Giyuu literally wrote to Urokodaki "i did smth illegal as a demon slayer and as a hashira but i ll send said illegal thing to you so that you can be part of it AND risk your life for it as a demon slayer and as a hashira" and Urokodaki just wrote back "bet"
Like Giyuu had his doubts about himself and all that depressed shit but him and Urokodaki were like this 🤞🏻
for your entire life, it's been easy to disregard your father and his beliefs about the ocean and it's creatures. mermaids? ha! those have never existed. but as always, father knows best.
info. merfolk!yang jungwon x reader, cursing, drinking/drug use, vomiting, brief violence (jungwon scratches reader accidentally), like one suicide/drowing joke, SEX!!! (mermaid and human), cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, dubcon-ish (brief manipulation of readers mind), blood play, jungwon goes into heat because of the moon, reader has some pubic hair because she's grown, dry humping, lots of spit because it's me, both of them are sexy losers, diary of a wimpy kid mentioned, mostly edited (if you see a typo, mind your business).
length. 30.6k words.
reblogs appreciated! <3
When you were a little girl, hands still soft and eyes wide, your father told you stories of the sea. Its dangers. Its powers. Its beauty, and its mystery.
These were stories of gods and monsters who resided deep beneath the ocean waves. They were creatures responsible for great disasters and tremendous adventures. He warned you of the sea dragons, that were wise and mischievous—they ruled the sea and were not to be crossed. He warned you of Charybdis, who resided in deep waters and showed no mercy to its victims. However, none of these fascinated you, even at your young age. They were just myths. Stories. Legends. Small tales that helped make sense of a senseless world.
However, your father never let you speak that way about sirens.
He loathed them. He said that they were the biggest nuisance of the sea, always scheming and always intervening. Killing. Murdering. And all while singing their song.
He claims to have seen one once, but he can’t remember much about it. From the little he can recall, and a story you’ve heard maybe a million times before, he says that when he was a young man, he was stationed as a crew hand as many young men at that age are in your small coastal town. And late one night, when half of the crew was asleep and the other half stayed awake, drunk, blubbering on the deck, a piercing note glided through the air. He said it started like a whisper, a sweet lullaby. However, it grew. He still claims to remember how the song crescendoed into a primal lust, one that left him craving the taste of death and salt. When he woke up, the sun was barely cresting over the horizon, and his ears were bleeding.
He was one of the few spared that night.
Although your father has long since left the sea behind, retiring in a small house further inland, he still warns you to never walk along the shore at night. The sirens are beautiful, each and everyone. However, they are lethal. And beauty and death can never coexist peacefully.
But just like the sea dragons and Charybdis, sirens, too, faded into tales of a fictional childhood. You grew, and so did your mind. And just as your frilly socks and toy dolls changed into revealing clothes and drunken parties, your opinions on these stories shifted too. There was no such thing as sirens or merfolk. They were myths. Stories. Tales.
You would never see one for as long as you lived.
—
Puke. It smells like fucking puke.
You hold back Daniela’s hair with one hand, a steely grip on your red solo cup with the other, as she heaves into the sand. You warned her, you really did try.
“Daniela, you can never keep vodka down. We know this,” you say, but she doesn’t listen. She never fucking listens.
Every summer, the kids in your town throw a big beach party, starting at sunset and ending at sunrise. It’s always a big to-do, and you and your friends have been going ever since you were old enough. And like any party with young, drunk adults, something worthy of a good story has to happen.
One year, Jay ran the length of the party butt-ass naked, simply because his friend, Riki, said he wouldn’t. Another year, Jeongyeon and her boyfriend (at the time) had a very public break-up. This year, your friends planned on being the center of attention.
Your friends had made a bet early on, discussing the plan while you all were still at Yunjin’s house, patting glitter onto your eyelids and double-checking your manicures. The plan was to see who could pull the most people in one night, and whoever had the most points by the end of the night, was the winner. A kiss was five points, sex was twenty. Anything in between varied in amount depending on the circumstance and the length of which it occurred. An ambitious plan, however, a little flirtatious fun never hurt anybody. Just like always, Daniela was on a fucking roll.
However, zealous as she was with her bets, she could also be overly ambitious when it came to having a good time. And, well, that often ended like this: puking in the sand at the biggest summer party of the year.
So now you had only kissed three people, and Daniela had kissed four. God knows how many the rest have conquered by now, considering you and Daniela had lost them once you heard someone lugged a keg down to the beach. I mean, seriously. A fucking keg?
“Sorry,” Daniela slurred, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It’s okay,” you sighed, taking a sip of your drink in hopes it would relieve you from the smell, if even for just a second. “I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she huffed, standing up straight. “Do you have a mint?”
You reached into your back pocket, grabbing a spare piece of gum you had stashed before leaving the house. “I only have two more left. Try not to puke anymore before the night’s over.”
She grumbled something that probably would rival an Etsy witch’s hex spell, before popping the mint gum in her mouth. You two stood there for a second, gathering yourselves before you spotted your next target.
Would it be Heeseung? No. He got a girlfriend three months ago and is—allegedly—very loyal to her. Would it be Jake? No. He would never let it go and blow up your DMs. Sunoo? Your dear friend who was always down for a little smooch, especially when he has had about two and a half hard seltzers? Bingo.
“I’ll be back in twenty. If I’m not back, call the Coast Guard,” you joke, not even bothering to look back as you saunter over to Sunoo.
He looks good tonight. Exceptionally good. Like really, really good. His shirt was the perfect amount of tight around the shoulders, and his hair was the perfect amount of styled but relaxed. He looks effortlessly handsome. And knowing how unresistant he is to compliments, you figure it would take you five minutes maximum to butter him up, and then, boom, lips locked, and he becomes lucky number four on your roster for tonight.
Maybe you could convince him to touch your boob—that would have to give you a couple of extra points, right?
However, before you could plant your cute shorty-short covered butt in front of him, Yunjin stumbles into your view. Her shirt is halfway off and her lipstick is smudged, but other than that, she’s fully intact.
“Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell happened to you?!” you gasp, trying to tug the front of her shirt over her boob. Good thing she was wearing a bikini top underneath, but with the way she was fumbling around, a nip slip was bound to happen.
“Gimme eight points,” she demands. Gripping your shoulders like her life depends on it.
Your eyes grow comically wide, the only kind of wide that can be accomplished by drunken surprise. “Why would I do that?”
“I made out with some dude,” she explained, taking a deep breath to sober herself up. “And let him do some other things, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m gonna need a better explanation than that,”
“Whatever,” she groans, shoving you in the opposite direction of Sunoo. “Let’s go take shots and then go swimming. The water is supposed to be nice tonight.”
And soon, the thoughts of shoving your tongue down Sunoo’s throat were consumed by the taste of tequila chased by some slightly sandy lime wedges. It didn’t bother you, though. After your second shot and the warmth spreading across your cheeks, the sand was only a mere memory.
Upon knocking out your last shot, you and your friends began to strip yourselves of your clothes, leaving yourselves in your bathing suits. The water was freezing, but to your warm, sweaty bodies, it was the perfect way to cool down. The sea was tranquil, waves glittering under the stars and the moon. The moon was full, as if a god carved out a pale space in the inky sky, and it illuminated the night perfectly. If you were any more sober, you’d perhaps be a bit more curious as to why it was so bright. Too bad you weren’t, though.
Amongst the squeals and splashing, you found your mind growing very calm. Peaceful. Quiet. The salt breeze tickled your face, as your hair floated in the water around you. You dunk your face under the cold water, waking yourself up slightly. Upon resurfacing and blinking away the brine, you spot a rocky jetty. Has that always been there? Certainly, it must’ve been. A whole row of rocks doesn’t just appear out of nowhere.
However, amidst the confusion, it seems to be calling your name. It isn’t enticing you with liquor or extra points in your game like everything else has interested you tonight. Instead, it seems like it has a secret it wants to share with you. Only you.
“I wanna chicken fight,” Yunjin declares, grabbing someone to be her partner. “Do you wanna duel?” she asks you.
You shake your head, eyes remaining on the jetty that stands darker than the night sky. “No, you guys go ahead. I want to go check out that jetty real quick. I’ll join in on the next round.”
Yunjin shrugs, climbing on Daniela’s shoulders as she bellows some self-proclaimed war cry. You swim over to the jetty, the current guiding you. Wedging your foot on the flattest rock you could find, you hoist yourself onto the ledge, propelling yourself onto the jetty. Your bottom smacks against the wet rock, droplets of moon-filled water decorating your thighs as you stand and regain your footing. You begin to stagger slowly along the jetty, careful to watch your step in your inebriated state.
You may be drunk, but you certainly aren’t stupid.
The pale moon lights your path, warning you against stepping on jagged stones or sharp barnacles that could cut your feet, and highlighting flat rocks that weren’t too slippery from the salty sea. The cool air suddenly grows warmer, but you’re not sure when you begin to feel the change in temperature or if it could be blamed on anything other than the few shots of tequila coursing through your veins. After what feels like hours of wandering—which has probably, realistically, only been about five minutes—you sit back down on a ledge, shifting around to get yourself comfortable as you dip your feet into the water.
You look down, watching your feet against the deep darkness of the ocean, mesmerized by the little swirls that follow your toes. However, just as you’re captivated by the little currents you’re creating, you fail to recognize the other currents being created around you.
Head drooped low and eyes fixated, it isn’t until you hear a loud splash do you look up.
“Yunjin?” you call out.
The ocean is vast and empty; only the glittering waves keep you company. They’re so pretty, you think. They’re so pretty that you wish someone would write a song about them.
Then, another splash. You don’t just hear it this time, but you see it too. A small flicker of something shiny pierces through the water, before smacking down aggressively, foam and salt spraying in all directions. You’re not sure what it was. It was far enough away that you couldn’t make out any details, and the fact that your world is currently functioning at an aggressive tilt does not help by any means.
However, your mind rapidly comes up with the highest possible conclusion: shark.
You tug your feet out of the water, pleading to the gods that you won’t become the first dead girl in your rendition of Jaws. But yet, unlike any sane person, you remain seated. You know, just in case it actually is a shark and you can end the night by claiming that you saw one. Maybe you can lie and say that it tried to take a nibble out of you. That would certainly have to gain you some points, right? And if not by your friends, certainly other people attending this party would remember you as the girl who fought off a shark all by herself?
Not a bad way to be remembered—especially this early in your life.
However, it’s been two minutes. The water has stilled. There is no shark.
You’re still tense. Slightly afraid to move, and eyes transfixed on the glittering water. You kind of want to jump in again. You know you shouldn’t, of course. There could be a fucking shark just waiting for you to jump in so it can have you as a midnight snack. However, despite all of these red flags flashing through your mind, it seems as if the water is calling your name. It’s calling your name in a sweet, melodic voice. Almost like a little hum. A lullaby.
If you were in the right mind, you would be able to acknowledge that the this song you hear isn’t a figment of your imagination, but rather a voice. A note rings out, graceful and warm. And because it blends in with the low rumble of the ocean, and you’re currently battling with your alcohol induced brain, it’s easy to disregard the danger that harmonizes softly with the waves. Because at the end of the day, a measly shark fears this tune just as you should too.
But you’re drunk, and you’re naive. What could a human possibly know about the wonders of the deep blue?
Just as your eyes stay glued to the water, you feel something take a hold of your ankle.
This is it, you think. It’s the fucking shark.
You yelp and push yourself backwards, flinging yourself as far as you can. You don’t make it too far before realizing it’s just a hand. However, that hand hasn’t let go of your ankle, and keeps your foot in place with a strength that your mind is incapable of registering at this moment. All you know is that your foot and that stubborn grip remain.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you huff, wiping your hands down your face as you snap yourself out of whatever trance the water put you into. The song you’ve been hearing is cut into two, an eerie silence following. You think you might’ve just fallen asleep for a second there. “You scared the shit out of me.”
You giggle as you look down to see who has taken a hold of your ankle, half expecting it to be Daniela or maybe even Sunoo. However, a different pair of eyes stare back at you, and they are ones you wouldn’t say you’re very well acquainted with.
In fact, you’re not at all acquainted with these eyes. Actually, you don’t know who the fuck this is.
“Um, hello?”
The young man just stares, eyes wide and round and bewildered. He looks almost as surprised as you, if not more. He pushes away from the rock a bit, his fingers sliding down the top of your foot as he submerges his mouth into the water. It’s almost as if he’s embarrassed that he scared you.
Almost.
“Bro, you scared me so fucking bad. I almost shit myself,” you chuckle, finally letting yourself relax. “I thought you were one of my friends.”
He blinks, slow and curious like an animal. But then, he lifts his head to show two pink lips, pursed like he’s guarding a secret. “Sorry,” he says, in a voice so gentle and sweet you swear stars twinkle in response.
Suddenly feeling shy, you shrug and smile coyly. “It’s okay. It was kinda funny.”
“Funny?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. A strand of wet hair falls across his forehead, a dark streak against pale skin.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Like, you know, funny. Ha-ha.”
He nods slowly, mimicking your movement before he smiles softly. It seems like he was genuinely confused. “Yeah. Funny.”
He’s kind of shy, you decide. When you’re drunk, you’re as social as can be so this just cannot do. But lucky for him, and especially lucky for you, you can keep the ball rolling.
“Are you from here?” you inquire, scooting closer to the edge. “I haven’t seen you before.”
The young man swims closer, his hand finding your ankle again but you don’t seem to mind. His grip is gentle, comforting. Besides, he’s kinda hot.
“No.”
“Oh?” you hum, peering down at him. He brushes his thumb over the bone, and it almost lulls you to sleep. Whoever this guy is, you like him. “Where are you from?”
He sighs, light and serene like a morning sea breeze. “Not from here,” he replies, a voice so sweet even birds would stop to listen.
You roll your eyes, giggling a little. “Well, duh. But where-”
“Do you want to go swimming?”
Your brain freezes for a second, fog consuming your mind. A warmth fills your body, different from the buzzing warmth of the alcohol—this is sharp, arousing. And you can’t deny it, he’s attractive. You very well could just be turned on, but something whispering in the back of your mind tells you it’s not. It’s more primal, animalistic. Dangerous. Although a part of you is pleading you to not get into the water, reasoning with the fact that he’s a stranger, you can feel yourself burning up from the inside out.
The song starts once more.
He strokes your ankle again. “Please?” he says, voice softer than a lamb’s.
You feel yourself helplessly nodding, submerging your other foot in the water. He begins to help you in, before you remember what—you suspect—was in the water only a few feet behind him.
“Wait,” you stop. “I saw something earlier. It might’ve been a shark. You should come out.”
He looks at you, stunned. The song stops. You might as well have spoken a language no one has ever documented. His head cocks sidewise, like a dog hearing a high whistle.
“There is no shark,” he insists, ceasing any kind of movement.
You shake your head, feeling as if you’re rediscovering that there’s more around you than this mystery man. “No, I swear I saw something earlier. You didn’t see anything?”
He just stares at you, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. Would he fucking pull it together?
“I’m not fucking joking, dude. You should get out,” you berate, panic beginning to creep under your skin.
But he just remains still, shock painting his face from top to bottom. His grip on your ankle stays, but that fuzzy warmth you once felt is ripped away and replaced with freezing sobriety. You’re still frantically searching the water, anticipating a sight of a gnarly fin or menacing jaws to pop out of the water at any second. And although you’d love to have a crazy story to tell, you’re not sure if witnessing ‘death by shark’ is a tale you want to relay. You don’t even know this guy’s name. What would you tell the coast guard? The police? But the water is dark, darker than before. All that stares back at you is a pit of tar, motionless and waiting. Have the stars always been this dim?
“It’s okay,” he eventually says, stroking your ankle in a tantalizing pattern. “It’s safe. I promise.”
“I’m not playing, bro. Get out of the-”
Now. You’re sure fireball and vodka don’t mix well, but you’re not too sure that it’s supposed to make you hallucinate. However, that’s the only way you can explain what you’re seeing right now. Just between your leg and the young man’s torso, you spot movement.
It’s not vicious or menancing—nothing like an animal about to attack. Instead, it’s relaxed. If anything, it moves a bit seductively. The movement is unified, nothing like legs. It’s unified like a tail. You follow the movement upwards, watching it blend into the young man’s hips and torso. It’s his.
You hope deeply that it’s not a part of him, but the voice of your father, blaringly loud in the back of your head, rings true. These so-called mythical creatures are true. It also just so happens that the man in front of you, with eyes as dark as midnight and lips as pink as a sunset, is no man at all.
He’s a fucking siren.
You scream bloody fucking murder, and he jumps.
“Wait-” he begins, but you’ll hear none of it.
Kicking and trashing, praying to whatever god that someone will hear you and come to your rescue, you try to fight him off. Water sprays in every direction, salt stinging your eyes and disrupting the once tranquil ocean. Somewhere in your trashing, you kick him square in the face. He lets go of your ankle, hands flying towards his eye, nails slicing through the skin of your calf somewhere in the process. However, you’re too focused on trying to get away to even realize that the scratch was an accident.
“Help! Fuck, he’s trying to eat me!” you yelp, stumbling to your feet.
You eventually stand upright, the young man groaning before submerging himself back into the water. However, you waste no time trying to decipher if he’s following you or trying to rally some more of his (supposed) little siren friends. Instead, you bolt.
Holding your tits steady in your bikini top, you scamper off of the jetty and towards the sandy beach. It’s a miracle you don’t slip on any of the wet rocks, that certainly would’ve been a prime moment for him to snatch you up and eat you. But you hold your own, feet landing onto the soft sand as you sprint over to the crowd.
You’ve never been more thankful to see another human being in your life.
Lungs burning and eyes watering, you spot Daniela, who emerges from the crowd like your knight in shining armor. Yunjin and Lara follow, as well as a few other of your friends. Hair still damp from playing in the water, but other than that, unscathed.
You collapse into Daniela’s arms, chest cramping from lack of oxygen. If you could catch your breath, you would cry. But after such a scare, you’re not sure if you can do anything other than heave.
“Where the fuck were you?!” Daniela damn near shrieks, cradling you close to her chest like a baby. “We looked everywhere for you.”
“I-I-I…” you stutter, trying to quiet your pounding heart. “I saw something in the water. I thought it was some guy…”
“What? Like a dead body?” Yunjin asks, concern furrowing her eyebrows.
You shake your head vehemently, finally being able to breathe. “Worse. He was talking to me and he was, like, really hot so I didn’t really think anything of it. But then I was getting all warm and he was trying to get me into the water. But then I looked down and he didn’t have any fucking legs. He had like—I don’t know—a tail? I couldn’t-”
Lara scoffs in disbelief, shaking her head slowly as she narrows her eyes at you. “You’re really drunk.”
You throw your hands down, petulant like a child bubbling with a tantrum. “I’m not lying, Lara!”
“Yo, what the fuck happened to your leg?” Sunoo inquires, pointing towards your calf as he stands near Heeseung.
Daniela spins your shoulders a bit, forcing you to show off the backside of your leg. Sure enough, five red gashes, varying in depth and vibrancy, slowly drip blood down your heel and into the sand. You don’t even remember it happening, memory blocked in a panic. However, maybe it’s the adrenaline or the cleanliness of the cuts, but you hardly even notice them safe for the warmth that dribbles down your shivering skin.
“Are you fucking serious?” Daniela curses, beginning to usher you through the crowd and towards, you presume, your house. “You disappear, without a word, and now you're saying shit about some random dude or whatever? Your dad is going to fucking kill me,”
Yunjin laughs, jogging to keep up with you and Daniela as she storms you across the beach. “I didn’t take you for a runner,” she snickers.
“I’m not a runner!” you argue. “I told you where I was going!”
Daniela stops, as do all of your friends, with an unimpressed look on their faces.
“No, one second you were in the water with us and the next you were gone. We didn’t even hear you leave,” Daniela says, the moon taunting you through the ringlets of her hair.
—
Safe to say, you’re a little scared to go back to the beach.
Daniela was quick to wrap up your little injury, and you were able to brush off your mom’s inquisitive looks during your weekly Sunday brunch with a simple lie. However, you can’t help but feel like something is still out there, waiting for you. Looking for you.
Nearly a week has passed, and every night, you see him. Dark hair, and even darker eyes shaped just like crescent moons that observed your every step. Sometimes, he pulls you into the water and tries to drown you. Sometimes, you two just have a lovely chat. Everytime, you wake up gasping, lungs feeling like they’ve been filled with water and calf tingling despite healing without complication. On one occasion, you woke up standing before your window, hands pressed against the glass like you were trying to wish it away. You asked if Lara could sleep over the next night.
But despite the pounding heart and paranoia, you still feel this pull. Every night, when the moon creeps through your curtains and touches your face, you remember his thumb against your ankle. You can hear the melodic lilt in his voice.
You don’t even know his name or, frankly, what he really is, but you feel drawn to him.
And maybe that’s stupid. Scratch that, it’s definitely stupid. Especially when you remember how you felt as if you had no control over your body at certain points in your conversation with him. But you were drunk! Surely, that wouldn’t ever happen again if you were sober… right?
It’s ridiculous to even be having these thoughts, and to be hoping to catch a glimpse of something splashing in the water as you watch the waves cresting from your porch. But you can’t help but wonder, despite trying your hardest to deprive yourself of that urge.
So in order to fully stick to your rules, you haven’t been going to the beach. In part because you’re afraid of getting attacked again or whatever, and mostly because you’re not sure of what you would do if you saw him again.
It’s embarrassing having to lie to your friends, dodging every attempt of theirs to drag you down to the beach. I picked up a shift at work; my dad wants me to come over for dinner; I forgot to turn in a paper despite the semester ending two weeks ago. They all see right through your lies, and you know it, but they don’t push.
They don’t really know what happened that night, and despite feeling like you remember every detail and explaining your side of the story a million times over, you’re not quite sure if you actually know what you’re talking about. Either way, they don’t push and hope that, eventually, you’ll come around.
Besides, it’s summer! You can’t stay cooped inside for forever!
And they're right, because by the fifth day, you’ve had enough.
You can only binge watch so many episodes of Love Island before the incessant drama begins to rot away your brain. All of the arguing and crying only forces you to think about your own current dilemma. Unable to ignore it any longer, you decide it’s time for you to face your fear.
You step outside, the air still slightly cool from the morning breeze. The sea is calm, glistening in the mid morning sun. The beach is fairly barren, only a few people taking their dogs on a morning stroll. The sun is high in the sky, and you can hear the waves crashing into the sand like a faint whisper from your balcony.
Today is the day. It’s nice out, the sun is shining. Nothing could go wrong.
You trudge down to the beach, walking towards the same jetty where you met that strange… whatever. You face the jetty, hands growing a bit clammy, but other than that, you’re killing this! A few deep breaths, and you have this totally under control! As a matter of fact, you have it so under control, that you decide that you can even walk out to the jetty.
And walk out you do!
The rocks are a little cool, not yet warmed by the afternoon sun. You carefully watch your step, not wanting to slip and fall into the ocean below. The water is calm, only lightly spraying your feet and ankles when a wave abruptly hits the side of the jetty. If you really think about it, the tickle of the seafoam on your legs is like the sea is apologizing for that night… in a way.
See, this isn’t too bad. Nothing to be afraid of.
Maybe you were making shit up—just like your friends suggested. You were pretty drunk, after all. Perhaps, you fell asleep on the jetty and conjured some crazy dream, in which you injured yourself while thrashing around. It certainly wouldn’t exactly explain why the cuts are the perfect size and distance of human—or human-like—fingers. Maybe they’re from teeth? You can’t really remember. But does it really matter?
You’re safe. The water is calm. It’s a nice day, and you’re only a few weeks into your summer break! You should be able to enjoy it.
Things are beginning to look up for you. The five angry lines down your calf are healing, and hopefully, walking out to the exact same spot where you saw this alleged siren-merman- whatever will help with the nightmares and sleepwalking. You’ll finally be able to feel like yourself, and enjoy your summer. Parties, beach trips, and getting drunk with your friends is in your imminent future.
At least until you realize that the same set of slender eyes that you nearly drowned in those days ago is staring back at you, curious and observant through a purple bruise that blooms across his left cheek.
Of course, you scream bloody murder.
It’s just like last time, really, except he doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t try to grab you, nor does he try to eat you. Instead, he flinches and covers his ears and waits for you to stop. The worst he does is give you an annoyed glare, but that’s about it. On the other hand, you fall flat on your ass out of fear, flailing and praying to whatever god that might be listening to let you walk out of this alive.
Eventually, you get a grip and are able to quiet down. Chest heaving and hands trembling, you stare at him, the seat of your shorts soaked with sea water the longer you remain paralyzed on your ass. He continues to stare at you, the bottom half of his face submerges, leaving only his eyes remaining. They never leave yours, and you’ll be damned if yours leave his.
As it turns out, your screaming was pointless. No one comes running to save you, no one asks what’s wrong. You're not even sure if the world blinked at your unease. However, he did.
The young whatever-he-is slowly removes his hands from his ears, swimming a hair closer, hesitant, as he takes his face out of the water. He’s just as handsome as you remember, maybe even more, now that you can see him better in the morning light. Water drips from his chin and his lips are set in a small frown, displeased with your sudden outburst.
“You’re loud,” he mutters, eyes squinting.
Your heart is still pounding, and your toes curl reflexively as he moves closer. You’re not sure. You should’ve probably threatened him—told him you had a knife or something. Maybe even said you told the coast guard about him, and they were ready to come pick him up at any minute. Goodbye, Mister Mystery-Creature!
But, of course, you say no such thing.
“You fucking bit me!” you shriek, suddenly pulling down your bandage to reveal five angry lines, even and deep but healing nonetheless.
He cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows quirking upwards. “I didn’t bite you. You kicked me,” he retorts.
“Because you bit me!”
“I scratched you,” he answers plainly, his hands coming into view as he places them on the jetty, mere inches away from your feet. He makes no move to grab at them and pull you under. “You kicked me, and I scratched you. It was an accident. I’m sorry.”
And this guy, whoever or whatever he is, says all of this like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Plain as day, pure as milk. He’s still looking at you, eyes wide and easy, still rich like a midnight sky but you can see the sun cresting in his irises, and you finally feel your heart calm.
His eyes begin to wander, sliding down your neck and chest, and eventually landing on your legs. He observes the scratch marks, certainly better than they were even just a few days ago, but still a bit irritated. But then his eyes just stay there, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and wonder as his eyes scan up and down the length of your legs. Legs, knees, ankles, feet, toes—and back up.
While he takes his time analyzing you, you look closer at him. He looks… normal. The face of someone about your age. His cheeks are smooth, cheekbones proud. Strands of his hair stick to his forehead, just like they did the night you met him, spelling out something maybe you’ll one day understand. His mouth is pursed in concentration, a whisper of a dimple showing itself next to his pink pout. His eyebrows are dark and straight, and his nose hooks slightly, although you can’t tell from the front. Overall, a very handsome man.
Moving from his face, you can’t really find anything abnormal from what you can see. Well, except for his hands.
His hands are normal, fingers slender and long like a human's, except for the damn near set of acrylics he has. Sharp and clean, just like claws, but also neutral and thinner like human nails. Seeing them in the daylight like this makes you understand why the damage you suffered was so great.
“Damn, dip and tip!” you exclaim, forgetting all about the nearly debilitating fear you felt a moment ago. Swinging your legs under you, you grab his hand in yours, observing his nails up close.
The young man squeaks, a floundering sound that bubbles up from his chest. His hands are even prettier up close, his nails a light shade of pearl as they file into a point, despite not being too long. He doesn’t try to pull away, nor does he try to pull you down under. He remains very still, like a dog waiting to see what you’ve plucked from their fur.
“They’re very sharp,” you say, stating the obvious.
“Yours are… not.”
You chuckle, letting go of his hand when you become seemingly aware of how strange that must’ve been. Not that this is really normal anyway. “What… are you… exactly?”
He tosses his head back, flicking any hair that was stuck to his forehead away from his face. “Same as you, but different,” he responds, resisting his cheek in his palm.
You shake your head incredulously. “You have a tail. We’re very different.”
He shrugs, moving positions so he can rest against a rock—a makeshift seat. You glimpse at his torso, collarbones glistening in the early morning light. You imagine that swimming in salt water all the time would dry out his skin, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. In fact, his skin looks rather smooth. His tail, long and decorated in shades of silver and blue that glisten like a cresting wave when the sunlight hits, stretches out in front of him. It twitches under your stare.
“Depends on what story you hear. Some say sirens, some say merman,” he explains, eyes returning to your face after thoroughly inspecting your legs. “You can say whatever you prefer.”
“And which do you prefer?”
He thinks, long and hard, as his eyes flick upwards to search for the answer. “Jungwon.”
You blink. “The fuck is Jungwon?”
“My name,” he giggles, a sound sweet and friendly like a strawberry dipped in sugar. “Jungwon.”
—
As it turns out, Jungwon is very interesting.
You’re not sure when it became a regular thing for you to see him—it’s not something the two of you ever really discussed—but each day, without fail, you two meet up every morning. Sometimes you two just watch each other in peaceful silence, soaking in every difference and similarity. It’s not every day you run into a siren, and you can imagine Jungwon isn’t seeing humans on the regular either. Unless, he is. You’ll have to ask him.
But because he doesn’t know any humans, other than you—you think—he tends to have a lot of questions.
Jungwon has asked you if it’s hard to control your legs—you assume it’s because there’s two, instead of one like his tail; he’s also asked questions like what do humans eat, what do they do for fun, and why do they swim so weirdly. Of course, you answer to the best of your ability, but sometimes it’s hard to explain. So instead, you show him.
When you told him that humans eat mostly anything they want, he didn’t believe you. But when you brought a bag of goodies for him to try, you barely got a chance to eat the gummies you brought before he devoured them. You told him what you did for fun, and even let him play around with your phone after he dried his hands off. You would’ve entertained him with swimming, but you were still a bit weary of him. The cuts on your leg were still healing, after all.
But despite how eager you were to answer any and all of his questions, you were a bit shy to ask your own.
“What were you doing the night we met?” Jungwon asks, nibbling on a pineapple flavored gummy bear while you lazily scanned a book your father lent you on aquatic folklore. It was a bit difficult to explain your sudden interest to your father, especially after finding it trivial your whole life, but years of pretending to not be drunk in dire situations led you to be quite the actress.
“Excuse me?” you ask, thumbing the page.
Jungwon turns to fully face you, chin resting on his forearms. You wonder if they have hand-held weights wherever he lives—-his biceps are, well, nice.
“Why were you at the beach so late the night we met?” he asks again, lazily tracing the marbled grain of a rock.
You shrug, shoving the book in your bag. Hopefully he didn’t catch the title. “There’s a big party on the beach every summer. I go every year,” you explain, reaching out your palm in hopes that he’ll let you eat the snack that you brought.
“A party?”
You nod as he places a singular gummy bear in your hand. Stingy. “Yeah, like a gathering of people. Where you have fun,”
“I know what a party is,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I just forgot the word.”
“Oh,” you nod. You don’t know why it is surprising to you that he had a lapse of memory, but you sort of just assumed that Jungwon had always spoken and understood your language. “Do you speak something else at home?”
He averts his gaze towards the water, looking over the ripples of waves as the early morning light glints off their crests. Suddenly feeling like you had overstepped, you try to dismiss the question in a flurry of gestures and sour faces.
His eyes trace back towards you, amusement hidden beneath his deep eyes. “Yeah. I don’t talk like how I talk with you back home,” he answers plainly.
You absorb this new information, willing yourself to relax a bit. “What do you speak then?” you wonder.
Jungwon purses his lips, eyes roaming towards the sky as if the answer will be etched into the clouds. “I don’t really think there’s a human equivalent.”
“Why can you talk like me then?” you implore, mind flowing with questions you had been too shy to ask previously.
He smiles, finding your questions endearing. Jungwon wonders if this is how you feel when he asks you questions about humans—warm. Cute.
“I’ve read it on boats, heard it from sailors,” he responds, reaching for the bag of gummy bears. He pushes a green one between two pink lips. “Merfolk are good with sounds. It’s not too hard to learn.” He watches you nod thoughtfully, gears turning many miles a minute. He kind of wishes he could walk through your mind. At least for an hour. “Is it not the same for humans?”
You shake your head, giggling. “No, it takes humans a while to learn new languages,” you say, turning to lay on your side comfortably. “Some can learn in a few years though.”
This baffles Jungwon, that pinch at the top of his nose forming that you have begun to grow acquainted with. “Humans really are stupid.”
You shove his head under the water.
—
Ever since that day with Jungwon, your relationship has become a lot easier. Strange. But easier.
He waits for you like always, sunning himself on the rocks before retreating a little further into the water when you arrive as if he’s shy. Shy of what? You’re not sure. You’d rather him stay sunning himself—you rather enjoy the view. However, it doesn’t take long before he starts to cozy up against the jetty again once you two begin your early morning check ups.
You’ve actually learned a lot about Jungwon these past few days. Not only about him, but about merfolk. Merfolk travel in groups, like orcas or tuna. Usually it’s confined to family, according to Jungwon, but you’re allowed to interact with merfolk outside of your kin. Blushing, he admits that typically one only travels outside of the pack when finding a mate—which you teased him relentlessly about—but there’s no strict rules on not interacting with someone outside of a familial pod. Sort of like interacting with strangers on the street—it’s not that it’s not allowed, it just might be a little strange. That is, of course, unless you’re looking to date or exchange numbers or make out in the back of some dingy bar.
He also explains that it’s hard to know where to locate merfolk. There are some established colonies, but those are in places humans have yet to discover. You could go your whole life without seeing another pod, you suppose. However, many familial pods live further out at sea.
“Why were you so close to the shore that night then?” you ask, doodling on the corner of some magazine you brought to show Jungwon. He took only a slight interest, preferring to learn from you than some paper.
“Lost track of where I was, I guess.”
And that was that. But Jungwon says he has friends and family, and tells you that merfolk are definitely on the higher end of the food chain—so don’t get it twisted!—but he mainly tells you that after you expressed concern that he would get eaten by a shark and you would never see him again.
“Merfolk are smarter than sharks, I’ll be fine,” he dismisses, eyeing your legs like he’s done many times before. You’re not too sure why he hasn’t asked you about them yet. He’s asked you about nearly everything else, besides the obvious.
“But sharks are, like, really fast,” you explain, as if you know better than him. Mind you, the ocean is literally his home.
He eyes you for a second, a teasing glint in his eye surfacing slowly but surely. “Do you want to see me fight a shark?”
You flick him in the forehead, which he whines before he flicks you back. “Don’t be weird.”
Jungwon tells you that merfolk and humans aren’t really supposed to interact. Obviously, there’s been a history of encounters—there’s too many stories for them to be fictional like you once believed—but it’s still frowned upon. Many merfolk have been hurt or exploited, even killed in some instances by humans. You promised Jungwon that you would never do that to him. He believes you.
However, Jungwon never really addresses the elephant in the room. Of course, there are many cultural and behavioral differences. And don’t get it wrong, you enjoy learning about them. They’re fascinating! You would’ve never imagined a whole different world beyond the one you know. Hell, you didn’t even think a world like Jungwon’s existed before you met him! Even then you were in denial. But what you really want to know about are your physical differences.
To be fair, Jungwon is curious about them too. He eyes your legs and feet and toes every time he sees you. He watches your mouth carefully, inspecting the lack of fangs and the lack of webbing between your fingers. It baffles him, and it certainly baffles you. But you know Jungwon. He won’t be the one to ask—he gets shy about these things. So it’s going to have to be you.
Bite the bullet, jump off the cliff, and ask what the hell it’s like having a fish tail.
One morning, when the sun was still low and the sky not yet a bright orange, you decide to ask while Jungwon rests across a rock, lazing about as usual. He’s not really a morning person, something you learn the more and more you two see of each other. Perhaps the excitement has disappeared. Or perhaps, the comfortability has set in.
His tail, a brilliant silver and an even richer shade of cobalt, wades leisurely in the water behind him. You watch his back rise and fall, his eyes shut and mouth in a pink pout from being pressed against his arm. He looks peaceful. Calm. Cute. What better way to ruin it by asking an obnoxious question?
“Can I touch your tail?”
Jungwon’s back stills, his whole body going rigid to the point that you are reminded that he is part animal. He lifts his head slowly, a bright red circle imprinted on his cheek from laying on it for too long. You almost want to laugh, but the look he gives you—wild and confused—makes you think better of it. After the seventh second of straight silence, you decide to back track.
“Or your hands?” What. “Or your teeth?” Worse. “Or just anything that isn’t really human-like for that matter?” What the fuck is wrong with you.
Jungwon is so genuinely stunned that you’re not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. He shakes his head, tiny droplets of water falling from his hair that never seems to fully dry. Jungwon begins to think a crab crawled into his ear because he can not believe what he’s hearing.
“You want to touch my tail?”
He’s making you nervous. “Sorry, was that offensive to ask? I don’t really know how to go about this.”
He’s still quiet, something you’ve never known from Jungwon. Comfortable silence is one thing, and you two quite enjoy existing together in that way. However, once you say something, Jungwon always responds. Not now.
“I just…” you begin, slowing once you notice his gaze.
Jungwon’s eyes are sleek, narrow and lidded as if he’s stalking his next victim. And you’ve never seen Jungwon hunt—you don’t know if he’s good or bad at it—but you imagine this is what it must feel like to be his prey. Tense, shaken, maybe a little bit aroused—you don’t know! You don’t know if fish can feel that way. But you certainly do.
His eyes never leave your face, watching carefully for any abrupt changes. It feels alarming to have him look this intensely at you. Of course, he knows what you look like. He’s seen you plenty. However, you’ve never felt as observed as you do now. Even when he eyes your legs or listens to you blab on about something unimportant, you never felt watched. Except for now.
Suddenly feeling as if all the air in the outside world was sucked up and being sold for a billion dollars—which, of course, you can’t afford—you grow very still. You might as well never breathe again at this rate, especially if he keeps looking at you like that. You need to bring yourself back down to Earth, and hopefully bring him with you too.
“You just always look at my legs, and I know you’re probably curious, so… I don’t know. I thought it could be fun? That sounds stupid. Um, what I mean is that we’re obviously biologically different. And not ‘cause you’re a boy and I’m girl, but because I’m a human and you’re… not. So, I thought, what better way to understand each other more than to explore each other’s bodies?”
You definitely deserve to drown after that shit show.
Jungwon’s mouth parts, and you’re sure it’s to call you a slew of embarrassing names, but instead he says: “You can touch my tail.”
He makes no fuss, only maneuvering himself so he can lay himself on a rock, his tail and fins resting across the jetty. He’s mostly submerged in the water, but this is the closest you’ve been to his tail. It’s actually quite pretty.
“Can I touch you?” he asks, and in any other circumstance, the question would prompt you to joke that he’s some sort of pervert. But when he looks at you like that, eyes shiny and imploring, so gentle and sweet, you’re rendered silent. You almost wish you could take him home with you. You don’t almost wish, you do wish it, but that would be impossible.
“Hell yeah,” you say, beginning to rip off your shorts to reveal your bikini bottoms that you always wear in case you decide today is the day you swim around with Jungwon. Show him a little freestyle or breast stroke! Well, you guess today is the day.
You slide into the small wedge of space next to Jungwon, not quite sitting across from him, but hovering between his fins and torso. Your knee bumps against his waist, murmuring a quick sorry, as he helps guide you into the water. The water is cold, but that’s not why you have goosebumps.
He holds your elbow gently, only letting go once he’s sure you’re steady and comfortable. He looks at you, waiting and expecting, eyes drifting between your own and your hands that hold your legs close to your body.
Unbeknownst to you as to why, but you’re nervous. You’ve never been this close to Jungwon before, and you’ve certainly never seen his body this well.
Usually he keeps himself fairly submerged, the water distorting his tail and creating hypnotizing lines across his chest. If he’s not submerged, he’s laying with his back facing upwards, which, of course, you don’t mind. His back is nice. It’s broad. And very muscular. And defined. Some might even say sexy. But you're beginning to like the idea of seeing his torso too.
He keeps one hand resting on his stomach, the other resting on a rock near your shoulder. He’s really good looking. Really good looking, like, go-to-war-for-that-face good looking. To make matters worse, he’s still looking at your complexion, watching your every move, reassuring himself that you’re not uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to…” he whispers, chuckling slightly. He’s not sure why he whispers, but he feels that if he should speak any louder, this moment between you would be broken. And Jungwon definitely wants to preserve this moment for as long as he can.
“I want to, just,” you sigh, eyes drifting from his tail to his face. He looks at you with such interest that you almost begin to thank the sea for giving you your very own pearl. “I’m shy.”
He giggles, leaning a bit closer to you. “You're shy?”
You nod. “I’m shy.”
He hums again, a sound so melodic you finally understand why you almost dove into the water for him that first night. His smile is sweet and soft as he taps your shoulder mercifully. “Come here,” he says, taking your smaller hand in his. “I’ll do it with you.”
He pulls your hand under the cool water, directing it towards the top of his tail. It’s nothing like you imagined. You pictured it to be a bit rougher—sort of like when you run your hands along those color changing sequin pillows; it’s nothing like that. It’s smoother than you expected, only a small ridge felt whenever you glide your hand upwards along the scales. He stays very still, almost not breathing for the sake of not scaring you off.
Your hand creeps a bit higher, towards his hips and his abs instinctively flex. He hopes you don’t notice, but of course you do. Thank god you’re already in the water or else another kind of wetness would be quite noticeable.
You decide to leave him alone, noticing the curl of his lips that he only gets when he’s a little embarrassed and agree to focus your attention on the fin that rests next to your torso. It’s quite large, certainly larger than your head. The blue becomes lighter, more of a sky blue than the royal blue that stripes along his side, as it fans along the length of his fin. The tips of his fin curl gently inwards, more like a dolphin than the pet goldfish you had growing up. It’s cute.
“You can relax, you know,” you huff a giggle, catching his eyes as he watches your every movement.
Jungwon releases whatever breath he was holding, a nervous laugh following soon after. His hands finding your calf, the same one he scratched weeks ago. He traces the faint scar with his nail, a whisper of a touch that you’re no longer intimidated by.
“Is this okay?” he asks. Of course, you nod.
You two stay like that for awile: in the silence, feeling along each other. His hands glide over your skin, and yours slide along his scales. A new exploration that you’re sure millions would die to experience, and not even because he’s a creature of myths but because he’s so undeniably handsome it kind of makes you wonder if he’s even real.
A slight tug on your pinky toe pulls you out of your admiration, squirming a bit as he tickles your foot unintentionally. “What does this even do?” he says, bringing your foot right in front of his face. “It’s so small.”
“It’s supposed to help with balance or something,” you chuckle. He rotates your ankle in all the ways it can go, mesmerized by the flexibility of a singular joint.
“How? It’s so tiny.”
You fail to suppress a giggle as his finger runs along the sole of your foot, causing your leg to kick out a nearly hit him in the face. He narrowly escapes—another—black eye, wrestling your leg back into the water and pressing it between his ribs and arm, as if it were a sea snake trying to attack him.
“What?”
“It tickles.”
He snorts, eyes carving into sweet crescent moons that shine even under the bright sun. “You don’t see me complaining," he says, a slight snobiness in his voice. Certainly you couldn’t have taught him that.
“I’m sorry,” you reply, insincerely. “Am I hurting you?” you question, a bit more genuine than your previous statement as you readjust the strength with which you were touching his tail.
Jungwon shakes his head, beginning to run his hand up and down your knee, clearly captivated by the jut of bone that protrudes when it bends. “You could never hurt me,” he reassures softly.
“I literally kicked you in the face that one time,” you scoff.
He smiles cutely, his dimples putting on a pretty show just for you. “Better than being slapped with a fin,” he replies, making a face to show you that he’s definitely been slapped by a fin before and it definitely hurt.
The more you know Jungwon, the better his speech becomes. But because Jungwon sometimes doesn’t recognize certain words that you say, you suspect that this is the first time he’s had to learn another language; only to discover that he’s fluent in several languages, some human and some not. Apparently, there are nearly a thousand different merfolk dialects, all of which are easy to pick up for other merfolk.
“Wait, I want to try.”
“You’re not going to be able to understand,” Jungwon says plainly, peeking one eye open as he rests his head on his arms. You guess he also gets sleepy in the morning.
“Try me.”
Jungwon sits up, making room for your legs as you scooch forward and dip your feet into the water. He narrows his eyes at you, their pretty, round shape becoming taunting slits as he contemplates if this is a secret he wants to let you in on.
“Fine,” he sighs, ignoring it when your ankle bumps against his hip, instead wrapping his fingers around it as if to anchor himself.
“I’m actually really smart, Jungwon. I don’t know why you don’t believe me,” you scoff.
He giggles, the sun bouncing off of his eyes and warming them to a thrilling degree. “Maybe because you said swordfish and barracuda’s are basically the same thing,” he explains.
“Key word: basically,” you groan, flicking water at him with your foot. He barely flinches. “C’mon! I want to learn.”
Jungwon sighs, splashing a little bit of water against your leg since he can never let you win before he speaks. Whatever the hell he says, you can’t even begin to guess. It’s a series of clicks, whistles, and purrs—a language so fluid and ancient that it's pointless to try to follow. It pours from his mouth just like a quiet stream, a sound so wise and inviting. It’s a short sentence, whatever it is that he says, and he looks at you expectantly, his eyes wide and shiny just like the early morning waves. He almost looks shy.
You’re breathless.
“Does that mean ‘I want more gummy bears’ or something?” you guess, which causes Jungwon to laugh so loudly you’re afraid your secret might be shared. “Seriously, what does that mean?”
He hums, and you almost think it’s another phrase in his mother tongue before he sends you that cheeky smile. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand,” he smiles.
You want to wipe that dimple off his face. Or better yet, steal it and put it in your pocket. “I hate you,” you groan, wiping your hands down your face in frustration. “Can’t you just tell me?”
He hums again. “I'll tell you when you’re ready.”
—
After a while, the morning schedule grew to be a bit too demanding. You and Jungwon kept falling asleep, often waking up covered in brine and suntanned limbs that weren’t always yours, but welcome nonetheless. However, because of your unexpected slumber, you began to miss the time you spent talking with him. Turns out, Jungwon did too, as he’s the one to suggest that you two meet up later in the day, when the beach goers return home for dinner. You couldn’t have come up with a better plan yourself.
After spending the day in the blazing sun with your friends, shopping in an outdoor mall and spending all of the weekly budget you set aside for yourself, you’re more than happy to jump into the water for a swim in your new bikini.
Jungwon watches you as you leisurely paddle about, ignoring as his eyes burn your skin despite the refreshing water. He pushes off the jetty and glides over to you, his tail trailing behind him much more gracefully than your flailing legs. And it’s not even that you’re a bad swimmer—you’re actually pretty decent—but next to Jungwon, you might as well be a piece of plastic floating next to a sweet little jellyfish.
“Let me help,” he says, reaching for your hands as he begins to notice you growing tired of treading water.
You push him with no real force, trying to swim away playfully as if your muscles aren’t begging for some reprieve. “I can swim fine, thank you,” you insist, kicking water up in hopes of annoying him.
But Jungwon, ever the most patient, doesn’t give in. “I know you can swim fine,” he reassures. “But still, let me help you.”
He doesn’t wait for your response before tugging you towards him by your ankle. You flip on your back, floating helplessly in the water as he holds your foot to his chest. He’s warm, unlike most sea creatures—at least, you assume—letting you feel the steady drum of his heart under the sole of your foot. It picks up slightly when you flash him a breathless smile, but you choose to ignore it for his sake. He can get quite bashful, you’ve begun to learn after the countless times you've caught him staring.
“You caught me,” you sigh, deciding to relax and let him take over. This is his domain after all.
He lightly pulls you towards him, letting go of your foot and instead hooking his arms around your waist. You drape your arms over his broad shoulders, trying your hardest not to think about how sturdy he feels under your palms. The flex of his shoulder muscle was definitely tempting—dare you say delicious—but alas, one must persist!
“I caught you,” he smiles, so close that your noses almost brush. However, it only lasts a brief second before he blushes and turns away, pretending there is something far more interesting on the left of you. You’re sure that the seagull that has been floating a few yards away for the last five minutes is not more captivating than you—if his glances are anything to go by—but you’ll ignore it. For now. “Relax. I got you.”
And relax, you do. Your arms and legs are spent from swimming around. So much for cooling off! Resting your head on Jungwon’s shoulder, you let the water decorating his skin cool the heat bubbling in your face. You hope he’s too absorbed in whatever it is he’s staring at to notice.
It doesn’t matter if he does notice anyway, you think. It’s not like anything would come of it. Seriously, he’s a whole different creature. There’s no world in which that could possibly fly. But for now, you’ll enjoy what you have and make the most of it.
“Is this okay?” you ask, more worried that he’s now holding up your entire bodyweight rather than your proximity to one another.
He nods, tucking his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. You’re sure you smell like the sea, but you’re also sure that he doesn’t mind. He literally lives in the ocean. “I like being close to you,” he says, as if it isn’t the most devastating thing for you to hear. But before you can even open your mouth to ask what he means, he swerves towards a different conversation. “What do you do when you’re not here with me?”
You lean back, now met with those same pair of eyes that consistently sweep you off your feet—literally. Jungwon leans away from you too, eyes flickering back and forth like he can’t decide where he would prefer to focus. It’s cute.
“Depends,” you reply, pushing his wet hair away from his forehead. He attempts to swat your hand away but fails. It’s not like he was really trying either way. “Sometimes I work, sometimes I go to my parents’ house. Most of the time, I’m with my friends if I’m not with you.”
“What are your parents like?”
“My mom’s cool,” you answer. You like when he asks you questions like this. It makes you feel like you can bring a piece of him with you when you leave the beach—almost as if he’s a regular human man and you’re a regular woman, just hanging out with her friend. Friend? Situationship? No. That sounds stupid. “My dad is kind of weird, though. I don’t know if you two would get along.”
Jungwon cocks his head to the side, confused. “Why not?”
You shrug, trying to think of the least creepy way to confess that your dad is very obsessed with sea creatures. “He just is.”
That’ll have to do. Jungwon nods, although he seems unsatisfied.
“What about your parents?”
Jungwon sighs, his fingers tracing swirls along the small of your back. It tickles, but you don’t mind. A funny look crosses his face, as if he’s hiding something from you, but you won’t pry. You like watching him think. Whenever Jungwon is deep in thought, he tends to purse his lips in a perfectly kissable way and look up towards the sky, as if the clouds will sketch out the answer for him. It never works, and he always ends up having to use his brain power instead. It’s still endearing nonetheless.
“My mom and dad are a little afraid of humans,” he admits. “They wouldn’t understand why I like spending time with you so much.”
“Oh,” you nod slowly, digesting this new information. Afraid of humans. “Why?”
“I don’t know how to put it,” he confesses, tugging you a little closer like he’s worried you’ll back away if he says the wrong thing. You begin to draw the same pattern on his shoulder, and that seems to calm him a little if the swish of his tail is anything to go by. “I guess it’s just unfamiliarity. The only times they interact are typically on a full moon, and that’s usually a dangerous time for both of us. I guess I’m lucky that you’re the only human I know.”
You shoot him a bewildered look, one that stops him cold. “Why is it dangerous?”
The swirls on your back stop, and Jungwon’s spine grows rigid, every bit the animal side of him you’re very well aware of whenever he asserts his strength over you or you catch sight of the gills on his side. “Let’s talk about something else.”
You nod, looking away from his suddenly stoic expression. Dangerous? You can understand why humans and merfolk don’t interact much for a series of reasons—fishing, poaching, oil spills… Besides, you’re not too sure humans would be all too kind to merfolk if they were to spot one in broad daylight. However, during the full moon? Why hadn’t he mentioned that to you before? It has been nearly a month since you’ve known Jungwon, and you’ve seen him nearly every day since that fateful night—safe for maybe twice when you caught a bizarre summer flu. Would he have told you if it weren’t for this conversation?
“What do you like to do with your friends?” he asks, trying to catch your eyes.
You flinch, suddenly scaring yourself with all of the possibilities of what his previous statement might mean. But when you look into his eyes, deeper than twilight, you know that he would never hurt you. Sure, he’s stronger. He’s faster. His nails are kind of sharp, and some of his teeth file into a point. However, he’s always been gentle with you. Soft spoken and kind. The sweetest out of anyone or anything you’ve ever met. And suddenly, you feel like crying for ever doubting Jungwon’s care for you. He always remembers everything you say, and asks questions the best he can, even if he doesn’t understand. He listens like it’s his lifeline, his duty, and watches you closely to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or aren’t growing tired of spending time with him. You think he might be the nicest person you’ve ever met, despite giving you that scar on your calf. But it’s something to remember him by; it’s a piece of him you can take with you. You know him, and he sure as hell knows you.
Reaching upwards, you delicately trace the underside of his jaw. His eyes widen slightly, shocked by your bold movement, but he melts into it as if he can’t help it. You wish you could watch him melt over and over again. He leans into your hand, chasing the touch and sighs, an airy sound that you would totally make fun of him for if you weren’t also completely invested in this moment.
“Talk. Just like we do,” you answer simply, poking the small freckle on the side of his chin.
He smiles softly, holding you even tighter if possible. “I hope you don’t talk with them exactly like how we talk,” he huffs, pouting.
God, you could kiss it off. Focus!
“Not exactly,” you reassure, allowing your eyes to wander to his mouth for a split second. You hope the triangle method hasn’t also infected the seven seas, and that the merfolk when Jungwon comes from are unaware of what it could mean. “We go out to eat, go to parties… sleepovers,” you sigh. “I like spending time with you more, though.”
Jungwon hopes you can’t notice, but he thinks his heart just skipped a beat before slamming against his ribcage. “Really?” he wonders.
You nod shyly, entranced by every small curve and line of his face. Jungwon follows your lead, examining every detail that makes you whole, and pretending as if he hasn’t been discreetly doing that the entire time.
One thing about you is that you’re usually always very composed. Very focused. He never watches your eyes wander, whereas he can’t seem to stop looking at you. He loves watching the way your lips form when you talk, when you smile, and he loves watching you think and nap and swim—despite it looking kind of funny to him—and how you breathe. Nothing you could do would be boring to him. You’re always interesting. He wonders how you do it.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks abruptly, as if he doesn’t see you every day.
You look at him, almost solemn. Tracing his jaw again, you allow yourself to relish in the comfort of him before you burst this little bubble you two have created for yourselves.
“I’m out all day, and then the girls are coming over to mine,” you groan, almost annoyed at the fact that you do have a life outside of swimming and lazing around with Jungwon. “Yunjin’s cousin Chaewon broke up with her partner finally, and we’re going to get drunk to celebrate her leaving that awful man.”
“Drunk?”
“That funny way I was acting when we first met,” you explain, now gliding your finger tips across his collarbone. It’s so dainty. You wonder how someone that strong could also seem so delicate. “It happens when you drink something called alcohol.”
He nods slowly, downtrodden. You can tell he’s upset that he won’t be able to see you tomorrow, and he knows that you can tell too. It’s not often that you two skip a day from seeing each other.
You hug him closer, tucking yourself into the crook of his neck. Jungwon hugs you back, his arm wrapping around your waist as his other arm cradles your head against him. You could so easily kiss his neck if you wanted. It’s right there, and your lips are practically pressed against it. But you can’t, and you won’t.
Pulling away, you point to your house—white with the porch and baby blue shutters—that sits in a row of houses that look down on the beach from their cliffside perch. He follows your finger, nearly pressing his cheek to yours to make sure he’s following the correct eyeline.
“That’s my house. Just look over there if you ever miss me, okay?” you tell him. He stares at your house for a good while, memorizing its shape and the houses neighboring yours.
“Okay,” he nods, looking to you once he feels it’s been sufficiently ingrained in his mind. “Maybe I’ll show up for this ‘break-up’ celebration.”
You snort. “As if.”
—
You hate to admit it, but you’re kind of having fun right now.
Everyone’s on their second glass of wine, snacks and candy thrown across your coffee table to fuel the gossip of tonight’s gathering. Your friends are all screaming and giggling, cozily lounging about in their pajamas. And you hate to admit it, you really do, but you’re having a blast.
Of course, you missed seeing Jungwon today. You had a comically horrible shift at your job today that you would’ve loved to tell him about, but there’s always tomorrow! Maybe you have grown a little too attached to him. Although you’ve seen your friends heaps of times over this summer, your mind has always been somewhere else—somewhere where Jungwon is present.
But now, as Chaewon explains how she found her ex’s Tinder profile and how she confronted him, you’re okay with Jungwon taking a back seat for now. You have your girls. They have you. All is well.
“And then, when I confronted him about it, this motherfucker had the audacity to blame it on me!” Chaewon all but shrieks as she slams her hands down on your coffee table, rattling the array of wine glasses you snagged from the back of your cupboard. All of you gasp, shoveling popcorn and sour gummies into your mouths as you lean in, fully invested. “He tried to tell me that if I listened to him more whenever he talked about his dumb fucking video games, then he wouldn’t have cheated. Bitch, if you had given me better head, maybe I would’ve been more inclined to listen!”
Lara howls with laughter, as Yunjin and Daniela run a lap around your living room to calm themselves down. You damn near choke on your wine, letting the rosé warm your cheeks. You’re happy.
But you’re even happier to hear the doorbell ring for pizza.
“Fucking finally!” Yunjin exclaims, reclaiming her spot on your couch next to her cousin. “I’m starving.”
“Thank fuck—they got here early,” you say, not even bothering to check the Uber Eats status on your phone. You hop up from your spot on the rug, shuffling down the hallway towards your front door. Peaking into the bathroom, stationed right next to the door, you check to make sure you don’t look too flustered—just in case this is someone you remember from high school and want to impress for some reason. After deciding your hair looks voluminous and your tits sit great in your tank top, you decide you’re certainly presentable enough to face this pizza delivery man.
However, upon opening the door, you realize that there is no pizza delivery man. In fact, there isn’t even a pizza.
You recognize his eyes first. Hell, you’d recognize those eyes out of a billion. You could’ve been blinded by the sun, scorched by acid, and hit by a car before you wouldn’t be able to recognize them. However, caught off guard by being face to face with a pair of eyes you’re familiar with, it takes your brain a few seconds to register one very crucial factor: you’ve never seen these eyes other than at the beach.
You aren’t at the beach. You’re at your house.
Not only are you at your house, but your house is up a hill. One needs legs to walk up a hill, or anything for that matter. So why would these pair of eyes, one that you’re both very elated and very confused to see, be at your front door step? Oh, only for one reason of course!
Jungwon has sprung fucking legs.
“Hi,” he smiles shyly.
A bodily reaction that one could only describe as both becoming a human rocket and rigor mortis occurs within you all at once. Your body shakes so violently that you’ve gone still. You’re practically frozen. Mouth opening and closing rather quickly, you struggle to find the words you need to be able to articulate how you feel in this very moment. Jungwon seems pleased. He even has the nerve to giggle a little bit as he watches your brain work over time.
Part of you wants to think you were roofied. Why would you have been roofied? You don’t know, not that there is ever a justifiable reason to be roofied. But maybe your friends slipped something to you that you didn’t second guess enough—maybe an edible? Yes. It has to be an edible. Why else would you be picturing Jungwon on your front step with fucking legs? Did you seriously miss him that bad? How pathetic!
But when Yunjin shouts for you to hurry up with the pizza, you realize this is no bad trip and this is no hallucination. Jungwon is here—at your front door—with legs. And he’s fucking naked.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” you scream, all of the neurons in your brain suddenly firing all at once.
Jungwon yelps as you tug him inside, stumbling over his feet—feet that you’re not entirely sure he knows how to work yet—as you shove him into your bathroom. Slamming the door shut behind him, you run to your bedroom, ignoring the concerned looks of your friends as you nearly wipe out while turning the corner.
Shuffling through your drawers and closet, you eventually find a pair of sweatpants that you snagged from an ex-boyfriend and a top that you’re sure your dad gave to you as a sleep shirt if the sheer enormity of it is enough to go by. Hopefully, it’ll fit Jungwon. Although, it seems that he has absolutely no problem with being in the fucking nude.
Wait. He was naked.
You were so surprised to see him that you barely had a chance to recognize the severity of the situation. Not only could your neighbors have seen some random man—although not random to you—standing on your front porch, but they might have seen him butt-fucking-naked. Thankfully, he had the decency to not fully expose himself. At least, you think.
You rush back to the front bathroom before any of your friends can catch onto the problem at hand. You fling the door open, Jungwon practically plastered against the wall as he looks at you and the clothes in your hands. Glancing towards the ceiling in hopes of giving him some privacy, you offer him the clothes.
“I don’t really have anything else for you to wear, and you can’t be fucking naked in front of me,” you say.
Jungwon just stares at the clothes, confused. You shake your hands aggressively, and he eventually takes it, trying his best to figure out how to put the clothes on.
Jungwon tries to stick his foot through one of the holes, but he ends up losing his balance and nearly crashing to the floor. You manage to catch his arm and tug him up straight, but not before he knocks over a soap bottle and a couple of decorative items on the bathroom sink.
“Shh!” you hush, accidentally glancing down in attempts to see if he had hurt himself at all. But upon catching a glimpse of the skin on his thigh, your eyes shoot straight back upwards. “My friends will hear you.”
Eventually, he does okay with the pants, only stumbling a few times. He finds his balance by gripping the sink counter and is able to get his feet through the sweatpants, wriggling them up over his new legs. Finally looking away from the ceiling, you come face to face with a flustered and bashful Jungwon. Fuck, maybe you did miss him.
“Hi. Sorry,” he whispers, smiling like the situation is funny. And to him, it is. He hasn’t seen you lose your cool this bad since the first time he met you, and he couldn’t even register how out of character that was because he didn’t know you then. Now he knows you. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, handing the shirt back to you.
“Oh,” you blink, taking the cotton fabric in your hands. You bunch the fabric up towards the neck, standing on your toes so you can tug it over his head. His face pops right out, giving you a sheepish grin. For the first time since he’s stepped foot on your property, you return the favor. You guide his arms through the sleeves, the t-shirt sitting quite comfortably on his broad frame. The pants are a little long, sweeping the floor a bit whenever he shuffles about, but it’ll do. For anyone else, they’ll think it’s a fashion choice. “Do… Do these feel okay? Are you comfortable?”
He looks down towards the clothes he’s managed to put on, gaze returning to your face as quickly as it left. “I think so,” he nods. “I don’t really know what they’re supposed to feel like.”
“Right,” you say, because, really, what else is there to say?
You finally take a good look at Jungwon, now that he’s dressed and you feel like you have permission to ogle a bit. He’s dry, for starters. No matter how long he suns himself, it seems like his hair is always wet. Now it’s… well… dry. It doesn’t seem to be damaged from the copious amounts of salt water that have touched it over the years; it seems quite soft and much longer than you originally thought as he blows a strand away from his forehead. He’s taller than you, and you’re not sure why that surprises you. His tail was quite long. But that was a tail. Not legs. His shoulders are broad, that of which you already knew, but seeing them hidden by the silly shirt draping his frame is sort of driving you crazy. You miss them. “How… what…?”
He sighs and takes a shaky step towards you. Instinctively, you reach your arms out to prevent him from falling but he just wraps his arms around you, simple and plain. His heart raps wildly against his chest, and it’s probably due to the excitement of the day but you selfishly hope it’s for you.
“Jungwon, how the fuck did you get here?” you mumble into the t-shirt, not quite ready to let go just yet. You hate to admit it, but perhaps your heart is also pumping a bit faster than usual. And perhaps it’s because of him.
“My friend told me a story,” he starts, pulling away from you so he can look into your eyes. He’s beaming. “That some merfolk can turn into humans. So I tried it, and it works!” he grins, shaking your shoulders in excitement. “Not everyone can do it, apparently. But I can!”
You look down at his legs. “I can’t believe you’re a fucking human.”
“I’m a fucking human!” he shouts, nearly toppling over from sheer excitement. “Now I can see you all the time.” His eyes are so sincere and your heart nearly bursts.
“Yeah,” you nod, smiling ear to ear. “You can.”
Just then, a knock sounds from the door behind you and Jungwon practically jumps out of his skin.
“Who the fuck is in the bathroom with you?!” Yunjin shrieks.
Riiight, my friends are here, you think. Shit.
—
Explaining Jungwon to the girls was a lot easier than you thought it was going to be. Of course, you didn’t tell the truth. That wouldn’t go over well. But what they won’t know, won’t kill them. After successfully explaining to them that Jungwon was a friend from school who surprised you by coming into town, they were more than accepting of his presence. After all, a cute boy showing up on your door step for an impromptu visit? They’re just happy you’re back in the dating game—or so they think.
It’s funny seeing Jungwon sit amongst your friends, the stillness in a sea of tipsy giggles. Jungwon stays quiet most of the time, eagerly listening to all of their stories, but mostly enthralled by the amount of human snacks he now easily has at his disposal.
When everyone leaves, and you’re all alone with him, you’re not quite sure of what to do. Considering you’ve been alone with him many times before, it’s almost comical. But now he’s in your house. He’s human. Both are facts that you never thought would actually be true.
You stay up with him for a long time after your friends leave. Still shocked as you watch the young man curled up in the corner of your couch, fascinated by the way his toes wiggle and scrunch. He quickly learns the art of footsies, as he can’t help but touch you, even as the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch. And although you’re not exactly a fan of feet, you don’t mind entertaining a game of footsies as long as it’s with Jungwon.
He’s amazed by the TV, eyes reflecting purple and red and all kinds of neon as he does his best to absorb the new information he’s receiving. It’s like a speed course on human behavior. Eventually, you have to turn off the television so he’ll pay attention to you, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll just have to watch more of this another time if you let him.
Upon intense questioning, Jungwon reiterates what he told you earlier but in greater detail. His friend, Sunghoon, had told him of a long forgotten, and seemingly taboo, tale of how some merfolk could walk on land. He said it was a trend centuries ago, before the oceans had been polluted by human behavior. It was seen as a form of entertainment. Sometimes it was done for pleasure. However, once humans began to destroy the sea with their many devices, merfolk stopped trying to blend in with and learn from humans. It was too hazardous.
Jungwon shares that he tried to gather more information, asking his elders if it was possible for merfolk to become human but the conversation was always shut down. It wasn’t until his grandmother indulged in a secret that her grandmother used to be a land walker. That she would bathe herself in light and join the humans at her leisure. She warned that that was ages ago; times have changed. However, this meant that he also had the ability to do the same.
He followed his grandmother's instructions, finding a quiet and safe place to bathe in the sun. According to him, it took awhile. But once the sun was set, he had begun to sprung legs.
“Was it painful?” you asked, rubbing your foot along his calf.
Jungwon shakes his head slowly, watching the movement of your leg. “It was sort of uncomfortable. But it's not painful.”
He shares how he practiced walking, deciding to disguise himself in the dark of night to prevent anyone from seeing him. Just in case, he said. He said it was hard, and how he’s not sure how humans are able to do it so easily. Or how they’re able to run! That’s a whole new challenge, but he’s willing to learn.
“I remember you pointed to where your house was, and I just tried my best to walk there,” he said, now moving to be closer to you. He’s still trying to understand that his legs get in the way, so after his knee digs into your leg uncomfortably, he shifts to tuck his legs beneath himself. “I was really tired but when I saw you, I couldn’t feel it anymore,” he smiles, slightly taller than you from the way he’s perched. “I was so happy to see you.”
“I was so surprised,” you confess, covering your cheeks out of exasperation. Your face heats under his grin.
“You looked kind of silly,” he laughs. Jungwon drops his jaw and widens his eyes cartoonishly, making fun of your reaction.
You shove him over, causing him to fall onto his back and kick his feet up in the air. He narrowly misses you, but you don’t mind. You’re too happy to have him with you.
In the middle of your conversation, Jungwon passes out, sprawled across your couch in a way you’ve never seen a human body positioned before. It’s his first day as a human, so you decide to cut him some slack. Wrapping him in a blanket, as well as leaving an extra—in case he gets cold—you trudge to your bedroom and miss him despite him existing in the next room.
Early the next morning, while Jungwon is still asleep, you rush out to the store to pick up a few things. As handsome as he is, he cannot live in those ratty sweatpants forever. Guessing what his size might be, you pick up a few pairs of jeans and t-shirts that you think he might like. You try to stick to softer material, not wanting to irritate his skin. You’ve also never had to buy underwear for a man before, but hopefully you did a good job. Nobody has ever gone wrong with Calvin Klein. Besides, the idea of seeing the waistband of his underwear poking of the top of his pants kind of makes your nipples—
Jungwon is wide awake when you get home. Hair still mussed from sleep, but he figured out how to get the television working—it’s set to some old movie that you’re not sure you’ve seen. However, he seems transfixed. He rises from his spot, walking much more steadily than yesterday as he greets you with a hug. He smells like the breeze and sleep and something you want to have by your side forever.
He watches you cook breakfast, clinging to your side like he’s afraid you might leave again. It’s cute, despite how warm he is. You two eat breakfast on your porch, discussing your plans for the day and asking if he’d like to join. Of course, Jungwon would be insane to say no.
After breakfast, you show him his clothes and force him to do a fashion show for you. He doesn’t quite understand why you're so excited, but he’d do anything to make you smile.
“Do you like it?” you ask, sitting on the edge of your bed as he struts about your room.
He looks down at the shirt and jeans he has on, shrugging absentmindedly. He thinks they’re fine. It’s not like he knows what would look good. He feels like he’s kind of dressed like the guy he saw on your TV not too long ago, and he thought he was cool. But besides that, he doesn’t really know what would look good on him. What he does know is that you look good.
You sit on the edge of your bed, biting down a smile as your eyes rake over his frame three times over. He likes the way you clasp your hands on your lap, doing your best to be polite and patient although he knows you are fighting demons to not shout out your opinion. He also quite likes the crinkle that forms in the corner of your eyes as you try your best not to giggle. He very much likes that he can see the curve of your tits over the hem of your top as you clasp your hands even tighter. He’s not sure if he can tell you that though. He’ll have to watch more television to see if that’s something that is okay to say to a girl.
“It’s nice,” is what Jungwon settles on telling you, and you smile even brighter than he thought possible. He could get used to this.
You decide to take him around town for the day, deciding fresh air and social interaction is just what Jungwon needs in order to understand human behavior. He is more than thrilled to be involved. You can practically hear your father nagging you for housing merfolk, especially after his near death experience. But Jungwon would never do that to you.
He had no idea that there were so many places—stores, you call them—where humans could buy things. He’s entranced by the grocery store, amazed by the selection of gummies that he now has access to. The concept of not touching everything he sees is a bit new to him, and you have to inform him that people tend to find it quite rude if you touch every single fruit in the produce section. However, always the avid listener, he follows your instructions until they become second nature.
Jungwon is shocked by your ability to stay focused in such lively places. There’s so much noise—much different from the quiet roar of the sea. He’s surprised to hear you talk about how quiet your town is, and how there are even busier areas where humans live called the city. He’s not sure if he could survive living in a place like that.
There are also so many formalities. Saying please and thank you and no, you go ahead to every small interaction. He’s fascinated with your ability to memorize all these small things. Maybe, one day, he’ll be a master of them too.
You take him out to eat, just at some small diner not too far from your house. He lets you pick something for him to eat, since he’s still not all that familiar with human food. The waitress is nice, but he thinks you’re nicer—laughing at all his jokes and smiling softly while he rambles about what his favorite part of the day was so far. You hate to say it, but you’re completely enamoured by him.
You enjoy how he purses his lips when he finds something you say amusing, but doesn’t quite want to announce it. He likes how you play with your earlobe when you get shy. Small things. He barely even realizes how hungry he is until the food arrives, he’s too preoccupied with you. But he thinks maybe his second favorite thing—you being first—is human food. The burger you ordered him seems to be quite a hit. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a person eat that fast, not even half of your meal finished before he cleans the entirety of his plate. Jungwon isn’t very picky, it seems.
The days pass by like this, quietly but comfortably. Jungwon slowly learns more and more about what it means to be human, the behaviors and the mentality. You see him grow more comfortable out in the open, no longer adhered to your side, and more willing to try things on his own.
Despite his growing independence, the two of you grow closer than before, if that’s even possible. He helps you cook and clean, entertaining you with silly stories or questions that you can’t help but answer. It’s domestic. You even bring him into work one day, letting him sit in the back with a movie on your laptop while you bore yourself to death. Jungwon never seems to mind. He never complains. If anything, he’s just happy to be with you.
Jungwon only lasts one more night on your couch. By the third night, he comes shuffling into your room, lightly rapping against the door right as you’re about to fall asleep. Flinching awake, you turn on your lamp as you squint at the young man standing in your doorway. He stands there awkwardly, scratching his neck in embarrassment.
“What’s wrong, Jungwon? Are you okay?” you mumble, drowsiness laced in your voice.
He nods quickly, not wanting to worry you. “I”m okay. I’m okay. I just-” he huffs, shifting his weight repeatedly. You can tell he’s searching for the words, whether he has them or not, you’re not sure. Sometimes you wish you could speak his language, maybe it would make it easier for you to understand him. “I don’t want to sleep on the couch.”
This stuns you. This might be the first time you’ve heard him complain.
“Why? Is it uncomfortable?” you ask, sitting up. The neck of your sleep shirt slides down one shoulder and Jungwon’s eyes follow the movement. “I can give you some extra pillows if you want.”
