reylwq

[reylwq]

𝓘t wa𝓼𝓷’𝓽 a 𝓶𝓲𝓼take, 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂

SUMMARY: Best friends. One night. No rules. I woke up in his bed, naked. Now nothing feels the same… and I don’t think either of us wants it to.

PAIRINGS: Jay x fem!reader

TROPES: best friends to lovers , drunk confessions

WORD COUNT: 1,9k

SMUT TAGS: 18+ content, smut , explicit sexual content , unprotected sex , oral sex , not much talking

WARNING TAGS: accidental sex (only drunk) , emotional aftermath , one night stand (but it’s not really) , post hook up tension

A/N: Hii again!! I made this one pretty fast so I have something to post. So I’m sorry if it’s maybe going too fast but whatever. I hope you like it and also give me some ideas on what other stories I can write :)

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How the hell did I end up here — with my best friend since eighth grade… naked in his bed, after a night I can barely piece together?

Jay had just asked if I wanted to hit up this downtown party. Nothing serious. Some mutuals, some drinks. We’d done it a hundred times. It was supposed to be harmless.

But the drinks didn’t stop. And the music blurred into noise. Then there was his hand on my lower back. Then me leaning into him. Then our laughter started to sound more like flirting. It didn’t feel like the usual us. It felt like something was shifting, something we both ignored.

After that… flashes. Heat. His lips. My name, whispered like a secret. Clothes peeling off. His fingers sliding up my thighs. That groan… oh, that groan, like I’d undone something he’d been holding in for years.

Then darkness.

— Next morning !!

My head is pounding.

A dull ache, like someone turned up the bass inside my skull. I shift, groaning quietly as I blink into the unfamiliar morning light filtering through Jay’s bedroom window.

I don’t remember falling asleep. Just… the rush. His hands. My breath catching. And now, this.

I twist slowly, body sore in ways that remind me too clearly that last night wasn’t a dream. That’s when I see him.

Jay.

Asleep, one hand resting over his stomach, the other tucked beneath the pillow. His chest rises and falls, calm. Maybe too calm for the hurricane spinning in my head.

I lift the blanket, just enough to confirm what I already know.

Naked. Shit.

I let out a quiet curse and glance back at him. He’s still asleep. Should I wake him? Should I sneak out? But I can’t just leave him like some hookup with a stranger?

My heart is pounding so loud it feels like it might wake him for me.

I look around his room. Clothes everywhere. My bra on the floor. His shirt tangled at the foot of the bed. And beneath all that: tension. So much unspoken, wrapped around us like another blanket.

I sit up slowly, pressing a hand to my forehead, fuck… The air feels too thick. Like guilt. Or maybe confusion. Maybe both. I don’t know.

Then, behind me, I hear the sheets rustle.

Jay stirs.

He turns, face buried in the pillow for a second before his eyes crack open, blinking lazily. It takes a few beats, slow ones, before he really sees me.

Naked. Wrapped in his blanket. Sitting at the edge of his bed like I might bolt the fuck out of his room.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, still heavy with sleep. My name sounds different in his mouth now. Or maybe I’m just hearing it differently.

I freeze. I don’t know what to say.

He squints at me, confused. “Wait— what… what happened?”

His brow furrows as he sits up slowly, the reality starting to settle over him like it did for me a few minutes ago. His gaze flickers to the blanket clutched around my body. His shirtless chest. The scent of last night still lingering in the air.

Then our eyes meet.

We both say nothing. I mean what are we supposed to say?!

The silence between us is thick. Fragile. Like one wrong word could shatter everything.

I exhale slowly, my voice barely a whisper. “I think we… went too far.”

Jay doesn’t move. Just looks at me, eyes clouded, unreadable.

And in that moment, neither of us knows what this is. A one-time mistake? A buried truth finally surfacing? Or the start of something we can’t undo?

- - -

I don’t tell him to stop.

I don’t even move. I just breathe, shallow, shaky as Jay’s fingers trace slowly up from my hip, gliding across the skin that’s still warm from sleep and memory.

He’s watching me like he’s afraid to move too fast, like he knows if he breaks the rhythm of this moment, we’ll both wake up and this will be gone.

“You sure?” he whispers, voice tight in his throat.

I nod once, barely. “Yeah.”

That’s all it takes.

His mouth brushes mine, so gently it could be a question. And when I lean in to answer, not with words, but with a kiss… it deepens instantly, like we’d both been holding back just enough.

His hand finds my waist again, pulling me against him, and the blanket slips further down between us, forgotten. My skin slides against his, warm and soft and too much all at once. Oh, god…

His lips move slow. Careful. But his hands…

God, his hands are already different.

More confident now. More familiar. They move like he remembers how I sound, how I moved beneath him just hours ago and he’s chasing that again.

He lays me back onto the pillows, shifting over me, and everything about the way he touches me is… softer this time. Slower. Like he’s savoring it now, like he wants to memorize every second of this in case it never happens again.

