synopsis: after catching sight of the woman of his dreams at a mutual’s function, jungwon can’t seem to leave her alone. his persistence is unrelenting, and while the outcome he strives for seems unlikely, he never seems to be fully rejected either. there may be a very, very slim chance that this girl harbors feelings as well, whether she likes it or not.
STARRING: jungwon x y/n
alongside: kendall of girlset, keeho of p1harmony, juhoon of cortis, stella of hearts2hearts, yunjin of le sserafim, and all of enhypen!
CW! kys/kms jokes, swearing, tba
THIS IS A FULLY SFW WORK OF FICTION. IDOLS PORTRAYED IN THIS ARE SOLELY FOR CHARACTER PURPOSE.
chloe speaking! hi guys #firstsmau 🥹 i’m so excited and i’m really happy with how everything is turning out, i hope you enjoyed! also for everything ignore the timestamps pretty pls
synopsis: your father absolutely refuses to give martin his blessing for him to marry you, but fails to consider that martin just might marry you anyway.
word count: 3.0k
info+warnings: inspired by Rude, delinquent!martin, fluff, mild angst?, young marriage, sneaking around, climbing through windows, strict father, defiance, kissing
Martin should have known better than to believe that the man who hated his entire existence would suddenly change his mind.
"You must be out of your damn mind if you think I'd let you marry my daughter."
The words still rang in his ears as he walked away from your porch, the door slamming shut between him and your father's scowling face.
He couldn't blame the man, really. Martin knew what kind of person he was: a teenage delinquent that only gets himself into trouble, and would likely drag you straight into it sooner or later.
He himself still couldn't quite understand what about him had actually managed to win you over initially. You were everything he was not: a rule follower, an academic, someone with a much more promising future than the one Martin possessed. So how you found him to be anything other than a walking red flag was a mystery that kept him up at night.
He remembered the first time you'd spoken to him behind the gym in your second year of high school, his knuckles were bloody and his temper was still running hot. You'd appeared out of nowhere, holding out a crumpled napkin from the cafeteria.
"You're bleeding," you'd said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Not your problem," he'd muttered, trying to brush past you.
But you'd grabbed his wrist before he could fully turn the corner and pressed the napkin into his palm. "Just clean it up," you'd said. "You'll get blood on your shirt."
You then walked away, leaving him standing there with a bloody napkin and a strange feeling in his chest that he'd never quite managed to shake.
Martin had tried to push you away at first. He knew what people said about him: the troublemaker, the burnout, the kid who'd end up in juvie before graduation. He'd heard your father's warnings from across the street, loud enough to carry, "Stay away from that boy, Y/N. He's nothing but trouble."
Despite all of that you kept appearing.
You showed up at the diner where he worked, sitting in his section and ordering coffee you barely touched, just so you could talk to him during his break. You showed up at the auto shop, claiming your car needed an oil change, even though it was perfectly fine. You showed up at his apartment after he got suspended the second time, bringing takeout and a stubborn expression that said you wouldn’t leave under any circumstance.
"Why?" He’d finally asked you, exhausted and confused. "Why do you keep doing this? You know what I am. You've heard what everyone says."
You'd looked at him then, really looked, and said, "I see something they don't."
"What?"
"Someone who's trying."
And that was it. That was the moment Martin knew he was a goner.
It hadn't taken long for your father to work out that you had ignored all his prior warnings, though truly he should have realised it sooner.
You had been staying out much later than before, coming home with an almost lovesick grin. Your father knew you were in love—that wasn't hard to tell. Just in his own mind, the thought of you falling in love with the one boy he had forbidden you from even talking to was a concept so foreign, so utterly incomprehensible, that he simply refused to entertain it.
But the signs were all there. You'd rush through dinner just to get to your room and stare at your phone, waiting for a message whilst also deflecting his questions about your day with vague answers and quick subject changes.
It was only when your father found the crumpled napkin in your laundry with Martin's name scrawled on it in your handwriting, surrounded by tiny hearts, that the truth finally crashed down on him.
He'd confronted you that night, voice shaking with barely contained fury.
"Are you seeing that Martin boy?"