“No, it’s not uncomfortable,” he replies, shaking his head once again. You can see him grow more hesitant by the second, playing with his fingers as he tries to decipher what would be the most appropriate phrasing. He’s not sure how to communicate what he wants from you. None of the movies he’s studied over the past few days have shown him how to do this.
“What’s up, Jungwon?” you ask once again, your eyes softening.
Jungwon grows weak, melting into the warmth of your gaze. He feels a heat stir in his lower stomach that he’s still trying to navigate with his new body. Finally, after rationalizing that you’ve never seriously berated him for any of his thoughts or questions, he decides to bite the bullet. “Can I sleep in your bed?”
“Oh!” you gasp, shocked by his forwardness. “Like… you want to swap?”
He shakes his head at your misunderstanding. “No!” he damn near shouts. “I was thinking we could share?”
His suggestion makes your toes curl and a giggle bubbles up from your stomach. Feeling like a school girl again, you nod slowly, lifting the covers for him to join you. He quickly shuffles over, a shy smile spreading across his pink lips like frosting. You wish you could kiss it and have it stain your mouth. He slides under your covers, pulling them right up to his chin. It was hard for him to imagine something as comfortable as this, having only slept on the couch for the last few nights. Now he knows.
“Why’d you want to sleep in here?” you ask, shutting the light off as you lie back down. “You can be honest and tell me that the couch was uncomfortable. I got it second hand.”
You can hear the pillow case rustle underneath his head as he denies your comment. “Just missed you is all,” he admits.
Suddenly, it’s as if all the air is sucked out of the room and you’re left pleading for oxygen. “But I’m only one room away,” you chuckle breathlessly, knowing that you subconsciously—or consciously—have been missing him in your sleep as well.
“I know,” he says, moving closer to you. He can feel your body heat interacting with his, absorbing and morphing into something new entirely. “Still missed you, though.”
Jungwon sleeps with you every night after that. And every night, you rest easier and more deeply than you ever have.
You show him all kinds of things. Your favorite TV shows, the mall, and even the gym. However, you had to leave as soon as some man approached you and asked for your number. Jungwon didn’t seem to take much pleasure in the idea of other men approaching you.
“I was literally right there,” he pouted as he sat in the front seat of your car. “I don’t get why he would even approach you when I was there.”
You smile fondly, reaching over to rub his shoulder. He seems to calm down at your touch. “Maybe he thought you were just a friend.”
Jungwon whips his head to the side. If it were biologically possible, you would believe that his eyes grew ten shades darker. Apparently, you need to make a mental note to never say something so supposedly ludicrous to Jungwon ever again. “I’m yours,” he says.
Whatever that means.
To make up for the fiasco that happened at the gym, you decide to take Jungwon to a place you figured he’d really like: the carnival.
Lara has been bugging you all week, blowing up your phone incessantly and asking if you’d join her and some of your friends at the carnival this weekend. Usually, you’d try to ditch. The carnival has occurred every summer since you were little, and you’re sure it started way before that. With overpriced tickets, overpriced food, and overpriced games, you typically try to avoid the carnival altogether and save your wallet from the damage you will inevitably suffer. However, after seeing Jungwon’s eyes light up at the thought, you decided—after very little contemplation—that attending said overpriced carnival wouldn’t be awful.
Your friends are surprised to see Jungwon, considering they thought he was only supposed to stay with you for a few days, but are happy nonetheless. They drag him every which way, encouraging him to throw darts at balloons and make the tiny tea cup he manages to squeeze into spin as fast as he can. Surprisingly, he does very well with being tossed and spun around—it must do with his exposure to relentless sea currents. However, after experiencing a severe case of vertigo, you manage to convince your friends to take it easy on the rides and sit down for a while.
“Having fun?” you ask Jungwon, sipping on a lemonade. It’s more water than lemon and sugar, but it’s cool and helps bring you back down to earth.
“Mhm,” he hums, nodding around a bite of fried dough. The powdered sugar clings to the side of his lips and you wipe it away with your thumb. Consequently, your friends giggle from their corner of the picnic table. You can’t tell if it’s the vibrant lights of the carnival, but Jungwon’s cheeks grow a soft shade of rose. “Are you?”
“Yeah,” you reply, snagging a piece of his snack. “I don’t usually have fun at these kinds of things, but I’m having fun with you.”
“You don’t like carnival rides?” he asks, stealing a sip of your lemonade. He doesn’t bother to wipe the straw before or after.
You chuckle, shaking your head. “No, I like them. These ones are just kind of lame. There’s much bigger ones at other places.”
“Like in Diary of a Wimpy Kid?”
“Exactly.”
Jungwon nods slowly, flexing his fingers before he clasps his hands in his lap. He looks upward towards the sky, amazed at the fact that he can still see the stars through all this light. Tracing them with his eyes, he finds your silhouette in the stars. Why his family would ever want to keep him from finding and staying with you is beyond his comprehension.
“I’d like to ride one of those rollercoasters someday,” he shares after being quiet for sometime. He’s still gazing upwards, eyes sparkling like fireworks. You stare at the dainty mole on his chin, wishing that you could press a kiss to it. If you could, you would give him the world.
“You will,” you say, reaching for his hands. He looks at you, the sparkle in his eyes never dimming. “We’ll go.”
Yunjin coughs obnoxiously, the rest of your friends snickering evilly. You’re going to kill them. You turn your head ever so slowly, wishing the horrific music that was playing in your head would play aloud for once so it could add to this intimidating vibe you are going for. But alas, it doesn’t, and you have to agree to shoot daggers at them with your eyes instead.
“We’re going to go ride the ferris wheel,” she announces, standing up from the picnic bench. The other girls follow suit. “Do you want to come or are you guys going to keep acting like freaks and hold hands?”
You roll your eyes, but when Jungwon doesn’t make a move to let go of your hand, you don’t either. Besides, your hands were getting quite cold from holding your lemonade, so really he’s just helping you out. Right? Right.
“We’ll go, we’re just gonna clean up first. We’ll meet you there.”
After you and Jungwon clean up the rest of the mess left on the table, you join the girls only to be yelled at by a couple for trying to cut in line. Trying your hardest to show the best side of your humanity, you drag Jungwon to the back of the line. Normally, you would have no problem cussing the girl and her unfortunate looking boyfriend out, but again, you want Jungwon to see your good side. He’s already seen you damn near belligerent and screaming for help, you might as well try to preserve what little remains of your dignity. Besides, you don’t mind being separated from your friends. It just means more one-on-one time with Jungwon. (Not like you haven’t had plenty of that over the last few days.) You’ll meet up with them once the ride is over.
The carnival barker gestures to your car, buckling the two of you in. Jungwon rapidly pounds his feet up and down in excitement, a habit you’re not sure when he developed but you’ve grown to be affectionate towards. Your knees touch, and neither of you pull away, Jungwon enamoured with the idea of riding the ferris wheel, and you, enamoured with him.
The ride jolts with a start, shocking Jungwon. As he flinches, he reaches for your hand, a welcomed surprise.
He babbles mindlessly, about how he’s never imagined being up this high in the air before, and how he hopes the ride doesn’t fail. He tells you how he can’t tell if he’s jittery because of the height or because of all of the sugar he just consumed, and you just laugh, squeezing his hand tighter. When your palms start to grow sweaty, neither of you mind because it’s the two of you and whatever you give, he’ll take.
“I’m so happy right now,” he admits, smiling so wide that his eyes turn into crescent moons. You grin too, flashing him a smile as bright as the moon.
“Me too,” you agree, squeezing his hand tighter.
“This is so cool!” he damn near shrieks, rocking the cart a bit. You reach for the bar instinctively, eyes growing wide in a way that makes him cackle. You whack his leg, and despite the sting in his thigh, he doesn’t move away. “You can see everything up here.”
“You think that’s our jetty?” you ask, pointing to a collection of rocks that are faintly carved out above the sea line.
Jungwon squints, trying his best to follow your line of view. “No,” he shakes his head, knocking his shoulder with yours. “Ours would be farther that way,” he says, gesturing in some direction.
“How do you know?” you question, squinting at the young man.
“Because I know the ocean better than you do,” he mutters, in a voice so matter of fact you’re certain he had to pick it up from someone else because no way in hell you would teach him to speak to you like that. “Besides, I…”
You watch Jungwon, observing how his eyes shift elsewhere, the smile in his face slipping into more of a confused gape. You call his name, wondering what has caught his attention so abruptly. Following his eyeline, you spot a car ahead of you. A couple—perhaps the one from earlier, you’re not sure—are sitting closely together, wrapped in each other's arms. Despite being multiple feet in front of you, it’s clear what they are doing, and it seems like Jungwon has also caught on. They kiss each other slowly, a passion you would hope they’d save for the privacy of their own home rather than the public eye. But as always, there has to be that couple.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, growing confused by his sudden reaction. “Do you not know what kissing is?”
Jungwon tears his gaze from them, looking both scandaled and offended by your comment. “Of course I know what kissing is. I’m not stupid,” he scoffs, that crinkle between his brow appearing.
“Just checking!” you shrug, not sure of what to say. You haven’t seen him this amazed by something since he first turned on the television. “I wasn’t sure if merfolk kissed or not.”
“Of course we fucking kiss!” he yelps, a slight edge to his tone that you find somewhat comical. “I’ve just… I’ve just never seen people kiss like that before,” he confesses, squeezing your palm.
His eyes drift back to the couple, curious and imploring. You never quite thought of how merfolk kiss until now. Is it softer? Harder? Does it mean something else to them, as it means to humans?
“I think I’d like to try though.”
What?
Now, if you aren’t mistaken, you recall having some knowledge of kissing under your belt. And by some, you mean a sufficient amount. You’re not one to dilly dally, and after years of drunk parties and dares, you’ve kissed enough people to probably last a lifetime. To put it plainly, you get around. However, when Jungwon looks at you like that, with his eyes all wide and shiny, you feel like you’re twelve again. You’re not sure of what to do or what to say. He would only say that if he wanted to kiss you, right? No way he meant someone else, he doesn’t even know other girls besides your friends and he only really talks to them when it comes to you. Unless he likes men?
Jungwon calls your name, the warmth of his palm on your thigh is sudden but welcomed. He’s closer than you remember him being, but you can’t find it within yourself to back away. You can see the way his eyes crinkle slightly with a soft smile, and the way his lips curl upwards. The dimple on his cheek calls your name in a tone so sweet you feel light-headed, and you’re certain that the small giggle that slips past his lips—were they always that pretty?—is the most glorious thing you’ve ever heard. You know you’re supposed to hear the ocean if you find a conch shell and press it to your ear, but you wish you could hear his voice.
He calls your name again and you shake your head, clearing the fog that plagues your mind. “What?” you blurt, eyes wide and glossy. Jungwon thinks you’re so pretty.
“I want to kiss you,” he says, slow and steady but the twitch of his fingers reveal his excitement. “Is that okay?”
You want to tell him a hundred things. You want to tell him how lucky you are to have nearly been destroyed by him that night, and if you knew then what you know now, you’re positive that you would’ve let him although you’re certain he would never hurt you. You want to tell him that you think he’s the hottest man you’ve ever seen on planet Earth, and that it sucks that he’s not entirely the same species as you, and vice versa. You want to tell him that he’s your best friend, and that you truly, sincerely hope that you’re his. But all you manage to say, with severe effort, is: “Um, sure. Yeah.”
Jungwon has kissed people. This much is true. It’s common amongst merfolk—to kiss—as they are sexual and romantic beings. He’s kissed dozens of beings, human and merfolk. He’s kissed to survive, just as he kisses to kill. However, he never knew that kissing could feel like this.
He leans in slowly, feeling you practically melt against him the second his lips touch yours. The first thing he realizes is how soft you are, and the second is how good you taste. Your palm presses to his chest and his heart instantly warms. The kiss is short and soft, but once he pulls away, he falls right back into it. At this point, he doesn’t even notice if the ferris wheel is moving or if it has stopped, because he feels like he’s floating on top of the world. He can still taste the powdered sugar on your lips, and when he slips his hands around the base of your neck, your mouth opens and he can taste the remnants of lemonade on your tongue.
You hum against his lips, gripping his shirt so fiercely in your trembling fingers you worry for a fraction of a second that you might rip a hole in it. But when Jungwon presses closer, a small sound, light and airy, slips from his mouth as he moves his lips against yours, and all worries you have are left for dead.
One of Jungwon’s hands slips away from your jaw, an action you hardly notice as he nips your bottom lip as a distraction. He scoops your leg onto his lap, fingers brushing over the bare skin of your knee. If it weren’t for being on a damn ferris wheel, you’re certain Jungwon would have you straddling his lap by now. But you are on a ferris wheel, and you are in public. And if the bulge pressing against your leg and the ache between your thighs are to mean anything, they mean that you need to stop or else you might just end up letting him fuck you right here, twenty feet in the air.
“Jungwon,” you murmur breathlessly against his lips. You move to backaway, but he just follows you, eyes closed and a blissful look blanketed across his face. You giggle and he giggles back, squeezing your thigh and sucking on your bottom lip. “Jungwon,” you repeat, a little more firmly this time. He lets you push him away, eyes trained on your lips as he licks his own. It’s official, he’s decided. He’s obsessed with your taste. “We’re in public.”
He begrudgingly tears his eyes from your mouth, kiss-bitten and swollen, to look around. After reminding himself of where you two are, together, he nods slowly. Turning back to you, he moves to fix your hair, and despite it not staying in its respective place, he still looks at you like you hung the moon and stars.
“I forgot,” is all he says, before he leans in one last time to kiss you.
The ride home is filled with gentle touches and even fonder looks. Jungwon follows you into your house, just as he always does. He watches you as you brush your teeth, smiling around his own toothbrush as the foam from the toothpaste forms small bubbles on the corners of his mouth. He observes you as you do your skin care, sitting on the toilet lid as he plays with the hem of your pajama shorts. It doesn’t suggest anything other than him wanting to be close to you, and you’re not sure if you’re frustrated by the lack of underlying meaning or content with his patience.
Jungwon snuggles next to you once you finally go to bed, nose pressed to your neck and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. He kind of makes you hot and bothered when he speaks in a voice so low you’re certain you hear waves crash in his tone.
“Good day?” you ask, still able to see his eyes shine in the light of the growing and glowing moon.
He nods, brushing his lips over yours. “Very good day,” he says, sealing the deal with a kiss that makes your heart swell so large you fear it might break a rib.
He’s warm against your side and real, and the rise and fall of his chest lulls you to sleep. You dream of his touch, cradled in his arms, excited for tomorrow.
When you wake the next morning, he’s gone.
—
It’s been a week since you last saw Jungwon.
When you woke up without his warmth, you were almost in denial. But after checking your living room, kitchen, bathrooms, and balcony about three times, you were certain it could be no mistake. He can’t drive, so there’s no way he could’ve gone far. But when you ran around town, checking all of the places he would’ve known and been drawn to, pajama shorts still on and hair half styled, you began to lose hope. He was not at your house, not at any stores, and not at the beach. And once a few hours have passed, you realize he’s gone. Jungwon is not coming back.
You tried to be the slightest bit hopeful. Once the sun had set, you walked along the shoreline, calling his name. You prayed that no one would be around to hear your calls. If someone were to ask who you were looking for, you might think you could lie and say your dog, but Jungwon isn’t a suitable name for a dog. It’s only suitable for him. But after hours of searching, and sitting against the cool rock of your special jetty, do you finally relent to the cold, hard truth.
Your friends chalk up your behavior as you missing your friend. They don’t get much information from you, only a quick comment of how he went home, but they can tell you’re upset. So after your third day of wallowing, they grow desperate to see you smile.
It’s only after a series of shopping trips and movie nights do you start to feel better. When you’re alone, it’s easy to think of Jungwon and wonder why he left; with your friends, your mind stays busy. They make you laugh at stupid jokes and gasp at juicy gossip. Daniela fills you in on this new guy she’s started talking to, and you only have to push down your jealousy slightly before genuine joy for her bubbles over.
By the end of the week, you’re beginning to see a future where you feel normal again. It’s not now, but it will be someday. Eventually, Jungwon will be a memory just like your kindergarten crush, and the thought of him won’t sting as much as it does presently. Besides, when you stop to think about it, it’s probably for the best. He’s literally from the ocean. He’s a completely different species, not entirely human. It’s not like you could’ve dated. Your dad wouldn’t have really liked him anyway.
By the time the weekend rolls around, Lara mentions that there’s been a rumor about another party at the beach floating about. The second you hear about it, you’re in. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten shitfaced with your friends, and without having to worry about waking up at the asscrack of dawn to see Jungwon, you’re more than willing to drink some cheap liquor and face the consequences the next day.
Yunjin brings the alcohol and Lara brings the mixers, and eventually, you’re all pleasantly buzzed. Trodding down to the beach in your cute outfits and bikinis, you feel normal. There was a life before Jungwon, just as there will be a life after him. You will not let the absence of a man be what ruins your good time. Your P.J. (Post-Jungwon) life starts right now!
You mingle and flirt, and even let some random guy feel you up. And although his touch doesn’t feel as good as Jungwon’s, it’s good to know that you still got it. But the more and more that you try to convince yourself that you don’t miss him, you begin to realize that it isn’t true. You do miss him. A lot. It’s borderline humiliating.
Maybe it’s the drinks and a couple of hits from some joint your friends passed around, or maybe it’s because you’re overstimulated from the sand that you can’t seem to brush off your legs, but you’re starting to feel like you’re going to cry.
“I’m gonna go pee,” you slur to Daniela, who just nods before returning to talk to some girl you vaguely remember from high school.
You stumble your way through the crowd, sure that you may have gotten the odd glance here or there but who cares? You’re beginning to feel dizzy, your legs feel heavy and your body feels tingly and suddenly you come to recognize just how drunk you are. Mission accomplished, but at what cost?
“Shit,” you grumble, leaning against a rock for support as you catch your breath. You look up, hoping that focusing on the stars would help you sober up.
Your body keeps drifting away from you, a baby rocked to sleep, but your mind stays still on Jungwon. Why did he leave? Did he get what he wanted? A kiss? That’s a stupid thing to want from someone. If he was going to be that selfish, he might as well have fucked you and then dipped. But a kiss and dip? No one in the history of the world has ever heard of something as lame as that. However, you’re beginning to believe that you’re patient zero.
The stars spin, but once you spot the full moon, your body becomes yours again. It’s brighter than you’ve ever seen it, an iridescent light beaming across the water. The ripples in the waves illuminate your path in hughes of white, blue, and green; a perfect spotlight for your evening walk. You swore it would clear your mind and reestablish your footing, but still, you somehow always end up here: the jetty.
Sitting down at your usual spot, you dip your toes into the water and swirl them around. Your feet drag through the water slowly, your scar catching the light briefly. The moon is pale and bright and big, and you wish Jungwon was here to see it with you. He is, but he’s not worried about the moon.
Despite not being in the right state of mind, the hair on your arms pricks up, a danger sensed before your mind is even aware of it. Your skin tingles as it circles the water, hypnotized by the patterns it creates in the foam. You feel a pair of eyes.
As you look up, you spot only a silhouette, but you know exactly who it belongs to. You always have and you always will. Although you’re certain you hear a song so beautiful that it makes you want to tear your skin off, suddenly your ears fill with wax and your emotions overtake the melody, creating a harsh dissonance.
“You have some fucking nerve,” you spit, pulling your legs out of the water and crouching on your knees. He doesn’t move. “Kissing all up on me, touching me, sleeping in my house!”
You can see him cock his head to the side, but with the way the moon is positioned in the sky, you can’t observe his face. Sincerely, you hope he’s hurt. Maybe not crying—you’re a little afraid you might fold if he is—but hurt.
“I should slap the shit out of you for leaving like that,” you spit, clawing at the rock beneath you like a life line.
Jungwon straightens at that and abruptly sinks under the water. For a second, it startles you. Maybe you scared him off? A part of you wishes that that is the case—that way you have the last laugh. But deep down, you know a slap from you would hurt him more emotionally than physically. He wouldn’t fear your hand. And at this moment, you’re not sure which you prefer. After you begin to doubt that you scared him, and move on to your next theory—shark bite—Jungwon emerges from the pitch black sea.
Sometimes you forget that he’s not entirely human, but in this moment, he makes sure to remind you. Jungwon leaps from the water, propelling all of his body weight onto his arms and hands which suspends his body halfway out of the water and onto the jetty. You shriek, falling flat on your butt as he stares at you, only a few inches from your face.
You take a good look at him, and for a second, you’re not sure you’re talking to Jungwon. His eyes are wild, not the bright-eyed wideness that you know. Instead they’re slender, frantic, and threatening. His mouth hangs open, and you spot the edge of a fang indenting his lower lip, his tongue quickly smoothing over the skin. Despite the water being cool, you feel the fever radiating off of him and his cheeks flush a brilliant shade of pink. You take a deep breath in, studying his face. Before you can begin to check out his body—a habit you’re not all too proud of not being able to shake—he lowers himself back into the water.
He doesn’t submerge, and he doesn’t talk either. His lips stay wired shut, rose-red mouth relaxed but stern. His hands stay on the rock, bracketing your legs that makes you weary of moving too quickly. His fingers look as if they’re straining against something, but you’re not sure what. Do you want to find out?
After more than thirty seconds of just staring at each other, you realize he’s not going to speak.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you wonder, no longer feeling threatened by him. “Why are you getting all up in my face like I was the one who left? You’re the one who kissed and ditched, remember?”
It sounds even more pathetic saying it out loud.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Jungwon says, eyes transfixed on your face. For a moment, you see him melt. His eyes become wide again, but still hungry for something. His brow furrows, and he shakes his head, huffing a sigh through his nose like an animal clearing its senses of a particular scent.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Did you not hear what I just said?”
His eyes trail down your body, and you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch. You see his nails dig into the rock desperately, and you’re beginning to grow concerned. A look of discomfort crosses his face, and he shakes his head once more, water spraying against your calves. Sitting up and extending your legs back into the water, you notice how he learns forward subconsciously, seeking your touch. What the fuck is going on?
“Jungwon, are you okay?” you ask, reaching for him. You reach out to touch his hand, and before you can even register the heat of his palm, Jungwon keens forward, an airy sound escaping his mouth unwillingly. His forehead rests against your knees, and his breath is warm against your legs as you begin to second guess everything you thought you knew.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, chest heaving. In a panic, you begin to look for injuries. You can’t begin to fathom what would make him act like this. He’s usually calm, the eye of the storm in any and all cases. He plays with your hair when you’re rambling and rubs your back when you’re upset, and now you're the one doing it all for him.
You’re so confused, and as wracking breaths continue to knock against his ribs, fingers damn near creating claw marks in the rock, you’re desperate for answers. “Why wouldn’t I be here, Jungwon? It’s a beach.”
“The moon,” is all he says as he looks up at you. His eyes are nothing you’ve ever seen before. It’s like they melt the second he looks at you, eyebrows furrowed and irises so dark you believe that if you were to sink in them, you’d never find the bottom. You look up to the sky, moon brilliant and bright.
“I don’t get it,” you confess, laying a hand on his cheek. Should you be worried? He’s burning up. Do you offer to get him some medicine? An ambulance? A veterinarian?
Just as you begin to search for your own solutions, Jungwon—without much ability to control himself—proposes his own. With the palm on his cheek being his final straw, he presses his face against your leg once again, harsher than before. You feel his nose indent your thigh, and before you can begin to register the sudden change in proximity, Jungwon licks your leg and moans.
Your body responds before your mind, and if you were standing, you’re certain your knees would buckle. You clench around nothing, a rush of wetness pooling in your bikini bottoms. Without meaning to, you rock your hips gently against the rock. It doesn’t provide any comfort for the sudden ache, but Jungwon has you acting in irrational ways.
And once your mind is able to catch up with your body, the words that fly out of your mouth aren’t much more rational than your bodily response to his tongue. “Yooo, what are you doing?” you hiss, no real threat posed behind your voice.
“You smell so good,” he whines, kissing up your thigh. His arms hook under your thighs, dragging you closer and closer towards the edge. The water is up to your knees now as you cradle Jungwon’s head to your thigh. He nips and licks and kisses, and all you can do is watch. You feel his biceps flex under your legs, and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, desperate to keep you attached to his mouth.
You're not entirely sure of what is going on or what’s come over him, but you do know that you’re wetter than you’ve ever been in your whole life. His fangs graze your upper thigh, sharp and menacing. Before you can begin to complain about the sting, and, without a doubt, the blood that bubbles in its wake, Jungwon licks over the wound like his spit is some sort of salve. The sting is immediately gone, and replaced with a tingle that leaves you wanting more. He creeps higher and higher, breathing heavily. Your thighs are slick with spit, bruised by kisses. You tug at Jungwon’s hair, the wet strands wrapping around your fingers to keep you tethered to him. Jungwon moans again, shoving his nose into your crotch and inhaling deeply.
You burn furiously, embarrassed that he’s smelling you but also incredibly turned on by the fact that he seems to like it. A hand leaves your thigh and inches upward, lithe fingers tucking into the waistband as he attempts to yank your shorts down hungrily.
“The button,” you instruct breathlessly, your hands meeting as you both frantically go to undo the button of your shorts. Once you manage to pop it open for him, he rips them down your legs, soaking them with sea water accidentally before throwing them next to you haphazardly. His mouth is back on you instantly, and you urge him towards your core, fingers tracing his jawline. “Jungwon…” you whisper, yearning to kiss him but aching at the thought of his attention being redirected.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs around your skin, sucking another blossom into your thigh. You will be tender to the touch come tomorrow. “I can’t help it.”
“It’s okay,” you soothe, and he looks up at you, mouth spit-slicked and raw. “I want you too.”
You don’t have to tell him twice.
Jungwon dives back in, licking the flimsy material of your bikini bottoms. You can feel his tongue press against your clit through the fabric, and both of you moan. He sucks the material into his mouth, searching for your taste before he can indulge in you fully. He knows he should stop, he’s not in the right mind. But with the way he’s aching for you, a desire so fierce he can feel it burn him from the inside out, he’s not sure if he can will himself to stop. When he glances up and sees the look you’re giving him, eyes glowing and jaw dropped in amazed pleasure, he’s certain that he won’t stop.
Snatching the fabric between his teeth, Jungwon pulls your bottoms down your legs, tossing it alongside your shorts. He looks at you briefly, slick and glistening under the pale moonlight. Prior to this moment, Jungwon was certain he'd seen plenty of beautiful things. However, he is now positive that this view is the prettiest of them all.
He leans in voraciously, kissing the skin above your pretty cunt, the short hair tickling his lips and chin. Jungwon isn’t used to it, as you’re his first human girl and—if he has it his way—his last. But he likes it a lot more than he assumes is probably normal. He kisses you there one more time, feeling the muscles of your thighs twitch and tense.
“Please, Jungwon,” you whimper, hips leaning forward in search of his mouth. “I need you.”
Who is he to deny you?
Jungwon licks your folds tentatively, gauging how sensitive you are. A small sigh releases from your chest, a hum so gentle he does his best to replicate it through his tongue. You grow more restless the more he does this, searching for something more. It feels good. Really good. Using his hands to push your thighs further apart, Jungwon's tail thrashes wildly in the water at how pliant you are under his guidance.
“You taste so good,” he says, sucking your clit into his mouth greedily. You moan loudly, leaning backwards as your hips move forward. Jungwon looks up, watching as you prop yourself on one elbow, your other hand still stuck in his hair. You’re breathless, a warm ache slowly building within your core. “You like that?”
You nod fervently, biting your lip. As if it’s a challenge, Jungwon begins to suck and lick more harshly than he did before, pulling more and more sounds out of you. A hand of his creeps upward, shoving its way under the cup of your bikini top. He pinches a nipple, a high pitched whine releasing from your mouth. His tongue travels lower, prodding at your hole curiously. You clench around him and he groans, pressing his tongue into you as far as he can. You grind forward, clit bumping his nose and he inhales deeply. In his professional opinion, you taste better than any candy he’s ever had.
You twitch around his tongue, continuing to grind along his face. He squeezes your tit harshly, earning a gasp from you that makes him chuckle thickly, slick coating his mouth. You giggle too, delirious on the ecstasy Jungwon provides you. But your giggles quickly turn into endless moans as he sucks your clit back into his mouth, tongue swirling around the swollen bud.
Growing dizzier by the second, and this time, you’re certain it’s not because of the alcohol, you become more and more desperate for a release. Jungwon is moaning against you, convinced that your cunt is the best thing to have ever graced this Earth.
“You’re so pretty,” he whines, kitten-licking your clit before sucking it harshly once more. “I want to keep you all to myself.”
“I’m all yours,” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You can feel your slick and his spit pooling on the rock beneath you and spreading along your thighs. A heat brighter that the sun builds within you, yearning for more.
He groans deeply, his teeth grazing against your clit in a way that makes you flinch. “Don’t say that,” he pants, dragging his tongue along every inch of you that he can find. “Don’t want to hurt you,” he whimpers.
“Please,” you beg, finding his eyes in the moonlight. His eyes still replicate every bit of the beast that he is, his grip bruising. You clench around his tongue and he laps it up, feeding him in a way that you could never fully understand. The desire he feels is much deeper than what you’re capable of experiencing, and he knows that. But you’d be damned if you weren’t willing to try. “Please make me yours.”
Jungwon releases an inhumane sound, a cross between a purr and a moan, something that vibrates from his chest and releases from his mouth without control. He grips your thigh, eyeing you quickly. It’s faint, but you catch the slight downturn of his lips and the furrow in his brow, as if he’s saying sorry. However, before you can question him, he bares his fangs and bites down on your thigh, piercing the skin.
You yelp in pain, tugging at his hair but he doesn’t budge. He just groans against your skin, the pinch in your leg growing more and more aggressive the deeper his teeth sink into your flesh. But as quickly as the pain comes, a sudden overbearing warmth washes over you. You tilt your head back, grip on his hair weakening. Jungwon grabs your hand and rests it against his face, lapping at the blood that drips from you and sealing the wound. He looks at the new mark he’s created—a mark that confirms and reassures that you are his, and that he is yours.
The ecstasy you’re experiencing from his love bite must be potent, because you’re practically leaking all over yourself. He coos as your cunt clenches around nothing, a new wave of your scent, even more syrupy, fills his nose. He watches you, your body arching into the open air for something, anything that could provide you with relief. Awe is an understatement.
Reminding yourself that he is there, you snap your head up and open your eyes. You rub his cheek, watching him nestle into your palm. Maintaining eye contact, Jungwon lowers near where he expects you to want him, lips grazing your folds without any real pressure. You buck and squirm, but just before you find relief, he pulls away, suddenly every bit the tease and no longer the desperate, lust-crazed creature.
Well, it’s not like you’re above begging. “Fuck me,” you groan, your voice not sounding like your own to your ears. Jungwon melts all the same.
Sticking out his tongue, he licks from your taint to your clit, a relief that has you whining at a pitch you’re sure has never been reached. Practically making out with your cunt, Jungwon sucks your labia into his mouth, his own moans vibrating within you from the inside out. The bridge of his nose glides against your folds once again, rubbing against your clit in a way that has you seeing stars.You’re growing desperate, your hips unable to stay still as you rock and pull against him like a restless tide.
You’re hot, sweating despite the coolness of the water. Whatever that bite did to you—whether it poisoned or drugged you—you’re not sure. What you do know is that Jungwon is licking your clit just the way you need him to and you don’t think you’ve been so eager to cum in your whole life.
Your cunt pulses feverishly, yearning to suck anything he’ll give you further and further in. You want to watch him, and you try your best to, but when the pressure on your clit is just right, it’s hard to keep your eyes open and your head upright.
He can not only feel you getting closer, but he can taste you getting there as well. Your stomach contracts, the clench around his tongue getting stronger by the second. Your thighs shake, and the heat within you is so intense you feel like you could burst into a supernova. The sounds you are releasing are sounds that a pornstar could only dream of making, and Jungwon doesn’t even have it in him to wonder if this is how all human girls sound because he too enamoured with how his girl sounds. His girl. Shit, he might cum.
“I wanna cum,” you announced, vision blurred with tears.
He moans, loud and clear. “Please,” he begs, watching your back arch in the moonlight. “I want to feel it, pretty. Please.”
He continues to suck and kiss and lick in all the ways you’ve wished a man would without you having to ask. He categorizes every twitch, tunes into every moan, and memorizes every plea. If he’s serious about keeping you, you might have to take him up on his offer.
Once the heat in your body becomes too much, and your back arches against the uncomfortableness against the rock, the band within your lower body snaps. Your orgasm washes over you like the sudden tide, unrelenting and powerful. Jungwon moans with you, licking every surface of you that he can reach as you buck and squirm against his face. Growing sensitive, you lightly pull his head away from your cunt, his mouth and chin glistening with your release.
He looks at you, his eyes still hungry but in a way that reminds you of your normal Jungwon. Jungwon smiles softly, the soft pearls of his teeth beaming up at you as if he didn’t just give you the orgasm of a lifetime. You climb into the water, Jungwon grabbing your hips and steadying you the second he sees you waver.
He lets you loop your arms around his neck as he continues smiling, completely in awe of all that you are. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, eyes unable to decide if they want to focus on your lips or your eyes. He tucks a hair behind your ear, the one that never stays, and you’re ashamed to admit it really turns you on.
“So you’ve said,” you tease breathlessly, wiping some of your slick off his chin before you lean in to kiss him.
Jungwon grips your hips, one hand wandering downwards to your ass. You reach behind you, encouraging him to squeeze, a pretty little moan slipping past his lips and down your throat once he does. You can still feel the feverish warmth emanating from his body, even in the water. Whatever fog was plaguing him seems to have broken just a bit, his eyes and face resembling the man you know and love. However, you can feel his lust press against your stomach, hard and thick. It’s definitely bigger than anything human, but you’re determined to make it work.
You kiss down his jaw, his sighs and moans filling your ear as he cradles you against him. You grind forward, the head of his cock catching on your clit. You’re still sensitive, but you know it will pass. Jungwon groans loudly, pressing you against the jetty. His arm braces beside your head, bicep deliciously flexed. You’re not sure what comes over you, but you lean towards the muscle and bite it, licking over the indent of your teeth just as he did before. He watches you in awe, bucking against your heat once again.
You moan softly tracing his cupid's bow before you stick a finger in his mouth. You trace his teeth, mesmerized by their subtle sharpness. You would’ve never expected how threatening they truly were until they were pressed against you. He sucks on the pad of your finger, eyes slipping shut briefly as he soaks in the bliss. Jungwon examines your face as he grinds against you again, regretting that he couldn’t see you before as well as he can now. He’ll just have to make you cum again.
He’s endeared by the furrow of your brow, and the twitch of the corner of your lip. He grabs your wrist, pulling your finger from his mouth just so he can kiss you. He licks into your open mouth, doing his best to shield his fangs from your curious tongue. However, when you grind against him a little too hard, he bites down, nicking the side of your tongue.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pulling away. You pull him right back, not bothered by the sting.
“Just kiss me,” you beg, palms cradling his cheeks. His saliva mixes with yours, thick and warm, and it’s as if he never hurt you. Not that he ever could.
You rock forward once more, the head of his cock slipping lower and pressing against your hole. He can feel you clench slightly, and he’s filled with panic. He’s definitely too big for you, and both of you know it. Obviously, you wouldn’t mind trying but he’s not going to be the reason you get seriously hurt just because he couldn’t control himself.
He pulls away, stilling your hips with a palm pressed against your womb. “We… we shouldn’t. It’ll hurt,” he says, unable to tear his gaze away from your pretty mouth. He’s really going to have to work on controlling himself if he wants to be around you longer.
“It’s okay. I want to try,” you whisper, trying to roll your hips against his.
He stops you once again, using all of his strength to contain his hunger. “No,” he huffs, eyes dropping to your chest and you can’t help but notice the way he twitches against your clit. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m really fucking turned on right now and I don’t know if I can control myself-”
“Where did you learn that word?” you gasp, an evil grin spreading across your face like butter.
He cocks his head to the side, every bit your sweet Jungwon. “What word?”
“Turned on.”
“I heard it in a movie,” he explains, completely caught off guard while your hand trails down and pinches at his nipple. His hand flies forward, capturing your hand against his chest. You just look at him, eyes sugar sweet and a smile even more sickening. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
His decision sounds definitive, and as much as you’re willing to try, you won’t push it. He nearly flops forward, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he huffs. Smoothing your hand down and up his back, you can feel his heart rate and temperature drop back down to a normal pace. He’s still rock hard, as he’s certain he will be for the rest of the night.
“We could try other things…?” you suggest, gaze imploring.
A confused look crosses his face, understanding replacing it as he notices your nails trace down his chest, lower and lower. You grab the base of him, thick and heavy in your palm. An airy sigh floats from his mouth, nosing along the column of your throat as if he’s suddenly grown shy.
It’s still too dark to be able to see him in all his glory, but your sense of touch provides you with enough information to know that he’s huge. He’s shaped just like the regular human male, but much larger and heavier. The idea makes you salivate, thirsting for the day he finally lets you indulge in your silly fantasies. A series of ridges line the underside of his cock, and he seems to whimper whenever you add extra pressure to the area.
“Just want you to feel good too,” you say, pumping slowly.
The water ripples above your movement, moonlight bouncing off of every wave and swell. Jungwon kisses along your neck once again, sucking bruises into the skin that you sure will be tender to the touch come tomorrow morning. Though, the funny thing is, you never cared.
“I’m already feeling good,” he moans, bucking into your hand. “You feeling good makes me feel good.”
“Aww,” you coo. “You’re so cute.”
You feel him heat against you, nuzzling closer if even possible. “Shut up,” he whimpers.
You laugh, placing a kiss along his hairline. Your pace increases, groans and whimpers growing in intensity. Teasing his slit, Jungwon grows harder by the second. A series of clicks and whistles, a similar tune and rhythm to the foreign words he spoke to you weeks ago, are spoken into your neck.
“Are you finally gonna tell me what that means?” you whisper, clenching around nothing when he licks the shell of your ear.
“Means you’re mine,” he pants, pulling away from his hiding spot in the crook of your neck. “Forever.”
Oh, you’re sooo going to make him cum harder than he ever has.
Luckily for you, it doesn’t take much effort. With a few more flicks of your wrist, Jungwon twitches and finishes across your stomach, the ocean waves washing it away before you can scoop it into your mouth and show him how disgusting you can truly be.
He kisses you deeply, tongue tasting the bitterness of the alcohol and sweetness of the juice you drank what feels like forever ago. You let him ride out his high, hand coming to a still once you’re certain you’ve milked him of all he has.
Once he’s certain he can look into your eyes without being possessed by some lust-crazed animal for the second time that night, he pulls away from you, mesmerized by the shine of your eyes. Stealing the breath from his lungs, you giggle in such a lovesick way even Cupid would puke. You brush his hair away from his forehead, and he smiles softly.
And under the starlit night, the waves rocking the two of you gently, he kisses you so gently that you hear the moon sing.
—
When you wake up the next morning, you’re not entirely sure you can move. Your thighs are sore, your joints ache, and, worst of all, your heart misses Jungwon. The ceiling keeps you entertained for about twenty minutes, before your need to pee overweighs your desire to stay in bed, rotting. You contemplate crawling around on the floor for the rest of the day, but somehow, the thought of that sounds even worse than walking.
After a scalding hot shower and a thorough examination of the hickeys and bruises left on your body, you feel clean and refreshed, despite still longing for Jungwon. If you could move any faster, you’d be down at the beach right now, looking for him. Hopefully, he misses you just as much too.
However, despite the hours you spent with Jungwon last night, even as he guided you back to shore and kissed you goodbye, he never mentioned why he left. And as you brush your teeth and style your hair, you can’t help but let your mind run wild. Was it because of his attraction to you? You’ve never seen him behave like that, even during the brief moments, before your interaction last night, where you were aware of his arousal. He was always calm, despite proudly displaying his affection towards you. But last night was different.
Lust nearly consumed him, and although you're certain he would never seriously hurt you, the ache in your muscles establishes a firm reminder for just how strong he actually is. You vividly remember how his fangs gleamed under the moonlight, and just how sharp they were to the touch. And although you can practically feel them scraping against you now, no evidence of their touch remains. The only residual mark on your body, besides the numerous hickeys and bruises, is the mark of his bite.
It’s not sore like you’d expect a bite to be, although you do feel tender whenever you trace its pattern. Every time you touch it, or so much as graze it, it’s like the memories of last night resurface ten times more explicitly than before. It sets a fire within you, a furnace that burns to a more subtle degree, but glows nonetheless. The more you ignore it, the brighter it glows.
But before you address it, you need answers. And you need them from him.
Just as you peel yourself off your couch—slowly, of course—to go change and march down to the beach, a soft knock is heard from your front door. It’s still midmorning, and aware that all of your friends are late risers, you’re not expecting any of them to drop by unannounced.
Shuffling to the door, ignoring the ongoing pain in your hips, you pull the door open. And there, bathed in sunlight, stands Jungwon in the same pair of pajamas that you last saw him wear, albeit, much sandier. He’s beaming at you, every bit a ray of light that heals all the aches in your body and replaces it with a different kind of ache. What was it you said about needing answers? Yeah. Those could wait.
“Hi,” he says softly, smiling like he didn’t have you seeing the creation of the universe last night.
“Get in here,” you mutter, yanking him by his shirt. You kick the door shut behind him, pressing him against the wood surface. His eyes widen but his grin stays, hands instinctively falling to your hips.
“Did you miss me?” he asks, eyes melting you into a syrupy mess.
“No.”
Lies.
As you fiddle with the neckline of his shirt, he observes as your gaze slowly glides down to his lips, sighing the minute he sticks his tongue out to wet them. “You sure?” he questions, leaning in closer. You can’t help but mimic his action. “Because I missed you.”
You groan, taking the tiniest step forward. Your nose bumps his, and he nuzzles against it affectionately as if you’re not soaking wet right now. If you weren’t so entranced by his mouth, you would try to take a peak downward at his dick. Is he hard? He better be.
“Fine. I missed you,” you admit.
Jungwon’s lips pucker subconsciously the minute he feels your lower lip graze against his. The grip he has on your waist tightens, his grip still strong but not nearly as demanding as last night. Whatever came over him last night surely isn’t taunting him anymore, but something else certainly is.
The Jungwon standing in front of you now is your Jungwon. Not the Jungwon who belongs to the sea or is controlled by the moon or influenced by the tides. This Jungwon belongs to you and only you.
“Can I show you how much I missed you?” you ask, slipping a hand around his neck and tickling the little strands of hair at the base of his skull.
He inhales shakily, nodding without much of a spoken word despite saying so much through his eyes. He practically falls forward onto your lips, catching you by surprise. You steady him with a hand on his chest, but allow yourself to stumble backward. Afterall, that’s where you were planning on heading anyway.
The kiss is much more gentle than the ones you’ve shared, despite the ferocity in which he initiated it. It’s not like you mind. You’ve never been one to complain about a man who yearns and lets it be known.
You guide him to your couch, the layout of your living room memorized like the back of your hand. Jungwon still manages to bump into your coffee table, hissing in pain against your lips but quickly laughs it off when he sees how flustered you’ve become. Besides, he has much more important things to do than worry about his potentially bruised calf.
With a hand on his chest, Jungwon allows you to push him back onto your sofa, sitting down on the cushions he has spent plenty of time with, especially with you by his side. But this time, instead of watching a movie or talking aimlessly into the night, he has you sprawled across his lap, thighs caging his hips.
He’s amused by your impatience, letting you tug his pajama shirt over his head, indifferent to the sand that might have been dusted off of it. Slack jawed, you trace his pecks, fingers tracing along his nipples. It’s amazing being able to see him like this in the early morning light, his body not shielded from your view by water or your own shyness. No, now you’re eager.
Jungwon arches into your hand when you pinch his nipple, a soft whine slipping from his pink lips. Grabbing the back of his neck, you guide him towards you, licking into his mouth. Your tongues tangle together, sucking and kissing any inch of flesh you both can find. He massages your ass, much gentler and more timid than he was last night. A little nagging voice in the back of your mind reminds you to take things slow, but between last night and the questions you still have left unanswered, any caution about tempo is thrown out the window.
“I want to touch you,” you state, pushing away from him abruptly. Jungwon shakes his head, trying his best to clear the fog clouding his brain. You said it so matter of factly, like you were reporting the weather, that he’s unsure if he heard you correctly the first time. It isn’t until you start tugging his pajama pants down his thighs, the weight of his hips preventing you from tugging them very far, that he realizes there is no problem with his comprehension of the human language. “I want to touch you,” you repeat, pressing quick kisses to his jaw to bring his attention back to you.
Jungwon nods eagerly, lifting his hips and covering your hands with his own as he helps you pull his pants down his defined thighs. Typically, you’re not one to send heart eyes to someone’s dick, but you nearly swoon at the sight.
His tip is flushed red, hard and heavy from only a little kissing and shoving each other around. Jungwon breathes heavily, eyes darting between you and his cock in anticipation. He’s never used it before—the human form, that is—not unless you would count when he got curious one night after waking up to an uncomfortable tightness and experimenting in the bathroom. Other than that brief moment, he doesn’t quite know what to expect. He knows his human form is more sensitive, more receptive to your touch and not as durable as his true form. Just from you looking at him, gaze hungry, has him twitching and leaking against his stomach.
Finally gaining control of yourself, licking over your lips, you look at Jungwon. His chest rises and falls, small puffs of air drifting from his lips. The swell of his cheeks heat pink under your scrutiny, eyes unwavering when usually you like to play coy. But now you just look at him, eyes dripping honey and pulling him in so deep he thinks he might drown, of all people.
You lean forward and kiss him, simple and sweet, but as he chases after you, you wrap your hand around his cock, sliding upward and squeezing around the head. His mouth falls slack against your own, his breath hitting your lips as he struggles to regain his composure. He’s not too sure he wants to find it anyways.
You tug his length, fascinated by the extra inch he grows despite thinking he was already at full capacity. He’s heavy in your hand, spitting into your palm to aid the glide of his cock. Tossing his head back and closing his eyes, Jungwon nearly sinks into your couch, jaw still slack and hands now laying limp around your waist. It must feel good, because the way his hips twitch, trying their best to stay patient and exhibit some restraint, has you clenching around nothing.
“Feel good?” you ask, kissing his relaxed lips.
“Uh huh,” he moans, nodding slightly as he tries to kiss you back belatedly. He does better the second time around, hands now gripping your shirt with a fervor that has memories of last night surging to the forefront of your mind yet again.
Thank god for having sex with Jungwon again—hopefully the sexual flashbacks will be less intense, although you doubt it.
Tracing his slit, a breathy whine escapes his mouth only to be swallowed up by your tongue. He’s leaking all over your fingers, the pearlescent substance coating you in a sticky sheen. Finally able to crack his eyes open, Jungwon quickly falls in love with how concerned with his pleasure you’ve become, focus bouncing between his dick and his face.
His breath hitches as he catches sight of your fingers covered in his precum, and you don’t miss the way his abs clench underneath the palm you splay across his stomach. Bucking upwards, less restrained than the past few times, you indulge him by matching his pace.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he whimpers, licking your neck and feeling your pulse jump under his tongue. You rake your fingers through his hair, tugging him back to where you can see him. He relents, brow pinching slightly at the pain but melting the minute you begin to scratch lightly at his scalp. If your hand wasn’t working him to completion, he thinks he could fall asleep with your hand in his hair. However, a particularly harsh tug of his cock has him seeing stars, lids growing heavy once more.
You release him for a second, watching his manhood slap against his stomach with a satisfied hum. The slight wince from him doesn’t deter you, fascinated by his sensitivity and lack of filter as you bring your slick-covered hand up to your mouth, licking his pre off your fingers before grabbing him once more.
Jungwon groans, suddenly consumed by his own attraction towards you. What the hell has he been doing this whole time? Letting you touch all up on him, not bothering to do the same to you?! Ashamed doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Off,” he mumbles, not even bothering to wait for your cooperation as he yanks your top over your head. The newly disheveled state of your hair would typically make Jungwon chuckle, but his preoccupied state only has him carelessly tossing your shirt aside and pulling you closer. “My pretty girl,” he murmurs, breath fanning across your nipples as he plants soft kisses along your breasts.
Sucking a nipple into his mouth, your pace on his cock slows as he rolls the nub between his teeth. Although you’re certain he doesn’t mean to distract you, the tingly sensation that the suction around your tit provides has you nearly forgetting about his length all together.
“Mmph- Wonie,” you moan quietly, nails scraping along his scalp. He hums around your breast, using his other hand to fondle and pinch at your previously unstimulated nipple. “Feels so good.”
“Yeah?” he huffs, a soft pop sounding from his lips. “Love seeing you like this. My pretty, pretty girl.”
Diving back into your tits, where he feels safe and sound—as well as incredibly aroused—you resume your mission of pleasing him by your hand. Jungwon’s jaw drops slowly, recognizing the warmth and pressure that begins to build in him once more. His teeth graze the underside of your boob, creating small indents as he loses sense of control and begins to suck your skin into his mouth, bruises and hickeys left in their wake.
He redirects his hand away from your tit, trailing it down over the plane of your stomach, pinching the skin in fascination. However, that only makes you squeeze his dick tighter, a shocked moan spilling from his lips as he attempts to regain his composure.
Jungwon has learned a lot of things about himself because of you. For example, he’s learned that he enjoys sweets more than savory foods, he enjoys busy days just as much as he likes lazy ones, and that he doesn’t like to be pleased if you are not also experiencing some sort of pleasure. And when his fingers trail just low enough to graze your pussy over your panties, dripping with your own arousal, he can acknowledge that his touch on your skin is plenty to satisfy you in some ways.
But he remembers how wet you got for him last night. He’s certain he can do better than he’s doing now.
He traces your hole over the fabric of your panties, the tip of his middle finger just about nearly breaching the tight ring of muscle before he pulls back, only to do it again. And again. And again.
You whine, tugging him by his dark locks so you can kiss him. In a clash of teeth and tongues, he decides to provide you some relief as he slips his fingers underneath the soaked fabric and sinks into your aching hole, the squelch of your slick damn near pornographic. You moan as he licks hungrily into your mouth, desperate to be as close to you as possible.
The heel of his palm presses deliciously against your clit, causing your hips to squirm. The grip you have on him makes Jungwon see stars, a sheet of white flashing beneath his eye lids every time he closes his eyes.
“Fuck,” he groans lowly after a particularly harsh tug of your hand. He feels you clench around him at the sound, adding another finger. “You make me feel so good.”
“God, Jungwon,” you whine, unsure if you want to focus all of your attention on his cock or his fingers inside of you.
You’re not certain if you’re so worked up because of the sounds he’s making or the memory of last night taunting you before he arrived at your front door or just because he’s that damn good at pleasing you. Either way, you can feel the thread within you growing thinner, the band tighter and you can tell he feels it too.
“So wet,” he whispers in awe, pulling away from your lips to glance down at your eager pussy. You’re practically sucking him in.
“Yeah? You like that?” a newfound confidence washing over you. You swivel your palm across the head of his cock, teasing his frenulum with your thumb. “Seems like you like this too,” you tease, observing the way he bucks up into your hand.
“Yeah. Oh- fuuuuck,” he moans, a groan of your name following soon after. He tries his best to curl his fingers inwards, searching for that spot that makes you see supernovas. Just as you clench tightly around his fingers, that furrow between your brows forming, he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.
You grow more frantic in your movements, rapidly pumping your hand against his spit and pre-covered length. Jungwon twitches against your palm, his vision growing blurry as he continues to assault that sensitive spot in you. He can feel you getting there much quicker than last night, but it’s not like he minds. He’s not going to be able to hold off much longer.
“Want you to cum,” you whimper, eyes tearing with desperation. “Wonie, please cum for me. I want it so bad.”
He groans, scissoring his fingers open inside of you that has your vision blurring both from tears and with pleasure. You can feel yourself teetering over that edge, the deepest part of you burning for release. With a roll of your hips and the friction of his palm against your clit, your walls spasm around his fingers, the clench providing much for Jungwon’s imagination. He ruts upwards, your hand still held tight around the head of his cock as he twitches against your fingers, cum leaking down his shaft and across your stomach.
As he opens eyes, mesmerized by the sudden relief that washes over your features, he pulls you into him, flopping sideways so the two of you can rest and catch your breath.
As the rise and fall of his chest slows, and your walls stop pulsing intermittently, you are able to remember what you wanted to discuss with Jungwon in the first place. Although you’re not necessarily upset by his ability to redirect your focus, you are always a woman with a goal that will get accomplished, distractions or not.
Sitting up slightly, you brace a hand on his chest, the faint beat of his heart knocking against your palm. He watches you, eyes warm and sleepy. A contented grin spreads across his face, warm as melting butter, but it quickly drops when he sees the frown deepening at the corner of your mouth.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, worried. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, I’m still new to this. I’ve never been with-”
“No, no. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me, I’m fine,” you reassure, placating the crease between his brow.
He follows your guidance, refocusing his concern on the problem that seems to be occupying your brain. “What’s wrong then?”
“Why’d you leave?” you ask, not bothering to beat around the bush. “I thought you liked what we had going on. Why did you leave?”
Now it’s his turn to frown, a small pout confirming his confusion. “I didn’t leave. I was going to come back.”
Bro. Looks like men are stupid no matter the species.
“I woke up and you were gone, Jungwon. You didn’t tell me where you were going, you didn’t leave anything for me to assume that you would return,” you list, cheeks burning hot under his gaze. “I didn’t take you for that kind of guy, but it’s hard to not assume the worst when you literally dipped with no explanation. I was worried.”
He sits up fully, slipping a hand around your waist as you follow suit. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, eyes sincere. “I didn’t know it would scare you, it’s sort of hard to explain.”
“I don’t care, explain it.” you urge patience wearing thin although you don’t mean for it to. “And you were weird as fuck last night too.”
“You thought I was weird?” he asks, growing defensive. “You were literally wet.”
“Two things can be true at once,” you say, growing shy. Usually you’re the one who can stump him with your words, but the better he gets at your tongue, the better he gets at leaving you rendered speechless. “I did think you were hot, but it wasn’t… I don’t know… you’ve never been that way before. I was a little surprised.”
You both stare each other down, fairly aware of your back pedaling but willing to accept it for the sake of having this conversation. He adjusts your legs, throwing one over his lap, partially because he wants you closer and also because seeing your pussy still shiny from your release is making it hard for him to pay attention to the subject at hand. It only helps slightly, a full view of your cunt now hindered by your thigh.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” he explains, choosing his words slowly and carefully. “I missed the water so I went for a swim. I was going to just be gone for a few minutes, maybe find some shells for you ‘cause I know you like them. But then I realized the state of the moon, and what it does… I just thought it would be safer if I stayed away.”
You shake your head, not quite following. “I don’t get it,” you announce, a petulant lilt in your voice that makes him laugh.
“The moon sometimes messes with my head and makes me… you know…” he trails off, avoiding eye contact. The blush that blooms on the tip of his ears is cute. “But I’m okay now. Sometimes it has no effect, sometimes it does. I could feel it coming on though, and it can be difficult to control so I decided to stay away until it passed.”
You nod, digesting all this new information. You faintly recall a story you heard ages ago of how merfolk are closely guided by the moon, and although they may not be as influenced as Jungwon suggests, part of it still rings true. He’s avoiding your eyes, fascinated by the small red light on your cable box. It’s hard to believe that there will be a day where he’s not amazed by your television.
Desperate to regain his attention, you pinch his sides. When that fails, his blush glowing a deeper shade of crimson, you decide on something that will certainly get him worked up.
“Is that the only reason you wanted to touch me like that? Because of the moon?”
He whips his head around so fast you’re scared he broke his neck. Jungwon almost looks mad, scandaled that you would even dare to ask such a question.
“No!” he nearly shouts, grip tightening around your waist. You watch the way your flesh pillows under his fingers, a vein running down the front of his hand and down to his slender fingers. “I-I’ve always wanted to do that with you. The second I met you I wanted to, but-”
“The second you met me? Really?” you smile, drawing a faint pattern on his pec that has goosebumps raising along his skin.
“Yeah,” he nods, voice weakened by your touch. “I’ve always wanted you.”
“Hmm,” you hum, tossing your leg across his hip to straddle him once more. “How did you want me?”
“I-”
“Did you want to taste me the way you did last night? Or just stick your fingers in me?”
Jungwon’s blush creeps from his ears, across his face, and down his neck, a bright shade of rose painting his tanned skin. You giggle sweetly, pressing a kiss to his cheek that he accepts gratefully. You grind down on his hardening length, still sticky from his release.
A moan floats from Jungwon’s mouth, a welcomed sound. “I wanted to do all those things,” he agrees, rutting up against the warmth of your pretty pussy. “‘Want to do more, too.”
“More? You want more?”
“Mhm,” he whines, his bangs drooping into his eyes. You brush them back, eager to see his lids grow heavy with lust. “I really want to fuck you.”
Alright.
“Bedroom.”
He follows closely behind you, sloppily kissing your shoulder as you tug him towards your room. You’re royally fucked, your legs already shaking the minute you lay down on your bed, Jungwon climbing over you the second your back hits the mattress.
“You’re so pretty,” he says, kissing up your neck and jaw.
You giggle, tangling your fingers in his hair, softer than a morning breeze. You could hear him say that same compliment a hundred times more, and it would still leave you warm and fuzzy.
“You’re pretty, too,” you comment, kissing his nose.
He giggles against your lips, chaste kisses scattered across your mouth and face. The warm feeling of your words spreads in his chest and throughout his whole body, heating him from the inside out. Lazily dragging a finger down to your willing cunt, he gently circles your clit to prep you.
You’re aware that he’s smaller than what he presented you with last evening, but he’s still plenty big. His length rests in the crux of your thigh, long and thick. Your mouth falls open, soft moans slipping from your lips as he wastes no time licking into your mouth. Jungwon subtly begins to grind against your leg, intoxicated by your touch, no matter the medium.
You, however, are growing desperate.
“I need you to fuck me, Jungwon,” you plead, digging your nails into his shoulders. His eyes grow heavy, tracing every line and edge of your face. “Please, baby. Fuck me.”
He would give you the world if you asked.
Ever the most efficient, Jungwon leans back slightly, placing his cock between your folds and watching as your hole clenches at the proximity. He thrusts against you a few times, coating himself with your slick and savoring the moan you release when he nudges your clit. The mark of his teeth on your thigh stares back at him, still tender and fresh. He traces the crescents, heart thundering against his ribcage so loudly he’s almost positive you can hear it.
“Wait, fuck,” you gasp, stopping him with a hand on his hip. “We need a condom.”
“W-What? What’s that?”
You lean towards the small table next to your bed, pulling the drawer open before you reveal a small foil square. Tearing it open with your teeth—a sight that Jungwon could’ve never predicted would make his dick twitch—you reveal a delicate latex circle. He sits back on his haunches when you guide him away from the inside of your thighs, upset by the distance, but pleased when you wrap your hand around the base of him. You slip the latex over his head and down his shaft, quick and effortless like you’ve done this before. He doesn’t want to think about it.
“It’s so I don’t get pregnant,” you inform, laying back down against your no-longer pristine sheets.
Jungwon thinks he just came a little bit at the thought.
“Right,” he coughs, looming over you once again. “Wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“Are you blushing?” you tease, pinching his ruby-red cheek between your thumb and forefinger.
He swats you away, tucking his head against the curve of your neck in embarrassment. “Shut up,” he mumbles.
Jungwon sighs the second he ruts against you, soft and breathy. You indulge him for a moment, whining with every glide against your clit. However, after a couple minutes of humping against each other like animals, the heat boiling within you grows too unbearable to ignore.
“Alright,” you huff, reaching between you two to line him up against your hole. “‘Need to feel you inside me now.”
He nods, lifting his head from your neck so he can watch himself slowly sink into you. You’re tighter than he could’ve imagined, a loud moan escaping him without his control. You lift your hips, chasing the feeling of him filling you up. Maybe you’ve always been able to get this wet—you’re not sure—but you know you’ve never been this wet for anyone other than Jungwon.
“Fuck, Wonie,” you whine, clawing at his back. Once he reaches the hilt, he collapses forward, nosing along your jaw as he whimpers with every adjusting clench around his cock.
Thrusting forward, neither of you know what to focus on. Hands groping and fondling everything they can reach, you’re certain red lines litter Jungwon’s back and he’s sure finger-print shaped bruises will be printed across your thigh, accompanying his bite mark.
“You feel so good, pretty,” he moans, grinding against your clit before pulling out half-way and thrusting forward.
Jungwon prides himself in his strength, he’s always been quick and able to fight back without worry. But at this moment, you’ve rendered him weak. All of his energy is directed to pleasing you, resting between your folds, hot and heavy. The head of his cock grazes against the spongy spot inside you, and it has you pressing your tits against his chest and moaning into his ear. He thinks that might be his new favorite feeling, but then you have him experiencing a feeling so new and unique that he realizes that having a favorite is impossible when it comes to you.
You have to damn near yank Jungwon away from you, neck damp and warm from his panting against your skin. Jungwon moans against your tongue the second you kiss him, lips bit-ridden and plush.
“Mmph, baby,” you moan, unable to kiss back after a particularly harsh thrust against your walls. Stars decorate your vision, hyperfixating on the mole on his jaw before becoming enamored by the small smirk on his lips. “You’re so good to me.”
Completely blissed out, Jungwon isn’t even aware of his smile, but you love it all the same. “Yeah? Makin’ you feel good, pretty?” he groans, speeding up his pace just a fraction. “Need more? Want to feel you come again, is that okay?”
You nod frantically, unable to control yourself as your hips don’t know whether to run away or lean into the pleasure he’s providing you. “Need it,” you whine, overwhelmed by the pressure building within you.
“Mmph- anything you want, beautiful,” he whimpers, pressing a kiss to your lips before pushing your knee closer to chest and resting it along the curve of his waist.
He sets a brutal pace, sounds of your pussy squelching around him and your moans filling the room. You can feel yourself dripping down his shaft and onto your sheets, a mess you’ll most definitely need to clean up later but can’t be bothered to worry about at this moment. Not while he’s fucking you so well.
Your tits jump with every harsh thrust, his hips smacking against your own. He’s entranced by how mindless you’ve become, growing needier with every sigh and whine that escapes you. There has never been a prettier sight than you.
“Ohh,” you gasp, hips jolting when you feel his fingers begin to rub your clit. “Fuck, keep doing that, baby. I’m so close,” you urge, vision colored with lust.
“I got you,” he whispers against your ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth before releasing it with a pop. “Just let go, pretty.”
He rubs your clit one more time, your eyes slipping shut before you cum for the second time in the past hour. Your head presses into the pillow beneath you, back arching as your hips rut against him as you chase the remainder of your release.
You grow impossibly tighter around him, the slick that spills from you aiding the glide of his cock inside you. Rendered breathless, all words leave your mind. You can only moan to let him know how good he’s making you feel. Jungwon continues to buck wildly against you, eager to taste his own pleasure.
“Never gonna leave you again,” he groans, kissing and sucking your lips into his mouth. “Never wanna be without you.”
Boneless and weak, you use the last of your strength to card your fingers through his hair one last time, meeting his eyes with a fond look. His dick throbs, aching and heavy, and your gaze is not helping stave off his impending release. He curses his gods and yours for trying to separate the two of you, eternally grateful that you defied the odds by coming together as his stomach and balls tighten.
Jungwon doesn’t want it to end. It all feels too fast. But the look you give him reassures that you will have many more opportunities to come. Opportunities for him to lazily rock against you in the mornings, moments to fuck you into oblivion, and moments to make proper love. He can't wait to hear more sounds from you and to whisper filthier words into your ear, and to feel you melt around him time and time again.
The syrupy sounds you release fill him up, and as his voice jumps the octave in a breathy moan, he releases into the condom. His dick twitches relentlessly against your walls, overstimulating you beyond the point where you could care. He rocks against you unceremoniously, jerky and without rhythm before slowing to a gentle end.
Jungwon presses his forehead to yours, allowing you to cradle his face in your palms as you press sweet kisses into his skin. As the two of you slow, stilling into a quiet calm, your breaths sync and your hands continue to explore in a hushed wonder.
For the first time in your life, you don’t mind basking in the silence of the morning, consenting to his gaze under the broad daylight, despite being certain you look like a sweaty, fucked-out mess. But Jungwon doesn’t care, you’re his girl all the same.
The two of you finally come to, giggly kisses keeping you occupied until you grow hungry, stumbling out of bed to clean yourselves. And as you sit on the floor of your living room, beside Jungwon, handing him a grilled cheese—too tired to fix anything else—you realize that your father has been right about many things, but he could not possibly be more wrong than he was about your boyfriend and his character. He is the sea and the sky and the Earth, all wrapped into one.
When Jungwon knocks his knee against your bare thigh, dressed only in his underwear with buttered crumbs stuck to his lips as he sends you a love-sick smile, you feel certain that you did the right thing by returning to the beach that day. With the moon etched into his eyes and the sun kissing your skin, your infatuation has transcended worlds.
synopsis: you're too busy with textbooks and constant "when will you get a boyfriend?" questions. though, your roommate, choi seungcheol, seemingly has all the time to be sleeping around campus. it has you wondering, is it that good?
pairing: frat!scoups x genius!f.reader
genre: college au, smut, slight crack
word count: 13.4k
content/trigger warning: MDNI 18+ content, alcohol consumption, reader is an anxious person, reader is very sexually frustrated, reader wants scoups REAL bad, tension gah!, random ass oc names for readers friends, your friends are kind of pushy, drunk sex, brief mention of loss of virginity at the end, readers first time, brief dry humping, mirror sex, size kink & strength kink if you squint, nipple play, fingering, begging, degradation, grower!scoups, unprotected piv (no glove no love guys!!), multiple rounds/positions(missionary, doggy), overstimulation, spanking, rough sex, squirting, brief choking via choke hold, creampie, petnames: hers(baby), let me know if i missed any!!!!
a/n: oh my god i thought i would die before i would finish writing this. thank you thank you thank you, to my dearest personal friends and sister for supporting me during this. please enjoy, and if you see any errors don't be shy and mention them!! comments and reposts are very much appreciated <3.
one:
College dick is good, as everyone has proclaimed. Yet, here you are, two years into your undergraduate degree. No dick, no life, and no money. The Loser check list is practically already fully checked off.
If you didn’t already exceed at the ‘Loser check list’, you’re currently occupied at your cluttered desk. Head buried in textbooks, knee anxiously bouncing, hands taut in your ‘day two’ hair.
There was an assignment that was due yesterday, and you’ve been constantly thinking about it since. To be honest, you don’t even know why you put it off, you swear you only did that to make yourself go insane.
You thought that you'll live a little but you're always stuck studying and finishing presentations. Or when you do socialize, all your friends talk about the cute boy on campus, or how dinner went with their boyfriend of two months, or their sneaky link ghosting them.
Those were also gentle reminders why you should stay single. You had your fair share; some blowjobs, as in one, then making out, and the list kind of stopped there. You prioritized homework and studying, over boys that are Mr. Minute Man.
As if college couldn’t get any worse, you're also stuck with a sucky ass roommate. You didn't want to pay for on campus dorms, so you decided on a nicer place, but having to commute to school every day.
The thing about your roommate, is that they're full of shit, obnoxious, always, and when I mean always, it's constant, they're constantly fucking someone. You thought your libido was high? Oh no, you've truly been out-freaked by your roommate, Choi, freaking, Seungcheol.
Practically half of the campus girls had walked in and out of your flat. The real reason why, is because of Choi Seungcheol's fucking dick. His cock is a living and walking legend. Him as a whole is already a package: strong arms, deep voice, tall, and broad. Then, his dick was just the ribbon on the entire present.
Truly his greed sickens you, and yet the fact he's fucking a sorority sister, maybe every other week, agitates you. It made you wonder, is it really that good?
—
It was another quiet day in your shared flat, you're brewing coffee absently. Seungcheol had left the house for some activity in his fraternity. He said it was some team bonding shit and then slammed the door. Perfect, you thought, the house was finally silent.
The awfully thin walls reverberated the moans from the squealiest girl he fucked last night. You needed this coffee and silence more than anything right now.
Your brain buzzed busily as you recalled the homework and upcoming tests you needed to finish and study for.
The electric kettle clicked with the bubbling of boiling water, signifying you to get out of your head. You poured the boiling water into a thick, glass mug. Stirring up the syrup concoction you just made.
It was your natural routine, the sound of your metal spoon clinking against your ceramic mug, with the rumbling and humming of cars outside your flat. It was comforting to say the least, when it was quiet.
Although many days like this, your brain wasn't. The loud noises from last night always sink into your stomach, coiling like a boa constrictor ready to eat their prey. You don’t know when this sexual fixation started, or how you were so sensitive to… well that stuff.
Maybe it started when you began to read stupid smut books where they don't even execute sex properly. Then when you were older, watching stupid pornos where they go at an ungodly speed, and somehow you couldn’t live without thinking about sex. Wishing to experience, like all those girls who said they lost their virginity in stupid highschool.
What got to your head was the fact you were so inexperienced, yet so experienced at the same time.
You let out a sharp exhale as you checked your phone with sudden urgency you didn't have five minutes ago. Your friends had decided you didn't come outside your house enough this month, so they invited you to eat some brunch with them.
It always went the same way, small talk, boyfriend talk, then to 'are-you-seeing-anyone' talk. Like, they’ve managed to ask the same thing in the span of a week.
Perhaps your relationship status might have changed, but for you, no way in heaven would it.
It's okay, they were good friends nonetheless. Always pushing you to do new things, and keeping that spark of social skills alive in you, despite your refusal.
There's not much they can do when you've set your standards higher than your grades, which your grades are pretty high. Or modestly high. Or is it average? You don't know anymore, with the ghost of expectations haunting you. A strict set of rules no one ever asked you to meet, managed to keep you in line.
—
You quickly tidied up your hair as you caught a glance of yourself in the mirror. Your lips tugged up into a staged smile, then into a smirk of pure shock. You haven't seen yourself so put together in maybe, months? Usually these small dates with your friends motivated you to doll yourself up.
It's almost addictive how good you look when you put effort into your looks. You don't care how you look most of the time, because literally no one else cares. Plus, Seungcheol brings over these goddess-like girls, and you don't even dare try to compete with them. Not like you… not like you ever thought about appealing to Seungcheol.
As you exited the house, Seungcheol was making his way back home, glancing at you like a stranger.
"Where are you going?" He pressed, making you shoot him an incredulous glare. He’s acting like you don’t have a social life, which is partially correct.
"Brunch. With my friends." You stated it like it was obvious, like he could have guessed. Which he couldn't.
He doesn't believe in 'brunch'. It's either late breakfast or early lunch, no such thing as 'brunch', he proclaimed the last time you uttered such words.
"Oh, okay." He cocked an accusing eyebrow, and walked into the house without another word. You let out a scoff, rolling your eyes at how stupid that conversation was.
That summed up your relationship, a few words, a glare, and then thick silence. Recently though, he’s been ignoring you, or avoiding you? You can’t tell because you’ve been avoiding home as of late.
An uncharacteristic thing that’s been happening is the lack of girls flooding into your shared place. Last night was kind of a surprise though, he would have told you before… but he didn’t. Honestly, you’re kind of thankful that he told you— excluding last night— because you couldn’t manage any more sleepless nights.
You sighed slamming your car door to silence the endless spill of thoughts in your head. Your eyes tried to keep focus on the route as your knuckles clenched to white. He's so utterly stupid, you can't believe people would flock over to suck his dick—
Your GPS yelled at you that you had missed your left turn. A long sigh dragged from your lips as you followed the prompted directions. You’re shooting glances at your phone whilst making sure another driver doesn’t decide to play footsies with their brake.
Something that’s a mystery to you is how Seungcheol inhabited a chunk of your brain. The ratio being 95% school and 5% Seungcheol, and that’s pretty extreme for you.
He’s your roommate, you shouldn’t be imagining wanting to run your hands along his back muscles, tracing the tattoo of an olive tree down the column of his spine. Or even how his face feels when he buries it into the crook of your neck, his calloused hands gripping onto your thighs.
Whenever he occupied your thoughts, you couldn’t figure out why. Even if you were to stop and think, it’d strain your big, beautiful brain. You wouldn’t dare date him, he sleeps around, he’s an asshole, he’s not as driven in school as you are. He’s just… just someone you shouldn’t date or be affiliated with.
Your pride held you back mostly, and you knew that. It’s just if you were to date him, you feel like this perfect world you had built so deliberately, will shatter. Your friends will be disappointed, the past girls he dated and slept with will lash out at you, and maybe even your parents will be disappointed. You don’t want that. You don’t want to disappoint anyone, and most importantly, you don’t want to disappoint Seungcheol.
-
The cafe was cozy, with welcoming colors and flourishing plants. In the window, you can see an older guy with a newspaper who sat alone in a booth. A family of four eating at a table while talking animatedly to each other. Then an awfully chatty dude talking to the guy working behind the bar, adjusting the cakes on the display.
After you begrudgingly parallel parked, the door chimed as you pushed it open. A chipper, brunette hostess greeted you, but your friends are already hooting and hollering in a booth that you can only see in your peripheral.
