jjuniko

[jjuniko]

If you take requests, could you write a fic for a top Jake x bottom male reader based on the song Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter? Thank you!

soo i've had a jake fic in the works for a bit now but idk if it qualifies as based on 'bed chem' (sorry i don't do well with requests without somewhat of a plot written out as well) feel free to suggest a plot line or something.

[jjuniko]

turn it down | ponytail 예쁘지만 흩트리면 난 더 좋아

PAIRING : academic rival!sunghoon x male!reader

SUMMARY : mid-terms are coming up and of course you're caught up cramming the last bit of information that your brain can hold. the only thing is the loud ass music coming from the room next door, park sunghoon's room, causing your mind to reel. a simple confrontation should do the trick. right?

CONTAINS : top sunghoon, bot reader, hate sex, reader is lwk a brat, (light) degradation, rough handling / manhanding (hair pulling), dacryphilia, lots of banter, kinda dubcon?

WORD COUNT : 3.4k

tuesday, november 9th. 3:12 a.m.

your desk looks like a war crime. highlighters everywhere, loose-leaf paper threatening to slide off the edge, half of an energy drink you forgot to finish. your eyes sting every time you blink, and your brain’s working at maybe twenty percent, if you’re being generous.

and then it starts again. that low, rock shit that vibrates through the wall like it owns the place. not even loud, just annoyingly persistent. subtle enough that you can’t exactly justify banging on his door, but annoying enough to ruin your concentration completely.

you sit there for maybe a minute. two. waiting to see if it stops. it doesn’t. you know it won’t.

because sunghoon’s a habitual asshole. you’ve known that since orientation week, when he made some smug comment about your test scores like it was a joke. ever since then it’s been non-stop competing GPAs, half-smiles across classrooms, TA praise you’re both too proud to share.

you’re not friends. you’re not even enemies. you’re just locked in, semester after semester, orbiting each other with a kind of mutual contempt that no one else seems to notice.

he plays this loud ass bullshit every time there’s a deadline coming up. maybe it helps him study. maybe he just likes fucking with you.

either way, you’ve had enough. you shove your chair back hard and head into the hall barefoot, too tired to pretend to be polite.

your knuckles hit his door. once. twice. harder than necessary.

there’s a shuffle. then the door cracks open like it’s been weighted shut.

sunghoon blinks at you.

he’s doesn't appear tired at first. not even disheveled in the way you’d expect from him. just... rumpled. and after just a second you notice his hoodie pulled over his head, sleeves pushed to his elbows, collar a little skewed. his hair looks like he’s been clawing through it all night. eye bags for days. skin a little pale under the dorm lights.

he’s clearly not slept either, but he still manages to look irritatingly composed. like even his collapse is well-curated. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t even bother with a fake smile.

“turn it down,” you say, arms crossed, voice deadpan.

he drags a hand over his face, slow and lazy. doesn’t look surprised. just exhausted.

“it’s not even that loud.”

there’s a long silence after that. the kind where the air goes still and your jaw tenses involuntarily. you hate how good he is at this, at being unbothered. like you’re the one making things difficult, even though he’s the one fucking around at 3 a.m. like he doesn’t have the same exam you do in eight hours.

you could push it. argue. threaten to call the resident assistant. but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

he shifts a little, gaze skimming over you once. then he steps aside.

“if it’s that distracting,” he mutters, tone unreadable, “come figure it out yourself.”

you hesitate. just for a second.

it’s not an invitation. it’s not even a dare. it’s... something else. a weird, tired challenge. like he doesn’t actually care whether you do or don’t.

you step in.

his room is a mess in the specific way only a midterm collapse can cause. open textbooks on the bed, extra hoodie draped over his desk chair, two half-empty coffee cups on the windowsill. the music’s coming from his laptop. some endless loop that sounds like it’s trying to mimic a guitar on steroids.

he closes the door behind you with a soft click. the sound feels louder than it should. you don’t sit. he doesn’t offer. he sinks back into his chair like he’s too tired to hold himself upright.

“you always this inconsiderate?” you ask, arms still folded.

he shrugs, not looking at you. “you always this dramatic?”

you roll your eyes. this is what it’s always like. dry comments, eye contact held a second too long, something mean simmering just under the surface. and yet you never stop. neither of you ever stops.

he reaches over and finally closes the music tab. silence drops over the room like a blanket, too heavy for comfort.

you hate this. being here. standing in his room like you’re in some kind of mutual standoff. like something’s about to happen but neither of you wants to be the one to start it.

he rubs his temple, exhales through his nose.

“you done?” he asks, not quite irritated, just bored. resigned.

“you don’t sleep either, huh.”

he snorts softly. “not since midterms started.”

you glance at the open book beside him. finance. same class you’ve got the exam for in the morning. of course he’s studying late. of course he’s doing exactly what you are, just louder, messier, and with worse time management.

you look at him again. his hood’s fallen back, hair semi-sticking out in wild directions. his sleeves are bunched at the elbows. he looks like the personification of burnout.

and still, still, he’s got that same flat expression. like even now, even like this, he’s unbeatable.

you swallow the comment that rises in your throat. something petty. something about how maybe if he spent less time pretending to be cool and more time working like a real person, he wouldn’t need caffeine and rock music to survive midterms.

but you don’t say it. not yet. you just lean against the edge of his desk and stare at him.

“you look like shit,” you say, finally.

he huffs a laugh. doesn’t look at you. “you always say the nicest things.”

and then there’s silence again, not awkward, not charged, just... thick. heavy with everything you’re not saying.

you should leave. but you don’t. not yet. you definitely didn’t plan to stay.

but you do. because you hate how he gets under your skin and makes it look easy. because he barely even asked you to come in, just stepped aside like he knew you would.

and maybe you hate that he was right.

now you’re standing in the middle of his room while he sits back down like nothing happened. like you didn’t just march over here two seconds from combusting.

he’s not pretending to be calm. he is calm. scrolling on his laptop, half-slouched in his chair, music still playing at that irritatingly low volume. like he’s immune to you.

you say nothing. neither does he.

you sit on the edge of his bed eventually, more out of annoyance than comfort. the frame creaks and he doesn’t look.

“your notes are a mess,” he says, not looking up.

you blink. “what?”

“your handwriting’s dogshit. i saw it in a lecture.”

you scoff. “maybe if you paid more attention to the lecture, you wouldn’t have to read mine.”

he hums, not denying it. “figured you’d take notes and be desperate to prove you’re better than me. two birds.”

you shoot him a glare he doesn’t see. you wish he would. it’d be nice to have him flinch for once.

“you’re such an asshole.”

“and you’re such a try-hard. works out.”

you stare at him. the bitterness in your throat is dry, sharp, familiar.

“you think you’re clever.”

“no,” he says, finally glancing at you. “i think you’re predictable.”

there it is. that look. the one he saves just for you, half bored, half challenging, like he wants you to crack.

and maybe you’re close to cracking.

you breathe through your nose and look away. you’re not going to play his game.

but then—

“you’re shaking.”

you glance down. your knee’s bouncing, unthinking. you stop it.

“midterms. caffeine.”

“sure.”

he spins a little in his chair, back to scrolling, like the conversation’s already over.

it should be. you should go. you don’t.

“what happened to your face?” you mutter.

“what.”

“you look like shit.”

he snorts. “you said that already." he glances at you, now facing you. "no sleep. not that it’s your business.”

you shrug. “was just wondering how you’re somehow uglier when you’re human.”

“funny,” he says. “from someone who only looks tolerable under library lighting.”

your jaw tenses. you meet his eyes.

“fuck you.”

“you wish.”

that stings more than it should. maybe because it hits too close to something you haven’t admitted even to yourself.

you glance around the room again. papers everywhere, water bottle on the floor, a faint smell of citrus and sweat and whatever expensive crap he uses on his skin.

you hate how easily he can exist in chaos. you hate that he’s still better than you in half your classes. and you hate that even now, sitting in his room, watching him blink slow and lean back like he owns the night, you can’t stop looking at him.

your skin feels too tight.

“you gonna stare all night?” he says without glancing up.

“just trying to understand how someone so average is so arrogant.”

he finally turns to you again, lazy but direct. the corner of his mouth lifts, barely.

“maybe because i keep winning.”

you laugh. sharp, mean. “you haven’t ‘won’ anything. you just skate by with minimal effort and let everyone assume you’re too cool to care.”

“and you care so hard it’s embarrassing.”

“you think it’s embarrassing to give a shit?”

“no. i think you are.”

there’s a pause. neither of you blinks.

and that’s when it hits, the understanding. quiet and mutual and completely unspoken.

you both know too much. too much about each other. too much about what words to use when you want them to cut. too much to pretend this is just a rivalry anymore.

he stands up. just one slow step forward. enough to close the distance.

you don’t move back. you don’t break eye contact.

the tension doesn’t spike, it thickens, draws tighter between you like a pulled wire. not sudden. not dramatic. just inevitable.

he stands in front of you now. close enough to smell his shampoo, his skin, the faint edge of cheap cafeteria coffee on his breath.

you could push him. you could leave. but you don’t.

“you’re exhausting,” you say quietly.

“you said that so many times.”

“doesn’t make it less true.”

his hand doesn’t touch you, not yet. but he’s there, standing like he might. like he’s waiting for a sign.

you don’t give him one. you just tilt your chin up and say,

“well? got something to say or just gonna hover like a freak?”

that’s what breaks it.not romance. not longing. not want.

irritation.

his hand comes to the side of your face, not soft. not rough. just firm, and his mouth meets yours in a kiss that’s not born of affection but frustration.

it’s not sudden. it’s slow. intentional.

he kisses you like he wants to shut you up again. like this is the only language he knows how to argue in now. you don’t kiss him back at first. then you do.

not because you like him. you don’t. you just want to win.

and this? this is winnable.

his tongue drags across your lip, your teeth scrape his. he groans low in his throat, more breath than sound, and you yank him down by the strings of his hoodie like he’s yours to drag around.

he stumbles forward and pushes you back into the bed. you don’t resist.

the kiss breaks, but the tension doesn’t. you breathe in sharp and fast, meeting his eyes.

there’s no going back from this. you’re not sure you want to.

his mouth is still on yours, rough and steady like he’s trying to end an argument with tongue and teeth.

you tug his hoodie off. he shrugs it away like it was pissing him off to begin with. his chest appearing more sculpted than you would like to admit. there’s tension in his muscles, irritation in the way he holds his arms like he doesn’t even want you seeing him. and yeah. he looks good. unfairly good.

“quit staring,” he mutters, breath against your cheek.

“get over yourself,” you shoot back. “you’re not that hot.”

he smirks, but it’s bitter. “says the one drooling on my bed.”

“in your dreams.”

“nah,” he breathes, close to your mouth again. “not even in those. too annoying.”

he kisses you before you can respond. just to shut you up again. it works. only for a second.

the kiss breaks when he pushes you back, hands at your shoulders, shoving you flat against the mattress.

“gonna keep talking shit?” he says, voice low.

“probably,” you say. “unless you finally manage to make me shut up.”

that gets a twitch from his lips, halfway between a scoff and something darker.

he climbs over you, knees on either side of your thighs. not with care. with intention. you feel the press of him even through his sweats, and you try not to squirm. fail, maybe. he tugs your shirt off, barely looking as he does.

“no wonder you’ve been a bitch all semester,” he mutters, eyes raking down your chest. “been dying to get fucked.”

“please,” you sneer. “if i wanted to get railed by a know-it-all with a superiority complex, i’d just jack off thinking about your presentation in econ.”

“yeah?” he says, leaning closer. “bet you did.”

his mouth drags down your neck, no softness, just the press of lips and teeth grazing enough to make you twitch. and then his fingers tangle in your hair. yank. hard.

not playful. not cute.

“try shutting up now,” he mutters, breath hot against your jaw.

“fuck you,” you snap, eyes watering from the pull. “you think this proves anything?”

he jerks your head back another inch, eyes on yours now, sharp and mean and way too calm.

“yeah,” he breathes. “proves you’ll take whatever i give you.”

you hate how your whole body reacts to that. his hips grind down against yours once and you can’t help the breath that escapes. it’s humiliating.

“god,” you mutter. “you’re so full of yourself.”

“and you’re so easy when you’re pissed.”

“you haven’t done anything yet.”

“don’t worry,” he growls. “you’ll be crying about it in five minutes.”

he moves down. you don’t expect him to go down on you with lips and all. but he does. and it’s not sweet, or sensual, it’s calculated. tongue curling just right, lips sucking where they should, but without the heat of affection. it’s good. annoyingly good. and that only makes it worse.

you fist the sheets. bite your lip. don’t give him the satisfaction.

a “fuck—” slips out of you anyway, and he pulls off with a smug flick of his mouth.

“thought so,” he says. “mouthy, but easy.”

“suck a dick.”

“just did,” he says. “you’re welcome.”

he stands just long enough to shove his sweats down, he grabs the lube from the drawer and tosses it to you. and just like that, you start work yourself open quick, sharp fingers, no eye contact.

he watches like it bothers him. like he hates how much you know what you’re doing.

“you always this desperate?” he says.

“only when i’ve got something to prove,” you shoot back.

“prove what?”

“that you’re not the only one who can take control.”

he blinks, dark eyes narrowing.

“you won’t last five minutes.”

“then shut up and fuck me.”

and he does.

pushes in slow, even though his jaw’s tight and his hands are trembling from holding back. you’re tight, slick, burning around him, and the way he groans, low and caught in his throat, makes something in your chest twist.

“already whining,” you say, gritting through the stretch. “fuck, and i thought you had stamina.”

“god, you never shut up,” he growls, and thrusts hard, dragging a gasp out of you.

“make me,” you manage.

his hand goes right back to your hair. this time rougher. he fists it and pulls your head back against the bed, forcing you to look at him while he fucks into you.

“look at you,” he hisses. “you talk like you’re better than everyone. but you’re just a brat who needs to get ruined.”

“still better than you,” you gasp, lips curled, even as your whole body jerks from the next thrust.

he changes the angle. your mouth falls open. no sound.

“say that again,” he says.

“fuck you—”

his grip on your hair tightens. your neck arches. he doesn’t let go.

“you are,” he mutters. “right now.”

he ruts into you harder now. controlled. fast, but not sloppy. every thrust makes the bed creak, every sound too loud, too close. your nails dig into his shoulders and he hisses like it stings. but he doesn’t pull back. if anything, he chases it. chases the pain. the fight.

“moan for me,” he mutters. “go on.”

“not giving you that.”

“oh, fuck off. you’re shaking.”

you are. and when he leans down, grabs your jaw with his free hand and forces your mouth open, not to kiss, but just to see, you almost do.

“you’re so fucking desperate,” he says, panting. “pretending you hate this.”

“i do hate it.”

“but you’re loving it.”

you don’t answer. you can’t.

his rhythm’s faltering now. he’s close. and you’re not far either.

“don’t stop,” you whisper, finally, barely audible. “fuck—just like that.”

he groans, loud this time, and leans over you, hips stuttering once, twice, and then he pulls out fast, finishing hot across your stomach.

you finish right after, jerking yourself with a sharp gasp, biting your lip hard enough to sting.

your hair’s a mess. jaw aching. neck stretched. whole body trembling. he watches you for a beat, chest heaving. says nothing. cleans up without fanfare. tosses you your shirt like it’s routine. like it’s nothing.

“you kiss all your enemies?” you say eventually, voice rough.

“only the ones who beg for it with their eyes.”

you scoff, yanking your clothes on. don’t look at him.

“this never happened.”

“sure,” he says, pulling his hoodie back over his head. “never.”

you leave without looking back. but the sting in your scalp and the bruises on your hips?

you’ll feel those for days.

and for some reason, you don’t mind.

days pass. nothing really changes. not in a way you can name. you’re still in the same classes. still pass each other in the halls like you’re both too busy to care. still roll your eyes when the other one talks in discussion.

except... some things are different.

he doesn’t snap at you anymore. not right away. your comments still come sharp, passive, cut with dry humor, but he stops biting back. just raises an eyebrow. or looks at you too long. like he’s hearing something under what you said.

and you notice things now. stuff you shouldn’t care about. the way he fidgets with his pen when he’s thinking. how he mouths parts of the lecture to himself when he’s focused. the way his hoodie sits too neatly across his chest. not oversized. just fitted. unfair.

you catch him looking at you once. when you're mid-sentence. talking to the TA, barely paying attention to him and his eyes are fixed on your mouth. it lasts all of three seconds before he looks away like it didn’t happen.

you don’t mention it. but you don’t stop thinking about it either. it’s not like either of you brought that night up. it happened. full stop. you left. door shut. silence since.

but it’s there. in the way his gaze lingers a fraction too long when you sit near him. in the fact that he hasn’t told a single person. you know, because your mutuals would be assholes about it if they knew.

he doesn’t flirt. not even subtly. doesn’t wink or tease or make innuendos like some post-hookup cliché. if anything, he’s colder. calmer.

you kind of prefer it that way.

when he sees you coming out of the library late, you’re both too exhausted to play whatever game this is.

“still alive?” he says, voice low, hands in his pockets.

“barely.”

“your notes still better than mine?”

“obviously.”

he doesn’t fight it. just smirks, short and dry. you walk in the same direction without commenting on it.

“you owe me,” he says suddenly.

“for what?”

“distracting me before econ. ruined my quiz grade.”

“you were already failing.”

he scoffs.

“you’re insufferable,” he mutters.

“you’re still walking with me.”

“unfortunately.”

but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t speed up. doesn’t cut across campus like he’s trying to get away from you.

you don’t say goodbye when you split paths. just glance. nod. some vague, unspoken truce hanging in the air.

it’s nothing and it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

probably.

jae's note ! sorry i'm so ia. might get into writing more soon :))

[jjuniko]

hello to the anon who asked for superhero!yeonjun x supervillan!reader js wanted to update say im probably scrapping it for now (i literally have no idea where to go with the plot the writer's block hitting pretty hard) but it's okay because academic rivals sunghoon is coming up !! i hope it makes up for it :>

[jjuniko]

feature me [jay x male reader]

"You really killed it out there." Jay said. It was like a taunt. "You really think so?" You asked, reciprocating that energy. "I know so. Because I watching the entire time."

NSFW - If you're a minor, i literally do not care. Just dont let ur mom catch u or whatever 🤷‍♂️

Requested by: Anonymous

˙⋆✮ genre: SMUT ˙⋆✮ roles: top! jay, bttm! mreader ˙⋆✮ word count: 3.7k words ˙⋆✮ inspo: feature me - flo

Synopsis: Jay and M/n. Two fierce performers in their respective categories, and a surprisingly good fit for one another. Their label knew what they were doing when they arranged for the two to perform a cover song together. What the two musicians hadn't known, though, was how attracted they'd be to each other, and how they weren't just impressed with one another's talents. As Jay and M/n entertained their mutual attraction, they found themselves caught in a night they'd never forget.

WARNINGS + TAGS: flirting, music industry, rough unprotected sex, swearing, insensitive at times, guitarist jay, fingering, intense sex, tension ;))), depictions of any irl character here does not reflect who they are irl this work is purely fictional, etc

The stage is set. The room holds its breath with anticipation. You stand in the middle of darkness as you stare out into the audience of the acoustic lounge you're in. You can see them, but they can't see you.

It's somehow nerve-wracking given you've performed in a lot of places for a lot of different people before. Maybe it’s different now because this acoustic lounge had pretty skilled instrumentalists in it, and you never really performed with a live band before. That means you have to match their performance with the only tool you have, your voice.

Then it hits. The kick and closed hi-hat. The signature sound of the song you were covering, aside from the notable guitar; ‘Feature Me’ by FLO.

The lights fade in, and you barely manage a 'singer-model expression' before it gets illuminated. The hi-hats of the intro shuffle complexly, matching the rhythm of your tense heartbeat. God, this live set makes you so nervous. That didn't matter now, it was time to do what your fans loved best; sing and move your body. After all, you know that this performance, much like any other, would definitely be recorded and posted.

Your makeup glistened as the light rose, reminding you of your look. A light streak of blue and white glitter, spread across either cheekbone like glossy freckles. Silver piercings in your ears, small but intricate - you can't remember them too well. Light blue denim jeans, well-fit at the thighs and gradually loosening at the calves, paired with a sleeveless denim vest of the same color, buttoned up except for the top button, showing off your collarbone.

Your arms were also out, and while they weren't built at all, sometimes your biceps flexed, and it felt like the stylists made the right choice. Maybe that dreadful gym was proving to pay off more than you thought.

You’re set up for success, and can't make this all for nothing.

You hold the mic stand firmly as you do your best to look confident. You’ve got to sing your first line as the intro comes to an end. "Not what I usually do, but I've been peeping you." You sing. Not bad, albeit a bit breathy for how you'd prefer to sound.

"I'm tryna play it cool but it's too much, yeah." You follow, your free hand slithering up to your collarbone. Still getting used to everything, you wonder if that move was too much. Your hands weren't really free in your other performances, always busy with a handheld mic or doing a dance, so you thought to pull that sensual move.

"Got me breaking the rules; there ain't no second to." You take a breath, a sharp inhale which could have been avoided if you managed your breath better. "He's my forbidden fruit, yeah." You do a good job at the latter half, your tone rich with vibrato.

Then, the bass kicks in, and an ambient light from behind you casts a warm, orange glow on your (S/c) skin. The hall is acoustic and cozy, but quite modernized as well, and it excites you. The keyboardist plays a vibey tune, followed by the guitarist playing the signature sound of the amorous, seductive R&B anthem. What surprises you though, was the electric take on the originally acoustic guitar. It made everything more sensual and interesting.

You take the mic from the stand, and walk around slowly, the crowd lightly cheering as you become comfortable. You gotta move and give this performance some flavour; you were always about adding a bit of zest into the things you did, which made you as authentic as you were.

A nod from the drummer, a grin from the keyboardist, but one instrumentalist in particular catches your eye. The guitarist. Amongst them all, he's someone you know. Not personally, but you're a pretty big fan of. You've liked almost every post of his, despite having a load more followers than him.

Park Jongseong. Or better known as the attractive guitarist Jay. Beautiful and talented, seductive by just doing his thing. He was an actualisation of a very interesting concept, his visual sleek, polished and upper-class, whilst his aesthetic and marketing was edgy, sexualised and so seductively masculine.

He catches you looking at him, and you see that look in his eye. Slender and strapping. He’s biting his lip in concentration, his eyebrows knit tightly together as he focuses on his guitar. But something about that gaze feels partially reciprocal, with undertones of tension. That’s the sexy look you’ve been dying to see up close – as a fan, all you’ve done so far is fantasize about him in ways not appropriate for everyday conversation.

You change your trajectory and strut up to him, as you sing the lines of the chorus, now being able to balance your voice against the volume of the live band. "Set the scene and feature me. Touch on me, get on your knees. I'll take the lead." You smile as the audience around you warms up with your performance. He plays the guitar, bopping his head as he vibes to the beat.

You approach him, and the two of you are standing before each other. You're testing the waters, and it doesn't seem like he minds at all. The crowd cheers; loud enough to be appreciative and quiet enough to be respectful of your show.

To look casual, you swagger over to the other band members, trying not to look hyperfixated over Jay. But it's clear that when you waltz over to them, it's more supportive than when you and Jay stand before each other. It's like pitting a growing flame against a gentle daisy; intense tension against a friendly, platonic support.

As you reach the bridge and the song gets closer to its end, you find yourself drawn back to the centre stage. You roll your body just a little, and the crowd loves it. You've performed expertly, and subtly but effectively seductively.

"Are you receiving the signs? I'm speaking on my mind." You sing, and it comes out like velvet and thunder; you're not just singing, you're inviting him. And when you look back at him, he's biting his lips and shredding that guitar. He's definitely not minding the signs.

"I just want you to come through. I've already set the mood; I'll tell you what to do to me, yeah, yeah." You sing, hitting the high note of the song. Grand and demanding in it's tone - rich yet sultry enough, wavering healthily with vibrato.

The crowd erupts in a full blown cheer, some hands in the air, some jaws knocked right open, and unseen tongues tied for sure. You can see the instrumentalists truly feel it from your peripherals, appreciative of your high note as they continue to do their thing. But again, you come back to Jay.

In a surge of confidence, you place a hand on Jay's free shoulder, gyrating your hips slowly as you wink at him, and he looks at you with a bold smile, dimples forming on either side of his cheeks. The crowd goes wild as you follow up with some ad-libs and riffs in honour of your inspiration trio, FLO.

The last post-chorus feels danceable, and you don't have to do so much at all. You repeat a simple "oh-oh~" over and over and that takes you to the end. But just before the song finishes, you walk behind Jay, and as you sing the finishing line, "I'll take the lead," you slither a hand up on his shoulder. The crowd delivers a round of applause, and you let out a breath of amusement and gratefulness.

The band members look at each other in reverence, and you smile at the audience gratefully. You, alongside the rest of the crew, bring your hands together as you applaud each other, and you and Jay spare a glance at each other. His is firm, his smile stoic and a bit more than just platonically appreciative. Flustered, you chuckle and break the eye contact, drawing a laugh from him.

You turn to face the audience, placing the mic back in the stand. They cheer and have faces full of smiles. It takes a moment, but it dawns upon you; you did well.

After giving the audience a few words of gratitude, you and the rest of the members leave the stage.

The rest of the crew vanishes elsewhere, whilst you walk backstage, catching a breath as you grab your water bottle from your desk in the dressing room. Everyone is gone by now, and the night feels like it's coming to an end. It's nice to have a moment to yourself knowing you didn't do that bad at all on stage.

You hear the door creak and shut lightly. It doesn't alarm you, but someone else just entered your dressing room. "I'm not interrupting, am I?" You hear from behind you, and already know who it is.

You whip your head back, and you're met with the sight of exactly who you expected. Your favourite guitarist, in a silk white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top with his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, with black slacks that fit his legs delectably.

"Not at all. What's up?" You respond before thinking. It's quite casual for who you are, but you can't undo the trajectory of the conversation now.

He lets out an expensive chuckle. It's like fine wine, or cigarettes after sex, or a hybrid of both - it calls out to you. "It's M/n, right? I mean, I just wanted to say that you killed it out there. Every part of that." He smiles nonchalantly as he puts his hands in his pocket and leans on a hip. In your opinion, he didn't need those pants.

"Awh..." You manage, your fingers running through your collarbone sheepishly. It was a little penchant of yours, and a weird contrast to how you'd touch it on stage. Maybe it just looked charismatic, but was you trying to comfort yourself. "I'm actually a big fan. I follow your page." You admit.

"For real? Appreciate it man." He says, tilting his head a little before placing right back to a neutral position. How seductive. You weren't that type of guy, but Jay was so attractively masculine. Grounded, sexy, dominant, and enough of a tease to get you going without pissing you off.

"No, you're great! Tonight, too; and the guitar was electric, so I was so surprised. Cause the guitar of 'Feature Me' is acoustic, if I'm not wrong?" You cross your arms and lean on your hip, comfortable and enjoying his company.

Jay shrugged, hands still in his pockets. "I dunno, I just followed the sheet. Glad you liked it. But really," Jay spoke, his voice with an undertone of implication. "You really killed it out there." It was like a taunt. It was prying something out of you, the way he took no more than half a step closer to you. Not yet implicit enough to be brass-necked, but audacious enough to be exciting.

The air in the room shifted, and you knew exactly where this was going. There was no more room for the cute chitchat, things were taking a turn. "You really think so?" You ask, reciprocating that energy. But to be fair, that was just you; led easily into submission and ready to serve. In your experience, it felt like that nature about you excited the more assertive type, the trait acting like a beacon to people like Jay.

"I know so. Because I watching the entire time." Jay replies, the tone in his voice no longer a question. His hand reaches out to gently grab your chin, vigilant for any signs of discomfort.

You look up to meet his gaze. It's everything you want. Assertive, strapping, lustful, sly. Undeniable.

"Well," Your eyelids relax as your expression, once eager, submissive and excited, was now sedative, alluring and lustful. You want him bad. "What happens now?"

He can't help but grin, letting out a playful scoff. He doesn't say anything, letting the silence speak for itself as you stare in each others eyes, as you realise the two of you are much closer to each other than before.

TIME SKIP

The sound of moist squelching fills up the now locked dressing room, and the air around you is still except for the whirr of a nearby fan. You're out of breath, panting helplessly as you're now certain that your face is red through your (S/c) skin. The leather couch in the dressing room feels cold against your bare ass, your legs spread on either side as Jay kneels in front of you, two slender and skilful fingers deep in you.

Your leg twitches, hips locking as if shifting between becoming free of tension and tense again as he does so. You're a whimpering hot mess beneath him. He pushes his fingers in deep, admiring your face as he fingers you. The only clothing on you now was your unbuttoned denim vest, revealing your slender body.

"Jay... fuck..." You bite your lip, trying your best to hold back your moans.

He just chuckles in response. It makes you feel weak in the knees, and slightly embarrassed. "You're so cute, M/n." He leans closer, face to face with you as his fingers remain sunken deep inside you, making you squirm and arch up as your shoulder blades press against the back of the couch. "You're gonna feel so good around my cock."

You melt, and you can't keep the eye contact with him. He looks so sure, so ready, and it makes you feel completely at his disposal. He smirks and leans in for a kiss. Gentle at first, then gradually more demanding. His tongue slides into your mouth, swift, slippery and expertly taking charge. Alongside the slurping, squelching sounds of your lips, you can still audibly hear him still finger you, rubbing against your prostrate every now and then.

He then bites your bottom lip. Hard. But not hard enough to draw blood. You gasp, and hold onto him out of reflex, needing support. He lets out another chuckle against your lips, finding you adorable. You blush every time, more and more bashful of your reactions while you're just entranced by the sexy and dominant man he is.

With a few more kisses and strokes to the inside of your tight hole, he pulls his fingers out. Sharp enough to make you wince, but gentle enough to feel pleasurable.

You take a breath, and it comes out shaky and frazzled, then watch him as he undoes his zipper, bringing something solid out of the confinements of his pants. "Alright, M/n. You ready for this?" He asks, and his sly gaze is something you realise you'll never get over.

You nod in response.

"Nuh-uh." He tuts. "I wanna hear you say it." Jay replies, pulling a sizeable erection out of his pants.

"Jay, please fuck me..." You respond, flustered, your own erection hardening at the thought of sex with him.

And just as you expect he would, he lets out another chuckle. "God, M/n." Jay spoke, getting up for a moment as he took off his shirt. He reaches for the lube you have in your bag, and pours a sizeable amount onto his shaft, unzipped and free from the restraint of his pants. He doesn't bother to take his pants off fully, letting them hang below his v-line. Then, he begins leaning over you, fists buried in the couch above either of your shoulders.

Jay looks down at your legs, spread wide open, making him lick his lips at the thought of fucking your pert ass. His tip teases your entrance as he tries to line the two up, hitting your perineum every now and then.

But then, when he's aligned perfectly, he enters you unmissably. It's swift, rough, and intense. He's prepped you up real good, and you can feel him inside you, his well-rounded size and thickness pleasuring you without even thrusting.

"Fuck!" You whine, letting out a wet moan. Jay growls as he enters, his cock surrounded by your walls.

"Shit, M/n." He lets out an eager, husky chuckle. "Still so tight after all that prepping, huh? I'm gonna enjoy this." He begins to pick up some momentum, and you can feel his pubic hair tingle against your leg every now and then.

Watching him like this was a treat; everything about him is perfect. His abs are lit up perfectly, the light behind him making him look ethereal. His arms are also well defined, and his thigh muscles flex with every thrust. Everything from his face, to his muscles, to the hair on his body; it's all gorgeous. But you don't have as much time to think about that as you'd like, given the way he furiously pumps into you.

Each thrust was raw and primal, going to lengths you hadn't known were possible. "Ah.. fuck... Jay..!" You moan exasperatedly, feeling an ache in your inner thighs and hips from being in the strenuous position for so long.

"Yeah, baby. Keep moaning for me. Don't you dare fucking stop." He replies, a hand reaching out to grab your face, squishing your cheeks. Jay is the epitome of hot, and you love being made into his plaything. You truly are all his tonight. And of course, you don't dare stop, no matter how shy you get. That's why Jay locked the door before any of this happened, so you can let as loose as he needs you to.

He thrusts hard into you, propping one of your legs over your shoulder. The pain is beautiful, hurting in the way you need it to every single night, in every single place.

"Jay.. f-fuck! P-Please..!" You beg. You don't know what for, but you do anyways. After all, the way his member slides in and out of you so perfectly, like a sensual caress to your insides and a roar of pleasure at the same time, you don't care about anything except for him right now.

Jay looks up at you, a tense grunt escaping his lips as he gasps, eyes rolling backwards for a split second before he regains composure. "Fuck, M/n. You're so fucking beautiful... I'm gonna fucking cum..." He growls, leaning in to meet your lips in a wet, sloppy kiss.

"Cum inside me, Jay. P-Please.." You moan, and in response, you get one back from Jay. It's a mix of submissive and dominant, yet still so strapping and masculine. Whatever it is, it makes your cock twitch with anticipation and arousal. It builds up an intense passion and longing for him, and you either need to hear that sound again or need to cum right now, because he's making you so horny.

"Oh, I'll fucking cum inside you alright. You just sit there and take it like the slut you are." He replies, delivering a firm slap to your lean ass. You let out a loud moan, and wonder if anyone heard. But truly, you don't care. You just have to reach to your climax.

"Oh fuck, M/n...!" Jay groans, delivering a few more thrusts with a newfound intensity as what must be adrenaline kicks in. You wince as he pounds into you, feeling a pain in your lower back as he essentially starts folding you.

Then before you know it, you and Jay start releasing at the same time. Frantically. Intensely.

The both of you moan into each other, gasping and grunting as you juice each other out as best as you can, lips tangling in a flame that seals the passion of the moment just minutes ago.

Jay places a few more kisses, less lustful, and more romantic, on your lips after you finish. He hunches over you, trying his hardest to catch his breath as he pulls out.

You relax, legs finally free of tension as they quiver from your tryst. That was fucking incredible.

"You know what, M/n?" Jay asked as he sits on his knees in fatigue, still in between you.

"Y-Yeah...?" You ask, still regaining composure.

"You're still so fucking beautiful." He says, flashing that same iconic smile of his. You let out a flustered scoff.

"Thanks. That was... that was pretty good." You reply.

"I know, right?" Jay smiles, the two of you breaking into soft laughs. "We should do this more often, huh?"

"Like... hook up?" You ask.

"Uh... well, I meant collabs." Jay chuckles, a bit caught off guard.

"Oh shit. No, no, I didn't mean to-" You start, another blush rising to your cheeks.

"No, no. Calm down. I was actually gonna suggest the hookup thing after I said we should collab." He smiles, holding your forearms to reassure you.

"Oh." You reply, throwing your head back in a wry, exhausted, but nevertheless content relief.

"Yeah." Jay laughs, eyes slim with glee. "Alright, let's get the fuck up." He declares, helping you up.

You get up, a wince escaping your lips as your ass begins to feel extremely sore. You didn't even wanna think of how it'd feel tomorrow.

"Pass me my shirt." Jay asks, holding out a hand as he put his now softened cock back in his pants. Like you thought before, he didn't need them at all.

As the two of you get dressed and laugh about how you surely have to shower when you get home, you see how the whole venue at this point is basically empty. When the time for you two to go your separate ways arrives, you exchange numbers, and Jay rakes your body just once more with his eyes as you head off.

"Catch you round, 'kay, M/n?" He holds a hand up as a greeting.

"For sure." You nod, offering a small smile before you walk off. You did well today.

As you walk out the venue, and the cool air of the pitch black sky hits you, you're able to take a breath and reflect as you make your way to your car.

What a fantastic fucking night.

[jjuniko]

I was thinking of smut but it doesn't have to be

hi!!

perf, works with me :) i’ll be cooking it up since i have some time to spare right now.

[jjuniko]

Ok my request is kinda unusual or weird it's superhero yeonjun x supervillian male were yeonjun has a complicated relationship with the male reader

hi!!

okay so tell me why the fic i was cooking up was spiderman!yeonjun smut so it lwk matches. but did you want your request to be smut? cause then i’ll make them seperate fics then.

[jjuniko]

Hi I was curious if you take requests

hi!! yes, at the moment i don’t mind taking requests. currently have one fic in the making but it’s no problem!

[jjuniko]

What groups do you stan?

hi!!

well i like to think i stan enhypen + txt so the chances of those groups getting fics are high. i casually listen to + know the members to other groups but those are mainly who i'll be writing for!!

[jjuniko]

what kpop groups do you write?

hi! mainly enhypen right now but definitely open to other groups.

i should post a request guide but as long as it's a 4th or 5th gen group i like with a plot i find interesting i don't mind writing it!

requests with just a member is fine too, just might take a bit for me to get the plot down

[jjuniko]

How do you make your photos that are at the beginning of your fics? What app do you use?

hi! i normally use pintrest to find photos that share similar colors and use ibispaint to make a 1500 x 500 picture. to make the actual photo, i just try my best to blend the edges together using the blur and smudge tool.

[jjuniko]

messy nights | 남겨두려 해 나를 잊을 수 없게

PAIRING : fuckboy!jake x male!reader

SUMMARY : after being dragged to a party you didn’t want to be at, you end up catching the eye of jake sim. cocky, loud, and way too hot for his own good. the night starts to get heated to the point where jake proves he’s more than just a pretty face…

CONTAINS : smut - unprotected sex, rough sex, bottom reader, fingering + handjob (reader receiving), hooking up, reader is a pillow princess, jake praises a lot, all lowercase

WORD COUNT : 2.6k

you don’t hate people. really, you don’t. you just hate this.

the suffocating bass, the too-sweet alcohol, the way everyone’s trying so hard to have a good time that it stops feeling like one. some upperclassman’s house packed to capacity with every sweaty body from your year, every hallway filled with cheap perfume and expensive egos.

your friends begged, guilt-tripped, and borderline blackmailed you into showing up. and now here you are, standing just outside the mess of a living room, drink in hand, half-tipsy and entirely unimpressed.

you scan the room with a look that says “i regret everything.” no one notices.

“we’re doing something tonight,” your friend had said earlier. “you can’t keep hiding out in your room and ghosting us every weekend.”

you hadn’t realized saying no to shitty parties counted as ghosting, but okay.

you nurse your drink by the kitchen archway, one foot tucked back against the wall, letting your eyes drift lazily over the crowd. your ears are already ringing from the music, and the lighting’s doing that annoying thing where it's too dim to see clearly but too bright to pretend you're mysterious. but you spot him before you mean to.

across the room, lounging on a couch like it’s his fucking throne, is him. tall, messy hair, just enough to be intentional, white tee hugging his chest under a loose open flannel. you’ve seen him around, jake sim. known flirt, known fuckboy, probably failed algebra on purpose just so he could flirt with his tutor.

he’s laughing with a group of equally rowdy guys, head thrown back, beer in hand, looking like the goddamn poster boy for poor decisions and good sex.

his eyes scan the room absently until they land on you.

and you freeze. just for a second. he doesn’t look away.

instead, that slow, easy smirk spreads across his lips like he’s been waiting to find something interesting. he tips his chin up in acknowledgment, doesn’t break eye contact.

you lift your drink in a silent toast, nonchalant. your lips twitch, just barely, into something amused.

game on.

you break eye contact first, not because you’re flustered, but because you’re bored. not with him, just the staring contest. you’d rather make him work for it. if he’s the kind of guy you think he is, and you’re pretty sure he is, he’ll come to you.

and sure enough, over the next thirty minutes, he keeps glancing your way. not subtle. you catch him mid-laugh, eyes cutting sideways to where you’re still posted up. he’s not trying to hide it anymore. one of his friends elbows him in the ribs, follows his gaze, then laughs.

he gets up and starts approaching you. you raise a brow as he approaches. casual. confident. a beer still in his hand, other one tucked into his pocket. he stops just a step too close and leans on the wall beside you, turning his head slightly like he’s assessing you up close.

“you always stand around looking this good,” he says, voice smooth as sin, “or is tonight special?”

you snort. “you always open with recycled lines, or is this the special version?”

he laughs and it’s a little rough around the edges. you like the sound more than you want to admit.

“shit,” he says, “you don’t make it easy, huh?”

“if it were easy, you’d be bored already,” you reply, sipping your drink, eyes steady on his.

“probably true.” he tilts his head. “so what’s your story, mystery guy? you waiting for someone or just here for the vibes?”

you shrug. “got dragged here. wasn’t planning on playing therapist to a bunch of drunk freshmen, so i’m hiding out until my friends forget i exist.”

he grins. “yeah? you do this often?”

“only when i'm forced to suffer,” you say. “which, apparently, is every other friday.”

he laughs again. there’s a gleam in his eye now. interest, curiosity, maybe a bit of a challenge. he takes a slow sip of his drink and looks at you over the rim of the cup.

“you’re not like most people here.”

“wow,” you say flatly. “token fuckboy move right there.”

he chokes a little, nearly spilling his beer. “okay, you got me on that one.”

“i’ve got you on all of them,” you say, smirking. “i know your type.”

“do you?” he steps in just a little closer, voice dipping. “wanna test that theory?”

you look him up and down, slowly. “i already am.”

his smile falters, not in a bad way, just enough to show you’ve surprised him.

he leans in a bit more, shoulder brushing yours. “so what’s your read on me, then?”

“you?” you say, like you’re thinking about it. “you’re the guy who acts like he doesn’t care, but secretly does. flirt with everyone, but lock in on the ones who make you chase. you know you’re hot, but get thrown off when someone treats you like just another guy.”

he raises a brow. “damn. read me for filth.”

“it’s a gift.”

“you didn’t say whether you liked that type or not.”

“i didn’t.”

he licks his bottom lip. “and?”

you tilt your head. “depends how good the payoff is.”

you swear you see his eyes darken slightly. it’s subtle, but you see it, the shift. the tension tightening between you like a drawn string.

“i can promise it’s good,” he says lowly.

you hum, unconvinced. “everyone says that.”

“i don’t say it,” he murmurs, leaning in, “i prove it.”

he’s close now. close enough that you catch a whiff of whatever cologne he’s wearing, something smoky with a hint of vanilla. his breath fans your cheek. your lips part, but not for him, just to smirk teasingly.

“you’re really not gonna make this easy, huh?” he says again, this time softer.

you glance sideways at him. “you want easy?”

“not from you,” he admits. “easy’s boring.”

you hold his gaze. “good. then we understand each other.”

he looks at your mouth like he wants to kiss it. but he doesn’t. not yet. and you don’t give him permission. not yet.

instead, you let the moment stretch, let the tension crackle between you like static.

“come with me,” he says suddenly.

your brow lifts. “to do what, exactly?”

“whatever we want.”

you give him a playful. “wow. subtle.”

he smirks, unbothered. “you like subtle?”

“i like fun.”

he leans in close to your ear, and the low rumble of his voice sends a little thrill down your spine.

“then come have some.”

you hesitate, not because you’re unsure, but because you want him to wait for it. you want him to want it.

“fine,” you say, finishing the last of your drink and setting the cup down on the counter behind you. “but only because i’ve reached my limit for small talk and sob stories tonight.”

he steps back just enough to let you pass him, his gaze trailing down your body with a smirk that’s almost possessive.

“lead the way, fuckboy.”

he laughs, shaking his head as he turns to walk ahead of you. “you’re gonna be so much trouble.”

you don’t even make it halfway down the hall before jake’s hand slips into yours. bold. cocky. warm.

you glance down at it, raise a brow. “didn’t picture you as the hand-holding type.”

he smirks, tugging you along. “i’m full of surprises.”

“mhmm. sounds like something a guy who’s not full of surprises would say.”

“you’re really not gonna drop the sass, are you?”

“depends. you gonna make me?”

he looks over his shoulder at you, all teeth and promise. “working on it.”

he pushes open the guest room door like he owns it, and maybe he does, in that shameless fuckboy way, where every room becomes his if he’s hot enough in it. the second you step through, he pulls you in and kicks the door shut behind you with a quiet thud. muffled music and voices hum just outside, but in here, it’s all shadows and heat.

his hands are on your hips immediately, body crowding yours as your back hits the door. his breath ghosts your neck, hot and heavy.

“been thinking about this since the second i saw you,” he murmurs.

you tilt your head, smirking. “what, the part where you trap me against a wall and breathe like a horny exhale machine?”

his mouth curls, amused. “only for you.”

you don’t have time to make a witty reply. his lips crash into yours. no finesse, no warning, just want. it's messy, teeth and tongue and the scrape of stubble as he backs you harder into the door. his hands are everywhere, sliding under your shirt, dragging up your sides. your fingers tangle in the front of his flannel, fisting the fabric to pull him closer.

you bite his bottom lip lightly, then pull back. “this what you do to all the quiet ones?”

he grins, breathless. “only the ones who stare back.”

your hand slips under his shirt, slow and deliberate, knuckles brushing over his abs. he tenses under your touch. not shy, just responsive.

“figured you’d be more ‘get naked, no talk’,” you murmur.

“trust me,” he says, “i can multitask.”

his hands fist in your shirt and tug, rough, fast, pulling it off over your head. your hair’s a mess now, lips kiss-bruised, and jake looks at you like he likes the chaos he’s caused.

“bed or door?” he asks, already crowding you again.

you pretend to consider it. “depends. you looking for romantic or railed?”

he groans, low and hot. “fuck. you’re evil.”

he drags you to the bed without waiting for your answer, pushing you down onto it like it’s his personal mission. he climbs over you in one fluid motion, knees bracketing your hips, mouth trailing kisses down your neck. they’re wet, open-mouthed, punctuated with soft bites that make your back arch.

you tangle your fingers in his hair, tug just enough to pull a small grunt from his lips.

“you sure you can keep up?” you ask, voice playful even through your ragged breathing.

he grabs your wrists, pins them above your head with one hand. his mouth dips to your jawline, then lower, until his voice is against your throat.

“try me.”

his free hand slips down, brushing over your waistband. he palms you over your pants. slow, testing, like he’s seeing how long you’ll last with his hand just there. your hips buck once, involuntarily, and he chuckles against your neck.

“fuck, you’re already hard?” he whispers. “and you were so mouthy a second ago.”

“still am,” you mutter, grinding up into his hand. “you just like hearing it.”

“not as much as i’m gonna like hearing you moan.”

his fingers work you out of your pants, slow and teasing, like he wants to memorize every twitch. his thumb traces the head of your cock, smearing pre-cum across the tip. you bite your lip, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“that a look of appreciation?” he murmurs.

“that’s a look of hurry the fuck up.”

“mm, yeah. we’ll work on your patience.”

his fingers stroke you with maddening precision, up and down, firm but not quite enough. your cock jumps in his grip when he squeezes lightly near the base, wrist twisting just so.

you squirm. “you’re a dick.”

“yours,” he grins.

you don’t give him the satisfaction of moaning. not yet. so he takes his time, watching you, playing with you, dragging his thumb down the underside of your cock like he knows it’s making you ache.

then his hand leaves you. you almost whine, almost.

he shifts lower, kissing your stomach, breath ghosting over sensitive skin.

“gonna prep you now,” he murmurs. “tell me if it’s too much.”

you snort, still breathless. “not my first rodeo, cowboy.”

“good,” he says, pushing your legs apart. “i like experience.”

he slicks his fingers, and the first push is slow. deliberate, like he’s waiting for you to break character and beg.

you don’t. not fully. but you do gasp.

he curls his fingers inside you, and your back arches, hands fisting the sheets.

“fucking—”

“good?” he asks, smug.

“shut up and do it again.”

he does. two fingers now, hitting just the right angle that makes your hips stutter.

“god, you’re tight,” he mutters. “and so damn hot like this.”

your cock twitches untouched, leaking again, and jake just watches you.

“look at you,” he breathes. “laid out like that. fuckin’ pretty. you’re such a little pillow princess, huh?”

you blink, half-dazed, then huff out a breathy laugh. “you’re calling me the princess?”

he leans down, tongue swiping across your lips. “yeah. all needy and perfect. look at you—fuck—i could eat you alive.”

your eyes flutter as he brushes his fingers over your cock again, slow and teasing.

“stop looking at me like that,” he mutters. “you’re making me go insane.”

“you like it.”

“i love it,” he growls, kissing you hard.

he lines himself up, finally, and thrusts in slow, letting you feel every inch. the stretch makes your mouth drop open in a silent moan, eyes rolling back.

“fuck,” you breathe. “you’re—”

“i know,” he groans. “you feel insane.”

he sets a brutal pace, fucking into you like he’s got something to prove. his hand comes up to your throat, thumb pressing lightly, just enough to make your breath hitch. not rough. just enough to shut you up.

but you don’t shut up easily.

you moan, loud and messy, riding every thrust with rolled hips and sharp little gasps. your hands claw down his back, nails leaving marks. he hisses at the sting, then slams into you harder.

“you're a tease,” he growls.

“you love it,” you pant, breathless and half-laughing.

he leans back, hands gripping your thighs, and groans as he watches your face twist with every thrust. “fuck, look at you. i swear to god—” his voice breaks a little. “you’re so fucking beautiful it’s actually pissing me off.”

you gasp, smirking. “cuteness aggression much?”

“shut up,” he mutters, slamming into you, “and take it like the pretty little thing you are.”

your breath catches, eyes fluttering. “fuck—jake—”

his hand covers your mouth before you can keep talking, his other pinning your hip down. he’s losing rhythm now, close, panting hard against your cheek.

“gonna cum,” he groans. “gonna fill you up, baby. fuck, i—”

you arch hard into him, trembling as your orgasm rips through you. your body tightens, legs shaking, and he follows with a loud, guttural groan, burying himself deep and pulsing inside you.

he slumps over, forehead on your chest, both of you panting like you just ran a marathon.

“you always fuck like that?” you ask, voice hoarse and lips red and swollen.

he turns his head, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip, still catching his breath.

“only when someone makes me work for it.”

you chuckle, too spent to move. “so what, do i get a sticker or something?”

“nah,” he says, smirking, “you get my number.”

“bold of you to assume i want it.”

“bold of you to think i’m letting you leave without giving me yours.”

you roll your eyes. “you do realize this entire thing started because i was bored, right?”

he stretches, arm sliding around your waist. “cool. then i’ll just have to make sure you’re never bored again.”

you snort, settling against him. “fuckboy logic.”

“works though, doesn’t it?”

you don’t answer. just kiss him again, slower this time. he grins against your mouth.

“round two?” he whispers.

“only if you stop talking.”

“rude,” he says, already rolling you onto your back again. “but fair.”

jae's note ! hi everyone i hope this was enjoyable to read :) first fic for the loml sim jaeyun. might be active on here, who knows. asks are open and everything though ! special ty's to @ryes-brownies08 for helping

[jjuniko]

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ jae / juni ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

masterlist :

messy nights - jake sim

turn it down - park sunghoon