You'd looked at him, and for a moment, he only saw defiance in your gaze. "Yes," you'd said quietly. "I am."
The argument that followed was the worst you'd ever had. Your father had shouted until his voice went hoarse, listing every reason why Martin was wrong for you: his record, his reputation, his lack of prospects. You'd shouted back, defending him with a passion that only made your father angrier.
"He's not who you think he is, Dad. He's trying so hard. He's working two jobs, he's studying for school as best he can, he's—"
"He's a delinquent, Y/N. He's always been a delinquent, and he always will be. I won't let you throw your life away for someone like him."
"He's not a delinquent. He's just... he's just someone who never had anyone believe in him. Until me."
Your father had gone silent at that. Not because he agreed, but because he realised something crucial: you were in too deep. No amount of arguing would change your mind.
So he'd done the only thing he could think of. He'd banned you from seeing Martin, forbade you from leaving the house except for school and work, and took your phone, your laptop, everything that connected you to the outside world.
For a few weeks, it seemed to work. You and Martin had never shared a class at school, so he didn’t need to worry about that. Additionally, with so much surveillance surrounding you, you had practically given up even thinking of trying to find a way around it.
That was until one night a few weeks later when you were laying under the covers of your bed, staring at the ceiling with not a thought on your mind when the sound of something knocking on your window echoed through the room.
You sat up, heart pounding, and stared at the window. The blinds were drawn, but through the slats, you could make out a familiar silhouette you knew all too well crouched on the fire escape.
You scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the blanket tangled around your ankles, and yanked the blinds open. There he was—grinning like an idiot, dirt smudged on his cheek, a small bag of takeout dangling from one hand. He was wearing that worn leather jacket you loved with the torn sleeve he refused to sew back together.
"Hey, princess," he whispered through the glass. "You miss me?"
You fumbled with the lock, pushing the window open as quietly as you could. Cold night air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain and city streets.
"What are you doing here?" You hissed. "My dad could hear you!"
"Your dad's probably knocked out asleep right now." He climbed through the window with practiced ease, landing silently on your bedroom floor.
You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his jacket. "I thought I'd never see you again," you whispered, your voice cracking.
"Hey." He pulled back, cupping your face in his hands. "I told you. Nothing's keeping me away from you. Not your dad, not the cops, not anyone."
"Martin—"
"Three weeks, Y/N. I spent three weeks without you and I was going insane." He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to something raw and vulnerable. "I thought about calling your house, but I knew your dad would just make it worse. I had to wait until I could figure out a way to see you."
"You figured out the fire escape."
"I figured out the fire escape." He grinned, but there was something softer underneath it. "Took me two days to find the right route. Nearly fell off the third-floor landing, but hey—" He shrugged. "Worth it."
You laughed, a wet, shaky sound. "You're insane."
"Only for you." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then pulled back to hold up the takeout bag. "I brought food. Your favourite dumpling place with the spicy sauce you like. Figured you probably haven't been eating much."
You hadn't. The past three weeks had been a blur of forced dinners and silent meals, your father's disapproving gaze boring into you from across the table. You'd lost weight, and Martin had noticed it the moment he climbed through your window.
"You're too good to me," you said.
"Not possible." He set the bag on your desk and pulled you over to sit on the bed. "Now eat. I'll keep watch."
You sat together in the darkness, sharing dumplings and whispered conversations.
"One day," he said, "I'm going to have a real place with a good job and be something your dad can't complain about."
"I don't care about any of that."
"I know." He smiled, but there was something serious in his eyes. "That's why I want to give it to you anyway. You deserve the world, Y/N. I'm going to figure out how to give it to you."
"I just want you," you said softly.
"Good." He leaned in, his lips brushing yours. "Because you've got me. For as long as you want me."
It was reckless and dangerous and every time you heard a floorboard creak, your heart stopped. But as you sat there in the dark, wrapped in Martin's arms, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
Your father never caught the two of you, and gradually he granted you back your privileges, though that also stemmed from your absolute refusal to even look at him until he did so.