"I'm... with them." You motioned with your thumb, and the hostess just nodded with an understanding smile on her lips.
"Oh my god! It's a miracle!" Erika exclaimed, her dyed dirty blonde hair tied neatly up into a bun. A gummy, warm smile graced her already beautiful face.
"Is it really one? We had to beg her to come out." Jennifer retorted, snorting before she drank a sip out of her chai latte. She tucked her silky black hair behind her ear, her dainty silver piercings glimmering in the morning light.
You let out a scoff as you playfully shoved Jennifer, who gasped in offense. "Listen now, I just didn't want to bail on your guy's beautiful faces."
"Please, we all know you need relationship advice." Jennifer murmured slyly, making Erika laugh. She always laughed at anything, and which you're thankful for, because you'd actually fight Jennifer if it wasn't for Erika's sweet laughter.
"Me? How's you and that mysterious campus boy you kissed at the last sorority party?" You prodded, Jennifer returned your comment with a lazy eye roll.
"Hey, that was just a one time thing. He's kind of weird." She admitted, stirring her drink absently.
Erika hummed noncommittally, seemingly deep in thought or just spacing out. "Wasn't he like a stoner? I'm pretty sure Jiwon got in trouble last time for being with a guy who did drugs."
"Erika what the actual hell are you talking about?" Jennifer laughed, looking at Erika's already dumbfounded face.
"Oh my god, are you guys talking about Chris? Seungcheol said he got kicked out." You whispered in a conspirative manner. Seungcheol didn't actually tell you this directly, you just happened to overhear.
"You kissed Chris?" Erika's face visibly repulsed, plucking up her menu.
"No! I don't know what this idiot is talking about—" Jennifer sighed loudly as she cut herself off, playfully glaring back at you.
"Speaking of Seungcheol, you should go to his party this weekend." Jennifer suggested to you, in order to change the topic, her manicured nails clinking against her drink.
"Girl, if I went to a party, something seriously wrong must have happened." You plainly responded, closing your menu. "Are you guys ready to order?"
Erika hummed in response as she stirred the straw around in her drink. Jennifer called over the waiter who happened to be placing out cups of water for a nearby table.
Jennifer was always the strong-headed, blunt beauty in this trio. With her dark hair and monochromatic clothing, even you would date her.
Erika on the other hand... was different. Her bubbly, giggly attitude was a stark difference to Jennifer. To the pastel and warm toned clothing and delicate, you can say those two were polar opposites.
With you, you were the perfect mix of them both. That's why you guys get along so well. Even though they nag you about your absent dating life.
-
Your meal arrived in a speedy manner, you’re already stuffing your face because just coffee wouldn't cut it for you.
Erika and Jennifer rambled about the drama between sororities right now. How girls are constantly getting caught being indecent literally anywhere now. They turn their attention to your crumb dusted face.
"Say, has Seungcheol been bringing anyone to your place recently?" Erika poked, pointing her fork at you.
"No? Well, usually he's been doing it when I'm out of the house, in the library." You chewed on your right side of your mouth, washing your meal down with water.
"Of course... the library." Jennifer mused, giving you a teasing glare.
"Well excuse me… Mr. Wagner assigned a freaking essay right before break. I don't wanna hear moaning when I'm writing about some... stupid bullshit he always pulls out of his ass." You retorted, no more food in your mouth.
Jennifer raised her hands in defense. "Okay chill, I was just making an observation. Also, how have you been keeping up with Seungcheol? You haven’t been bitching and moaning about him recently.”
“Hey! I’ve never bitched and moaned about Seungcheol.” You pointed your fork at Jennifer. You haven’t actually, it was a keen observation. Recently he’s been nicer to you, if avoiding you is being nice.
Erika glanced at you like you were crazy. “Excuse me??? That’s all you did for about maybe a month.”
You sighed in defeat, poking at your food absently. “...Okay maybe.”
“‘Okay maybe’ isn’t an answer, something has to be going on.” Jennifer nagged, and she was kind of right. Just kind of.
“Fine… if you want to hear it so badly, I guess I’ll just admit it.” A long sigh dragged from your lips; the heavy weight of your thoughts fleeting as you prepared to announce it.
You annoyingly drawled out the thick silence, nails tapping insistently on the dining table. “It's like… I can’t stop thinking about him.” You mumbled out, eyes glued on your food.
They both groaned, like they saw this coming.
“Dude, what… What the hell?” Erika sighed, pinching her nose bridge.
“I freaking knew it!” Jennifer scoffed, smashing her fork against the table, creating an awfully loud metallic clank.
“Guys— just hear me out.” You started, but both of them look unimpressed, easily shutting you up. A ball of guilt started stirring in your stomach as you looked at them in panic. Unease rushed through your body, as anxious thoughts flooded your mind.
“You’re coming to this party if you like it or not. You need to realize that Seungcheol is actually evil.” Jennifer reprimanded, she immediately yanked out her phone. “Sending you the details, right now.”
Shortly, your phone buzzed with Jennifer’s contact dropping down on the notification bar. Telling them and understanding your feelings, was already a sign you’re too far gone. It's their duty to refrain you from falling victim to Choi Seungcheol. Even if they’re already failing.
two:
Pathetically, you've retreated to the library to take your mind off things. Taking a quiet corner you've always claimed. The familiar musty smell of yellowed paper and the outside rain truly healed your heart. You neatly set up your folders, pushing up your slipping bluelight glasses.
It was perfect actually, the clouds blocking the shining sun with fat drops of rain. An unexpected heavy sigh escaped your lips, as you stared at your blank document. You came here to distract yourself, but you spot a touchy couple a few tables away to your right.
You can see his hand squeeze her thigh in broad fluorescent lighting. How her leg is thrown over his knee, and how their shoulders rubbed against each other.
Your nails dugged into your knees unconsciously at the sight. The tension in your jaw snapped you back to reality.
God, get a room, you thought.
As your knee bounced anxiously, you can't help your drifting mind.
Imagining the warmth and pressure of someone else's hands. Their own personal scent fogging your mind, their voice soft and reserved for you. His strong arms draped over your shoulder like it belonged there as he played with your hair. A gummy smile growing, making his dimples cave in his cute cheeks. His full, pouty lips distract you from his attentive eyes…
You shook your head to snap yourself out of this perverted daze. You can't believe you just thought about Seungcheol. Wait. Was that Seungcheol you were thinking about?
An annoyed sigh escaped your bitten lips, your eyes snapping back down to the bare document.
-
Ten minutes went by. Then fifteen. Then thirty.
Your nail tapped insistenly against the metal of your laptop while your bouncing knee practically shook the whole table. The downpour of the rain was getting louder and more intense, some people fleeing into the library to just wait it out.
Your mind returned to those past imaginations, absolutely wrecking your concentration. You feel too immersed in your thoughts, even to the point where your heart started racing at the idea.
It’s almost like you can feel his breath mingling with yours and stealing the air out of your lungs. A phantom brush of his nose against your pulse point, that familiar charming smile haunting against your neck. His annoyingly addicting scent that is tailored to him and him only. Just the mere thought of him has you wrecked.
Suddenly, you take a moment, sniffing the air like a weirdo. You could have sworn you smelt his signature scent. A whiff of the gut wrenching cedary citrus hit you, a chill running straight up your spine. There’s no doubt that it's Seungcheol's cologne.
An annoyed and pent up sigh left your mouth. Your head falling into your palms as you groaned, trying to clear your head just in case he’s actually lurking around.
His cologne got stronger, the scent haunting you, or maybe you were thinking about him too much. It was like you manifested him into existence.
Suddenly, you feel the warmth of someone elses body radiating onto yours.
“Can I sit here?” A smug voice asked, already pulling the chair out to sit besides you.
A wave of his cologne smacked you awake, and you finally peeked through your fingers.
Seungcheol was sitting there, close enough for you to see the droplets of rain on his hair. How his damp shirt accentuated his firm chest, and beads of rain dripping down his defined biceps.
Oh my god. This is truly a sight of sore eyes, you must admit.
“What?” A sputtered laugh escaped him, his hand running through his damp hair. The mussed hair made him look even more sexier, making your teeth gritting in annoyance.
“What do you want?” You softly groaned out, peeking at him again. You’re trying to avoid his eyes, especially the fact you’ve been thinking about him for the past hour.
“Woah, chill.” Seungcheol breathed out, looking you up and down, almost like he was savoring the sight in front of him. That’s weird. He’s being weird. You feel weird.
You looked around the library, catching his friends goofing off. They’re mishandling books, getting their wet clothes on the carpet, and making an awfully loud ruckus in a library. You cringe at the sight of them.
“Why don’t you just go with them?” You asked pointedly, but you completely understand that you wouldn’t wanna be seen with idiots like them.
“Because.” Seungcheol murmured, you could feel his eyes burning holes into you.
“Okay, whatever.” You grumbled, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. Your fingers pushed up absently at your bluelight glasses, using this as an excuse to hide your flushing face.
What does he even mean, ‘because’? Did he want to hang out with you? Did he see you and decided he wanted your company instead of his close friends? Does he enjoy being around you?
No– you’re overthinking all of this. Your friends are right, he’s evil. He’s just playing games with you right now. He’s eager to watch how you play the next move.
You sighed loudly as you opened up the blank document again, which is a weak attempt to distract yourself.
“Hey, at least talk to me.” The pout is so strong in his tone, you couldn’t help but laugh in shock.
“Excuse me?” You shamelessly smiled toward him, skeptical at his sulking. Seungcheol did this from time to time with you, but him being sad over not getting your attention? This is a new reaction.
“I wanted to see what you were doing here so late, at least talk to me.” He admitted quietly.
One blink. Two blinks.
“Oh.” You mumbled out stupidly, like you suddenly forgot how to use your mouth. The soft admission made you burn red like a fool, and just like that, he’s taken a pawn. Seungcheol has you in a vulnerable spot.
“What?” A sly smirk curled on the corner of his lips.
Fucking asshole. He knew what he was doing to you, and it seemed to egg him on even more, wanting to elicit more reactions out of you.
“Nothing… I’m just finishing up homework.” You murmured, hoping that’ll suffice. You turned your body away again, trying to tell him you’re done playing verbal chess.
“Finishing? You’ve been staring at the same empty doc for the past… I don’t know, since I’ve been here.” Seungcheol mentioned, his fingers drumming too close to your arms. Your brain immediately rolled in thoughts you should not be thinking about right now.
“Hey. Are you even listening?” He sulked again.
“Sorry, I’m so focused, I don’t ever hear annoying people talking.” You explained, briefly turning your head to glance at him.
“I’m so not annoying, what are you even talking about?” Seungcheol inched closer. It’s almost like he knew what his proximity was doing.
He must be doing such bullshit on purpose. He moved his hand besides yours, your forearms parallel. You can feel a tingling sensation as his eyes dragged down your body. It’s driving you insane, what are his intentions?
“Yeah? That’s the first stage, denial.” You smiled, proud at your effortless and witty comeback.
Seungcheol let out a weak laugh, an audible sign of defeat. Your heart launched into your throat as he leaned in even more, his cologne a familiar punch to your gut, his breath fanning over your exposed arm. Seungcheol is evil– conniving and evil and so utterly handsome– your friends were more than right.
“Har-har, you really got me there.” Seungcheol murmured lowly, his voice sending pathetic shivers up your spine. He was resting his chin on his palm, which brought his face impeccably closer to yours.
He pulled back slowly, keeping his eyes on you. Your stomach launched into your throat, praying that it didn’t show on your face.
But the way the smirk curled up on those plush lips of his, he clearly saw right through you. He saw how your eyes diverted like skidding mice, the way your knee stopped bouncing for a mere second, he knew you too well to not see it.
For a moment you couldn’t breathe in the air of tension, you couldn’t fathom the thought of his eyes peeling back the layers you spent years putting up. When you’re with him, it’s like a fog-dense maze that never ends. Everytime though, he always found a way to end before you, and won your little mind games.
Thankfully, Seungcheol doesn’t comment on it, and you tore your eyes away before they could wander further. You finally occupied yourself with the very much blank document in front of you.
As you typed away, you can’t help but feel that he’s closer than before. His body heat made your arm hairs prick up at the sudden warmth.
If this couldn’t get any worse, you curiously glance back at him.
He’s already staring. Eyes calculating you before he checkmated your king: your dignity and pride.
A whole body chill struck you, making you snap your head away in urgency. You bit your inner lip to distract you from hysterically screaming, whilst bouncing your knee anxiously once again.
He leaned in closer now, his arm near your laptop.
“Did I finally get your attention?” Seungcheol hummed, his voice husky and so awfully warm. The tone running you up straight into a spiral.
“Fuck off, I came here to study by myself.” You managed to mumble back, it came out more meek than you expected.
“Am I not an exception?” Seungcheol frowned, leaning in impeccably closer, like he wanted you to look at him again. His eyes followed your avoidant ones as his breath mingled with the air you breathe, his whole presence beckoning you.
You weren’t stupid, you wouldn’t fall for his manipulating acts.
“You’re less than an exception, you’re not even an option.” You bitterly comment as you turn your attention back to your laptop.
He let out a low whistle. “Struck a nerve there, didn’t I?”
“I just wanted to be with you.” Seungcheol mumbled, like he was worried the words would land differently.
Okay, you are kind of stupid. You let your eyes reach him again, peeking at him off your right shoulder.
You feel even more stupid, as your heart physically ached when you see him get up. His pointer finger brushing over your knuckle on accident, you hope on accident.
“I’ll just go if this is the case. See you at home then.” He held your eyes for a beat longer than you expected. It was like he wanted to say more, but was too hesitant.
You didn’t notice how your hand bunched up the fabric of your sweats in that weirdly tense moment. His eyes searched yours, desperately almost; it felt like he was trying to read you, but you were a complicated riddle. He walked off with his back towards you and his friends following him like dogs.
“Fuck.” You muttered once he was out of earshot, burying your face in your hands.
There goes your hour of concentration. Thanks a lot, Choi Seungcheol.
–
Besides Seungcheol bombarding your mind, your friends, Erika and Jennifer, are blowing up your phone.
They keep on sending inspo pictures of group photos they want to take on their digital cameras. They even have your outfit planned out to the tea. They’re assigning each other roles to make sure any guy, besides Seungcheol, will talk to you.
A nervous flutter rose to your chest as you thought about the party.
So much for studying, you thought. You packed up, stuffing your laptop with the still empty document. You were heading to Erika’s house, which was close to the library.
Erika thoroughly explained how she’s going to do your makeup, and the clothes that she had prepared for you. Pinterest photo after another, you’ve realized there’s no way you can back out now.
Jennifer and Erika ended up arguing on the vibe. Jennifer said chic and simple, nothing too showy or ‘slutty’, but that would be hypocritical… as Jennifer’s best friend is a lethal v-cut neckline.
Erika strongly pushed for a cowl neckline, with the backless feature. With complimenting tight bootcut jeans that show off the curvature of your ass perfectly. Of course only she would think about what your butt would look like in jeans.
Though, they came to a conclusion: a micro skirt, that you’re hundred percent sure your butt will be hanging out of. For the top, they managed to battle it out and decided on a simple black tank, with a lacy bra that is not debatable.
—
Your heart beat thrummed through your skin, your fingers anxiously tapped on the vanity. Erika hovered around you like a humming bird with her hands all over your hair. Jennifer is constantly skipping through songs, trying to find the right vibe.
An unsettling feeling dwelled in your stomach.
You’re really doing this, you thought. You’re seriously going to waltz in and flaunt your stuff just to spite Seungcheol. Maybe even kiss another guy, just to show Seungcheol that you don’t want him. Your brain is going down a steep spiral about Seungcheol, and you need a way to get out.
“To be honest guys, I don’t even like Seungcheol like that.” You murmured pathetically, hoping that’ll deter the fire burning in their eyes.
“Like, he always sleeps around and… you know? It's just I don't like… guys like that.” You poorly explained your alibi. It was a futile attempt, sadly earning skeptical looks from them.
They all know— so do you— that you can't resist the temptations of Choi Seungcheol. Especially being so sexually frustrated, he is a living wet dream for you.
“Excuses, excuses. At least see this as an opportunity to network and have fun, who knows you might be able to network yourself some dick because you’re such a smooth talker.” Jennifer retorted, smudging her eyeliner.
She sat on the floor, hunched over the mirror and still pressing the skip button. How did she even have any skips left? Erika was still busy running around you with a curling iron. She had meticulously done your makeup, enhancing your features and making you look completely brand new.
You had insisted you can do it yourself, but Erika proclaimed she’s a pro, and she knows what she’s doing. Which she 100% is a pro, as you can barely recognize yourself, in a good way at least.
“Yeah, Jen’s right. Just have fun, don’t think about Seungcheol. Plus he’ll probably be sucking off someone’s face anyways, it’ll ruin your good vibes.” Erika added as she scrunched the cooling curl.
Erika wasn’t the best at delivering advice, like Jennifer’s blunt demeanor, but hearing that sentence: “sucking off someone’s face”, made your heart sink. You knew it was granted to happen for him, but hearing it aloud hurt even more. It bubbled in your stomach, just to rise and puncture your aching heart.
It was almost like they sensed it, and on cue Jennifer pulled a big ass bottle of Tito’s vodka out of nowhere.
“We should pregame, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to…” Jennifer singed-songed, already pouring herself a shot.
Erika rejected it, and so did you. You rejected because you didn’t want to end up wailing about your feelings, and half because you’d end up way drunk before you even arrived.
three:
You arrived at the party, the night air nipping at your ankles as you got out. Erika and Jennifer are a couple of steps ahead of you, talking about how they’re not going to drink too much.
Every step you took was met with a sharp pain in your heels. Your hands constantly tugged down your riding skirt. The awful push up bra you have on is digging straight into your ribs, and you feel too vulnerable with your cleavage out. Your friends keep on urging you to take pictures, but your hair keeps on flying into your lip gloss.
You don't fit here, you feel like a shell of your body. Guys are smoking on the front lawn, girls are already stumbling out even though the party has barely started. You can feel the music before hearing it, thrumming quickly through your pulse. You're met with a conglomerate smell of cologne, weed, and alcohol.
What's worse is as soon as you get eaten by the swarm of people, it's like the lights dim and flash on him.
Seungcheol.
He's talking to the girl you remember who he said gave him sloppy head, or was it another girl? Who knows. Though, he doesn't seem too upset about that. His hand automatically found the small of her back, his thumb brushing over the divot right before the curve of her ass.
Your stomach churned uncomfortably as bile bubbled in the back of your throat.
His hands are traveling, feeling her, memorizing each dip with the tips of his fingers. A ghost of fingers repeated it on your own frame, your arms wrapped around you sheepishly. Get out of your head, you spoke to yourself.
You involuntarily swallowed as you finally pried your eyes away, you didn't notice how dry your mouth had gotten at the sight of them. Erika looked at you weirdly, tugging on your arm to snap you out of this hypnotized daze.
"Hey, what are you looking at? Hurry, let's get drinks before they all just start tasting like fruit punch and not vodka!" She laughed, her shrill tone dumping the ice cold reality back onto you.
Fuck. You couldn't shake off this gnawing feeling in your stomach. The burning ache in your heart. The indescribable brain fog prevented you from even trying to comprehend how you feel. This isn't jealousy, you painfully remind yourself, you're not even interested in him. He doesn't even want you.
Jennifer placed a drink in your hand, and as she looked away, you've already downed it. The liquid burning down your throat as the alcohol taste sticked on your tongue. You carelessly tossed the cup, groaning at the taste.
"Dude! Are you fucking stupid?" She gaped at you as you wiped the alcohol off your lips.
"I think so." You grumbled back. You get another cup, to occupy your hands for the most part.
Erika and Jennifer keep a wary eye on you, their mouths still ajar in shock.
—
To your demise, the alcohol hit you hard. You make up an excuse to leave the jungle of dancing people and flying arms. Finding yourself in the dimly lit kitchen, you take this chance to rest against the counter.
Even with all the heaps of alcohol clouding your brain beyond consciousness, the image of Seungcheol standing so intimately with that girl is etched into your brain. You shivered as a phantom finger traced the curve of your waist. It traveled up slowly, like it was memorizing the exact slope of it.
"Why are you here?" The hand wasn't a ghost. It was Seungcheol’s. He was leaning in, scanning your face intently like you were outlandish. Which wasn’t entirely wrong.
A sharp gasp yanked from your chest, the sight of him immediately sobered you up. He has the evil audacity to laugh in your face. His fingers brushed against yours deliberately on the edge of the counter, his left hand holding his cup as he brought it to his lips.
You try not to stare, really, but the way he held eye contact with you as he drank, you couldn't help but watch. You swallow, eyes finally yanking away as soon as you have some decorum.
Seungcheol leaned in again, his cologne making your knees feel like jelly. "Why are you here? This isn't your type of crowd." He asked again while his fingers creeped up onto your tense knuckles, delicately brushing them like he was scared you'll pull away.
"'Cause, I wanted to." You muttered lamely, shamelessly following his touch with your eyes. You watched his fingers brush up your forearms, but you did it mostly to avoid his stare.
"Just 'cause?" Seungcheol teased softly, leaning his head against the cabinets as he looked at you carefully. Almost tenderly. Almost.
"Yeah." The singular word sounded stupidier than you thought.
Although, you could care less because you’ve already made yourself a fool, for falling in love with someone out of your league.
When you look back up at Seungcheol, he’s already staring with an intensity you can’t quite put a finger to. Whether it was hunger or perceptive, your skin feels staticky with heat with his eyes on you.
"Whose attention are you trying to get here?" Seungcheol murmured, inching closer, and you pathetically sucked up a breath.
You forget to answer the question, too distracted on how his lips parted when he talked. His words are muddled in the cloud of his cologne and proximity. Your stomach fluttered childishly, and you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol, or simply him. He nudged your knee with his as he inched closer, and your eyes snapped back up to his eyes.
"I said, who are you trying to attract? You look too good tonight." You hated how his voice resonated deep in your gut. How you wished he spoke to you more, and spoke only sweet nothings.
You immediately gave him a cold shoulder, because it didn’t matter if you looked good or bad, he clearly wasn’t interested in you.
“Nobody in particular.” You admited, but your brain kept on flashing images of Seungcheol with his ‘girlfriends’, reminding why you’re here.
“Oh really? So your skirt is short enough to see your ass just for fun? Hm?” Seungcheol pressed further, his fingertips brushing against yours.
“Hm? Clearly it’s paying off.” You retorted, unsure why it sounded so bitter.
“Oh?” Seungcheol cocked an eyebrow that made your knees almost buckle in. He manuevered to stand in front of you, caging you in against the counter.
You bite back the gasp that threatened to escape, but he heard your breath hitching. His cologne jumped into your lungs, and infiltrated your mind. His fingers gripped onto the counter beside you, and you didn’t notice how white his knuckles are. Seungcheol held your eyes with an intensity you’ve never seen before, and fuck, you wanted to see it more often.
“I saw when you arrived. Way before you even looked at me. Way before I even– even talked to that girl.” Seungcheol admitted quietly, intimately.
“I saw the way you looked at us.” He murmured, leaning in closer making his voice rumbling in your chest.
“So? You know I hate public display of affection.” You grumbled back, leaning away by the slightest.
“I know.” He stated simply and clearly.
“Okay, if you know, then that’s your answer to my reaction.” You blatantly excuse.
A beat passed, making anxiety bubble in your chest.
“You’re jealous.”
Your facade faded immediately like shattered glass. Those two simple words that escaped his lips dug right into your gut. Seungcheol saw the truth flash in your eyes, and like an instant, his face softened.
“Am I right?” Seungcheol said with a slight smile.
“You wish.” You scoffed in retort, turning your head away.
“You’re lying, plus it doesn’t suit you anyways.” He leaned in, tilting your head up with his pointer finger.
“Don’t lie to me.” He whispered over your lips, your hands jumping at your sides.
“Seungcheol—” you attempted to protest, confused and exactly where you wanted to be.
“Why? Why do you do this all the time? Do you think I’m shallow?” Seungcheol held your face with his fingers, stroking your lower lip gently with his thumb. Your breathing picked up at his words, and his implications. You thought you hid your emotions well, that you didn’t care if Seungcheol slept around. Clearly, he saw right through you.
“Well,” you started, but your throat dried up, and you can’t bring yourself to admit it.
Admit that you’ve been daydreaming about him doing things to you, you’d rather die than say such words.
“Well, whatever you're thinking about, stop it.” Seungcheol sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. He dropped his hand from your face, and moved them to your sides.
Ever so briefly squeezing your hips before wrapping his arms around your waist. You see him shut his eyes, his lashes brushing over the soft skin.
Your brain short circuited at the touch, your hands jumping to his chest. His breath is mingling with yours, his arms feel heavier than you imagined, and god… you love it.
“I’ve been walking on eggshells around you.” Seungcheol confessed gently, his body leaning into yours like he’s seeking your comfort. His admission explained why he’s been ignoring you recently.
“I don’t know how else to approach you… but to do this…” He gestured by squeezing you flush against the firm wall of his chest.
“To at least show you that I like you.” Seungcheol whispered, his eyes fluttered open to catch your widened ones.
“Me?” You stupidly asked.
“You,” Seungcheol answered tenderly, “of course you. You’re so admirable. You…” He sighed, squeezing his arms around you tighter.
Seungcheol groaned as he buried his face into your neck, making you shiver at the sensation of his breath. It’s ticklish at first, but melded into a soft reminder of his presence.
“You’re so smart, determined, and so perfect in so many ways.” Seungcheol professed, pulling his head out from your neck.
“But you pull away so often– I’m worried if I come off too strong, or you think I’m a horrible person. But I can understand why.” He stated clearly, holding your eyes with unspoken desire.
You’re at a loss for words with a lump in your throat. All Seungcheol did was smile, and it painfully made your heart lurch at how bad you want him. Forget what your friends said, forget disappointment, you want Seungcheol so bad every nerve in your body is jumping to his touch.
“What? You have this look, like you’re seeing a ghost.” Seungcheol’s lips hovered dangerously over yours, his hands cupping your soft cheeks. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, feeling your skin burn hot under his touch.
“Just… I’m just shocked.” You sputtered out, to at least speak a coherent sentence. Your eyes darted between his lips and eyes, and he smirked at the small gesture.
“About what?” A cheeky smile grew on his lips, like he knew this was going to be your reaction.
“That a guy like me is into a girl like you?” Seungcheol leaned in, and with the motion he removed his arms from your waist. They traveled to the counter behind you, caging you in and pressing his hips against yours.
It ellicted a gasp from your lips, with a jolt of arousal blooming between your legs. He mentally took note of your reaction, his teeth sinking down in his lower lip to restrain himself.
“Is it that?” Your eyes snapped up to meet his. Seungcheol’s head is tilted down to meet yours.
You look down at his lips, hoping he didn’t notice. In which, he very much did. Another smug smirk grew on his face as his hand came to tilt your chin up.
“Tell me, what’s so shocking about me liking you?” His words swirled in your gut, especially the way his eyes held yours with desire.
“I– It’s not… as simple as you think.” You managed to speak. Your brain and heart were a puddle; your morals are gone, as you just follow this feeling of warmth you’ve dreamt about.
“It isn’t?” Seungcheol mused. Those simple words have your knees shaky, and you swear your heart is beating so fast it’s visible against your chest.
He pressed a finger right in the middle of your forehead. “Your big, beautiful brain must be complicating it, huh?” Seungcheol smiled all knowingly, and somehow you found yourself laughing.
An even bigger smile grew on his lips at the sweet noise. Seungcheol’s heart swelled with an unfamiliar fondness at the sight. He wanted to memorize the way your eyes crinkled and your smile lines deepened with your laugh. Most importantly, he wanted to be the one making you laugh.
“What? Am I right for once?” He wrapped his arm around your waist again, bringing your chest flush against his. The smile didn’t fade from his lips, almost like he was trying to bask in the bubbly mood you were in.
“Maybe.” You shook your head in disbelief, finally meeting his eyes with confidence.
Silence fell over the both of you. Either in agreement or understanding, but a mutual feeling floated between you two.
“I wanna hear more.” Seungcheol admitted, stroking your cheekbone with unexpected tenderness.
“M…more about what?” Your cheeks burn under his touch, his other hand squeezing your hip.
“About what’s going on in that head of yours.” Seungcheol’s hand slid up your spine, wracking a shiver out of you. He pressed your body taut against his, trying to dissapate the space. It worked increasingly well, as the room felt small, that it was just you and him.
“God no, it’d be so embarrassing to admit aloud. To you.” You laugh weakly, your hands deciding to travel on his chest. Firm muscle is all you can feel under your palms, and he’s clearly enjoying the attention.
“Really? What is it? You think about me in a certain way?” Seungcheol asked while raising a knowing eyebrow.
Your eyes blinked wider, and an immediate blush grew on your cheeks. Your hands froze their travel on his chest and landed on his shoulders to ground yourself.
All he does is laugh, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Seungcheol found you so unbearably cute, pulling back out to look at you with a gummy smile.
“I’m right again, aren’t I?”
“Fuck off, seriously.” You groaned out, maneuvering out of his arms to escape Seungcheol’s teasing scrutiny. He almost let you, grabbing onto your wrist once you're an arms length away.
“Why?” He whined, tugging you back. “Let's go back home. Leave this stupid party.”
You know what his intentions are, you know damn well.
And of course you're going to say yes.
—
You’re sheepishly toeing off your kitten heels, feeling shy with his eyes on you for what felt like ages. You’re unsure why he’s staring, but it made your skin flush from your cheeks to your neck.
“What?” You mumbled out, feeling out of place.
“Nothing.” Seungcheol smiled, walking towards you once your heels are finally off.
His hands are back on your body, your heart leaping into your throat. Your eyes expectantly darted over the expanse of his face. He cupped your cheeks, grounding you with the warmth of his palm.
“Can I kiss you?” Seungcheol quietly asked, tilting your head up to meet his lips.
A shaky exhale left your lips as you nod mutely, your hands sliding up his chest. A silent gesture that you want him as bad as he wants you.
Without a second word his lips surged and chased after yours.
You struggled to keep up with his pace, his hands and mouth all over you. Seungcheol walked you back towards his bedroom, his hands sneaking under your skirt to grab a handful of your ass. In response, you yelped at the sudden sensation of Seungcheol’s hands kneading at your globes, and clamped your thighs around his hand once his ring finger rubbed the hem of your wet panties.
Seungcheol pried your legs open and wrapped them around his waist, and you easily complied, tightening your legs as he carried you. His hands shoving your shirt under your bra, feeling the slope of your waist and the warmth you're burning.
“God, you don’t wanna know the things I wanted to do when I first saw you.” Seungcheol groaned into your lips.
You gasped for air, and he easily took it away. Each kiss was going breath for breath, and you couldn’t complain. His teeth dragging down your lower lip, his tongue sliding against yours languidly. You curl into his touch, utterly wrecked and dying for more. You can barely respond with his tongue in your mouth. The way he worked it made you feel all fluttery and lightheaded.
His hands roamed the expanse of your skin, feeling how your pulse jumped whenever he deepened the kiss. Seungcheol gripped onto you like this was a dream, and he was just trying to ground himself.
A shiver wracked your body as his lips found their way to your neck. His breath tickling your neck just as you imagined, your hands clutching onto his shirt helplessly in response.
"Seungcheol-" you pant out at the sensation. He placed soft, wet kisses along your neck and collarbone.
He hummed against your skin, relishing how your voice vibrated against his lips. He dragged his tongue up the slope of your neck, savoring your perfume and the salty taste of your skin. Seungcheol’s nose nuzzled against your pulse point before nipping and sucking at it. Your breath hitched, your hands gripping on his shoulders to ground yourself.
"I need you to say my name more often." He mouthed into your skin, nipping and sucking a blooming hickey. “It sounds good from your lips.” He mused, pulling back to look at your flushed face.
Your kiss-bitten lips make you even more irresistible. The reddening hickey on your collar was deepening, and a rush of pride flooded through Seungcheol’s system.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you into his lap, pressing his hips up shamelessly. A hot rush flooded your body, your hips jumping in shock, but still dragged along his cock in response. Your eyes blew open in shock, but he just groaned into your neck. He bucked the bulge of his dick right against your clit with a desirable precision, yanking out a sharp gasp from you. A jolt of pleasure made your body shiver, and writhe against his movements.
"Gonna make you feel so good. So fucking good." His voice was husky and strained. Unable to stop his rutting like a horny teenager, but the way you gasped and rolled your hips when he did, he couldn't hold back. The rough material of his jeans dug into the thin fabric of your panties has you mewling. You’re too distracted to cover your noises, and fuck, he rolled his hips harder to ellict a sharp gasp from your lips.
"Ah- fuck, Seungcheol." You stammered out, trying to ignore the blossoming heat and ache when he rubbed his hips up. He did it slowly and deliberately, dragging it against your needy clit. Your brain already was blanking with the coiling pleasure in your stomach.
"Do you feel how bad I want you?" Seungcheol removed his head away from your neck, his hands gliding on your sides. He played with the bunched up fabric of your tank, admiring how disheveled you looked from his simple ministrations.
You nod, your lips in a tight line of restraint. He can see the way your teeth sink into your lower lip, and you noticed Seungcheol hasn't even looked you in the eye once.
His attention was fully on your mouth, how your lips have a wet sheen of spit, and have that red look after kissing you so intensely, how he pulled out moans after moans.
"I can’t fucking hold back anymore…" He breathed out, his lips on your skin, rolling his hips again. You can't help but chase after that feeling, grinding back onto him. He groaned in response, his eyes glinting with something dark. His hands squeezed your hips to stop you, or well, to stop himself.
"Let me be inside you. Mouth, finger, dick, whatever you want baby." Seungcheol’s breathing labored, like he's holding back his true power.
The way he’s looking at you like a goddess, like a deity, has you melting into his lap. Your hips weakly squirming on his lap, missing the friction. He weakly laughed, kissing your cheek, and easily rolled his hips back up in a slow movement.
"Should I just take my time with you? Find what you like, since it's your first, hm?" Seungcheol nipped at your jaw, kissing your cheek.
Your stomach flipped as his words were an awful reminder. Yes, this was your first, but it wouldn't be the first time you wished Seungcheol would fuck you so dumb, you would forget your own name. His hands squeezed your hips, as his sneaky fingers dipped into your waistband hesitantly as he waited for you to answer.
"Yeah- yeah... whatever you... wanna do to me." You mumbled out embarrassingly, and you can see the groan being yanked from his chest. Seungcheol’s eyes fell shut as he buried his face into your chest. He took a deep breath of your scent, nipping at your skin to hide the second groan.
"Fuck..." He practically moaned, his brain working overtime to even process a sane thought.
"Why would you say that?" He whispered, his breath hot against your prickled skin.
"I want that." You murmured, cupping his face to look at you again. That does it. His eyes are glinting with pure adrenaline and desire. He kissed you hard, breathless and hungry.
This wasn't like any kiss you had before, they were always tentative and timid. This kiss is fueled with desire and pure lust as his teeth crash against yours carelessly. There was practically no air between you two, with his nose smashed against your cheek. His hands gripping you with a tightness that'll leave you with bruises, that you are more than thankful for.
He flipped you in his lap so easily, it made your brain spin at his sheer strength. His breath tickled your ear as you pressed your back against his chest.
"If you want it so bad, baby, then watch me do it." He whispered into your ear, and fuck, your thighs clamped immediately.
He let out a laugh, “Not so confident now, are you?”
He nipped at the shell of your ear as he cooed sweet nothings, not helping the already soaked part in your panties. He pried your legs back open like he owned them, his fingers rubbing circles into your clammy inner thighs.
His fingertips alone on your skin have you already squirming and feeling hot. You've spent too many nights dragging your fingers along your body, wishing it was Seungcheol's instead.
"Baby, watch." He whined gently, prodding his nose against your cheekbone.
Your eyes shoot up to the floor length mirror in front of you. It's dim in his room, but the bedside lamp illuminated the room more than enough.
You can see how much bigger Seungcheol is than you, how he has his whole body draped over you. The light showed each shadow of his muscle on his biceps, making his jaw sharp as he whispered praises. And most importantly the bulge of his thick cock tucked in his pants. You simply shake your head, swallowing your dry mouth at the thought of his dick.
"Are you watching?" Seungcheol murmured, his hands trailing your body slowly, giving you no idea where he'll put them.
He took his time, kissing your neck while memorizing each crook, each shiver, each gasp he took out when he touched a sensitive part. Seungcheol pulled your shirt off, tossing it away like it was covered in acid. His hand stroked your stomach, and went to take off your bra. He unclasped it with a familiar precision that made your heart twist. He must have done it regularly to do it with such ease. His actions immediately shut up your thoughts, as he circled your aerola with his pointer finger.
The soft, ghost-like sensation has you squirming pathetically. He smiled wickedly, kissing and licking the shell of your ear.
His breath fanned cold against your damp skin, your hands balling up into fists at the feeling.
“Feel good?” He murmured, his voice rumbling in your chest.
You helplessly nod, your hips flexing for any pressure on your weepy cunt. He took note of it, but did nothing to help you, enjoying the way you withered under his touch so easily. Seungcheol continued to drag his pointer finger languidly around your hardening nipple, never really touching it.
Heat pooled in between your legs, everything feeling fuzzy from the alcohol and adrenaline. It enhanced the way the rough pad of his thumb brushed over your nipple at a torturous pace. That simple gesture made you writhe under his touch so easily. His other hand ran down your stomach, making it flex in anticipation.
He stopped right at the waistband of your skirt, his breathing surprisingly even against your cheek.
“You see how beautiful you are?” Seungcheol practically purred, admiring how wrecked you already look.
Seungcheol brushed your stomach with his thumb, playfully dipping his nail into your navel before toying with the band of your skirt. He eventually took it off, leaving you in only your panties.
“Say yes.” He murmured, nipping at your jaw. At first, your throat seemingly didn’t work. But when he returned his fingers to roll and tug at your hardened nub between his pointer and thumb, a sharp gasp yanked from your lips.
“Y-yes.” You breathed out shakily, still lust-clouded. He noted how your stomach caved in the mirror at the touch, a sly grin growing on his lips.
“Such a good girl. You listen so well.” He praised quietly.
His hand dipped past your waistband, making you tense in anticipation. His fingers applied pressure past your bladder, down to your mons pubis, massaging down there for a moment. You whined impatiently, making Seungcheol’s smirk ghost on your cheek. The sudden pressure on your clit made your thighs twitch, his lips kissing your neck to distract you.
Slowly, he coaxed out moans from your lips. The pad of his finger rubbed the sensitive nub in circles. His hand returned back to toy with your hardened nipple, flicking it lightly compared to the pressure on your clit. The touch on your puffy clit has you withering so easily. The noises of pleasure push at your bitten lips, and it just pet Seungcheol’s ego.
He’s the one doing this to you, he’s the one watching you unravel, he’s the one.
His finger left your chest and tapped your jaw, returning your attention back to your face in the mirror. He’s already watching you squirm in his lap with heavy lidded eyes.
“Don’t take your eyes off.” Seungcheol commanded, pressing harder on your clit and making you jump. “I’ll show you who knows this pussy the best.”
His words of promise made you pathetically whimper. Seungcheol smirked at your reaction, keeping his cheek pressed against your, making sure you watched him. Seungcheol ran two fingers down your weepy folds, smearing your arousal around.
“God– so wet already.” He kissed your temple, a stark tender gesture.
You can only whimper in response, already flooded with pleasure that buzzed under your skin. Seungcheol pressed a digit against your entrance, spreading your slick onto your puffy folds. His thumb worked on your achy, needy clit; watching you with hungry eyes through the mirror.
Your hands balled up the material of his jeans to steady yourself in the pool of pleasure. You can’t help but shut your eyes, and relish the feeling. He already has you gasping and mewling at the sensation like a needy little thing.
His finger tapped on your jaw again, your eyes snapping back to the mirror. You were so lost in the sensation, you forgot to abide by his rule.
Suddenly, Seungheol’s hand goes still, making your hips twitch needily. An upset whine fell from your lips, and he just tapped on your jaw again, a silent reminder.
“W-what? What happened…” You helplessly pant out, confused and so utterly horny. Your core aches at the loss of him, a throbbing ghost-like sensations on your clit.
“Baby, I said watch.” There’s a demanding grit to his tone that sent a shiver up your spine. So scarily so, it made you swallow thickly in panic, and nod.
“Y-yes. Okay, I- I will.” You responded back, so eager to please and to get pleased.
“Say it.” Seungcheol stated bluntly, earning a dumbfounded look from you.
“Say… say what?”
“Say what you want from me.” He rephrased, his thumb rubbing lazily on your clit. The touch made you whimper, and he immediately pulled back, wanting to hear you plead.
You flushed a deep pink, and he simply smiled. Those annoyingly charming dimples deepened, making you whine in protest.
“Beg you mean?” You groaned at the thought.
“Should I have said that in the first place? Did you want me to say: beg for how badly you want my fingers inside this wet pussy?” He mused, that shit eating grin never leaving his lips. Seungcheol’s clearly enjoying the way you squirm and blush at the sight of him touching you with your panties on.
You tensed up at his words, your pussy aching so desperately now. You could have sworn he felt the hot trickle of arousal drip down your thighs, making him smirk all knowingly.
“No– no… I understood.” You scrambled to say, trying to grapple back your dignity.
“Then beg.” He sternly commented, his voice was low against your ear. Your body shivering at the thought of his touch.
“Please… please I need your fingers.” You pathetically attempted, your eyes stuck on him in the mirror.
“Where, baby?” Seungcheol tugged down your panties and tossed them carelessly, baring your hot folds to the air.
“In… inside me.” You answered meekly, hoping that’ll be enough.
“Good job, beautiful.” Seungcheol murmured, not needing another word as his fingers were already working again. His pointer finger left your jaw, hoping you’ll behave this time.
His lips returned to the sensitive spot he found earlier, Seungcheol’s hands trailed down your stomach which made you twitch in anticipation. Your weepy cunt is getting his jeans all wet, so Seungcheol manuevered your legs, hooking them over his forearms. Your glossy folds are exposed in the mirror, the light glinting against your arousal.
“Aren’t you so fucking gorgeous? Spread open just for me, huh?” Seungcheol remarked as his pointer figner traveled down to spread your folds open.
He rubbed his middle finger along your slit, and went back up to draw circles around your clit. A shaky exhale escaped your lips at the gentle, tentative touch. He hummed, pressing his lips against your cheek, nipping at the skin for your attention. You understood what he wanted, and turned your head to meet his lips.
The pad of his finger rubbed on your entrance, and you couldn’t take it anymore, rutting against it helplessly. He finally slid it inside, curling upwards and immediately finding the sweet spot. A sharp gasp left your lips, and he swallowed it hungrily in the kiss.
Pleasure coiled tightly in your stomach, as he relentlessly rubbed his finger against that spongy point. His thumb pressed rhythmically against your clit, making you squirm and writhe in his grip.
He pulled away from the kiss, “Watch baby.” Seungcheol painstakingly reminded you, but continued thrusting and curling his finger against that spot.
It felt impossible to focus on anything else but the delicious pleasure he’s giving you. But you didn’t want him to stop, so your eyes dragged back to the mirror.
The sight of his digit, knuckle deep inside you, has you dripping even more. You watch how his digit slid into your slicked cunt with no resistance. With a second finger in, you didn’t last long. The way they curled against your slick walls and pressed incessantly against a spot has you seeing stars. Your stomach already grew taut with pleasure ready to snap.
The sound of his fingers moving in and out your dripping entrance were matching up with each gasp and whine that escaped you. Your hips bucked and twitched everytime Seungcheol deliberately pressed on that spongy spot inside you.
“Close?” He asked, but he knew the damn answer. He just wanted you to admit it, that he’s the one making you come.
You nod sharply, “Yes– ngh– coming-” you pathetically rasped out.
Seungcheol doubled his efforts, his lips attacking your neck, as his digits thrusted and pressed harder against your sweet spot. The sensation is overwhelming as pleasure hit you in waves. He worked harder to pull out gasps and whines, relentlessly abusing your g-spot with attention.
Your moans died on your tongue as you clamped around him tightly. A rush of pleasure wracking your body as you tensed up on his lap. Your release spilled onto his jeans, leaving an even bigger wet spot than before. He watched you come undone with a hungry glint, rubbing your clit as you came down.
He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, making your orgasm feel all fluttery and warm.
“Such a good job, you came so beautifully.” He cooed and dropped your limp legs, tilting your head to meet his lips.
The kiss was slow and rewarding, your pants being swallowed by his groans.
Once you two pulled away, he lifted you up effortlessly, and laid you on your back.
It was his turn to take off his clothes. As he tugged off his shirt, your wandering hands fumbled to pull off his jeans.
He laughed at how cute you were, with that face of determination but yet frustration. Eventually, he kicked off his jeans and boxer in one smooth motion.
Now that he was fully naked, something wasn’t adding up. His dick laid against a patch of trimmed hair, way smaller than you imagined. Your brain was straining, and replaying the shrill moans the girls he was fucking.
“You’re smaller than I thought.” The words fell off your tongue before you could register.
He raised an eyebrow up, and settled between your thighs. He scanned your face one more time, to find any sarcasm, but your confusion was genuine. Maybe you had too high of expectations, but he’s standing tall at around four or five inches.
Noting that you were very serious, Seungcheol laughed. A proud smile on his lips, “It won’t feel that small.”
Your stomach fluttered at his retort. He leaned in close enough his breath was fanning over your ear.
“See for yourself.” Seungcheol reached out for your hand, guiding it to his cock.
You tenatively stroked your hand around his length, squeezing before you dragged it back up. He groaned in response, urging you to do more.
Before you know it, his cock laid fully erect, and… looked like a fucking weapon. The puzzle pieces finally clicked in your head, he was a fucking grower.
Your lips part in shock, and all he does is smile. He slides his cock against your sticky folds, gathering up your arousal to coat his length.
“Why are you so quiet now? Hm?” He prodded, pressing his tip against your entrance. Seungcheol continued the action, sliding his cock through your slick folds, making sure it caught at your puckered entrance.
“Ah– didn’t– I didn’t expect that.” You mumbled out, squirming as he continued to rub his tip on your entrance.
“You didn’t? Seungcheol hummed, tilting his head as he dragged his cock through your folds, purposefully tapping the tip on your clit.
You gasp, your legs squeezing his sides from the direct pressure on your sensitive clit. Seungcheol does it again, and again until you finally sputter out helplessly.
“No– no I didn’t.” You scrambled to say, your mind already stirring with pleasure. You helplessly pushed your hips up, and he stopped the attention on your clit.
He tutted, spreading your legs wider with his thighs, and used his thumbs to expose your dripping pussy.
“Look at this greedy thing… Soaking wet and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.” He mused, his thumb rubbing next to where you really need him.
You bite your lower lip, trying to restrain yourself from saying or doing anything crazy. You wanted to be good for him.
“Does your pussy want my dick?” Seungcheol pushed his thumb inside, pressing on your walls.
A sharp moan escaped your lips, your thighs twitching at the sudden touch. Seungcheol used his thumb to open you wider, holding the head of his cock against your fluttering hole.
“Answer me.” Seungcheol said firmly, his thumb insistently rubbing on a spot that makes your words catch in your throat.
“Yes– god- please. Seungcheol, I want it.” You gasped out.
“Want what? Use your words, I know you’re a smart girl.”
A dark blush grew on your cheeks, still squirming as his thumb rubbed against your gummy walls.
“I want… your cock, please.” You begged pliantly.
He groaned at your words, kissing you deeply before removing his thumb.
He broke the kiss to press his forehead against yours, and slowly pushed himself in. The stretch burned, making you clamp around him, a strangled gasp escaping your lips. He kissed your noises away, trying to distract you.
He pulled away to latch his lips against your nipple, making your arch unexpectedly into his mouth. His free hand pinched the other hardened peak, and took the chance to slide a couple inches deeper.
“Relax for me, promise, I’ll make you feel good.” He murmured, capturing your lips once again in a hazy tangle.
Every small thrust Seungcheol made, created your body to go rigid, your lips parting in a ghost of a moan.
“Doing okay?” Seungcheol asked with attentive eyes, his hands sliding along your body appreciatively.
You managed to nod, flushing under his stare.
His control was slipping slightly, from the way you were gripping onto him so tightly whenever he moved, Seungcheol couldn’t take it anymore.
With a bit of his cock left, he filled you up to the hilt, a gasp yanking from your lips. You felt so full, the wind was knocked out of you, and you can feel each vein throbbing against your velvet walls.
Seungcheol rolled his hips, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. He kissed your neck, his hands stroking along your frame. The pleasure is already building up in your stomach, and your skin burned hot when he started whispering sweet praises into your ear.
“Fuck- you feel so good.” Seungcheol groaned, slowly dragging his cock along your fluttering walls.
His hands roamed on your body, his lips met your jaw as he continued the relentless grinding. With his experimental rolls, he found a spot that made you gasp and clench around him. An immediate smirk grew on his face as he deliberately rolled his hips into that spot.
“Right here? Does it feel good?” Seungcheol pulled back, continuing to rut his hips into that spot. He watched your face contort blissfully with pleasure.
“Ah- yes– fuck, Seungcheol!” You sobbed out as he dragged his cock back before slamming back in, hitting even deeper.
Your pussy gushed with arousal around his length, his hands holding you by your hips and his thumbs dug into your bladder. Your back arched as the pleasure struck you like a lightning bolt, your vision going bleak.
You immediately clamped around him at the pressure, making him groan lowly. He pounded into you a bit faster, pulling you down on his cock quicker.
“Fuck, your pussy is sucking on my cock so greedily.” Seungcheol grimaced, trying to hold himself back.
“Do you need more, hm? Can you take more, baby?” He pulled back before slamming in deeper, and grinding the head of his cock against your g-spot.
A sharp cry yanked from your lips, his thumbs returning the pressure on your bladder. He simply rolled his hips against that spot incessantly.
“Poor baby can’t even speak, can you?” He leaned down, his lips hovering over yours. Seungcheol massaged your stomach again, feeling you clamp down on his cock desperately.
He smirked, crashing his lips against yours as he picked up the pace. Fucking you with renewed energy that has you shifting up the bed.
Pleasure struck your body hard, your clit throbbing painfully as he pressed on your bladder harder.
“C-close-” Is all you can croak out, your brain long gone due to the sheer pleasure fogging your senses.
That one word is the only thing Seungcheol needs before he fucked you precisely into the same spot, making you shout and moan his name. His free hand pinching your clit, making you clamp even tighter around his girthy cock. His other hand stayed flat, applying pressure on your bladder.
“Y’ gonna squirt for me? Show me, baby, show how good I’m making you feel.” Seungcheol punctuated his words with his thrusts, the heel of his palm digging straight into your bladder, making you sob out.
That was all it took, and you squirted with a shout. Your juices flooding down your thighs and jumping to your stomach. Seungcheol’s thrusts were getting sloppy at how tight you were sucking onto him, wet squelching noises filling the room. Tears of pleasure streaking down your perfect makeup as you arching into his chest. Seungcheol grunted as you desperately milked his cock, but he held back, trying to lengthen your orgasm.
Once you were shaking and squealing after every shallow thrust, he pulled out and crashed his lips against yours. His tongue felt hot as it dragged along yours, you helplessly stuck your tongue back to reciprocate, still floating from the post orgasm.
Your brain was lightheaded as Seungcheol took away your breath with the kiss, and as he swallowed each pant and plea from your plush lips. Seungcheol manhandled your limp body and flipped you onto all fours with ease.
“Tell me if it's too much, ‘kay? Gonna fuck you stupid. Gonna show you who really owns this pussy. Sounds good?” Seungcheol spread your legs with his knees, and tugged your ass cheeks apart to reveal your puffy, swollen pussy.
He spanked your clit with his fingers. You jolt at the sensation, a shaky cry escaping your lips. The pain made your core drip at the sting, the rush of adrenaline made your skin feel staticky. You dreamt of this, his roughness and experience, making you tip over the edge, feeling absolutely wrecked.
“Ngh- please-” You pant, burying your face into the pillows that smell like his cologne and scalp. You helplessly pushed up your hips and he groaned, harshly rubbing on your clit.
“You want that, huh?” He smirked, continuing to press cruelly on your clit. You're too orgasm-dazed, but you know you need him inside again. You weakly can imagine the way his cock dragged against your fluttery walls, your cunt dripping and gaping around nothing.
You nod erratically into the pillows with incoherent mumbles, pushing up your hips desperately. He groped the round of your ass, rutting his cock into your folds and gathered slick once again. After whining impatiently and rolling your hips back, he laughed and complied.
He aligned his cock back with your entrance, and pushed back in with one full thrust.
A sharp sob yanked out from your chest, your body arching to accommodate his length.
“Fuck… look at you, so greedy still. Even made you come twice and you're still as fucking tight.” He pulled back, thrusting in an inch each time. He pulled out further, and harshly thrusted back in, earning a whine from you.
“Trust me, baby, I’ll make you beg me to stop.” Those words made you groan, nodding absently at that promise.
All he does is chuckle, gripping onto your hips so tight, you’re sure it’ll bruise. At first he moved slowly, searching for a spot that’ll make you gasp. He leaned over, kissing your exposed neck, down the column of your spine. When he rutted his hips deeper, a sharp, guttural moan escaped you, your body arching back onto his desperately.
“Ngh– fuck– there, Seungcheol.” You rasped out, hands digging into the bedsheets.
“I got you, baby.” He placed open-mouthed kisses down your back. He started picking up the pace, and he pulled out to slam straight into the spot that makes you see stars.
At some point, each thrust was straight at that toe-curling spot. Your vision went bleak from the pleasure, then a sharp cry coming from your lips as he spanked your right cheek.
The tingling sensation amplifying the way his hips slapped against your ass with each thrust. His hand soothed over the blooming red spot, “Too much?” He checked in.
You shook your head, babbling something incoherent afterwards, too lost in the pleasure. He groaned, kneading your plush ass before fucking you faster.
“Too fucked out to respond, you’re so cute.” Seungcheol mumbled, more to himself, as his hands glided along your body appreciatively.
A sharp whine escaped your lips, your body arching like a cat as you buried your face into his pillows.
Your sobs are muffled against the pillow, but he can make out: “‘m coming- ‘m close–!”
He wrapped his arm around your neck, lifting you up slightly in a chokehold. His bicep flexed around your head, holding you up right and higher to pound into you deeper.
He grunted behind his bitten lip, giving you more.
“Come on baby, come for me.” He huffed, pounding into you harder, deeper.
Your lips part, in a ghost of a moan, your body going taut before your legs slightly give up.
You start shaking when he doesn’t pull out, instead his free hand wrapped around your torso, pulling you flush against his chest. He tightens his chokehold around your head, your cheeks being squished by his muscles.
You swear you see heaven when he briefly adjusted the pressure to your throat. Your pussy spasming, and dripping like a fucking faucet.
“Shit– baby, you’re so fucking messy.” He grimaced, using his other free hand to hook under your knee.
Stars prick your vision at how deep he’s going, the overstimulation bringing you close to another impending orgasm. Your sloppy cunt took his cock like it was meant for him, the wet squelching noises filling the room along with the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin. You clamped around his cock helplessly, gasping his name like a prayer and clutching onto his bicep.
Tears brink your glazed over eyes, his teeth sinking down onto your shoulder, insinuating his upcoming orgasm.
“Don’t hold back baby,” He rasped out, fucking into deep spots, you never knew could be reached in sex, in this new position.
You let out a pitiful sob, throwing your head back against his shoulder and he groaned as your tight heat gushed around him. He continued to thrust deeper, chasing his orgasm with intensity.
Your body shook, your head blank as all you can think about is how his cock is destroying you in half.
He finally came with a grunt, his teeth digging into your shoulder hard enough to break the skin. His release painted your walls white with the ropes of cum, as he filled you to the brim.
He let you down slowly and carefully, pulling out once he finished coming.
Your brain was foggy, but you felt how he kissed your cheek tenderly before leaving the bed, making the mattress shift under the loss of his weight.
Seungcheol came back with a warm, wet towel, and adjusted you on your back. He comfortably set a pillow under your head and lower back.
“Hey, are you doing okay? Was I too rough?” He cupped your face, wiping away the tears on his cheek.
All you did was nod, your throat felt stripped after screaming from pure pleasure. You can see a smile growing on his lips, and he settled between your legs, wiping away the mixture of liquids.
“Just you wait– gonna do something.” He murmured, more to himself because you’re already dozing off.
—
You wake up in new sheets, new clothes, and… a new warmth that doesn’t come from the blanket.
It’s Seungcheol.
The weight of his arm draped over you is comforting, and it’s something you could get used to. Your eyes fluttered back shut, relishing the morning sun on your face.
Seungcheol shifted beside you, his arm on your waist moved up, and he pulled you in closer.
“Sore?” He asked, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Yeah… really sore.” You let out a weak laugh, and when you flutter your eyes open again, you’re met with a sulking Seungcheol.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, showering kisses all over your face in compensation.
“No– I… I really liked it. Like feeling… spent.” You admitted, and he wished you didn’t.
“Baby, why…” He whined as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
You kind of wondered what Seungcheol would be like after sex, and you're more than thankful he’s clingy.
“It’s the truth.” You mumbled, stroking his brown locks.
“Okay, as long as you don’t lie to me.” He pulled back to look you in your eyes.
You smiled automatically at the sight of him, and he physically softened, returning you with a gummy smile.
He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, “Hey, thanks for letting… me be your first.”
The admission was quiet, hesitant almost, but he looked shy more than anything.
“Oh. That…” The same smile stuck on your face, and you cupped his puffed up cheeks with a tenderness he didn’t expect. His eyes slightly widening when he met your sweet, crinkled at the corner, eyes.
“I wouldn’t want anyone else to be my first.” You murmured, brushing your finger over his eyebrow.
“Well, I’m honored.” He grinned, kissing the corner of your lips, then the corner of your eye.
You can now admit, that sex with Seungcheol is fucking heavenly, but only you can say that the morning after, is even better.
a/n2: thank you for finishing this fic!!! hopefully you can taste my blood sweat and tears in it.... i'm also so thankful to the positive feedback i got on my teaser, it really motivated me to write. so thank you guys for being so supportive! sorry if i missed anyone in the taglist!! its not a personal thing... this was all stressful for me lmfao so please... cut me some slack.
SUMMARY: after ferrari’s golden boy crashes in order to save his teammate, he is stuck at the hospital with burns all over his body. between long shifts and the hospital’s desolation, he brings a light in your life that is hard to forget once he’s free to go home.
WARNINGS: feat enhypen RIKI and JAKE. hospital settings, medical terms, mentions of car crashes, blood, burns, mentions of death (brief description, not detailed), mentions of abusive parent, medical conditions, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
a/n: i believe this could’ve turned out better but i wanted to publish my babies (i’ve been writing them since this summer) so please lmk your thought and opinions!! 🩷🫶 RIKI’S SEQUEL IS OUT!!
The emergency room had seen chaos before, but tonight felt heavier.
It started with sirens, loud and insistent, even through the thick hospital walls, and a nurse rushing in with wide eyes and a shaking tablet.
“Two criticals inbound, Formula one accident. One with full-body burns and head trauma, the other with a compound leg fracture and suspected internal bleeding.”
You didn’t look up until the gurneys were rolled in. The automatic doors swung open with a hiss, letting in two stretchers, wheeled fast.
The first man on the left stretcher wasn’t moving, blood was matting the dark fringe of his hair, and his face was pale under the running crimson.
His racing suit, at least, what remained of it, was slit down the middle already, soaked through.
The other one was conscious, barely. He was moaning low, his gloved hand clutching at his stomach.
His helmet was off, but there were burn marks curling along the side of his jaw, climbing his neck like vines. His left eye was bloodshot, and blood was crusting near his temple.
Someone called names, the trauma doctor barking orders, nurses scattering.
"Male, in his twenties, suspected third-degree burns, signs of cranial impact, get a scan, now!”
You walked beside them, flipping through the patient file as quickly as it populated.
Blood type, height, weight, nothing else yet. No names. Just codenames and a tag: F1 INCIDENT – NIGHT PRACTICE RUN.
The burn patient was rushed straight into the burn unit. The younger one too, the boy, he looked like a boy, no older than nineteen, with a mess of internal damage. You heard the word “rupture.” Someone else said “splintered bone.”
The moment the doors shut behind the burning team, you exhaled and leaned against the wall.
“Oh my God.” One of the nurses beside you whispered. “That’s Lee Heeseung and Nishimura Riki… holy shit.”
You blinked. “Who?”
The girl stared at you like you had three heads. “Heeseung? He’s like… a living legend in F1. He won Monaco last year blind in one eye… you seriously don’t know?”
You shrugged. “Not really my thing.”
She shook her head. “Well, it’l be now.”
And in fact, two hours later, you were re-assigned.
“Y/N, you’ll be in the burning unit monitoring, in a private suite.” The charge nurse handed you a clipboard. “VIP patient.”
You glanced down at the name, written in capital letters: LEE HEESEUNG
The report was horrifying, with skin grafts that started on both arms and his left shoulder, smoke inhalation damage that would be treated by manually removing it with a tube in the lung.
Followed by a nasty concussion with swelling that had the neurosurgeon double-checking his pupils every ten minutes, and last but not least a multiple rib fractures from the crash impact.
He’d been put in a medically induced coma for the first few hours, and the sedation wouldn’t wear off until sometime tomorrow. You’d be there to monitor vitals, manage the IV, prep for re-evaluation.
His room was on the east wing, he kind of suite reserved for politicians or royalty.
You slipped inside quietly. Heeseung looked worse now that everything was cleaned up.
The bandages made it more real, he gauze that circled half his head, the IVs in both arms, the oxygen line.
You adjusted the chart at the foot of his bed, but there was a whisper of movement behind you that distracted you.
The man that stepped in wasn’t that tall, with tousled hair and hoodie slung half-off his shoulder. There was dried blood on his jeans.
“Are you the nurse assigned to Heeseung?”
You nodded. “Just got here, are you family? Visiting hours are over.”
“I’m the— uh, manager. My name’s Sim Jake.” He extended his hand, but it trembled, so he dropped it. “Sorry, I— fuck, I can’t think. Is he stable?”
You nodded slowly. “He made it through all the check ups without surgery. He’s sedated, but stable. We’ll have to monitor him for the next 24 hours very closely, especially with the head injury.”
Jake exhaled so hard his shoulders dropped. “And Riki?” he asked quietly.
“From what I heard, he’s still in surgery.”
He pressed his palms together, his eyes were red-rimmed, like he’d been crying or lacked sleeping “They said it was gonna be a regular night, y’know? pre-race laps. Heeseung didn’t even wanna go.”
You stayed quiet. You’d seen people talk to cope, and you learned how to let them.
Jake stared at the bed, at Heeseung’s unconscious body, and then sat down heavily in the corner chair.
“There was a malfunction,” he said slowly. “In Riki’s brakes, his car didn’t slow down on the fourth turn. It’s a corner he usually takes at normal speed, but he went full throttle tonight, he really wanted to impress everyone.” he swallowed, “he didn’t know. Couldn’t have, there was no control. He was headed straight for the barricade, and spectators were there… families with kids.”
You frowned slightly, brows pulling.
“Heeseung… he saw it. He was in front Riki but he saw what was about to happen, he heard it from the communications radio,” he sighed “so he— he pulled out of line, he s werved into his path.”
Jake’s voice cracked. “He used his own car to stop Riki’s, took the hit full-on, it exploded on fire on impact.”
Your throat felt tight. You glanced at Heeseung again, this time a little different.
“He sacrificed himself,” Jake said, hands fisting in his lap. “To stop Riki from plowing into the stands.”
You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how anyone could choose that kind of pain on purpose.
“He’s gonna live, right?” Jake asked, suddenly boyish. Less like a manager and more like a friend.
You nodded slowly, gaze still on the man lying in the bed. “We’ll do everything we can.”
🏁.
He slipped in and out of consciousness through the long stretch of the night, a haze of morphine clouding over his expression every time he stirred.
Most of it was just moaning, incoherent words under his breath, sometimes Riki’s name.
other times it was just soft whimpers, sharp exhales that caught against his bandaged ribs.
Once, around 3:40 AM, he jolted awake with a short cry and tried to move. His hands jerked upward instinctively, maybe to protect himself… maybe reaching for a steering wheel.
You had to catch his wrist gently and murmur softly until he settled again. “It’s okay,” you whispered, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re safe, you’re not in the car anymore.”
His eyes fluttered beneath bruised lids, and for a second, he stared right through you.
His lips parted, dry and cracked. You held a straw to them and helped him sip water, watched him wince even from that tiny effort, and then he was gone again.
Back into the warmth of sedation, head rolling softly to one side. Morphine dripped slow into his IV. You monitored the levels and checked the rate. You replaced the saline bag when it was almost empty and you didn’t leave the room even when your shift technically ended.
By morning, you were back at your post before the sun had even fully risen.
You weren’t due for another hour, but you couldn't stay home knowing he might wake again confused, aching and… alone.
But when you entered the room, he was already awake. Well, barely, but it was something.
The soft hum of the monitor greeted you first. His vitals were holding steady, but the real sign was the way his eyes, still a bit unfocused, and a little raw, tracked you as you stepped in.
You set your clipboard down quietly and met his gaze. “Hey,” you said softly.
He blinked slowly, then frowned. “Fuck,” he rasped, “I’m not dead?”
His voice was hoarse, painful to hear, but you managed a small smile. “Not yet, sorry.”
A weak huff pushed from his chest, maybe a laugh, or maybe a cough, you couldn’t tell. He shifted, then immediately grimaced, body locking stiff.
“It’ll hurt,” you warned, reaching out to adjust his pillow. “Your ribs are still healing.”
“No shit,” he groaned, swallowing hard. “Why… why can’t I feel my neck? and my chest and arms feel—“ another cough “numb.”
You hesitate, then walked to the bedside. His eyes were clearer now, but clouded with the edge of something worse than fear. The dread of what he didn’t know yet.
“You have third-degree burns on your neck and parts of your chest and arms. The reason you can’t feel them is… because the nerves are gone.” You tried to explain it as easily as possible.
His eyes flicked downward toward his shoulder, then to the heavy gauze wrapping his forearm. He didn’t move, just stared. “Am I—” His voice caught. “How bad does it look?”
You exhaled. “Bad,” you said honestly. “But they did a clean graft. You’ll get function back, most likely. The nerve endings yes… maybe not sensation in some areas. But it’s early, the burn team will know more after the swelling goes down.”
He closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenching.
Silence stretched. Then, his throat worked, voice more broken than before. “Riki?”
You nodded slowly, folding your arms. “He’s alive, though still unconscious. He had internal bleeding, and a compound fracture in his left leg. He’s in post-op recovery now, but he’s stable.”
His entire face tightened, like the weight of it had finally dropped onto his chest. His fingers clenched weakly around the edge of the sheet, and he looked away, toward the window where the morning light was just beginning to creep in through the blinds.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Good. He— he’s just a kid.”
You sat down in the chair beside him, scribbled a note on the chart, and glanced over.
“He’s lucky,” you said softly. “that you were there.”
He didn’t answer.
You knew Jake was still outside. He’d arrived early again, eyes red, pacing the hallway like a ghost. You’d seen him hovering through the glass window earlier, glancing in, debating whether or not to come in.
Now, as Heeseung winced and shifted slightly, you knew he wouldn’t want to deal with him yet.
“You’ve got someone outside,” you said after a pause. “Jake, right? Your manager.”
Heeseung closed his eyes.
“I don’t have the energy for him right now,” he muttered. “He’s just gonna yell.”
“Then he can wait.” you stood, heading toward the door. “You need rest, not a lecture.”
You stepped out quietly and met Jake’s eyes. He stood up instantly. “Is he awake? Can I—?”
“He’s not in the mood to talk,” you said, keeping your voice low but firm. “He’s in pain, and he’s processing. Maybe come back tomorrow?”
Jake’s face fell, but he nodded, rubbing his hand over his mouth, murmured something that resembled a ‘thank you’ before stepping away.
When you returned to the room, Heeseung was still awake, eyes half-closed, the tension in his shoulders loosened by a fraction. “You want me to turn the lights down a bit?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “My eyes hurt.”
You moved to the wall, dimmed them until the room was cast in soft amber.
And when you returned to your seat, he glanced over, lips cracked, voice barely above a whisper. “…What’s your name?”
“Y/N.” you replied “I’ll be your nurse for the time you stay here.”
He blinked. “You’re the one who was here last night.”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “You tried to punch me when I held your hand.”
His brows creased. “Did I?”
“You missed.” You shrugged and a ghost of a smile touched his mouth, the first one real enough to settle.
🏁.
When you pushed the door open after your lunch break, it was with the quiet intent of checking Heeseung’s vitals, maybe adjusting his IV line again.
You expected him to still be in pain, perhaps trying to sleep it off. You did not expect what you found.
Three nurses, all hovering around his bed like moths to a dying flame.
One was adjusting his blanket even though it was already neatly draped, another was holding a spoon of soup like it was some kind of sacred ritual, and the last one— oh, she was massaging lotion onto the one patch of unburned skin on his hand with a focus that was frankly excessive.
Heeseung looked… tired. Not just physically, but emotionally drained, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the attention.
His eyes met yours almost instantly as you stepped in, and something like relief washed over his features.
You didn’t smile. “Out,” you just said, sharp but calm.
All three of them froze, as if you’d pulled the fire alarm. One nurse looked like she might argue, but you raised your brow just slightly, and she faltered.
“But we were just—”
“I’m sure you were,” you cut her off smoothly. “He’s under recovery care, not an autograph booth.”
The room grew ten degrees colder.
They scurried out with muttered apologies, not meeting your gaze. One of them left behind the bowl of half-stirred soup and a chocolate pudding cup on the tray.
Heeseung watched you settle the tray on the adjustable table and pull it close to him.
“So,” you said, lifting the spoon from the bowl, “how many fangirls have snuck in while I was gone?”
He grimaced slightly. “Only them, I tjink… one kept calling me ‘hero.’ I tried to play dead but they didn’t leave.”
You smirked faintly, scooping up a small portion of the lukewarm soup “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to fake injuries for attention?”
He gave a weak chuckle. “Pretty sure I didn’t have to fake anything.”
You lifted the spoon to his lips, watching as he took the soup carefully, his lips parting just slightly, eyes grimacing a little at the taste. His neck muscles twitched, probably from strain, and he exhaled hard after swallowing.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Is that soup or dishwater?”
“Hospital cuisine,” you said solemnly. “Five-star micheline.”
He took another spoonful, slowly, wincing just from the movement of his jaw.
He still looked rough, his color wasn’t good, skin pale and slightly ashy from the burn meds. His arms were stiff at his sides, bandaged still, and you could tell the hunger was there, but the effort… not so much.
You opened the pudding cup next, gave it a little stir with the plastic spoon. He looked at it like it was the most edible thing he’d seen in weeks.
“Oh thank god,” he said. “I’ve never been so excited for fake chocolate in my life.”
“Open up,” you said, and he did, the sweetness seeming to go down easier than the soup. He sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
“I thought I’d feel better today,” he murmured. “But I still feel like shit.”
“You’re not even forty-eight hours post the accident yet,” you reminded him. “Your body’s still trying to decide if it wants to forgive you.”
He shifted then, just a little, then a little more. “Careful—”
“I wanna sit up more,” he mumbled, already pressing one arm against the bed, trying to push himself.
You leaned in, firm but calm. “Heeseung, stop.”
“I can’t just lie here—”
“You literally must.”
His eyes flashed with stubbornness, but then he grimaced hard, pain tightening his mouth.
You reached out instinctively, palm flat on his shoulder, not the burned one, holding him still.
“Don’t be stupid,” you said quietly. “Your ribs are still cracked, you won’t win against gravity.”
His jaw clenched. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
He looked away, toward the window. The light outside was gentler now, filtered through the clouds.
His face was drawn, and you could see it in the way he held himself, he wasn’t just sore, he was frustrated
The kind of man who didn’t like stillness. Who probably measured his self-worth by his speed.
“You’re scheduled to remove some of the smoke still in your lungs,” you told him, “It will not be pleasant.”
“Great,” he said sarcastically, “On a scale from one to ten?”
You thought about if for a minute, “I’ve never done it, but I will not lie that I think it will be a solid eight.”
You adjusted the pillow behind his back carefully, angling the bed up a little more for him. He didn’t resist this time, just watched your hands.
“You’re not useless just because you’re healing,” you said, mentioning the previous conversation. “You saved someone. That’s not something your body gets over in a day.”
Heeseung was quiet for a long moment, the sound of the heart monitoring a steady pulse beside you.
“…he’s still not awake, right?” he asked softly.
You nodded. “Still out, but stable.”
He didn’t respond to that. Just stared out at the window again, jaw working.
You finished cleaning up the tray, wiping the corner of his mouth where a little pudding had smeared.
Your fingers brushed along his chin lightly, and for a second, his eyes dropped to your hand.
When you pulled back, he exhaled slowly.
“Thanks,” he said, voice lower now.
You didn’t smile, but your voice was soft. “Stop trying to get up, and I’ll bring you something that actually tastes like food tomorrow.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering, then gave a small nod.
“No fangirls,” you added, pointing an accusing finger towards him.