My legs part for him easily, instinctively, and his hand trails down between us, fingers dipping low to test me. I gasp softly at the contact.

“Still wet,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost in awe.

I grip his bicep as my back arches slightly. “Don’t— don’t say shit like that.”

He smirks into my neck, kisses just beneath my ear. “Why? You like it.”

And maybe I do. Maybe I really do. Especially when his fingers keep moving, slow and teasing, slipping through me with maddening precision. My body’s reacting faster than my mind, hips rising up to meet him, my breath catching in my throat.

I whimper as his mouth moves down, across my chest, his tongue tracing slow circles over my skin. He lingers there, like he can’t get enough of me, and when I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging just slightly, he groans, low and desperate, into my skin.

“Jay…” I whisper, hips shifting under him, needing more. Needing him.

He slides up again, pressing his forehead to mine, his body hovering just above mine, poised. “You want me?”

His voice is a whisper, but it carries the weight of everything we haven’t said.

I meet his eyes, my fingers curling around the back of his neck, and nod. “Yeah. I want you.”

That’s it.

He pushes into me, slow. My mouth falls open with a gasp. The stretch is familiar now, but still intense, and this time, it’s more than just lust. It’s heavy. Emotional. Bare.

Jay groans as he sinks deeper, his hips pressing flush against mine, his hand gripping the sheet beside my head like he’s holding himself back. “F-fuck, you feel… God, Y/N.”

My nails rake gently down his back as I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer. “Move, Jay. Please…”

And he does.

He starts slow, dragging his hips back, then pressing in again, deeper this time. His rhythm is steady, sensual, each thrust smooth and deliberate.

I moan softly with every one, our bodies syncing up like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

Jay’s lips find mine again, kissing me with heat and hunger, and something tender underneath. His hand slides under my thigh, lifting it just enough to push in deeper, to hit that spot that makes me gasp into his mouth.

He moans, low, needy. “God, you’re so perfect.”

Everything builds from there.

His pace picks up. His thrusts hit harder. The soft groans become louder, breathier and desperate. My hips roll up to meet him, and soon we’re moving together like we can’t get close enough. Like we need this to mean something, even if we’re both too scared to admit it.

My back arches as heat coils tight in my stomach, my cries getting sharper with each push. “Jay— I’m—”

“I know,” he growls into my neck. “I got you. Just— fuck— hold on to me.”

And I do.

Because in this moment, there’s no confusion. No overthinking. No regrets.

Just us.

And the way he’s moving inside me, faster, deeper as if chasing the high of something that’s been buried between us for way too long.

Something that’s no longer just physical.

It’s everything.

Jay’s rhythm shifts, no more restraint, no more hesitation. Just need.

He fucks me harder now, each thrust hitting deep, sharp, the sound of skin on skin filling the room in sync with our ragged breathing and the creak of the mattress beneath us.

My fingers dig into his back, nails dragging down his spine as I cry out, loud, no longer caring who hears. The pressure is unbearable now, my whole body curling around the sensation of him driving into me, deep and relentless.

“Jay— oh my god—” My voice breaks, shaking under the weight of it.

He grabs my hips, lifting them, tilting me just enough to hit that spot over and over, and when he finds it, he doesn’t stop. His jaw clenches, sweat dripping from his temple onto my collarbone as he watches me unravel beneath him.

“You like that?” he growls, his voice wrecked. “You like it when I fuck you like this?”

I nod wildly, mouth open, breath caught between moans. “Yes— yes— please don’t stop.”

He grips my wrists, pins them above my head, and thrusts harder, deeper, rougher. I’m completely at his mercy, thighs trembling, body arching as pleasure crashes through me like a wave threatening to drown us both.

He leans down, mouth right at my ear, his words shaking with every thrust.

“You feel so fucking good— I can’t— I can’t get enough of you.”

My eyes flutter shut as I gasp his name, legs tightening around him. He bites gently at my neck, then groans, loud, raw, as he fucks me faster, sweat-slick bodies colliding with every stroke.

“I’m close—” I choke out, hips grinding up into him, chasing the high like it’s life or death.

“I know, baby— I feel you. You’re so tight— shit— come for me. Right now.”

His voice demands it, low, commanding, right against my mouth and that’s all it takes.

I shatter around him, body shaking violently as I scream his name, waves of pleasure tearing through me. My walls pulse around him, and he loses it.

He thrusts deep, once—twice—then he growls my name, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside me, hips jerking with the force of it. His whole body trembles above mine, muscles flexing as he rides out every last pulse of his release, breath ragged in my ear.

We don’t move for a moment.

His chest is pressed to mine, our skin sticky, our bodies still joined. The room smells like sweat and sex and something else. Something heavier.

Something like truth.

Jay finally lifts his head, his forehead pressed to mine, and he just looks at me.

No words.

No apology.

Just us.

Breathing hard. Hearts racing. Still tangled in the wreckage of something we didn’t mean to start but can’t bring ourselves to stop.

And we both know, this wasn’t the last time.

Not even close.

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[reylwq]

𝓕rom 𝓢eou𝓵 to 𝓣ok𝔂𝓸: 𝓐 𝓑oss’s 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮

SUMMARY: You’ve been Heeseung’s perfect secretary for three years—calm, composed, professional. But when a business trip to Tokyo forces you to share one hotel room, the line between “strictly professional” and “dangerously personal” snaps.

PAIRINGS: heeseung x fem!reader , hee!boss x reader!secretary , dom!hee x sub!reader

TROPES: CEO x Secretary , only one bed , forced proximity (business trip) , smut with feelings

WORD COUNT: 4,7k

SMUT TAGS: oral sex , begging kink , light dom!heeseung , praise kink / mild degradation , slow , sensual , after care

WARNING TAG: explicit sexual content , 18+ , nsfw workplace dynamic , mild language , unprotected sex

A/N: idk what to say other than that it’s going a bit fast but I hope you like it anyway + I have some written stories in my drafts :)

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“And Shin y/n,” Heeseung said, his voice low and precise as he glanced at me over his shoulder. “Don’t be late to the airport.”

It was almost an afterthought, barely louder than a murmur. But coming from him? It landed like a command.

I nodded quickly, trying not to show how flustered I felt under his gaze. “Of course, sir.”

Without another word, he turned and strode out of the office, his newly polished black dress shoes clicking against the hallway floor with that signature confidence only Lee Heeseung had mastered. Every step sounded final, intentional—like he owned every corner of this company.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

The clock on my monitor blinked back at me: 7:43 PM.

“Goddess…” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair.

I shut down the computer, grabbed my things, and slipped out of the office into the quiet chill of evening.

— NEXT MORNING !!

By the time I was at the airport, my body was barely functioning. It was 3:21 AM, and I hadn’t even managed more than a 45-minute nap.

I sat slouched in a chair near the gate, scrolling through emails, though none of them really registered. My fingers were just moving out of habit. Heeseung sat across from me, legs crossed, suit pristine despite the hour. Even now, he looked infuriatingly put-together.

I snuck a glance at him.

God, why did he have to look like that?

“Anything interesting you see, Miss?” His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

I froze. “Sorry?”

He finally looked at me, dark eyes meeting mine—and there it was again. That barely-there smirk, like he knew exactly what I’d been thinking.

“I asked you a question,” he said, voice cool and calm.

“…Uhhh, no. I was just looking around, sir.”

He huffed a quiet sound, not quite a laugh. “Sure.”

We boarded shortly after, the plane humming with the quiet chatter of businessmen and the occasional shuffle of tired feet. Heeseung didn’t speak to me once the entire flight—not that I expected him to. Still, I found myself sneaking glances whenever I could. The way he adjusted his cuffs. The way his jaw flexed when reading through documents. His legs, long and casually crossed, like he owned the damn sky.

— AT THE HOTEL !!

The day was a blur of meetings.

From the moment we landed in Tokyo, it was nonstop movement—three different companies, rushed lunches, overlapping pitches, and a few too many coffees. By the time we reached the hotel, it was past 8 PM, and my head was spinning.

I barely noticed the issue until the front desk receptionist said, with a polite bow, “So sorry. Only one suite left.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

But Heeseung didn’t miss a beat. “That’s fine.”

I turned to him, startled. “Sir, you mean—?”

“You signed the 24/7 clause in your employment contract three years ago, didn’t you?” he said smoothly. “You’re my assistant. You follow where I go.”

His tone left no room for argument.

I swallowed hard, nodding stiffly.

— INSIDE THE HOTEL ROOM !!

In the hotel room, I busied myself with ordering food while Heeseung disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of the shower running was oddly distracting. I tried not to imagine what he looked like under that water. I really tried.

The food arrived just as he stepped out.

And when I turned around to call for him, I froze.

There he was.

Towel. Just a towel. Water dripping down his abs. His hair damp and slightly messy, clinging to his forehead. He looked like he’d been carved out of a fever dream.

“Oh, the food’s here?” he asked casually, as if he wasn’t half-naked and lethal.

“Y-Yeah,” I stammered, whipping around and pretending to rearrange the plates like a maniac. Anything to not look at that towel.

I felt him come up behind me.

“Why’re you looking away, sweetheart?” he murmured.

My brain short-circuited.

“Wh-what…?”

He stepped closer, the heat of his bare chest just inches from my back. “Why are you looking away?” he repeated, voice lower now. “You’re not fooling anyone, y/n.”

My name sounded dangerous in his mouth.

He reached out, brushing my hair back over my shoulder. I shivered.

“I overheard you,” he whispered. “At the office. You didn’t mute your call. You told your friend you wanted to fuck me.”

My heart stopped.

He stepped in close—way too close—his eyes locked on mine.

I was trembling.

And that’s when it happened. I broke.

“Fuck me, Heeseung,” I whispered.

The words just slipped out, unfiltered, raw.

His eyes darkened.

And then… he moved.

The hotel room was still warm from the shower’s steam, the air thick with something unspoken.

Heeseung hadn’t said another word after teasing me. He just stood there in his towel, like some beautifully carved menace, his chest rising and falling evenly, as if he wasn’t the one who just said something utterly filthy. As if he hadn’t just told me he overheard me say I wanted to fuck him.

And I had said it. I had said it—fuck me, Heeseung—like it was a confession I’d been bottling up for years. Because maybe… it was.

Heeseung took a slow step toward me. I backed up, instinctively, until my thighs hit the edge of the bed behind me.

“You’re really not denying it,” he said quietly, almost amused.

I swallowed hard. “Would it matter if I did?”

He clicked his tongue, eyes sweeping over me like I was a meal he’d been denying himself. “No,” he said. “It wouldn’t.”

He took another step, and I was still frozen. Like some part of me couldn’t tell if this was real. If the years of pretending I didn’t look at him like this, didn’t need him like this, were finally crashing down in one perfect, devastating moment.

“You’ve been so good for so long,” Heeseung murmured, brushing a damp lock of hair from his forehead. “Always so obedient. So professional.”

His words scratched at something deep inside me.

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t notice how you look at me when you think I’m not watching.” His hand lifted slowly, deliberate, and his knuckles grazed the side of my jaw. “Always biting that pretty lip of yours.”

My breath hitched as his thumb dragged across my lower lip, slow and possessive.

“You wanna be good for me tonight too, sweetheart?” he whispered.

I shivered. Not from fear. From the sharp rush of adrenaline flooding my veins.

“I want…” I tried to speak, but my voice broke. His eyes stayed locked on mine, waiting. Demanding.

“I want you to touch me,” I said, breathless. “Please.”

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. His hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck, pulling me close until his forehead touched mine.

“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you beg.”

His voice was a low growl now, velvet over steel. Before I could answer, his lips were on mine—not soft, not slow, but hungry. Possessive. The kind of kiss that made your knees weak and your stomach flip. His tongue slid against mine, coaxing, then commanding. I gasped, and he swallowed the sound like he owned it.

He pushed me gently but firmly until the backs of my knees hit the bed again. This time, I didn’t step back. I let myself fall into the mattress, breathing heavy, lips swollen from his kiss. His eyes devoured the sight of me.

“You look good like that,” Heeseung muttered, running a thumb across my chin. “All laid out for me.”

He knelt down in front of me, parting my legs with his broad hands. The towel still hung low on his hips, teasing me with every movement. I could see the outline of him now—thick, heavy, and hard. It made my mouth dry.

He reached for my blouse, fingers slipping the buttons open one by one. “You wore this skirt on purpose, didn’t you?” he asked, voice dipped in mischief.

“N-No,” I stammered.

“Liar.”

He slid the blouse off my shoulders, revealing my bra underneath—black lace, thin straps. His eyes flicked up.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he said, voice darker now. “What kind of secretary dresses like this under her suit?”

“You pay me too well to dress boring,” I whispered.

He chuckled—low, sinful. “Keep talking like that and I’ll fuck you with your heels still on.”

My breath caught.

Heeseung leaned in, kissing the top of my knee. Then the inside of my thigh. So slow. The heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth—it made my legs tremble. His hands slid up my thighs, pushing the skirt higher.

“You’re already wet, aren’t you?”

I let out a shaky breath as he dragged a single finger over the damp fabric of my panties, pressing just enough to make my hips jerk.

“You soaked through these,” he muttered, eyes locked onto mine. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

“Heeseung…” I whimpered.

He leaned in closer, his nose brushing the inside of my thigh as he kissed higher, closer to where I needed him. His voice dropped into a whisper.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want your mouth,” I blurted out before I could think. “Please, just… don’t tease me.”

His lips curved. “I’ll do more than that, sweetheart. But when I start, I’m not stopping until you’ve come on my tongue at least twice. Understood?”

My thighs clenched involuntarily.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Yes, what?” he said, eyes gleaming.

“Yes, sir.”

That one word changed everything.

Heeseung groaned like he’d just been given a drug. “Fuck, you don’t know what that does to me.”

He pulled my panties down slowly, dragging them down my legs like a ribbon unwrapping a gift. He spread my thighs apart and lowered himself between them, arms wrapped around my hips to keep me exactly where he wanted.

Then his mouth was on me.

Hot. Wet. Unrelenting.

He licked a slow, deliberate stripe up my slit, tongue pressing into me like he was trying to memorize the taste. I cried out, hips bucking, but he held me still. His mouth moved with sinful precision—flicks of his tongue, firm pressure, teasing then plunging, sucking on my clit until my vision blurred.

“Oh my God, Heeseung—”

“You taste like sin,” he groaned against me, lips brushing sensitive skin.

My hand flew into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft, damp strands. I didn’t know if I was trying to push him away or pull him closer.

Heeseung slipped a finger inside me while his tongue circled my clit again. Then another finger joined, moving slow, curling just right, as his mouth kept working me open.

“Let go for me,” he whispered, licking into me again. “Be a good girl and come.”

I fell apart.

The orgasm slammed into me, hot and dizzying. My back arched, a cry leaving my lips as I pulsed around his fingers and tongue. He didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. He kept going through it, milking every second, until I was twitching and gasping beneath him.

Only then did he finally pull away—slowly, smugly—wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing in the world.

“You can still take more,” he said, voice rough. “Can’t you?”

I nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes, sir.”

He stood, letting the towel drop to the floor.

The towel hit the floor with a quiet thud, but it might as well have been a bomb.

My eyes dropped instinctively, and what I saw made my breath catch. Thick. Hard. Veins prominent. And way too big to take without needing a moment to mentally prepare.

Heeseung watched my reaction with a slow, knowing smirk.

“You’re quiet now,” he said, stepping closer. “What happened to that brat who told me to fuck her a few minutes ago?”

My thighs instinctively squeezed together at his words.

He reached down and spread them again with his knee, climbing onto the bed. The sheets shifted under his weight as he hovered over me, arms bracketing either side of my head.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he muttered, dragging the tip of his cock across my still-sensitive folds. “You gonna let me ruin you?”

He pressed the head against me, not inside yet, just teasing. Slow, smooth circles. I gasped.

“Yes,” I whispered, breath hot and heavy.

“Yeah?” He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “Then beg.”

I blinked. “What?”

He nipped at my earlobe. “You heard me. Tell me how bad you want it.”

I felt my cheeks burn, but I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.

“I want it,” I said, voice barely holding together. “I want you. I want you to fuck me, sir. Please.”

His groan was low and primal. “Good girl.”

Then, in one slow, powerful motion—he pushed inside.

My mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. He was big. Too big. The stretch was slow, burning, perfect. His eyes didn’t leave mine for a second.

“You okay?” he asked, tone dark but gentle.

I nodded quickly, nails digging into his biceps. “Don’t stop.”

He bottomed out with a final, deep thrust that made my whole body tremble. His hips pressed flush to mine, his cock buried to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he gritted out. “You feel so good—so fucking tight. Like you were made for me.”

He didn’t move at first. He just stayed there, deep inside me, letting me feel everything—every thick inch, every pulsing heartbeat between us.

Then, he started moving.

Slow. Deep. Controlled.

Each thrust hit something inside me that made my toes curl. My hands flew up around his shoulders, clinging to him like I’d drown if I let go.

Heeseung groaned into my neck as he started fucking deeper, hips rolling in perfect rhythm, every stroke sending heat straight to my core.

“You like that?” he whispered, lips brushing my jaw. “You like how I’m fucking you?”

I nodded helplessly. “Yes—God, yes.”

He grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head, pressing them into the mattress with one hand.

“Then take it.”

His thrusts got rougher, faster, but never sloppy. Every movement was calculated, intense, filthy. The sound of skin on skin, the wetness between us, the sharp little moans slipping from my mouth—it all filled the room like a fever.

“Keep your hands there,” he growled. “Be a good girl for me.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

His free hand slipped between us, thumb brushing against my clit. The sudden jolt of pleasure made me buck against him.

“Sensitive?” he teased.

“You’re gonna make me—”

“Good. I want you to come. Again. While I’m inside you this time.”

He kept circling, steady and cruel, and I was losing it. The second orgasm hit harder than the first—my body tensed, legs shaking as I squeezed around him, crying out into his neck.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “That’s it, fuck—”

He slammed into me once, twice more before his rhythm stuttered. He groaned deep into my ear, hips jerking as he spilled into me, heat flooding as he came hard and heavy inside.

We stayed like that for a long moment—pressed together, breathless, sweat-slicked and shaking—his forehead resting against mine, his body still twitching with the aftershocks.

The room was quiet now, except for the faint hum of the Tokyo city lights outside and the uneven rhythm of our breaths.

Heeseung hadn’t pulled out yet.

His arms were still around me, tight like he couldn’t quite let go just yet, his hand resting on my hip with a kind of possessiveness that felt more intimate than the sex itself.

I blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, my body humming with the aftershocks.

I’d just fucked my boss. My emotionally unavailable, perfection-obsessed, always-in-control boss.

And he’d made me come twice and called me sweetheart and ruined me in the best way possible.

“Shit,” I muttered, finally finding my voice.

Heeseung chuckled softly, brushing a thumb over my cheekbone. “You’re only saying that now?”

I turned my head to look at him. He was already watching me, hair a mess, chest still rising and falling like he wasn’t totally calm either.

He didn’t look smug anymore. He looked… thoughtful.

Which was more terrifying.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, voice low.

I froze. “What?”

He pulled out slowly, gently, like he didn’t want to hurt me, and rolled onto his side. His hand never left my body.

“I’m not gonna pretend this is normal,” he said. “For either of us.”

I stared at him. “I don’t regret it. I meant what I said.”

His jaw tensed slightly. “That you want me?”

“Yeah,” I said, more confidently than I expected. “That I want you.”

Something unreadable passed through his eyes. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my collarbone—nowhere near as rough as before. Just… soft. Thoughtful.

“I’m your boss, y/n,” he said, like it was a warning.

“And I’m your secretary,” I replied. “But I’ve been around you every day for three years. You don’t scare me anymore.”

He pulled back slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I used to scare you?”

“You still do,” I muttered. “But not the way you think.”

Heeseung’s eyes searched mine, like he was trying to figure out how much of me he could believe. Whether I was just high on lust or if something real was stirring beneath it all.

“Don’t fall for me,” he said suddenly. “I’m not gentle. I’m not fair.”

“You’re not heartless either,” I shot back.

He blinked.

“You’re arrogant, emotionally constipated, and you work yourself into a hole,” I added, propping myself up on one elbow. “But I’ve seen the way you care about your people. And the way you remember stupid things I say. And how you panic when you think I might quit.”

Heeseung swallowed hard. “That was one time.”

“It was enough,” I whispered

There was silence between us again—but not the awkward kind. The kind where everything had shifted, and neither of us could un-feel it.

He finally sat up, walking toward the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

He glanced over his shoulder. “To run you a bath.”

I blinked. “A bath?”

“You look wrecked,” he said flatly. “Can’t send you into day two of meetings looking like I fucked the life out of you.”

“You’re not wrong,” I muttered.

He paused. “And after that, we’ll talk. About what this means. If you want.”

My heart did something weird in my chest.

“Okay,” I whispered.

Because maybe this wasn’t just about lust anymore.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one who wanted more.

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[reylwq]

¿ ꪀׁׅo f 𝑒𝑒lings, ℛight ?

SUMMARY: A no-strings hookup turns messy when Jake, who swore he’d never catch feelings, shows up after being left on read—forcing both of you to confront the connection you both swore didn’t exist. One night, one mistake, no future.

PAIRINGS: jake x fem!reader , dom!jake x sub!reader

TROPES: Friends With Benefits , No Feelings Allowed

WORD COUNT: 2,9k

SMUT TAGS: 18+ content , friends with benefits , smut , explicit sexual content, oral sex , sex against kitchen counter , rough sex , desperate sex , dirty talk , praise kink , possessiveness , begging , teasing/edging , unprotected sex , creampie

WARNING TAGS: emotional angst , toxic dynamics (light) , emotional confusion , unclear relationship boundaries , push-and-pull relationship , internalized feelings , possibly condependent behavior , reader vulnerability

A/N: This is my first draft to post, it’s pretty basic but whatever. I hope you like it mwahhh

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Jake made it clear from the start, he doesn’t date. Doesn’t do the clingy stuff. Doesn’t text first. And definitely doesn’t catch feelings.

You remember the way he’d said it, eyes glinting with that cocky, bored smirk like he was warning you off a live wire. You’re not sure what made you reach out anyway. Curiosity, maybe. Recklessness, probably. Or maybe some half-buried belief that you’d be the exception.

You weren’t. Not really.

But then came the days when his absence felt louder than his presence. And you hated that.

You started leaving his texts on read, just to prove to yourself you could. To claw back some piece of the power you swore you didn’t give him. But apparently Jake noticed. Apparently Jake cared. And apparently he breaks his own rules.

Which is why he’s standing outside your door now, leaned back against the frame like he owns it, like he’s the one who lives here, like the silence between you hadn’t just swallowed an entire week.

“Didn’t realize ignoring me was part of the deal,” he says, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes sharp.

You blink. You want to say something biting. Something dismissive. But it’s hard to think when your pulse just leapt like it recognized him before your mind did. Like your body never signed the same contract your mouth did.

“I didn’t realize showing up unannounced was your thing now,” you reply, voice dry.

Jake’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smirk. Not quite anything. Just tension barely contained.

“You left me on read.”

“You don’t text first,” you shoot back.

He tilts his head. “Doesn’t mean you get to ghost me like you don’t know me.”

You cross your arms now too, mirroring him without meaning to. “Don’t you think it’s a little dramatic? This wasn’t—this isn’t—a thing.”

Jake laughs, but it’s the quiet kind that sounds more like disbelief. “Right. Just two strangers who sleep in the same bed and pretend not to notice when the other one’s gone.”

You bite your tongue, because he’s not wrong and you hate it. You hate that he noticed you pulling away. You hate that he cared enough to show up. You hate that some weird part of you wanted him to.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” you mutter.

He steps closer, and it’s just a few inches, but it feels like pressure. Like gravity.

“No,” he agrees. “You signed up for no strings. So why does it feel like you’re the one tying knots now?”

You look at him and see the Jake most people don’t get to. The one that lingers in your doorway at 3AM instead of leaving right after. The one who kissed your shoulder once like it meant something. The one who, even now, looks like he doesn’t know whether he wants to fight or fall apart.

“I just needed space.”

“For what?”

“To think.”

Jake scoffs, but there’s no malice in it. “Think about what?”

You shrug, suddenly aware of how cold the floor is beneath your bare feet. “Whether this was getting too complicated.”

He looks at you like you just said the sky turned inside out. “Too complicated? You mean feelings?”

You don’t answer.

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “God, why does everyone treat feelings like they’re a goddamn virus?”

“Because they are, sometimes.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he says, suddenly sharper. “You think I didn’t warn you for a reason?”

You falter. “So why are you here then?”

Jake pauses. It’s the first real silence between you. The kind that doesn’t ask to be broken—it just sits there, heavy, breathing.

Finally, he shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Great.”

“I just—” He stops again, frowns. “I’ve been at my place all week telling myself I didn’t care that you disappeared. That you were doing exactly what I wanted. That it was good, actually. Clean break. Easy.”

You stare at him. “And?”

He exhales through his nose. “And I was lying.”

There it is.

The thing you weren’t supposed to hear.

The line that was never supposed to be crossed.

You should shut the door. Or laugh. Or remind him of all the times he said you weren’t anything. You weren’t his. He wasn’t yours. But instead, your fingers tighten around the doorknob like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the floor.

“You’re not supposed to feel anything,” you say quietly.

Jake nods. “I know.”

“Then stop.”

He steps even closer. “You stop.”

Your breath catches. His face is inches from yours now, his eyes searching yours like they’re looking for something he swore he didn’t lose.

“You think I wanted this?” he murmurs. “You think I don’t hate it every time I miss you and tell myself I don’t?”

The words settle in your ribs, where something traitorous stirs.

“I don’t want to want you,” you whisper, voice cracking.

Jake’s expression softens, just barely. “Yeah. Same.”

He reaches up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear like he has a right to. Like he’s done it before and will do it again. Your eyes close at the touch, and when they open, he’s still looking at you like you’re a puzzle he almost regrets solving.

“Let me in,” he says.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know.”

You open the door anyway.

He steps inside like he belongs. Like he never left. Like this entire thing hasn’t been a slow-motion collision.

Neither of you says anything as he drops his jacket on the floor and follows you into the kitchen like he’s done a dozen times before. It’s too normal. Too familiar. It’s infuriating.

You grab a glass of water just to do something with your hands. He leans against the counter, watching you.

“What do we do now?” you ask finally, voice low.

Jake shrugs. “Keep pretending it’s not real?”

You glare. “You’re so helpful.”

He smiles, crooked and tired. “Hey, I’m new to this whole… catching feelings thing.”

You snort despite yourself. “You sound like you stepped in something.”

Jake walks over, takes the glass from your hand, sets it down, and traps you against the counter with a look that should be illegal.

“I did,” he murmurs. “You.”

You inhale too sharply. You want to be mad. Want to yell. Want to grab his shoulders and shake the confusion out of him. But instead you just press your forehead against his chest and breathe.

His arms wrap around you without question. And for the first time, neither of you pretends this doesn’t mean anything.

It’s weird. And messy. And not at all part of the plan.

But maybe that’s the point.

His arms wrap around you without question. And for the first time, neither of you pretends this doesn’t mean anything.

It’s weird. And messy. And not at all part of the plan.

But maybe that’s the point.

He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. And you don’t move, not for a while. You just stay there, pressed against his chest, listening to the chaos inside you quiet down. It’s not peace—peace has never looked like Jake—but it’s still.

Still enough to breathe.

Then, he murmurs against the crown of your head, voice gravel-rough and low, “This is the part where you tell me to leave.”

You don’t.

Because you don’t want to.

Instead, you look up, and your eyes lock with his. The space between you sizzles, this charged, magnetic pull that feels like it’s been wound too tight for too long. His eyes drop to your mouth, and your heart stutters like it’s trying to backpedal on your behalf.

But you don’t stop him when he leans in.

The kiss is slow at first. Intentional. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it. Like he’s tasting something he never thought he’d get again. And when his hand cups the side of your face, the warmth of it cuts through everything else. No teasing this time. No smirks.

Just heat.

Real heat.

You kiss him back, mouth parting under his, and his hand tightens at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left to argue with. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his shirt, and he makes a sound against your lips, half growl, half exhale, that shoots down your spine like lightning.

“I’ve been trying not to think about this all week,” he breathes, voice wrecked.

“And?”

“I failed.”

His hands roam lower, and he lifts you effortlessly, setting you on the kitchen counter like it’s instinct. His mouth drags along your jaw, down your throat, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can fill him.

You gasp his name. It sounds like permission.

His hands roam lower, and he lifts you effortlessly, setting you on the kitchen counter like it’s instinct. His mouth drags along your jaw, down your throat, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can fill him.

You gasp his name. It sounds like permission.

That’s all it takes.

Jake’s mouth crashes back to yours, but the kiss is nothing like before, this one’s greedy, frantic, all tongue and teeth and need. His hands grip your thighs hard, thumbs pressing into skin like he’s trying to mark you. You open your legs for him without thinking, and he slots between them perfectly.

He groans against your lips when he feels how ready you are for him through your clothes. “Fuck, baby… you’re already wet for me?”

You nod, dizzy. “Been wet.”

That makes something in him snap. He pushes your shirt up, baring you to him, and his mouth is all over you, sucking, biting, licking until your skin’s burning, your breath ragged.

One hand snakes down between your thighs, tugging your underwear aside. His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and teasing at first, but you arch into his touch with a broken moan that turns him feral.

“You’re dripping,” he growls, voice thick with lust. “All this for someone you’re not supposed to need?”

“Shut up,” you pant. “Touch me.”

He does. Two fingers sink into you deep, curling just right while his thumb circles your clit. You’re already close, too fast, too much, but he doesn’t let up, whispering filthy things against your skin while he fucks you with his hand like he’s memorizing what breaks you.

When you come, it’s sudden and hard, your body tightens around his fingers, your hips jerking forward, a cry tearing from your throat that you don’t even try to muffle.

Jake pulls his hand away slowly, glistening with you. He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, eyes locked on yours.

“Sweet,” he murmurs. “Could taste you all fucking day.”

Your hands go for his belt like they’ve got a mind of their own. He lets you undo it, helps shove his pants down just enough, and then he’s pushing his boxers aside and fuck, he’s thick and hard and already leaking.

You reach for him, but he stops you with a sharp breath. “Not gonna last if you touch me right now.”

“So don’t.”

His eyes darken. “You want me to just fuck you right here?”

You nod, breathless. “What do you think I’ve been waiting for?”

Jake doesn’t need more than that.

He mutters a curse under his breath, grabs your hips, and drags you closer to the edge of the counter. His cock presses against your entrance, and he doesn’t slam in like you expect. No, he teases. Runs the tip through your folds, collecting how soaked you are, nudging at your clit, watching you squirm.

“Jake,” you beg, trying to roll your hips.

“Patience,” he growls. “I want you desperate.”

“You already have me desperate.”

That makes his mouth twitch. A smug little smirk before he finally gives in and pushes in slowly, inch by aching inch. The stretch makes you clench around him, your nails biting into his shoulders, and the whole world narrows to the way he fills you. He hisses low through his teeth as he bottoms out, staying still, holding you there, watching your face.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You feel like heaven.”

He draws out slowly, then pushes back in, harder. It’s too deep. Too perfect. Every thrust after that is sharper, slower than you expect, like he’s taking his time torturing you.

You throw your head back with a gasp, back arching, legs tightening around his waist.

“Jake—oh my god—”

“You like that?” he pants, hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, lazy circles. “You’re squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. Like your body knows who it belongs to.”

You whimper, breath breaking, and he speeds up just enough to make you ache for more.

But when you get close, when your stomach starts to tighten, when you’re seconds from slipping over, he pulls back. Stops just short.

You groan, frustrated, hips chasing him.

“Jake,” you plead. “Don’t stop—why’d you—”

“Not yet,” he grits, voice dark. “I want you to feel it. I want you begging.”

“I’m already begging.”

“Not enough.”

He pulls you off the counter, turns you around, and bends you over it before you can even catch your breath. He slides back into you from behind in one smooth stroke and doesn’t wait, he fucks you harder now, rougher, slamming into you with a rhythm that has your thighs shaking and your sounds turning into straight-up whimpers.

The angle’s too much. It hits something devastating inside you, and your body starts to tremble.

“Jake, I—I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he pants. “Take it.”

You feel the pressure building again, stronger this time, wave after wave coiling low in your stomach as he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back just enough to whisper into your ear.

“You gonna cum for me now?” he growls. “You gonna fall apart on my cock like a good girl?”

You nod frantically, moaning his name like it’s the only word you know.

He doesn’t ease up, one hand gripping your hip, the other still circling your clit, faster now, relentless. The heat crashes through your spine and wraps around your nerves like a fuse lit to explode.

And then it does.

You cum hard—so hard your knees buckle and your mouth opens in a silent scream. You clamp down around him, shaking uncontrollably as the orgasm crashes through you like a goddamn tidal wave. You don’t even realize you’re crying out until he grabs your hips and curses behind you.

“Fuck, you’re milking me—shit—I can’t—”

He drives into you once, twice, then stills, spilling inside you with a deep groan, fingers digging into your hips so hard you’ll probably bruise.

The moment hangs in the air like a heartbeat held too long.

He leans over your back, breathing heavy, forehead resting between your shoulder blades.

Neither of you moves. Your skin is slick with sweat, your legs weak, your body still twitching in the aftershocks.

He pulls out slowly, almost reluctantly, and you turn to face him, your expression unreadable.

Jake doesn’t say anything. He just brushes a strand of hair from your face, then leans in, slow, deliberate and kisses your forehead.

A quiet, final thing.

You both know this was it.

Not a beginning. Not a promise.

Just a night burned into memory.

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