A part of you secretly knew that your father had probably worked out you were still seeing Martin. He wasn't stupid—he'd raised you, after all. He knew the stubborn set of your jaw, the defiant glint in your eyes when you were hiding something. He'd seen the way you'd started leaving your window unlocked again, the way you'd come downstairs with pillow creases on your cheek and a sleepy smile that had nothing to do with a good night's rest.
But he never said anything and you remained in this strange stalemate situation for the following couple of years.
It was an unspoken agreement, really. Your father pretended not to notice the faint smell of motor oil that sometimes clung to your clothes in the morning. He pretended not to hear the soft thud of footsteps on the fire escape at midnight. He pretended not to see the way your eyes lit up whenever your phone buzzed. And you, in turn, pretended not to notice the way your father started leaving the back door unlocked, or the way he'd conveniently be in the living room with the TV turned up too loud whenever Martin was climbing the fire escape.
It was a strange kind of peace. Fragile, particularly tenuous. But it was peace nonetheless.
Then, finally, graduation day arrived.
You walked across the stage in your cap and gown, your father watching from the front row with a carefully neutral expression. Martin was a few students behind you, wearing his best clothes underneath the gown that you had bought for his birthday, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face.
After the ceremony, you found him in the parking lot, still in your gown, your diploma clutched in your hands.
"We did it," you said, laughing. "We actually did it."
"We did." He pulled you into his arms, spinning you around. "High school graduates. Can you believe it?"
"I can't believe you didn't drop out."
"Me neither." He set you down, his hands still on your waist. "But I had a good reason to stay."
"And what was that?"
He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "You."
You and Martin had separated before your father emerged between the cars with the promise of seeing each other tomorrow, however you failed to fully notice the strange glint in Martin’s eyes as he parted with you
The next morning, Martin showed up at your door, his hands shaking as he knocked.
You answered, still in your pajamas, your hair a mess. "Martin? What are you—"
"I'm here to ask your father for permission to marry you."
You stared at him for a few seconds. "Now? At eight in the morning?"
"Time's ticking." He tried to smile, but it came out nervous. "I've waited long enough. Three years. I'm not waiting anymore."
Your father appeared behind you, coffee mug in hand. He looked at Martin, then at the suit, then at the determined set of Martin's jaw.
"Y/N, go to your room," he said, his voice flat as you gave Martin a wary look before retreating, "you again."
"Yes, sir." Martin straightened his spine, watching you disappear into the background. "I'm here to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."
Your father set down his coffee mug, and for a long moment he just looked at Martin. "You must be out of your damn mind," he said slowly, "if you think I'd let you marry my daughter."
"Sir, I know I'm not what you wanted for her. I know I've made mistakes. I know I don't have much—"
"You've barely got a diploma, an unsecure job at an auto shop, and a reputation that makes me want to lock my daughter in her room until she's thirty-five."
"I know, sir. But I love her. I've loved her since I was fifteen, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life taking care of her."
"You think that's enough?" Your father's voice was rising. "You think love is enough? You have no future, no prospects, no—"
"I'm going to marry her anyway."
Your father stopped mid-sentence. "What?"
"I said I'm going to marry her anyway." Martin lifted his chin, his voice steady. "With or without your blessing. With or without your approval. I love her, and she loves me, and we're getting married. I'm just sorry you won't be there to see it."
"Get out." Your father's voice was ice. "Get out of my house before I call the cops."
Martin nodded slowly. He'd expected this. He'd prepared for this. It still stung. He turned and walked down the steps, the door slamming behind him.
Five hours later, Martin stood in front of you at the courthouse, him having snuck you out of your room through the very window he had spent years crawling through.
You'd changed into a simple white dress that you had worn a few times in the summer. Martin was in his navy suit from the graduation, his eyes bright with unshed tears.
"Dearly beloved," the officiant droned, "we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."
Martin barely heard the words. He was too busy memorising the way you were looking at him like he was the only person in the world.
"Martin," you whispered, "you're crying."
"Am not."
"You totally are."
"It's allergies."
"You're such a liar."
He laughed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Fine, maybe I'm a little emotional. You're marrying me, Y/N. Me. The guy who couldn't even pass English without your help."
"I think you're pretty great," you said softly. "I always have."
The officiant cleared his throat. "The rings?"
Martin fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the simple silver bands he'd saved up for. He slid one onto your finger—it was a little too big, but you didn't seem to care, you just stared at it like it was the most expensive piece of jewelry in the world.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Martin’s lips were on yours before you could fully process the words.
He kissed you like he was drowning and you were air. He was savouring the reality of this, you in his arms finally calling yourself his. Gradually it deepened, the years of longing and wanting pouring into every second your mouth remained on his.
When he pulled back, you were both breathless and grinning like idiots.
"I love you," he whispered, his voice rough and cracking. "I know I don't say it enough, but I do. I love you more than anything. More than I ever thought I could love anyone."
You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. "I love you too. Even though you're insane."
A wet laugh escaped him, his shoulders shaking. "Especially because I'm insane?"
"Especially then." You smiled, soft and radiant.
He kissed you again, softer this time, because he felt he had all the time in the world, and, really, he did. Nothing else mattered to him except the way your lips moved against his, the way your fingers tangled in his hair, the way your heartbeat matched his own.
When he finally pulled back, he was grinning like an idiot, tears still tracking down his cheeks. "Mrs. Edwards," he said, testing the words. "That has a nice ring to it."
You laughed, bright and beautiful. "Mr. L/N. That would have an even nicer ring to it."
"Hey." He poked your side. "I proposed first, that means you take my name."
"Fine." You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "But only because I love you."
"That's the only reason I need."
The courthouse was small and dingy, the officiant was already shuffling papers, clearly eager to leave, the neon sign outside flickered and buzzed. It wasn't the wedding either of you had dreamed of. There were no flowers, no guests, no white dress with a long train.
But it was yours.
And as Martin pulled you into his arms, his lips pressed against your temple, he knew he'd never regret a single moment of it. "I'm going to give you everything," he whispered against your skin. "I don't have much now, but I will. A home, a future, a life you can be proud of. I promise."
"I already have everything I need," you whispered back. "I have you."
He pulled back, just enough to look at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, his smile shaky, his heart laid bare on his sleeve. "You really mean that?"
"Every word."
He kissed you one last time: deep, slow, full of all the promises he'd spend the rest of his life keeping.
Your father was going to be absolutely livid when he found out, though Martin didn't care.
IN WHICH: martin and yn were complete opposites from the start, different personalities, different friend groups, and completely different aesthetics. but you know what they say, opposites do attract.
previous masterlist next
you almost didn’t go to the party.
you spent way too long adjusting your costume in the mirror, making sure everything looks right while wonhee and yunah keep complaining to you to hurry up.
by the time you arrive, the house is already crowded. music shakes the walls, people are drinking and hooking up at practically every corner.
across the room, you spot martin edwards, no costume, just gray jeans and a leather jacket.
you only really know him through rumors and seeing him around campus. he always looks bored, annoyed, or both.
later that night while trying to get away from the noise, you end up in the kitchen looking for a drink.
he’s there too, of course he is.
neither of you say anything at first.
then you finally speak up.
“you know it’s a halloween party, right?”
martin looks down at his outfit.
“really? I thought everyone just randomly decided to dress up tonight.”
you don’t laugh, but a smile tugs at the corner of your lips before you can turn away to get a drink.
and that’s the first time martin actually looks at you.
right at you.
then looks away.
“cute outfit fluttershy”
you pause, holding onto the soda in your hand. but as you turn back towards him he’s no longer there, like he vanished into thin air almost..
⟡⠀⠀⠀ׅ⠀ 𝑖dol!𝑚artin 𝑥 𝑓em!𝑟eader ❤︎ est. relationship 𓈒 pouty martin 𓈒 fluff 𓈒 little kissing 𓈒 drabble (?)
you adored martin, you really did.
you loved his passion for making music and fashion, it was admirable so no wonder so many people looked up to him.
but what people, namely fans, didn’t know, was that he was a complete hopeless romantic.
he’d go to heights to make his girlfriend happy, it didn’t matter if it was buying you a luxury gift or a snack from a store.
as long as he saw you happy, he was happy.
you’re backstage with his group, cortis, for an award show.
you always show up happy and excited for them, you know they’ll win every award.
but today is different, completely different.
everything was going wrong this morning.
your favorite perfume ran out, the clothes you wanted to wear weren’t clean, it started to rain and your hair got ruined.
you were already pissed at everything and, sadly, everyone, including martin.
he enters the waiting room you’re sitting in and immediately notices your serious expression and crossed arms.
“baby, you’re here!” he grins and goes in for a kiss.
before your lips can touch, you move your head to avoid his kiss.
“y/n?” he looks confused but pulls away in order to give you space.
he doesn’t know the horrors you have suffered since 7:00 am.
“i’m not in the mood, martin,” you say in a monotone voice.
he stares at you for a second before nodding and sitting beside you.
after a couple seconds, you decide to look over at him and oh my god.
he’s pouting.
edwards martin is sulking.
“what?” you ask him, holding in a laugh.
“nothing…” he said quickly and shakes his head.
“martin, what?” you turn your body fully towards him.
“nothing! you what?” he looks away from you, a pout still present on his lips.
“look, i’ve already had a bad day, what is it? why are you sulking?” you throw your hands up.
“you rejected my kiss!” he whines, finally looking at you.
“that’s what it is…?” you narrow your eyes at him.
“yes,” he nods seriously.
you sigh and roll your eyes before pinching the bridge of your nose.
you think for a second before cupping his cheeks and kissing him.
he grins against your lips and puts his hands on your waist.
“are you happy now?” you pull away.
“so so happy, cutie,” he smiles wistfully before hugging your waist and leaning into your side.
he’s so clingy after a kiss.
♡ ̲ׄ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׄ⠀ ⠀choco’s notes : first drabble and a sort of headcanon i have had of martin! i loved writing this, i think it’s so cute! i hope you guys enjoyed it and like the new layout! (๑´`๑)♡
SYNOPSIS: he knows your taste is a little (a lot) bit high maintenance.
CONTENTS: rapper!bf!martin x highmaintenance!fem!reader. readers occupation is never specified, open to your interpretation. short smau! based on poetic justice by kendrick lamar. slight #ihatemybf.
JULES'S NOTES: my most played song of all time, created by the greatest rapper of all time (argue with the wall). dedicated to my babeh @tateholic ❤️. I do have an idea for pt. 2 based on never lose me by flo milli, lmk if you would like to see it! also I know absolutely nothing about nobu I'm just larping.
note: I can't believe down bad is done 🥹🥹🥹 ughh I'm soso sorry for the long wait.. I genuinely have no idea why it took so long, but I'm back on my feet now! anyone peep the jakewon crumbs?
synopsis: martin does nothing but pass notes in class to cure his boredom, soon one day he believes he has found his longtime pen pal. or the one where martin is down bad…
genre: fake texts, one shot au, non!idols, student au, fluff
( PART TWO ──── martin edwards talks too much when he’s sober. unfortunately, he talks even more when he’s drunk. after one party, one argument, and one very public campus update, you’re left wondering whether first impressions were right all along. )
%%. PLAYBOY!MARTIN J. EDWARDS X FEM!READER ( crack, angst ). ft. james, &. niki, &. wonhee.
synopsis: surfer bro jake and his brothers of the decelis fraternity go to playa bowls a lot over summer vacation, but jake seems to develop a crush on a particular cashier…for the rest of the summer he makes it his mission to make her his, even if it means surfer lessons and acai bowl training.
a/n: smiles and waves. This is a long one🤭
masterlist !!
after inviting y/n to his frat's bonfire held that saturday, jake followed up by asking about another training shift. now y/n ran back and forth between serving customers and teaching jake how to prepare a smoothie behind the counter.
"if the recipes are in the back kitchen i dont understand why you can't just leave them out as a cheat-sheet so you never mess up the drinks." jake commented, flipping through the recipe booklet with his plastic gloves.
"because the point is for you to learn. also because management doesn't want customers to see and think we are incompetent." y/n retorted, refilling the bin of frozen pineapple within the fridge.
"ah. are you gonna teach me how to make the summer smoothies now?" jake grinned, pointing towards the new colorful chalk on the menu board.
"absolutely not. i barely even know how to make those." y/n admitted with a laugh.
"oh come on y/n. please?" jake pouted his lips and pleaded to y/n.
with a roll of her eyes, y/n reluctantly nodded, making jake gleefully clap and follow her to the freezer.
"first lets grab all the ingredients! we need yuzu, pitaya, pineapple, coconut milk, coco whip, and collagen." y/n listed off everything in their new pink summer smoothie while jake grabbed all of it.
"now what?" he smiled after setting everything down on the counter.
"hm. great question. now we...." y/n's eyes drifted towards the recipe book hanging off the wall in the back kitchen.
"no y/n...you wouldn't!" jake teased.
"i told you i didnt know the recipe!" y/n threw her hands up in defeat.
"but you also told me the recipe book is off limits!" he retorted. "this is going to be your new challenge, you have to make the smoothie without the recipe and i will judge." he smirked.
"what? you're the one being trained here! why are you judging?" y/n laughed in disbelief.
"consider it an employment evaluation!" jake shrugged.
"wow. i can't believe you're trying to take my job."
"hey i won't have to if you make the smoothie!"
"fine." y/n glared at him and started setting up the blender. she really couldn't remember the exact order of the ingredients, or how much of each, or how to pour it into the cup so that it looked all pink and swirly, but she was determined to prove jake wrong.
as she started combining the pitaya and yuzu base in the blender, jake leaned against the counter grinning and taking off his gloves.
"are you just going to sit and watch me the entire time?" y/n called over her shoulder.
"yup." he nodded.
"naturally."
"are you saying im a distraction? y/n please this is a busy kitchen! you have to learn to work under pressure-" jake teased, gradually becoming more animated.
his teasing would've been more effective if he hadn't accidentally knocked over a jar of spoons in the midst of his whole spiel. but, it made y/n giggle, so jake didnt care about feeling embarrassed as he picked up each individual fallen spoon.
y/n carefully sprinkled teaspoons of each ingredient into the blender, just eyeballing the measurements from memory.
"i can't believe you guys put collagen in these. i didn't know that was edible." jake furrowed his brows, picking up the container of collagen and looking disgusted.
"how else do you explain my light and youthful appearance?"
"natural beauty." jake answered with zero hesitation.
y/n simply rolled her eyes and got back to smoothie-making. she was running out of witty comebacks for his pick-up lines, partially because of how they were gradually beginning to work on her.
jake on the other hand, mentally gave himself a high-five as he noticed y/n remain silent after his comment. he hoped she only kept herself turned away from him to hide her blushing, or something like that.
"noise!" y/n yelled before starting the blender and turning to face jake.
"how's it going?" jake yelled.
"cant hear you sorry!" y/n mouthed, motioning between the blender and her ears.
"HOWS IT GOING?" he yelled again, determined to cut through the noise, y/n simply gave him a confused glance.
"HOWS IT-"
jake started yelling again right when the blender finished, closing his mouth immediately with a defeated look. y/n immediately burst into laughter at his puppy-like appearance.
"that's low y/n." he frowned.
"i dont know what you're talking about." she smiled, pouring the smoothie mixture into a cup. "voila!" she showcased her finished product, awaiting jake's approval.
"i shall now judge your work, madame." jake took the smoothie and examined it up close and far away, twisting his head in all kinds of directions to get a closer look.
"how is this helping the judging process?"
"shh. the master is at work." jake said, deadpanned. y/n watched him with an amused expression. "it is now time for the taste-test."
jake cleared his throat and took a deep breath before taking a sip of the drink through the bright pink straw. his expression remained motionless, which y/n took as a bad sign.
"oh come on, it can't be that bad." y/n pleaded.
"and how would you know that?" jake teased.
"i think you might just not like the smoothie in general- how do you know its my fault?" y/n suggested.
"fair point."
"let me try it and see-" y/n reached to take the smoothie out of his hands but he immediately snatched it away. "hey!"
y/n kept reaching for the drink, but jake kept moving it in the opposite direction, even going as far as to hold it high above his head so that she couldn't reach.
"wow. now that's a low blow." y/n crossed her arms and stared at him, defeated.
"i guess you can't try it." jake shrugged, teasing. y/n took this as a challenge and started jumping up to reach the smoothie, but jake kept quickly putting it in different directions.
as he did this, the two kept getting closer and closer. jake was boxed into a corner, still leaning against the kitchen counter while the distance between their two bodies continued to shrink. throughout the whole exchange, jake's eyes remained fixated on y/n's as she stared at the moving cup.
she hadn't yet noticed his eyes on hers, because she was so focused on getting her smoothie back. after her fourth or fifth failed attempt at jumping up to reach it, her eyes fell on his, prepared to give him some sarcastic remark. instead, she felt frozen.
y/n hadn't realized how close she’d gotten to him, or how jake couldn’t care less about the smoothie and was only paying attention to her.
as they held eye contact, jake slowly lowered the smoothie down onto the counter next to him, but neither of them actually moved. they were frozen in this position, keeping their intense eye contact as they remained too close for comfort.
y/n felt the heat rising in her cheeks, and jake had to bite back a smile as he noticed how shy she'd suddenly become. he cautiously lifted his hand, gently moving to tuck a strand of hair behind y/n's ear. she blushed deeper as he moved, too nervous to break eye contact.
instead of removing his hand, jake merely kept his palm resting along her jaw, his thumb lightly grazing her cheek. she took a deep breath, blinking at him slowly.
the entire moment felt as though it were playing out in slow motion. except for the quickest, almost unnoticeable way jake’s eyes flickered down to her lips. it was so fast, so small, that she almost worried she might’ve imagined the whole thing. until he did it again, holding his gaze on her lips for a second longer this time.
the corner of y/n’s mouth curved into a smile and jake couldn’t help but do the same. without a second thought, y/n’s eyes fluttered closed as she slowly leaned in towards jake. the smile on his lips remained as he began to lean into her as well.
it was almost nothing, a faint brush of lips, light as a feather- if anything- before y/n jumped back, covering her mouth with her hand and looking at the ground.
she couldn’t bring herself to face him. but through her lashes, she could see the concern written all over his face. both the silence and the tension were suddenly incredibly loud.
“y/n i-“ jake sighed before she cut him off.
“you should get going! i think you had enough training for the day.” she turned around to catch her breath, refusing to look back.
jake took a careful step towards her.
“y/n im sorry if i ruined anything i-“
“don’t forget to grab your stuff!” she sputtered, reaching for a cloth to mindlessly scrub against the counter.
jake took one last pleading look at her, trying to decide whether or not to say anything more, before ultimately bolting away wordlessly.
y/n waited to hear the bell on the front door ring before she could let out the breath she was holding.
shit.
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a/n: woahhh...hey people... i hope u guys enjoyed this chapter cause it was super fun to write even tho it was long as shit. also the other day i got playa bowls i hope u know how committed i am to my craft. also brinity in five. those are my clients and they WILL be reuniting in slow motion.
can you write a jake drabble or a mini fic based on shinee's replay😭😭like jake being down bad for 2-3 years older reader
A MAN, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 I’m not a kid
𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Jake is down bad for his older classmate, and it becomes almost too much! PAIRING. younger uni!jake x older uni!reader GENRE. fluff WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing
authors note ୨୧ mwah. im baaack~
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Jake Sim had been lovesick for you since freshman orientation — the kind of soft, stupid, slow-building ache that made even his friends groan when he said your name.
You were an upperclassman.
Older… wiser…
Gentle in a way that felt almost dangerous, and to Jake, you were perfect.
—
He’d sat next to you at every icebreaker your major hosted — pretending it was coincidence, even though he absolutely timed his entrances. He carried your books for you, whenever he could snatch them from your arms.
He scribbled cheesy little notes on your coffees when you visited the café he worked at.
‘Good morning Noona!’
‘Hope you have a lovely day :)’
‘Drink me before 4pm or you’ll be up all night! — Jake ☕︎!
And every time, you’d just smile at him — that warm, mature, soft-as-sunlight smile — and brush him off.
“Oh, Jake, stop it…~”
“That’s cute. I bet the girls love that one.”
“You’re crazy… you’re lucky you’re cute.”
You’d poke his chest, brush his shoulder as you passed, fix his glasses when they slid down his nose.
On the rare days you ate with him between classes, you’d wipe his mouth with a napkin without thinking, murmuring, “Messy boy…”
Jake melted every. single. time.
His friends called him a simp.
A goner.
A man entirely whipped by someone who didn’t even know she had him on her hook.
But, Jake didn’t care… Not when you called him honey, or sweetheart, or love.
“Bro. Jake, (Y/n) call everyone names like that,” the guys told him.
But it didn’t matter — because when you called him those sweet names, Jake felt like he’d just won the lottery, the championship, and your heart all at once.
Everyone else insisted he give it up…
They say that the way you let him walk you home — returning his jacket the next day with the sleeves folded neatly — was just your nature.
They said the way you smiled to yourself when he tripped over his words was just you being polite.
They said the hide-and-seek between you two played between shelves at the library was boredom, passing time…
And that the daily pinky promise you’d make Jake give to walk you home again was just… you being punctual.
And the worst thought of all:
Girls like you — no… women like you —
who wore pretty kitten heels and drank wine at low-lit lounges… didn’t go for boys like Jake, who still stepped on his untied laces and built Legos when he was stressed.
You knew he liked you… Of course you did.
Everyone did.
Who didn’t know Shim Jake was utterly, pathetically, wholeheartedly in love with you?
But lately… you’d been distant.
Softer in your smiles, harder to catch, harder to read.
And Jake… Jake was drowning in the fear that maybe — maybe — all this time
you were only ever being nice.
—
Which is what led to this moment:
Jake standing outside your student share house in the pouring rain, drenched from head to toe.
His flannel clung to his chest, his dark hair plastered to his cheeks… Streams of rain slid down the bridge of his reddened nose, pooling at his jaw, dripping from the flutter of his lashes.
He looked broken. No— Desperate.
A lovesick boy on his last string.
You rushed outside with an umbrella, still barefoot, the cold wind whipping your hair, your bare feet padding against the wet pavement. Your lips parted, breath caught.
“J–Jake?!— What’re you doing? It’s freezing—”
“No! I want you to tell me—” He stepped closer, voice cracking.
“Just… tell me if this is pointless! Please just—”
Your eyes widened, heart climbing into your throat.
Jake heaved out a breath — chest rising and falling, fingers trembling.
“I know you think I’m young… and silly… but— but I—”
He scrubbed his hands through his soaked hair, choking on frustration.
“God, (Y/n), I like you.”
His voice shook.
“I like you so much it feels like—”
He searched the air like the words were hiding behind the raindrops.
“It feels like I’m sick inside.”
Lightning cracked somewhere in the distance, and Jake’s voice dropped, raw and trembling.
“I’m trying… I’ve been trying to be older. To be the kind of guy you like. I changed my clothes, I’ve been trying to read those romance novels you talk about— I— I’m trying so hard.”
You stared at him, throat tightening.
“I just need to know,” he whispered, “that you’re not… just being nice.”
“That you’re not sparing my feelings because you think I can’t handle it.”
He didn’t even notice the rain had stopped hitting him — because you’d stepped down the last step, holding the umbrella above both of you, and close enough that he could see his reflection in your eyes.
“Jake…” your voice was barely a breath.
He blinked hard, eyes glossy.
“Because I am a man,” he whispered.
“I’m not a kid, (Y/n). I’m a man who’s— who’s in love… with an incredible woman.”
And that was it…
Your heart finally cracked open.
You grabbed him by the collar of his soaked, oatmeal-colored flannel and pulled him down into a kiss — warm, soft, sweet, a rush of breath and rain and pent-up longing.
The umbrella slipped from your hands, and it clattered to the pavement but neither of you noticed.
You broke the kiss only when Jake gasped, stunned.
“I like you too, Jake,” you breathed, brushing your thumb over his cheek.
“Stop blabbering.”
Your laugh, soft and warm, sent a shiver down his spine.
Jake blinked, then he smiled — slow, disbelieving, boyish and breathtaking — and kissed you again, deeper, firmer, holding your waist like he’d dreamt of doing for two long years.
The rain kept falling.
But Jake… Jake felt like he was finally, blissfully, impossibly…home.