He smiled, just barely. “Only you then?”
You rolled your eyes and stood.
“Don’t push it.”
🏁.
Days blurred together like a long breath you couldn’t quite finish taking.
Outside, the world carried on, traffic, sunrises, clouds rolling over the hospital’s concrete edges, but inside that room, things moved slower.
Jake came every day now, just after lunch, always bringing a different set of sports magazines or articles printed off from the web.
Heeseung barely read them, but he listened when Jake talked about regular things, probably as not to overwhelm him with the fact that races continued wven as he laid on a hospital bed.
A video someone posted of Riki doing stupid tricks in a go-kart. They didn’t say much about the boy himself, not with him still in the ICU, but you could feel the tension crackle in Jake every time he left, like walking out of that room meant abandoning someone else who couldn’t speak for himself yet.
You didn’t press him, and yoou didn’t ask questions.
You were too busy with your own routine.
You came into Heeseung’s room just before the evening shift change.
The light outside had gone pale blue, casting long shadows across the tile floor.
You rolled in a small cart with the supplies, like bandages, ointments, saline and gauze. He was already sitting up a little, watching you.
His face still bore the bruises of the accident, but the swelling had gone down, and his eyes tracked your every movement now, sharp and clear.
“You get a new uniform?” he asked, voice less raspy than before but still colored with something teasing.
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s the same one you bled on two days ago. We just wash them sometimes.”
“Hot,” he murmured, then hissed softly as he tried to adjust his shoulder.
“Don't be cute,” you muttered. “It’s wound cleaning day.”
You started with his head. The bandage there had to be changed slowly, carefully, because the skin underneath was still raw and sensitive.
You gloved up, peeled back the old gauze from his temple, then gently dabbed at the edges of the injury with a saline-soaked pad.
He winced, but didn’t complain. Not like he had the first time. “You’re quieter than usual,” he said.
“You want me to make small talk while I pull the rest of your scabbed flesh off?” You raised a brow at him. He let out a breathy laugh and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind the distraction.”
You wrapped the fresh bandage around his head, secure but loose enough not to give him a headache.
Then you moved to his chest. He shifted again, the sheets falling to his lap as you pulled the gown down and exposed the burns that still ran like brutal red streaks from just below his collarbone down to the edge of his ribs, spreading across his right shoulder and part of his upper arm. Some had darkened and some peeled.
But all of it looked painful.
You dipped a gloved finger into the ointment and began carefully applying it over the healing areas.
You didn’t flinch at the way the flesh had hardened in some parts, blistered in others. You’d seen worse.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
“Yeah,” he said through his teeth. “Feels like acid.”
“It’s just medicine.”
“I know, but I like being dramatic.”
You gave a short laugh, smoothing the ointment into the side of his neck, then placed new gauze over it, pressing down gently to secure it.
“I don’t know how you do this every day,” he said after a while “I mean, taking care of people like this…. like me. It can’t be the easiest job.”
You shrugged, taping down the last piece. “I’ve had harder patients.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. There was this guy once who thought flirting through third-degree burns was charming.” you teased.
He chuckled, and you moved to his arms next, slowly peeling back the old dressings.
His skin twitched under the fresh air, his fingers curling instinctively. You worked in silence for a while, glancing up only when you noticed him watching you.
“What?” you asked.
He tilted his head a little. “Nothing, you just never talk about yourself.”
You finished smoothing a patch of ointment along his bicep before answering. “There’s not much to say.”
“Bullshit. You’re in here every day, making sure I don’t die of infection or morphine withdrawal. You clean me, feed me, fight off the occasional fangirl. You’ve gotta have more going on than this.”
You paused. Then looked up at him… you didn’t really have an entertaining life outside the hospital, so you opted for something safe. “I’m also assigned to another patient.”
He blinked. “Yeah?”
You nodded, wrapping his arm now. “A kid about nine years old. He came in with a collapsed lung.”
Heeseung stilled slightly. “Accident?”
“No.” you gulped. “His father beat the shit out of him.”
Something in his face twisted then, slow and ugly. You continued softly. “He’s doing better now. Still needs the oxygen support, but he’s laughing again. Oh, and he loves dinosaurs.”
Heeseung’s voice was low. “Do people like that guy, his father, just get to walk around free?”
“It’s… complicated.” You said, your hands working focused. “He’s on the loose, police are searching for him.”
“Fuck.” He exhaled sharply, then looked away. “I thought I had it bad.”
You finished dressing the last of his wounds, peeling off your gloves with a soft snap and tossing them into the bin.
“You did,” you said quietly. “Pain doesn’t need to compete.”
He looked at you again then, for a long time. You weren’t sure what was in his eyes exactly. Respect, maybe sadness. Something softer, too.
“Thanks,” he said.
You gave him a faint smile, then reached for the blanket again, pulling it over his legs gently. “Don’t move too much tonight.”
“No promises.” Heeseung shrugged.
“I’ll sedate you if I have to.” you threatened.
He smirked. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve done to me.”
You rolled your eyes, gathered your supplies, and started toward the door. Before you stepped out, you glanced back.
He was still looking at you. Not like a patient looking at a nurse.
Like a man trying to understand someone he suddenly realized he didn’t know at all.
🏁.
Riki woke up the following week.
The update came in quietly, just after sunrise, passed from the ICU nurse on duty to your floor with that same hushed relief you’d felt pressing at the back of your ribs since the accident.
He was conscious, but weak. He was. fading in and out of sleep, but breathing on his own, and whispering broken sentences when someone leaned in close enough to hear.
You didn’t rush to tell Heeseung.
You waited until you finished your morning rounds, changed his bandages, fed him half of his usual breakfast. He didn’t complain today. Not once, and that alone told you his mind was elsewhere.
It wasn’t until you were refilling his IV fluids that you finally told him.
“Riki’s awake,” you said simply, not looking up as you slid the fresh saline bag onto the pole.
The stillness in the room shifted sharply.
Heeseung’s voice was instant, a little breathless. “When?”
“This morning.” You turned to him. “He’s in the trauma unit now. They transferred him just after stabilizing.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. His hands flexed slightly at his sides. “Can I see him?”
You hesitated. “You’re not exactly in any shape to—”
“I can sit,” he cut in quickly. “If I sit in a wheelchair, I can do it. I swear I won’t move. Just— five minutes. Please.”.
He was still so pale. The bruising around his eye had darkened into a dull ochre. The bandages on his neck peeked out from under his gown. His arm was trembling just from lifting the glass of water earlier.
He wasn’t ready. But you also knew he’d never feel ready, and something told you he wouldn’t rest until he saw Riki for himself.
You sighed, pulling your gloves off. “Alright, but you don’t lift a finger. You move wrong and I’ll have you sedated for real this time.”
He smiled weakly. “God, that’s hot.”
You shot him a flat look. “Try me.”
You brought the chair around slowly. He watched every motion as you locked the brakes, looped the IV pole onto the hooks, and adjusted the footrest to keep his legs steady. Then came the hard part.
“Okay,” you said gently, moving to his side. “You’re gonna need to lean forward on three. I’ll brace your back. Use your left arm if you can. The right’s still healing.”
He nodded once, already concentrating “One… two.. three.”
He grunted as he moved, your arm slipping under his to guide his weight forward. It took everything in him not to scream, you could tell.
His ribs were like cracked glass, one wrong shift and he’d shatter. But he bit it back, his jaw clenched, and let you ease him into the wheelchair slowly.
Once he was seated, you adjusted his gown to keep the bandages covered, re-checked the IV tube to make sure it wasn’t pulled, and only when everything was steady did you release a breath.
“You good?” you asked.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.. fuck. I feel like a grandpa.”
The trauma unit wasn’t far, but you still took it slow. Every bump in the linoleum seemed to jolt through his bones.
You moved carefully, guiding the chair down the hallway, keeping your hand on the bar, and checking on him every few seconds. He didn’t talk, he just stared straight ahead.
When you reached Riki’s room, you paused at the door. “You sure?” you asked.
Heeseung nodded quietly and so you opened the door slowly.
The lights were dimmed inside, soft beeping of monitors the only sound.
Riki was lying still, propped slightly against the incline of the bed. His skin was a mess of bruises, purple and green splotches painting across his arms and cheek. A heavy cast swallowed most of his left leg, raised and elevated on a cushion.
There were faint stitches near his collarbone, and you saw the tremble of his chest with every breath.
But his eyes were open and conscious, staring at the white ceiling.
When he saw Heeseung, something in his expression cracked. His mouth moved first, like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Heeseung…”
Heeseung tried to lean forward but flinched instantly. You stepped in and pressed lightly on his shoulder.
“Careful,” you murmured.
“I thought you were dead,” Riki said, voice hoarse and small.
Heeseung swallowed, eyes shining faintly. “So did I.”
Riki blinked rapidly. “They said you— why the fuck did you stop in front of me like that? That’s not…” He trailed off, voice thick. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.”
Heeseung stared at him for a long moment. “You were headed for the barricade.”
“You should’ve just let me crash.” Riki snapped.
Heeseung’s voice was low, steady. “No, i really shouldn’t have.”
The silence between them settled like a weight. You didn’t speak, nor did you move. You saw how Heeseung’s hands gripped the armrests, how Riki tried to blink away the water in his eyes.
“You look like shit,” Riki finally said, a faint smile twitching at his lips.
Heeseung gave a tired breath of a laugh. “Yeah. So do you.”
You looked between the two of them. “I’ll give you a few minutes… just don’t make him laugh too hard. His ribs won’t survive it.”
🏁.
Two more weeks passed, and the days started blending again, though in a different rhythm now.
Rehab was slower, less frantic than the ER, but harder in other ways.
You watched Heeseung try to curl his fingers around a towel for ten full minutes one morning, sweat beading along his brow while the physical therapist kept encouraging him softly, and he just clenched his jaw and tried again and again, even when the pain clawed up from his shoulder into his teeth.
The nerves in his right arm were slow to wake. Some hadn’t at all.
But he worked through it, every day. There were setbacks and ghost pains and frustration.
A dozen nights when he asked you to help him sleep with medications because the sensation of nothing in his arm felt worse than agony.
You tried your best to support him, to give him the strength he was missing.
He could get a game of cards with you each time he managed to complete an exercise, and though he struggled to hold the cards in hands, he looked forward to it.
He always did, but one day you didn’t arrive at the time you usually did.
You always checked in after the rehab sessions. Always adjusted the pillows, changed his IV port, sometimes brought him sickeningly sweet tea even though it wasn’t officially allowed.
That afternoon, he returned from physical therapy looking exhausted and stiff, arm strapped carefully in the sling again.
You would be waiting for him, and even if he felt tired, he was excited to tell you about his progress.
But when he got in there were no cards and no you.
He was half-dozing when the door finally opened, with but the footsteps weren’t yours. The nurse on duty came in to check his meds, and as she adjusted his meds she told him you were coming but were just running late.
She went away, and when the door opened again some time later, it was you.
You came in fast, too fast and your steps uneven. Your scrubs were wrinkled, your hair pulled back hastily.
You didn’t even glance at him, just went straight to the counter and dropped your bag like your hands didn’t know what to do with anything.
“Hey,” he said, quietly.
“Hey.” You replied hurriedly.
He tried to push himself up further in bed, and that simple movement sent a spasm through his ribs. He hissed but kept watching you.
Your hands were shaking as you reached for the gloves. You put them on hastily and put some morphine drops in his IV line.
Or tried to, because the needle kept missing. You tried again and again.
“Hey.” He murmured, brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” you gulped, voice shaky, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
But he didn’t buy your lie, so he said more firmly, “Y/N.”
You stopped moving and dropped your hands on the medicine counter. “I lost him.”
The words came out too sharp and too sudden. You hadn’t meant to say them like that. You hadn’t even known what you meant to say until they tore out of your mouth.
He blinked slowly. trying to piece the words together. “The kid?”
You turned slowly toward him, your eyes wide and glassy, and you laughed, a short and broken sound. It caught in your throat. You clutched the edge of the t counter like it could hold you up.
“I— I did everything. Everything I was supposed to. He was smiling yesterday… and… and he even asked me to draw dinosaurs on his oxygen mask. I told him I would after he ate his dinner.”
He didn’t speak, he let you rant, because he knew you needed not to be strong for once. You needed a shoulder to cry on.
You stepped forward, then dropped to your knees before you even realized it. The medical equipment fell from your hands.
“He started coughing and he didn’t stop,” you whispered, voice already breaking. “His lung… it filled with blood. He couldn’t breathe and we couldn’t intubate fast enough. He choked in front of us. In front of me.”
Your hands pressed to your face. “I tried… I tried so fucking hard—”
Your sobs ripped out of you, loud and uncontained, ugly sobs that rocked your body. Heeseung reached out before his body could protest. “Come here.”
“No,” you gasped. “I can’t— I’m not supposed to—”
“Come here.” He repeated firmly.
You crawled toward the bed on your knees, hands shaking too much to reach for anything.
He managed to lower his good arm toward you, fingers trembling as they brushed against your shoulder.
You pressed your face to the side of the bed, arms folded awkwardly under you, and sobbed into the blanket.
He winced, but he kept his hand there on your back. His thumb moved in slow, unsteady circles, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “You did everything you could.”
“I didn’t save him.” You snapped.
“Sometimes… sometimes you can’t.” He tried to reason. “I promised I’d come see him tomorrow.” You whispered brokenly.
Heeseung’s breath hitched, and he closed his eyes like he could carry the weight of that grief for you.
“I keep seeing his face,” you whispered. “He looked so scared.”
“I know that feeling,” he murmured. “I know, I see the fire every night.”
Your fingers curled into the blanket. He moved his hand and brushed your hair back behind your ear. The gentlest touch he could manage.
“You made him forget the horrors he went through,” he said softly. “You were there. That matters more than anything.”
You couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t even pretend to be the composed nurse anymore.
You weren’t her right now. You were just you, kneeling on the floor beside a patient who had become more than just a chart.
You stayed there, head buried into the side of the bed, tears soaking through the sheet, while Heeseung lay still, chest tight, body too raw to offer more than the steady, quiet presence you’d once given him.
Eventually, your sobs softened, worn out. Like the grief had burned through you fast and left only ash behind.
He spoke again, voice slow. “You can sit up here, if you want.”
You shook your head. “I don’t want you to move.” Even in your pain, uou cared more for him.
“I won’t.” He shifted his hand slightly, inviting. “Just stay beside me..”
So you did, because you weren’t really in the right state of mind to list all the reasons why you shouldn’t.
You climbed onto the edge of the bed slowly, not to disturb the tubes or bandages, and leaned gently against the side of his body. His good arm curled around your back.
Just for a moment you let yourself be held.
🏁.
It was quiet between you for a long while. His hand was warm where it rested on your back, too warm for someone who’d spent the last few weeks surrounded by machines and medications and cold gauze.
You were still curled into the side of the bed, your cheek resting just beside the edge of his chest, body limp from the sobbing.
“Hey.” He finally spoke.
You shifted, barely lifting your head. “Mh?.”
He angled his neck enough to glance down at you. “Wheel me downstairs.”
You blinked slowly. “Downstairs where?”
“The cafeteria.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him properly. His face was worn, but his expression was serious.
You stared hard. “You’re not allowed down there yet.”
He shrugged with one shoulder. “Neither was I allowed to have Jake’s candy bars, but I’ve had three Twix and two mini bags of Doritos this week, and I haven’t died.”
Your brows lifted. “You’ve been cheating on your meal plan?” He gave a faint smirk. “Religiously.”
“You sighed, pressing your fingers to your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do right now was escort a stubborn F1 driver out of his room for snacks like he hadn’t nearly burned alive three weeks ago.
But the truth was, your chest still hurt. The grief still sat in your bones, but it was quieter now, and something in his voice had shifted.
“Fine,” you muttered, standing. “But you’re wearing your sling, and your hospital bracelet stays visible. If anyone asks, you’re on a medically supervised movement.”
“Lord,” he murmured. “You make rule-breaking sound so sexy.”
You rolled your eyes, but the ache in your chest had already started to soften.
You helped him into the chair again, slower this time, letting him lean into you more than usual.
His body was getting stronger, but not by much, and even the act of standing made him wince. You adjusted his IV pole and tucked the light blue blanket across his lap before wheeling him carefully out into the corridor.
The hallway was mostly quiet as night shift had already begun. The elevators pinged with soft dings while you descended.
“Did you bring me down here to flirt with the volunteers again?” you asked as the doors opened on the ground floor.
“No,” he said. “They don’t make eye contact anymore. I think you scared them off.”
You snorted. “Good.”
The café was dimly lit, the kind that looked like it was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t inside a hospital.
You wheeled him to a table tucked in the corner, far from the noise of people or the murmur of the vending machines.
You walked up to the bar and ordered what he’d asked for, a hot chocolate with no whipped cream, and a bottle of water. The cashier rang it up, and just as you reached for your hospital-issued card, a hand beat you to it.
Heeseung had wheeled towards you, alone, and handed over a credit card without a word.
You looked at him sharply. “What the fuck are you—”
“I wanted to.” Ahe said quickly, “And I used the good arm.” He waved it for good measure.
You narrowed your eyes. “I’m on shift. I can’t let patients pay for—”
“I’m a grown man in a wheelchair, who needs your help standing while peeing, I think you deserve this.”
You stared at him for a second longer, but he didn’t waver. So you let it go, you took the tray with the drinks, careful not to spill the hot chocolate, and returned to the table.
When you set it down in front of him, he reached out for the bottle of water. He pushed the hot chocolate toward you.
You blinked, then frowned in confusion. “This is yours.”
“I ordered it for you.” He explained as if it was the most obvious thing.
Your hands hovered for a second. “You asked for it.”
“And then I gave it away.” He met your eyes, gaze soft but unwavering. “You’ve had a shit day, well, week. I figured chocolate was a safer bet than tequila.”
You slowly sat down, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. It steamed against your skin, thick and sweet-smelling.
“You still shouldn’t be paying for me,” you muttered.
“I crashed a million-dollar car. You think I’m worried about six bucks?”
You shook your head, trying to hide the way your lip tugged up just slightly.
He leaned back a little in the chair, the bottle of water resting between his thighs. “You’re allowed to sit here,” he said, voice quiet. “Not just as my nurse but just as you.”
You stared down at the cup. “I don’t think I know how to be just me anymore.”
“You do,” he said softly. “You just haven’t had time to remember.”
You took a slow sip and the warmth bled into your chest. “I think I hate hospitals,” you whispered.
He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “So do I.”
You wheeled him back before the nurse on dinner rounds made it to his floor.
Heeseung didn’t say much on the way up, he just kept his eyes ahead, arm still nestled in the sling, the blanket pooling loosely around his waist.
You stopped the wheelchair in front of his room, and opened the door wide enough for the chair to slip in.
He shifted a little as you rolled him in, wincing when the chair hit a bump in the threshold. “Careful,” he murmured.
“Sorry,” you replied quickly, helping him ease into a comfortable position beside his bed before turning off the wheelchair brakes.
You were efficient again, going through motions you’d done a hundred times, but your fingers still trembled slightly when they brushed his wrist, adjusting the IV.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For taking care of me.”
You turned toward him. “It’s literally my job
“It’s more than that,” he said. “You didn’t have to sit with me. You didn’t have to cry where I could see you.”
You swallowed, eyes briefly dropping to his blanket. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not very professional.”
“You’re too pretty to cry,” he said simply.
You rolled your eyes, stepping toward the cabinet to grab a clean set of saline wipes, trying to cover how your heart stuttered at the way he’d said it— like a fact, not a compliment.
“Don’t start,” you warned. “I’m not starting,” he said. “I’m just saying.”
You turned back to him, arms crossed, and leaned against the cabinet. “Alright, fine. How are you feeling? Really.”
He blinked at you, then tilted his head slightly, making a face. “Sore.”
“Where?” You asked.
He shifted, jaw tightening as he angled his neck. “My neck mostly. Probably the burn. It feels like it’s pulling when I sleep.”
“That’s because you keep turning your head instead of using the pillow support,” you said, walking toward him again.
You reached gently toward his collarbone, pulling back the loose hospital shirt to peek at the gauze that covered the worst of the scarring.
“You should kiss it better,” he said then, voice suddenly low.
You stopped, frozen in place. Your hand froze an inch from his skin, and his eyes flicked to your face, watching you for a reaction, but not pushing.
His lips tugged up, a faint, boyish grin pulling the corner of his mouth.
You stared at him, chest tight, then sighed through your nose and leaned in, fast, before you could think better of it, and pressed a quick kiss to the edge of his cheekbone.
Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin under your lips, to let the tension between you shift into something that made your stomach twist.
His smile widened, the surprise obvious on his face.
“Hey,” he whispered, gaze following you as you straightened and stepped back. “That was nice.”
“Don’t let it get to your head.” You said, holding a threatening finger to his face.
He laughed, low and hoarse. “Too late.”
You grabbed your clipboard, pretending to check his chart so you wouldn’t have to look at him while your face still felt warm.
“I should go,” you muttered, already walking toward the door. “Dinner shift’s starting on the east wing.”
“Wait—”
But you were already pulling the door open, glancing back at him just long enough to catch the way he looked at you now.
You didn’t say anything else. You just stepped out, your heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it, and let the door shut behind you with a soft click.
🏁.
By the third day of your ten-hour shift stretch, you could recognize the tone of the call button chime before the light even blinked above the door.
It was always Lee Heeseung’s, allways at the most inopportune moments— just when you had your gloves snapped on to help with someone else’s chart, or when you were halfway through prepping a new IV bag.
And by now, you didn’t even need to guess what he’d say.
“My pillow fell again.”
“My water’s too warm.”
“I finished the tissue box. I sneezed once and now it’s gone.”
“I think my skin feels itchy, but like, only a little. Is that bad?”
“Do you know where the remote is?”
Six times that day, and it wasn’t even five p.m.
So this time, you walked in before the chime finished echoing down the hall, your hands on your hips, the door swinging shut behind you with a firm thud.
“Okay,” you said, standing just inside the threshold, your brows raised. “I know you’re bored, and I know hospital life isn’t exactly thrilling, but unless you’ve developed a new infection or spontaneously combusted again, I really don’t want to hear another call button chime from this room today.”
Heeseung looked up from the bed, blinking at you with the most unapologetically fake innocent expression you’d ever seen.
“You don’t have to scold me like that,” he said, lifting a hand with mock pain. “It hurts my feelings.”
“It hurts my back,” you snapped, “to walk this hallway six times because you suddenly forgot where your mouth is after wiping it.”
He cracked a smile then, slow and crooked. “That one wasn’t urgent, I just missed you.”
You blinked at him, deadpan.
“I’m serious,” he added quickly. “I’m not trying to be annoying. I mean, I am. But not… only.”
You slowly stepped closer to the bed, your arms crossing over your chest. “Heeseung.”
He lifted both hands in surrender, careful not to stretch his burned arm. “Alright. alright, I’ll stop. I’ll be good.”
You narrowed your eyes. You knew he felt alone, F1 season continued, Jake had meetings with his whole department since both his drivers were out and he was afraid he’d be replaced.
You knew, but it didn’t mean he had to drive you insane too. No pun intended.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “I know I’m being a pain in the ass, that you’re tired, and I know it’s not fair to ask for attention when there are patients who actually need you.”
That startled you a little. His voice was sincere now, not playful.
The kind of honest that didn’t come easy to men like him, the men used to winning races and smiling through sponsors’ press conferences and interviews. But he looked small now, even as he sat upright in the bed, chest tight in the bandages you changed every morning.
“I’m just—” he exhaled, his fingers twitching over the blanket. “I’m scared to leave. That’s the truth.”
You frowned, stepping to his bedside without thinking. “Why would you be scared of leaving a hospital?”
“Because I look like this.” He motioned vaguely to his body, to the sling, the burn that peeked from beneath the hem of his collar. “Because I haven’t seen a mirror in weeks, and I know I’ve looked better. Because my hair’s gross and I’ve lost weight and I smell like antiseptic, and I’ve been stuck in this bed thinking that I’ll never feel like myself again.”
You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t done. “And because I finally got the courage to want something for myself. And that something is you.”
The words landed hard. You felt your arms drop slightly, hands now loose by your sides, the air between you suddenly tighter than before. You blinked your eyes, unsure if you were seeing or hearing his words right.
Heeseung looked up at you again, slower this time, less sure of himself than you’d ever seen him.
“I know you don’t owe me anything. You’ve been taking care of me because it’s your duty, and I’ve probably pushed boundaries I shouldn’t. But…” He swallowed, breath shallow. “I wanted to tell you now. Before I get discharged, because the second I’m out of here, I’m gonna be back in recovery, back in press cycles, and everyone’s going to ask about the crash and Riki and the damn brakes, and I’m not going to get to just sit with you… or make you laugh, ormake you roll your eyes like that.”
You stared at him, speechless, as if your body had finally shut down.
“I just needed you to know,” he said finally. “When I’m back on my feet and when I look like me again… I’m going to ask you out, properly. If you’ll let me.”
Your heart was pounding, because somewhere deep down, maybe you’d known. Known from the moment he reached for the hot chocolate and slid it across the table. Known from the way he watched you like you were the only anchor he had left.
You didn’t know what to say, not yet. Your mouth felt dry and your chest felt tight, but your feet stepped closer anyway, drawn like a magnet.
You didn’t kiss him this time. You didn’t touch him either. You just looked down at him, eyes skimming his face, the new pink of his healing skin, the glint of defiance still in his expression.
“You still can’t press the call button,” you said quietly.
His smile broke again, wider this time. Like sunlight on rained down pavement.
“Alright,” he whispered. “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait for you.”
🏁.
You didn’t see Heeseung for almost three weeks.
He still came to the hospital, that much you knew, rehabilitation was mandatory, even for someone as stubborn as Ferrari’s golden boy.
He was scheduled twice a week for physical therapy, and he visited Riki when he could, sometimes staying an hour or more in the kid’s room.
But your shifts never overlapped. It was strange, how easily someone could vanish into the same building you worked in, the same halls you’d memorized with your eyes closed.
You didn’t try to ask around. You didn’t dig through records or prod the therapists in the staff lounge.
You didn’t let it show on your face that every time the elevator dinged on your floor, your eyes flicked up before you could stop yourself.
He was healing at home now. Taking care of his own burns, which had scabbed and scarred over with that red-purple finish that made your heart twist the last time you saw them.
You imagined him moving stiffly through some fancy condo, with his water always cold, pillows never out of reach, tissues unused because there was no one around to pass them.
However, you saw Riki often. He was in less pain now, and more alert to his surroundings.
Still sour most days, snappy and restless from staying still for so long, but there was a spark there, something sharp behind his eyes when he talked about rehab. He wanted to walk, he wanted to drive again. Even if it was far off for the time being.
“Heeseung comes in all weird,” Riki muttered one afternoon while you adjusted the IV tubing above his bed. “Like, in baseball caps and hoodies. As if people won’t recognize him if he covers half his face and walks with that stupid gait.”
“Maybe he’s trying not to get mobbed,” you murmured, flicking the drip line with your nail. “He had fans even in the hospital.”
“He just doesn’t want people to look at him,” Riki said, a little quieter. “Not until his skin looks normal.”
You didn’t answer that. You just gave him a sip of water and changed the subject, but it stayed with you.
That night, for the first time, you opened Instagram and typed Ferrari into the search bar.
The page was easy to find. It was verified, with the bold logo, all red and gold and glory.
You scrolled past the highlight reels, the merchandise links, the footage of pit crews moving like insects in reverse. You skimmed captions about sponsors, about prep for the next season, about hopeful outlooks. And then you found his name.
Lee Heeseung, back in training. Slowly regaining strength in his right arm, working with team specialists twice a week. Determined to be ready for next season’s opener.
There was a photo. Blurry, and taken from behind. Heeseung bent forward, sweat soaking through a dark training tee, fingers curled over a steering simulator.
His profile was partly visible, bandage still over the side of his neck, his jaw clenched, dark hair longer than it had been in the hospital.
He looked thin and tired. But he looked alive.
You stared at the photo for longer than you should have. Then, against your better judgment, you hit the follow button.
You didn’t expect it to change anything. You didn’t expect him to see it, even, his feed was full of likes and mentions from fans all over the world, probably flooded every minute.
But something about it made you feel closer. Like you’d walked into a corner of his life no one had given you permission to touch.
Like you were choosing to see him now, not as your patient, not as a body in bandages, but as someone aching to be more than that.
You still didn’t see him in ‘real life’, but you started noticing the gap he left in your day.
The way your shift felt a little quieter without his voice drifting out of his VIP room.
How your eyes scanned the hallway out of habit, expecting his lanky frame to come sauntering around the corner with a sarcastic comment ready. How the call button in his old room remained untouched, almost dusty with disuse.
You didn’t let yourself think about it too much. You had other patients. You had other wounds to clean, other charts to fill.
You had boys younger than Riki who didn’t know what comfort felt like, who cried into your sleeves when no one else was looking.
But late at night, when you walked home in silence, something in you still flickered with that unfinished sentence. With that look in his eyes the last time you left his room.
🏁.
Saturdays weren’t yours to work, but the fire from three nights ago had overflowed the ER.
Nurses had been calling out, supplies were low, and patients kept pouring in with second-degree burns and smoke in their lungs, soot in their hair and soot in their blood.
You hadn’t had lunch. You barely remembered what you’d eaten for breakfast.
Your scrubs were wrinkled, your badge strap sticky with someone’s dried medication, your shoes creaked wet from a mop bucket you stepped in by accident. All you wanted was to go home, shower, and sleep for fourteen uninterrupted hours.
So when you stepped out the side exit, your usual escape route to avoid the busier front doors, and found a sleek, glimmering black car parked right in the middle of the access road, you groaned out loud.
“The hell…” you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes.
You looked around first, no security in sight and no staff nearby.
The car was expensive, way too shiny to belong to a low waged doctor, but the way it was angled made your jaw clench.
Right in the path of emergency lanes. If an ambulance pulled in, it would have to slow down, stop before it hit it and possibly lose a life.
You stepped toward the driver’s side window without hesitation, rapping your knuckles against the glass firmly.
You didn’t expect it to roll down that fast. And you definitely didn’t expect him.
Heeseung turned toward you slowly, lips twitching up into the smallest smile, his eyes scanning you like you were a familiar song playing again for the first time in weeks.
He had a hat on, but he pulled it off the second he saw your face. His skin had lost the swollen, raw shine, there were still scars on his jawline and neck, but they were faded now, pinked and healing.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
You just blinked, hands mid-air, paused knock on the window. “What— what are you doing here?” you asked.
“I was waiting for you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Your shift ended half an hour ago.”
“I stayed behind because the trauma and burning bay was still full.” You explained, brows furrowed.
“Yeah, I heard about the fire.” His brows dipped a little. “I figured you wouldn’t leave on time.”
You glanced at the car again, then back at him “You’re parked in the middle of the road.”
He shrugged, leaning his elbow against the wheel, lazy and composed and so infuriatingly calm. “You always said I was reckless.”
“That’s not— Heeseung, you can’t park here. What if an ambulance came in?” You nagged.
“Then I would’ve moved.” His smile widened slightly. “I saw you coming out. You were holding your bag like it was about to break.”
You looked down at your satchel, at the way it was sagging from your shoulder, the straps barely stitched. You hadn’t realized he was watching.
“You look exhausted,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you or get in the way. I just… I wanted to talk to you.”
You hesitated, swallowing hard. “You could’ve texted.”
“I don’t have your number.” You paused again, jaw tightening. The handsome fucker was right.
He read the hesitation in your expression because his voice softened when he added, “It’s not anything heavy. I just wanted to see you…. talk. If that’s okay.”
“I should go home,” you said, but your voice didn’t sound as sure as it should have.
“I know,” he replied, tone level. “I’m not trying to trap you. I just… thought maybe you’d want to come for a short drive.”
You opened your mouth to protest again, but he must’ve seen it in your face, that flicker, that tiny weakening you always had with him, because he leaned across the passenger seat and pushed the door open.
The smell of his cologne wafted out faintly, clean and unfamiliar. Not the antiseptic you used to associate with him, but something warmer.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “And I’ll drive slow.”
You stood there another heartbeat before sighing heavily and slipping in, dropping your bag between your feet. “You can’t park like that again.” you grumbled, pulling your seatbelt on.
“I won’t,” he said, already shifting the gear. “Unless it gets me your attention.”
The car was too smooth, barely a hum beneath your thighs as he pulled onto the road.
He didn’t take the highway. Instead, he drifted toward the north side of the city, where the buildings thinned and the roads turned narrow and winding.
You didn’t say anything for a while, and the radio was off, creating a not so awkward silence.
The windows cracked just enough for the wind to kiss your temples. Heeseung kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. His fingers tapped to a rhythm only he heard.
You finally asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” he smirked.
The hill was quiet. Just far enough from town that the lights behind you blurred into a string of distant sparks, like stars upside down.
He pulled up to the edge, beside a lookout you vaguely recognized from photos, some popular spot kids used to park and drink or kiss in late at night.
But now it was just the two of you, and the sun was melting behind the skyline, leaving streaks of orange and dusty violet stretching across the horizon.
He killed the engine as you sat still, unsure. He turned to you. “You’ve been following the Ferrari page.”
You flushed before you could stop it, your eyes darting to the glovebox. “You noticed?”
“You think I wouldn’t?” he asked, tilting his head. “Your username has your badge number and Jake asked me if it was you when he saw the notification. He’s the one who runs the profile.”
You cringed. “I misclicked.”
“I like it that you follow it.” He took a breath, shifting to face you slightly. “I wasn’t lying that day. I know I was half gross with hair oily and calling for tissues every five minutes. But I meant what I said.”
You chewed your bottom lip, hands clasped together on your lap.
“I’ve thought about you every damn day,” he said, voice low. “Every burn I cleaned, every stretch I did to move my arm again… it was all with your voice in my head, lecturing me, cussing under your breath, or humming while you changed my dressings.
He chucked softly, “I’m not trying to romanticize what you did— it was your job, I know that. But you were the only part of that room that didn’t feel like pain.”
Your throat tightened. The silence around you pressed against your chest.
“So,” he said, after a moment. “Now that I’m here, and I don’t look like a half-melted wax figure, I’m going to ask again.”
He leaned in a little, not enough to touch you. Just enough to make the air shiver between your knees.
“Would you go out with me?”
You looked at him, really looked at the scars that would never fully fade, at the honesty stretched across his face. At the way his fingers curled and uncurled on his thigh, nervous.
Not Heeseung-the-racer. Not Heeseung-the-patient. Just the man who held you when you broke down and offered you hot chocolate to cheer you up.
“…You’re still kind of a pain in the ass,” you whispered.
He grinned, soft and warm and so stupidly pretty. “I’m hoping you like that about me.”
You rolled your eyes and looked away. But your voice cracked into something almost smiling as you said, “Okay.”
His inhale was slow, asif he didn’t believe you yet.
“Yeah?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again.
You turned back to him and nodded. “Yeah.”
🏁.
You hadn’t meant for it to happen so naturallyx, but the nights at his place started slipping into your week like a warm spring breeze.
He picked you up after long shifts when you didn’t feel like taking the bus, and you’d slip into his fancy car still in your scrubs, smelling faintly of antiseptic and latex gloves, too tired to talk.
And he never asked you to. He just opened the passenger door, let you rest your head against the window, and drove home in silence, music turned low and hand reaching across the console to hold yours.
His mansion, because there was no way around calling it that, wasn’t what you expected.
You thought it’d be filled with trophies and screaming red logos, but it was just neat and quiet.
His bedroom was painted in soft shades of gray and navy, his kitchen smelled like coffee beans and a hint of vanilla, and the couch was so wide you’d often curl up in the corner with a blanket and not move for hours.
You didn’t have the energy for fancy dates or being out in public. You certainly didn’t want to be photographed, you didn’t ant some journalist writing a two-paragraph caption about how Heeseung’s latest girl was just some tired nurse with eyebags and oversized jackets.
And Heeseung never made you feel small for it. Whatever he chose for his life you didn’t have to force yourself to be a part of.
Most nights were spent curled on the sofa, a Netflix movie you barely registered playing in the background.
You would start the evening upright, knees tucked in, a warm drink in your hands, and end it slouched sideways, your cheek against his shoulder, breath even and shallow as sleep claimed you halfway through the plot.
He’d carry you, sometimes. Tuck you in and kiss your forehead lightly. Other nights, you made it to bed on your own, and he would join you an hour later, warm and silent, pressing himself carefully to your back, still stiff because of his healing skin.
He had noticed your pills early on. The first time, you thought you’d been slick about it, hiding them behind your hand as you opened the bottle near the sink.
But he leaned over and asked, “You okay?”
You nodded, embarrassed, trying to swallow them quickly. “Just for digestion, y’know? My stomach gets weird after long shifts. I don’t always… well, can’t always eat right after I see something.”
His expression softened like you’d pressed a hand over his chest. He didn’t say anything right away, he just took the glass from your hand, poured you another, and passed it back silently.
“You don’t have to explain it,” he said quietly. “I get it.”
You weren’t sure he could get it. He didn’t have to hold broken children or stitch the soft skin of dying women, and he didn’t have to stand still while a monitor flatlined.
But he had burned for someone else. He’d jumped in front of a car going too fast to stop, taken the brunt of it, let himself be crushed and concussed to save a boy who wasn’t ready to die.
So maybe he did understand.
When you came over one Saturday morning, he was more animated than usual.
He was wearing a dark sweater and cargo pants, with hair half-damp from a shower, and his bandage finally gone from his wrist, his body almost healed.
He still couldn’t grip with his right hand properly. He said the nerves were healing slowly, but he’d been trying.
“C’mere,” he grinned, reaching for your bag to drop it by the entrance. “I want to show you something.”
You blinked at him, one eyebrow rising. “Show me what?”
“Just come.” He tugged at your hand and pulled you toward the garage.
You hadn’t really stepped inside the main garage before. The house had two: one for his daily cars, and the other for, well, whatever this was. The second he flipped the lights on, you saw it.
His car. That car.
The one that had been twisted into fire and pain months ago. The one you’d seen on the news, reduced to smoldering steel.
Now it sat before you, with a brand new frame, the same number, and the same paint job, the shine of it almost surreal under the ceiling lights.
“You got it back,” you murmured.
“I got her back, my Scarlet.” he said, voice soft with affection. “It’s not exactly the same frame, and we’ve upgraded a few things. But… yeah. She’s mine again.”
You walked slowly around it, trailing your fingers just barely along the side. “And you’ll drive again.”
“As soon as they let me.”
“And your hand?” He held it up, flexing it in the air. “Still annoying as hell. But I’ve been cooperating with the exercises.”
You smiled, turning to him. “That’s a first.”
He grinned, full of boyish pride. Then he nodded toward the other side of the garage. “There’s someone else I want you to meet officially.”
You followed him without question.
Jake was waiting near the workbench, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair tied back with a cap. He looked better than the last time you’d seen him in a panic outside the hospital room, pacing the hall and begging for updates.
“Jake,” Heeseung said, his voice low but proud, “this is Y/N.”
Jake smiled and extended his hand. “You’re the nurse who yelled at the three others for pampering him with pudding.”
You laughed as you shook it. “They were fangirling and he was still high on morphine. Someone had to keep his ego in check.”
Heeseung groaned behind you. “You’re never going to let that go.”
“Not a chance.”
Jake grinned even wider. “I like her.”
“She’s not just my nurse anymore,” Heeseung said quietly, and when you glanced back at him, he was looking straight at you. “She’s my girl now.”
The words shouldn’t have knocked the air out of your chest the way they did. You weren’t sixteen anymore, you’d had men call you worse and sweeter things in the heat of a moment, but this— this was soft and real.
You didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled, nodded a thank you to Jake, and let Heeseung lead you upstairs again, through the back hallway.
When the door to the garage closed behind you and the silence settled again, you reached for him before he could say anything else.
you pressed your hands to his cheeks gently, careful of the last faint scar that still lingered along the side of his jaw, and kissed him.
He stilled at first, stunned. Then he leaned in, warm and steady, one hand sliding to your hip, the other brushing the back of your neck.
It was the kind of kiss that made time pause. With no rush, no fire behind your teeth. Just slow, deep breaths and the rhythm of his lips against yours, like he’d been waiting too long to ask again.
When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his.
“You are a wonderful person, Lee Heeseung.” You breathed out.
“You make me better.” He murmured.
You smiled, kissed the tip of his nose, and said, “No, that’s all you.”
" it's completely normal to like your wife you know? "
vol 8. — after the distressing breakup of your five years long relationship you finally decided to settle down and marry the infamous disciplined family friend and the heir of Lee Corporation. What you did not expect was a shy tall guy who stammered three times while saying one sentence and looked at you with stars in his eyes.
[ SEQUEL: REMEMBER ME NOT ]
𖧧 ָ࣪ 𖧵ֹֺֽ໋໋݊ arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff
note: don't let the synopsis fool you
ʚĭɞ if you liked this don't forget to check out my other works in library
Your friends expected it. Your parents braced for it. But when your long-term boyfriend of nearly five years packed his bags, left your shared apartment, and walked out of your life with nothing but a muttered apology and a shadow of regret in his voice, you didn’t shed a single tear.
Instead, you stood by the door, fingers curled around your sleeves, heart thudding like a dull drum inside your ribs as you watched him go. The soft click of the latch felt louder than thunder. And yet, the silence that followed was even louder.
That was the worst part.
Not the betrayal. Not the abandonment. Not even the mess of memories he left behind, the cracked photo frame he bought you in second year, the shared playlist you couldn’t bring yourself to delete, the faint scent of his cologne in your closet.
No. The worst part was how quiet you became afterward.
You, who once painted the world with laughter, you, who danced barefoot in the rain and burned cupcakes on purpose just to see how far disaster could stretch, you, who used to fill empty rooms with your presence before even speaking.
You disappeared slowly. Like fog rolling into the ocean.
It took months before you left your childhood room again. You’d returned home after graduation, saying it was temporary. That you needed to "rethink things.” Your parents didn’t push. Not when they saw the dark circles under your eyes or the way you flinched when the phone rang. You still hadn’t told them the full story. You couldn’t. How do you explain to your mother that the man you were ready to marry simply changed his mind? That he said you were “too much” one day and “not enough” the next?
That he left without a proper reason. Just a goodbye.
You had just curled up with a blanket and an old journal when your mother knocked on your door.
“Y/n-ah,” she called softly. “Come downstairs.”
You didn’t move. “Why?”
“There’s someone we want you to meet.”
You let out a quiet sigh. “Not today.”
“It’s important.”
You sat up slowly, fingers tracing the corner of your blanket. “Who is it?”
“Lee Heeseung.”
Your breath caught.
The name felt familiar in a distant, foggy kind of way, like a song you once heard in the background of someone else’s life.
Heeseung. The boy with perfect grades, perfect posture, perfect life. The son of your father’s business friend. You remembered vague stories about him growing up, the golden heir. Always abroad. Always busy.
Why would he be here now?
Before you could ask, your mother added, “Just for a few minutes.” And for some reason, you listened.
You expected a stiff man in a starched shirt, radiating cold ambition and forced smiles. What you didn’t expect was a man standing awkwardly in your living room, holding a mug of tea like it was a fragile artifact, and looking more nervous than you felt.
He turned when you walked in and paused. You saw the subtle shift in his breathing pattern.
His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, time bent around the space between you. You noticed the way his gaze softened, then darted away quickly, almost embarrassed. The tips of his ears flushed faintly pink.
You blinked. Interesting.
He bowed slightly. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
You gave a polite nod, sitting across from him. “You too.”
You didn’t speak much after that. Your parents carried the conversation, polite chatter about the market, mutual friends, old memories. Heeseung answered like a proper gentleman, straight laced and careful with his words. You watched him more than you listened. There was something oddly... stiff about him. Like he hadn’t been in a room with a stranger in years.
He caught you watching once and looked away quickly, clearing his throat leaving a warmth pooling in your stomach as you directed your eyes at your palms resting on your stomach.
They dropped the bomb after dinner. An Arranged marriage. With Lee Heeseung, the heir and future CEO of Lee Corporation.
“Just think about it,” your father had said, his tone soft, his eyes more so. There was hope in them, but it was cautious, almost tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure whether it deserved to be there. Next to him, your mother looked everywhere but at you. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger as if it were a question she couldn’t answer.
And across from you, Heeseung sat.
Tall. Composed. The collar of his button-down crisp, the sleeves of his dark blazer pushed back just enough to show a silver watch that gleamed under the dining room light.
He didn’t look surprised.
He didn’t look anything.
Only when he spoke did something shift “You don’t have to decide now,” he said gently, voice as even as his expression. “We can meet a few more times. Talk. See if it’s something you’re open to.”
You stared at him.
Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it like he already knew how this story ended. Like he’d already accepted whatever answer you might give, even if it was a no. He didn’t plead. He didn’t push. He wasn’t playing the role of the desperate suitor or the charming stranger trying to win your favor.
If anything, he seemed… resigned.
And you?
You were so damn tired.
Tired of grieving a love that had left you in pieces. Tired of pretending you were still the same girl who once believed in fairytales. Tired of hearing your friends get engaged, move abroad, fall in love again while your life stood still, wrapped in a fog you couldn't shake off.
So you nodded. Not because it made sense. Not because it felt right. But because, in that moment, anything was better than standing still.
The wedding was simple.
Elegant in the way a gentle breeze was elegant, soft, intentional, and fleeting. There were no loud colors, no over-the-top displays of affection, no extravagant celebrations. Just muted tones of white and beige draping every corner of the small private hall. Golden hour light filtered in through sheer curtains, making everything seem like a daydream. A few strings of fairy lights hung above your heads like stars that had descended for just this moment. The music was soft, almost distant, like a memory trying not to disturb anyone.
Only family and a few close friends were invited. That was the way you both preferred it — quiet, contained. No crowd to force a smile in front of. No strangers to pretend for.
You stood at the entrance, your hand gently clutching the silk of your ivory dress. It clung to your frame delicately, elegant in its simplicity. Your hair was pulled back, and gold earrings brushed against your neck every time you moved. They had once belonged to your mother.
And across the aisle, waiting....was him.
Heeseung.
He wore a slate grey suit that fit him too well, paired with a navy tie that brought out the deeper shades in his usually unreadable eyes. His posture was rigid, but not from arrogance. From nerves. His fingers twitched at his sides. His lips parted slightly when he saw you.
And he didn’t stop staring.
You walked toward him slowly, trying to ignore the way your heart thudded against your chest like it didn’t remember this wasn’t a love marriage. This wasn’t the fairytale. It was an arrangement. Something practical.
But then why did he look at you like that?
As though something about you had caught him off guard.
His gaze didn’t lower or flicker away, even when you stood right before him. Even when the officiant cleared his throat and began the short ceremonial script. Even when you reached out your hand. His hand met yours with a tremble.
Just a flicker. Barely there. But you felt it. Both of you felt it actually.
When the rings were exchanged and the final blessing was offered, the photographer gestured gently, asking for a hug for the photos. A staged embrace, a brief moment of closeness for the sake of memory.
You hesitated, and so did he. But you stepped forward anyway, lifting your arms with quiet grace and sliding them around his waist. His body stiffened instantly under your touch, like he hadn’t prepared himself to be held. Like he didn’t think you would do it.
But then slowly you felt him breathe. His shoulders softened.
His arms came up, unsure, before settling loosely around your back. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t passionate. But it wasn’t cold either. It felt… human. And when you pulled away, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you saw it.
The faintest blush spreading softly across his cheekbones, like the sun peeking over the edge of dawn.
You bit your lip, amused. A giggle slipped out before you could stop it. It was light, airy, and very real. The kind of laugh you hadn’t heard from yourself in a long time. Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting it. But then, something shifted in his expression. Not quite a smile but something close. His lips twitched at the corners, and he looked down, embarrassed.
You didn’t know why, but your chest warmed.
The first night in your shared apartment was quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. A silence that allowed space to exist between two people without demanding they fill it. You both stood in the living room for a moment, bags still at your feet, before silently choosing opposite doors. You unpacked in your rooms. No drama. No awkward hovering.
Well you didn’t expect to be comfortable anytime soon.
But it wasn’t as strange as you thought it would be.
Heeseung knocked softly after a while, standing at your doorway like he didn’t want to intrude. “Are you hungry?” he asked, voice tentative.
“I was thinking of making something,” you replied, brushing off your hands from folding clothes. “Do you want to help?”
He seemed surprised. “I—I mean, I can. If you don’t mind.”
You didn’t.
So you both ended up in the kitchen.
It wasn’t big, but it was clean. Minimalist, like the rest of the apartment. The kind of space that hadn’t yet been lived in. You gave him the task of slicing the vegetables while you heated the oil. It was an ordinary moment. Too ordinary. But he tried his best to keep up. He worked in silence, furrowed brow, bottom lip tugged between his teeth.
And then
“Ow.”
You turned immediately. “What happened?” He lifted his thumb sheepishly, where a thin line of red had appeared. “It’s not bad.”
A spurge of panick rose as you stammered to find anything you can, fortunately heeseung had his emergency bix ready for moments like this. You grabbed a tissue and dabbed it with alcohol immediately, clicking your tongue. “You’re hopeless,” you muttered, gently pressing it to the cut.
He winced.
“You ever held a knife before?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
He looked genuinely guilty. “Not often.”
That made you laugh almost. The corners of your mouth twitched, but you suppressed it. Barely.
Dinner turned out decent. Slightly over-salted, but edible. You both sat at the table across from each other, clinking spoons occasionally. Heeseung ate slowly, carefully, complimenting the food like he was afraid of insulting you otherwise. When the dishes were cleared and the clock ticked past ten, you curled up on the living room couch with a light blanket, journal in your lap. Random dates, random events, random thoughts. Writing helped. It always had. It made you feel like your thoughts were being listened to.
Heeseung settled into the chair across from you, laptop open, fingers dancing over the keyboard. A pair of glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, making him look softer, more academic than corporate. His brows furrowed again as he read something on the screen. You watched him for a moment. The way he adjusted his posture every few minutes. The way he chewed the inside of his cheek when something didn’t make sense. The way he pushed his glasses up with his knuckle.
He was handsome, yes. Way too much handsome from what you've seen till now.
But he was also strange.
Like a puzzle you didn’t know you were supposed to solve. You tore your gaze away and focused back on your journal until the question slipped out of your mouth.
“You always this serious?”
Heeseung paused mid keystroke. His eyes slowly flicked toward you, clearly startled. “Huh?” You leaned back, head tilting playfully. “Or are you just pretending to impress your very pretty wife?”
A beat of silence.
Then he blinked.
And blinked again.
His face flushed. Not pink. Red. An unmistakable crimson that painted his ears, cheeks, even the base of his neck.
You watched it spread with fascination.
He looked away quickly, clearly flustered. “I, uh—I’m not pretending.”
You grinned, unable to help it. Gotcha
And then you laughed. Finally
Not the soft, polite kind. But a laugh that shook your shoulders. A laugh that sounded far too much like your old self. One that tasted like freedom. Like lightness.
Heeseung stared at you wide eyed, confused, but not unhappy. And in that moment, something inside you cracked open.
Not completely.
But enough to let a little light in.
Enough to remember that this whatever this was didn’t have to be cold or lonely. Maybe it could be… different.
Maybe. Just maybe.
After dinner you followed him, heart awkward in your chest. “We’re married,” you said quietly.
He looked at you. Eyes crinkling a bit “We are.”
You bit your lip. “How does it feel?”
“Like I’m going to pass out.”
You laughed. So did he. And just like that, the room warmed.
You both fell asleep that night, not in each other’s arms, but in the same room. Two souls still cautious. But not strangers anymore. Somewhere between the silk sheets and the soft rustling of fabric, you felt his fingers brush yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away.
The days that followed weren’t perfect but they were real. You cooked breakfast. He cleaned the dishes. You danced alone in the living room. He watched, pretending not to smile.
You fought over the last slice of toast but he shared it anyway.
One evening, he returned early and found you on the balcony, feet up, journal in hand.
He stood there, watching you, quiet.
You glanced over. “You know, for someone who likes his space, you hover a lot.” He gave a small smile. “You’re easy to hover around.” Your heart thumped against chest your walls as you closed the journal.
Heeseung walked closer, placing a cup of tea beside you.
You turned to him, a silly expression playing on your lips “You know...I do notice how much you blush every time I touch you.”
He froze. “No I don’t.” You raised a brow. “You just did.”
His ears flamed. “I’m—That’s not—You’re very—” pretty. He stopped. “Never mind.”
You giggled. “You’re cute when you malfunction.” He groaned into his hands. “I’m regretting this marriage already.”
You reached over, gently flicking his forehead. “Liar.”
You were quiet. Not shy. Not submissive. Just... still. And Heeseung had thought, Perfect. No dramatics. No chaos. No endless talking that led nowhere. You seemed like someone who wouldn’t get in the way of his routine. Obedient. Low-maintenance. Easy to manage.
But stillness, he would later learn, was not the same as simplicity.
You weren’t “easy” in the way he first assumed. You were surviving. He just didn’t see it yet.
The first time you touched him, it was nothing. Really, it was nothing. Just a brief adjustment to the collar of his shirt before a family photo. The fabric was crooked, and you, dutiful, distant, fixed it with all the care of someone folding a stranger’s laundry.
But his throat closed.
And later that night, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he found himself staring at the spot your fingers had grazed. Like it had left a burn.
Heeseung loved that. He loved that he was starting to notice things.
The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. The way your voice softened when talking to plants, like they were old friends. The way your eyes darted around the room when you were overwhelmed but trying not to show it. He hated how easily his heartbeat betrayed him.
Once, you fell asleep on the couch wearing his hoodie. He had walked into the room to ask if you wanted tea. Stopped. Stared.
And nearly had a cardiac arrest.
You looked smaller somehow, curled into the armrest, face turned into the fabric that used to smell like him. The hoodie dwarfed you, sleeves swallowed your hands, and you breathed so softly he thought you might disappear if he blinked.
He didn’t touch you. Didn’t dare. Just stood there and watched you sleep like an idiot, pretending it meant nothing that you’d chosen his hoodie over the dozens in your wardrobe. He told himself it was fine.
Until it wasn’t.
Because one evening, you hummed while watering the plants near the window, barefoot in your pajamas, and something twisted painfully in his chest.
You looked… light.
Like whatever darkness you were dragging around had loosened for a second.
And he thought, She still has it. That light. It’s just buried.
But then someone flirted with you at a company party. Some friend of a friend with too many teeth and not enough respect. The guy leaned in too close when he spoke to you, smiling like he knew you, fingers brushing your elbow as he laughed.
And Heeseung saw red.
He was across the room, drink untouched, shoulders tense. The man’s hand hovered near your lower back, and Heeseung didn’t even remember moving, just that he was suddenly there, standing beside you, one hand on your waist, his tone calm but sharp enough to bleed.
“She’s taken.”
The man backed off. Quickly. You glanced up at him, startled. “I was handling it.” But inside you were going absolute nuts. THAT WAS SO FUCKING HOT WTF.
“I know,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t like watching.”
You fell in love with Lee Heeseung. You weren’t sure if it was real, if your brain was just weaving comfort into romance. But the way he looked at you made you feel real. Grounded. Heeseung didn’t flirt. He didn’t chase. But he remembered. He remembered the one time you said you hated sleeping with the door closed. He remembered your favourite scent was lavender, not rose like everyone assumed.
He remembered the time you offhandedly said you always wanted to stargaze, but no one ever took you.
And he remembered you. Even on the days when you couldn’t remember you.
You sat at the breakfast table, spooning cereal into your mouth, pretending not to notice how Heeseung kept glancing at you over the rim of his coffee mug. You were wearing his hoodie, not for sentiment, but because it was soft and smelled like cedarwood and something vaguely comforting.
He cleared his throat. Loudly.
You blinked at him. “Yes?”
He tensed. “What? Nothing.”
“You’ve been staring for five minutes.”
“I wasn’t—” He cut himself off. “You just have milk on your lip.”
You wiped your mouth while giggling “That’s your excuse today?”
He went red. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m imagining you blushing every time I breathe?"
He said nothing. Just took a long, slow sip of his coffee and looked away. You leaned your chin on your hand. “It’s okay, you know.”
“What is?”
“Liking your wife.”
He choked on his coffee. You handed him a napkin, laughing, and Heeseung groaned into his palm. “Why are you like this?”
You smiled. “Because you like it," and god.... poor Heeseung swore if his gorgeous wife doesn't stop terrorising him anytime soon.
The day began like any other. Soft sunlight filtered through the lace curtains as you flipped the page of your journal, pen poised above the paper. A list of dates stared back at you. Appointments, grocery items, a friend’s birthday next week. There were tiny corrections in the margins, crossed out reminders, swapped days and scribbles you didn’t remember making.
You blinked at them, brow furrowed.
You always kept your journal close. It wasn’t just a habit anymore, it was a lifeline. Your memory had been slipping, barely noticeable at first. A word forgotten. A date misremembered. But lately, the fog had thickened.
You tapped the pen against your palm, trying to recall what you’d written five minutes ago.
“Y/n?” Heeseung’s voice came from the hallway, sleepy and warm. He peeked into the room, his hair tousled from bed. His tie hung loose around his neck. “Did you see my cufflinks?”
You pointed to the dresser. Heeseung stepped in, brushing a kiss over your temple without a second thought. You smiled, heart tugging. His affection had changed. He’d become gentler, softer. He didn’t look at you like he was tolerating a contract anymore, he looked like he was slowly learning how to love.
And you… you were starting to believe in it.
“I’ll make us coffee,” you said, standing a little too fast.
The world tilted sharply and you didn’t even register the fall.
You woke up to beeping machines and Heeseung’s panicked voice floating somewhere near your ear. His hand gripped yours like a lifeline, tight and trembling.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, over and over. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”
Doctors ran tests. Your blood pressure, blood sugar was normal. Heart rate was stable. CT scan was clear. They told you it might’ve been a stress induced fainting spell. Nothing serious.
But it felt serious. You could see it in Heeseung’s eyes. The quiet way he watched you that night, tucking you into bed, fingers ghosting against your forehead. You felt it in your bones too. Something had shifted inside you. And it wasn’t just fatigue.
That night, as you lay beside him in bed, your voice broke the silence “I used to think love was something safe.” He turned his head to you, still half-awake, droopy eyes slowly meeting yours. “But it’s not,” you whispered. “Not always. Sometimes… it just leaves you.”
Heeseung didn’t say anything. But his fingers found yours beneath the covers and squeezed, tender.
“It left me once. Completely. And I’m scared if I ever feel it again, it’ll do the same.”
Your throat closed, you didn’t tell him you were in love with him. But your eyes did. They searched his, trembled with quiet confession, and Heeseung… oh, he was unraveling from the inside. He said nothing. He only gathered you into his arms and held you so tightly, so fiercely, that your breath caught.
And then he kissed your forehead like a promise.
Like he’d never leave.
The warmth didn’t last forever. A shadow crept in slowly, just as your memories began to slip through your fingers like grains of sand.
You fainted again three days later.
This time, it wasn’t dramatic or alarming in the way most people imagined fainting would be. There was no dizziness or shortness of breath. Just silence. Just a quiet, mundane moment, laundry on your lap, socks in your hand, sunlight spilling through the windows like everything was perfectly normal, and then…
Black.
A blink later, you were waking up to the sound of footsteps thundering down the hallway. Heeseung’s voice, frantic and cracking at the edges, shouted something unintelligible into his phone. There was desperation in his tone, something close to begging, and when you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was his silhouette pacing like a man unraveling thread by thread.
You groaned faintly, and the sound jolted him. “Y/n!” The phone clattered to the floor as he dropped beside you, his knees hitting the hardwood. His hands hovered over your shoulders, afraid to shake you too hard, afraid to touch you too softly.
You tried to speak, but only a croaky sound came out.
“Jesus, don’t do that again,” he breathed, brushing a stray hair away from your face with trembling fingers. “You scared the hell out of me.” You blinked at him, mind still foggy, body weak. And then perhaps to deflect the weight in his gaze, perhaps to avoid your own rising dread, you smiled faintly and said,
“Maybe I’m pregnant.”
The words hung in the air like they didn’t belong there. Heeseung stilled.
“Preg—what?!”
You blinked again, suddenly aware of what you’d just said. “I was joking—obviously—I mean, we haven’t even—oh my god—”
His entire face flushed crimson. He scrambled upright, running a hand through his hair like the heat on his cheeks could be shaken off. “Why would you even say that?!”
“I don’t know!” you blurted, still breathless. “I was just—I don’t know—it slipped out!”
“I—okay, well—” He turned away for a second, then turned back just as fast, blurting out, “Would you… want to?”
Silence.
You blinked again, a faint blush creeping on your cheeks this time “What?” you asked softly. He cleared his throat, swallowed, tried again. “I mean not now—not like this, I just–if we ever did...you know like if we were ready—would you want to have a kid with me?”
You just stared at him. Eyes round, heart skipping, stare that peeled you open from the inside and left every thought exposed.
He panicked. “Shit–I didn’t mean it like that. I just–God, I sound like a lunatic. I’m sorry—”
“No,” you interrupted, and your voice, though small, was steady now. “You don’t.”
Heeseung’s breath caught.
You reached forward, hand brushing over his where it hung awkwardly by his side. Slowly, you entwined your fingers, tugging gently until he let himself sit beside you on the couch. He didn’t speak, neither did you.
The silence felt soft this time, tender, warm in its own way.
“I see a future,” you murmured. “And you’re in it.”
He inhaled sharply, chest rising like he’d just been given permission to breathe again. His hand tightened around yours instinctively, and then without another word he pulled you into him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his around your waist. He held you like you were something fragile and precious. His chin dropped to your shoulder, and you felt his lips press into the crook of your neck, featherlight. Then the top of your head. Then again and again.
The crown of your skull. Your temple. Your hair. Tiny kisses, barely there, like he couldn’t help himself.
His hands moved up and down your back, long strokes, slow and careful like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. Like he wanted to trace your shape into his memory forever. You leaned into him, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, listening to the way his heart thudded so loud it echoed through his chest.
“Heeseung,” you whispered.
“Hmm?”
“You don’t have to be scared.”
He said nothing for a long moment. Then, softly, “You’re the only thing I’m scared of losing.” That’s when you knew...he meant it. Every trembling, terrifying word. It wasn’t just affection. It wasn’t just comfort. He loved you. Quietly, desperately, in the way only someone who’s afraid of not being enough ever could.
But you couldn’t say it back.
Because something in your chest twisted whenever the words reached your throat. You wanted to. God, you did. But how could you, when a part of you knew you might forget the weight of those words one day?
So instead, you just pulled him closer.
Let his warmth anchor you. Let your silence be love. And he accepted it like it was all he needed.
For now.
You weren’t supposed to forget things like this.
It started with little slips. You misplaced your favorite pen, the one you always kept clipped to your journal. You put milk in the pantry instead of the fridge. Called Heeseung’s PA by the wrong name, twice.
You told yourself it was stress.
But you started writing everything down. Grocery lists. Things to do. Things you’ve done. Just in case. You didn’t tell Heeseung. Not yet. He’d been watching you more carefully lately, even after the hospital said you were fine. Normal vitals. Normal bloodwork. Just a little fainting from low blood sugar, they said.
You smiled at Heeseung when he brought you tea in the mornings. Laughed when he’d forget his tie and you’d fix it for him before he left for the day. Kissed his knuckles goodbye.
And then, at night, when he was asleep next to you, you wrote.
Remember: His coffee is black with half a sugar. He hums when brushing his teeth. He hates losing control. He loves order. But he loves you, even when you’re chaos.
Your handwriting trembled some days.
You couldn’t afford to forget him.
Until something happened which shook your whole world. You were out for a small grocery run, just around the corner of your cozy apartment.That afternoon, the sky had been unusually dull for mid spring, kind of gray that made everything feel quieter. You were reaching for a carton of oat milk when someone said your name.
A voice you hadn’t heard in years, soft, hesitant. Drenched in familiarity
“Y/n?”
You froze mid-motion. Hand halfway to the shelf. The fluorescent lights above flickered like they always did in that dingy corner aisle. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
But you did anyway.
Jongseong.
There he stood. Your ex. Five years of history packed into one lean frame and a stupidly familiar jawline, he hadn’t changed much, still wore that same brand of denim, still had his hair pushed back like he hadn’t really tried but somehow looked effortlessly put together. Still had that look in his eyes, like he was constantly on the verge of saying something meaningful. You wished you could’ve walked away, wished your feet moved. But your body betrayed you. You stood rooted, staring at the man who had left you broken on the bathroom floor that night so many years ago.
“Hi,” he said, cautiously, as if testing the waters.
You let out a shaky breathe, recovering. “What the hell are you doing here? ”
His lips curved into that apologetic smile, the one that once made you forgive things you never should have. “Shopping. Just moved back last month.”
Of course he did. A painful silence settled between you, thick like humidity before a storm. You hated how your heart still reacted, a strange, erratic beat that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with trauma. You glanced down at your cart. Laundry detergent, a bag of oranges, ice cream you knew Heeseung would pretend not to like but eat anyway.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, voice low. “You look…”
“Don’t.”
That shut him up. He nodded, eyes darting around. “I heard you got married.”
You responded by muttering a quiet 'hm' and stepping back. “I—I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said finally, breath hitching. “For how I left. For all of it. I was a coward. I know that now.” You closed your eyes for a second. Let the words wash over you like cold water. They didn’t heal anything. Didn’t change the nights you’d spent alone wondering what you did wrong.
“I don’t need your apology,” you said, quiet but firm.
He took a step forward, then another. You didn’t move. You should have, but it was too late. He pulled you into a hug before you could protest. His arms wrapped around you like old muscle memory. You felt nothing.
No heat. No pain. Just a dull ache — like pressing on a bruise that had already begun to fade.
You let it happen.
Maybe out of shock. Maybe because you needed to feel nothing for a moment. Then you pushed him back.
“Don’t do that,” you said, voice sharp.“I just—” He looked desperate now. “I miss you, Y/N.”
“I don’t.”
He recoiled like you’d struck him. And maybe you had.
Your hands were still trembling when you stepped out of the grocery store. The air outside was thick with city noise, buses hissing past, horns blaring somewhere in the distance but everything around you felt strangely muted. As if the world had taken a step back, blurred its edges, dulled its colors.
He had touched you.
He had hugged you.
And you had frozen. Stiff, shocked, disgusted. You didn’t even know what scared you more, the fact that he dared to wrap his arms around you, or the fact that, for a split second, you didn’t pull away fast enough. You could still feel the ghost of that hug clinging to your skin like grease. You wiped your arms with your sleeves again and again as you walked, as if scrubbing the moment off could make it disappear.
It didn't.
Halfway back to your apartment, your vision started to blur. The world tilted to one side. Your legs stumbled, heart racing in your chest, a noise ringing faintly in your ears.
And then nothing.
You woke up under hospital lights, too white, too sharp, sterile brightness. A cold breeze hummed from the AC. Your wrist had a hospital band. Your head throbbed.
“Miss?” the voice of a young nurse stirred beside you. You nodded.
It was third time in one month. And the last two times you’d brushed it off, too little sleep, maybe low blood sugar, maybe stress. But this time felt different. Your limbs still felt heavy. Your memory hazy. You sat up slowly as the doctor entered, young, calm, and professional, with a clipboard in his hand and a thoughtful expression behind his glasses.
“We ran some tests while you were unconscious. Vitals look stable, but I want to ask a few questions.”
You nodded absently, already reaching for your journal. The leather cover had softened from overuse. You opened it and began jotting something down under the last entry, the date, the name of the hospital, a reminder to track symptoms.
The doctor noticed.
“You carry that with you often?” he asked.
“Always,” you replied, not looking up. “It helps me keep track of things. Sometimes… I forget details. Or what day it is.”
He tilted his head. “How long have you been doing that?”
“For months....more than half a year to be exact...”
“And before that?”
“I....don't remember ” you said simply.
The next ten minutes passed in quiet tension as he asked you a series of questions. Your age, your name, your address.
Easy enough.
Then what day it was, the current year, who the president was.
You fumbled. You knew it. You did. But in that moment, it slipped away like mist through your fingers. You blinked hard, tried again. But your mouth stayed still.
The doctor’s voice was gentle. “Y/N… I’m going to be honest with you. Some of the signs you’re displaying memory lapses, spatial confusion, fainting episodes they’re consistent with early onset Alzheimer’s disease.”
You stared at him. What?
The words didn't make sense. Not at first.
That was something older people got. Grandparents. Not someone in her twenties. Not someone like you.
“That's not possible,” you murmured. “That’s not—people my age don’t get that.”
“It’s rare,” he agreed, “but not impossible. Especially when there’s a genetic predisposition or trauma involved. We’ll need to run more scans, cognitive assessments, but... I’d advise preparing for the possibility.”
The room closed in.
You were still holding your pen. You hadn’t even finished your sentence in the journal “What happens now?” you asked, your voice brittle.
“You be careful,” he said quietly. “You start documenting everything. You let someone close to you know. And… you prepare. Because things might start getting messy from now on.”
You nodded.
You didn’t cry. Not yet. There was a storm going inside you. What happens now? Instead, you turned to your journal and wrote everything down.
Because if your brain was going to fail you…you needed your words to remember.
Heeseung noticed the emotional shift before anything else. You became quieter, guarded again. It reminded him of how you were when he first met you, polite, careful, full of silences that hurt more than shouting.
He didn’t understand why.
You weren’t pulling away physically. You still reached for his hand, still leaned into his chest on the couch. Still smiled at his stupid jokes. But something behind your eyes had dimmed.
Heeseung didn’t press. At first. Then, one afternoon, he caught you staring blankly at the laundry machine. You’d loaded it three times and hadn’t turned it on.
You didn’t even notice him standing behind you until he touched your arm.
“Are you okay?”
You blinked. “Yeah. Just... zoned out.” He didn’t believe you but he nodded anyway. That night, you sat on the balcony with your journal in your lap. The stars were faint, the city always swallowed most of them. Still, you looked up and whispered to yourself
“I hope I remember what the sky looks like.”
Heeseung’s promotion came two weeks later.
CEO.
The letters barely held any weight in your mind, but they meant everything to the company and to him. It was the culmination of years of dedication, late nights, near flawless discipline. He had been groomed for this position since the day he stepped into his father’s office, and now he finally stood at the top. There was a celebration, of course. Lavish, gleaming, all sharp suits and champagne glasses. You were expected to be there, not just as his wife, but as his partner, the quiet, polished figure beside the man of the hour. A photograph for the headlines. A name in the caption.
And so, you helped him get ready.
He stood in front of the mirror while you adjusted the lapels of his charcoal suit, the one you had picked for this night months ago, long before the diagnosis, long before your world started folding in on itself. It had a clean cut, regal structure, and a dark sheen under warm lighting. He looked like a leader. Like someone people would follow.
Like someone who deserved everything good in this life.
You moved closer, fingers brushing over his shoulders as you smoothed down the fabric. Then the tie — a deep navy silk one that complimented his skin. You looped it slowly, methodically, the way you’d done a hundred times before, but today your hands were a little shakier. When you finished tightening the knot, you adjusted the collar, folding it just right.
And then… you met his gaze.
He was looking at you the way he always did when he was proud of something. Eyes full of stars. That small boyish smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. The kind of smile that made your heart ache because he still saw you not the version that was slowly slipping through cracks, but the version that had once walked into his life like a spark.
“You’re really good at this,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “Should I be worried? You might have a secret career as a stylist.”
You chuckled weakly “Only for you.”
Heeseung grinned, a hint of pink on his ears as he lowered his head shyly. He had always been like this, confident in the boardroom, decisive in crisis, but hopelessly soft around you. “When are you getting ready?” he asked “I mean, not that I want to rush you, but… should I help you with your dress too?” It was teasing, yes. But the sincerity in his tone turned it fragile. Tender. As if he wanted nothing more than to make you feel cared for.
You couldn't meet his eyes anymore.
Your smile felt forced, stretched across your face like something stitched on. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips quick, light, almost mechanical then pulled back and murmured, “I’ll go change now.”
You walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind you.
Locked it.
The moment you turned around, the first sob escaped before you could stop it. Your back slid against the door, and you dropped to the floor, your knees folding beneath you.
You cried.
Not the loud, guttural cries of heartbreak. These were quieter. More dangerous. Cry that hollowed you out from the inside. The kind that didn’t shake the walls but carved themselves into your ribcage like scratches from within. Because how could you stand beside him tonight? How could you wear a smile and pose for photographs next to someone so perfect, so capable, so destined while you were falling apart in silence?
You didn’t deserve to be in those frames. You didn’t deserve the warmth in his voice or the light in his eyes. Heeseung wasn’t just beautiful, he was good. A man who’d carry the weight of the world and still ask how you were doing. He deserved someone strong. Someone helpful. Someone who would hold his hand and not forget the reason why she loved him.
Not someone who would make his life harder. You pulled your knees to your chest, pressing your forehead against them, biting back the next wave of sobs. Tears soaked through the fabric of your dress before you even realized.
And then came a knock. Gentle, hesitant.
“Y/N?” His voice. Muffled through the door, but heavy with concern. “Are you okay?” You panicked for a moment. Could he hear you crying? Could he feel it through the wood? You scrambled to your feet, wiping your face with trembling hands. “I’m fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just… changing. I’ll be out in a minute.”
A beat of silence.
“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. You heard his footsteps retreat, but slowly. Like he was still half-listening. You turned to the mirror.
Your eyes were red. Your lips were trembling. Your heart was still fractured in your chest.
But you smiled. You forced it. You fixed your face, did your makeup, washed your cheeks with cold water. You put on your dress, the one he loved and stepped into the role you needed to play tonight.
His wife, His person. And maybe a ticking clock he hadn’t heard yet.
Everyone at the office practically worshipped him that day. Heeseung stood on the stage like he was born for it, tall, composed, every line of his suit sharp, every word he spoke deliberate. The perfect heir, finally crowned. You watched him from the back of the room, fingers loosely threaded in front of your dress, the heels you wore pressing too hard against your ankles. He scanned the crowd with those piercing eyes of his, unreadable as ever, until they landed on yours. His gaze softened. Just a flicker a small, private moment no one else caught.
You smiled. Clapped along with everyone else. Even mouthed a “congratulations” later, when he walked off stage and found you again.
But it ached.
The pride did. The smile. The applause. The knowledge that this moment belonged to him, but not fully to you.
Because you’d seen it all evening.
That woman Heejin, his PA hovering just a little too close. Laughing at his jokes like she’d memorized the rhythm of his humor. Knowing the stats, the reports, the number of interviews scheduled, the name of the board member’s wife who just had a baby. She touched his arm like she had every right. Whispered in his ear and was so dangerously close to adjust his tie like it was second nature.
You told yourself it didn’t matter.
Heeseung was with you throughout the whole event. When he wasn’t being pulled away to speak with department heads or board directors, he returned to your side. He introduced you formally. Called you his wife. Smiled that same smile that always softened at the edges when it was just the two of you. Still, it felt like a storm was swelling beneath the chandeliers.
The whispers began slowly, it curled around your ankles and trailed up your spine like a chill. Faces half turned. Brows raised. Smirks too subtle to name. For a moment you thought you were imagining it.
Until Heejin, heels clicking, ponytail high made her way to Heeseung and whispered something in his ear while holding her phone to his face. His jaw tensed. The sharp intake of his breath wasn’t loud, but you felt it like a slap.
He didn’t say anything. Just handed the phone back, eyes suddenly blank. You took a step forward, concern prickling in your chest, but before you could reach him
Your own phone buzzed.
One notification. Then another. Then another.
You froze as the screen lit up with a forwarded image and a text chain that had clearly been passed from one employee to another.
A picture.
Of you and Jongseong.
Your arms around each other in the middle of a grocery store aisle. His head tilted, mouth close to your ear. The caption was cruel —
"The new CEO’s wife already bored? Guess Heeseung’s cold heart wasn’t enough to keep her warm."
The room spun for a second. You gripped your clutch tighter, your breath lodged in your throat. You remembered that day. Every nauseating second of it. How you’d walked out of the store in shock and disgust that you’d let your ex touch you. How the encounter made your stomach churn. How you’d fainted halfway to your apartment the third time in a month. How you woke up in the hospital, and how that day changed everything for you.
But none of that was in the photo.
Just a snapshot. A second. A cruelly timed frame that looked like you were holding someone you still loved.
You barely made it through the rest of the event.
when you returned home, Heeseung was quiet.
Too quiet.
He removed his tie slowly, hands shaking in the low light of your shared bedroom. You stood by the dresser, unsure whether to speak first. The silence between you throbbed, thick and pulsing like a bruise.
“I didn’t know about the picture,” you breathed out, finally. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”
He didn’t look at you. Just nodded. “Okay.” But that okay was hollow. A placeholder. You stepped closer. “I didn’t know someone took it. It wasn’t a… moment. It was nothing. I told him to stay away.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, still not meeting your eyes. “Did you?”
You blinked. “Yes.”
He licked his lips, exhaled. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Do you still love him?”
The question hit you like a punch.
“No,” you said too quickly. His eyes finally lifted to yours. Red rimmed. Vulnerable in a way he rarely showed. “Then why did you look like you did?”
You hesitated. “I didn’t. That photo—”
“No,” he interrupted gently, almost apologetically. “I’m not blaming you. I just… I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like I’m accusing you, but… was I not enough? Am I… not enough for you?” It broke your heart to hear him ask that. To hear that insecurity come from someone who had always seemed so sure of himself so composed, so precise. “You’re more than enough,” you said. “God, Heeseung, you’re everything. That day… I was in shock. I didn’t want him to touch me. I felt disgusted the second he did. And after that— I—" you stopped, more like the words abruptly run out of your brain. What exactly happened after that? You wanted to reach out to your journal but at this moment it felt like a foreign subject in that room.
He stared, breath caught in his throat “after that what?”
You opened your mouth. But nothing came out.
So instead, you reached for him. Sat beside him. Took his hand in yours “I felt like I didn’t deserve you,” you said honestly. “You’re… perfect. And I’m not. I’m going to ruin your life.”
He shook his head, eyes stinging. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” you whispered.“No.” He squeezed your hand. “I’ve ruined every relationship I’ve been in because I’m quiet. Closed off. I tried to do better with you. I tried to laugh more, talk more, open up. I don’t know if that scared you. Maybe I overwhelmed you—”
You didn’t let him finish. You pressed your mouth to his.
Soft at first. Like reassurance. Like apology.
But it didn’t stay soft. Your lips opened. His hands found your waist. Yours slid to the nape of his neck. He pulled you into his lap, clutching you like he didn’t want you to vanish. It was desperate. Heated. His mouth moved against yours with all the frustration and confusion he couldn’t put into words. His tongue tasted of hurt, of longing, of too much and not enough all at once. Your hands explored his jaw, his chest, the familiar planes of his body.
You gasped into his mouth when he gripped your thigh, and he caught the sound with his own lips, like he couldn’t stand to be away from you for even a second.
Clothes shifted. Hands wandered. You both chased each other’s warmth, each other’s breath, each other’s forgiveness. Your bodies tangled, your mouths pressed again and again, as if trying to remember what this meant what you meant.
When it was over, you lay against his chest, both of you breathless.
He held you like you were something breakable. You clutched the fabric of his shirt in your fist like he was your anchor.
Neither of you spoke.
Because sometimes, silence wasn’t emptines.....sometimes it was healing.
You stayed like that until sleep found you, nestled in the wreckage of that night, hearts still beating wildly but at least for now still together.
The next morning, he woke up alone.
Your pillow was cold.
Your phone was gone.
So were you.
Heeseung tore the apartment apart. Every room, every drawer, every closet. He called everyone. Checked hospitals. Airports. Police stations.
Nothing.
It was like you’d never existed.
Except for one thing
Your journal.
You’d hidden it behind the books on the shelf. It fell when he yanked the entire stack down in a frenzy. He opened it with shaking hands. Inside, he found pages pf him. Notes, memories, doodles of his face, stupid jokes, coffee orders, days he looked happiest, days he looked tired, the way he kissed your temple after work, the time he asked if you wanted kids and you couldn’t stop laughing.
But nothing about you.
No fears. No timeline. No diagnosis.
Until the last page.
Your last entry....probably
If you’re reading this, I probably forgot to tell you...I didn’t mean to leave like this. But I was so scared, Heeseung. I’m still scared. Alzheimer’s, That’s what they said. I’ll forget my name. My home. Maybe one day… even you. But I wrote you down so I wouldn’t. Because how could I forget the only place I ever felt safe?
He found the prescriptions next, right in between the pages, crumbled hard truth. His hands were shaking and he dropped the journal.
You weren’t in any of the places that made sense. Not your mother’s. Not your childhood home, the hospital where they gave you that impossible diagnosis, not even that quiet little beachside cafe you loved as a teenager, the one you once told Heeseung you’d run away to if life ever got too loud.
Heeseung checked them all. He didn’t stop looking. His PA begged him to rest and his board of directors hinted at taking a leave. Tabloids started speculating that you had disappeared because of him but that was not enough to make him stop looking for you. He ignored it all.
You were gone.
And all he had left was a journal where you remembered everything about him… but not a single word about yourself.
It destroyed him.
Every scribbled sentence felt like a goodbye in slow motion.
You wrote down his allergies, his favorite tie, the way he bit his lip when he was nervous. You even wrote down the first time he ever said your name like it meant something. But nothing — nothing — about when you first forgot your keys. Or when you got your test results. Or when you decided that loving him meant leaving.
Heeseung knew you did it to protect him.
But he didn’t want protection.
He wanted you.
At nights, Heeseung found himself on the beach. The sky quiet, no stars and too much cloud. Just the sound of waves, soft and endless. He remembered what you said once about wanting to see stars
“I feel like I belong to the sea. It forgets everything and still keeps going.”
He stared at the ocean for a long time. Then whispered, “I won’t forget you. Even if you forget me.”
Back in Seoul, your disappearance became public. Someone leaked the hospital records. Someone else found the journal. It was only a matter of time. Suddenly, the narrative changed. You weren’t the runaway wife anymore.
You were tragically sick. Young. Beautiful. Doomed.
The world grieved you like a ghost while you were still breathing somewhere. Heeseung hated it.
He hated that they mourned your memory while he still clung to your toothbrush. Hated that your name became a headline when it used to be a whisper only he was allowed to say that gently. And through all of it, the noise, the press, the pity he kept looking.
Weeks passed.
The world moved on.
He didn’t.
It was almost six months later when the knock came. A strange, hesitant rhythm, three soft raps, then silence. It wasn’t the knock you get from someone delivering mail or asking for a favor. It was the kind that came burdened with weight. With grief. With something you weren’t ready to hear. Heeseung opened the door, expecting a stranger. And he was though somehow, not entirely.
The man looked about his age. Disheveled, eyes filled with exhaustion and rimless glasses around them, lips trembling like he’d rehearsed this moment too many times only to still not be ready.
“Are you… Heeseung?” he asked, voice rough, tight. Heeseung blinked. “Yes. Can I help you?”
The man swallowed, then took a deep breath like it hurt to say her name. “I’m Jake. I—
I’ve been taking care of Y/N.”
Heeseung didn’t register it at first. But then the words unfurled inside his chest like shrapnel.
“I found her,” Jake continued, “about six months ago. On the street. She had fainted. Hit her head pretty bad.”
Everything around Heeseung went still. His fingers gripped the door tighter.
“You what?”
Jake nodded, frantic now. “I tried to help her. I brought her to the hospital. I wanted to call you—believe me, I did. But she… she begged me not to. Said you’d worry. Said she just needed a moment away.”
Heeseung felt his world turn inside out. “So she’s with you?” Jake’s expression shattered. “Yes...but I can't do this anymore. ” He stepped forward, desperate now. “Please, can I come in?”
They sat in silence for a moment on opposite ends of the couch. Jake’s fingers trembled around the cup of water Heeseung handed him. “I’m sorry,” Jake murmured, voice cracking. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know if there’s a right way to explain any of this.”
Heeseung nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. Jake looked down. “She didn’t remember much that day. Just bits and pieces. She kept asking for directions to a bakery that closed years ago. She was mumbling about… socks, a couch, stars. It didn’t make sense at first.” He paused to take a breathe “But there was something about her. Something… delicate. She didn’t want to be seen as fragile, but she was. She had this quiet kind of sadness. Like she was running from her own mind.”
Heeseung’s throat felt like sandpaper.
“I brought her to my place,” Jake continued, wiping his eyes. “It was closer than the hospital. She stayed for a few days. Then… weeks. And I just… let her.”
There was guilt in every syllable.
“I should’ve called you. I know that. But I—she asked me not to. She said she wasn’t ready to go back. That she needed time. And after everything she told me—or tried to tell me—I didn’t want to force her.”
Heeseung finally found his voice, low and raw. “Told you?”
Jake let out a weak laugh. “Pieces. Fragments. She kept scribbling on papers. I read one by accident one night when she forgot where she hid it.” That hit Heeseung in the chest. “She still wrote?”
“Obsessively,” Jake whispered. “Dates. Events. What you wore. The first time you laughed during breakfast. The time you hugged her when she thought no one would.” He looked up at Heeseung with a hollow sort of respect. “She didn’t write about herself. Just you.”
The silence that followed was cruel.
Then Jake broke it, voice cracking open. “I didn’t plan on falling for her. But it happened.”
Heeseung’s fingers curled into fists.
“I think… I think I fell in love the moment she offered to fold my laundry. She said she couldn’t sleep unless the room was organized, so she started arranging things, my books, labeled my kitchen spices.” He gave a humorless laugh. “She even asked me one night what tie I’d be wearing the next day. I told her I was a kindergarten teacher—I don’t wear ties. I don’t even own one.”
Heeseung looked at him, and something inside him twisted.
Jake’s next words came with a crack.
“She said she loved me once. Looked me straight in the eye and said it. But I knew—God, I knew—she didn’t mean me.”
Heeseung's chest ached.
“She looked at me like she loved someone. But there was no warmth in it. No spark. Just muscle memory.” Jake’s hands trembled harder. “Every day, she did things I knew weren’t meant for me. She’d ask me if I remembered the constellation we saw last December. I’ve never gone stargazing with her. She made tea the way you liked it. She even called me 'Seung' once.”
Heeseung felt the blood drain from his face.“I tried to be enough,” Jake whispered. “I told myself if I loved her hard enough, it wouldn’t matter that she was forgetting. That I wasn’t the one she loved. But I’m not strong enough. I can’t keep lying to myself. I’m going crazy.”
His voice finally broke. “She’s still in love with you.”
Heeseung sat frozen, pain slicing through every nerve. Jake covered his face. “I didn’t come here to fight. Or to beg. I came because I can’t hold this anymore. She’s slipping, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to keep her grounded.”
He looked up, red-eyed. “But maybe you do.”
Heeseung didn’t sleep that night. Jake left after an hour. Not because he wanted to, but because he said staying longer would feel like he was asking for permission.
Heeseung wandered back into the old room you used together. It still smelled like you. The scent hadn’t left, even though you had. He sat at your desk and opened one of the drawers.
And there it was.
Your journal. The one with the frayed corner and ink blot on the back. His hands shook as he turned the pages.
February 3rd – Heeseung laughed today. Actually laughed. I think it was because I burnt the toast and blamed the toaster, but I want to believe it’s because he’s starting to feel safe around me.
March 19th – He looked at me like I was someone worth choosing.
May 1st – I told a joke. He didn’t laugh. I think I messed up. I think I’m slipping again. Heeseung, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I wanted to remember. I wanted to stay.
Heeseung pressed the pages to his chest and let himself cry.
Because you didn’t run away. You simply… forgot your way back. And now he had to find you before the memory of him disappeared too.
The storm had passed, but the ruin it left behind still trembled beneath Heeseung’s ribs. The next morning, sunlight spilled pale and cold over his apartment floor, but there was no warmth in it. Just silence. Thick. Suffocating. Jake had left the address on a wrinkled piece of paper, scrawled in shaky handwriting like his hands were trying to outrun guilt. Heeseung held it tight as he stood in front of the door now, frozen not from fear, but something worse.
What if you look at him and see nothing? He didn’t knock. He just stood there for a second. Then another. Then the door opened from the inside. You stood barefoot, hair pulled back loosely, wearing a familiar oversized cardigan. His cardigan.
But the eyes that met his weren’t familiar at all.
You frowned.
“Who are you…” your head tilted, voice uncertain. “Why do you look so sad?”
It wasn’t a joke anymore. It wasn’t teasing. Your voice was too sincere, too puzzled. Heeseung’s heart dropped into a bottomless void.
He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe. So he stepped forward and hugged you. He didn’t ask. Didn’t wait. He just pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it nearly broke both of you.
“I missed you,” he whispered, voice trembling against your ear. “I missed you so goddamn much.”
For a beat, you didn’t move. Then your fingers clutched his shirt. And you began to cry.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” you said, voice cracking. “But you… you feel familiar.” He nodded into your shoulder, gripping you like an anchor in a storm.“You’re warm... but so familiar ” you mumbled, cheek pressed against his collarbone now. "Heeseung...why are you sad?”
His tears spilled freely now.
Behind them, Jake watched from the hallway, shoulders stiff, arms crossed, mouth quivering.
When you turned slightly and met Jake's eyes
You blinked. Shifting suddenly,Then asked, “Who are you?”
Silence.
Jake’s lips parted. But no sound came.
A second passed. Then another. He blinked once, twice, swallowed the storm threatening to choke him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.
Heeseung didn’t speak. Didn’t turn.
Jake’s eyes glistened. But he smiled anyway, as if giving you up was the easiest thing he’d ever done. He turned away and went into the other room. A silent retreat.
That night, Heeseung stayed. He didn’t sleep. Neither did you. You curled against him on the couch, wrapped in past like a quilt. He tucked you into his side like he had never lost you. Your hand rested on his chest, fingers twitching every so often like you were trying to remember something with touch alone.
In the silence, you whispered, “I want to go.”
He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Where?”
You shook your head, confused. “I don’t know. Just… away.”
“Away from what?”
“I don’t know that either,” you said. “But I want to go. With you.” Heeseung kissed your forehead, gently. “Okay.”
Jake woke up to an empty house. No voices. No breathing. No you. He called out once. Twice. Silence answered.
His heart seized.
Then he saw it, on the dining table. A phone. No, not a phone. A voice recorder. The kind Heeseung used sometimes when working through business proposals aloud.
He pressed play. And heard Heeseung’s voice. Soft. Tired. But steady.
“Jake…I know you probably hate me right now. Maybe you should. But I need to say this before I go.
Thank you.
Thank you for finding her when I lost her. For caring for her when I didn’t know how. For loving her in the quiet ways that kept her alive.
I read the journal.
I know now that she didn’t leave because she wanted to forget me. She left because she was scared I’d forget her. Or worse, that I’d watch her forget me. But Jake… she remembers something. Somewhere deep down, in the part of her soul untouched by time or illness or fear...she remembers love.
And I’m going to remind her. Every day. Until the stars go out. I’m taking her away. Just the two of us.
She wanted to go. So I’m taking her where the sky’s clear and quiet. Where the world slows down.
I’m going to show her the stars.”
The recording stopped. Jake stood there for a long, long time. He didn’t cry right away. Instead, he sat down at the kitchen table. Fingers trembling, he reached for the cross that hung from his necklace.
Clutched it. Pressed it to his lips. And closed his eyes.
“Take care of them,” he whispered. “Please.”
And then he cried. For you. For Heeseung. For himself. For the cruel poetry of loving someone who never truly belonged to you.
THE 2026 GREAT SORORITY HIEST ── .୨ৎ yang jungwon one shot
After a month of pressure, Jungwon is left stranded by his best friend on the final night of rush week and now, to earn his place in the university’s top fraternity, he must complete one scandalous, high stakes task before a midnight deadline.
nsfw warnings ── fingering, clit rubbing, dry humping, won is sweet but he’s just a man, they’re both horny as fuck. that’s it i think, lmk if i missed any.
word count ── 4.2k
Standing in the grand hall of this supposedly prestigious fraternity among the palpable desperation of fifty nervous freshmen. One would think Jungwon would be nervous as well but instead he stood there furious with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his jaw set so hard it ached.
For an entire month, Jake had been insufferable in pitching the so called prestige and the brotherhood of this specific fraternity until Jungwon finally caved. He had survived the sleepless nights, the ridiculous hazing rituals and the physical exhaustion of rush week, all because Jake promised they were in this together. But now, on the final and most important night, Jake was nowhere to be found, cause he bailed at the last second with a half cooked text about a family emergency.
So now, Jungwon is alone in a sea of legacy kids and meatheads, feeling the heaviness of the fraternity's history pressing down on him from the dark wood paneling of the walls.
At the front of the hall, the requirement officer stepped onto a raised platform. He was a senior with a cold smirk that suggested he enjoyed this part of the job a little too much, he definitely enjoyed the way the room went dead silent as he leaned into the microphone.
"Congratulations on making it this far, pledges," he began, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "But before you get your pins, there is one final requirement. A test of charm, stealth and most importantly, this is a test of audacity."
"By midnight, every one of you must retrieve a pair of panties from a girl currently residing in a sorority house. And because some of you cum socks tried to raid a laundry hamper last year, there's a new rule—you must return with the girl in person. If she isn't here with you by the time the clock strikes twelve, do not bother coming back at all."
A collective groan rippled through the hall but Jungwon didn't move. While the other guys started panicking and checking their contact lists, a spark of memory ignited in his mind.
He didn't have many connections on campus yet but he remembered a girl he'd bumped into during a motivational seminar during orientation week. He'd thought you were cute, smart too but in the chaos of that first week, he'd forgotten to get your name or your number. He only knew two things—you were a freshman just like him and you were rushing a sorority on campus.
He checked his watch, it was already 10:50 PM. He had less than two hours to find a girl whose name he didn't know and convince you to participate in a ridiculous fraternity hazing ritual.
Jungwon couldn't stop the rush of pure disbelief he felt thinking of how ridiculous this was, he had expected something difficult, perhaps even something a little humiliating but this was a proper fucking nightmare. He didn't just want to finish this for himself anymore, he also wanted to get through it just so he could hold it over Jake's head for the rest of the semester.
The cool night air hit Jungwon's face as he shoved past the heavy oak doors, his mind already racing through the grid of the greek row. His anger toward Jake hadn't fully dissipated but it was being rapidly replaced by a singular focus.
He knew the top tier houses were clustered on the north side of the row. If you had succeeded in your rush and looking the way you did, he had no doubt yeah no doubt you had, you'd be in one of those three houses.
He reached the steps of the first house, the music from an indoor social thumping through the brick walls. He took a breath, smoothed down his shirt and prepared to start the search. He didn't just need those panties, he also really needed the chance to finally finish the conversation he'd started three weeks ago.
Jungwon didn't waste any time, he was swinging open random doors, bracing himself for screams or a face full of pepper spray but instead he was met with a bizarre sense of normalcy. The girls inside the house weren't even flinching, they were mostly lounging on beds or scrolling on their phones, looking at the sudden influx of frantic freshmen with a mixture of boredom and amusement. He figured there had to be some long standing or unspoken agreement between their houses, from a tradition passed down through years of greek life that made this ridiculous raid an expected annual event.
The house was quickly becoming a circus, with guys everywhere, some attempting smooth pick up lines that fell flat, while others were literally on their knees, begging for a scrap of fabric like their lives depended on it.
Jungwon shook his head, trying not to laugh as he watched a fellow pledge nearly burst into tears over a refusal. He turned to scan the main dining area and that's when the world seemed to sharpen.
Because there you were, sitting at the long oak dining table, tucked into a conversation with another girl. You were leaning back, laughing at the absolute absurdity of the boys swarming the room. The moment your eyes drifted toward him, the laughter stayed on your lips but your expression shifted into a look of genuine recognition.
"Oh," you say, your voice cutting through the chaos of the room as you tilted your head. "Orientation boy?"
Jungwon't heart did a strange skip, he'd spent a month kicking himself for not getting your name or number after that seminar and now, standing in the middle of a panty raid, he felt like he'd finally caught the break he'd been looking for.
"I'm surprised you remember, it's Jungwon, by the way," he said, closing the distance between you, his confidence returning tenfold. He leaned against the table, ignoring the other pledges scrambling around.
"Y/n."
"I've spent the last three weeks trying to remember your name and here you are, laughing at me while I'm in the middle of a crisis."
You let out a soft laugh, resting your chin on your hand as you look him up and down. "I didn't even know you were the fraternity type," you tease. "I figured you were more into...I don't know, overachieving? Since you attended that seminar willingly."
Jungwon scoffs, a hand going to the back of his neck as he shifts his weight. "I'm really not but my friend spent a solid month dragging me into this and swearing it was the only way to survive freshman year, just to bail on me tonight. Now I'm the one standing in a sorority house with a deadline."
"That's tough," you say with a playful look in your eyes. "But hey, if you need a pair of panties that bad...you can have mine. Consider it a favor for a familiar face."
Jungwon's eyes widen, his breath going uneven for a second. A rush of excitement hits him, thinking of how this would probably be the easiest win of the night but then he pauses. He looks at you and the reality of the request settles in. Taking something so intimate from a girl he actually kind of likes, especially under the watchful eyes of fifty other guys, suddenly feels uncomfortable.
"I—uh...I should probably say no," he mutters, his ears turning a faint shade of pink. "I mean, thank you but it feels weird. Like I'm just taking advantage of the fact that we met once."
"Don't be so tense, Jungwon," you say, standing up from the table. You check the time on your phone to see that it's only eleven. You have an hour before he needs to be back in his house.
"Tell you what. We can head up to my room and hang out for a bit. We'll catch up and talk about how much orientation sucked ass and then you can take them when it's time to head back. It'll be less weird if we aren't standing in the middle of a circus, right?"
Jungwon looks around at the chaos, at the begging, the shouting, the sheer desperation of the other guys and then back at you.
The choice is pretty easy.
"Yeah," he says, a small smile finally breaking through his frustration. "That sounds a lot better than standing here."
Jungwon follows you up the stairs, the noise of the chaotic raid downstairs fading into a dull hum as you reach the quiet corridor of the freshman wing. When you push open your door and step inside, the room is dimly lit, smelling faintly of cinnamon and your expensive perfume.
The moment the door clicks shut behind, he's completely stunned that you turn and immediately press your lips to his. It's not even a tentative brush, you press your lips to his in a confident kiss that catches him entirely off guard. Jungwon's eyes widen in shock and his brain panics causing him to instinctively stumble backward. He isn't looking where he's going and so his head connects with the solid wood of the door with a dull echoing thud.
"Ow—!" he winces, reaching up to clutch the back of his head.
"Oh my god! I am so sorry!" You pull away instantly, your hands hovering near him, unsure whether to touch him or keep your distance. "Are you okay? I—I'm so embarrassed. I thought...I completely misread the signals, didn't I? I am so so so sorry, Jungwon."
He groans softly, rubbing the sore spot but he manages to give you a pained laugh. "It's okay, really. My head is just...a bit harder than I thought. You don't have to apologize."
You sink onto the edge of your bed, twirling your fingers into the loose thread of your skirt and looking everywhere but at him. The confidence you had downstairs has evaporated and now you feel extremely vulnerable.
"I'm just...this is really my first time away from home," you admit quietly. You tell him about your strict parents and the years of living under their thumb, where every move was monitored by even your overprotective older brother. "I guess I just thought college was supposed to be like the movies—all about hooking up and being bold. I thought that's what people did here. I didn't mean to make it weird."
Jungwon slowly lowers his hand from his head, his expression softening as he looks at you. The mission for the fraternity feels so silly now. He sees the girl from the seminar again—the one who was just trying to figure out where she fit in.
"Hey," he says gently, stepping away from the door to stand in front of you. "You don't have to put on an act for me. I'm just a guy who got ditched by his best friend and is currently failing a hazing ritual. I think we're both just trying to figure this out."
Jungwon watches the way you're tucked into yourself on the bed and all the frustration from the night, including the anger at Jake and the pressure of the frat completely drains away. He takes a step closer before sitting right next to you, his shadow falling across your lap, and reaches out to gently tilt your chin up so you have to look at him.
"You don't have to follow some movie script," he says with a voice that sounds way steadier than he feels. "And you didn't read the signals wrong. I just wasn't expecting you to be that brave."
He leans in, pausing just inches from your lips to give you every chance to pull away. "Slowly this time," he whispers, a playful smirk on his mouth.
You let out a breathless giggle that vanishes the moment his lips touch yours. This kiss is so sweet, soft enough to make your head spin and you don't want it to end. But as his hands find the back of your neck, pulling you closer, the sweetness quickly catches fire. He darts his tongue out and the kiss turns hot and a little rough.
He moves on had to your waist and you take that as your cue to immediately straddle his lap. Jungwon's breath hitches as he feels the weight of you, your heat radiating through his clothes. He's confident, sure but he was a high schooler only three months ago and he's never had a girl this gorgeous so eager and needy in his lap.
"W—Wait—we should...we should probably slow down," he mutters against your mouth, even though his hands are grabbing at your thighs and ass, his heart is even hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Please?" you whisper in a shaky plea as you lean down to trail kisses along his jawline. "You're so hot, Jungwon. Please just touch me."
The sound of his name on your lips, followed by a beg like that, snaps the last of his composure. He does what he thinks is ideal, sliding one hand up to cup your breast through the fabric of your baby tee. He's so careful, almost doting but the sensation makes you gasp and you don't let him stay that careful for long.
You reach down, grabbing his other hand and guiding it firmly beneath your skirt to the waistband of your panties. Jungwon's eyes widen in shock but there's a jolt of pure electricity surging through him as he feels dips his fingers past the waistband and feels how slick and wet you already are.
Damn, he thinks, his head falling back as a low groan escapes his throat. You're a horny little thing, aren't you?
He stops overthinking, if this is how you want to spend your first real night of freedom, he's more than willing to be the one to show you exactly what you've been missing. Jungwon finds your flow quickly, his fingers sliding against your damp pussy with a confidence that rivals his own racing heart. He lets out a surprised huff of air against your skin. "You're so wet," he murmurs. "I haven't even really started yet."
He shifts his focus to your neck, his lips and teeth grazing the sensitive skin there while his thumb finds your clit and he begins to rub in steady, firm up and down strokes that make your breath turn into shrieking whines.
The sound of your own voice in the quiet room makes you feel like such a bad girl. You can almost feel the weight of your parents' expectations, their certain disappointment if they could see you now—straddling a boy you barely know in a dimly lit sorority room. But the guilt only seems to highlight the pleasure, making every touch feel forbidden and electric.
"Poor thing," Jungwon whispers against your ear, his voice laced with a sudden and somewhat protective heat. "You've been wound so tight, haven't you? Just waiting for someone to let you loose."
You're already shaking, your thighs trembling against his hips as you involuntarily start to hump his hand, like you can't help yourself. The need is overwhelming, like a physical ache that demands to be satisfied. You're so eager and desperate that you end up overpowering him, your weight shifting until you push him back against the pillows and he lets out a choked groan as he hits the mattress but he doesn't stop his hands.
You're basically riding his fingers now, moving with frenzied jolts that make him see stars. He watches you from below, your hair messy and your eyes blown wide with lust and he can't help but imagine what it would feel like to have you riding his dick with that same horny intensity.
"You're incredible," he gasps, his fingers working faster as he tries to keep up with you, his thumb is still rubbing your clit while another finger is prodding at your hole cause he's unsure whether you're a virgin or not. "Mmm. Just like that—Fuck—You're so pretty."
All it really take his him pinching your nipple a little and you let out a scream muffled against the back of your hand, your body shaking as the sweet friction of his fingers finally sends you over the edge. "Jun—Oh shit! I thi...I'm cumming! I'm cumming!"
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
You look so beautiful thanking him for making you cum that he can't help but smile, he can't help but think of the other things he can get you to thank him for as you collapse against chest, trembling and babbling incoherent sentence while the aftershocks of the orgasm wave through you.
He pulls out his damp fingers from your panties, ready to ask you to put your number in his phone but your gaze is locked on the rigid line straining against the denim of his jeans. You do not hesitate, reaching out to grasp him through the fabric, your fingers curling around the length of his hard cock.
"Wait—wait," Jungwon breathes, his voice cracking as he catches your wrist. He is a man of discipline, yes and despite his raw confidence, a streak of genuine protective instinct flares up. "We really…I don’t think we should go that far tonight. I...I don't want to seem like I'm just using you for a requirement."
But you aren't listening to his logic. You lean forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck, your tongue darting out to lick the pulse point that is hammering wildly. You move to his ear, nipping the lobe before whispering another plea that makes his knees go weak.
Jungwon squeezes his eyes shut, his head falling back against the bed. He is just a man, after all and the combination of your wet pussy, your perfume and the way you are practically begging for him is an impossible force to fight. His grip on your wrists loosens, his hands falling to his sides in a silent surrender.
"You're going to be trouble for me, aren’t you?" He asks in a groan but before he can even process the shift in his own resolve, your hands are at his waist. With a clumsy certainty, you pry his belt loose, followed immediately by the pop of his jean button.
You make quick work of the zipper and Jungwon lets out a jagged breath, even helping you by lifting his hips as well as you, so you can drag his jeans down as much as it can go in this position. He is officially past the point of no return and the fraternity feels like a lifetime away compared to the urgency of your touch.
Jungwon's large hands make their way to your hips, the heat of his palms searing through your skin. "Do you even know what you're doing right now?" he asks you.
When you shake your head and give him an honest "No." He suddenly shifts you with a powerful movement, manhandling you until you are positioned perfectly above him. You are sitting directly over the hard length of his cock but there is still a frustrating barrier, your now damp panties and the cotton of his briefs are the only things keeping skin from skin.
The sensation is agonizingly hot and he can feel the moisture from the orgasm he just gave you soaking through your underwear, rubbing against him with every tiny, involuntary shiver you make. He is already pushed to his limit and it doesn't help that you can't sit still.
He isn't surprised when you begin to move on your own, rolling your hips in a feverish attempt to dry hump him through the layers. He grunts and grips your waist tighter until his knuckles start turning white.
"Shit. You're going to make me lose it," he says while trying to match your erratic pace.
"I can't believe it feels this good," you whine, your voice breaking as you roll your hips against him. You lean down, letting your hair brush against his face as you whisper into his ear, "I just...I can't wait to finally have sex. I've waited so long."
Jungwon's heart hammers a disastrous rhythm, he has never felt this desired before and when he looks up at your face, a possessive thought fills his mind—he wants to be the one.
"You really want this, don't you?" he rasps, his hands sliding from your waist to your thighs then your asscheeks, squeezing firmly to guide your movements. "Move for me. Faster, just like that."
You don't need to be told twice, you’re already moving like a bunny in heat, your damp panties making your clit catch on the ridge of his cock head through his briefs. The sensation is overwhelming and when Jungwon feels the usual tightening in his lower stomach, he almost can’t believe it.
No way, he thinks, trying his best to hold back from how badly he wants to moan out and whine just like you’re doing. What the fuck? Am I really going to cum from just a little dry humping?
"Shit...fuck," he groans again, the curses tumbling from his lips as he loses the battle for composure. He reaches up, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you down into a messy kiss.
"I bet your pussy is so tight," he says against your lips, his hips bucking upward instinctively to meet your rhythm. "Don't stop. God, don't stop moving."
He is completely at your mercy, his fingers digging into your skin but the way you are humping him is stripping away every ounce of his self control is driving him mad. Every time you slide forward, the dampness of your underwear catches against him and sends another jolt of pleasure straight to his core.
"My pussy is tight, I can—I can barely get one finger inside." You whine and that does it, your words couples with the drag of your wet lace against his cock is the final straw. Jungwon's eyes fly shut and his spine arches off the mattress as he lets out whine after whine. He is cursing under his breath, his hands clutching your hips so hard his fingerprints will surely linger, as he cums right there in his underwear. In the dim light of your room, he looks so pretty and flushed—his hair messy and his chest panting cause he’s trying to find his breath again.
You watch him with wide, curious eyes, finding the sight of him so pretty in his undone state. "Is that what happens?" you ask softly, tilting your head.
Before he can even formulate a coherent sentence to give you, you reach over to your nightstand and pull out a box of baby wipes, offering them to him with a shy smile. He looks at the box, then back at you, a half delirious laugh escaping his throat. "You're really something, aren't you?" he rasps, taking a wipe to attempt a quick, awkward cleanup.
Despite the pleasure being over, he notices you haven't made a single move to get off him. You are still straddling his lap, your weight warm and grounding against his thighs. He stops mid wipe to look up at you with a gaze that has softened significantly. He doesn't say it out loud but as he feels your arms wrap loosely around his neck, he finds himself hoping that you are the clingy type.
He holds you for a short second, letting his heart hammer against your own. He pulls back just enough to look into your hazy eyes, his mouth opening to ask for a real date, when his eyes snag on the digital glow of your bedside clock.
11:55 PM.
"Shit!" he hisses, the adrenaline of the mission slamming back into him. "We have five minutes!"
The romantic bubble bursts, replaced by a messy, laughing scramble. You do not hesitate to slide your panties down your legs, they’re completely soaked and heavy from your cum but you shove them into his hand anyway and he doesn't even look at them before stuffing the damp fabric into his pocket as you both bolt out of the room.
The run across the row is a blur of cold night air and your hysterical laughter. You are sprinting in your shoes while Jungwon grips your hand like a lifeline. You burst through the heavy oak doors of the grand hall just as the clock begins its first chime of midnight.
Jungwon is bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air but a victorious smile is etched on his face. He is the last pledge to arrive but he made it. He has the proof in his pocket along with the girl of his dreams by his side and he is so ready to look Jake in the eye and gloat in his face.
The requirement officer from earlier walks down from the stairs, his eyes scanning the room at the less than thirty pledges that managed to make it back with the mission complete but when his eyes land on pair of you. He looks at Jungwon, then his gaze shifts to you and his entire face goes from smug to thunderous in a split second.
"Jungwon," he says in a voice so angry Jungwon has to wonder where he fucked up. "Is that my fucking sister?"
Jungwon's smile disappears, his hand still intertwined with yours. He looks at the officer, then slowly turns his head to look at you, his eyes wide with a horrifying realization.
You offer a weak, not so apologetic wince. "Oops."
nene’s note ── had no real plans on posting this and that’s why there’s no banner, call it ‘enhablr fatigue’ the way i’m so tired of what this place has become. but to those sticking around and rocking with us, thank you and i hope you enjoy this short story 💋 as you know i love feedback.
⟢ a simple favor by @abriizeyday ⋮ wc ?? ♯ smut, handyman!shotaro, neighbours, possible switch!shotaro?
anton
⟢ always yours by @imsosoheee ⋮ wc 4.8k ♯ smut, long distance bf!anton, angst, emotional make up sex
·˚TXT
soobin
⟢ distraction by @calumcxke ⋮ wc 9.1k ♯ smut, best friends to lovers, reader is scared of thunder, rough comfort sex
⟢ midnight spirit by @filmsbyun ⋮ wc 17k ♯ smut, strangers to lovers, festival guide!soobin, mutual pining, lantern festival
⟢ chapter seven by @monoceros-in-ink ⋮ wc 10k ♯ smut, puppy hybrid!reader, heat, overstimulation, cum play
⟢ dream team? more like cream team by @st4rstudd3d ⋮ wc 1k ♯ smut, best friends to lovers, confession, dry humping, cumming in pants
(๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) these were just some fics i have saved in my notes app lol :p i will keep updating this list! i couldn't include everything since i can't find some users anymore sadly :( i will soon add recs for james as well! keep coming back to see my updates if you wanna :3
If there’s anything in life that Jake wants, it’s to fuck. All day, every day, it’s on his mind. He fantasizes constantly, watches porn every free chance he gets, and ultimately has grown bored of his own hand to satiate his need.
or the one where jake is inexperienced, incredibly perverted, and borderline addicted to sex but cannot, for the life of him, land a girl.
leave feedback and reblog to give jake another boner.
minors do not interact.
WORDCOUNT― 13.8k
PAIRING― jake sim x afab reader
CONTENT― smut, inexperienced but pervy and dominant jake, he kind of has an addiction to jerking off, im not joking like he has a boner every twenty minutes it’s probably a medical issue but, reader is really sex positive and lets jake go absolutely insane on her
NOTE― not proof read in the way it needed to be. disclaimer: this is straight up just porn. it had a plot at one point but i deleted all of it and wrote this instead. also this is posted on my other blog [@ncteez] for mark lee. yes, i wrote it for both of them bc they both fit the shoe ok? ok.
smut tags under cut::
smut tags― jake isn’t submissive– just a loser, loads of masturbation, also loads of loads lmfao, jake’s dick is 8 inches in this one, public humiliation, dirty talk, teasing, pussy eating / face sitting, mentions of free use, unprotected sex, wayyyy way too much cum, raw grinding, attempts at deep throat, accidental face fucking, finger fucking, suffocation, riding, squirting, implications to the fact that orgasms are not the end of the fic bc they just keep going, some say they’re still fucking to this day.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“Feels so good! Harder! Fuck m-”
Jake slams his laptop shut in an exasperated sigh. Frustrated, annoyed, fucking horny.
Always horny. To the point that nothing excites him anymore. Not his hard-on being palmed at by his own hand, not the make-shift pocket pussy he’s made out of household objects, not the porn on page one or on page seventy-three.
Honestly, even as hard as he is now, it’s arguable that he could just start punching his cock and he’d still remain in this state until something changes. And you know what sucks more than not being able to get off? Being hard so constantly that it’s just a state of living at this point.
It’s sad. He could be washing caked ketchup off of a plate and his cock would still lend a little jump. A reminder that his hand is no longer enough. A fucking threat that if he doesn’t sink into a pretty hole soon, he might as well just kill himself.
The idea doesn’t seem too bad anymore, as he lays flat on his back with his cock in hand on his messy sheets. He stares up at the ceiling with another long-winded groan, wondering why he has to have such an insatiable libido and probably twice as much stamina. If he could just get off he’d have at least a little bit of time in his day to feel normal before it takes hold of his brain again.
It’s the fact that he’s grown entirely numb to his own hand and feels like he’s going crazy because he hasn’t been able to hook-up with anyone in nearly a year. Porn is boring, he swears he’s seen just about all of the good, bad, and bizarre. Post nut clarity barely exists because there is no clarity by the time he finally gets that hard-to-reach nut. Bad luck, maybe. Awful fucking miserable luck? That’s more fitting.
For the sake of the girls in this city, perhaps it’s good that he can’t manage to land a hook-up. Surely they’d be unable to walk by the time he gets his fill, that is if he manages to get a fill at all. And it’s gotten to the point that Jake has almost entirely given up on finding a girl at all. One that’s willing to put up with his near-constant need to get his dick wet, anyway.
Almost given up.
A thought crosses his mind as he lazily palms himself with a bored sigh, knowing he’ll end up locked up in an asylum somewhere if this doesn’t stop. The voice of Jay in his head doing little to make his cock soften, which is…not something Jake is proud to admit.
“Dude, you gotta put a stop to this shit. This is your third laptop this year!” Jay had said to him. “It’s only June!”
Maybe Jay was right, and maybe Jake should have downloaded the new app that was mentioned shortly after the scolding rather than immediately going to another, even more, shady porn site. “Heard this one was really good.” Jay had advertised. “Even got Jungwon laid.”
Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to try another app despite the immense amount of failure Jake has already faced regarding previous attempts with other platforms. After all, if it got Jungwon laid, surely it could get him laid too.
Maybe this one really is better.
And at the end of the day, Jake does download the app. After all, creating a profile is easy, finding a girl though?
We’ll see.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Ah. Okay. Nice.
Jake stays glued to his phone all night. He really had no hope that this app would offer him anything more than what the others did. But, oh.
The app allows specific features, most of which are not aimed towards users looking for a relationship. Dick and body sizes are out in the open, there’s sections you can fill out regarding what you’re looking for in a sexual partner, how often you’re willing to see said partner, and if you’re looking for a regular fuck or a one time fuck.
Safe to say, Jake’s profile went a little something like this:
you can call me jake, im 24. just looking for a girl either for regular visits or a one night stand that’s willing to deal with a guy who literally suffers from chronic-boner syndrome.
LOOKING FOR: Female
PREFERENCE: One Time Only, Occasional Meetups, On-call, Regular meetups, Permanent Friends-With-Benefits, Secret Meet, Virtual Meet, Audio Meet, Rebound C…[Click to see more]
PARTNER REQUIREMENTS: N/A
SIZE REFERENCE: 8 ½” hard, 4” soft, 5.6” circumference
SEXUAL INTERESTS: Vanilla, Free Use, BDSM, Begging, Breeding, Dom/Sub, Dominatrix, CBT, Role Play, Public Humiliation, Edging, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex, Virtual Sex, Group Sex, Humiliation, Cock Play, Cum Dump, Religion, Raw, Multiple Orgasms, Androgyny, Genital Piercings, Older Women, Body Art, Wax, Anal, Financial Domina...[Click to see more]
NOT INTERESTED IN: Cuckolding, Voyeurism
OTHER: im not very experienced in most of these, i just watch a lot of porn
Embarrassing? Yeah, probably.
Looks like a lot of women are into that though if his inbox is anything to go by, anyway. With him checking the app every few minutes to find ten new messages? Yeah, they’re feeling him.
He can only imagine what the fuck Jungwon had on his profile to actually land a hook-up. Couldn’t have been any worse than his own, after all, Jake is desperate and so was Jungwon at one point.
Apparently girls like desperate guys.
Message after message, degrading comments and praise, all from either women clad in leather or sweet looking church girls who must have the app hidden deep within their phones. There’s barely anyone in between those two categories, actually.
“Hi baby boy, you looking for a sugar mama?”
“ur dick really that big? lol, what do you even mean by ‘chronic boner syndrome’?”
“you’re so desperate to get laid, might as well just doxx yourself at this point…please.”
Arguably, these women are very forward and he has a great time sifting through the ones he’s interested in. Scrolling through all of these messages….does not help his case regarding his insatiable need to fuck something either so, naturally, he’s also 100% jerking off the entire time he’s doing this.
Still, never quite able to reach the orgasm he needs by this point.
Up until there’s a message that catches his attention. No degrading, no insults, no borderline-too-kinky insinuations. Which, given, Jake probably shouldn’t have selected the majority of the kinks just to pull more girls, but he did.
And upon reading the message, he almost doesn’t know if this girl is real.
“High libido, no girls around to help you out, I take it? Rough.”
One look at her profile spikes even more interest. Her sexual interests include a list of things he wishes he didn’t fit. But he does, though he’d never admit it. Inexperienced men, losers, virgins, micro-penis, big penis, praise (receiving), body worship–
Oh.
Fuck yeah.
He responds quickly, already feeling the orgasm within him bubble up as he tries to pretend he doesn’t go on a war path of responding to everyone after you, but still. Your message box with him remains in his mind as he awaits the response to his message of “you looking to help me out?”
Every ping on his phone afterwards makes his cock twitch more, makes it dribble out little beads of pre-cum with each pass of his palm, only for him to sigh out of frustration that it’s just another person that wants to devour him whole. Which, he’ll take what he can get if his first choice never responds but still. He wants to get off to you.
He finds himself on your profile more often than anyone else’s too, looking at the same three photos you’ve posted, noting how you don’t seem super active on the app, but active enough to find him by some beautiful grace of God.
You’re kind of perfect, honestly. Fairly mundane compared to most of the women in his inbox, but cool nonetheless. He can tell you have an eye for fashion but it seems to be more geared towards your real life self rather than the secret fetish/kink app you’ve got downloaded.
And that’s the thing. Most of these women, beautiful or not, are dressed in their best sexual attire just to message a possible fuck, while during their daily lives they probably wear conservative dresses and pant suits. Which….arguably that’s kind of hot. Then again, what isn’t hot to him these days?
You though. You have normal pictures posted just like he does. Your tits aren’t out, your legs aren’t open, you don’t have a pile of sex toys behind or beside you and yet still your pictures turn him on more than those who do. Insane how his cock twitches at just these three photos, fucking insane how he grows a near instant obsessed thinking about how you…uh, deal with the losers you seem to be looking for.
Then again, maybe it’s the mystery of what’s under your clothes, or what’s in your stash of sex toys. Oh, whatever you’re hiding has got be so fucking hot. Naturally, he groans at the amount of sexuality you barely give. Thinking far, far too hard about it all, given the circumstances.
Don’t get him wrong, he can get down with the hoes. In fact, he very much wants to get down with a hoe. But man, the way you stand out because you’re somehow….boring compared to everyone else?
Please.
Fucking pretty please, let him in between those thighs.
And just as he scrolls again through your photos, that long-awaited orgasm hits him like a brick.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
A mere two days later you find yourself in the inbox with the self-proclaimed boner-god. He’s since proven his size with photos involving different objects beside said penis, and even a video or two of his frantic hands jerking off to you.
Ah, he’s kind of perfect if you think about it. At first you thought that it was just roleplay for him or something. Where he plays a guy who can’t get enough, though he clearly probably does. It wasn’t until you were woken up at four in the morning with him spamming your inbox that you suddenly realized this dude is actually as desperate as he seems.
Normally, being spammed awake by your phone pinging consistently would bother you. But goddamn was he needing it. Just three hours before now it was mostly casual conversation with him, albeit about hooking-up, but still. The two of you agreed to determine on the following day if you were compatible enough for a meet up. He said goodnight to you, and you said it back.
Then you woke up to three dick pics, one voice note with a borderline pathetic apology (only because you could still hear him going at it), and then like fourteen messages of him trying to wake you up intentionally.
JAKE_02 sent you a message: You awake?
Dick pic #1.
JAKE_02 sent you a message: You’re so pretty, sorry lol
Dick pic #2
JAKE_02 sent you a message: Wake uppppppppppp!
JAKE_02 sent you a message: Please? :(
Dick pic #3, precum smeared across his fingers as he grips it.
JAKE_02 sent you a message: Do you already have me silenced?
JAKE_02 sent you a message: I’d let you silence me hahaha….
JAKE_02 sent you a voice memo: “Sorry about all this, I really meant it when I said I have a problem. You should probably just block me because I’m going to end up begging to see you otherwise”
Oh, he has an accent.
JAKE_02 sent you a message: your profile says you like inexperience…..well i’ve only slept with like 3 girls, is that inexperienced enough?
JAKE_02 sent you a message: do you like to tease guys like that? like edge them and stuff?
JAKE_02 sent you a message: oh damn, that’d be so hot
JAKE_02 sent you a message: do you like it when guys beg btw?
Etcetera.
And, well, apparently he just has a lot to say. It’s cute how embarrassed he must feel basically getting himself off with a one-sided sext session with you as you were sleeping. At least, you hope he’s embarrassed.
You let his messages simmer for a while, waiting to see if he sends anything else. And when he doesn’t, you respond.
YOURUSERNAME: that was cute.
It’s the way he’s instantly trying to respond that really gets you going. You chuckle first, knowing already that you’d probably help him out based on this situation alone.
YOURUSERNAME: trying to wake me up because you can’t stop touching yourself? :( poor baby.
JAKE_02: oh god please don’t say that
JAKE_02: im gonna end up awake all night trying to get it to go down again
YOURUSERNAME: that’s good to hear. so you can go for a long time then?
Yes, you’re teasing him.
JAKE_02: if you’d let me
YOURUSERNAME: you already got off tonight tho, didn’t you?
JAKE_02: i don’t think you understand just how bad it is. i’m already getting my dick out again
You lend yourself a sly chuckle after a deep yawn, knowing for a fact that you’re about to make him prove to you that he’s either still hard or really did get off only to get hard again by a mere few messages from you.
YOURUSERNAME: show me?
And he does. Similar to the other three photos, only this time he sends a short video with his shorts pushed down his thighs and his cock raging hard and pathetic against his stomach. Again, he’s big, that much is true, but the fact that such a dick is always ready to fuck? To the point he’s desperate? To the point he’s embarrassing about it?
YOURUSERNAME: how bad do you wanna bury that in me?
Oh, shit. Jake could fucking die right now. You seem so willing, which is truly what he needs at this point in his sexual sickness.
JAKE_02: i’ll come over right now.
JAKE_02: let me come over and show you
YOURUSERNAME: let’s wait a bit for that, gotta meet officially before I let you fuck me
And you do intend to make him wait, knowing for a fact that you’re not meeting this guy tonight. There’s too much danger in that. Given how desperate he actually is, you can argue that if you changed your mind upon meeting, he very well may not care. Which, that’s something you need to worry about with any person you meet on such an app, but still.
Public meeting first.
Always.
JAKE_02: right, right, that makes sense.
JAKE_02: so can i see your pussy then
You stifle a laugh as if the man can hear you, he’d probably like that though. But yeah, no. As much as you know he’d enjoy that, it’s best to let him experience it for the first time in real life if all of this goes well. So, you settle with tits.
Meaning, he has to settle with them too.
And the photo is all but enough for Jake. The ping of his phone was far too exciting with the flash of the image sinking into his eyes. Sure, he wanted to see your hole open for him, he wanted to see your pretty hands spreading your lips for the picture, he wanted to see what he might get to fuck into someday– but…
This is good enough for him, honestly. Seeing your tits alone is hot enough, but it’s the fact that you only barely let him see. The plush skin of your lower breasts are peeking from under the shirt you're wearing, one nipple barely out, the other completely hidden.
He moans out at it, holding his cock tight and painfully as he glares into the screen of his phone. God, he can almost taste it.
JAKE_02: thats so hot…but….
JAKE_02: pussy….
JAKE_02: please show me your pussy
Another chuckle at how desperate he really is. You lower your phone just a bit, not at all intending to show him all of it but you do lend a panty shot with your legs spread. He’ll live with it, he doesn’t have a choice.
And he does live with it because he cums almost instantly upon seeing just your thighs open. He wouldn’t have been able to hit climax so quickly had you already had this photo posted for all to see. It’s the fact that you sent it to him in the dms. It’s the fact that you presumably just took it for him. It’s the fact that he can almost see the outline of your folds, and the lines of your pussy that deserves to fucked open.
When he doesn’t respond immediately, you know it was enough for him. Already you’re preparing to roll back over and get some more sleep, but your phone dings again.
JAKE_02: tht was hot lol….um
JAKE_02: can u come to the mall tomorrow? i work at [redacted store name], u can come see that im actually very normal if u want
You stop for a second through another yawn, thinking long and hard about it. You shrug to yourself because tomorrow is a saturday and there’s plenty of public spaces to meet him in. And despite how fun it could be to tease him for weeks on end before officially meeting him, you, yourself, have been in a dry-spell lately.
And he fits your interests perfectly. In other words, yeah, you could fuck.
YOURUSERNAME: you sure you’re not gonna take me in the back and fuck me on the spot?
JAKE_02: ….would u want me to?
YOURUSERNAME: no, i wanna bring you home if i think you could make me feel good
JAKE_02: hahah damn
JAKE_02: so you’ll come see me?
YOURUSERNAME: yeah, i’ll come see you
JAKE_02: ok cool :)
And then it’s silent for a long while. In fact, you’re nearly asleep again when your phone pings one last time. All you need to see is the notification to know that meeting Jake is gonna be fun.
JAKE_02 sent you a message: for the record…i definitely will fuck you good
Sounds promising.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
You knew he was cute but holy shit, he’s like, cute cute.
Fucking handsome and charmingly cute.
Perhaps even, hot.
You stand from around a shelf to check him out. That same accent you’ve heard previously rings loud and clear in your head, and his hair is definitely a stylistic mess, the type of hair you can imagine grabbing and tugging to guide a tongue between your legs. His eyes are pretty and piercing yet equally as filled with some sort of wonder. His hands, his body.
Oh wow.
On any other day, you’d think he’s just some poser emo-guy working a shitty retail job so he can buy his first guitar and play it totally out of tune. But on this day, you’re aware that this is a man with a need that you very much wouldn’t mind satisfying.
Seeing him go about his work tasks behind the counter is another thing. Checking customers out both through the register and with his eyes when they walk away. You know he isn’t aware that you’ve actually shown up, and it feels nice to watch him in his element before he attempts to play himself up as a totally normal, cool dude. Especially now that you can see him secretly be a pervert on the clock.
Customer after customer, he smiles at them when he hands them their items, he offers small talk and little chuckles that ring in your ears, and every single time one of the pretty ones walks away, his head turns to watch them leave for a few seconds too long.
Anyone can tell he needs it if they watch him for long enough.
You’re not sure why this guy is getting to you the way he is, but there’s just something about the way that he carries himself in public that turns you on. You already know for a fact that he’s a horny motherfucker. You know that behind those charming smiles and laughs, he’s got a neglected cock needing to be used.
No one else in this store is aware of it. You’re the only person here who knows he was spamming a stranger last night with dick pics and begging to see her pussy.
It’s hot.
And when you approach, Jake nearly doesn’t even know it’s you at first.
“Hi, did you find everything you–” Jake stops mid sentence. “Oh, fuck. You’re here.” He adds, trying to primp his hair into a spot that may look a little better than it did already.
You watch as he studies you for the first time, nervously darting his tongue out and against his bottom lip just for a split second before shifting his eyes behind you, and then turning to look around to see if anyone is within ear shot.
No one is paying attention to either of you, and no one is going to hear what you’re about to say to him. Good.
“Do you wanna see my pussy?”
It’s a joke, mostly. Kinda.
You chuckle at his stunned reaction. His hands move to the counter as he clutches it and continuously looks around to make sure no one just heard those lewd ass words from a girl so goddamn hot. Like, oh god, it’s you. You really showed up to see him and already he’s not acting normal.
No, no. You’re the one acting out of pocket, not him.
“I’m–” He tries to start, but his voice cracks in a very, very, embarrassing way. You hear him clear his throat before continuing. “I’m supposed to be showing you that I’m normal.”
You tilt your head at him playfully, leaning against the counter and pushing your tits together with your arms. You wore this shirt here for a reason, and boy are you glad you did. You watch his eyes go straight to your chest and stay there.
“Public Humiliation.” You echo one of his sexual interests to him from his app profile. “Dirty talk.”
Jake swallows around his words in stunned silence, feeling his cock wake up immediately. Fuck, this is the only place he finds peace of mind from…that. Yet here you are, with that soft and pretty voice reminding him of everything he wants but hasn’t been able to have. Standing there like you know he can’t bend you over right now and make you stop talking.
“Eight and a half inches hard.” You continue, leaning in even closer and moving your hand to the collar of your shirt. Tugging down just a little bit. “Five point six inch circumference.”
Jake squeezes his eyes shut as he leans back with a sigh, pressing his hips against the counter for some sort of relief. To think the “boring” girl on the app wouldn’t be like this? God, he knew there had to be a catch considering you were on that app to find him in the first place.
“Please–” He groans as his ears redden, lazily opening his eyes to look at your tits again. “Please don’t do this to me.”
“I can imagine you’d fit it in me just right, wouldn’t you Jake?” You continue briefly, noting the bulge he blatantly presses against the counter. “Can you say ‘please’ again? It’s kinda hot.”
“Please–” Jake blatantly groans now, his voice sounding hoarse and low. As much as he wants you to keep going, he’s at fucking work. He can’t be doing this.
“Okay!” You gleefully agree as you switch up like you didn’t just fuck him up, lending him a bright and innocent smile as you lean back and away from him. “So you don’t want to see my pussy then?”
His relieved face falls right back into that of pained frustration as he narrows his eyes at you.
“Right now?” He asks curiously, nodding his head without realizing it. Sure, he’s at work but like….your pussy is also at his work place right now.
“Yeah! Can you show me to the fitting room, actually?” You ask, louder this time in case anyone has moved around within ear-shot by now. Can’t make him lose his job, or whatever.
Jake swallows thickly with a nod, his eyes still narrowed at you but his mind racing a mile a minute at the fact that you’re really here right now, and this is what you’re doing to him? Enjoying his pain? Enjoying his suffering? Making it worse?
Five minutes ago he was perfectly fine. You’re using his need against him and god, he loves it. Yeah, maybe he will take you to the back and try to fuck you at this point. Even if you said that you wouldn’t let him…what the fuck is this then?
Really, he expected you to show up with an awkward hello and irritating small talk. He wanted to show you that he’s not always thinking about sex. Except he is, and it seems you want him to. You want him to think about fucking you.
You really just walked into this establishment and asked him if he wants to see your pussy.
Of course he wants to see it. You already fucking know that. He wants to fuck it too, like, right now.
And as he walks you to the fitting room, he has to try his damndest to adjust his growing cock. He nods to each customer as he walks by them, hands repeatedly going back to his lap to hide what he’s packing.
“Here it is.” Jake says in an unfocused voice, nearly staring a hole through you. “Now show me.”
You dip your head in a smile, heading for the room and opening the curtain. Cheap ass store, really, most places have actual doors, but whatever.
It’s easy to step inside and leave the curtain skewed a bit, knowing that Jake is hovering around the room, knowing that it’s probably protocol that an employee assist this space when it’s in use to prevent stealing and to prevent others from walking in on naked customers.
You like the way you see him take peeks, trying to be discreet. You like the way he keeps his hands in front of his lap, hiding that you’ve definitely made him a mess of him already. You love the way he whispers a curse to himself when you sit against the bench in this small room and spread your legs wide open.
You bet he loves the skirt you’re wearing for him today too. Though this wasn’t exactly planned or anything, you didn’t expect to be this turned on upon seeing him act as desperate as he sounds. You wore this shirt so he can look, and the skirt too…but looking this much wasn’t in your mind originally.
He’s hot though. The way he needs it is hot.
“Hurry up.” He groans, trying to make it seem like he’s frustrated but you know it’s just because he’s anxiously horny.
And, well, you’re not actually gonna show him your pussy, but at this point you feel bad because he seems really stiff right now, almost robotic in the way he likely feels uncomfortably aroused in his least favorite place.
“Jake,” You whisper-chuckle. “If you wanna see it, you’re gonna have to come in here and take my panties off of me.”
You hear him sigh, and see his eyes flick back to you through the small open space in the curtain.
“You’re insane. I can’t come in there, I’ll lose my job.” He argues with a hushed tone, eyes fixated on the very panties he wishes he could remove.
Even against his protests though, he reaches an arm in as he looks away. As if on extreme watch of other customers and employees roaming around. Probably pretending to grab a garment that doesn’t work for you, probably just doing normal, good-employee things.
And, well, it’s pathetic really, the way he hopes for more. The way you offer more knowing he can’t get exactly what he wants. You actually feel a bit bad for doing this, especially because it wasn’t entirely in the plan.
You really were just coming to meet him. It’s not your fault that watching him work turned you on solely because you know what he needs. So, you stand and walk towards the curtain, grabbing his arm and holding it in place.
“Well–” You start, pressing yourself against the backside of his fingers, feeling him move his hand slightly against your clit. “Touch it then.”
He goes entirely silent but you feel the way he fumbles his hand, immediately grabbing your panties and moving them to the side just to really feel. And you let him, finding it somehow cuter in the way he doesn’t even ask. He does it like he needs to, like it’s instinctual to touch it. He feels for a second or two, probably closer to about five seconds before you step back. Really, it’s enough for him to know you’re wet, enough for him to suffer, enough for him to want more.
Jake’s brain is on fire at it. Touching it before getting to see it? Goddamn, you’re so fucking mean.
And it’s silent for a few more moments after that as Jake keeps his hand in place, seemingly searching for a pussy just out of reach when you slide the fabric down your legs and place them directly into his hand.
“When do you get off work?” You ask slyly now, ripping the curtain open and moving his hand for him, forcing him to shove your panties in his pocket.
“Uh–” He stutters, swallowing again around his words before clearing his throat of the moan he really needs to let out right now. “Seven– I get off at seven.”
You nod with a smile, leaning in real close before patting his pocket.
“I’ll text you my address.”
And you leave without sparing him another glance, knowing that by the time his shift is over, he’ll probably pounce the second you open your door for him.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Jake suffers through the rest of his shift aggressively trying not to suck on his fingers. Fuck, he wants to taste you so bad, but to go as low as sucking the remnants for several hours just to hold him over? Truly, he’s at his wits end.
Mostly because he absolutely does suck his fingers any chance he gets. Tapping his lips with them as he sees a customer off, licking against them discreetly, trying to make it look normal for him to have his fingers in his mouth so consistently.
It’s not doing anything to hold him over though.
He keeps glancing at the clock, and then at the message that reads your address. Just one more hour and he can leave. Just one more hour and he can bury his cock so deep into you that you’d never think twice about letting him do it again, and again, and again.
Oh god, really, he feels like he’s going insane as he checks out customer after customer. Every word they say somehow reminds him that he’s about to finally get laid again.
“Can you wrap this up for me?” One customer said to him, nodding to a set of candles.
Jake wishes you’d wrap him up in that pussy.
“Do you have this in a bigger size?” Another customer had said to him as they held up a plush sweater.
Jake doesn’t think you’d ever need a dick bigger than his. He’ll fill you up just right.
“69.99?!” One customer argues. “The sign said it was 30% off!”
Jake would sixty nine you all night long if you asked. He bets you taste sweet, you probably get really wet too.
And by the end of the night, rain pounding on the roof, his last customer unfortunately has to hear a low groan leave his throat at their comments. He’s very quick to cover it with a cough.
“Sorry for coming in right before you close, the rain is bad tonight and I forgot my umbrella, thank god you guys sell them! I didn’t mean to drip all over the floor like this, I hope you don’t have to stay late cleaning up my mess!”
“I didn’t mean to drip all over your floor like this” Replays in his head, over and over again. God, he’d make you drip. He hopes you drip all over the floor for him. He’d get on his knees and lick it right up, god.
He needs to leave. Right now.
“S’all good,” Jake shakes his head after the initial moan and cough cover, trying to remain casual. “It’s my job to clean it up, after all.” He smiles, his brain stuck on the feeling of how wet you were when he touched you. Shiiiit. “Have a good night, stay dry!”
And finally, Jake can close out his register and lock the doors. That, he does. Performing his end-of-night tasks at lightning speed with a cock throbbing so bad that he worries he might have to get off in his car before making it to your apartment. He genuinely needs to get off, especially knowing these pretty panties are in his pocket ready to be soaked in his cum.
He doesn’t though, no. He holds off, thrusting his hips up and against the inseam of his pants with every passing second as he drives. He’s practically writhing by the time he gets to your place. Honestly, he moans with each movement because he’s sensitive. It’s so, so fucking sensitive. Everything feels good, he could genuinely cum the second you open your door if he’s not careful.
Careful isn’t something Jake can be at this moment though, not when he lands a single knock at your door and you’re immediately opening it, looking at him with that same fucking evil smile you gave to him while he was at work.
He looks at you and instantly lets out a frustrated moan before stepping in without another word. You feel his hands grab you much harsher than you originally thought he would, but you let him as you laugh out in a nervous chuckle.
“Hello to you too.” You pat him on the back as his arms wrap around your middle. You hear him kick back against your door, slamming it shut before his lips hit your neck.
He isn’t talking but goddamn you can hear what he needs to say through the way he presses his lips against you. He’s rough with it, kissing all across your exposed skin before slipping his hand right between your legs from the back as if he doesn’t have to chase anymore.
You were going to jerk your hips back to make him chase, but his grip is too tight and he’s nearly lifting you off the floor entirely to get a feel. You were going to force him to look at you and the outfit you changed into for him, but again, he’s not having it, it seems. He moans when he moves his lips up and against yours, hot breath desperate and needy as he finally speaks.
“Did it turn you on to torture me like that?” He nearly growls against your lips. “Got me so fucking hard.”
You’re genuinely surprised with how he’s acting and talking. Then again, he’s desperate, that much is obvious if that monster bulge rubbing against your leg is anything to go by. Perhaps he may be desperate, but you guess that doesn’t always mean someone will end up submissive as a side effect.
“It did.” You smile against his lips, pushing yourself forward to try and plant your feet back on the ground, chasing the ability to gain control over him. “Did you like that?”
Jake nods before shaking his head, allowing you to push forward, loving the way your hands reach for him and run through his hair before tugging. He did like what you did, but it doesn’t change the fact that it was fucking torture to stand there at work like he wasn’t losing his mind.
“I’d like it more if we skip all the bullshit,” He starts, hand still attempting to reach the spot between your legs and lips landing at the corner of your mouth. “Could go all night.”
You nod to him, gripping his shirt and pulling him back to your living room couch and spinning him around, only to shove him back.
“Is that a promise?” You ask, looking at the lazy way he spreads his own legs and rests his head against your couch cushions, eyes staring straight at you and cock twitching in his pants. “You gonna fuck me all night?”
“Yeah–” He breathes as if he’s in disbelief, hand reaching between his legs just to grab himself and squeeze as his eyes trail your body. “You have no idea how bad I need this.”
“Show me then,” You nod your head to his length that’s hidden under his pants. “Let me watch you first.”
Jake groans, rolling his eyes back both out of frustration and arousal, but he does as you say. His palm feels better with you watching, at least. He doesn’t feel so numb to the pleasure with you promising your body to him, at least. He doesn’t mind proving his size to you by shoving his pants down to his thighs and presenting said neglected cock to you either.
It’s heavy, dark in color due to the blood that’s likely rushing throughout every inch of it. He feels sensitive to even the air in your living room as he twitches and aches to hear you talk again, to see you in front of him watching how he pleasures himself, wishing his hand is yours.
“You wanna watch?” He says in a low-rumbled voice, tracing his fingers along the head of his cock and seething out a breath through his now, bitten bottom lip. “Wanna know how tight I want you to feel?” He asks now, bold and in the heat of the moment. You watch him when he squeezes the base of his cock tightly, you can almost feel yourself choke at that alone.
“How wet you need to be to take it?” He continues, dragging his hand back and licking his palm before spitting into it.
The wetness against his hand is horrifyingly pornographic. So wet when he reaches back down to his length, allowing you to hear it squelch and slip with ease. His breath is hitched while he does it too, which nearly has you seeing him in tunnel vision.
“Yeah…” You tune into him entirely, swallowing around the lump in your throat and feeling yourself drip already. “I can’t imagine how good–” You cut yourself short to moan at the way his other hand holds his pants down while he jerks his hand up faster and faster. “Oh god, you’re–”
“Wanna see how fast I can cum just looking at you?” He continues, hand only moving faster and faster as his grip tightens more, shamelessly grunting proudly over how he could probably cum now if he wanted to. “I told you, I can go all night.”
You pause, because goddamn. You thought he would be embarrassing, pathetic, needy. You thought he would beg, plead, and cry. But…you feel like you’re the one who needs to do that. God, you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck yet be so powerful about it. As if he’s in your face whispering, “You’re gonna let me fuck you, right? You’re gonna love it too, right? You’re gonna let me use you to take care of this little problem of mine, right? It’s what you want, right?”
If he were to say those things to you right now, you’d nod without a doubt. But…he doesn’t. He simply looks at you now, heaving out broken moans that sound too sexy to be considered pathetic. His hips chase each movement of his hand and goddamn does he fuck his fist hard.
Your mind is spinning watching him, knowing that he’s probably going to fuck you twice as hard as he fucks himself. And it’s not surprising to you at least that you can feel your own clit swell and throb for touch too. You easily move your hand between your legs, standing right there in front of him, toying with yourself as if you don’t have the power to ask him to do it for you.
“Ah, fuck–” Jake groans, thrusting his hips up into his hand one last time before strings of his cum make a mess on his shirt. And it seems to go on forever too, spurt after spurt of it pumping out of him alongside his pretty moans and open-mouthed expression. You can feel your body react to him more than it ever has for anyone else, especially in the way….
“God–” You moan yourself now, watching him spread his legs and slouch more against your couch with a relieved sigh from his messy orgasm. But…his cock doesn’t soften. No, it stays stiff and heavy against his stomach, twitching and dribbling more and more of his cum out in little beads.
The proof of his issue is right here, he really can and probably will go all night. And you say nothing else to him after that. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to answer you if you did say something simply because you find yourself stepping up onto your own couch, resting your knees against the back of it, and gripping his hair.
Jake lets out a half-moan-half-hum, as expected, when he feels your hand drag his face under your skirt. You didn’t have to do that, but goddamn does he fucking love it. He loves how he can feel your knees buckle and force you to balance on the couch, loves how your cunt is just as needy as he feels, fucking adores the way you drip all over his tongue when he pushes your panties to the side and starts licking you up.
It’s the fact that he didn’t even have to ask you to put it in his face. The slight taste against his fingers all night at work is nothing compared to the way you drown him now. He needs to do this for you. Hell, he needs to do this for himself.
“Jesus,” You breathe, rolling your hips on his mouth. He’s truly eating you like his life depends on it. You can hear his muffled hums at the taste, you can feel his shoulder shake as he starts jerking off again, you can feel the way his tongue goes deeper and deeper, licking each clench of your walls, only to pull back and suck the wet from your panties in a deep breath.
He coos at it too, as if he’s in love with the moment, as if he truly can’t believe he’s finally got a pussy to lick. And he swallows each mouth full of your slick before muttering curses and promises against your swollen little bud.
“Please,” He moans, nipping and licking against you. “Been so long since I’ve eaten pussy, rub it on me- fuck-” he continues to babble, heat-of-the-moment-talk coming out as far more arousing than cringe if you listen hard through your ringing ears. “Come on,” He continues, now neglecting his own cock and gripping your ass with both hands, shoving you back and forth on his face in painfully slow and harsh grinds. “Come on, harder.”
As if you can function at all right now with how rough he is about trying to pleasure you? Fucking hell, the words ignite something in you as you pull back and away from him. For a split second, you see his blown out pupils and fucked up hair as he licks his lips and presents that shining lower-half of his face to you.
You don’t look for long though, no. Because you’re too busy pushing him to the side and forcing him to lay back on the couch instead. You resume your position afterwards, straddling the couch on either side of his head with your knees and planting your pulsing cunt right on his eager tongue.
“You’re too hot,” You moan, feeling his hands go straight back to your ass to force more of those harsh grinds against him. “If you could see yourself right now–” Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you feel his moaned out chuckle hit you right in the clit. It’s like he knows he makes you feel good, but does he really?
Does he truly understand how fucking good at this he is?
“God, if you could feel how good your tongue is–” You continue, now losing yourself in the heat of the moment, feeling his fingers nearly bruise your ass with the death-grip he has on you.
He nods his head in what little space he has as he spirals into heaven behind his eyes. The smell of you suffocates him, the taste of you drowns him, the weight of you is nothing short of sexy as hell. This is all he could ever want. A pretty girl using and abusing his face, much like he wants to do to you. But oh, there’s so, so much he wants to do after so long of having no one but himself.
Eat you out, finger fuck you, slide his cock down that pretty little moaning throat of yours, grip that hair and kiss those tits. God, he wants to do everything right now but he can’t bear to push this perfect clit off of his lips. He cannot fathom losing the taste of you and the way you clench around the tip of his tongue.
Oh fuck.
“Ahh- '' Jake moans open-mouthed against your clit as his brain hits a wall, his cock standing stiff from behind you as he spills out against himself again. Untouched completely, he cums without any effort where as previously it took him hours just to get off because he’d grown so fucking bored of everything.
You’ve ignited him. His drive is higher than it’s ever been after being neglected for so long. God, he wants to fuck you so full that you can’t bear to leave him.
“Fuck–” He continues, trying to lend licks between his jerking body to keep your arousal peaked. “See how bad I need it?”
He finally manages to pull back, feeling you lift from his face just for a moment after noting the way his entire body is shaking. He’s not having it though, as he cranes his neck in chase of your dripping hole once more.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He adds now, enveloping his lips around your clit again and using both hands to force you right back down on his face.
There, you feel the way he almost passionately makes out with your pussy. As if he’s thanking you for a second orgasm within the past ten minutes. As if he truly can’t stop wanting to fuck something, someone, anything at all.
Goddamn, what a fucking deal. All hail the hook-up app that brought this insatiable sex beast to your apartment.
“Jake–” You start, grinding down for him and feeling his hands now move to rub up and down your back. “Keep your tongue in me.” You choke out, gripping his hair to hold his face in place as you sit his tongue inside of you, short and jerky thrusts forward to bump your clit against his nose.
He’s gotten off twice now, it’s your turn.
And you watch as he drops his arms from you and grips your outer legs through it, letting you use his face until he can’t breathe. Both of you are seeing stars through it, your orgasm bubbling up so quickly that you can barely warn him when your hips halt in a stiffened clench and he’s finishing the job for you.
Your legs squeeze around his head, your fingers pull his hair, and still he manages to find the space to tilt his chin up just to tongue-fuck you deeper, just to rub his nose harshly against your clit, up until he feels your quivering pussy spill all over his chin, down his throat, stealing any breath or moan he could possibly give right now.
You’re out of breath by the time you finally slide off of his face, your hands immediately shooting to both of his cheeks as your sensitive clit drags down his stomach for the easy position change. You wince when you lick against his lips at the sensitivity, being sure to seat yourself right against his cock.
“Hah–” Jake lends a breathy laugh against the way you lick his lips, his hands going right back to your ass and landing a sharp slap to it. “Couldn’t even get our clothes off first.”
You take a second to pull back and look at him, noting the redness against his cheeks and nose, likely from your panties consistently getting in his way and then you chuckle back at him. You’re thankful for the short break the two of you seem to be taking at the moment. Still, you lift up from him just to remove your shirt, exposing your tits in an instant solely because you didn’t wear a bra for this exact purpose.
He’s still hard, despite two orgasms. You feel him rubbing it against you every few seconds, right up against your saliva and cum-soaked panties which, mind you, are insanely uncomfortable right now. It feels as if they’re slicing through your thigh with the force of how Jake managed to keep them shoved out of his way.
“Just lay back,” You smile at him, allowing him a longer rest for now as you take it upon yourself to remove the barriers. “Let me take care of you now.”
Jake has hearts in his eyes as he watches you. Normally, a girl would already be falling asleep after all that, leaving him with not enough orgasms and no actual fucking. It’s not his fault he could do foreplay for upwards of three to four hours before going for the finale. Which, arguably, can and will last several hours longer.
Still, you appear to not be finished either, with your breathless smile and gentle hands. He bites his bottom lip through a smirk as he watches you, tits on full display to keep him satiated for now as you move around on the couch to get his pants off of him. He helps a bit with a little kick, his cock still so sensitive and pathetically weeping for more. He feels lucky to have found you, almost baffled that he may have met his match.
You lend several glances at his cock, not quite realizing the way he’s blinking at you right now. To be fair, it’s only natural to have your attention on that thing right now. You swallow around your nervousness regarding the size but equally want him to fuck you senseless with it. You already feel entirely fucked out, but…that. Oh, that could change your life, probably. You can imagine he won’t be as gentle as you expected before all of this too. Would probably shove it in all in one go and lose his mind at the feeling.
He’s probably going to split you open and make it feel good for you too. Somehow.
Anyway, enough of that. You’ve still got to get his shirt off, your uncomfortable skirt and panties too.
You make quick work of it, as you stand to your feet and expose yourself entirely to him. Jake just watches, humming and moaning at each new expanse of skin you show to him. He keeps his hands to himself though, likely so used to feeling of them that they’d bring no pleasure at this moment if he were to jerk off to you doing this. And you just…look right back at him.
“Come on,” You smile at him again, lending your hand out for him to grab. “Bedroom will be more comfortable.”
Right. Bedrooms exist.
Jake follows, cock heavy and sensitive against his thigh with each step as he tries to get up close behind you. His eyes stay on your ass as you walk in front of him, and it’s not hard for him to keep his hands on it. In fact, he’s touching you as often as he can, trying to remind himself that he’s with someone right now who actually wants him.
You seem to be willing to let him do what he needs tonight, and hopefully it won’t be the only time.
You feel him on you, clinging so closely, hands constantly groping, lips always trying to reach the back of your neck and shoulders, to the point it’s actually difficult to get to your bedroom because you want nothing more than to turn around and shove him against the wall, all to try and take him into your mouth just to see if you can.
He doesn’t really let you think about that for too long though, because the second you get to your bedroom, he’s grabbing you from behind and lifting you in his strong arms. You writhe in his grasp with playful giggles, feeling the strong hold he has on you, keeping you in place against him as he stumbles forward with a deep inhale into your neck.
He’s quick to make his way to your bed, dropping you onto it, flipping you over onto your back, and immediately slotting himself between your legs. He hovers over you for a minute, looking directly into your eyes as his hair falls forward.
Somehow, you’re more focused on his face than you are of his cock that he’s sliding up and down your core right now. You reach up to his hair, brushing it out of his face and feeling the sticky sweat at his scalp.
“Could eat you out again.” Jake mentions, hips thrusting against you but eyes calm and level with yours. “Could lock me up in here and just use me all day if you want.” He continues, partially being serious about it, but treating it as if it’s some kinky joke instead.
Because let’s be honest. If there’s any job Jake could do better than anyone else, it’s be a woman’s fuck toy. Always ready to go, always stiff and horny, always willing to please.
“Could slide in right now and let you feel how hard I am.” His voice gets breathier as he talks, and you can tell he’s just imagining everything he wants to do. He probably worries he’ll have to go home at some point tonight only to resume his search for potential fucks to keep his need satiated.
He probably thinks he’s going to exhaust you.
“Could let you do all of that and more.” You respond, lifting your hips just slightly to press his cock between your bodies, throwing your legs around his waist simultaneously with the way you wrap your arms around his neck. “You want me to lock you up in here?”
Jake nods with a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if he can imagine it.
“Do you work tomorrow?”
He shakes his head with another sigh, focusing on the way you keep humping up against his length, sliding yourself in whatever way you can against him.
“Maybe I’ll just have to do that then.”
Oh, damn.
The heart eyes are back. The very thought of being in this room all night and all day tomorrow drives his cock to pulse and twitch. Foreplay can come whenever, fucking can come whenever, he can cum whenever. There’s no need for a to-do list. No need for a specific structure of rules on how this needs to happen. Foreplay, sex, sleep. Not with Jake.
Sex. foreplay. sex. foreplay. for hours. He’ll keep you up all night if he can, fucking and sucking every part of you, into the morning hours straight into tomorrow night.
Free use with you from now until you’re tired of him. You can do anything you want to him but for now…
“Yeah?” Jake breathes out in excitement, arching his back slightly to let his cock land against your hole, and then he pushes forward slowly. The bulbous head spreads your lips and stretches out your slick pussy with ease as he continues to speak. “Feel that?”
Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, fingernails already digging into his shoulders at the anticipation as your legs loosen around him. He continues to push forward, inch by inch, painfully slow as if he wants you to feel the burn and stretch even while being as wet as you are.
“Ah–” He confirms for himself as he watches your face, wincing, mouth falling open. “Yeah, you feel it.”
God, yeah. You do. You feel the weight of his size inside of you, stretching you open so good he probably wouldn’t even have to move for it to hurt. But he does move, he does continue to slide in, savoring every second of your walls quivering and suffocating his cock.
“Goddamn,” He groans, lifting up on both arms and bracing himself as he looks down, only to find he’s only slid half of his dick into you, and already you’re about as breathless as he is. “Didn’t realize how tight you’d actually be–”
He chokes when he says it, sliding out little by little before fucking back in, pushing just a bit more into you.
“S’okay.” You try to reassure him, but it’s more for you than it is for him. You really didn’t think a cock could feel so big that it actually hurts, yet, here you are. “I’m adjusting.”
Jake moans at your broken voice, no longer holding himself back to look at your pussy grip him when he pulls out slightly. He looks at your face instead, witnessing how you take all of it in one solid movement from him. All of it, until he can feel his pelvis rest against your clit and your entire body stiffens in a tight hug around his body.
“Mhm,” He leans back down now, humming against your cheek as he tries to control the urge to fuck. “Taking all of it, aren’t you?”
With those words, he slides out slightly before pushing back in again, trying to force your pussy to relax so that he can stop holding his breath. One hand finds its way to your leg to hold onto, the other holding himself up beside your head, and he just…watches.
Little by little, he thrusts. Plunging into you in short-tight snaps of his hips just to watch your tits jiggle with the movements, up until he really, really can’t hold back anymore.
You feel his cock leave you almost entirely, only to slam right back in and cause your vision to go white with a pang of pleasure. Your loud yelp pairs well with his relieved sigh of a grunt, and it appears that this is what breaks him entirely.
That single, full thrust, lets him fall forward and nuzzle his nose against your neck and his body just goes. Instinctually chasing the deepest parts inside of you, hitting your cervix with each thrust only to drag back and make your toes go numb at the way your g-spot feels entirely too sensitive with this alone.
And god, Jake loves the way you cling through it. The way you moan each time he bottoms out, the way your nails cut into his back and the way your legs continuously fail to stay wrapped around him. He…
Oh no.
“I can go all night–” He breathes out through his relentless thrusts, almost as if he’s pleading with you. “I swear, I’m not done–” He continues to cut off his own words with choked moans as he pulls back and leans up, frantically forgetting to apologize over the fact that he’s already about to cum again.
And you feel him try to slide out, that face he made twice before already alerting you that he really must have so much to pump out of himself at this point. You don’t mind if he’s about to hit a third orgasm, in fact, you’re glad.
Your legs hold him in place as he fights to pull out, his eyes snapping to you in realization after the second time he tries.
“No fucking way, you– you want it?” His eyebrows fall into that of a relieved release as he, too, falls right back down against your chest and lets his hips fuck freely.
He’s not controlling it at this point. You feel him stretch you open more through his orgasm, rolling his hips but not pulling out even in the slightest now. Moving back and forth, as if trying to stuff you impossibly full while he releases those thick ropes of cum. It…feels so good even with the way the base of his cock continues to swirl and loosen you up in a painful stretch that almost feels like he’s ripping you open. Still, the pain is gone as he shakes on top of you, in fact, you feel your clit throb at the feeling of how big he is, of how hard he manages to stay.
He didn’t even fuck you that roughly before this, but it feels like you’re already ruined. Ruined enough to want more. Enough to need more.
“Bet that feels good,” You chuckle against his hair, feeling each pulse of him and loving the way he pants against your ear. “Not having to pull out, knowing you can fuck me for as long as you want.”
That only pushes his orgasm to hit harder. He thought he was nearing the end of it, but instead, his body goes into overdrive as more pulses of cum shoot out of him at your words. There’s so…so much of it he can give you. And if this is what you want, he’s the perfect man to do it for you.
“Don’t say that, oh god–” Jake mumbles through the end of his orgasm, keeping himself tucked nice and deep into you as he releases his body weight and makes you feel slightly suffocated under him. “Please.”
Well, he minds his manners well enough, you shrug under him, clenching around his length unintentionally and reminding him that you genuinely can go all night, just like him.
Reminding him that maybe you really will just lock him up in this room all tonight, all tomorrow. He seems into the idea anyway, right? Both of you just free-use sex dolls for the time being…Hell yeah.
And as Jake catches his breath, he finally lifts up, pulling you with him, and sits you directly on his lap now.
“Keep going then, don’t let it get soft.” He nearly whimpers, solely due to the sensitivity his cock is now offering and the fact that after that third orgasm, he truly is gaining the ability to go flaccid between orgasms.
And you follow his direction, though not entirely how he wanted you to. Instead of rolling your hips, you slip him right out of you and sink your face down between his legs, loving the way his cum spills out of you all the while. You don’t even say anything, not that you’d need to. He watches you, a smirk forming on his lips as he raises an arm and throws it over his eyes.
“Shit, You’re so my type.” He groans out of the sexual frustration that still bubbles within him. You look so good down there with his cock just inches from your mouth. God, no woman has been able to go down on him for too long despite really fucking wishing they would.
His hips always lose control, they don’t like face fucking, he’s too big to fit, they’re gagging too much, their jaw is hurting. What the fuck ever. Look at you, blinking up at him like you want nothing more in the world than to take it all down your throat. Ah, fuck, if you did that…
His hips buck up on instinct, forcing you to hold him down with your arms as you lick your lips.
“You really live up to your promise, you know that?” You smile with warmed cheeks as you speak, blowing air gently against the head of his cock. It’s softened up a little, but it’s no longer going flaccid. You’re sure that the second you work it into your mouth, he’s going to be blocking your airways.
Good.
“You say that like I’m not overwhelming you with all of this,” He chuckles as he moves his arm from his face and down to yours. “Most girls would have already sent me home.”
You circle your lips around the bulbous head, tasting the remnants of both you and him as you gently suckle before popping off and licking your lips.
“Well, Jake–” You look back down and lend his cock a little kiss. “I’m not most girls. Besides, most guys get their nut and leave me hanging. You’ve gotten, what? Three orgasms by now? And you’re still in my bed? Wanting me to lock you up tomorrow too? What a fucking win.”
Jake rolls his eyes because you don’t even know the fucking half of it. If he were a normal guy, he probably would have done the same thing. Maybe not to you, but to others? Yeah. The thing is, he’s not like most guys. And you’re right in saying you’re not like most girls either, considering…your sex drive appears to be just as insatiable as his.
“Fuck, let me eat you out again–” Jake groans now, needing to pleasure you again, aroused by the fact that he’s basically met a female version of himself. Even if he’s just exaggerating and making himself believe such a woman could exist close enough to him. “Let me– Ahh…”
You cut off his words, dragging a loud and sensual moan from him as you sink down. Mostly to shut him up, mostly so you can return the favor for him from earlier before letting him have another lick of you. After all, you truly do appreciate him for all of this.
“Mmf–” You mumble unintentionally, feeling each inch of his length that you swallow up pressing your tongue further and further down in your mouth. Up until you’re entirely open mouthed on him, gagging yourself when he hits your throat only to angle yourself up on your knees to point it straight down your throat instead.
It hurts, but you close your eyes in concentration, breathing through each gag, ignoring the dribble of saliva that runs from the corners of your mouth and– you swallow.
Mostly because you can’t suck. Again and again, you swallow around him just to stimulate his length, the girth stretching your lips out to the point you feel your jaw could break, but it doesn’t and it won’t.
Within an instant of taking his whole length down your throat, you feel his hands in your hair. Your ears are ringing, otherwise you would also be listening to him choke on his words at how you’re doing this to him. All of it. You’re taking him in full, not leaving an inch out, seemingly proving that your mouth can be fucked just as good as your cunt.
He’s in heaven, head spinning as you stimulate him through each gag and sputtered out chokes of a moan. He can’t help it when he grabs your hair, he really doesn’t mean it when he pushes your head down while pressing his hips up. Essentially choking you and suffocating you in full with a paused hold.
You brace yourself on his hips when he does this, squeezing your eyes shut and continuously gagging from the way he abuses your mouth with just that small movement, and then– he pulls back.
“Ahh,” He groans, snapping his hips back and holding you by the hair to keep you from chasing. “You like that?” He continues, letting you breathe but not answer at all before he’s pushing your head right back down, holding you there again and fucking his hips up repeatedly into your throat this time.
The sounds are pornographic at best, concerning at worst. You, searching for air somewhere between his thrusts, the sounds of wet sputters, drooling, whimpered groans from him, and desperate gasps and gags from you. Truly, Jake is in heaven right now. With you, specifically, you’ve brought him to heaven.
For you, it feels like he does this forever. You’re losing the ability to comprehend what breathing ever was in the first place, thankfully though, Jake can see the tears pouring from your eyes and feel the way you fall slightly limp, letting him do as he pleases before he realizes– he may actually be overwhelming you now.
He snaps his hips back quickly, pulling you up and off of the last remaining inches of his weeping cock before taking a good, long look at your gasped breath and abused lips. Tongue licking out and eyes stained.
“I’m sorry, fuck, I–”
Instantly you press yourself down on him once again, resuming your original position of sliding him in until you can’t stand the feeling in your throat, gagging and swallowing around him time and time again. You feel proud of it, proud of the pain, proud of the suffocation.
Fucking proud to not be finished with him compared to every other person, apparently.
“Jesus–” He groans now, his entire body slouching against your bed as he slams his head back and starts petting your cheeks. “It’s like you were born for this. For me.”
You hum around the gags, growing accustomed to swallowing him up and feeling your jaw strain. And just a few moments later, you pull up with a deep breath, a smile, and you start rubbing your jaw.
“Maybe I was,” You try to talk dirty, wanting to drive him insane. “You taste so good.” You add, dipping down again to lick a long stripe up the underside of his balls up to his tip. “Any girl should be proud to say you’d fuck her mouth like that.”
A twitch, he rolls his eyes back and clenches his jaw.
“How are you so…” He breathes out, reaching his hands blindly for you, only to feel you shift on the bed and essentially sit your tits into both of his hands. “perfect?”
You shrug when he opens his eyes, you’re now hovering over him, both hands covering his on your tits as you force him to squeeze and grope.
“Maybe it’s best to not ask questions.” You tilt your head playfully. “Besides, if I’m lucky maybe you’ll stop trying to find other girls to fuck. They can’t take care of you like I will, anyway.”
Oh, you damn fucking right they won’t.
“You can have it any time you want.” Jake smiles, relishing in your tits warming under his palms, watching the way you hover over him tall and proud on your knees. “Could play with you every day and never get bored.”
You feel him move his hand from under yours, going straight between your legs and sliding not two, but three fingers into you with ease.
“Still so wet too,” He hums, eyes narrowing at you with that same pretty grin. “You always this horny?”
You shake your head.
“Not usually, you just turn me on.”
Jake feels proud of that. He doesn’t feel like the odd ball with a dick that can’t be satiated no matter how many pussies he plows through in a night. Which, again, for the past year has been a total of zero pussy. You getting turned on by that makes him feel…capable. Makes him feel like maybe he can be put to use by a pretty girl.
Makes him feel like his need is wanted and well taken care of.
“So, I can keep calling you?” He asks now, fucking his fingers up, loving the warmth and slide, anticipating for when he gets to bury his cock in you again.
“Mhm.” You hum, closing your eyes to enjoy the pleasure of how deep even his fingers reach. Kind of ready for him to stop talking and just focus on what he’s doing to you.
“Even if it’s every single day?” He continues to ask, now using his thumb against your clit. “Even if I need you in the middle of the night?”
Anything he wants if he can keep hitting your g-spot like this.
“Yes, Jake,” You sigh out of aroused frustration, now wiggling your hips to chase that stimulation inside of you. “I’ll give you the fucking key to my apartment if you want. Just let you walk right in and start fucking me.”
His fingers move faster at the image, the implication of not just free-use, but true free use. Real free-use.
“Yeah? Wake you up with my cock sliding into you?” He urges you to keep talking, now removing his other hand from your chest and circling it around his cock. “Just walk right in and get my mouth on you while all your friends are here?”
You lend a surprised chuckle, but pay no mind to his words past the arousal it brings to you. You’d tell him about how you have a total of like two friends, and half of the time they’re too busy to show up anyway. Still, the image is hot at the moment. All of it is hot.
“You’d let me?” He continues pressing every button both physically and mentally, unaware of how easy it is for him to talk as if it’s a normal conversation solely because it’s kind of his general state of living at this point. You, on the other hand, are not used to having a full conversation while your g-spot gets abused. “Even if you’re not home? Let you come home and find me fucking myself for you?”
Oh.
“Fuck–” You groan out at the image, feeling his fingers reach so perfectly, thinking of how it would feel to walk into your apartment just to see this pretty man chasing that tight ring of fingers his fist creates. Probably so turned on and frustrated that you’re not home…so frustrated that all he could do is drop to the floor and start fucking. “God, yeah.”
So that’s what you’re into. You love that he’s that pathetic to fuck. And lucky for you, he’s more than willing to continue to be that fucking pathetic.
“Does that feel good?” He hums now, watching how you fuck yourself against his fingers, lifting slightly to lick against your nipple. “Can I use my cock again?” He babbles almost, brain on constant loop of you actually giving him free reign of your apartment someday so he can come and–”Please, do this on my cock.”
This is the second time he’s asked you to ride it, and you think that may be one time too many. You almost feel guilty for taking him down your throat first, but then again, you don’t. Your body vibrates knowing you’re about to split yourself open on him again, only this time having full control.
“You want me to sit on it, Jake?” You smile, thrusting your hips down and sinking his fingers into you so deep that you physically can see his brain malfunction.
The frantic nod he gives is somehow less powerful than how he lifts his hips, forcing you higher on your knees as his fingers slip out of you and immediately land in his mouth.
Man, this guy must love the taste of pussy. The image of him doing that alone is insanely arousing to you as you lend him a short nod and slide back, your pussy sucking in the head of his cock instantly as if the two of you move together so well, that it was only natural to not need a guiding hand for it.
He sinks his head deep into the mattress with the way you try to sink down on him. He holds his breath with those same fingers in his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut at how tight you still are, how wet you still are.
And he’s shocked, almost, at the way you just keep sliding down. Not letting yourself re-adjust to his size, holding your own breath and bracing yourself on his abdomen just to keep balance and you wince through the stretch.
“That’s it.” Jake soothes your hips as you sit, clenching around each one of his twitches inside of you. “Doing so good.” He breathes out this time, trying to hold back his moan just for a moment as he awaits your moan first.
And it comes quickly when you lean back rather than against him, arms by his knees as you practically present his cock to him buried entirely into you with this position. He lifts his head and stares at it before reaching his thumb to your clit, immediately pressing hard circles against it.
“Ride it,” He pleads now. “God, please ride it.” He loses his mind at the image, really, as you do start moving.
Pained whimpers falling from your lips as you circle your hips, fucking just an inch of him in and out of yourself, forcing the deepest part of your pussy to take the abuse more than anything else. And you know he loves it with the way his thumb stops rubbing your clit, with the way he can’t decide on if he should look or throw his head back and fall into the sensation.
It’s really cute to witness, and you’d lean forward to kiss him if you had the strength to do it, but you don’t. In fact, all the strength you have is currently bubbling up inside of you with a sharp, almost burning sensation.
You know exactly what this is. You’ve practiced it time and time again alone in this bed.
“Oh, oh shit, Jake–” You groan as you frantically start moving your hips through the full and splitting feeling of him inside of you. Your voice sounds so panicked, it almost scares him. And honestly? Had he not have finger fucked you against your g-spot previously perhaps you could last longer on him, but no.
“What– What’s wrong?!” Jake’s voice is broken when he quickly leans up, hugging around you as you continue to ride against him, faster now, chasing, chasing, chasing.
Pushing, pushing, pushing.
“No, no!” You moan out, shoving him back against the bed and now lifting entirely from his length before slapping your own clit, fast, rough circled motions before each slap. “Oh, shit!” You nearly yell, witnessing it squirt from your body straight against his abdomen and chest.
Jake just watches, mouth agape and eyes wide.
“Oh–” He stares. “Oh yeah?”
And you’re not even done when he seemingly takes full control. Allowing all that squirt to fall out of you, ignoring your shaking legs, tipping you straight back and plunging his cock right back into that release of pressure inside of you.
“You just weren’t gonna tell me you could do that?” He grunts against your ear, fucking into you so hard and so fast that your orgasm just keeps coming. It feels too good to speak, too good to breathe.
Even as it subsides and you’re trying to catch your breath, he doesn’t let you. He just keeps going, grunting incoherently against your ear, snapping his hips harder than you think he’s probably ever done before.
Honestly, with each yelp you let out, your sensitivity goes from being unbearably painful to–
“Do it again–” He urges you. “Give me another one.” Babbling, cooing, fucking moaning all over your neck until his lips hit yours.
Somehow, that gives him exactly what he wants as he feels your legs tense up and fall open around him. Your pelvis slamming into his so hard that it’s, quite literally, splashing out of you in loud and painful sounds.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He nods and whispers against your tongue, sucking it into his mouth before licking into yours, nearly rabid with the way he’s both kissing and fucking you, he can’t help it. He forgot words the second he felt the gush rush past his length, trying to force it out of you only for him to go harder. Like hell he’s not going to feel you literally squirt on his cock. “So fucking messy.”
At one point, you think you might have actually died. You’re not sure but you swear you saw him fucking you in third person for two solid seconds before being slammed right back into your body. The pleasure genuinely is so overwhelming that…well, suddenly you understand why girls probably think he’s too much.
But goddamn he’s…so good. Like, you remember him mentioning his body count through his one-sided sext session with you and you can argue his inexperience probably made this that much better. He’s a fucking natural.
And as he continues fucking into you, all you can do is lend him a distant smile. You’re definitely not experiencing real life at this moment, and you know he sees it with the way he lifts and keeps his eyes on your zoned out expression.
“Look at you.” He echoes against your walls. “So, so pretty.”
And he just keeps doing that, whispering praises, working you through his presumed last orgasm of the night because he genuinely can’t not fill you up with his cum one last time before letting you rest.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The rest didn’t last long, but to be fair you didn’t need it to. All night, and all day. That promise was kept and Jake remained insatiable throughout all the time he spent with you.
To the point you very nearly felt strange about him leaving. Like you’d grown so accustomed to having someone literally attached to you at the dick that you knew the loneliness and silence would hit you a little too hard once he leaves.
And, well, he does leave in a sense, but not completely.
Though you never truly meant that offer in the midst of sex-talk, Jake seemed to have clinged to the idea of it. Lock him up, but still give him the key.
Never in your life would have imagined giving a person the key to your apartment, and yet…there he goes. Backing out of a guest parking spot in front of your building with your spare fucking apartment key in his pocket right next to those fucking panties.
you have known your entire life that your existence is political. second born to the Throne, a daughter no less, your only purpose is to be wed to a prince to strengthen alliances. but you still hope to mean something to your new husband, despite the intentions behind your union.
you are sorely mistaken.
you realise quickly that you are as alone in your new home as you were in your childhood one. this is the fate that has been written for you, the reality you must live. but one knight might change it all when he swears an oath of fealty to you, and means it with every piece of his heart.
pairing: knight!choi seungcheol x princess/queen!reader
genre: medieval au, royalty au
category: limited series
word count: tbd
warnings: some swearing, angst, feelings of insecurity and low self worth, arranged marriage, brother!mingyu, infidelity (a lot of it, by everyone), forbidden love, mentions of war, injuries, blood, fighting, character death, there might be some historical inaccuracies lol, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, quickies.
a/n: okay, this has been in the works for a while now. im ngl i almost scrapped the whole thing and didn’t post at all, but thank you to @milk-moonbunnies for all her encouragement. you’re the reason this story happened xx i hope you all like it at least a little bit ㅠ
summary: one day, you’re buying a soft, brown fur coat from the thrift store. the next, you have a man on your doorstep claiming he’s your husband.
word count: 6.8k
warnings: selkie!dino, human!reader, references to scottish folklore but a very loose interpretation, swearing, reader is bitter, mildly depressed and very tired of life, chan is the cutest sweetest boy ever, questionable self preservation instincts, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, kinda sub!chan, oral (fem!receiving), riding, slight nipple play.
a/n: so this was loosely based on an ask i got about selkie!dino, and i really did a lot of research on selkies and came up with a plot to go w it. im sure this isn’t what anon originally wanted, but i loved the idea of selkies and i went with it ㅠ
SELKIE (n.) — from icelandic, irish and scottish lore
⦾ shapeshifters. they live as seals or otters in the sea, but shed their skin or fur to change into beautiful humans on land.
⦾ a selkie must hide their skin carefully when they walk on land, because if their skin is lost, they cannot return to the sea.
⦾ whichever human finds and keeps the skin/fur of a selkie is considered as the selkie’s spouse.
These last few weeks have been the most impressive run of insanely crappy weeks you’ve ever had.
Everything just keeps going wrong. With work, with bills, and even a petty fight with one of your closest friends. To top it all off, your last phone call with your mother went awry too, with her complaining about your schedule and you getting a little too harsh on the phone. You regretted it immediately, but now she’s a little icy with you, which only dampens your mood further.
It has just been bad overall, so this shopping trip with Seungkwan is really something you need, even if you don’t have a whole lot of money to spend.
“Oh, I like this one.”
You hold the large coat up to your chest and turn to Seungkwan so he can take a look. It’s huge, falling all the way to your knees, and the fur is dark brown, a neutral and earthy color that looks shiny and smooth. It’s very soft to touch, and you have to wonder how it ended up in a thrift store. It looks and feels so high quality.
Seungkwan tilts his head as he appraises it. “Put it on.”
You do, standing in front of the full-length mirror for a better look. You turn to assess some angles, but you’re quickly being distracted from the way it looks, focusing more on the way it feels. It’s comforting as hell, and very warm. You’re still in awe that you managed to dig up something so good from this store.
“I’m getting it.” You announce before Seungkwan can even give his opinion. You don’t know why, but you really feel drawn to this coat. Something tells you that you need to own it. And after the shit week you’re having (it’s not even Wednesday), you think you deserve this. You haven’t bought anything new in ages. If this can give you a little boost of happiness when you feel like you’re drowning, then you won’t pass that opportunity up.
It doesn’t cost a lot, considering how wonderful it feels on your skin and the fact that you’re getting your next paycheck after the weekend. You feel a positive sensation jump in your chest as you walk out of the store, listening to Seungkwan whine about something work related. You’re quickly swept up in his emotions, augmenting his words and losing yourself in the conversation. You really do need to vent, and Seungkwan is the perfect person for something like that. He matches your energy, understands your struggle since he himself is afflicted with a terrible case of jerk-boss. You feel like you are shedding off pounds and pounds of negative build-up, which you are so thankful for.
Two more workdays follow your trip with Seungkwan, and they weigh heavily on you. By the time the weekend rolls around, you are so grateful you could cry. You need this, the relief of two whole days of no work. You get home on limbs that weigh like lead. With nothing but rotting in bed in your mind, you quickly change into something more comfortable, a loose shirt and leggings. You go through your streaming services to find something to watch as you cook. Just when you’re settling on the couch to start eating your freshly cooked meal, you hear a knock on your door.
Your eyebrows furrow, confused. For one, you aren’t expecting anyone. And for another, you have a doorbell, so the fact that someone is knocking makes even more questions arise. Before you can think further, there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you’re quickly placing your bowl on the coffee table and scrambling to the door before you can wonder about who it might be. You curse the fact that front doors in your apartment building don’t have peepholes. You carefully unlock and open the door a tiny smidge, peering outside. You blink, confused at the sight.
It’s a man. He looks young, around your age, and has a head of thick, shaggy brown hair that is falling into his equally dark eyes. You look down, and you pause at what you’re seeing. He’s wearing a sweater vest over what looks like another sweater, both terribly mismatched. And he’s wearing…. a skirt?
Yes, it’s a plaid skirt. Deep maroon. Layered over dark denim jeans. And right below them, leather sandals.
You don’t even know what to say. You look back up at the man, and this time, he’s wearing a wide smile. His eyes are wide and bright, and you’re caught off guard by how cheerful he looks.
“Hi.” His voice is fresh, chirpy. You nod your head uncertainly.
“Hello.” Your own is uncertain and damp. You hold the edge of the door tightly, bracing yourself.
“My name is Chan.” He says.
You nod slowly. “Okay.” There’s no way in hell you are telling this stranger your name.
“May I come in?”
Your jaw drops at the question. Who is this man? Why is he dressed so strangely?
“Who are you?” You can’t help but scowl. You don’t have time for this. If this is some strange sales call or something, you are not interested.
The man blinks, as if confused by the question. “I’m Chan.”
Is he stupid? You stare at him for a moment. “Look, I don’t know you and whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
As you go to close the door, the man rushes forward, knocking his palm on the wood and stopping it in place. You freeze, feeling slightly scared now. He immediately pulls his hand away, now fiddling with his fingers and looking incredibly nervous.
“I’m your husband.”
You blink once. Twice. He doesn’t say anything more, just stares like he has told you nothing more than a fact about the weather.
“Excuse me?”
He looks just as nervous, but he nods slowly. “You took my fur. You bought it. So I’m your husband.”
You are so confused and shocked that you don’t even realise you’ve opened the door properly. You’re just holding the doorframe now, jaw dropped, an incredulous look on your face as you eye him. He shifts a little uncomfortably, swaying back and forth as he wrings his hands.
“I’m a selkie.” He babbles. “You bought my fur. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. I lost it near the pier a few weeks ago. I can’t go back without it. But I’ve found it now. It belongs to you. Which means I belong to you now. I’m your husband.”
You don’t understand more than two words out of his mouth. Briefly, you think of drugs, and you edge the door slowly closed again.
“Listen,” you say, trying to keep annoyance and confusion out of your tone to make it more soft. Maybe he will listen to you that way. “There’s a shelter just a few blocks down. I promise you will find help there. I’m sure if you ask someone, they will tell you exactly where it is.”
You wave your arm to the left in a vague gesture for direction. He just stares at you. You fidget.
“I can’t leave.” He says. “You have my fur. I belong to you.”
You are starting to get a little scared, so you shake your head vaguely as you keep pushing the door closed. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”
You close the door before he can say anything else, immediately locking it. You stare at it for a second, listening. You can’t hear shuffling, or footsteps. You wonder if he has left.
You double check the locks before moving back inside, wondering what you should do. The whole interaction has left you a little shaken. You eye your now cold food, and the paused movie on your television screen. It only makes you grit your jaw and huff, feeling annoyed again. You have enough on your plate without worrying about some weirdo at your door. You can’t let this weigh on you. It’s probably a one-off, someone who just got confused. And you did try to help him, so hopefully he takes your advice.
But you can’t focus. Even as you sink onto your couch and finish absentmindedly eating, your stare blank as you watch the screen. You can’t help but think of the gibberish he spoke. Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for your laptop, pulling it towards you and opening the search bar. Quickly, you type ‘selkies’.
There’s so much you find. Page after page of what looks like old, Scottish lore. Sketches and paintings, as well as written text. They are sea creatures, like seals or otters, that can transform into humans by shedding their skins or furs. You remember the man’s words.
‘You have my fur. You bought it.’
As you keep reading, you learn that taking a selkie’s fur means having ownership of them. It symbolises an intimate, lifetime bond. Like mates, or spouses. You recall him calling himself your husband, making an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach. Everything he said somehow makes sense. It’s fantastical, and outlandish to think it might be real, but in the context of it all, it really isn’t random words strung together. Maybe he was confusing you with someone else. Maybe they are doing some weird role play thing. You’ve seen stuff like that on the internet.
Your phone dings. You absentmindedly look at the text. It’s from the lady who lives across from you.
[minyoung apt 34]: hey. theres a man sitting outside your door. should i call someone? are u home?
You stare at the text, confusion and a small bit of realisation dawning on you. You throw your phone on the couch and stand up, quickly beelining to the door and unlocking it, pulling it open.
He is sitting beside the door, back against the wall just to your right. He looks up when you appear, blinking at you. You gape at him.
“You’re still here.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
He nods. “I can’t leave.”
The cheery, bright tone seems to have drained out of him. He sounds….. sad, almost. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His silly skirt is bunched up to his thighs, and the jeans are maybe two sizes too big for him. You hesitate, and then you make a very stupid decision. You brace yourself.
“Get up. Come on.”
He seems surprised, and honestly, so are you. You pull the door open more and step aside, watching him quickly scramble up. His face seems to have lightened, but he still looks apprehensive. Slowly, he walks in. You sigh deeply and shut the door behind him.
He’s looking around like he has never seen a house before. Or a living room. Four walls, pictures, a couch. His eyes are wide and beady as he stares at the television. You watch him carefully. In complete honesty, you don’t know why you invited him in. But there’s something in his voice that doesn’t ring any warning bells in your head. You’re sure your parents would have a heart attack if they heard of this, cursing at themselves and you for not instilling ‘stranger danger’ as well as they should have. But he doesn’t give you that vibe at all. When he turns to look at you again, there’s something earnest about it. Sincere.
You shift uncomfortably. “Chan, was it?”
He nods.
“And you’re… a selkie?”
His nod is even more vigorous this time.
“Okay.” You don’t know what to do with your hands. He keeps staring. “And you came here because…”
You prompt him to continue, and he does. “I’m your husband.”
You feel a flicker of irritation. “Yeah, you said that already. But I don’t know what that means.”
He frowns a little, lower lip jutting out. It’s almost cute. You shake the thought away.
“You bought my fur.”
You huff. “Yeah, I don’t know what exactly that is, but I don’t have anything of yours, buddy.”
He tilts his head, as if thinking hard. You start to regret inviting him in.
“I-it’s brown.” He says. “Dark brown. And very soft. A little heavy. And it smells like the sea.”
Your face smoothens in realisation. Wait, does he mean….?
The coat. Your newly bought fur coat. You haven’t worn it yet, since it’s a little too warm for the current weather. You’ve been waiting for a particularly cloudy and chilly day to put it on. Realisation dawns on you.
You leave Chan in your living room, taking less than a few seconds to find the thing and carry it back out. The way Chan’s face lights up at the sight of it has your heart racing. Again, you are hit with the reality of how sincere and pure he feels. No one can be this good an actor.
“You can have it.” You hold it out. “This is what you’re here for, right?”
While he looks happy to see the coat, he shakes his head, turning his bright eyes back to you. “I’m here for you.”
You feel your face heat a little, remembering the spouse and mate stuff you just looked up. You fidget where you stand, considering him.
God, your run of insanely crappy weeks just won’t end. And you really feel like you can’t deal with this right now. So you just huff and nod, feeling drained.
“Fine. But you will sleep on the couch until I know what to do with you.”
His resulting smile is so blinding, you wonder if there truly is something mythical about him.
…………………………………….
You don’t tell Seungkwan about Chan. Frankly, you’re still not sure what you will do about this whole situation, since you know that even if Chan leaves, he will just go back to sitting outside your door. He tells you as much himself. You also don’t know how supportive Seungkwan will be when he finds out that you have an unknown man living on your couch, claiming to be a supernatural creature of the sea. You honestly don’t have the energy for that lecture, or to convince Seungkwan that something deep in your chest is telling you that Chan is harmless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, a strange reverence in his eyes, like he has never seen something more fascinating in his life. Or maybe it’s the fact that he genuinely doesn’t know anything.
You find some of Seungkwan’s and your brother’s clothes in your stuff, telling him to change into a sweatshirt and pants and to take off whatever ridiculous clothing he is wearing. He looks much better that way, more normal, but he claims to feel weird.
“Are you sure this is enough clothes?” He looks uncertain. You can’t help but feel amused.
“Yes, because you’re indoors. You can put something else on top when you go outside.”
He nods, albeit a little hesitant. But he seems to trust your judgment.
When you offer him a meal, he accepts it carefully, eyeing the bowl of noodle soup like he has never seen it before. He picks at it, and makes a face when he eats it. He tries to quickly hide it, but he can’t fake anything to save his life, so you spot it immediately, and when you ask him what he usually eats, he lists varieties of fish and shellfish you have never heard of before. You do end up buying some for him, and conveniently, you don’t even have to cook it. He eats it raw.
“You would love sushi.” You quip as you watch him eat. When he gives you a confused look, you just shake your head and wave it off, mentally making a note to take him to a sushi place sometime.
Chan tells you he has never left the water before. His pack never trusted him enough to do it, and apparently they had been right. He lost his fur very quickly, without even realising, and he has been trying to track it for weeks, claiming he can’t go back without it.
“So now that you’ve found it, you can go back.” You say, but he shakes his head.
“I can’t leave you. You’re my wife.”
Right. He keeps saying that, always in the softest tone, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. It lights your face on fire, makes you fidget where you sit, but he is never fazed by it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It’s not like you’ve never had anyone’s romantic attention before. You have had boyfriends. Granted, most of them ended terribly. You’re still not sure if you’re completely over your ex cheating on you. But Chan is different. Hell, he’s not even human, so it’s not like you can compare him to anything from your past. Dating has always been difficult for you, and you kind of gave up on it when you moved and got hit by the shitstorm that is now your life. It was put so effectively on the back burner that you had forgotten what this felt like. Having someone like you like this.
With Chan, it’s hard to figure out how to act. You don’t know what to do with all his…… positivity. Chan feels like something untouched, untainted. He reminds you of how you were when you just moved to this town. Hopeful and ready to start your adult life. And then the universe decided to start beating the crap out of you, until you felt like you were just surviving, going through the motions.
Chan isn’t like that. Chan is….. luminous. He randomly compliments you, talking about how nice and colorful your apartment is (you don’t think it’s anything special). Or saying he likes something you’re wearing, or that your hair is pretty and shiny. Simple compliments, nothing too poetic, but he says them all with so much earnestness. He especially gets giddy when you wear his coat, saying you look best in it, patting you down before you go to work. It always leaves you hot and fidgety. You really don’t know how to handle him, or his easy affection.
Your life changes as the weeks go by.
Work is just as hectic as always. You get the mountain load of two or three people, enough to have you ready to pull your hair out. You slave away all day, dragging your feet as you finally get home, but this time, it is not to an empty house. Because Chan is there. Chan and his bright smile and his endlessly curious but simple questions. Chan with his many, many stories about life under the sea. He always notices that you’re tired, and he offers to cook for you. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he is good at following instructions. So if whatever he is cooking comes from a packet with directions on the back, he ends up making something very hearty and nice. Usually, you are so tired that you don’t mind anything he makes. You will eat it as long as you aren’t the one who has to cook it after working all day.
You complain to him that your legs get cramped up from sitting on your desk chair for so many hours. He pulls your legs towards him before you can protest, plonking them down on his lap and kneading the calf muscles. All your rejections die in your throat as soon as you feel the glorious pressure of his hands. You moan appreciatively, not noticing how Chan positively perks up at the sound, doubling down on his efforts to lessen your fatigue.
That becomes a daily occurrence.
A few weeks of Chan living with you has made you much more comfortable with him. You watch the screen with tired, bleary eyes as he runs his fingers over the soles of your feet from where he has them in his lap. It feels wonderful, as always. While you watch the TV, he watches you. He does that often, just openly staring. It used to make you uncomfortable, and you got very close to scolding him a few times. But the look on his face always makes you stop. A look of awe that you’ve never felt directed at you before. There’s nothing creepy about it, only pure, unfiltered marvel. So you just let him do what he wants.
A voice deep inside you says you don’t actually mind, you might even enjoy it, but you try not to think about that voice.
You let out a weary sigh and shift a bit, rolling your shoulders to adjust the ache in them. Chan notices, because he always notices, and he pauses his movements on your feet.
“I can rub your shoulders.” He offers.
You blink, considering it. You already know how good it will feel, but you don’t know if you want to cross that boundary. This is different, having your feet in his lap. But you don’t know how you feel about Chan’s hands all over your back and shoulders. It would feel too much like testing dangerous waters.
The truth is, you like him. He has become a breath of fresh air in your bitter and depressing days. Every day, you come home while looking forward to his company. He is so different, light, cheerful, effervescent. He talks and talks and talks, about any and everything. And it doesn’t annoy you. Never. He injects something warm in your cold, silent evenings.
You don’t have to worry with him. There’s no agenda here. He doesn’t want anything from you except your company. He takes care of you like no one has for a really long time.
Sometimes, he feels like a dream. And you perpetually carry the fear that one day, he will go away.
He’s still watching you, anticipating your reply. His hands slowly work on the arch of your foot. His eyes, that deep warm brown, pores into yours. For the first time in a long time, you can’t bring yourself to care about consequences. You just nod.
“Okay.”
He ends up seating himself beside you, coaxing you to turn your back to him on the couch. You can feel him touch your sweater before speaking again.
“Would it be better without this?”
You flush but nod, reaching down to tug the sweater off, so you’re left with a long sleeved shirt instead. You feel his touch right in between your shoulder blades. Slowly, he starts pressing into the skin over your shirt.
Chan is way too good with his hands for a creature that didn’t even have hands until a few weeks ago. He digs his thumbs into the lines of your shoulder blades, making your eyes roll as he breaks knot after knot of tension in your muscles. He purses his lips and frowns as he gets a feel of it. You hear a soft huff of breath.
“Your muscles are so tense.” He murmurs. “This only happens to me when I swim for a very, very long time. Hours and hours. With no breaks.”
You crack a little smile at the comparison.
“It feels like that sometimes.” You mumble, staring at the opposite wall while lost in thought. “Like I’m just swimming and swimming. No breaks. No end in sight.”
His touch slows, but doesn’t lose its strength. His fingers coil around your shoulders, kneading. Your eyelids flutter.
“Human lives are difficult.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear him in the silence of the muted television screen. “I feel like none of you are happy.”
You purse your lips. “What makes you say that?”
Another exhale, this time almost like a defeat. “You never smile. You never laugh.”
You blink, processing. You don’t know why that is unexpected, but it catches you off guard. Your mind whirs. You think on it.
When was the last time you were truly happy?
When you try to look back on the last few months, you can’t pinpoint anything. Then, a memory floats to the surface, from just a couple of weeks ago. Chan had tried to bake something, and while he succeeded, he left the kitchen in such a mess that he was almost reduced to tears by the end. He had pouted and whined about it, saying it is ’way too difficult’ to make a cheesecake. You couldn’t help but muffle your laughter at his flour caked face.
It still makes you smile.
“You make me happy.” You say.
His hands pause. Not a falter, a complete halt. You wonder if you’ve crossed a line.
“I do?” There’s something shaky in his voice, like he can’t believe it. You just nod.
With the hold Chan has on your shoulders, he maneuvers you to turn around. You do, finally able to see him face to face. Your breath hitches at the hope in his eyes, the unadulterated happiness.
“I make you happy?” He asks again, like he just can’t bring himself to accept it.
You can’t help the lift of your lips. You nod again. “You do.”
You don’t expect him to kiss you, but you don’t stop him either. His lips are endlessly soft, and so, so eager. When you don’t push him away, he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You are hit with the very faint scent of sea salt, and it feels like you’re on the coast. Your heart squeezes. Your hands reach up, cupping his face, and you push harder into him.
Chan whines, whines, lapping at your lips like he needs them to breathe. His tongue licks into your mouth. His enthusiasm is almost too much for you. It should be a surprise, but it’s not, because it’s Chan, and he has always been like this. He hangs on to your every word like it’s law. He looks at you like you’re the mythical creature, not him. You feel his hands now, on your knees before they slide up, gripping your hips tightly. He inhales your every sigh, and something warm and electric coils in the pit of your stomach. Your hand winds in his hair. It’s soft, just the same texture as your (his) coat, and you can’t help but grip it tight. He moans openly into your mouth. It’s too much. You break away for air with a loud gasp.
It doesn’t seem to deter him, because he smooches over your cheek, your jaw, further down your neck. Your eyelids flutter, tilting your head back, your hand still in his hair. You encourage his movements. His tongue licks over your skin. He moans again.
“I want to taste every part of you.” His voice is breathless, desperate. You feel yourself clench. He pulls away so he can look at you, his eyes pleading, brighter than you’ve ever seen them. This close, you can see that his pupils are completely blown.
“Please? Can I?” His tone is shaky.
God, he needs to stop doing that. It’s making wetness pool at an alarming rate between your legs. You so desperately want him down here, it makes your hips buck up involuntarily. You don’t even think about it, all inhibitions thrown out the window. You nod.
He doesn’t let you undress yourself, gently brushing your hands away because he claims he wants to do it himself. He lays you down on the couch, hovers over you on his knees as he peels your clothes off, until you’re left completely naked under him. He watches you with so much hunger in your eyes that your face flames, and it takes everything in your power not to shrink into yourself. Truthfully, you love it, love seeing the sincere lust in his face, the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes lingering over every inch of you, like he wants all of you.
Something about being so deeply desired has your head spinning.
He is true to his word. His lips trail over every inch of you. He runs them over your shoulders, your arms, even holding your hands gently to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Every few inches, he lays a soft kiss, before going back to running his lips and tongue over the skin. He licks down the valley of your breasts, burying his face in them for a few seconds. He spends extra time on your nipples, sucking and flicking his tongue over them until they are stiff and peaked. By the time he is anywhere close to your core, you’re already gasping and trembling under him in anticipation.
Finally, finally, he spreads your legs. He stares for a long time, thumbing at your outer lips, opening your slit to the cold air, peering at your little nub, swollen and ready, neglected.
“Pretty.” He whispers. “You’re pretty all over. Every inch of you.”
You feel a pressure build behind your eyes. Fuck. You can’t be this lame. You can’t be the one crying during sex. But Chan isn’t touching you, he is worshipping you. In his hold, under his hands, you feel like something precious, something worthy of this kind of reverence. It’s an unprecedented feeling. You don’t think anyone has ever wanted you this much. Not before him.
He leans closer, and you feel his breath on your pussy as he speaks.
“This is it, right? This is where I can pleasure you the most?”
You suddenly remember that Chan isn’t really familiar with human anatomy. So far, you haven’t felt his lack of experience at all, mostly because you think his enthusiasm is so intense that it masks the inexperience completely. You nod at him, swallowing tightly.
“Yeah.”
He licks his lips. “Can I taste it?”
The words are way sexier than you thought they would be. You throw your head back. “God, yes. Please.”
Something about the ‘please’ does it for him, because he licks a long, thick stripe all the way from your clenched hole to your clit, dragging slowly over it. He hums when his tongue withdraws, just for a second, just to taste, and then he’s digging in again, flattening his tongue over and over on your slit, like he approves of the taste, like he wants more.
He’s sloppy, not bothered by the filthy wet noises your sopping cunt makes, lips and tongue running over every nook and cranny. But there’s one spot where you need him the most, and you can’t help it. You wind a hand through his hair, tugging his head up until his tongue runs just over your clit. Your hips jerk.
“There,” you gasp, “right there.”
He’s a quick learner, just like he learned to cook after just a few tries, and how to work the television and your Netflix account, and how he figured out which clothes go together. His tongue flicks eagerly over your clit, like he’s hanging on to every cry and moan that falls from your lips. He must register how the noises amp up when he pays attention to your clit, because he pushes your legs further apart, buries his face deeper into your cunt, wraps his lips around it and sucks hard. Your back arches right off the couch, gripping his hair tightly. He groans into your pussy.
It’s a cycle. His lips and tongue make you feel good, you tug at his hair in encouragement, he hums into you, and the vibrations feel even better, sending chills up your whole body. Your high builds a little too quick, and you wish this could just go on for hours and hours. You have no doubt in your head that if you asked him, he would do exactly that. And very happily too. But your need for release is more pressing than that, so you hold him close, you babble about how you’re almost there, and when your orgasm hits, you go cross eyed with it, wave after wave of pleasure cresting inside you as you shake and cry through it. Chan doesn’t slow for a single second, letting you writhe and twist under him, chasing your hips wherever they go. It’s only when you tug his hair hard enough to pull his head away that he finally stops, looking up at you with dazed, teary eyes. His whole face is sweaty, wet, and blotched pink over his pale cheeks.
He’s a vision.
You pull hard at his sweatshirt until he’s scrambling up your body, and you kiss him hard. He moans appreciatively, immediately licking into your mouth like he needs it to breathe. Your own taste invades your tongue.
“Let me do that again.” He whines. “Please. Wanna make you feel good. Let me lick you again.”
You moan and feel yourself clench hard, head spinning with how badly he’s turning you on. But you feel so empty, and you need him in other ways too, or you feel like you might combust.
“Later.” You promise him. “Need your cock right now.”
“My what?” He pulls back, still looking unfocused as he frowns down at you. You blink a little, clearing the fog in your head a little. Oh.
Your hand travels down until you palm the bulge in his pants. He jerks violently and gasps.
“This,” you whisper, biting your lip. Chan’s eyes shoot down to where it is trapped between your teeth. “Need this inside me.”
“Inside….?”
It’s better to do than to explain, so you push yourself up, arranging him under you until you're straddling his lap where he sits, undoing the drawstring of his sweatpants and pushing them down enough to free his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight. He’s girthy, way more than you’ve ever taken before, and he curves just at the tip in a way that you know is going to make you see stars when he fucks you right. You run your hand over him, and he gasps again, hips bucking into your touch.
“Feel good?” You ask. Chan nods furiously.
“Wanna make you feel good.” His voice sounds wrecked. You can’t help your giddy smile at his laser focus on making this pleasurable for you.
“You will.” You adjust yourself until you’re hovering over him, running his tip through your slit. You feel him grip your thighs tightly.
The first slide in is glorious. He’s so thick that he stretches your poor pussy out enough to make your legs tremble violently. He runs his hands over them, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure and pain. If you had more control of your mental faculties, if you weren’t so busy taking his massive cock in, you would try to placate the worry on his face, but you have other things to concern yourself with right now.
The deeper he slides in, the farther up his eyes roll. His jaw goes slack, and you watch with a tinge of amusement as the feeling makes his own face go through a million emotions in the span of a few seconds. It makes you brave, more daring, and it makes you feel so sexy to have the power to make him feel all this for the first time. His grip on your thighs is near bruising, which you don’t think he realises, too lost in how warm and tight your cunt feels. Finally, you are fully seated on him, all the way up to the very base.
“Good?” You manage to gasp out. It seems he chokes on his own words, because he just pulls your body close and jerks his head down in a nod.
“What about you?” He looks up at you, blinking furiously. He looks like he might cry if you say that it doesn’t feel good, not that you would lie like that. You giggle breathlessly.
“It’s so good, Channie.” You coo, running a hand through his hair. “You fill me up perfectly, like you were made for me.”
He whines, so loud and thick with want that you think he might cum right there. He holds you tight against him.
“Yes.” He gasps. “Made for you. My wife. Wanna be with you forever.”
It’s incoherent babbling. Uninhibited because of the lust. You shouldn’t take him seriously. Except you know Chan. You know he doesn’t lie. You know he means this with every fiber in him. Your heart stutters, your exhale shaky. You hug his body tight to you, unable to respond. You want him impossibly closer. You tug at his sweatshirt.
“Off.”
He doesn’t waste a single second, revealing wide expanses of built muscle. You run your eyes over him, hungry for the sight, for the feel of him. Once more, emotion builds inside your chest, filling you up from the inside out.
Finally, when you feel like you’ve adjusted to his size, you rock your hips on him, testing. He gasps immediately, hands running everywhere he can reach you and feel you. You let him, basking under the attention now that your hesitation has melted away and the lust has left you wanting. You slowly build up a rhythm, bouncing on him with less and less care until you feel his cock properly fuck into you the way you wanted. Little gasps and moans leave your lips as well as his. Your body warms under the exertion, the deep penetration making your core clamp up slowly and steadily, pleasure building inside you. Skin against skin makes wet plopping noises, a dirty sound that only adds to what you’re already feeling. It seems Chan just can’t stand to have his mouth unoccupied, because he quickly finds your nipple and starts sucking, making you cry out at the feeling.
Exhaustion starts pulling at your limbs after a while, and you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. You’re so close, you can feel it. You just need a little more, his cock really ramming into you, just a few well aimed thrusts and you know you would topple over.
“Chan.” You pull his head up with a tug on his hair, a habit you’ve created by now. “I’m- I’m tired-”
He doesn’t even wait to hear more, gripping your hips tightly and pistoning up hard into you. You gasp, arching into him.
“Like this?” His voice is raspy, rough. You nod vigorously, unable to form words as he keeps going, fucking up hard into you until you feel nothing but the intense stimulation on your sweet spot, his tip rubbing insistently over it again and again. His pelvis grazes your clit just right with every thrust. You don’t even have time to warn him, clamping tight around him as your orgasm racks through your core. Your whole body winds up with the release, toes curling and eyes rolling. Your lips release a mantra of ‘oh god, oh god, oh god’ as you weep through it, nearly blacking out with how intense it is.
Chan groans loudly then, and you feel something warm coat your insides. Beneath you, you can feel his body jerk and shake, and you hold him tight against you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He moans into your chest as he comes down from his high.
He leans up, kisses you slowly, softly, a welcome feeling after the harsh pounding you just took. You hum into his lips, savouring the feeling of it. Your head is fuzzy, like someone just cleaned it out, leaving nothing behind. Chan nudges his nose against yours, and you blink your eyes open. His smile is dopey, giddy, and you can’t help your giggle.
“I like you like this,” he whispers, “you look so relaxed.”
“All thanks to you.” You brush his hair away from his sweaty face, scratching his scalp a little. He visibly shivers. You can’t help but smile.
You kiss him again, still light and soft. You feel his cock twitch inside you.
“Can I lick you again now? Please?”
You are a little caught off guard, huffing in amusement. “I don’t think I have it in me, Channie.”
“I’ll be gentle.” He runs his hands carefully up your bare back, as if to make a point. “Please. Wanna make you feel good.”
Something stirs in your core again. God, this man will be the death of you. Well, not really a man. A selkie. Your selkie. And his blinding smile when you give in to his begging is enough to tell you that there’s no coming back from this.
Not that you would want to. Like Chan said, you want him to be here with you forever.
Summary — Girls don't talk to Jake. But you did. The day you slid into the seat beside him in class, like you'd chosen him, his world tilted on its axis. Though, you only ever seem to text him when assignments are due, and he just can't bring himself to stop answering.
CW & Tags — 18+ MDNI, Smut with plot, Humour, Mild Angst, Fluff if you squint, College AU, nerd!Jake x popular!fem!Reader, Jake pov, extremely sad and pathetic Jake, pining/yearning, "omg he took off his glasses and he's hot now" trope, unrequited feelings but complicated, slowburn, thermodynamics as metaphor, toxic relationships, moral decline, morally grey characters, emotional manipulation, transactional sexual relationships, power reversal, public humiliation, blackmail, misogynistic themes and language, toxic masculinity, power dynamics, planned revenge, ambiguous ending, awkward boners, premature ejaculation, loss of virginity, oral sex (m and f), p in v sex, mild praise kink, degradation, dom/sub undertones, verbal consent but sexual coercion (negotiated under durress), multiple orgasms, hair-pulling, begging, protected sex, everyone in this fic is genuinely a piece of shit!!!
FEAT. hyung line as roommates
WC — 18.9k
A/N — i got the idea to write something extremely pathetic and Jake was the first person that came to mind. something about him screams unfortunate (i say this with love). this is a scheduled post so if you see this i'm in an exam right now please pray for me.
There are very few things out there that Jake can't figure out. The universe runs on rules, after all, and he'd spent his whole life studying them. From theoretical mathematics to quantum physics, there was never a problem he couldn't solve, never an equation that failed to make sense.
So, it kind of throws him off completely when you—all pretty, soft-looking, and sweet-smelling—plant yourself right next to him on the first day of his thermodynamics lecture. One, because how has he never seen you before? Two, because girls like you don't talk to him. Or smile at him. Or ask for his name while leaning in that close like you actually care to know it.
He tries to look straight ahead, holding his breath, hanging onto every word that leaves the professor's mouth as if he doesn't have the entire textbook memorized already. All that, just to distract himself from you. It doesn't work, though, the messy chalk writing blurring in his vision as his mind drifts.
Sure, it's a bit strange that you sat next to him when other seats were clearly open... but you probably only sat there because it's the spot with the clearest view of the board, right? That's why he chose it, anyway.
Then, you're tapping his shoulder, two fingers pressing into the fabric of his hoodie ever so lightly. He nearly jumps out of his skin as his eyes snap to you, seeing you lean in close enough to make his heart skip a beat.
"Hey," your voice is just above a whisper, and with the quirk of your brow, you ask him, "Do you understand, like, anything he's saying right now?"
Of course, he understands. He knows this subject like the back of his hand. He could probably explain it in his sleep. And yet when he tries to speak... nothing.
His mouth hangs open for half a second, eyes fleeting from you, back to the board, back to you again, then down—eyes up, Jake—then up. He blinks, and finally he manages something.
"Yeah, uh—it's just the second law stuff. Entropy increasing over time," he drags a hand through his hair, trying to smooth down the mop of messy brown strands that refused to stay put.
Now he wishes he'd spent more than thirty seconds getting ready this morning instead of rolling out of bed in his old high school mathletes hoodie.
"It's basically like... systems move toward disorder unless you put energy into keeping them organized, so—"
You laugh, a small teasing smile on your lips.
"You sure know your stuff, huh?"
"I just looked over the textbook during the winter break," he replies, a little less distressed this time. "Tried to get a head start. Don't wanna fall behind or anything."
Slowly, he feels less guarded, seeing how you don't scoff at him or roll your eyes or do any of the things he'd expect you to. Instead, you watch him—and not the passive kind that some people do when they're bored and have nothing else to do, but like, you're really watching like you're kind of, maybe, possibly... impressed? That's new. The thought alone has a warmth blooming in his chest.
"You studied before the class even started?" Your smile grows wider, amused, but not mean.
She's not being mean.
He lets out a laugh, half-relieved, though still half-embarrassed at how you're realizing that he's checking every stereotype in the box.
"Yeah, I get it, I'm a nerd," he waves it off, looking away self-consciously, "or a loser, or whatever you wanna call—"
"You're adorable, actually," you cut him off. Your knee brushes his under the desk, lingering just a moment before you're tucking your legs back in. Still, he feels the ghost of your touch, his ears turning red. "Guess I'm pretty lucky that I sat down next to you, aren't I?"
The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall usually make everyone look cold and stale. But to him, you're something else entirely—a star collapsing inward, and he's already slipping into orbit. Even if he knew how to calculate the escape velocity, he isn’t sure that he wants to.
You don't make sense. Though he thinks even if he tried to pull you apart and figure you out, his logic would slip somewhere along the way. How could anyone be expected to form a cohesive thought when lost between the sound of your voice and your pretty eyes which follow him like he's the most interesting thing in the room?
You: heyy :)
You: did you finish the thermo assignment yet?
It's late on a Sunday evening when you first message him, phone buzzing on his nightstand just when he's about to turn off his lamp and cozy up in the sheets of his twin-sized bed.
He stares at the notification for a good second, heart skipping a beat as he reaches for his glasses. He reads it a second time and pauses. He waits five minutes—long enough to seem like he's not desperate (but he is) yet short enough to show he's not ignoring you. At least, that's what Heeseung does when he texts girls, and he's at least moderately successful.
Jake: finished last week
I-T... W-A-S... E-A-S-Y...
He starts typing, deletes. Then retypes.
Jake: wasn't too bad
Jake: you?
You: wow ok smarty pants
He smiles, a blush creeping to his cheeks.
You: [sent an image]
You: im struggling so bad
You: worried i wont finish on time :(
He swallows hard when he opens the image.
A selfie, your zip-up hoodie slipping down one shoulder, your tank top strap exposed, your textbook open in front of you. Your pouty face is highlighted by the blue light of your laptop, the rest of your room dimly lit.
Respectfully, as if you were in the room watching over him, he feels the urge to avert his gaze away from your face, and the skin you're revealing, instead looking to the background.
In the dim light, he spots an array of polaroid pictures on your wall—you with other girls at what looks like a party, you laughing with people he doesn't recognize. You're cool. Socially competent, clearly. You have a life. Yet you're here, texting him on a weekend night, sending him pictures.
He then returns to you, the subject of the image, and whatever respect he had been mentally trying to maintain only seconds ago is suddenly lost on him. His eyes drag over every sliver of exposed skin, however slight, practically drooling as he follows where the shadow dips just above the neckline of your top.
You look pretty. Tired, a little frustrated, and very, very, painfully pretty. Like, his head is going to explode kind of pretty. And from scribbles in your notebook, you don't appear to be anywhere close to finished. His heart thumps in his chest, followed by an ache.
That assignment is due tonight. There's no way you could finish it all now, even if you rushed for it. Unless...
Jake: [sent Assignment_1.pdf]
Jake: here
Jake: just change the answers a bit :)
You: omg youre actually the best!!
You: idk what id do without you
You: tysm jake <3
He literally has to resist the urge to kick his feet and giggle, grinning like the biggest idiot as your messages come through.
Jake: it’s nothing haha
Jake: happy to help
You: youre actually so smart it's kind of unfair
You: wish i had you in all my classes lol
You: literally my hero <3
He's blushing to himself, biting his lip, and he rolls over onto his back, head against the pillow. His fingers tremble over the screen for a second before scrolling up. He rereads the exchange. Reflects. Analyzes.
Those emojis mean something, right? You didn't have to add a heart, but you did. Then there's the way you smile at him and touch him in class—that has to mean something. Girls don't go around just touching anyone, especially not him, but you do. You sat next to him. You're nice to him. And you asked him for help. You chose him.
With a newfound confidence, he's typing out his next message and clicking 'send' before he can give himself the chance to second-guess it.
The worst she can say is "no," right?
Jake: i could help you study for your other classes?
Jake: if you want
sent 3 weeks ago
Jake: or not haha
Jake: no pressure
sent 2 weeks ago
Jake: sorry if that was weird...
sent 1 week ago
Jake: hey!
Jake: noticed you haven't been to class for a while
Jake: you ok?
Three weeks go by like that. Every time his phone buzzes, his hand is on it before he even realizes he's moved, only to find what he already knows: that it isn't you. It never is. He starts keeping it face up on his desk when he studies. Sleeps with it on his pillow some nights, just in case.
It's stupid. It's embarrassing. He knows it is.
Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. You probably get messages like that all the time—from guys like him who think a smile means more than what it is. You're probably used to it. Of course, you'd think he's a weirdo. Or a creep. Or both. Probably both.
"Seriously, Jake, just move on already," Sunghoon says, not even looking at him, thumbs mashing into the buttons of his controller. He then slumps back in defeat when Jay is crowned winner for the third Smash Bros game in a row, "Fuck!"
Jake shifts on the couch, controller untouched at his side, phone in his hand instead.
He lounges in the living room along with his other three roommates, two empty boxes of pizza on the floor because they insist they'll eventually buy a coffee table for their "living room". Though it's been almost a year since they signed the lease and the room was still empty save for the couch and TV.
"When did you get so dogshit at this game?" Heeseung snorts at Sunghoon as he aims to throw his pizza crust in the empty box. It narrowly misses, rolling onto the floor instead. He dusts the crumbs off his hands, then turns to Jake, "But yeah, man. He's right. Rejection hurts, but it happens."
"You would know all about rejection, wouldn't you?" Jay mutters, about to take a sip of his drink, before he ducks his head, dodging the empty can Heeseung tries to throw at his face.
"She didn't even reject me though," Jake tries, quieter this time, "She just disappeared—"
"Which means she doesn't want you," Sunghoon says all too quickly, almost impatient. He nudges Jay, lowering his voice, "Can you believe this guy has a 4.0 GPA and still can't understand women?"
Jay laughs under his breath, and the two start to snicker.
Jake swallows, scrolling up to stare at the selfie you shared with him all those weeks ago. He thinks back on your laugh. Your smile. The way you used to sit with him in class. He misses your face, your voice.... He misses you.
"Listen, man. You put yourself out there, and I'm proud of you. We all are, right?" Heeseung starts, and Sunghoon and Jay nod their heads along mindlessly, only half listening as they argue over what map to choose next. He then brings a hand to his back, patting it a couple of times, and Jake winces from the impact, "But she's definitely not texting you back. Like. Ever."
Jake takes one final look at his screen before sighing.
"Guess not."
He closes the phone, eyes turning back to the game on the TV, not quite ready to accept what he thinks is the truth: that you were just being friendly and he misinterpreted the whole thing and ruined something good, but he knows there's no point in dwelling on it any longer.
"Aw, come on. Look on the bright side," Heeseung continues, "At least you got a cute picture out of it. Can never go wrong with good fap material, right?"
Before Jake can scoff it off and pretend like he definitely hasn't thought about that, his phone pings. And just like that, all eyes stop to turn to him, and where his phone lies face up in his lap.
Jay and Heeseung scoot closer on the couch, and Sunghoon nearly trips over one of the pizza boxes, stumbling over himself just to glance over Jake's shoulder.
You: heyy
You: sorry i didnt reply i was super busy :(
You: have you started assignment 2 yet?
read at 9:13pm
"Oh."
"Oh, my god."
"Oh, hell no," Sunghoon gapes, "This bitch is evil."
"She's using you for schoolwork," Jay scoffs, "That's even worse than the friendzone, holy shit."
"You've been calculator-zoned," Heeseung shakes his head, "Absolutely brutal."
Jake's thumb hovers over the keyboard. The room feels too small, the weight of his three roommates' judgmental gaze almost suffocating as they lean over him—the smell of someone who definitely forgot to wear deodorant also suffocating, but he's not about to play detective to figure out which one of them it is.
"What are you gonna say?" Sunghoon demands, jabbing a finger toward the screen. "Tell her to fuck off."
"No, don't do that," Jay interjects, "Just ignore her. Leave her on read for, like, a month. Make her feel what you felt."
"Jakey, my man. Don't give in," Heeseung shakes his head, "To her, you’re just a warm body with a brain and enough desperation to do her work for free."
But Jake isn't listening. He's looking at the three little dots that appear, then vanish, then appear again at the bottom of the chat window. You're typing, and the thought alone sends a jolt through him, a stupid, pathetic little flutter that overrides his rationality. He wants to know what you're going to say. He needs to know.
You: helloooo? :(
You: [sent an image]
read at 9:22pm
Jake opens the image, another selfie. Seems like you're really trying to impress him more this time, seeing how the angle reveals just a little bit more, your pen pressed to your lower lip, looking so kissable and soft and everything he yearns for. But he knows better. It's not enough to entice him.
It is enough to make him screenshot it, though.
"Bro, seriously?" Sunghoon deadpans, as if he isn't also staring.
"Just safekeeping," Jake mutters, avoiding his glare, "She's hot, okay?"
"Shit. I take back what I said. Become her human study guide, and lemme see more of that," Heeseung whistles, trying to take the phone, but Jake yanks it away from his grabby hands, "Come on, I'll do your dishes next week if you share."
"You don't even do your own dishes, dumbass," Jay shoots back, noticing how Jake's thumb hovers over the keyboard.
In an instant, he snatches the device from him, and the three boys groan, outstretched arms trying to reach for it back. He doesn't spare a single glance as he types back.
Jake: yeah i finished it.
You: really?
You: uhg i wish I had your brain
You: i'm so lost :(
Jake: oh.
Jake: thats too bad.
Jake: good luck.
He throws it back into Jake's lap.
"There," Jay declares, crossing his arms. "Dignity. Intact."
"Jay, you fucking idiot," Heeseung groans, "We could've secured way more pics."
"You can find tits online if you're so desperate to jerk off," Jay retorts, slumping back down into the couch, "We're not letting our friend get taken advantage of by some campus slut."
Jake looks at the phone. He knows, deep down, Jay is right. The tiny, rational part of his brain that isn't currently short-circuited by the ghost of your knee against his agrees.
Then, the three dots appear again. And vanish. Then appear again, staying for a long, long time. All of them watch at the edge of their seat.
You: wanna come over and help me? ;)
Jake's breath catches in his throat.
"Oh, she's good," Sunghoon whispers, a grudging respect in his tone. "She's really good."
"Yeah, but she can't get our Jakey," Jay adds, a smugness in his tone, "Sure, he looks a little desperate and pathetic, and like he’s never felt the touch of a woman, but little does she know that he's way too smart for—"
Jake's thumb moves quick.
Jake: sure
The room is dead silent for a moment.
"Dude," Heeseung stares at him, mouth slightly open. "I mean, like—not that I'm one to judge but what the fuck?"
"Don't look at me like that," Jake gulps, already grabbing his hoodie from the arm of the couch, "What do you expect me to do! Say no?"
"Man," Jay laughs dryly, shaking his head. "You have to be shitting me."
Sunghoon falls back against the couch cushions, hands over his face.
"She just wants help this time. Not answers," Jake continues to explain, slipping his arms through the hoodie sleeves. "It'll be different."
"Jake..." Heeseung stands, eyeing his friend. His hands move to his shoulders, staring him dead in the eyes, "You're gonna come back here at two in the morning, heartbroken and blue-balled, and eat the leftover pizza crusts off the floor."
"You don't know that—"
"Bro." Sunghoon glares. "Yes, we do. We all know it. Even the pizza boxes know it."
He should stop. He knows it. You've given him zero reasons to defend you like this, but maybe he's tired of being logical. Maybe, for once, he just wants to feel something.
"You don't know her," he says firmly, "We don't know her. I mean. What if she really was busy, you know?"
Heeseung sighs, long and winded. And though he's shaking his head, he helps zip up his hoodie, like a mother sending off her kid to school. He spares a glance back at Sunghoon and Jay, who seem to share the same look in their eyes: pitying, a little disappointed, but resigned to the inevitable.
He returns his gaze to Jake, a hand coming up to pat his head, ruffling his already messy hair.
"Just… try not to get eaten alive, okay?"
He finds your place easily enough—another student housing unit, like his, with a porch that creaks under his weight, and a railing that's falling apart. Somewhere down the block, someone's partying, the bass a little too loud, and yet it's still not enough to drown out the sound of his heart thumping against his chest as he knocks on your door. He wipes a sweaty palm on his jeans, mentally rehearsing what he'll say. Though his mind goes completely blank when the door swings open.
So yeah. That's how he finds himself in your room, the assignment questions open on his laptop, sitting at the very edge of the bed. Meanwhile, you move about, apologizing for the mess and explaining something about your roommates being gone while picking up piles of clothes from the floor and shoving them into the laundry hamper at the corner of your room.
He swallows hard when the bed dips next to him under your weight, and he finds himself sitting upright, stiffly, like the hammock of plushies in the corner is judging him, watching his every move.
Your legs are bare beside him, wearing shorts that barely cover anything, close enough that if he shifted even a few centimetres, his knee would brush your thigh. Your tank top has one of those necklines that dips when you lean forward, which you're doing right now, peering at his screen.
"So," you say, "Where do we start?"
The fairy lights catch the curve of your shoulder, and he notes how your skin looks warm. Soft. It probably feels that way, too, doesn't it?
It takes a moment to find his words.
"I'll walk you through it," he starts, clearing his throat, "It's not bad once you get it. I swear."
"Okay," you reply with an innocent smile.
He reaches for the notebook in your grasp.
"May I?"
"Mhm," your grip loosens, and he plucks it from your hands, along with the pen. The same pen he remembers being pressed to your lips in that one photo.
Focus, Jake.
"Alright, this part," he gestures to the equation on his screen, flipping for a clean page in your very disorganized, doodle-filled notebook. "It's the same thing from last time. You just—"
His mind goes blank as you angle yourself just a bit closer, squinting your eyes at the page, and he sucks in a breath when your knee presses against his. You don't move it.
"—You just rearrange it like this," he finishes, quickly scribbling it out step by step. "Then plug it back in. Makes sense?"
"Hm," a hum escapes your lips, sounding almost breathy and whiny as you ponder the page, making him think of things he definitely shouldn't, "...I think I get it."
"Try it," he smiles, handing the pen and notebook back.
A second passes, pen tapping your chin slightly as you stare. Then blink. Then furrow your brows together.
"Actually... I don't get it."
"Okay," he nods slowly, determination not yet shaken, "Well, look, it's the same thing, you just have to—"
"Can you show me one more time?" You look at him, wide-eyed. Confused. Helpless. Your tank top strap slips off your shoulder just a bit, and his eyes follow the movement as you reach to adjust it. "Please?"
As if he's on autopilot, he takes the notebook back from you, nodding wordlessly as he writes the question for you.
He tries the same thing with the next question. Writing up a nearly identical example and solution in clear, detailed steps, explaining as best he can. But he freezes when he feels your hand on him, looking over his shoulder.
"Sorry, I just see better this way," you say so casually, like it's nothing, like he isn't losing his goddamn mind. You're then pointing, "Why does that happen?"
"Oh... because of the negative sign. So when you move it over—"
"I'm so bad at this," you sigh, voice close to his ear, "I don't even know what I'm doing."
There’s a tug at his heart.
"You're not bad!" He says almost automatically, "Not at all. Don't say that. You just need more practice."
"You think?" You ask, your hand sliding down his shoulder, until your careful fingers reach the sleeve of his hoodie. Fiddling with it, absentmindedly, you continue, "You're really patient, you know that?"
"I... I mean, I—"
"Most people would've given up by now. But not you," you whisper, "You're good to me, aren't you?"
"I try my best," he stammers out in a nervous laugh, trying not to malfunction. He taps his pen against the notebook, "How about you try the next—"
"Jake," you sigh again, though it sounds more like a whimper in his ear as your chin rests against his shoulder, "Can we just... do this one together?"
He nods, enjoying the feeling of you pressed against him too much to bother passing the notebook back to you anymore.
It's faster this way anyway, right? That's what he tells himself as he does the rest of your assignment. He can always explain it after. You'll get it once it's done.
"Really, you're the best, Jake," you repeat for what must've been the fifth time that night as he clicks the 'submit' button.
For a while now, you've been lying back against your pillows, smiling at your phone while he works, occasionally moving to watch him or leave some kind of commentary, and his roommates' warnings began to echo in his mind. Especially as he's folding up his laptop, shoving it to the side, watching you from the corner of his eye. He can't see your screen, but your hands move like you're texting someone. That thought alone makes him want to crawl into a hole somewhere and die.
"It's nothing..." his voice comes out too quiet.
Your gaze shoots up, expression changing in seconds.
"Oh, but it's not nothing!" you reply, tucking your phone. "I seriously feel like such a jerk for ghosting you! I'm sorry. I'm just so bad at texting."
Before he can process it, you're sitting up, on your knees, scooting a bit closer. Too close.
"Really, it's—"
"And doing all of this for me... You work so hard."
Your hand lands on his shoulder, gentle but firm enough that he doesn't think to resist, and you pull him back. His head hits the mattress softer than he expected.
You come into view, sitting up now, face above his. He doesn't know where to look, your eyes, your lips... definitely not where your tank top hangs low, revealing way more than you probably realize. He opts to stare at the ceiling instead. Then your face. But your face is too pretty to stare at for too long without making him nervous, so he looks anywhere else.
"You must be tired, huh?"
He's not quite sure how to even process what's happening, so he mindlessly nods.
"Poor thing," you coo, and the way you say it, soft and almost sweet, makes his chest ache, a warmth blooming in it. "I'm really happy you showed up. Actually, I was kinda nervous to ask. Thought you might be busy. Or that you'd hate me."
There's another pause as you stare down—waiting, watching with your brows furrowed in worry, lips pulled into a pout.
"Do you hate me, Jake?"
"Hate you? No. No, no, no," He's shaking his head profusely, the words tumbling out too fast. "Life gets in the way sometimes. I get it."
He should have a harder time believing it, given that he's seen you posting on your social media everyday, videos and photos from parties he'd never be invited to in a million years.
Still, how could he ever hate you when you're letting him lie down on your bed like this, looking at him like that? The memories of hurt from weeks of radio silence practically melt away like it was never even there to begin with.
"You can ask me anytime. Always. I'm free whenever."
"Whenever?" You tilt your head, mildly amused.
He swallows, mentally scolding himself as you reach for the strings of his hoodie, toying with the ends of it absentmindedly.
Come on, Jake. At least pretend like you have a life.
"Well. Not always, whenever but, I'm not busy on weekends, unless..." unless I'm playing Smash Bros with my other loser roommates. Yeah, genius. That will really impress her. "Unless I'm... studying or something."
"Is that all you do? Study?"
"I, uh..." he thinks, "I go to the gym. Sometimes."
He looks at you, searching for a reaction.
"Mm." You hum, and he swears he's going to have a heart attack when he feels your hand slide up the sleeve of his arm, firmly grasping his bicep. You barely squeeze, just once, and your hand then quickly slips away. "I can tell."
What the hell.
He gapes.
What the actual hell.
"Your girlfriend must like that."
"Girlfriend?"
"You don't have a girl?" You raise a brow.
"No—I mean—no."
"Oh?" You tilt your head, curiously, "But you talk to girls, right?"
"I'm just... I study a lot so..."
"So I have you all to myself, then?" You smile, "That's good to know."
You hum, blinking at him. Suddenly, you're reaching for his hair. He literally has no idea what the fuck is happening or how it happened, but your fingers are now in his hair, raking through it slowly. And when he feels you gently scratch at his scalp, his eyes almost close, biting down on his lip just to stop himself from making god knows what kind of pathetic noise he would've.
This isn't normal. Girls don't just do this—not to just anyone... right? He has no idea. All he knows is that he's getting embarrassingly flustered, and increasingly worried that he's misinterpreting everything all over again. It all blurs together in a messy, dizzying spiral of infatuation and anxiety.
"Do you talk to guys?"
It sounded more casual in his head. Now, it sounds stupid coming out of his mouth.
"Why?" You tilt your head, grinning, and he gulps, "You trying to see if I have a boyfriend, or something?"
"No! Just you asked, so I thought I'd ask, too. So—"
"Kidding," you sing-song, a soft laugh escaping you, "I don't really take that stuff seriously, you know?"
Jake nods, like he understands what that means. He thinks it means you at least don't have a boyfriend, which is reassuring enough. For now.
Though he can't really think anything at all, actually, because suddenly, he's panicking over a much larger problem than the thought of you talking to other guys. Your fingers, still working at his scalp, slow and deliberate, start to build a familiar heat inside him, and not the innocent kind.
Stop. Think about something else. Thermodynamics. The quadratic formula. Jay’s morning breath. Literally anything—
You graze a particular spot just behind his ear, and his whole body betrays him. He feels it immediately—a rush of need, a tightening in his jeans that he cannot under any circumstances let you notice.
He sits up so fast his vision blurs, back snapping straight.
"You okay?" Your hand hovers in the air where his head used to be.
"Bathroom," he stammers, already scrambling off the bed, nearly tripping over himself, "Um. Where's the bathroom?"
You point him down the hall.
After a good few minutes of splashing his face with cold water and thinking the unsexiest thoughts he could think of, he's calmed down enough that it's unnoticeable.
But unfortunately, when he's out, you're already guiding him to the front door, talking about some eight a.m. lecture tomorrow.
He nods along, trying to focus on tying his sneakers instead of the way you're leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him.
He finishes the second knot after fumbling with it for longer than he should've and stands up, brushing off his jeans.
Alright, Jake, this is it.
"So, um, hey," he starts, hesitantly. "Would you want to hang out sometime? Not for school stuff. Maybe... like... go see a movie, or something?"
He watches you carefully. Holding his breath. Waiting for what feels like forever.
"Sounds fun!" You smile.
The words ring in his ears the whole walk home, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt, so stupidly infatuated and lovestruck by you that he barely registers the cold breeze that cuts through his sweater.
He wastes no time plopping down on his couch to tell his roommates about his new date plans, feeling on top of the world when their concerned expressions shift into grins—cheering him and patting him on the back before quickly devising his next move;
"Ask her what movie," Jay insists.
"What? No. That's way too passive," Sunghoon rolls his eyes, "Tell her what movie. Girls like it when guys are decisive."
"And make it a horror movie," Heeseung adds, nodding in agreement, "She'll get all scared and cling to you. Trust me, man."
"That's such a cliché."
"Cliché, but it works."
His roommates keep arguing—something about jump scares versus psychological thrillers, about whether first dates should even be movies at all, but Jake stops listening. He's staring at his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
Jake: does friday or saturday work?
He waits.
And waits.
And waits...
"I don't get it," Jake frowns, staring at the unread messages on his phone. The screen glows in the dim kitchen light, the last message he sent still hanging there, no reply.
"She said she wanted to hang out again," he continues, more to himself than anyone else. "She said, 'Sounds fun!' She even smiled when she said it."
His roommates are scattered around the kitchen like they normally are post-dinner, with Sunghoon and Jay fighting over whose turn it is to do the dishes. Meanwhile, Heeseung scarfs down his third bowl of cereal, like he hadn't just devoured a full plate of food less than an hour ago.
"No offence, but like... are you really asking that?" Heeseung doesn't even look up. Just raises the bowl to his lips and gulps down the remaining milk, dribbling a little down his chin.
Jake blinks.
"She's playing you," Jay adds, turning off the running water at the sink, sponge in one hand and a plate in the other. From that, Jake gathers he lost the dish war. "And it's working. Clearly."
"But—"
"She ghosted you for three weeks," Sunghoon cuts in, drying his hands on a dish towel. "Hit you up when she needed homework help. Then ghosted you again the second you asked her out. What part of this says 'interested' to you?"
Jake opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking back at his phone, and Sunghoon's already plucking the device from his hands before he can even consider double texting. He closes the phone, laying it face down on the kitchen table, and presses his palm flat against it like he's putting down a verdict.
"Listen, you really wanna give this homework-stealing attention whore even more attention?" He frowns, "She doesn't deserve another word from you."
His words make Jake wince a little, the pathetic urge to defend you still lingering, but he doesn't say anything. He knows what it looks like.
Heeseung sets his empty bowl down with a clink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, studying Jake.
"Why are you so attached anyway?" He raises his brow, "Like sure, she's hot, but did you even, you know... get any action?"
"I mean."
The kitchen goes quiet, and Jake feels a heat creep up his neck. He looks down at the table, recalling his time with you last week.
"She played with my hair."
There's a pause.
"...the fuck?" Heeseung finally says.
"Like, head scratches. You know?" Jake can feel how stupid it sounds even as he says it, but he keeps explaining, as if it will make it sound any better, "She was saying all these things, and talking, and running her fingers through it. It was nice. It was—"
"Bro," Heeseung cuts him off with a laugh—not a mean one, but something close to it, "She pet you."
"Like a dog." Sunghoon grins.
"Did you start kicking your leg when she scratched behind your ears?" Jay snickers.
"Did she call you a good boy for doing her homework?"
The three of them burst into laughter. Sunghoon has to brace himself against the table, and Jay doubles over, gripping the counter. Heeseung is just shaking his head, grinning, like Jake is the saddest thing he's ever seen.
Jake flushes.
"Guys, come on—"
"Listen, Jakey," Heeseung's voice softens, "You do realize what this is, right? She uses you for your brain, then forgets you exist until she needs you again. And like a stupid, loyal mutt, you keep running back to an owner who doesn't reward you with any treats."
"I know it looks like that, but you weren't there," Jake shrinks in his chair, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands, "She was talking to me. For real. Like. Touching me and—"
"And she didn't text you back," Sunghoon states. There's no bite to it. No malicious intent. Just that. That's what it is, after all.
The truth of it hurts more than he expects, maybe because deep down he knows it already. His throat tightens, and he stares down so that none of them can see how his eyes get glossy.
He just thought that maybe this was it. That maybe, for the first time, someone actually liked him. Is he really so wrong for wanting to believe that?
The kitchen is quiet now. Jay has gone back to washing dishes, but slower, quieter and Sunghoon joins him, pretending to be interested in dishes to avoid addressing the emotional tension in the room.
Heeseung is the only one who still watches Jake.
"Look, man," he starts, softer this time. "We're not trying to be dicks. We just—"
All four of them glance at the device face down on the table. No one moves. The buzz fades. Then another one. Then another.
Jake's hand twitches toward it.
"Don't," Sunghoon warns.
"It could be important."
"It's not."
Jake's hand hovers. What if it's you? What if you're apologizing? What if you have an explanation?
Sunghoon beats him to it, snatching it from the table with dishwater hands.
"Oh? Would you look at that?" he raises a brow, and Jake's heart pathetically flutters, "Let's see what the she-devil wants now."
Jake watches, holding his breath, as Sunghoon swipes open the messages. His face is unreadable for a moment.
"Gee. Shocker." He reads aloud, dripping with sarcasm. "Hey Jake, sorry I've been MIA—And there's a sad face emoji, how sweet—Did you start the next assignment yet?"
"She can't be that shameless," Heeseung states in disbelief.
Jay sets down his sponge and grabs the phone from Sunghoon, scanning the screen himself. His jaw tightens.
"That's it." He turns to Jake, holding the phone up like evidence. "This is an intervention. If you're not getting anything out of this, and I mean anything, then ignore that bitch."
"She's not a—"
"She is." Sunghoon sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "Honestly, it's just sad at this point. You're better than this."
Jake looks between them. His phone is still in Jay's hand, the screen lit up with your message. He can see the little three dots at the bottom of the chat box. You're still typing, probably coming up with another excuse— another reason for him to come running.
"Jake," Heeseung steps forward, blocking Jake's view of the device, "She hurt you. Do not respond. I'm serious this time. You hear me? You hear us? We're looking out for you."
Jake swallows. He wants to say that it'll be different this time—wants to say that they don't know you like he knows you. Wants to believe his feelings are reciprocated, and that your soft touch and sweet words were more than just a cheap manipulation tactic, but they're all watching. And he knows. He knows he has to concede.
Deflated, he nods, promising his friends he won't give in. Even if the memory of your hands in his hair sticks. Even if he swears it was real.
He really does ignore you. He doesn't respond to your messages, doesn't screenshot your selfies—well, he does look at them maybe a couple times, but that's not technically breaking his word. He keeps his phone on the other side of his bedroom when he sleeps. He spends his time with his friends laughing, instead of sulking in the corner over ignored messages.
The inexplicably strong ache he felt in his chest when he thought of you was nowhere near close to disappearing, an ache that couldn't decide between desire and hurt, but he could feel himself slowly, bit by bit, start to return to some semblance of normalcy.
Then you decide to show up to class for the first time in weeks.
Jake notices you the second you walk through the door. How could he not? You're all he can think about still, as terrible as he knows that sounds. How could he possibly bring himself to look away as your eyes scan the room, ultimately landing on him, making your merry way to slip into the seat at his side?
"Hey!" You're smiling, bright and easy, like no time has passed at all.
It's tempting to return the smile. God, he wants to accept your warmth again so badly, and maybe that would've worked on him a few weeks ago, but time has passed for him.
He'd spent all this time second-guessing every smile, every touch and word. Suffered while listening to his roommates call him a dog. He doesn't have it in him to continue hoping for anything more. Even if you look extra pretty today.
"Hey." Jake keeps his eyes on the board.
"How are you?"
"Fine."
Your smile doesn't waver, but something in your gaze is a little different, a little more steady than usual. You lean in close enough that he can smell you, breathing in your sweet, warm, intoxicating scent, close enough that his resolve starts to crumble before he can stop it. That's just what you do to him.
"You look cute today," you say softly. "I like your hair."
"Thanks."
He manages to keep his tone flat and his face neutral, as if he doesn't still dream of your hands in his hair, like you had the last time he saw you, still weak from the mere thought.
Stay strong, Jake. His jaw is tight. His hands are curled into fists under the desk. She hurt you. Don't give in.
Your smile then fades, if only a little.
"Hey... what's up with you?"
He turns to you finally, unable to keep up the act. In a moment of weakness, he lets you see the hurt, the confusion, the resentment.
You seem concerned. A little confused.
She's playing you. She's using you.
"Listen," he inhales, trying to sound firm, but there's a shakiness in his tone that he just can't hide. "I'm not helping you this time, okay? So don't—"
His eyes catch something on the desk that halts his thought process completely.
Your phone is sitting there, face up, dressed in a clear case like always, but with a new set of cute little charms attached—though that's not even the thing he notices first. The screen is covered in cracks, fractures spreading from a point near the top all the way to the bottom, and a chunk of glass is missing from the corner, exposing the dark screen underneath.
"What happened?" he blurts. Whatever he had been planning to say, to finally tell you, vanishes in an instant.
You look down at the phone. Then back at him.
"Oh my god, you have no idea." You're already shaking your head, "Last week, I lost my phone. Like, lost lost. Couldn't find it for days. I tore my whole apartment apart. I filed a lost and found report. I even checked the campus security office."
Jake stares at the cracked screen, your thumb swiping over it.
"Then," you continue, wincing as you recall the story, "my roommate tells me she felt a crunch when she was pulling out of the driveway. Turns out my phone was lying face down there. For three days. And she ran over it."
"You're kidding."
"I wish I was. I think it must've fallen out of my pocket in the dark." You pick up the phone, sighing, "It was like this when I found it. But you wanna know the craziest part? It still works."
Jake just blinks, and you laugh a little as you hold up the device to his face, showing off the horribly cracked home screen.
"I guess you thought I was ignoring you again, weren't you?" Your expression falls, "I'm so sorry, Jake. I really didn't mean to."
"It's..." He blinks again, then shakes his head. A laugh escapes him, feeling relieved, almost giddy, and all the emotions he thought he had buried for good come rushing back to him in an instant. Just like that. "I just thought you were, like, using me for homework, or something—"
"What?" You gasp, shock flashing across your face. "Oh my gosh, no, I would never."
A hand lands on his arm. Warmth spreads through him where you touch.
"I guess asking about homework first thing when I got my phone back was pretty stupid of me, wasn't it?" You shake your head, muttering, talking to yourself almost, "I was just so stressed after the whole lost phone situation, and school was the first thing on my mind. I didn't even think about how it would look."
A nervous laugh escapes you, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater, glancing at him wide-eyed like you're scared that he hates you for real this time. Suddenly, his roommates' words are fading to nothing in his head.
"I mean," he says slowly, and then a small smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah. It was a little stupid."
You stare at him for a second. Then you laugh, bright and real and just like he remembered, your whole face lighting up. Relief seems to wash over both of you, and when your hand lightly grazes his shoulder again, he leans into it this time.
"Okay, okay, I deserve that," you say. "But I'll make up for it. I swear."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You pull out your phone, squinting at the cracked screen as you pull up a tab in your search engine. "There's this new indie horror thing my friends keep talking about. Apparently, it's super scary, and I'm terrified of watching this kind of stuff alone."
You tilt the screen to him, rambling about different showtimes, explaining bits of the synopsis of the film, and he swears his heart is about to explode. His mind is already conjuring images of you clinging to his arm, burying your head in the crook of his neck at the sight of a jump-scare.
"So?" You finally ask, "You free Friday?"
There's a moment of hesitation as he thinks about his roommates. Their warnings. Their jokes. Their certainty that you were using him. Then he looks at your phone—the cracks, the missing chunk. The undeniable proof that you weren't lying.
Then he thinks about getting to hold your hand in a dark theater, driving you home after. Would you let him kiss you? Would you pull him closer, with your hands at the back of his head, fingers grazing through his hair again? Would you pull away, breathless and smiling, and invite him inside? Probably not that last part, but the thought still makes him blush.
"I'll check my schedule."
"Okay," Your smile turns almost shy, but your determination doesn't waver, "Well, no pressure, but you better say yes."
Jake spends the entire lecture trying not to smile back, thankful that all the pain he had felt, all the hurt, had been nothing more than his own imagination.
He's already knows he's going to say yes.
Jake is halfway to the door when Sunghoon's voice stops him cold.
"Where are you going?"
Jake winces, hand hovering just above the doorknob. His keys are already in his other hand, jingling softly. He doesn't turn around, certain that the look on his face will give him away, and to be honest, he's tired of being looked at like a lost cause when it comes to you.
With a shaky breath, he turns finally. His eyes land on Jay and Sunghoon sprawled on the couch—same as always, controllers in hand, paused mid-game. Heeseung pokes his head out of his bedroom door down the hall, drawn by the sound of an argument brewing.
Jake allows himself a small, hopefully convincing enough smile.
"To study."
Like a cruel joke, a small foil square slips out of his jacket pocket and flutters to the floor—revealing the condom he'd stolen from the box Heeseung keeps at his bedside.
They all watch wordlessly, staring for a beat.
Jake's face flushes, bending down to snatch the condom off the floor, and he tucks it back into his pocket.
"Uh-huh. Study." Jay deadpans, setting down his controller. "Studying what, human anatomy?"
"It's a study date," Jake says too quickly, waving it off, "With uh... that one girl I was lab partners with last semester. You guys remember?"
"The girl you said you weren't into?"
"Well, I changed my mind."
He can feel the weight of their stare. Watching. Waiting. Judging.
"You think you're gonna get laid." Heeseung gestures vaguely to him. "And you didn't try to tell any of us about it?"
"It's just in case," he replies, still a little embarrassed, "Besides, why should I tell any of you? It's none of your business."
Heeseung tilts his head, studying him. The other two exchange knowing glances.
"It's not that you have to," He says, "But you would've. Which means you're hiding something."
"You're running back to your master, aren't you?" Sunghoon cuts to the chase with a grin, "Did she throw you a bone again?"
"No."
"Aw, I can see his tail wagging," Jay teases, "He's so excited. Thinks he's gonna finally get his dick wet this time if he plays fetch."
"Shut up."
"Jake, man," Heeseung almost groans, "You can't seriously think she wants you for real this time, right?"
"What's the score now? Campus slut: three, Jake: zero? You're losing pretty badly," Sunghoon whistles, shaking his head, "Just don't come crying to us about it after."
His fingers tighten around his keys, metal biting into the palm of his hand. He wants to tell them tonight will be different—and he's sure it will. It has to be. But he's done explaining himself, and he's done trying to explain you.
"I'm going on a study date with my old lab partner," he lies through gritted teeth, "And while you sit your lazy asses on a dirty fucking couch, marinating in your own filth, I'm going to actually be talking to a girl. So fuck you."
He doesn't wait for a response. He just turns, yanking the front door open and slamming it behind hard enough to rattle the frame just a bit.
The boys don't say anything. They just stare at the door, watching the frame shake in silence until it goes still.
"Well," Sunghoon pauses, "He kinda got us there, didn't he?"
He pulls up to your place, eyeing the same rickety-looking porch and broken railing he remembers, noting how the light above the front door flickers. And though it's anything but perfect, he still feels like he's in a scene from a movie as he walks up your steps—the kind where the guy finally gets the girl and sweeps her off her feet.
His heart is pounding as he knocks on the door and stops the moment it swings open, smiling as soon as he sees you, expression dropping when his brain catches up to realize you're... not dressed for a date. At all.
You look at him wide-eyed, almost shocked, a pencil tucked behind your ear, wearing an old hoodie and those little shorts he remembers from last time. And there, in your hand, is your thermodynamics textbook.
"Oh, Jake..." you say, blinking at him like you'd forgotten he was coming. "I totally lost track of time."
You're already turning away, leaving the door open for him to follow. Already walking back into the place, socked feet padding against the hardwood, muttering to yourself.
"This is due on Monday, and I haven't even started and— gosh, I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot."
Jake stands still in the doorway of your bedroom, watching you plop down on the bed, looking up at him with a silent plea.
"I really thought I'd have this done by tonight. I mean, I could spend the rest of the weekend doing it, but I have all these plans and other things I have to do..." You continue to ramble, but he stops listening.
You're doing it again.
He watches you for a long, silent moment. You're already flipping through the textbook, muttering to yourself about equations and deadlines, completely absorbed.
Any butterflies he'd felt were gone, replaced with... nothing. He felt absolutely nothing, just hollow and empty and utterly deflated because he's been here before. He knows the script. He knows what happens next.
Somewhere in his mind, he can hear his roommates laughing. Hell, he's sure those stupid plushies in the corner of your room are probably laughing at him, too.
"I was thinking maybe if I could just get the first few problems, I think I could figure out the rest. But I don't even know where to start."
You look up at him, and there's that look again. The same look you gave him the first day of class. The same look that made him want to solve all your problems.
Just like that, he's doing it again, too.
She needs me, he starts to think.
People get stressed, don't they? People lose track of time. You're just one of those people. It's not on purpose. It's not malicious. It's just you.
You're tugging at his sleeve, then slipping past it just to grasp around his wrist.
"I know I'm asking for a lot, but you'll help me, won't you?" You pout, "Please, Jake?"
That almost gets him. It shouldn't, but it almost does.
"But the movie—"
"I promise we'll see it another time," you cut in, "Pinky swear, on my life, we will."
Jake can feel his hands trembling at his sides. All he wanted was a date with you. Just one night. No textbooks. No equations.
He'll be damned if he lets your poor time-management skills and terrible studying habits be the reason his night is ruined.
"What if I just... send you the answers later?"
He manages a broken smile, and you blink.
"Really?" You gape, "Oh, Jake, I'd feel terrible—"
"We can't let our movie tickets go to waste, right?" He shrugs like its nothing, like he's nonchalant or something, but there is absolutely nothing chalant about the way he needs to go out with you tonight. "I don't mind. Really. Don't worry about it, okay?"
You beam at him, and with a squeal, you're jumping off the bed faster than he can process. Your arms are around him, hugging him tight, so much that he can feel every part of you pressed against him. Suddenly, he's light as a feather again. Drifting. Weightless.
"Thank you so much!" You pull away all too quickly, shoving him out your bedroom door, "Just give me a few minutes, 'kay? I won't leave you waiting too long."
Jake can barely focus on the screen, eyes drifting from the atmospheric shots of a creepy house in the middle of nowhere, towards you instead.
He's hyper-aware of you sitting there, next to him. He can't help the way he watches you, how the light flickers across your face, catching the curve of your cheek, and your gloss-covered lips. He also can't help the way he's falling apart from just the feeling of your arm brushing against his in the dark, soft, accidental, and electric all at once.
The scent of your perfume mixes with the smell of buttery popcorn, neither of you had touched yet. He can't bring himself to eat it. Actually, he can't bring himself to do anything when he can barely manage breathing in your presence.
His heart is doing that stupid stuttering thing again, the one that makes him feel like he's a teenager taking his school crush to prom, as his hand twitches restlessly at his side.
He wants to hold your hand. He's wanted to since the moment you slipped into the passenger seat of his car, wearing that sundress, but he knew he had to wait. He rehearses the motion in his head, a slow, deliberate slide of his palm against the armrest until it touches yours. He even tries, for a second, his hand slowly drifting until his pinky barely brushes yours, enough to feel the warmth of your skin.
For a moment, he allows himself to imagine what it would feel like to do it—to take your hand in one smooth, confident stride and feel your fingers interlace with his. The thought alone is exhilarating... and far, far more terrifying than the movie's been so far.
Before he knows it, he's chickening out, hand drawing back to his lap when the screen flashes.
A face appears, a shrieking sound erupting through the theatre speakers, and he swears his soul fucking leaves his body. He jumps, a full body flinch, arm nearly knocking over the popcorn bucket as his heart slams against his ribs.
And almost immediately, he glances at you, mortified at the thought of you witnessing him actually get scared at a jump scare. But you had jumped too, hands flying to his arm, fingers digging into his sleeve. It only registers in his mind after the fact that you're clinging to him, your smaller hands curled against him, just like he had imagined. Just like he had hoped.
"Sorry," you whisper, still holding him.
"It's okay," he whispers back, silently praying that you'll continue to.
You do, and he doesn't dare move a single muscle for the remainder of the film. Even as there's more blood, more screaming and horrifying faces that genuinely make him want to sprint out of that theater crying like a baby, he stays put, trembling at the thought of the nightmares he'll have for the next few days and enjoying every second of you burying your face into his shoulder, clinging to him like he's the safest thing you've ever known.
Sometime halfway through the film, your hand finds his, fingers intertwining with his, still leaning into his shoulder. In that moment, he thinks all the missed texts, all the hurt and confusion, all of it was worth it just to feel this.
"That was so good," you rave on the car ride home, smiling from the passenger's seat, "Honestly, way too many jump scares, but the cinematography... wow."
Jake's hands grip the steering wheel just a little tighter than usual, still nervous. More nervous, actually, because he's still trying to figure out what he's going to say to you when he gets back to your place. But he knows he's overthinking it; tonight had reassured him of that.
Relax, he thinks, glancing at you from the side.
"The cinematography?" Jake teases lightly, "You were hiding in my shoulder for half of it."
"Because it was scary," you swat his arm, rolling your eyes at him, "You're supposed to protect me. Not make fun of me."
"I'm just saying..."
"You're saying nothing," you shake your head, grinning, "Don't think I didn't see you flinch a few times, too."
"You got me," he winces a little, then it's his turn to grin, "But at least I didn't scream out loud at the part with the axe, unlike someone—"
"Stop, that was so embarrassing!" You groan, bringing a hand to your face. "I'm pretty sure the entire row in front of us turned around to look. I can never go back there again!"
Jake just laughs, and you're hiding your face further in the palms of your hands as you plead with him not to tease you any further.
It's nice. Easy. He only wishes the night didn't need to end. But, alas, he's pulling up just outside your place, putting the car into park, feeling a little foolish now for having slipped that condom into his pocket at all. As if tonight could have ended any other way. But he shakes the thought away. That's not what he's here for. He's just glad that he even got to hold your hand.
"Well," he starts a little shyly, "If you're too embarrassed to go back, we can do something else next time?
He looks at you. Eyes shining. Hopeful.
"Jake..." you smile, "I had a great time tonight."
His heart swells, warm and fragile, like a balloon stretched too thin.
"But..." you continue, and he feels himself start to deflate. You look down, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, "I probably can't hang out like this for a while. You know how I am. Busy with school and all my other classes."
There's a silence, the engine still humming in the background.
"I'll help you," he then says. It's too eager sounding, the words just tumbling out of him as he goes on, "Whatever it is. Whatever class. I can do it."
"Really?" You look at him wide-eyed, seeing him nod enthusiastically, "You'd do that for me?"
"I'll do anything," he continues to nod without a second thought, "It's nothing to me, if it means—"
You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, and he feels himself turn bright red, butterflies exploding in his chest. He's breathing heavy as he watches you pull away, your lips against his skin forever burned into his memory.
"You're the best, Jake."
"You don't mean that," he waves it off bashfully, smiling like an idiot now.
"No, I do," you smile right back, tilting your head to the side. "You're just the sweetest thing, you know?"
He looks at you, eyes dropping to your lips.
This is the part where he's supposed to kiss you, right?
He'd pictured it so many times in his head that he couldn't even believe it might be happening. It's too surreal. Feels too far removed from anything within the realm of possibilities, and yet here he is. With you in his car. Sitting in silence.
He's not sure how it's supposed to work. Or when the right moment is, but he feels like it has to be now.
Swallowing his nerves and his fears and everything else, he starts to lean in, his eyes about to fall shut when—
"You're a really great friend."
His stomach drops.
"You're just so easy to talk to, you know?" You continue, as if his entire world isn't crumbling around him.
He pulls back. Watching you. Confused. Hurt. It doesn't hit him all at once, dizzy and disoriented from the whiplash you've just hit him with.
"Any girl would be lucky to have—"
"Friend?" The word escapes him like a sharp, ugly hiss, tasting bitter on the tip of his tongue.
"What?"
You blink innocently—or, with what he would've convinced himself was innocence only moments ago, had you not decided to rip his heart and squash it beneath your feet like it means nothing to you. Like he means nothing.
"I did your assignments for you. I took you out, paid for everything," His voice is shaking now. He can hear it, can hear how pathetic he sounds, but he can't stop. "And you think I'm trying to be friends?"
"I don't understand—?"
"I like you. You know that I like you and you still..." Shaken, he trails off, looking back at the steering wheel. He can't look at you anymore. Actually, he thinks he'll literally die if he has to spend any longer in your presence, playing whatever game it is that you've been playing with him. "Forget about the schoolwork. I'm done with you."
"Jake—"
"Get out of my car." He manages, "Please, just leave me alone."
He's blinking away tears that threaten him, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.
You don't move, but something in you shifts. He can't quite place it, but it's like the air around you grows colder, distant. The softness drains from your face, replaced by something else entirely.
"Seriously?" You scoff, low and annoyed, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Jake's eyes snap back to you, arms folded over your chest as you scowl. Not pouting. Not looking concerned or helpless or confused like you usually do.
"You're the most annoying nerd I've ever had to deal with. You know that?" You continue, venom dripping with every word, "Every other loser folds with a bit of flirting and a couple selfies, but you? You realize how much time and energy I've spent on you? God, I'm way too deep in thermodynamics hell to find a new pathetic little thing to deal with, but you can bet your ass that as soon as this semester ends, I'm never, ever going near you again."
Jake's jaw falls slack, and you take a deep breath.
"And I'm literally so nice to you. I had you over in my house, on my bed. I pretended not to notice your boner—which you're terrible at hiding, by the way. I even went on a fucking date with you and clung to your arm for, like, an hour," you huff, exasperated, like you've just been dying to get it all off your chest. "What else could you possibly want from me?"
He doesn't react. He doesn't know how to.
"You were pretending." His voice is timid. Weak. Everything he tried so hard pretending not to be all night. "Everything you said, playing with my hair, going out with me, holding my hand..."
"You're just making it sound bad," you sigh, "You liked all those things, didn't you?"
"I liked them because I thought they were real."
"What difference does it make?" You snap.
Jake swallows the lump in his throat. He always knew he was a loser. Always knew he was a bit of a pathetic simp. But he never truly thought he could ever be this blind—this stupid.
"Your phone," he recalls the cracks, "That was fake, too?"
"A real convenient coincidence, wasn't it? I thought for sure I'd lost you. Luckily—or unluckily—the universe gave me a real excuse," you wave it off, looking at him, "So. What is it you want, hm? I have an assignment due in a few days, and the clock is ticking. Let's get this over with."
"I don't want anything from you."
"Come on. Everyone has something," you groan, "You could show me off to your other nerd friends. Is that what you want? Or are you gonna be one of those perverts who asks for my used panties or something?"
"You've traded your panties for grades?" His eyes go wide. The image is ugly and nothing like the fantasy he'd built up of you in his head. "How far have you gone for—?"
"I'm not a prostitute." You snap, "No touching."
Right. You've done this to other guys before. Not only was he tricked, but he's not even special. He's just the latest unfortunate soul in a long line of desperate idiots who line up to worship the ground you walk on.
Campus slut, Sunghoon had called you. Jake had scoffed at the time. Wanted to defend you. Convinced himself his roommates didn't know you like he knows you. This might even be worse than any of them could've ever imagined.
That's the sad part, too. He could sit here and ask for your used panties, but he didn't even want that. He never did. Sure, he'd gotten hard over things he probably shouldn't have. Had wet dreams about you that he should probably never repeat out loud. But talking to you was never about just wanting to get laid— even if he'd thought of it countless times. All he really wanted was to be wanted.
You start to get impatient with his silence.
"Look. I didn't want to be so brutally honest, but you were starting to act like I was your girlfriend, and I panicked." You take in a breath, still watching him. "But... I could've been a little nicer, so I'm sorry, okay? Does that make you feel a little better?"
He is just looking at his hands, the hands you held in the theatre. Which apparently now meant absolutely nothing.
"Alright, fine. Maybe this time I can make an exception," your voice is a little softer this time. "What about second base? Is that enough for you?"
"I already said I don't want anything."
"Jake," you start, your hand landing at his knee, thumb stroking in slow circles. "You're a virgin, right?"
"I'm—"
"Shh..." you press a finger to his lips, your other hand now sliding up his knee to his thigh, "I know you are, it's okay. You've never touched a girl, either, have you?"
He shakes his head.
"Then I'll ask again." Your hand trails high enough that it's just barely grazing the tent in his jeans, but still somehow earning a sound from him.
You look up at him through your lashes, like you've finally caught him, and take his hand. He watches, wide-eyed, as you lead his hand closer to you, hovering just above the swell of your breasts. His hand is so close he can feel the heat radiating off your skin, almost touching.
"Is second base enough for—?"
"No."
He draws his hand back, and your expression falls... and so does something else. Both of your eyes land on the condom- the one in his jacket pocket, which had decided to choose that exact moment to fall to the floor.
His face burns with humiliation. How stupidly hopeful he'd been just hours ago, stealing it from Heeseung's bedside like it was a talisman that could make him into someone you might actually want.
He scrambles to pick it up, but you beat him to it, holding it between your fingers with an amused expression. You're grinning like you're trying to hold back a laugh, and he thinks that kind of reaction might be worse than disgust.
"No?" you echo him, reaching to tuck the little foil back into his pocket for him. You give it a few pats before drawing back your hand. "Don't get too greedy, Jake. You know I won't do that."
"I wasn't—I was just—" he shakes his head, collecting himself, "I'm not gonna ask to feel your tits in exchange for homework answers. That's just weird," He says weakly, like it hurts him. Honestly, it does, a bit, because he's about to turn down the opportunity to feel you up in exchange for something far more pathetic sounding. "But..."
"But...?"
He looks at you, thinking of how pretty you look in the dim light—how romantic this would feel if the circumstances were different. It's just not fair how badly he aches for something he knows now, for certain, that he'll never have; something real. But he thinks that if, even for a moment, he could feel the same way he had in the theatre, when you'd taken his hand and held it, that maybe he could settle for just pretending that it's real. Maybe he could go home tonight and not feel entirely awful.
"Would you kiss me?"
You blink.
"Just a kiss?"
"Yeah," he can feel his ears turning red, "But you have to kiss me like you want me. Like we're actually on a date."
Your eyes flicker over him for a good few seconds, expression unreadable. Not upset, not weirded out, just... thinking.
"One kiss, and you promise to do my work for the rest of the semester?"
"One kiss to cover the debt you owe from the past three assignments," His voice is firmer now, though his hands are still shaking, "Then we can negotiate the rest."
"Seriously?"
"You need my help more than I need your stupid kiss," he shrugs, eyes flickering to your lips. "You asked for my price. This is the cost of my labour. Take it or leave it."
"Fine." You inhale, "One kiss—"
"With tongue."
"...With tongue," you deadpan.
You sigh, reaching up to take his glasses off. Your fingers brush his temples, gentle despite everything, and you fold the glasses carefully, setting them in the cupholder.
In this light, he looks different. Not that anything about him has changed. Rather, you're acknowledging things about him that you hadn't thought too much of before. Unlike a lot of other nerds you've led on, Jake actually showers. His skin is clear, and his smile is bright. You suppose he's also a lot kinder than the rest, too, if that counts for anything. And now that you're looking at him up close, without his glasses, you're thinking that maybe he's actually kind of cute.
Still. That's not enough to make your heart race, or something. He's pathetic enough to ask for a kiss in exchange for doing your work. That says all you need to know about him.
You lean forward and press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. Slow, tentative, expecting a nervous response from him, so you're a little bit taken aback by the way he returns the kiss so eagerly. He's needy, not exactly rough, but too worked up to be gentle, and his hand comes up to your jaw a little too fast, fingers pressing in just enough to keep you there, like he's afraid you'll tear away all too soon.
He's messy with it. All tongue and desperate whimpers, not trying to hide how badly he clearly wants you— like he's been thinking about this for weeks and doesn't give a shit about hiding it anymore. It's not the most coordinated of kisses, but it certainly makes you feel something.
You start to forget that you're supposed to be pretending to enjoy it— not actually enjoying it. So much that you don't notice right away how his hands reach for your waist.
"Closer?" He practically whines against your mouth, "Please, can you...?"
You're sighing as you concede, not fully understanding why you choose to. You tell yourself it's to make him content enough so that he won't complain later when you ask for help again, but you're sliding into his lap so easily, dress riding up, suppressing your own noises as his hands roam your body so freely. It's only when you feel his hand slide up, feeling your chest, that you're coming to your senses.
You break the kiss, panting, hands on his shoulders to push yourself away. He lets you, but not without a string of saliva connecting your mouths. He's breathing heavily, lips swollen, and eyes wide with an emotion you can't quite read.
"The deal was a kiss," you say, trying to sound firm, but your voice comes across shakier than intended.
He just stares at you, chest heaving, like he's trying to process what just happened. His gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, then down to where your dress has bunched up around your thighs.
"I know," he says, his voice rough. "I know. I just... got carried away."
You can feel the heat radiating from him, the solid evidence of his desire pressing right up against you. This is dangerous territory. You've always been in control of these situations, leading guys on, getting what you need, and walking away unscathed. But something about Jake's desperation, the raw, unfiltered need in his eyes, has you losing your grip.
"Please, just..." his eyes drop to your heaving chest, "Can I see them? Or like touch them?"
He's like a helpless puppy begging for a scrap of affection. And it's pathetic, really. But also... kind of hot in a weird, sort of sad way. You're not sure what that says about you, but you're there, in his lap already and against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding regardless.
You bite your lip, watching him swallow hard as you slowly pull down the strap of your sundress. You can see the hope in his eyes, the way he's practically holding his breath as the fabric starts to fall, revealing the lace of your bra. Under his gaze, fixed and intense, he reaches behind you, fumbling with the clasp until your bra falls away, and you're bare to him.
He makes a sound, a strangled, restrained sounding gasp that's part surprise, part pure, unadulterated lust. His hands are on you in an instant, not rough, but with a curiosity that sends a shiver down your spine. His thumbs brush over your nipples, and you can't help the small sigh that escapes your lips.
"You're beautiful," he breathes.
Oh. Your face heats up, and the throb between your legs suddenly becomes a bit harder to ignore.
You should stop this. You know you should. You've given him what he asked for already with this deal.
His mouth is on your chest. Sucking. And he can't control the way his hips buck up into yours, muttering sweet whispers into your skin. You allow yourself, if only for once, to enjoy it—not daring to allow any of the sounds you desperately wish to make escape you, but closing your eyes and just letting him do his thing. You couldn't even begin to remember the last time you've been touched like this, with this kind of earnestness.
All too soon, his hips stutter, and he's whimpering into your skin. His hands are at your hips, gripping you in place, moving them against his own, almost subconsciously, and you can't even form a single word as you watch him grind up against you, chasing the craps of friction you've offered him until he's coming apart. A string of choked noises leaves him as he rides out his orgasm, and you stare, unblinking, in... shock? Horror? Awe, maybe?
You stare at his pretty, big brown eyes, and his perfectly kissable lips, and the gorgeous expression on his face as he unravels beneath you until he goes still. Breathing. Forehead against your bare chest as he collects himself.
Then, you blink.
"Did you just...?"
He doesn't answer, but he nods against you, and your blood runs cold.
Suddenly, you remember where you are, who you're with, and why you're here. Suddenly, you remember you're right outside your place, in a university student-ridden neighbourhood, on a Friday night. Suddenly, you're just humiliated as he is—if not more—and sick to your stomach at the realization of just how fucking badly you want him right now.
You push him away, not too hard, but enough to make a point. He looks up at you, dazed, his lips slick and swollen.
"Did you actually just cum in your pants right now?"
"Sorry," he stammers, though he does seem like he means it, even if his eyes are glued to your tits now. "Sorry, just—"
"Yeah. You should be sorry. Because what the hell?” You shake your head, all too defensively. "That wasn't a part of the deal, you freak!"
He watches you fumble with your bra strap, watches you smooth down your dress, watches you avoid his eyes. Your movements are sharp, defensive, like you're trying to erase the last five minutes from existence.
For a moment, he had you. Now, all he was left with was the shame of the aftermath; you, looking at him with disgust. Him, humiliated. His pants, ruined, sticky and uncomfortable.
"I can't believe I let a loser like you touch me," you continue, muttering more to yourself in disbelief than anything else, "That was so... just... ew!"
Your words are like a slap in the face, only instead of knocking him down, they make him snap back to reality, like he'd suddenly just decided to ask himself the question he should've been asking all along: what the actual fuck is he doing?
He can't make you like him. He can't even make you respect him. Clearly, you can't even pretend to either, even with your grades on the line.
He feels different, like something about jizzing in his pants reset his brain and brought him back to normal again. Maybe that's just the post-nut clarity talking, but regardless, he's seeing you now. Not that fake fantasy version of you in his head, but you.
You need him. You need him far more than he needs you. Without him, you fail thermodynamics—you'll sit there, in your room all alone, staring at a textbook you don't understand, praying for a miracle.
He's not the pathetic one. You, the one adjusting your dress in the dark, acting all high and mighty, pretending like you don't trade your dignity for easy A's, are the pathetic one.
The hurt isn't close to dissipating, still heavy and aching within him. The slight flutter in his heart that he feels in your presence isn't gone either. But something else lies beneath it all, something that feels a lot like freedom.
"Get out."
"Just give me a sec—"
"Get out," he snaps, flashing a glare at you while you're in the middle of fixing your hair in the side mirror. "Transaction's over. You can leave."
"Okay, jeez!" You scoff.
You get out of the car, slamming the door shut behind you, and he drives away from you faster than he's ever driven away from anything in his life.
"Well, well, well. Look who's back."
Jake doesn't say anything upon his return, hanging his keys and kicking off his shoes. Of course, all three of his roommates are still awake, sitting on that damn couch, waiting for the resident punching bag to return so they can have a good laugh before crawling to bed.
"So," Sunghoon says, a smirk on his face. "How was the big 'study date'?"
He doesn't react. Not really. He just stands there in the doorway, tired expression taking in each of theirs. The silence is abnormally long, and he notices how Sunghoon shifts in discomfort, how Jay sits up straight, how Heeseung's smile fades to concern.
"She asked me to do her homework again," he says, his voice flat, "Asked me to help with the rest of the semester too."
To his surprise, there's no 'I told you so'. For once, there's no laughing or mocking. Just silence.
Jake doesn't want to admit how much that means to him.
"So it was her." Jay says in a low voice, finally.
"The she-devil strikes again," Heeseung lightly jokes, but his tone remains sympathetic. "She really doesn't beat around the bush, does she?"
"You told her no, right?" Sunghoon blurts before Jake can respond, "Right?"
"I said yes."
The three of them sigh almost in unison. Jay has his face in his hands, and Heeseung shakes his head like a disappointed father, and Sunghoon just glares like he can't actually believe what he's hearing.
"Then I got to feel her up."
The chorus of disappointment stops, and they watch as a grin spreads across Jake's face. Not the dopey sort of puppy-love grin he used to wear when he thought of you. It's broken, revealing the hint of something cruel beneath it.
"She said I could touch her if I send her the answers, so I did, but..." He pauses, laughing to himself under his breath, "I'm not gonna send her shit."
The room goes quiet.
Heeseung is the first to move. He stands up slowly, like he's processing. He crosses the room, footsteps heavy on the hardwood, and stops in front of Jake.
For a second, he just looks at him. Then he places a hand on Jake's shoulder. Squeezes. Then grins wide.
"That's my boy."
Sunghoon recovers first. He grins, getting up to clap him on the back, and holds up a hand for a high-five. "Respect, man. Actual respect."
Jake leaves him hanging.
"No fucking way," Jay is also beaming like a proud father, "No way you actually did?"
"I did. And I'm not doing shit for her anymore," Jake says with a timid sort of smugness, "I'm done. I saw her tits, and I'm out. I'm serious this time."
"You guys hear that?" Heeseung shakes him, "Our little Jakey's all grown up."
"I'm not little."
"Your dick is little."
"Shut up, Sunghoon."
"He's just jealous," Jay rolls his eyes, moving to pick up his gaming controller. "He's never even seen tits in real life."
"I've seen plenty of tits!"
Sunghoon moves to try and wrestle Jay on the couch, their bickering falling on deaf ears as Heeseung returns his attention to Jake. He lowers his voice just a bit this time, his gaze softening.
"For real though. You're good? Like... actually good?"
Jake thinks about it. The drive home. The way his heart sank when you called him a friend. The way your voice sounded when you called him a loser.
Then, he offers his friend a smile.
"I'm good."
Heeseung smiles back before gesturing for him to join them for the next game, and Jake then seats himself on the couch. Laughing. Enjoying the rest of his night. Trying to ease the sting of your words.
He's not good. Not right now. But he'll feel better soon.
It's only a matter of time before you come crawling back.
The assignment deadline looms, a ticking clock in the back of your mind. It follows you everywhere—to class, to the dining hall, to bed at night when you should be sleeping.
Jake still hasn’t texted you the answers, even though you let him cross way too many boundaries just to secure it. You’re stewing in your own frustration. Never in all the times you’ve traded your attention for the academic labour of sad, lonely boys had you come across someone who asked for so much.
You kissed him. You let him grope your chest. You even made him cum in his pants. How on earth was that not enough to make him happy?
But. You kinda broke his poor little heart, didn’t you?
You sigh, and you realize, sitting alone in your bedroom with your textbook open to a page you've been staring at for at least forty-five minutes now, that maybe you were harsh.
You called him a loser. You called him gross for finishing in his pants—something you'd never seen happen before, something you should feel disgusted by, and yet something that you can't stop thinking about.
The thought should make you roll your eyes. It should make you shrug and reach for your phone to find the next desperate nerd willing to do your work. That's what you always do. That's what you've always done.
But Jake is different.
Unlike the other creatures you've put up with in the past—the ones who ask for nudes or used panties or god forbid feet pics—Jake was so stupidly, sickeningly sweet.
He blushed when you touched his arm. He held your hand like it was something precious. He asked you for a kiss when you offered him more. He called you beautiful.
You shift in your seat, pushing the memory away.
What an idiot.
There’s an inexplicable heaviness that sits in your chest that you’re still trying to decode. It's not guilt. You don't do guilt. Guilt is for people who care about things like morals and consequences and other people's feelings. But there's something else there that feels a lot like guilt if you squint.
You didn't need to cuss him off. Or belittle him. Or call him a gross loser for coming in his pants—the look on his face after, now forever burned into your mind. Not angry, not defensive, just hurt. Like you'd confirmed something he already believed about himself.
And underneath that disgustingly new achy feeling that you refused to name, there was a desire far worse:
You want him to text back.
You want him to want to text you back.
You want him to want you.
The thought is so foreign, so uncomfortable, that you shove it away immediately. You don't need his admiration. You don't need anyone's admiration. You're fine on your own.
Then, you look down at your textbook and sigh.
The assignment is due tonight. You haven't started. And Jake still hasn't texted back.
So you do what any normal person would do.
You find where he lives.
Not in a creepy way. You just... have connections. Your roommate happens to have a friend who has a friend who knows a girl who went out with his roommate once. Sure, you had to do a little digging, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right?
You make sure to arrive dolled up, pretty as ever, hoping that when he opens that door, he'll fall to his knees and bark for you like the good mutt you know he can be. And when he answers it, he's definitely looking, but not with the same kind of desperation as before. Rather, he looks at you like he has the right to.
His eyes are entitled to wander every inch of your body freely without complaint. And to be fair, you realize that in order to get his help again, you might just have to let him. So you let him. You even give him a little smile.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone flat. He doesn't invite you in, only opening the door enough to block it with his frame. He glances a moment, back inside, distracted for a second until he turns back. "Wait, how did you even find where I live—?"
"The assignment is due," you state, plainly, "I'm collecting my end of the deal."
"Are you, now?" He scoffs, "Pretty sure that deal was broken when you started calling me a gross loser to my face."
Your eyes narrow at him, realizing he’d actually grown a semblance of a spine. How inconvenient.
"Come on, Jake, you got to take my bra off and hump me. That's way more than you bargained for."
"It's not," he says firmly, and before you can even protest that, or demand what it means, he continues, "And I'm not making deals with you anymore."
"Jake," you plead, "I'm going to fail."
"Good."
He tries to close the door on you, but you hold your arm out to keep it open.
"No. Not good," you snap, "Stop being a dick and just tell me what you want!"
"What I want, huh? Well, it's gonna take a lot more than some used panties or a pair of tits, I can tell you that much," He mocks you, a grin you've never seen him wear before spreading across his face, "What exactly are you willing to-"
You grab him by the collar of his shirt, dragging his face down to meet yours at eye level. Those big brown eyes of his blink at you, and that's how you know. You know he's still in there. The Jake who looks at you like you're the sun, and he's the planet perpetually stuck in your orbit. Not the new “Jake” who ignores your texts and acts like he doesn't want your attention.
"Anything," you seethe, sounding a little more desperate than you would hope to, but that is what you are. You still need his help. You still need to know that he wants you. "I'll do anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
He blinks, his twisted smile returning in an instant.
"You want a blowjob or something, you perv?" You roll your eyes at his expression, "You'll finish in five seconds, but I'll be nice and offer a round two if you send me the answers first."
You let go of his shirt, and he stumbles back as he begins to laugh, foot kicking the door. Distant laughter joins him, and the door opens just enough to reveal his three roommates sitting there on the couch, looking real amused by the scene that just played out.
"Shit, you hear that, Jake?" Heeseung calls out, "Buy one, get one free. That's a steal."
"Didn't know blowjobs were on sale this season," Jay snorts, "What's next, handjobs for half off?"
"Is swallowing included, or is that a part of the premium package?" Sunghoon grins, eyes meeting your murderous glare, "What? I'm just trying to understand the business model."
You feel your face flush with humiliation, and Jake just watches.
"Jake," you step closer, voice just above a whisper, a quiet plea, "You want something. Everyone does. Don't act like-"
He grabs you by the wrist, pulling you inside. And you both ignore the shock and teasing that escapes his roommates as he practically pushes you inside his room, firmly shutting the door behind him.
It's a small, cluttered space, but it's clean. A desk with his gaming PC, his twin bed in the corner with a rumpled comforter, and some nerdy-looking posters on the wall. It's exactly what you expected.
You open your mouth to speak again, but he cuts you off.
"I don't want a blowjob." The words cut you off, flat and final. He's already pulling out his phone, thumb swiping across the screen. He doesn't look at you. "I want something else."
He opens his roommates' group chat. Scrolls. Taps. Then, he's holding up his screen for you. A video loads, sent only a few minutes ago—blurry, shot from inside the apartment, the frame slightly obstructed by what you think is a couch pillow or someone's pocket. Though your voice is unmistakable.
"I'll do anything."
"Anything?" Jake can be heard too, but his voice is a little lower, and with his back turned to the camera, he's not easily identifiable. It could be any dark-haired guy at your school.
"You want a blowjob or something, you perv? You'll finish in five seconds, but I'll be nice and offer a round two if you send me the answers first."
Your face is clearly revealed in the final frame just as the door cracks open, and just before the camera falls into the couch cushions. The video then cuts off.
You blink at what you'd just been shown, your stomach dropping, then you blink at the man before you.
"What I want is for you to promise you'll never do this to anyone ever again." His voice is steady. He locks the screen and tucks the phone into his back pocket. "Otherwise, this is getting sent straight to the university's confessions page."
You twitch, and your fingers curl at your sides.
"Jake." You let the old sweetness drip back into your voice—the one that used to make him blush, the one that used to work. "Are you really trying to blackmail me?"
"I'm not trying to." He holds your gaze. "I am."
You gape.
"My roommates want to leak it right away." He shrugs, moving away to lean back against his desk, arms crossed. "But I thought you at least deserved a chance to redeem yourself."
He lets the words hang. Lets you imagine the comments. The screenshots. The whispers in the hallway.
"You know what this would mean for you." His voice is quiet. Matter-of-fact. "Social suicide. No one will talk to you. No one will want to associate with you. You'll be..." He pauses, tilting his head. "Ah, what do you call it again? Right. A loser."
The word lands like a slap.
"Aw, don't look so down," he coos, "You'll always have me, right?"
You scoff, narrowing your gaze.
"You can't do this to me."
"Oh, please." He pushes off the desk and takes a step toward you. "You started this. It isn't even a big ask. Just stop flaunting yourself around and open your textbook for once."
You glare at him.
It isn't a big ask. But it's not about what he's asking you to do. It's the fact that he's holding this over your head, thinking he has the right to control you, acting like he's above your little con—all for what, revenge? Vengeance?
Boys are usually easy. You're not sure how you got stuck making deals with the most difficult of them all. But a boy is still a boy. And Jake is still Jake. And currently Jake is, you notice as your eyes drop, obviously hard in his pants.
His sweatpants do nothing to hide it. You watch his eyes drag over you—your lips, your chest, the curve of your waist—against his better judgment. He swallows, and you smile to yourself. He's still in there.
"It kills you, doesn't it?" You step closer, voice like silk. "Having a girl in your bedroom for the first time. Offering to let you do anything you want with her. And turning it down just to pretend like you're a hero."
His jaw tightens.
"Are you hoping to be applauded?" You tilt your head. "For saving all those poor innocent guys from the terrible fate of a pretty girl flirting with them?"
"It's more than that."
"Jake." You laugh, "All the other losers on campus aren't going to thank you. The only thing you'll get out of this is a pat on the back from your little friends. But if you make a deal with me..."
You reach out, trailing a finger down his chest, then let your palm slide over it instead. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your touch, his chest heaving as you look up at him through his lashes.
"I can make it more than worth your while."
You drop to your knees, ignoring how they dig into the cold, hard floor. The look on his face is priceless, seeing him slowly unravel in your grasp.
"You're upset, aren't you?" Your hand trails up and down his thigh, and your eyes shift back and forth from him to the desire in his pants, "I've been feeling down, too. I miss the little thing we had going on. It was easy, don't you think? You and me. Helping each other out."
"I helped you." His voice is strained. "And then you hurt me."
"I was so mean to you last time, wasn't I?" Your hand rests above cock this time, and he winces at the feeling of your palm engulfing him, even if through the barrier of fabric. You lean forward enough to nuzzle him, lips brushing over his crotch, "I'm sorry... But I can make up for it."
You tease him—slow, deliberate, mouth half parted over him.
"Just forget about the video." You purr, finally pressing your palm against him—just enough pressure to make him gasp. A strangled whine escapes his throat. "And just send me the assignment, Jake. I'll let you have your way with me. I'll scream loud enough to make your roommates wish they were you. You just have to click send."
You look up, and you know that look. It's the same one that folded for you when you brushed his shoulder at your house, ultimately convincing him to do your work. It's the same one he had in the car when you offered him second base. It's the look of someone who wants something so bad that they can't possibly deny themselves any longer.
"You said anything?"
"Anything."
He looks at you, pained. Helpless. Brows furrowed together, then he nods.
Your eyes glimmer.
He pulls out his phone. His thumb moves across the screen, and you wait somewhat impatiently. It feels like it takes longer than it should, you think, before your phone buzzes in your back pocket.
You immediately move to open it, ignoring the other notifications.
Jake: [sent Assignment_3.pdf]
He reaches out immediately, his fingers tangle in your hair. It's not gentle. It's a warning. Your phone tumbles from your grasp, landing with an ungraceful thud to the floor.
"You better act like you enjoy it."
You don't flinch; instead, you lock eyes with him, letting a sly smile curve your lips before your fingers hook around the waistband of his pants. His length springs free from its confines, baring him to you for the first time, and admittedly, you stare.
"That's a nice surprise," you coo, sounding genuinely impressed, rather than the act you had planned on, as you wrap your hand around his cock, thumb collecting the precum at his tip and spreading it down the length of him. You look up, seeing how he watches in complete adoration and awe, biting down his lip. He's barely holding himself together already, and you're already grinning at the thought. "You're big. You've really been keeping this thing hidden away?"
Your lips part around the head of his cock. Your tongue darts out , lapping up every drop of precum you can taste—salty, warm, proof that you've already got him. He whines, fingers curling tighter in your scalp.
"Ah- fuck," You hear him hiss. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"
You moan around him, low and appreciative, the vibration buzzing straight through his shaft as you take him deeper, inch by inch, your mouth stretching to accommodate his thickness, taking him like your damn life depends on it- and well, your social life now does depend on it. Your tongue presses flat against the underside to trace every ridge and vein, and you can't look away from him. You're just beaming, knowing that he's struggling so hard not to lose himself this soon, when you've only just started.
His thighs tremble, muscles jumping under your hands as you grip them for leverage, nails digging in just enough to heighten the sensation. A whine slips from him, high and needy, when you take him down your throat, relaxing to let him nudge the back. You gag softly on purpose, eyes watering but never breaking contact.
"Fuck... you're really working for it, huh?" he stammers, almost in disbelief, "Maybe if you'd done this at the start, I would've done your work- shit."
His hips are stuttering into your mouth, throwing you off, and his words are laced with a mix of mockery and raw hunger, even as his body betrays him with those trembling jerks. You keep taking him anyway.
"B-but you chose to lead me on. Let me hope," He grabs your hair this time, pulling you closer despite the whines escaping him, "You're such a bitch."
Strangely, his words send a sharp pain through you, and his sounds, which grow more desperate as you work your mouth on him, start to sound less like a whimper and more like a cry, like a wounded animal. You knew you had hurt him. You just never placed yourself in a position where you had to confront that reality. But here, on your knees for him, you were forced to.
He finishes with no warning, unravelling completely in your devoted mouth, and you swallow every last drop, up until the moment he's dragging your head off of him and staring down at you. He's starry-eyed, a little distant-looking, laced with a foreign sort of desire that you don’t quite understand.
"Jake—?"
You're not sure how it happens, but you're being pushed to the bed, lips clashing into yours, tugging your clothes off your body until you're bare. You only pull him closer, removing his shirt too, and he kicks his pants to the side. He wastes no time dipping his head between your thighs, marvelling first at just how wet you were for him, then letting a shaky finger drag through the folds.
"Wanna taste you." The words escape him almost involuntarily, before he's diving right in, lapping at your folds with an eagerness that makes you gasp.
There's no teasing. His tongue laps at your folds, sloppy and unsure. There's no technique, just raw, desperate need, and yet somehow, it has you gasping for air like you've forgotten how to breathe. Your hips jerk involuntarily as he grabs you, pressing his face further into you.
You shouldn't love this nearly as much as you do. You shouldn't be showing him your cries of pleasure- you should be having to fake them. But your body betrays you. You want this. You want him so fucking badly.
Jake doesn't stop to think or second-guess; he just devours you with single-minded focus, eyes shining in wonder every time they flicker up to note your reaction, and you're losing yourself. Your fingers twist into his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, and yet it only makes him moan against your skin, adding fuel to his burning desire. Clumsy or not, it's too much, too intense, and your back arches off the bed, legs threatening to thrash around, though he keeps your thighs steady.
"Jake—ah, Jake!" The name rips from your throat, not only loud enough for everyone in the house to hear, but you'd be surprised if the neighbours didn't hear it, too. Your breaths come in sharp, uneven pants, body coiling tight.
"Come for me," he mutters into you, and you swear you feel his stupid grin between your legs. "Come for the disgusting loser you hate."
You come with a cry, trembling all over, soaking his chin as your thighs clamp around his head. But he doesn't stop. His hands lock onto your thighs, fingers digging in to hold them wide, keeping you pinned as his tongue keeps working—lapping up your release, circling your oversensitive clit with that same relentless hunger.
"Jake—ah—Too much," You sob it out, voice breaking into higher pitches, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
He just keeps going, humming against you, coaxing his name from your mouth until you're a whimpering mess.
When he finally pulls away, crawls back up to cup your face, staring at you.
"You let me do that," he breathes, "And you liked it."
It's not a question. It's a fact. He knows it. You know it. You both know it. If screaming his name like that wasn't proof of it, the stickiness between your legs and all over his chin certainly served as evidence enough.
You can fake flirt with him. You can fake a pitiful, sorry-eyed gaze that makes him weak in the knees. But you can't fake the way your body reacts from his touch. That, alone, seems to make him malfunction all over again, his face flushed, and his eyes dropping to your lips again.
And though you only just finished coming down from your high, you're pulling him down to kiss you, hungry and wet and needy and... slow. He kisses you slow this time, breathing you in, letting his mouth learn the shape of yours. You feel the length of him against your thigh, hard again, and against all common sense, you let yourself say the one thing you never thought you'd be saying to him, of all people, so easily.
"Fuck me."
He pulls away, but he blinks from the fog in his glasses. Quickly, he removes them, fumbling around as he scrambles to hover back over you. His arms brace himself on either side of the bed, and you look up. You could take back your words. But you don't. You don't want to.
"...What?"
"Fuck me," you repeat, a little slower this time like you're spelling it out for him, "I want you to fuck me, Jake."
He looks at you, and for a moment, you see a flicker of hesitation, a flicker of the Jake you'd known that first week of class, the one who was so desperate for your affection.
"Okay," he nods, a little dazed, "Okay, lemme just..."
His hand fumbles around at his bedside, half-blindly for the little foil he'd had yet to use, but you beat him to it. You tear it open, rolling it down his cock yourself. And, a little clumsily, he positions himself, though he turns to you uncertain, his eyes meeting yours.
"You know, when I said 'you better act like you enjoy it' I didn't mean like you have to. I was just kinda saying stuff," his voice is soft, sounding almost conflicted. His hands are at your waist, thumbs moving in slow circles, and though he's achingly hard against you, he hesitates, "So if you don't want this—"
"I want this," you affirm him, and you sort of raise your brow, "Do you want this?"
He smiles, then practically scoffs in disbelief at your question.
"Do I?" He laughs, a slight shakiness to it, "I've dreamed of this."
He presses his hips forward, and you both gasp at the sudden intrusion. He's big, but it's more than you expected, and the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, is overwhelming. A whine escapes him as he pushes just a little further, until he's buried all the way in. Then, he takes a moment to steady his breathing, like he's trying not to cum on the spot.
"F-fuck, I thought about this every day for weeks." The confession is ripped out of him, hands digging just a little harder into your waist at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, "You're so tight, holy shit."
He starts to move, slow, like if he dared to move any faster, it might end all too soon, though you're thankful he does, considering you feel every movement all the way in your guts. You're a mess yourself, hands digging into his shoulders for support.
"Thought about your face," he keeps going, his mouth running like he doesn't know how to stop it. His hand moves to your jaw, taking in your glossy-eyed gaze and parted lips. "Thought about you saying my name-"
"Jake," you involuntarily squeak, his hips starting to pick up the pace just a bit.
"Just like that," he half-laughs, half-moans, looking down at your chest. He brings his hand to it, "Thought about these. Thought about all the pretty noises you'd make."
You're arching your back, meeting his thrusts, your nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on. He leans down, capturing one nipple between his lips, sucking hard while his tongue flicks over the sensitive peak. His free hand slides down your side, gripping your hip to angle you better, driving deeper into your slick heat. You can feel every inch of him dragging against your inner walls, the friction building that delicious pressure low in your belly.
"You like this, don't you?" He breathes. Though he's bringing a hand to your face, forcing you to look at him, "You like being fucked by the nerd you used."
You can't answer, can't form a coherent thought. All you can do is feel, feel the way he's filling you, the way he's making you feel alive in a way you haven't in a long, long time. You nod mindlessly, uncaring.
One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your neck. He presses open-mouthed kisses there, sucking into your skin like he wants to claim every part of you.
"If I'm such a gross loser, what does that make you?" His breath is at your neck, then at your ear. "Campus slut, right? That's what they'll call you."
You cry out his name, a raw, desperate sound, as his cock presses right against the right spot inside you, and he's already following you over the edge. You clench around him, nails digging into his shoulders as he fucks you through your climax, riding out his own release you until you've both gone still.
He collapses on top of you, his body heavy and warm, his face buried in the crook of your neck. For a moment, you just lie there, tangled together, the smell of sweat and sex thick in the air. It's dizzying, trapping you in a post-climactic haze, so much that you cannot suppress the way your chest swells as he nuzzles into you. You look down at his peaceful form and instinctively, your hand reaches for his head, brushing through the mop of hair on his head. The gesture draws a groan from his throat, making you smile.
"You like it when I do that, right?" You ask softly.
He hums approval into you, arms wrapped tighter around you, all sweetly like he hadn't just fucked your brains out moments ago. It's nice. It's easy.
His breathing evens out, and for a second, you think he might have fallen asleep. So you just stroke his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands. You’ve always thought his hair is soft. The kind of soft that makes you want to bury your face in it and never come up for air.
"Jake?" You whisper.
"Mm?"
Your words get caught in your throat for a moment, your heart beating faster than you're used to. It makes you want to laugh at yourself.
"I liked holding your hand in the movie theatre," you finally say, with an unintended shakiness to your voice that makes your cheeks grow warmer, "and I liked kissing you in the car after."
He tilts his head at you, smiling. Wordless. Unreadable. You're not sure why it makes you nervous. You're not really sure what kind of response you had been hoping for, either.
"Just... thought I should let you know."
You scratch a particular spot close to his ear, and he lets out another happy grunt.
Your phone pings the floor, discarded somewhere along with your clothes, but you ignore it, deciding Jake's arms are too warm, and his bed is too comfy. But then it pings another time. Then another. Then his head turns to you.
"Not gonna check that?"
"Should I?" you raise a brow, and he shrugs.
You sigh, begrudgingly pushing yourself from the bed. It's probably your roommates texting about someone's dirty dishes, or your friends blowing up the group chat. But when you dig your phone up, you're blinking at the notifications.
Crawling back into the bed, you swipe through them as they filter in. Tags, messages, reactions, and your stomach drops at the one that stands out most—a mention in the university confessions page.
It's the video. From outside his door. Your voice, your face, your words: "You want a blowjob or something, you perv? "
There are already hundreds of comments, the video having been posted sometime an hour ago.
He sent it an hour ago.
You scroll in a panicked haze, skin crawling where his arms move to hold you again.
Laughing emojis. Jokes about your "business model." People you've never met are calling you a dumb whore, a desperate bitch. Campus slut. People you have met are calling you that, too. Your 'friends' have already unfollowed you, posting gossip to their stories, reposting memes.
Your social life is over. You could say goodbye to parties, to the circle of popularity you'd clawed your way into, to the image of perfection you'd upheld for years.
Pathetic. That's what you were, and that's all you'd ever be known for on campus from now until graduation, maybe even after.
The phone trembles in your grasp as you turn to him. You don't have the strength to ask how or when or why, though you suppose you already know why.
"Don't worry. I'll still help you with school," his voice is steady as he reaches over, taking his glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. "But that was my price."
Summary: Two years into your meticulously structured marriage, an unexpected pregnancy introduces the ultimate unpredictable variable into the quiet sanctuary you share with Jake. As you both navigate the overwhelming sensory challenges of impending parenthood, Jake must step outside his comfort zone to prove he can be the unshakable wall your growing family needs.
Warnings: Autism Spectrum Representation (Level 1/high support needs), Sensory Overload & Meltdowns, Pregnancy & Morning Sickness (Emesis), Childbirth/Medical Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Mild Angst. Very Mild Smut, unprotected sex (due to sensory aversions), sensory-focused intimacy, overstimulation, pregnancy themes.
A/N: after so many requests it’s finally here!!! Thanks to all the readers that gave me ideas to incorporate in here , love yaaa. And truly thank you for all the love for finding where we fit!!🥹Anyways Like always Please Like, Reblog and Comment! They are very appreciated.
[Masterlist]
The morning sun filtered softly through the edges of the drawn blackout curtains, casting a hazy, warm glow across the bedroom. You lay perfectly still beneath the familiar, heavy comfort of the fifteen-pound grey weighted blanket, anchored to the mattress by your husband.
Jake slept exactly as he had since the very first time you spent the night: like a clinging octopus. His broad chest was pressed flush against your back, his heavy arm slung securely over your waist, and his long legs were tangled inextricably with yours. His breathing was a slow, steady rhythm against your spine.
You carefully brought your left hand up to the edge of the blanket, watching the morning light catch the simple band of polished titanium and lapis lazuli on your ring finger. It had been two years since the quiet, intimately controlled wedding in your backyard. Two years of being Jake Sim's permanent variable.
And exactly one hour since you had locked yourself in the master bathroom, stared at a plastic stick, and watched two pink lines bloom into existence.
"Your heart is beating really fast," a deep, sleep-rough voice rumbled against the nape of your neck.
You jumped slightly, your breath catching. You turned your head to see Jake's face pressed into your pillow, a mess of dark, fluffy curls sticking up in every direction. He blinked his large, dark brown eyes slowly. The sleep-heavy softness of his face completely stripped away the hyper-vigilant tension he carried outside these walls.
"Did you have a bad dream?" he murmured, his voice laced with genuine concern. He pulled you a fraction closer, his large hand flattening against your stomach to offer the deep pressure he knew grounded you both. "The room is quiet, Y/N. Everything's safe."
"No bad dreams, Jakey," you promised, shifting your weight to turn and face him, managing a shaky but genuine smile. "I'm just... thinking about how happy I am."
Jake smiled, a soft, sleepy curve of his lips that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He reached up, his long fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw. "I like that," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "I'm happy too. The temperature is right at 68, the blanket feels good, and you're here. It's a perfect morning."
It was a perfect morning, but beneath your ribs, your heart was doing a frantic, terrified flutter.
You were exactly one month pregnant.
You knew without a doubt when it had happened. A month ago, after a quiet, beautiful dinner at home to celebrate your second anniversary, the math of your cycle tracking had apparently failed.
Physical intimacy with Jake had always required an immense level of trust and sensory management. Early in your marriage, you had tried utilizing standard protections. But the introduction of a condom had triggered an immediate, devastating sensory failure for him. You still remembered how his body had gone rigid beneath you. The latex had felt like a suffocating barrier, a synthetic, rubbery texture that created a "secondary friction" completely overwhelming his delicate receptors. He had lost the physical sensation almost immediately, the "noise" of the unnatural texture drowning out the intimacy. He had pulled away midway through, his hands trembling as he stripped it off, his breathing hitched in a sudden wave of panic and overstimulation.
He had been so devastated, so terrified that his neurology was "broken" and ruining the experience for you. You had immediately stopped, wrapped him in his weighted blanket, and held him until the static faded. You promised him right then and there that you would never force a variable that hurt him.
So, you became the gatekeeper. You rigorously researched cycle tracking, charting your basal body temperature and monitoring your fertility windows. It was a highly logical, data-driven system that Jake appreciated immensely. On the safe days, you allowed him the barrier-free, skin-to-skin contact that his sensory processor so desperately craved—the only time his mind was truly, beautifully silent.
But biology, it seemed, didn't care about your data.
"Are you ready to get up?" Jake asked, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. He bumped his nose affectionately against yours. "It's Tuesday. Grilled cheese day."
"I'm ready," you whispered, leaning in to press a firm, grounding kiss to his lips.
Thirty minutes later, you were fully dressed in your work clothes—comfortable slacks and, as always, your quiet, rubber-soled Converse sneakers.
The life you had built together over the last two years was a masterpiece of careful adjustments. The transition into marriage had been blissful, but it hadn't been without its growing pains.
The biggest hurdle had come exactly three months after the wedding. That was when Sarah, holding back tears of both pride and sorrow, had officially packed up the rest of her belongings and moved to the bright, sunny condo she had purchased 4.2 miles away. She knew that for you and Jake to truly build a life as husband and wife, you needed the beige house to yourselves.
Jake had understood the logic. He had agreed to the timeline. But the reality of the shift had absolutely devastated him.
For the first two weeks after Sarah left, Jake had experienced a profound system crash. The ambient noise of the house was wrong without her footsteps. The smell of her specific brand of herbal tea was missing from the kitchen. The sudden absence of the woman who had spent twenty-four years shielding him from the world was a massive, gaping void.
He hadn't touched his LEGOs for fourteen days. He had retreated to the bedroom, living under the weighted blanket, the blackout curtains drawn, trapped in a spiral of dysregulation and grief. He didn't speak much. He just rocked, overwhelmed by the missing variable.
You hadn't pushed him. You hadn't tried to force him to be "okay." You had simply climbed under the blanket with him. You provided the deep pressure, the quiet reassurance, and the absolute certainty that while the variables had changed, the sanctuary remained intact. You took over the routines, proving to him day by day that you could keep the world at bay just as well as his mother had. And slowly, the static had cleared. Sarah started coming over for Tuesday dinners, and a new, stable routine had blossomed.
Now, the house operated like a well-oiled machine, supporting both of your new lives.
You had officially left the agency shortly before the wedding. Now, you worked full-time as the program coordinator at a local community center, specializing in designing sensory-friendly recreational programs for neurodivergent teens. It was fulfilling work that utilized your social work degree without the draining bureaucracy of your old job.
And Jake wasn't just sitting idle, either. With your encouragement, he had turned his hyper-fixation into a thriving, quiet career.
He now ran a highly successful online business restoring and selling vintage, discontinued LEGO sets. People from all over the country would mail him boxes of mixed, dirty, incomplete bricks. Jake would meticulously clean them, sort them, source the missing pieces down to the exact molding variants, and reassemble them to ensure structural integrity before selling them to collectors at a premium. He also took on custom architectural commissions, designing incredibly complex scale models for independent firms.
He worked from the safety of his living room, surrounded by his organized bins. He made his own hours, controlled his own environment, and contributed to the household income in a way that made him deeply, visibly proud.
Walking into the kitchen, you found him standing at the round wooden table, bathed in the carefully filtered morning light. He was wearing a dark navy blue hoodie with the sleeves pulled down over his knuckles. In front of him on a blue plate was his breakfast: two uniform yellow scrambled eggs, separated perfectly from three strips of bacon cut into precise one-inch squares.
You stood at the kitchen island, packing your canvas tote bag for the day. You slipped your wallet, your planner, and the positive pregnancy test—wrapped tightly in a tissue and shoved deep into an interior zippered pocket—inside.
Then, you reached into the small, decorative ceramic bowl you kept on the counter. Inside were two distinct pieces of plastic.
One was a solid, red 2x4 LEGO brick.
The other was a translucent blue, polycarbonite "power blast" web piece.
You picked up the blue web piece, rubbing your thumb over the sharp, molded plastic edges. You slipped it into the front pocket of your cardigan, a daily ritual. The red brick, however, you left in the ceramic bowl. It belonged here, in the center of the home.
Jake chewed his bacon rhythmically, swallowed, and took a sip of his water from a clear glass.
"You're taking the web piece today," Jake observed, his keen eyes tracking your movement as he wiped his mouth carefully with a napkin.
"I am," you smiled, walking over to wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I have a big meeting with the city funding board today. I might need a little extra structural support."
Jake leaned his head back against your chest, seeking the deep pressure, his hands coming up to rest over your arms. "Polycarbonite is highly resilient," he reminded you softly. "It won't break. You're going to do great at the meeting. You have all the data prepared."
"Thanks, baby," you replied, though your voice wavered just a fraction at the affectionate nickname.
He didn't catch the slight tremor, too focused on the comfort of your touch. He speared a forkful of eggs. "I have a big project today, too," he told you, chewing carefully. "A collector in Seattle sent me a massive bin of unsorted bricks. They think there's an original 2007 Ultimate Collector's Millennium Falcon in there. I get to sort it all. It's going to be incredibly satisfying."
"That sounds like a perfect Tuesday for you, Jakey," you murmured, smoothing down the soft fabric of his hoodie. "I'll be home at exactly 4:15 PM."
"4:15 PM," he confirmed, his shoulders relaxing completely at the predictable timeline. "I'll make sure the living room is quiet for you when you get back."
You grabbed your tote bag and headed for the front door, the weight of the hidden plastic test feeling heavier than an anvil against your side.
Jake's entire world, his career, his mental health, his beautiful, brilliant mind—it was all built on managed expectations and calculated variables. He thrived on his routines because it was the only way he could survive the overwhelming sensory input of existence.
And in less than nine months, the ultimate unpredictable, loud, messy, chaotic variable was going to be introduced into his carefully controlled sanctuary. You loved him more than anything in the world, but as you started your car, a tear slipped down your cheek. You had absolutely no idea how you were going to tell him without shattering his peace.
The next five days were an agonizing exercise in compartmentalization.
You had always prided yourself on being Jake’s safe harbor, the one variable in his life that never fluctuated, never lied, and never introduced unnecessary chaos. But now, you were carrying a secret that felt like a ticking time bomb, and hiding it from a man who noticed every micro-shift in your breathing was proving to be nearly impossible. Yet, those same five days also highlighted just how incredibly, breathtakingly intimate your marriage had become.
The intimacy wasn't just in the dark of the bedroom, though the skin-to-skin contact remained his ultimate grounding mechanism. The true intimacy was in the daylight. It was in the way Jake had stopped asking for permission to enter your space. If you were sitting on the couch reading a case file for work, he wouldn’t sit on the opposite end anymore; he would slide onto the cushions, drape his long legs over your lap, and pull your free hand down to rest flat against his chest. He needed you the way he needed oxygen.
On Thursday evening, you were standing at the stove, trying to focus on boiling pasta. The smell of the boiling starch, which had never bothered you before, was suddenly turning your stomach into a churning, uneasy knot. Jake walked into the kitchen, his silent footsteps barely registering until you felt his broad chest press firmly against your back. His heavy arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you completely flush against him. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck.
"Your baseline temperature is elevated," he murmured, his breath warm against your pulse point. His large hands flattened against your stomach, spreading his fingers wide. "You are radiating more heat than your standard output. And your skin is slightly clammy."
You froze, the wooden spoon stalling in the pot of water. He was a human thermometer. "I'm just a little warm from the stove, Spidey," you lied smoothly, leaning back into his solid weight to distract him. "The boiling water is creating a lot of steam."
Jake hummed, a deep vibration of thought, but his hands didn't leave your stomach. He pressed slightly harder, offering that deep, soothing pressure. "If the thermal environment is uncomfortable, I can adjust the thermostat. Or I can finish the pasta sequence. You should sit down."
"I'm okay, Jake, really," you promised, turning your head to kiss his cheek.
He didn't argue, but he didn't leave your side, either. He stayed pressed against you for the entire cooking process, his thumb gently, rhythmically stroking the fabric of your shirt right over the exact spot where a new life was currently dividing into cells. The profound, heartbreaking sweetness of his touch made you want to burst into tears right there into the pasta water.
By Sunday, the secret became entirely physical.
It started the moment you opened your eyes. The blackout curtains were drawn, the room was a cool 68 degrees, and Jake’s heavy leg was thrown over yours beneath the weighted blanket. It was the perfect Sunday morning.
But the moment you shifted, a sudden, violent wave of nausea hit you so hard the room spun.
You slapped a hand over your mouth, practically shoving Jake’s arm off your waist as you bolted upright. You scrambled out of the bed, your bare feet hitting the hardwood, and sprinted for the master bathroom.
You barely made it to the toilet before your stomach violently emptied itself.
You dropped to your knees on the cold tile, gripping the porcelain as you heaved, coughing and gasping for air. The sound was loud, sudden, and harsh—exactly the kind of chaotic, unpredictable noise that usually sent Jake’s sensory system into an immediate tailspin.
But Jake didn't cover his ears. He didn't hide under the blanket.
Less than five seconds later, the bathroom door was pushed open. Jake dropped to his knees right behind you on the bathmat. He didn't hesitate. He wrapped one arm securely across your collarbone to hold you upright, and placed his other large, warm palm flat against the center of your spine, pressing down with firm, unyielding pressure.
"Deep pressure," he chanted softly, his voice remarkably steady despite the chaotic situation. "I am the wall. Breathe into the wall, Y/N."
You heaved again, a miserable, wet sob tearing from your throat, and leaned your entire weight backward into his chest. He held you flawlessly. He didn't flinch at the smell or the sound. Two years ago, a sick person would have been a massive biological hazard to his rigid need for cleanliness. Today, his only concern was the fact that his permanent variable was in distress. When the nausea finally subsided to a dull, aching throb, you slumped against him, resting your sweaty forehead on your arm.Jake reached up with his free hand, grabbing a towel from the rack. He gently wiped your mouth, his brow furrowed in intense, analytical concern.
"Your system is violently expelling data," he observed, his dark eyes scanning your pale, sweat-dampened face. "Your heart rate is erratic. Are you experiencing acute gastrointestinal distress?"
"I think so," you gasped, letting him pull you backward so you were sitting against his chest on the floor. You closed your eyes, the guilt of what you were about to do sitting heavier in your stomach than the sickness. "I'm so sorry, Jake. I know the sound is loud."
"The sound is irrelevant," he stated firmly, pulling you tighter against him. "You are malfunctioning. We need to identify the variable. Did you ingest a pathogen?"
"It must have been lunch on Friday," you lied, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "I went to that new deli with my coworkers. I had a turkey sandwich. It... the mayonnaise must have been bad."
Jake's eyes narrowed slightly as his internal processor immediately crunched the numbers. "Foodborne illness," he muttered, his fingers drumming a quick, anxious rhythm against your arm. "The incubation period for Salmonella can range from six hours to six days. Staphylococcal food poisoning usually occurs within thirty minutes to eight hours. Given the timeline, a Campylobacter or Salmonella infection is statistically probable."
He was applying logic to your lie, accepting it instantly because it fit a mathematical parameter. And more importantly, he accepted it because you were the one saying it. You never lied to him.
"I just need to lie down," you whispered, feeling a fresh wave of tears prick your eyes.
"Yes. Rest is the optimal recovery protocol," Jake agreed immediately. He stood up, incredibly careful not to jostle you, and then reached down to help you to your feet.
He guided you back to the bed, pulling the sheets and the weighted blanket back so you could slide in. He tucked the heavy grey fabric tightly around your shoulders, cocooning you in safety.
"I will procure hydration," he announced, his face set in a mask of determined focus. "Electrolyte imbalance is a secondary threat to vomiting. I will also eliminate environmental stressors. The house will remain at a volume level of zero."
"You don't have to do all that, Jake," you mumbled into the pillow, utterly exhausted by the physical toll of the morning sickness and the emotional toll of the deception.
"I am the husband," he said simply, as if that explained the fundamental physics of the universe. "It is my protocol to maintain your structural integrity."
He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your warm forehead, before turning and leaving the room on silent feet.
For the next two hours, you drifted in and out of a restless sleep. True to his word, the house was entirely silent. You didn't hear the clink of dishes or the usual low hum of his LEGO sorting.
In the laundry room down the hall, Jake was executing a new system.
If there was a biological pathogen in the house, his logic dictated that all potential vectors of contamination needed to be sanitized. He had gathered the clothes you had worn over the last days, including the work slacks and the light jacket you had discarded over the back of the armchair in the bedroom.
Jake stood in front of the washing machine. He liked the washing machine. The cyclical rotation of the drum was mathematically soothing, and the detergent smelled clean and predictable.He meticulously checked the pockets of your clothing. It was a strict rule: foreign objects in the washing machine could disrupt the balance of the drum or create catastrophic clanking noises during the spin cycle.He emptied a crumpled receipt and a stray pen from your slacks. Then, he picked up your light jacket.
He reached his long fingers into the deep, zippered interior pocket. He felt something hard, wrapped in a layer of soft tissue paper. Jake pulled it out. He unwrapped the tissue paper carefully, placing it in the wastebasket, and held the plastic object up to the light. It was a white plastic stick, roughly five inches long, with a small digital screen and a square window. Inside the window, there were two distinct, highly saturated pink lines.Jake frowned, tilting his head. His brain immediately began searching its vast databases for a match. It looked like a medical diagnostic tool. He knew what a thermometer looked like; this was not a thermometer. Two pink lines.
He stared at it for a long, quiet minute. He turned it over, looking for a manufacturer label or a model number, but there was only a small logo he didn't immediately recognize.
His chest felt tight. A new, unidentified variable in his house was always a cause for a slight spike in anxiety. But this variable belonged to you. You had hidden it in your interior zipper pocket.Logic dictated that if you were utilizing a medical diagnostic tool, it was related to the systemic failure you had experienced in the bathroom. The food poisoning.Jake didn't panic. He just needed the data. He needed to understand the mechanics of the tool so he could properly assist in your recovery.
He left the laundry room, the plastic stick grasped loosely in his hand, and walked silently down the hallway. You were half-asleep when the bedroom door clicked open. The hinges were perfectly oiled—Jake maintained them monthly to prevent squeaking—so the door made no sound. You opened your eyes heavily, blinking against the dim light. Jake was standing at the foot of the bed. His posture wasn't rigid, but he looked deeply confused, his head tilted to the side like a dog trying to understand a new command.
"Hey, Spidey," you rasped, shifting under the weighted blanket. "Did you finish the laundry?"
"I paused the sequence," Jake said softly, keeping his voice pitched low to accommodate your headache. He took a few steps forward, coming to stand beside the mattress. "Is the machine unbalanced?" you asked, rubbing your eyes.
"No. The machine is optimal." Jake looked down at his hand, then looked at you. His large, dark brown eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated innocence and a deep desire to comprehend.
He held his hand out, opening his long fingers to reveal the plastic stick resting in his palm. "Y/N," he began, his voice perfectly calm and inquisitive. "I was executing the pocket-clearing protocol to prevent lint contamination and auditory disruption in the washing machine. I found this in your jacket."
The blood in your veins instantly turned to ice water.
Your entire body went rigid beneath the blanket. The air vanished from your lungs. You stared at the plastic stick in his hand, the two glaring pink lines practically screaming at you in the quiet room.
No. No, no, no. "I do not recognize this diagnostic tool," Jake continued, entirely oblivious to the catastrophic internal explosion happening in your brain. He brought the stick a few inches closer to his face, analyzing the window again. "It has two highly saturated pink lines. I hypothesize that it is a chemical reagent test."
He lowered the stick and looked at you, his brow furrowing in genuine concern.
"Is this for the Salmonella?" he asked innocently. "Does it measure the pathogen load in your system? I did not know they manufactured rapid tests for foodborne illnesses."
You were caught so completely, so devastatingly off guard that your voice simply ceased to exist.You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your heart was hammering a frantic, terrifying rhythm against your ribs—a rhythm so loud you were certain Jake’s sensitive ears could pick it up. He saw your panic. His own eyes widened slightly, his internal processor snagging on your sudden, profound distress.
"Y/N?" he murmured, taking a step closer, the plastic stick still held in his hand. "Your breathing just became incredibly shallow. Your pupils are dilated. Did I do something wrong? Was this a private medical variable?"
"Jake..." you choked out, the word barely a whisper. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, your hands shaking violently. He instantly dropped the test onto the nightstand. The sharp clack of the plastic hitting the wood echoed in the quiet room, but he didn't care. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, reaching out to grab both of your trembling hands in his. "Deep pressure," he said immediately, his voice rising in pitch as your panic triggered his own. He squeezed your hands tightly, his brown eyes searching yours frantically. "I'm sorry. I breached your privacy. I just wanted to process the data so I could help you fix the malfunction. Please don't look like that. The static is getting loud, Y/N."
"You didn't do anything wrong," you gasped, pulling one of your hands free to cup his face. His skin was warm, his jaw tense with sudden anxiety. "You didn't breach my privacy, Jakey. I'm not mad at you. I'm not."
"Then why are your hands shaking?" he pleaded, leaning his face heavily into your palm. "Why is your heart beating like you are in danger? The house is safe."
You looked from his beautiful, terrified face to the plastic stick sitting innocently on the nightstand. There was no more compartmentalizing. There was no more waiting for the 'perfect time' to introduce the variable. The data was on the table.
"Jake," you whispered, your voice cracking as the first tear spilled over your eyelashes. "I lied to you."
Jake froze entirely.
The word lied was a massive, system-crashing error code in his brain. People outside the house lied. People in stores, people at the agency, people who didn't understand him—they lied. But you were the baseline. You were the permanent variable. You did not lie."You... gave me false data?" he asked, his voice dropping to a hollow, devastating whisper. He didn't pull away from your hand, but his entire body went as rigid as a board. "Yes," you sobbed, using your thumb to stroke his cheekbone desperately, trying to keep him grounded. "I didn't have a turkey sandwich on Friday. I don't have Salmonella, Jake." He blinked rapidly, his processor struggling to re-route the information. "Then why did your system violently expel its contents? Why is your temperature elevated? If there is no pathogen..."
He stopped. He slowly turned his head to look at the plastic stick on the nightstand.
He was brilliant. He didn't have the social scripts, but he understood biology, chemistry, and systemic reactions better than anyone. He stared at the two pink lines.
Diagnostic tool. Elevated temperature. Morning nausea.You watched the exact second the realization hit him. Jake's breath hitched—a sharp, jagged sound that seemed to tear its way out of his throat. His dark eyes went impossibly wide, his pupils expanding until they almost swallowed the brown irises. He slowly, mechanically turned his head back to look at you.
"The barrier," he whispered, his voice trembling so violently it barely sounded like him. "On our anniversary. The sensory failure. We did not... we did not use the barrier."
"We didn't," you confirmed, the tears flowing freely down your face now.
He stared at your stomach. The same stomach he had been pressing his hands against for the last five days to provide deep pressure. "That is not a test for a pathogen," Jake said, his voice entirely devoid of its usual factual cadence. It was raw, breathless, and stripped bare. "That is an hCG test. It measures the human chorionic gonadotropin hormone."
"Yes," you cried softly. Jake slowly pulled his hands out of your grasp. He didn't do it aggressively, but the loss of his deep pressure left you feeling terrifyingly unmoored. He sat back on his heels, his hands hovering uselessly in the air for a moment before he wrapped them tightly around his own torso, applying his own pressure.
He began to rock. It wasn't a violent, meltdown rock. It was a slow, rhythmic sway, forward and backward on his knees. Forward, back. Forward, back. He squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing coming in short, erratic bursts.
"Jake," you pleaded, leaning over the edge of the bed to try and reach for him.
"Too much data," he whimpered, slapping his hands over his ears. He curled his head down toward his chest, hiding his face. "It's too much data. The variable is too big. The volume is at maximum."
Your heart shattered into a million pieces. This was exactly what you had been terrified of. A baby wasn't just a life change for Jake; it was a sensory explosion. It was crying that couldn't be reasoned with, unpredictability that couldn't be scheduled, and a total dismantling of the quiet, controlled environment he needed to survive.
"I'm sorry," you sobbed, sliding off the mattress and dropping to your knees right in front of him. You didn't try to pull his hands away from his ears. You knew better. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his entire curled-up form, burying your face in the soft fabric of his hoodie. You squeezed him with everything you had, becoming the heavy blanket he desperately needed. "I'm so sorry, Jakey. I didn't know how to tell you. I was so scared of breaking your peace."
He rocked against you, the physical momentum jarring your bones, but you held on tighter. "It's going to be okay," you whispered fiercely against his shoulder, hoping he could feel the vibration of your voice even if he couldn't hear the words over his covered ears. "We write our own code, remember? We'll figure it out. I won't let it be too loud. I promise."
For ten agonizing minutes, you sat on the floor of the bedroom, holding your husband as his world tilted violently off its axis.Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the rocking began to decelerate. The frantic, jagged gasps for air smoothed out into deep, shuddering breaths.Jake's hands slowly lowered from his ears.
He uncurled his body, remaining on his knees but straightening his spine. You loosened your grip, leaning back just enough to look at his face. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wet with tears, and his jaw was clenched tightly as he fought to process the massive system update. He didn't look at you at first. He looked down at your stomach again. He slowly, hesitantly reached out with his right hand. His fingers were trembling. He didn't apply deep pressure this time. For the first time in your entire relationship, his touch was feather-light. His palm barely brushed the fabric of your pajama shirt, resting softly over your womb. "There is a secondary heartbeat in the house," Jake whispered, the awe in his voice cutting through the panic like a laser. "Yes," you breathed, placing your hand gently over his.
He finally looked up at your face. The sheer terror of the unpredictable variables was still there, swimming in the depths of his dark eyes, but it was being rapidly overwritten by something else. A profound, consuming gravity.
"I did not calculate this," he said, his voice thick with tears. "I do not have the manual for how to be a father. The crying... the biological fluids... the disrupted sleep cycles. It is a mathematical nightmare."
"I know," you smiled wetly.
Jake's thumb twitched against your stomach. A single tear slipped down his cheek.
"But," he continued, a watery, blindingly beautiful smile breaking through the fear, "it is our variable. It is a combination of my data and your data. It is fifty percent you."
"And fifty percent you," you whispered back.
He let out a long, shuddering exhale, collapsing forward into your arms. He buried his face in your neck, wrapping you in a crushing, desperate hug that finally restored the deep pressure you both needed.
"We will require a massive restructuring of the schedule," he mumbled into your skin, his logical brain already starting to construct a new system to handle the chaos. "We will need noise-canceling headphones for the infant to protect its own auditory receptors. And we will need to purchase the LEGO Duplo sets. They are structurally appropriate for early motor skill development."
You laughed, a loud, joyous sound that echoed in the quiet room, tangling your fingers in his dark hair.
"We have nine months to build the schedule, Spidey," you promised, holding him as tightly as you could.
"Nine months," he echoed, pulling back just enough to press a firm, deeply intentional kiss to your lips. "That is approximately 274 days. We will optimize the environment. The house will be safe." He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closing in complete surrender. "I love you, Y/N. And I love our anomaly."
The transition into the second trimester hit you like a freight train.
Five months had passed since the morning the two pink lines had rewritten the algorithm of your lives. It was now late October, and the world outside the beige house was a flurry of biting winds and dead, brown leaves. Inside, however, the house was a carefully maintained 69 degrees.You sat heavily on the edge of the living room sofa, staring down at your feet. They didn't even look like your feet anymore. They were swollen, puffy, and aching with a dull, relentless throb that radiated all the way up to your calves. Your belly was undeniably, magnificently large, resting heavily in your lap beneath the oversized fabric of one of Jake’s vintage Spider-Man hoodies.You had taken an early leave from your job at the community center around month two. The sensory-friendly programs you ran for the teens were fulfilling, but they were also unpredictable. The sudden loud noises, the emotional heavy lifting, and the physical demands had caused a few terrifying stress-spikes early in the pregnancy. Jake’s processor had essentially red-lined. He had compiled a fifty-page binder of statistical data on maternal stress and fetal development, presented it to you over Tuesday grilled cheese, and firmly requested that you prioritize your structural integrity. You hadn't argued; the exhaustion had already been sinking its claws into you.
So, you were home. You were the permanent, stationary variable.
And right now, you were crying over a vegetable.
"I don't understand," Jake murmured, his voice tight. He was standing by the kitchen island, surrounded by the brown paper bags of your weekly grocery delivery.
He held up a clear plastic clamshell container. Inside were six perfectly uniform, miniature Persian cucumbers.
"You requested the small, green, cylindrical gourds," Jake said, his brow furrowed in deep, anxious confusion. He looked from the container to your face, his dark eyes wide and panicked. "I selected the organic Cucumis sativus. The reviews indicated a high level of structural crunch. They are exactly as requested."
"Jake," you sobbed, burying your face in your hands. The tears were hot, fast, and entirely irrational, fueled by a cocktail of second-trimester hormones and sheer physical exhaustion. "I wanted pickles. I wrote 'baby dills' on the shared list. Pickles."
Jake stared at the cucumbers, his brain rapidly cycling through the data.
"Pickles are cucumbers," he stated, his voice pitching up slightly. "They are cucumbers submerged in an acetic acid solution. The vendor interface did not specify the brining process in the primary search results. I... I procured the base ingredient. I can initiate a brine. It requires vinegar, sodium chloride, and dill weed. The fermentation process will take approximately three to four days—"
"I don't want them in three days!" you wailed, the sound escaping you before you could clamp a hand over your mouth. "I want them right now! And my feet hurt, and I can't even see my own toes to put my socks on, and I just wanted a stupid, salty pickle!"
You instantly regretted the volume of your voice. The loud, unpredictable sound of crying was one of Jake's most sensitive triggers. It was chaotic audio data that his brain struggled to categorize. Through the gaps in your fingers, you saw the immediate physical toll your breakdown was taking on him. Jake froze. His broad shoulders hitched up rigidly toward his ears. The clamshell of cucumbers dropped onto the granite counter with a sharp plastic clack. His hands flew up, hovering just an inch over his ears, his fingers twitching violently as he fought the overwhelming, instinctual urge to clamp them down and block out the noise. His breathing hitched, catching in a ragged, shallow gasp. The static was deafening him. You could see it in the terrified, wide-blown look in his eyes. He was on the absolute edge of a system crash. "I'm sorry," you choked out, trying desperately to swallow the sobs, your chest heaving. "I'm so sorry, Jakey. I'm being too loud. Please, go get your headphones. I'm fine. I'm just hormonal."
You hated this. You hated putting this heavy, unpredictable emotional weight on him. He worked so incredibly hard every single day to manage his environment, to be the steady, logical anchor you needed, and here you were, flooding his sanctuary with chaotic noise over a grocery mix-up. The guilt compounded the tears, making them fall even faster. Jake looked at his noise-canceling headphones, which were resting on the edge of the coffee table. They were his shield. They were the emergency exit.
He looked at the headphones, and then he looked at you—weeping, swollen, and miserable on the sofa. He didn't grab the headphones. Jake let out a low, agonizing groan, his hands dropping forcibly from his ears. He curled them into tight fists at his sides, his knuckles turning stark white as he forced himself to physically override his own sensory defense mechanisms. He crossed the living room in three long, stiff strides. He didn't sit beside you. He dropped straight to his knees on the plush rug, right in front of your swollen feet. "You are not fine," Jake said, his voice trembling under the immense strain of remaining present. "You are leaking. Your pain receptors are firing. The volume is... the volume is high, but the variable is you. I am not leaving the variable."
"Jake, your ears," you wept, reaching out to touch his tense shoulder. "It's too loud for you."
"I am the husband," he gritted out, squeezing his eyes shut for a microsecond to re-center himself. "It is my protocol to fix the malfunction." He didn't hesitate. He reached out and wrapped his large, warm hands around your right foot. He applied immediate, intense deep pressure, his thumbs digging firmly into the aching arch of your foot, his fingers wrapping around your heel.
The relief was so sudden and profound that a fresh sob tore from your throat, but this one was a sound of release.Jake flinched slightly at the sound, but his grip didn't falter. He began to systematically massage the swollen tissue, moving with robotic, mathematical precision. Press, hold, release. Press, hold, release. He used his body weight to push the pooling fluid back up your calf, his dark head bowed in absolute concentration. "The edema is severe," he murmured, his voice still tight, but the repetitive physical motion of the massage was beginning to ground him. "The fluid retention is a standard biological response to the second trimester, but the hydrostatic pressure must be incredibly uncomfortable. The deep pressure should stimulate the lymphatic system."
"It feels so good," you breathed, leaning your head back against the sofa cushions, the tears finally beginning to slow. "Jake, it feels amazing. Thank you."
He moved to your left foot, applying the exact same pounds per square inch of pressure. He worked in silence for ten minutes. The only sound in the living room was your gradually steadying breath and the ticking of the wall clock.
Slowly, you felt the rigid tension in Jake's shoulders begin to melt. His breathing synced with yours.
"I'm sorry I cried," you whispered into the quiet room, wiping your damp cheeks with the oversized sleeves of his hoodie. "I know how much you hate it when I'm sad. And I know the noise hurts you. I didn't mean to overload your system."
Jake stopped rubbing your foot. He shifted his weight, moving up so he was kneeling between your knees. He rested his hands flat on your thighs, right just below the heavy curve of your belly. He looked up at you. His eyes were red-rimmed from the strain, but the frantic, panicked static was gone. "I do not hate the noise because it is loud," Jake corrected softly, his thumb brushing a slow, rhythmic pattern against your sweatpants. "I hate the noise because it means my permanent variable is in distress, and my internal processor struggles to locate the correct solution. I procured cucumbers when you required acetic-acid soaked cucumbers. I failed the grocery parameter. That was the source of the overload. I felt... inadequate."
Your heart cracked. You reached down, cupping his beautiful, earnest face in both of your hands.
"You could never be inadequate, Jake Sim," you promised him fiercely. "Never. You are taking care of me perfectly. My hormones are just scrambling my emotional data. It's not your fault."
He leaned into your palms, letting out a long, heavy exhale.
"I will go to the convenience store at the corner," he announced, a sudden, determined spark lighting up his brown eyes. "The crowd density will be negligible at this hour. I will procure a jar of Baby Dills. The sodium content will not help your edema, but it will stabilize your emotional parameters." You let out a watery laugh, running your thumbs over his cheekbones. "You don't have to go out, Spidey. The massage was enough."
"The massage fixed the hydrostatic pressure," he replied logically, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. "It did not fix the pickle deficit. I will return in precisely fourteen minutes."
True to his word, fourteen minutes later, you were sitting on the couch, crunching happily on a perfectly salty, cold baby dill pickle. Jake was sitting right beside you, his hip pressed flush against yours, watching you eat with a profound sense of satisfaction. "Optimal crunch," he noted, listening to the snap of the pickle.
"Optimal," you agreed, resting your head on his shoulder. "Thank you, baby."
He hummed, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and resting his large hand directly over your belly. The baby was active tonight. The sudden influx of sodium and the cold temperature of the pickle had woken them up. A sharp, distinct kick hit right against Jake's palm. Jake's eyes widened. He stared down at your stomach, a look of absolute, unvarnished awe washing over his face. Even after five months of feeling the baby move, it still short-circuited his brain in the best possible way.
"The kinetic energy is increasing," he whispered, his fingers splaying wider to capture the sensation. "The anomaly is practicing its motor functions. The muscle density is growing."
"They're getting strong," you smiled, covering his hand with yours.
"They require a highly structured environment," Jake said, his tone shifting back into that hyper-focused, factual cadence that meant his brain was locked onto a project. "Which is why the nursery parameters must be finalized before tomorrow."
Ah, yes. The nursery. When you first found out you were pregnant, the idea of a baby had been an abstract, terrifying variable for Jake. But as the months progressed, his logical brain had found a way to cope with the impending chaos: systematic, meticulous preparation. The nursery had become his ultimate hyper-fixation.
"Do you want to show me the progress?" you asked softly.
Jake nodded immediately, a proud, eager energy vibrating in his shoulders. He stood up, offering you both of his hands to help haul your heavy center of gravity off the sofa. You waddled down the hallway together, your hand locked tightly in his.
The door to the spare bedroom was closed. Jake opened it with a soft click, pushing it wide to reveal his masterpiece. It didn't look like a traditional, Pinterest-perfect baby room. There were no bright, overwhelming primary colors. There were no loud, flashing musical mobiles. The room was a sanctuary of controlled sensory input. The walls were painted a muted, soft sage green—a color Jake had researched extensively, proving it to have the lowest psychological stimulation threshold. The lighting was entirely indirect, utilizing warm-amber smart bulbs that could be dimmed to exact percentage points from his phone to prevent harsh glare on a newborn's sensitive retinas.
Along the baseboards, he had installed subtle acoustic dampening panels to absorb the high-frequency sound waves of crying, ensuring the noise wouldn't echo and multiply within the confined space.
But the centerpiece of the room was the crib.
Jake walked over to it, running his long fingers over the smooth, unfinished birch wood. "I verified the structural integrity of every joint," he told you, his voice filled with quiet pride. "The manufacturer instructions suggested a torque of 15 Newton-meters for the primary bolts. I increased it to 18 to account for micro-vibrations over time. The mattress is organic, hypoallergenic cotton. There are no synthetic off-gassing chemicals to disrupt the infant's olfactory development."
"It's beautiful, Jake," you whispered, walking up beside him and resting your hand on the railing. It didn't wobble even a fraction of a millimeter. It was built like a fortress.
"It is mathematically sound," he agreed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, digital thermometer and hygrometer monitor, placing it perfectly parallel to the edge of the changing table. "And tomorrow, mom is arriving at 10:00 AM."
"She is," you nodded, bracing yourself slightly.
"We are executing the apparel procurement mission," Jake recited, his foot beginning to tap a light, anxious rhythm against the plush carpeting. "We will navigate the baby section of the department store. Mom will provide the neurotypical social buffer. You will provide the emotional baseline. I will verify the textile safety."
You smiled, reaching out to wrap your arm around his waist. "Are you feeling okay about the mission, Spidey? We don't have to go to the store. We can order the clothes online if the crowd density is going to be too much." Jake stopped tapping his foot. He looked down at the perfectly assembled crib, then looked down at your swollen belly. "Online procurement does not allow for tactile verification," he explained seriously, his brow furrowing. "Baby apparel is frequently manufactured with scratchy tags, raised seams, and rigid synthetic blends. I cannot allow the anomaly to experience the 'cobweb' sensation. Their skin will be highly sensitive. I must touch the fabrics. I must ensure the seams are flat."
Your heart melted into a puddle on the floor. He was terrified of the loud, unpredictable department store. He was already anxious about the changing routine. But his protective instinct over this unborn baby was so incredibly fierce that he was willing to willingly walk into a sensory minefield just to make sure his child never had to feel a scratchy tag. "You're going to be the most amazing dad in the world," you told him, tears pricking your eyes again—happy ones, this time.
Jake blinked, processing the title. Dad. It still sounded foreign, a variable he hadn't fully assimilated yet. But he wrapped his arms tightly around your shoulders, burying his nose in your hair, inhaling the familiar, grounding scent of vanilla and oats.
"I do not have the complete manual," he murmured into your skin, his grip firm and steady. "But I have you. And the crib is secure. We will manage the variables together."
By the time the sixth month of your pregnancy rolled around, the world outside had surrendered entirely to the bitter, biting chill of late November. Frost clung to the windowpanes of the beige house.The end of the second trimester had brought with it a host of new variables. The morning sickness had thankfully evaporated, replaced by an insatiable hunger that had Jake calculating your caloric intake with the dedication of a sports nutritionist. Your belly was no longer just a soft curve; it was a pronounced, hard sphere, the undeniable physical proof of the anomaly growing inside you.
But the most surprising variable of month six was one that neither you nor Jake’s extensive, fifty-page binder of pregnancy statistics had fully prepared him for.
Your hormones had shifted again. And this time, they had manifested as an intense, almost overwhelming spike in your libido.
It wasn't something you could easily graph on a chart. It was a visceral, heavy heat that seemed to pool in your lower stomach, entirely separate from the fluttering kicks of the baby. It made you acutely, constantly aware of your husband. You found yourself staring at the broad line of his shoulders when he was sorting his LEGOs, or fixating on the elegant, strong span of his hands as he meticulously washed the dishes.Jake, for his part, was always eager to provide the deep, skin-to-skin pressure you both craved. But the sudden frequency and intensity of your desire was pushing the boundaries of his sensory threshold.
It came to a head late on a Friday night. The house was completely dark, save for the faint, amber glow of the bedside lamp. The blackout curtains were drawn tight, sealing out the harsh winter wind. You and Jake were tangled together beneath the heavy grey weighted blanket.You had just finished a deeply intimate, breathless session. Without the barrier of synthetic fabrics or latex, the sensory input for Jake was a massive, consuming wave of data. He had buried himself inside you with that familiar, mathematical rhythm, his hands gripping your hips with bruising, desperate need until the friction had pushed him over the edge. He had shattered with a high, fractured gasp, collapsing against your chest, his heart hammering wildly against your bare skin. Now, ten minutes later, you were lying on your side, facing him. His eyes were closed, his dark, fluffy curls damp with sweat and plastered to his forehead. His breathing was still slightly ragged as his internal processor worked overtime to categorize and store the massive influx of physical pleasure.
But your body hadn't received the memo that the sequence was over.
The heavy, throbbing heat was still there, buzzing under your skin. The single climax hadn't been enough to quiet the hormonal static in your own brain. You shifted closer, your bare leg sliding over his, pressing the soft, swollen curve of your belly against his abdomen.
You reached out, your fingers trailing lightly down the center of his chest, tracing the line of dark hair that trailed past his navel.
"Jakey?" you whispered, your voice thick and slightly raspy in the quiet room.
Jake’s eyes flew open. At the exact moment your fingers brushed lightly over his skin, his entire body flinched violently.
It wasn't a subtle movement. His chest jerked away from your hand, a sharp, ragged hiss escaping his teeth. He pulled his arms up, crossing them tightly over his own chest in a sudden, defensive posture. His dark eyes were wide, blown-out, and swimming with a frantic, chaotic energy.
"Y/N," he gasped, his voice trembling as he pressed his back firmly against the mattress, trying to put distance between your hands and his skin.
You froze instantly, yanking your hand back as if you had been burned. Your heart dropped into your stomach. "Jake? Baby, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"
"No," he panted, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought to regulate his breathing. "No, you did not cause tissue damage. But the... the texture of your touch. It was too light. It felt like... like an electric shock. Like sparks." You realized your mistake immediately. After the massive, overwhelming neurological load of a climax, Jake's sensory receptors didn't just turn off; they became hyper-sensitized. Every nerve ending in his body was currently dialed to maximum capacity. A light, teasing touch—the kind of touch that was supposed to be seductive—felt like a swarm of angry bees on his raw skin.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt instantly replacing the heavy heat of desire. You pulled your leg back, giving him space. "I'm so sorry, Jake. I didn't mean to overstimulate you." He opened his eyes, his brow furrowing in deep distress as he looked at your face. He saw the way you were pulling away. He saw the lingering flush of arousal on your chest, and his brilliant, analytical brain immediately pieced the data together. "You are still experiencing physical arousal," Jake stated, his voice tight with a sudden, crushing wave of inadequacy. He uncrossed his arms, forcing his hands down to his sides, though his fingers twitched with the effort of remaining still. "Your heart rate is still elevated. The hormonal surge... it requires a secondary sequence."
"It's fine, Jake," you promised quickly, pulling the edge of the weighted blanket up to cover yourself. "It's just the pregnancy hormones. I'm okay. We don't have to do anything."
"I am the husband," Jake insisted, his voice cracking slightly. He forced himself to roll toward you, though you could see the rigid tension in his shoulders. He reached out with a trembling hand, aiming for your waist. "It is my protocol to ensure your needs are met. I can... I can restart the sequence. I can provide the friction."
"Jake, stop," you said firmly, reaching out to catch his wrist before his hand could make contact with your skin. You didn't use a light touch. You wrapped your fingers entirely around his wrist, applying immediate, unyielding deep pressure. You squeezed his joint tightly, anchoring him to the mattress. He let out a shaky, relieved breath at the heavy pressure, but his eyes were still frantic. "I am failing the parameter," he whispered, a tear pricking the corner of his eye. "You requested a secondary round of intimacy. Normal husbands can provide multiple rounds. But my capacity is full. The static is too loud. If I experience that level of input again right now, my system will crash. I am defective."
"Look at me," you commanded softly, moving your face closer until you occupied his entire field of vision. He blinked, a tear slipping down his cheek to soak into the pillowcase. "You are not defective," you told him, pouring every ounce of love and absolute certainty into your voice. "You are Jake. Your nervous system processes the world differently, and that includes how you process pleasure. You gave me everything you had ten minutes ago, and it was beautiful. I am not going to let you push yourself into a sensory meltdown just because my hormones are acting crazy."
"But you are still in distress," he argued weakly, his eyes dropping to your lips.
"I am not in distress," you corrected, offering him a warm, reassuring smile. "I'm just a little horny. There's a massive difference. And I would rather be a little frustrated for one night than watch you suffer through an overload."
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in the dim light. "You are certain? You are not angry with the limitations of my processor?"
"I love your processor," you whispered, lifting his heavy hand and bringing it to your lips. You pressed a firm, deliberate kiss to his knuckles. "I love exactly how you are built. Now, what does your system need right now to quiet the static? Tell me."
Jake closed his eyes, running a quick internal diagnostic. "The light touch is painful," he mumbled, his voice dropping back to its soothing baritone. "The air currents on my skin are distracting. I require compression. Heavy, stationary compression."
"Okay. Come here."
You shifted onto your back, opening your arms. Jake didn't hesitate. He practically dove across the few inches separating you. He laid his head squarely on your chest, right over your heart, and threw his heavy arm and leg across your body. He didn't move. He didn't stroke your skin. He just locked himself against you, his absolute dead weight pressing you firmly into the mattress. You wrapped your arms around his broad, sweat-dampened back, applying as much squeezing pressure as you could muster, holding him together while his overloaded nerves slowly began to cool down.
"Is this better?" you murmured into his hair.
"Yes," he let out a long, shuddering sigh, the rigid tension finally melting out of his muscles. "The static is decreasing. The heavy pressure is optimal. You are my favorite variable, Y/N."
"And you're mine, Spidey," you smiled, the lingering heat of your libido fading away, replaced by a profound, overwhelming wave of tender affection. You didn't need a second round. Holding your husband while he found his peace was the best feeling in the world.
A week later, the highly anticipated twenty-four-week anatomy scan arrived.
The clinic was a sensory minefield, but Jake had perfected his navigation protocols. He walked through the brightly lit, sterile-smelling waiting room wearing his polarized sunglasses to cut the fluorescent glare, his noise-canceling headphones resting securely over his ears. He held your hand in a vice grip, his thumb pressing rhythmically into your knuckles—his physical tether to reality.
When the ultrasound technician called your name, he followed you into the small, dimly lit examination room. He only took off the sunglasses when the lights were turned off, and he slid the headphones down around his neck so he could hear the technician's instructions. You lay back on the crinkly paper of the examination table, pulling your shirt up to expose your swollen belly. Jake pulled a chair up immediately beside the bed. He didn't sit back; he perched on the edge of the seat, his knees pressed against the side of the table, his eyes locked onto the black-and-white monitor.
"Alright, let's take a look at this little one," the technician smiled, squirting a generous amount of warm gel onto your stomach.
You hissed slightly at the texture, but Jake didn't look at you. His dark eyes were wide, reflecting the glowing light of the ultrasound screen.
The wand pressed into your skin, and suddenly, the static snow on the monitor resolved into a clear, distinct image. A perfect, miniature spine. A tiny, beating heart that fluttered rapidly like a hummingbird's wings.
"The heart rate is 142 beats per minute," Jake announced before the technician even had a chance to measure it, his voice hushed and reverent. "It is mathematically strong."
"Spot on, Dad," the technician laughed, clicking her mouse to take a few measurements. "Everything looks completely healthy. All the organs are developing beautifully. The femur length is in the 85th percentile. You're going to have a tall one."
Jake's chest puffed out just a fraction. He reached out blindly, finding your hand on the table and gripping it tightly. "Now," the technician said, angling the wand slightly. "I know it's in your file that you wanted to know the sex today. Are you both still ready for that?"
You looked at Jake. He hadn't expressed a preference either way. His logical brain maintained that biological sex was simply a chromosomal reality, not a measure of the child's value. But as he stared at the screen, you could see a rapid, fluttering anticipation in his jaw. "We're ready," you confirmed softly.
The technician clicked a button, zooming in on the lower half of the tiny, curled-up body on the screen. "Well," she smiled, pointing to a distinct set of shapes on the monitor. "There's absolutely no mistaking that. You've got yourselves a healthy baby boy." The room went entirely silent. Jake stopped breathing. He stared at the screen, his dark eyes locked onto the image. His mouth opened slightly, a tiny gasp caught in the back of his throat.A boy.
"Jake?" you whispered, squeezing his hand. "Spidey, did you hear that?"
Jake slowly turned his head to look at you. The clinical, protective mask he wore in public spaces had completely vanished. His eyes were shining with a bright, glassy layer of unshed tears. The corners of his mouth were trembling as a massive, uncontrollable smile broke across his face. "XY chromosomes," he whispered, his voice cracking with pure, unfiltered joy. "The genetic data has been confirmed. It is a male."
"It's a boy, baby," you laughed, tears of your own spilling over your cheeks.
Jake looked back at the screen, his free hand coming up to cover his mouth as if he couldn't contain the sheer volume of his happiness. His leg started to bounce rapidly against the side of the examination table—a massive, joyful stim.
"He is a boy," Jake repeated, the reality of it settling into his bones. He leaned forward, his face inches from the monitor. "He will require the Spider-Man pajamas. The tagless ones. I must procure the correct sizes for his developmental stages. He will have my genetic markers. Y/N... we are manufacturing a miniature version."
"We are," you sobbed happily, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles. The technician handed you a long strip of glossy ultrasound photos, grinning from ear to ear. Jake practically vibrated out of his chair as he helped you wipe the gel off your stomach. He was so overwhelmed with positive data that he didn't even need to put his headphones back on when you walked out through the waiting room.
He just held your hand, his chest puffed out, walking with the undeniable pride of a man who had just solved the greatest equation in the universe.
The news of a grandson sent Sarah into an absolute tailspin of joy.
The very next day, a Saturday, she arrived at your front door at exactly 10:00 AM. She didn't just bring her usual Tupperware of leftover roast; she brought two massive canvas bags overflowing with baby name books, printouts of statistical popularity charts, and a box of non-toxic, hypoallergenic markers."I couldn't sleep," Sarah announced, dropping the bags onto the kitchen island with a heavy thud. She pulled off her coat, her dark eyes—so much like Jake's—sparkling with manic excitement. "I spent all night on the Social Security Administration's database. We have to be strategic."
Jake was sitting at the round wooden table, a brand-new, unopened LEGO Architecture set resting in front of him. But he wasn't looking at the box. He had his laptop open, an incredibly complex Excel spreadsheet illuminating his face.
"I have already initiated a database," Jake informed his mother, his tone incredibly serious. "I have categorized potential names by origin, syllable count, and phonetic clarity. A name is a primary identifier. It cannot be ambiguous." You sat at the island, nursing a cup of decaf tea, watching the two of them with a heart so full it physically ached. "Okay, let's hear the parameters," Sarah said, pulling out a stool and flipping open a heavy book titled 100,000 Baby Names for the Modern Parent.
Jake adjusted his glasses, peering at the screen. "The name must have a strong phonetic structure," he dictated, his fingers resting lightly on the keyboard. "It cannot contain soft, trailing vowels that are easily misheard in loud environments. It must be easily spelled to prevent bureaucratic errors. And it cannot be within the top ten most popular names of the current decade. Anomaly designation requires a unique identifier, but not one that is socially isolating."
"So, 'Liam' is out," Sarah noted, crossing a line through a piece of paper. "It's number one."
"Liam is highly inefficient," Jake agreed, shaking his head. "There are statistically three Liams in every kindergarten class. The auditory confusion would be overwhelming for the child."
"What about Arthur?" you suggested, resting your chin on your hand. "It's classic. Easy to spell."
Jake's eyes darted across his spreadsheet. He typed the name into a search bar. "Arthur. Meaning: Bear. Origin: Celtic. Two syllables. The 'th' fricative consonant provides a solid phonetic center." He paused, his brow furrowing as he processed the data. He looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "It is structurally sound. I approve of Arthur."
"Arthur Sim," Sarah tested the name, her eyes watering instantly. She slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god, it sounds so distinguished. Like a little professor."
"He will be highly intelligent," Jake stated matter-of-factly, closing his laptop slightly. "He has Y/N's neural pathways. She fixes the leaky pipes."
You laughed, reaching across the space to playfully swat at his arm. "He's going to have your brain, Jake. He's going to be building scale models of the Brooklyn Bridge by the time he's four."
Jake looked down at his hands, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against the side of his laptop. The analytical mask slipped for a moment, revealing the profound, raw vulnerability beneath. "I hope he has your brain," Jake whispered, his voice dropping so low it was almost lost in the quiet kitchen. He didn't look at his mother; he looked directly at you. "I hope his volume dial works correctly. I do not want him to feel the static." The kitchen went still. Sarah lowered her book, her expression softening into a look of fierce, protective love for her son.
You stood up from your stool. You walked around the island, your heavy belly preceding you, and stood beside his chair. You ran your fingers through his dark, fluffy hair, applying the gentle, rhythmic pressure he loved. "Jake," you said softly, making sure he met your eyes. "If he has your brain, he is going to be the luckiest boy in the world. He'll see the colors in the soap bubbles. He'll notice the Fibonacci sequence in the flowers. And if the world ever gets too loud for him..." You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "...he will have the best dad in the entire universe to teach him how to build a safe room."
Jake let out a shaky breath, leaning his face against your stomach, right where his son was currently sleeping. "I will build him the strongest walls," Jake promised into the fabric of your sweater, his arms coming up to wrap securely around your waist. "The structural integrity will be flawless." Sarah sniffled loudly from the island, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Well," she managed a watery laugh, picking up her pen again. "Arthur is definitely going on the shortlist. But we still need a middle name. Something with a good consonant-to-vowel ratio."
Jake lifted his head, his dark eyes shining with absolute clarity and a deep, overwhelming love. "The middle name is a secondary variable," Jake told his mother, his hand resting flat against your belly. "The primary variable is already perfect."
By the time the calendar flipped to February, marking the eighth month of your pregnancy, the beige house felt less like a building and more like a heavily fortified bunker. Winter was raging outside, dumping feet of snow onto the driveway and howling against the windowpanes. Month eight was entirely different from month six. The romantic, hormone-fueled haze had been thoroughly replaced by sheer, undeniable physical exhaustion. Your belly was a massive, taut drum that dictated every movement you made. Rolling over in bed was a multi-step sequence that required strategic planning and leveraged momentum. Your center of gravity was so far skewed that Jake hovered behind you whenever you walked down the hallway, his hands raised two inches from your hips, ready to initiate a physical catch protocol if your balance failed.The anomaly—now regularly referred to as Arthur—was running out of room. His movements were no longer gentle flutters; they were sharp, visible protrusions of a heel or an elbow against your skin. Jake found this biological reality both fascinating and deeply alarming.It was a Thursday evening. You were seated on your designated side of the living room sofa, propped up by a meticulously engineered mountain of pillows. Jake was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table.But he wasn't sorting LEGOs. He hadn't touched a plastic brick in three weeks. Instead, the coffee table was covered in sterile, organized piles of items. Jake was conducting his daily audit of the "Hospital Protocol" bag.
He had a clipboard. He was wearing his glasses, his dark brown eyes narrowed in intense, frantic concentration as he checked off items with a black pen.
"The receiving blankets," Jake muttered, his voice tight and clipped. He picked up a stack of soft, washed cotton cloths. He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the fabric, verifying the texture. "100% organic cotton. Washed twice in the unscented detergent. The seams are flat. The structural integrity is intact. Check."
He placed the blankets into the grey duffel bag with robotic precision, then looked back at his clipboard."The infant's external garments," he continued, picking up a tiny, dark blue onesie. He turned it inside out, meticulously inspecting the tagless collar. "No synthetic fibers. No localized friction points. Check." You watched him from the sofa, your heart aching with a mixture of overwhelming love and a creeping, heavy guilt.Jake had been like this for weeks. As the due date loomed closer, the abstract concept of a baby had solidified into an impending, unavoidable collision with the outside world. To give birth, you had to go to the hospital. The hospital was Jake's ultimate nightmare. It was a chaotic environment filled with unpredictable variables. Fluorescent lights operating on a 60-hertz flicker cycle. The sharp, random beeping of heart monitors. The smell of harsh antiseptic chemicals that burned his olfactory receptors. And, worst of all, a building full of strangers who would be touching his permanent variable while she was in severe physical distress.
He couldn't control the hospital. So, he was over-controlling what he could: the bag, the route, and the exact inventory of the nursery."Jake," you said softly, shifting your heavy weight against the pillows. "You checked the bag yesterday. And the day before. The inventory hasn't changed, baby. It's perfectly packed."
Jake froze. His hand hovered over a pair of tiny socks. His shoulders were rigid, hitched up toward his ears in a permanent state of defensive tension."The variables must be continuously verified," Jake replied, not looking up at you. His voice was entirely devoid of its usual warmth; it was hollow, flat, and vibrating with an undercurrent of barely suppressed panic. "Human error is a statistical probability. If I do not audit the inventory, a scratchy fabric could be introduced. The anomaly—Arthur—cannot experience the cobweb sensation upon entry into the environment. I must be precise."
"Spidey, look at me," you tried again, reaching a hand out toward him.
He flinched slightly, but he didn't turn his head. He dropped the socks into the bag, his fingers trembling as he gripped the edges of his clipboard."I cannot look right now," he whispered, his breathing growing shallow and fast. "If I lose my visual focus on the inventory, the sequence breaks. If the sequence breaks, the protocol fails. The hospital is exactly 12.4 miles away. The snow accumulation is currently at four inches. The friction coefficient of the tires—"
"Jake," you interrupted, the volume of your voice rising just a fraction out of desperation.
Suddenly, your body hijacked the conversation.It started low in your back, a dull ache that rapidly, violently wrapped around your abdomen. Your stomach tightened with a fierce, crushing pressure that literally drove the breath from your lungs. It was a Braxton Hicks contraction, but it was the strongest one you had felt yet.You gasped, your hands flying down to clutch the underside of your belly. A sharp, pained hiss escaped your lips before you could stop it. "Ah—" The sound was a bomb detonating in the quiet living room. Jake’s clipboard clattered to the floor. The sharp crack of the plastic hitting the hardwood echoed sharply.He whipped around to face you, his eyes wide, terrified, and blown completely black. He saw you gripping your stomach, your face pale and contorted in a grimace.The fragile, meticulously maintained dam in his brain shattered instantly. "The timeline is incorrect!" Jake shouted, the sheer volume of his own voice startling him. He scrambled backward, his hands flying up to grip the sides of his head. "It is month eight. The gestational parameter is 40 weeks. We are at 34 weeks and 2 days. It is too early! The protocol is not finished!"
"Jake, wait," you gasped, trying to breathe through the tightening of your uterus. "It's just a—"
"I have not calculated the winter storm variable into an emergency transit!" he continued, his breathing spiraling into full-blown hyperventilation. He wasn't looking at you; he was looking through you, trapped in the terrifying, deafening static of his own mind. He scrambled to his feet, pacing frantically behind the coffee table. "The bag is incomplete. The car is cold. You are in distress. Your pain receptors are firing. I have to fix the malfunction. I am the husband, I have to fix it, but I cannot stop the biological sequence!" He grabbed a handful of his own hair, pulling hard, a physical manifestation of his internal overload.
"Make it stop," he whimpered, his voice cracking into a jagged sob. "I can't compute the noise. The hospital is too loud. They are going to hurt you. The machines are going to beep, and you are going to scream, and I will not be able to apply deep pressure to stop the pain! I am failing! I am a defective variable!"
The sheer, agonizing devastation in his voice cut through your physical discomfort like a hot knife.The contraction was already beginning to fade, the muscles in your abdomen slowly releasing their iron grip, but the emotional damage in the room was catastrophic. Jake was in the red zone. He was drowning in his own inadequacy, convinced that his sensory limitations made him incapable of protecting you during the most vulnerable moment of your life.You didn't care about the heaviness of your body. You didn't care about the lingering ache in your back. You pushed yourself off the sofa, ignoring the clumsy, unbalanced sway of your center of gravity. "Jake!" you called out, your voice firm and authoritative. He didn't hear you. He was rocking back and forth on his heels, his hands clamped over his ears now, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as the tears streamed down his flushed cheeks. He was completely disconnected from the room, swallowed whole by the system crash.
You crossed the living room. You didn't hesitate. You stepped right over the spilled hospital bag, ignoring the meticulously folded organic blankets on the floor.
You reached him. You grabbed his wrists, your fingers locking around his forearms with a desperate, unyielding strength.
He jerked violently, a choked gasp tearing from his throat at the unexpected contact, but you didn't let go. "Deep pressure," you commanded, stepping into his space until your swollen belly brushed against his tense abdomen. "Jake, listen to my voice. Feel my hands. I am applying deep pressure. You are in the living room. I am Y/N. You are Jake. The static is a lie."He fought you for a second, his muscles rigid and trembling like a strained cable, his head shaking back and forth. "Failing," he choked out, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. "I am failing the protocol. It hurts you."
"Open your eyes," you ordered, squeezing his wrists harder, anchoring him to the physical reality of the moment. "Look at my face. Now."
Slowly, agonizingly, his dark eyes fluttered open. They were wild, bloodshot, and completely shattered."Look at me," you softened your voice, shifting from command to comfort. "I am not in pain. The contraction is gone. It was a false alarm. A Braxton Hicks. The anomaly is just flexing his muscles. He is staying exactly where he is. We have six weeks left. The timeline is perfectly intact."
Jake stared at you, his chest heaving as his processor struggled to parse the new data. "False... alarm?"
"Yes," you promised, releasing one of his wrists to reach up and cup his cheek. His skin was incredibly hot, radiating the heat of his adrenaline spike. You stroked your thumb firmly under his eye, wiping away a tear. "The sequence did not break."
He let out a ragged, tearing breath, his knees buckling slightly. You held onto him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he slumped forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
He didn't wrap his arms around you. They hung uselessly at his sides as he wept against your collarbone, the emotional exhaustion of his panic attack hitting him like a physical blow."I am terrified, Y/N," Jake confessed into your skin, his voice so fragile it broke your heart entirely. "I have built the crib. I have audited the fabrics. I have mapped the route. But I cannot control the birth. It is a massive, violent biological variable. I read the medical journals. The paing you will experience is statistically severe. And I cannot take it from you." You squeezed your eyes shut, resting your cheek against his dark, messy curls. "And the hospital," he continued, a shudder running through his heavy frame. "The fluorescent lights burn my retinas. The noise of the machinery disrupts my cognitive function. What if the static gets so loud that I shut down? What if you need me, and I cannot move because I am trapped in the noise? I cannot fail you. I cannot let you be alone in a room full of strangers."
He was terrified of his own neurology. He was terrified that his autism, the very thing that made him so beautifully, meticulously attentive to you, would be the thing that ultimately abandoned you when you needed him most.t"Jake, baby, listen to me," you whispered fiercely, your hands rubbing firm, rhythmic circles into his tense back. "You have never, ever failed me. Do you hear me? Never."
He sniffled, his breath hot against your neck. "But the data—"
"Screw the data," you interrupted, pulling back just enough to force him to look at you again. You held his face in both of your hands, making sure he saw the absolute, unwavering conviction in your eyes. "I don't care about the statistics. I don't care about the medical journals. I care about you."
He blinked, another tear slipping down his cheek."The hospital is going to be loud," you validated his fear, keeping your voice steady and calm. "It is going to be chaotic. But we are going to manage the variables together. Sarah is going to be there to buffer the doctors. You are going to wear your noise-canceling headphones. You are going to bring the weighted blanket. And you are not going to leave my side."
"But your pain," he whimpered, his eyes dropping to your stomach.
"You are going to help me through the pain," you promised him. "Because you are my anchor, Jake. When I am hurting, you are going to hold my hand, and you are going to apply deep pressure. You are going to count my breaths for me, because you have the best internal clock in the world. You are the only person who can keep me grounded." Jake stared at you, his internal processor rapidly analyzing the new role you had just assigned him.He wasn't powerless. He had a protocol. Apply deep pressure. Count the breaths. Ground the variable."I can count," Jake whispered, his voice gaining a fraction of its usual factual cadence. "I can track the duration and frequency of the contractions. I can provide stationary compression."
"Exactly," you smiled, a few tears of your own finally spilling over. "You are not a defective variable, Spidey. You are the only math that makes sense to me. I need you in that room. Not a 'normal' husband. I need you."
Jake took a deep, shuddering breath. The frantic, chaotic energy that had been vibrating under his skin finally, completely dissipated. He brought his hands up, wrapping them securely around your waist, pulling your heavy belly flush against his abdomen.He didn't just hold you; he anchored you."I will not shut down," Jake vowed, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a fierce, profound intensity that took your breath away. "I will wear the headphones, but my eyes will be on you. I will track the data. I will not let the static win. I am your permanent variable."
"I know you are," you breathed.
You didn't wait for him to close the distance. You leaned up, pressing your lips firmly against his.It wasn't a gentle, reassuring peck. It was a deep, desperate, grounding kiss. It was the physical manifestation of all the love, trust, and absolute certainty you held for him.Jake responded instantly. The fear melted out of his posture, replaced by the overwhelming, consuming gravity of his love for you. He kissed you back with a fierce, meticulous passion, his hands sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. He tasted like salt and adrenaline, but his lips were incredibly soft, moving against yours with a deliberate, rhythmic pressure that chased the last lingering shadows of his panic out of the room.He poured everything he had into the kiss, anchoring himself to the taste of your mouth, the heat of your skin, and the solid, heavy reality of your body against his.When you finally broke apart, gasping softly for air, Jake kept his forehead pressed against yours. His eyes were closed, his breathing perfectly synced with yours."The thermal transfer is optimal," he murmured, a tiny, genuine smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
You laughed, a wet, joyous sound, resting your hands flat against his broad chest. "It always is."Jake opened his eyes. He looked down at the floor, at the scattered piles of baby clothes and the dropped clipboard. The chaos that had caused his meltdown ten minutes ago was still there, but it didn't look like a systemic failure anymore. It just looked like a task."I need to repack the inventory," Jake stated, his voice calm, returning to its comfortable, logical baseline. "The organic receiving blankets are currently touching the hardwood floor. They must be re-washed to ensure sterility."
"We can wash them tomorrow, baby," you suggested gently, running a hand down his arm. "Let's just go to bed. The anomaly is asleep, and I'm exhausted."
Jake considered this. He looked at the bag, then looked at your tired face.
"Optimal recovery requires sleep," he agreed, wrapping his arm around your waist to support your center of gravity. "The protocol can wait until 0800 hours. Come, Y/N. Let's go to the quiet room." You walked down the hallway together, incredibly slow, his hand providing the constant, deep pressure that held your entire world together. The unpredictable variables of the future were still looming, but as Jake pulled the heavy grey weighted blanket over both of you in the dark, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that your structural integrity was flawless.
The final weeks of your pregnancy felt like existing in a state of suspended animation.
It was late February. The world outside was still locked in the icy grip of winter, but inside the beige two-story house, time seemed to have slowed to a thick, agonizing crawl. You were thirty-eight weeks pregnant. The hospital bag, after being audited by Jake no less than forty-two times, was sitting fully packed by the front door.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. The house was quiet, save for the faint, rhythmic sound of Jake moving around in the nursery down the hall.You were standing at the kitchen island, a task you could only manage for about ten minutes before your swollen, aching feet demanded you sit down. Your parents, who lived three cities away, had sent a massive, gorgeous bouquet of flowers to celebrate the impending arrival of their grandson.You had filled a glass vase with lukewarm water and were methodically trimming the stems and stripping the excess leaves. Snip. Snip. The scent of eucalyptus and blooming lilies was strong, but pleasant. It was a grounding, repetitive sensory task.Down the hall, you could hear the soft hum of Jake’s voice. He wasn't talking to you; he was talking to the room. "The ambient light from the streetlamp will filter through the primary window at an angle of 45 degrees," Jake was murmuring to himself, likely adjusting the blackout curtains for the hundredth time. "The secondary acoustic panels are secure. The friction coefficient of the rug is optimal for crawling, though that biological milestone is currently months away. The inventory is stable."You smiled, tossing a handful of trimmed leaves into the compost bin. He was trying so hard to control the environment, trying to build a fortress strong enough to withstand the chaotic, unpredictable variable of childbirth.
You reached for a heavy, dark pink peony. You clamped the floral shears around the thick stem.
Snip.Simultaneously, a distinct, bizarre pop echoed low in your pelvis.
You froze. The floral shears slipped from your fingers, clattering loudly onto the granite countertop.
For a microsecond, there was no pain. There was only a sudden, overwhelming rush of warm fluid flooding down your thighs, soaking instantly through your maternity leggings and splashing onto the kitchen linoleum. "Oh," you gasped, your hands flying down to brace yourself against the edge of the island. Before your brain could even process the reality of your water breaking, the first contraction hit.
It didn't build slowly like the books had promised. It didn't start as a dull, menstrual-like ache. It hit you with the force of a high-speed collision—a massive, crushing band of iron clamping down around your abdomen and your lower spine with violent, breathless intensity. Your knees instantly buckled.You went down hard, catching yourself on your hands and knees right in the middle of the kitchen floor, surrounded by fallen leaves and the expanding puddle of amniotic fluid. A raw, guttural cry tore from your throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock and agony.
"Ah—! Jake! Jake!"
The sound of your scream shattered the quiet peace of the house.
The heavy, rapid thud of Jake’s footsteps echoed down the hallway instantly. He didn't just walk into the kitchen; he skidded into it, his socks slipping slightly on the hardwood before he caught himself on the doorframe. "Y/N?" Jake gasped, his chest heaving.He saw you on the floor. He saw the sheer, contorted agony on your face. And then, his eyes dropped to the puddle of fluid on the linoleum.
The biological variable. The system failure.Jake’s entire body went rigid. The color completely drained from his face, leaving him deathly pale. His hands flew up, hovering frantically around his chest as if he didn't know what to do with his own limbs.
"The... the timeline," Jake stammered, his voice jumping an entire octave, thin and panicked. "It is week thirty-eight. The statistical average is forty weeks. The fluid... your amniotic sac has ruptured. The sequence has initiated prematurely!"
"Jake," you sobbed, squeezing your eyes shut as the contraction refused to let go. It was blinding, a white-hot agony that made your entire body shake. "Jake, it hurts. It hurts so bad." That sentence broke him.Jake had spent the last two years dedicating every ounce of his massive, beautiful brain to keeping you safe. He audited your environment. He maintained the climate control. He massaged the fluid out of your swollen feet. You were his permanent variable, the only thing in the universe that made the static quiet. And now, you were writhing on the floor in a level of physical agony he had never, ever witnessed. A sharp, ragged whimper tore from Jake’s throat. He dropped to his knees right into the puddle of fluid, completely ignoring the sensory nightmare of the wet linoleum soaking through his jeans.He reached out, his large hands hovering over your back, trembling violently. He was terrified to touch you, terrified that his pressure would somehow exacerbate the pain.
T"You are in distress," Jake cried, the tears spilling instantly over his eyelashes, tracking fast and hot down his pale cheeks. "Your pain receptors are overloading. The volume is too high. I can see it. You are shaking. Y/N, I don't know how to fix it! I don't have the protocol to stop the biology!"
He pulled his hands back, grabbing fistfuls of his own dark hair, his breathing spiraling into rapid, shallow gasps. The sensory overload of your screaming, the visual trauma of your pain, and his own overwhelming, suffocating helplessness were crashing his system all at once. "Jake, no, don't pull away," you gasped, managing to lift one shaking hand to reach blindly for him. "Deep pressure. Please. My hips. Squeeze my hips."He heard the command. Apply deep pressure.
He let go of his hair. He crawled forward, positioning himself behind you. He placed his large, warm hands firmly on either side of your hips and squeezed with everything he had. "I am compressing the joints," Jake wept, his tears falling freely onto the back of your shirt. His chest heaved against your spine, his entire heavy frame shaking with the force of his sobs. "I am applying pressure. But you are still crying. It is not fixing the malfunction. Y/N, please, I cannot watch you hurt. It is too loud in my chest. It is tearing my data apart."
"You're helping," you panted, the contraction finally, agonizingly beginning to peak and slowly recede. "You are... anchoring me. Just hold me."
He slumped forward, wrapping his arms securely around your heavy belly, burying his wet face in the crook of your neck. He was sobbing openly now, the sound broken and terrified. He hated this. He hated the lack of control. He hated that his safe harbor was in pain."I have to initiate the transit sequence," Jake choked out, trying to force his logical brain back online through the haze of his tears. "The hospital bag is at the door. The car... I have to warm up the car. But I cannot leave you on the floor. If another contraction hits, you will lack compression."
You were both trapped. You couldn't walk, and he couldn't leave you to get the car ready without risking a massive panic attack for both of you.
And then, the front door unlocked.
"Y/N? Jakey? I let myself in!"
It was Sarah. It was Tuesday. She was arriving for your weekly Tuesday dinner, carrying two bags of groceries because you couldn't stand at the stove anymore.
Sarah walked into the kitchen, a smile on her face, and immediately dropped both bags of groceries onto the floor. Tomatoes and boxes of pasta spilled out, rolling across the hardwood, but she didn't even look at them. She took in the scene in a fraction of a second. The water on the floor. You on your hands and knees. Her son, weeping hysterically, wrapped around you like a human shield.
"Oh, my god," