to your skin and made the hair on your arms stand up. And for a second, just a second, you almost slowed down. Almost turned around and walked back into the living room, let him pull you into his lap and finish what you’d started. But instead, you slipped in your earrings, grabbed your tiny bag, and pushed open the bedroom door like your heart wasn’t pounding in your chest.

Jake was standing by the kitchen now, hands braced against the counter, jaw tight. His eyes found you instantly.

And fuck.

He didn’t say anything, instead his gaze dragged over you like a physical touch, slow and anything but innocent. From the curve of your thighs to the way the dress clung to your waist, to the dip of your collarbone where the gloss on your lips caught the light.

You swallowed hard.

“Well?” you asked, keeping your voice light, like you weren’t moments away from completely combusting. “Do I pass the vibe check?”

Jake’s eyes didn’t move from you. “You look…” He paused, voice low and rough. “Yeah. You look dangerous.”

And God help you, you liked how that sounded coming from him way too much.

The word clung to your skin like heat, sitting heavy in your chest as Jake’s gaze burned through every layer of pretense you tried to wear with that dress. You couldn’t tell if he meant it as a compliment or a warning.

You didn’t ask, instead, you gave him a tight smile. “Don’t wait up.”

And then you were gone. Out the door, heels clicking down the hallway, pulse racing with every step like you’d just escaped something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

The air outside hit you like a shock, cooler than you expected, but it didn’t settle the warmth still simmering beneath your skin. Your phone buzzed as your friend texted again: “Hurry up, the line’s insane. I’m losing my mind.”

You typed back a quick “2 mins” and kept walking, trying to shake the feeling of Jake’s stare still clinging to your back, your hips, your thighs. You could still feel itm like his eyes had left fingerprints on your skin.

And God, how you wanted them there.

The club was loud, packed, the music pulsing through the floor and straight into your bloodstream. You were instantly swallowed by the energy of it all—colored lights flashing, bodies pressed together, the smell of sweat and perfume thick in the air.

Your friend dragged you to the dance floor with no time for drinks or second thoughts. She was glowing, already half-tipsy, and the kind of reckless that made her infectious. You let her spin you, pull you into the crowd, and for a moment, you let yourself forget.

But it didn’t last long.

Because every time someone put their hands on your waist, tried to dance close behind you, your mind flashed back to him. To Jake’s hands on your thigh. Jake’s voice in your ear. Jake’s breath against your chest.

You laughed it off. Danced harder. Drank faster.

But it was no use.

Every guy you danced with? They weren’t him.

And no amount of bass or neon lights or sweaty touches could replace the fire he left behind.

Back at the apartment, Jake hadn’t moved much.

He was still in the kitchen, still leaning against the counter, the room quiet now, save for the faint hum of the fridge. He hadn’t turned the movie back on. Hadn’t started his usual late-night routine.

He just stood there. Jaw tight. Eyes locked on the door you’d walked out of. Every part of him tense, coiled. Because the image of you in that dress was burned into his brain now. Seared. He could still see the way the fabric clung to your hips. Could still hear your voice when you said Don’t wait up—like that wasn’t the cruelest thing you could’ve said with your lips still wet from lip gloss. He didn’t know what he was more pissed about—that you looked that good, or that someone else was probably touching you by now.

Ugh. He knew he had no right to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the possessiveness curling in his gut. It didn’t stop his hands from clenching at the thought of you dancing for someone else. Letting someone else pull you close. Letting someone else taste what he hadn’t even dared ask for yet.

Not because he didn’t want to.

God, how he wanted to.

He just hadn’t let himself have you. Not fully. There was a line—an invisible one he drew the night you became his roommate, when you dropped your bags at the door and smiled at him like you didn’t have any idea what you were doing to him.

But now?

Now that line was starting to blur.

Because it wasn’t just a crush anymore. It wasn’t just stolen glances and casual touches and teasing flirtation that ended with him fisting the sheets in silence, replaying the sound of your laugh, the shape of your mouth.

No, now it was need.

And it hit harder than he expected. Hard enough that he was still pacing the kitchen floor an hour later, shirt discarded, drink untouched on the counter, your last words echoing in his head like a taunt.

Don’t wait up.

Like hell he wouldn’t.

His phone buzzed once—then again. A message from a friend about a party, another about a group meetup. He ignored them both. His attention was fixed on the clock, every minute ticking by like a warning.

Was it stupid to be this wound up? Probably. But that didn’t change the way his blood ran hotter every time he imagined someone else’s hands on your hips. Some guy’s mouth pressed against your neck, your back arching into a touch that didn’t belong to him.

You weren’t his. He knew that.

But if tonight proved anything… it was that he wanted you to be.

And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise.

The night air was warm, sticky against your skin as you made your way back to the apartment, heels clicking quietly on the pavement. You were tipsy, just enough for your limbs to feel light and your brain pleasantly fuzzy. The club had been fine. The drinks strong. The dancing easy. But your heart hadn’t been in it.

You’d spent the night smiling too politely at hands that wandered, swaying half-heartedly to songs you normally loved. Your mind had been miles away—here, in this apartment. With him.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unlocked the door, fumbling with the keys before finally twisting the knob and pushing inside. The lights were dim. Just the glow of the kitchen light spilling into the living room. And there he was. Jake. Sitting on the couch. Waiting.

One arm draped along the back of the couch, the other lazily holding a half-full glass of water. His hair was a little messy, his expression unreadablem but his eyes locked on you the second the door clicked shut.

You blinked, slightly startled. “You’re still up?”

Jake didn’t answer right away. His gaze dragged over you slowly, taking in the way your dress clung to your body, the way your makeup had smudged slightly, the faint sheen of sweat at your collarbone from dancing. His jaw tensed. “Wasn’t tired,” he said finally, voice low and smooth. Controlled. Too controlled.

You stepped further into the apartment, setting your keys down with a soft clink, suddenly all too aware of how quiet it was.

“How was the club?” he asked, voice still casual, but there was something in the way he asked it. A tension that didn’t quite match the words.

You shrugged, slipping off your shoes with a sigh. “Loud. Crowded.”

“Fun?”

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

His eyes didn’t leave you. Not once.

“Not really.”

He nodded once, slow. Took a sip of his water. Then, quietly: “Did you dance with anyone?”

Why did that question feel loaded?

“A few people,” you said carefully, watching him for a reaction.

Jake hummed. “Anyone worth remembering?” His tone was light. Teasing, almost. But his grip on the glass had tightened just enough for you to notice.

You let out a soft breath, walking toward him slowly, arms crossed under your chest, partly because you were cold, partly because your heart was beating too fast now. “Why?” you asked. “Gonna take notes?”

Jake’s eyes flicked up to meet yours again. “No,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “Just wondering if I need to remind you what it feels like when someone actually knows how to touch you.”

Your breath hitched.

The room went quiet.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.

And you—still tipsy, still buzzing from the way his voice dipped so low felt the air shift.

He set the glass down on the coffee table slowly, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, gaze still locked on you like you were something he’d been starving for.

“Come here.”

Just two words.

But they hit like a match to gasoline.

You didn’t move at first. Just stood there in the soft light, your heels discarded by the door, skin warm with heat and sweat.

Jake didn’t repeat himself. He just watched you, elbows on his knees, jaw tense, like he was holding something in his mouth he didn’t dare say.

And maybe it was the drinks, or the way your body still buzzed from the club, or the fact that his voice wrapped around your spine like a hand. But you walked over. Slowly, each step louder than it should’ve been. You stopped just in front of him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his bare chest.

He looked up at you like he wanted to say something. Or maybe do something. But he didn’t. His hands stayed on his knees, fingers twitching slightly like he was holding them back. “Had fun teasing me all week?” he asked softly, head tilting a little. His eyes dragged over your bare thighs, up to your collarbone, slow and purposeful. “Walking around in little shorts. Tight tops. Laughing like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

Your breath caught. “I wasn’t teasing.”

He raised a brow. “No?”

You shook your head. “You’re the one who started it.”

Jake let out a quiet breath—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. His eyes dropped to your mouth for just a second, then back up. And then his hand lifted slowly, barely brushing the side of your thigh with the backs of his fingers. So light, it was more suggestion than touch.

It sent a ripple through you all the same.

His gaze flicked up to meet yours again, searching. “You going to bed?”

You licked your lips. Nodded once. “Yeah.”

Jake’s hand dropped back to his knee, just like that. His face unreadable now, voice quiet when he spoke again. “Sleep well.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.

You didn’t trust yourself to respond, so you turned and walked away, pulse racing with every step back to your room.

You didn’t look back.

And neither of you said what you were really thinking.

Okay, you were so over everything.

The tension between you and Jake had gotten unbearable—so bad that you’d started avoiding your own reflection at night, because even you could see how strung out you looked. How restless. How badly you needed something that you couldn’t have.

Nights were the worst.

You’d lay in bed, your skin flushed and hot, your body aching in ways that had nothing to do with the weather. Sheets tangled between your legs, your teeth sinking into your lip as your hand slipped beneath your waistband again, trying to quiet the frustration clawing at your chest.

It never helped.

You’d close your eyes and see him. Jake, shirtless in the kitchen. Jake, sweat-slicked and grinning post-run. Jake’s hands on your thigh, mouth ghosting against your skin, saying your name in that low, unreadable voice.

It drove you mad.

More than once, your fingers would still, your breath catching as you stared at your closed bedroom door—tempted. So tempted to just throw off the covers, march across the hall, and crawl into his bed to put an end to this sick little game once and for all.

But you didn’t.

And now it was harder than ever. Because Jake was busy. His schedule had shifted—more classes, more shifts, later nights. You barely saw him anymore. Passing each other like strangers in the hallway, awkward silences over takeout, faint smiles and tired eyes that said I’m thinking about it too, but neither of you said a damn word.

The heat between you hadn’t disappeared, it had just been buried under new routines, overbooked calendars, exhaustion. But it simmered. Lurking just under the surface, waiting for a moment alone. Waiting for one of you to finally break.

You hated how much you missed him. How often your eyes flicked to the door when you heard keys in the lock. How your heart jumped when he said your name, even casually, even half-asleep.

You were over it. Over the tension. Over the silence. Over pretending like you didn’t want to rip this thing wide open and find out what the hell it would feel like to have Jake finally touch you like you knew he wanted to.

But if Jake wasn’t going to start anything, then fine.

You’d just have to get creative.

You were done waiting. Done pacing your room like some love-struck idiot, breathless over fleeting glances and unfinished touches. So you went back to base one—teasing him.

You started small again. Soft shorts. Tank tops without a bra underneath. Bare legs propped up on the coffee table, shirts that slipped off your shoulder just right. Sometimes you’d walk past him fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped around your body, water glistening on your skin.

And you’d catch it.

The way his jaw clenched. How his eyes lingered a moment too long. How his hand would flex around whatever he was holding—his phone, a coffee mug, a pen—like he had to physically restrain himself.

There were moments, real ones, when you swore he was about to break.

Like the time he paused behind you at the sink, his breath brushing your neck as he reached around you to grab a glass. Or when you’d dropped your phone and bent over a little too slowly, feeling his eyes drag down your spine and lower.

You would’ve bet anything on it—he wanted you just as bad.

But he never made a move. Just smirked. Threw out a teasing comment. Something harmless and loaded all at once, like, “Careful. Keep walking around like that and you’ll drive someone crazy.”

And he would say it like he wasn’t already losing his mind.

So. Fine.

If he wasn’t going to crack, you’d push harder.

Jake had been home less and less lately. Long days, late nights, crashing in bed before you even got the chance to properly torment him. The apartment felt emptier—colder, despite the heat that still lingered in the walls.

And if Jake wasn’t around to see you, to touch you, to do something about the fire he started—

Then maybe someone else would.

So the next part of your plan was simple.

You started inviting guys over again. Not the sweet, awkward ones like before. No, these ones were confident. Forward. They didn’t hesitate to flirt, to touch your knee under the table, to compliment your lips or your dress or how good you looked that night.

You didn’t do much—at first.

A drink. A few laughs. A few almosts on the couch, just enough to remind yourself what it felt like to be wanted out loud. But with every guy who leaned in too close, every hand on your waist, every whispered compliment into your ear, there was always one thought in the back of your mind: This isn’t Jake.

And no matter how much you smiled, no matter how close you let them get... It was never enough. Because they weren’t him.

Their hands didn’t make your skin tingle. Their voices didn’t sink into your bones the way Jake’s did. You let them touch, let them talk, let them get close, but it was always a performance. A game you were playing for someone else, even if he wasn’t in the room.

Until one night, he was.

You were in the living room, low music playing from your speaker, the soft hum of city noise leaking in from the cracked window. The guy was cute—tall, smooth-talking, a little too confident for his own good, but he served his purpose. He made you laugh just enough. Said the right things. Touched your knee like he wanted more.

And at some point, you ended up straddling his lap on the couch. His hands resting on your thighs. Your arms lazily looped around his neck. His lips hovering just a breath from yours.

You weren’t even really listening to what he was saying. You were too focused on the phantom thrum beneath your skin. That part of you screaming that this wasn’t right. That it was too soft. Too staged.

That it wasn’t Jake.

And then—

Click.

The sound of the front door unlocking.

Your heart stopped.

The guy didn’t notice it at first, not until your body went a little too still in his lap, your fingers pausing mid-movement on his shoulder.

The door opened slowly. Jake stepped inside and froze.

His eyes landed on you in an instant. Then dropped to the guy’s hands on your thighs. The way your dress was bunched slightly around your hips. The angle of your body pressed against someone else’s. And for a second—just one second—he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. But his eyes… his eyes burned.

The guy beneath you tensed, sensing the shift in the air. “Uh… hey, man,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Jake didn’t respond. He just closed the door behind him, and then he turned his eyes to you. Not angry. Not confused. Just controlled—so tightly wound it sent a jolt straight through your chest. “Didn’t know we were having company,” he said, voice flat.

You swallowed. “You’re home early.”

Jake’s jaw flexed. “Clearly.” And then, without another word, he walked past you. Not a glance back. Not even a pause. But the air he left in his wake? Suffocating.

The guy under you cleared his throat awkwardly. “So… should I go?”

You didn’t answer right away, you just stared at the hallway Jake disappeared into, every nerve in your body lit like a fuse.

You couldn’t sleep—not that you really tried. Your thoughts were too loud, looping around the same moment again and again: Jake’s face when he walked in. The tension in his shoulders. The way he hadn’t even looked at you when he passed.

You sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling, a bag of chips crinkled between your hands and a random video playing quietly on your phone. Something dumb. Pointless. Background noise to drown out the silence.

The light above the stove cast a soft yellow glow across the room, just enough to keep you grounded.

You were wearing nothing but a big, oversized t-shirt—Jake’s, actually. One you’d stolen weeks ago and never gave back. It hung just long enough to cover your thighs, but not by much.

And you didn’t hear him coming. Not until he was right there.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

You looked up, startled, and there he was standing in the doorway, barefoot, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of dark gray sweatpants that hung just a little too low on his hips. His hair was messy, his voice hoarse with sleep, and there was something heavy in his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen.

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just… couldn’t turn my brain off.”

Jake nodded once, his eyes dragging over you slowly, the way the shirt barely covered your legs, the familiarsight of his own shirt stretched across your chest. His jaw tensed.

“Didn’t hear you come out,” you added, trying to sound normal. Trying to pretend like your body wasn’t humming just from the sight of him in low light, all muscle and shadows and tension.

“I saw the light.” He leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossing over his chest. “Didn’t expect to see you still up.”

You gave a weak smile. “Guess I’m a little wound up.”

Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “That why you had someone over earlier? To help you unwind?”

The words hit sharp and fast. Not loud. But laced with something bitter underneath. “Jake…”

He pushed off the counter slowly, stepping forward. “You can spare me the explanation,” he said, voice low, calm. “You don’t owe me one.”

“Then why bring it up?” you asked softly.

Jake stopped in front of you, close enough that your knees could brush if you shifted. His gaze dipped to your thighs, bare against the counter’s edge, then back up to your face. “Because,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you keep playing games.”

“I’m not,” you said, but it came out too fast. Too defensive.

“Aren’t you?” he asked, eyes locked on yours. “You walk around in barely anything. You touch me. You look at me like you’re begging me to do something about it—and then you invite some guy over and climb into his lap like none of it meant anything?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

Jake stepped even closer, between your legs now, hands braced on either side of the counter beside your thighs. His body heat pressed into you, and suddenly you couldn’t hear your video anymore. Couldn’t feel anything except him.

He let out a short, breathless laugh, like he couldn’t believe any of this, like he was shocked at his own breaking point. His voice was rough, low, edged with something dangerous as he looked down at you. “You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll stop pretending like I don’t want it too.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, his eyes boring into yours like he already knew the answer. But he wouldn’t move. Not until you said it.

You stared at him, heart thudding hard against your ribs, mouth dry.

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Tried again.

“I didn’t…” Your voice faltered. “I didn’t bring him over because I wanted him.”

Jake didn’t move, but his jaw flexed like he was forcing himself to stay still.

You exhaled shakily. “I—I thought maybe if I let someone else touch me, I’d stop thinking about you every time I was alone.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth. His fingers curled against the counter.

You shifted slightly, knees brushing his thighs, and he stepped in closer like it was instinct, like he needed that space filled just as much as you did. You parted your legs without thinking, making room for him to stand between them.

The second he did, your breath caught.

He was so close now you could smell the warmth of his skin. See the tension in his shoulders. His hands stayed put, but his whole body was strung tight, like he was one word away from losing control.

You swallowed hard and pushed yourself to keep going. “I couldn’t sleep tonight because… I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered, eyes fluttering down to his chest before dragging back up to meet his gaze. “About how you look at me. About how you don’t touch me, even when I want you to.”

Jake leaned in just a little, breath brushing your cheek, his voice low and rough. “Then say it.”

You blinked up at him. “Say what?”

“What you want.” His stare never wavered. Unblinking. Unmoving. Like you were the only thing he could see in the world right now.

And you were trembling now—just slightly—but not from fear. From finally letting it crack. “I want you,” you breathed. “I want it to be you. It’s only ever been you.”

Jake exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for months. His hand lifted, slow, and brushed a thumb over your cheek, like he still wasn’t sure this was real. His other hand hovered at your thigh, not touching yet, but so close it made your whole body ache. “Say that again,” he whispered, like he needed to hear it.

You met his eyes—wild and dark and so full of something that made your knees weak. “It’s only ever been you, Jake.”

His gaze dropped to your lips. And then he moved. No hesitation this time. No teasing, no pulling back. Just heat—pure, crashing heat—as Jake surged forward and kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate, full of months of pent-up want and frustration and all the words neither of you had said. His mouth crashed against yours, open, greedy, like he’d been dying to do it and finally stopped giving a damn about holding back.

You gasped into it, breath catching as his hands gripped your hips—firm, grounding, possessive. He pulled you forward on the counter, bringing you flush against him, like he needed to feel all of you to believe this was happening.

Your arms flew up around his neck, hands diving into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth. His lips parted yours deeper, tongue brushing yours, slow and hot, tasting you like he’d dreamed about this a thousand times.

You kissed him like you’d been starving. Because you had.

His thumbs dug into the sides of your hips as your legs wrapped loosely around him, dragging him impossibly closer, and his body slotted perfectly between yours like it was meant to be there.

The kiss didn’t slow. It just burned. Over and over again, like you were trying to memorize each other through touch alone. Like he didn’t know where to start.

Your breath stuttered as you pulled back just a fraction, foreheads touching, your lips still brushing against his, swollen and warm. “You’ve been driving me insane,” you whispered.

Jake laughed softly, breathless. “Yeah? Good.” And then he kissed you again.

Deeper this time. Slower. Like now that he had you, he was going to take his time.

He kissed you slower now, but no less deep. His mouth moved over yours with a kind of reverence, like he was trying to memorize the way you tasted, the way you sighed when his tongue slid over yours, the way you melted against him without hesitation.

Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer until your hips were pressed to his, the friction making your whole body thrum. He groaned into your mouth, fingers flexing against your skin before they slipped beneath the hem of his shirt you wore—his shirt—and pushed it up inch by inch.

“Take this off,” he murmured against your lips, voice low, raw.

You nodded, dazed, and raised your arms.

He pulled the fabric over your head in one swift motion, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking. His eyes dropped, lingering on your bare skin, the soft curve of your chest, the way you sat open for him on the counter, already breathless and flushed. “Fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself, brushing his thumb gently along your ribcage. “You’re so…”

He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

You reached for him again, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers brushing the skin just above it, and his breath hitched in response. His hands found your thighs again, sliding up, gripping tighter now, leaving heat in their wake, as he leaned in, kissing your jaw, then down your neck—slow, hot, dragging his mouth across your skin like he was trying to brand you.

You gasped when his teeth grazed just beneath your ear, one hand slipping up to cup your breast, thumb circling over your nipple until you arched into him. “Jake…” you breathed, your voice trembling.

He looked up at you then, eyes dark, wild, so full of something you’d never seen in him before—need, adoration, hunger. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted, his voice nothing more than a rasp. “I wanted you since the first night you walked out of your room in one of my shirts.”

You smiled, soft and shy despite everything, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Then take me.”

Jake didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, capturing your mouth in another deep, aching kiss—this one rougher, messier, full of tension. His hands were everywhere, sliding over your bare back, gripping your thighs as your legs locked tighter around his hips, when he suddenly pressed you back against the counter, mouth trailing down your throat as his hands slipped under your thighs, lifting you just enough to reposition you—right at the edge, legs parted around his waist. The cool counter beneath you clashed deliciously with the heat spreading through your skin.

Jake kissed down the slope of your chest, slow and lingering, and you gasped when his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue flicking just enough to make your back arch. His hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady as you rocked against him, the thin fabric of your panties doing nothing to hide how needy you’d become.

“You have no idea,” he muttered against your skin, “how many times I’ve imagined this. Right here. Just like this.”

You whimpered, fingers tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. “Then stop imagining.”

that was all it took for Jake to pin you against the kitchen counter, his body pressing firmly against yours, the cool marble at your back a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. His hands roamed possessively over your curves, tracing the dip of your waist and the flare of your hips. You could feel his arousal, hard and insistent, against your thigh.

Jake's hands grew more urgent, his touch becoming almost desperate as he explored your body, his fingers digging into your flesh. He ground against you, his hard length pressing into your thigh, the thin fabric of his sweatpants doing little to hide his need. You could feel the heat of him, the throb of his arousal, and it sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

His mouth crashed down on yours again, his lips hungry and demanding. You parted your lips for him, your tongue meeting his in a desperate dance. Jake moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, sending waves of desire crashing over you. You gripped his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his flesh, holding him close, urging him on.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with lust. "Fuck, I need you," he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. "I need to feel you, taste you, be inside you." His hands roamed lower, cupping your ass, squeezing and kneading, pulling you harder against him. You could feel his cock, hot and hard, pressing against your core, the friction of his movements sending sparks of pleasure through you. You rocked your hips against him, meeting his thrusts, your body aching with need.

Pulling back slightly, his eyes met yours, dark with desire that made your heart race. In that moment, you caught a glimpse of the wet spot on his sweatpants, a testament to his arousal, and it sent a thrill of anticipation through you.

Before you could even gasp, Jake's hands were on your waist, pulling you down from the kitchen counter with a swift, fluid motion. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your bodies pressing tightly together as he kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fervor that left you dizzy.

He guided you out of the kitchen, his lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming over your body possessively. You could feel the heat of his desire, the urgency in his touch, and it matched your own need, your own desperation for him.

The journey to the bedroom was cut short when Jake suddenly slammed you against the wall of the hallway, his body pressing firmly against yours. His kiss deepened, becoming more desperate. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. When he pulled back, a thin string of saliva stretched between your lips. "Fuck, I need to taste you now," he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire.

Before you could even form a question, Jake dropped to his knees, his hands hooking into the waistband of your panties. With a swift, fluid motion, he pulled them down, the fabric tearing slightly in his haste. He threw the panties over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours.

He then propped your leg over his shoulder, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady. And then, without hesitation, he dove in, his mouth finding your most intimate place, his tongue exploring, licking, devouring you like a man starved.

You cried out, your back arching, your hands fisting in his hair, holding him to you. Jake's tongue swirled and flicked, his movements urgent, desperate, as if he were trying to memorize every inch of you. He groaned against you, the vibration sending waves of pleasure crashing over you, your body trembling.

Jake's tongue kept swirling and licking, exploring every inch of you with a fervor that left you gasping for breath. He groaned into you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body, each lick, each suck, each nip pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Jake!" you cried out, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation. "Oh god, Jake, I'm coming!" Your body convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing over you, your inner muscles clenching and releasing. Jake groaned against you, the sound muffled but intense, as he continued to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm, his tongue lapping up every drop of your release.

When he finally pulled back, his chin was glistening with your juices, a sight that sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you.

You wobbled slightly, your legs trembling from the intensity of your release, but Jake was there, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. He guided you into his bedroom, his lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming over your body possessively.

As he laid you down on his bed, you could feel the cool sheets against your back, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Jake crawled between your legs, his eyes dark with lust, his breath ragged with desire.

"Jake," you started, your voice breathless, "I need a minute—"

But he cut you off, his hands spreading your thighs wide, holding you open for him. "Sorry baby... I need another taste," he moaned, his voice hoarse with need.

And with that, he dove back in without hesitation, his nose bumping against your clit, his tongue exploring, licking, devouring you once more.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed, your hands fisting in the sheets. Jake's tongue was relentless, his movements urgent, desperate, as if he couldn't get enough of you. He groaned into you, the vibrations sending fresh waves of pleasure through your body, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Jake," you moaned, your voice breathless, your body trembling.

After a while, Jake added another finger, his movements slow and deliberate, opening you up, preparing you for more. You cried out, your body tensing, your nails digging into his scalp, your hips bucking against his hand, his mouth.

"Jake," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "I'm so close... I'm so close..."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust, his mouth glistening with your wetness. "Come for me," he growled, his voice hoarse with need. "Let me feel you come all over my fingers, my tongue."

With that, he dove back in, his tongue finding your clit, rubbing and circling, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that sweet spot, pushing you over the edge.

"Jake!" you screamed, your body convulsing, your inner muscles clenching around his fingers, your juices gushing out, coating his hand, his mouth.

He groaned into you, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body, his fingers and tongue continuing their relentless assault, drawing out your orgasm, milking every last drop of pleasure from your body.

When you finally came down from your high, your body still trembling, gasps tumbling out of your mouth, Jake pulled back, his chin and fingers glistening with your juices. He brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You taste so fucking good," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I could eat you out all day."

You lay there, your body slack and sated, your breath slowly returning to normal, your eyes locked on Jake's as he crawled up your body, his hands roaming over your curves, his mouth finding yours in a fierce, demanding kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, his tongue, and it only served to heighten your arousal, to push you further into the abyss of pleasure.

Jake slowly pulled off his sweatpants, revealing his hard cock, red and angry, precum dripping and soaking it. He gave himself a few jerks, his eyes never leaving yours. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and husky, his hand still moving slowly up and down his shaft. "So fucking beautiful, so fucking wet for me. You know, none of the other men you've been with could ever compete with me. I'm the only one who can make you feel this good, who can make you come this hard."

You whimpered, your body responding to his words, your inner muscles clenching with need. Jake leaned down, his mouth finding your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"I'm going to fill you up so nicely, baby," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "I'm going to stretch you out, shape your pussy to my cock. You're going to think about me every time you move, every time you sit down." With that, he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock rubbing against your lips, spreading your wetness, teasing you, driving you wild. You could feel the heat of him, the throb of his arousal. "Please," you whispered, your voice breathless, your body aching with need. "Please, Jake. I need you inside me. I need you to fill me up."

Jake paused, his cock poised at your entrance, his eyes dark with a mix of lust and something more intense. "I'm not fully convinced," he murmured, his voice low. "You've been acting like such a slut, going around with other guys, letting them touch you, fuck you. How do I know you're not just using me for my cock?"

His words stung, bringing tears to your eyes, but they also sent a thrill of dark pleasure through you. "Jake," you begged, your voice hoarse with emotion. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I need you. Only you. I love you. Please, fuck me. Show me I'm yours. Show me I'm yours alone."

Something in your words, in your tears, in your desperate plea, seemed to snap something in him. With a low groan, Jake thrust into you, filling you completely, stretching you out, shaping you to him. You cried out, your back arching, your nails scraping along his naked back, holding him close, urging him deeper.

He stayed inside you for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his presence, his heat. You could feel every inch of him, the throb of his arousal, the power of his body, and it sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. Slowly, you began to clench around him, your inner muscles milking him, drawing him deeper.

Jake choked, a low gutteral sound that vibrated through you, his body tensing, his grip on your waist tightening. You did it again, clenching and releasing, squeezing him, and he pulled back slightly, his hips thrusting forward, filling you once more.

You gasped, your back arching, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Again," you begged, your voice hoarse with desire. "Please, Jake. Do it again."

With a low moan, Jake complied, his hips moving in a steady rhythm, each thrust driving you higher and higher. Slowly, his pace picked up, his movements becoming rougher, more urgent, more desperate. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving marks, claiming you, marking you as his. The wet sounds of your connection filled the room, the slap of skin on skin, the squelch of your juices, the low moans, groans, and whines of pleasure.

Jake leaned down, his mouth at your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You know, I had to hold myself back so many times," he grunted. "I wanted to bend you over right there in front of your dates, show them who you really belong to. I wanted to fuck you so hard, so deep, that you'd never forget who owns this pussy."

You whimpered, your body responding to his words, clenching around him, drawing him deeper. Jake's pace quickened, his hips thrusting in a steady, relentless rhythm, each stroke driving you higher and higher.

"Remember that time I walked in on you kissing that guy in the campus library?" he continued, his voice a low rumble. "I wanted to punish you so badly. I wanted to throw you over that table, hike up your skirt, and fuck you right there, make you scream my name so loud everyone in the library would hear. Wanted to make you beg... make you forget every other man but me."

You were too far gone to respond, overstimulated and hot, your body trembling with each thrust, each stroke. You looked up at Jake, your eyes glazed with pleasure, your lips parted, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Jake chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "Aww, baby, already cock drunk?" he murmured, his voice low and husky. "You can't even form words, can you? You're so far gone, so lost in pleasure."

With that, he reached between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing and circling, pushing you over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing, clenching around him as you came, coating his his cock and his fingers.

You twitched slightly as he stilled, stopping his thrusts, instead opting to grind against you, his hips rolling, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you, sending aftershocks of pleasure crashing over you.

You whimpered, your body oversensitive, your mind a haze of pleasure and need. Jake only shushed you, his voice low and soothing, his hands gentle on your skin. "Shh, baby, I've got you." With that, he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty, your body aching with need. Before you could protest, he flipped you over, his hands grabbing your hips, positioning you on your hands and knees, your ass up, your pussy exposed and glistening.

The sudden feeling of Jake's mouth on your pussy again made you cry out, your body tensing with need. You tried to get out of his grip, your body too sensitive, your mind too far gone, but Jake only slapped your ass hard, the sound echoing in the room, the sting sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. "Jake," you moaned, your voice breathless, your eyes glazed with desire. "Oh god, Jake, please."

But Jake only continued, his mouth driving you wild. You didn't know if you were coming anymore, the pleasure and pain mashed together in a beautiful, chaotic mess. Your body was his to command, his to use, his to devour, and you were powerless to stop him, not that you wanted to.

When you tried to pull away, your body too sensitive, your mind too far gone, Jake only whined, and pulled you back to his mouth, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as he feasted. "Fuck... Jake, I can't take anymore. It's too much. It's too intense."

As if in response to your plea, Jake's mouth suddenly shifted, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue flicking and swirling. With one big suck, he pulled your clit into his mouth, and you exploded. Your body shook violently, a scream tearing from your throat, as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless and boneless, collapsing onto the bed, your body trembled with the aftershocks of your orgasm, your mind a haze of pleasure and exhaustion. For a long moment, you lay there, your chest heaving, your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath.

Eventually, you opened your eyes, your gaze drifting down to where Jake still sat and your eyes widened as you took in the sight of him. His eyes were fully focused on your pussy, his gaze hazy and hypnotized, as if he were in a trance, completely entranced by the sight and taste of you. His jaw, chin, and chest were dripping wet with your juices, glistening in the low light of the room. The realization hit you belatedly, and you gasped, your eyes widening in surprise. Jake had come, untouched, just from eating you out.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, your body still trembling. "Jake," you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion, your eyes locked on his. "Oh my god, Jake. You... you came?"

Jake looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust and something more intense, as a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "Mmm," he murmured, his voice low and husky, a note of pride in his tone. "You taste so fucking good, baby. I couldn't help myself. You made me lose control." With that, Jake flipped you over onto your back again, his movements swift and sure. He spread your legs, his cock already hardening again, ready for more. You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mix of exhaustion and lingering desire, your body still tingling from your previous orgasms.

"Think you can you give me one more, baby?"

You shook your head, your voice breathless and hoarse. "I don't think I have any more, Jake. I'm spent..."

Jake only smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "Then I'll have to take one more, won't I?" he said, his voice a low rumble, a promise of pleasure and possession.

Before you could respond, Jake thrust into you, filling you completely, his body covering yours, his weight a welcome pressure. You gasped, your back arching. "Jake!" you cried out, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation. "Oh god, it's too much!"

But Jake only growled, his hips moving in a fast rhythm, each stroke driving you higher and higher, pushing you closer and closer to the edge once more. "You can take it, baby," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "You're so strong. You're so fucking perfect. Give me one more. Give me everything." As he spoke, Jake's mouth trailed down your neck, his lips and tongue leaving a path of fire in their wake. He sucked and nipped at your collarbone, marking you, claiming you, his teeth grazing your skin, his tongue soothing the sting, leaving dark marks.

You were only grabbing on, your hands fisting in the sheets, your nails digging into the fabric, your moans filling the room.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," he mumbled, his voice low and hoarse, his words slurred with lust and need. "So tight. So wet. So fucking perfect. I never want to leave your pussy. I want to fuck you every moment of every day. I'll never be satiated. I'll always be here when you want someone to fuck. I'll block every guy on your phone so I'll be the only one. The only one who can make you feel this good. The only one who can make you come this hard."

You whined, your body oversensitive, your mind a haze of pleasure and need, your voice a breathless, hoarse whisper. "Jake," you moaned, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise.

"Come for me, baby," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes locked on yours, a fierce intensity burning in their depths. "Let me feel you come all over my cock. Let me feel you milk me dry."

With a final, powerful thrust, Jake pushed you over the edge, your body convulsing weakly, your inner muscles clenching around him in a spasmodic, exhausted release. You cried out, your voice hoarse with pleasure, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm, but it was a weak, spent release, your body too far gone to give more.

Jake, luckily followed you over the edge, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing inside you as he found his own release. He moaned and whimpered, his eyes rolling up, his body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. You could feel him filling you up, his hot seed spilling deep inside you, marking you, claiming you.

For a long moment, you laid there, your bodies entwined, your breaths slowly returning to normal, the sounds of your pleasure still echoing in the room. Jake collapsed against you, his breath hot on your neck, his heart pounding in time with yours.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his body still shaking with the aftershocks of his pleasure. "So beautiful. So mine."

a/n: yeah.. so if this goes good, ill write more smut.

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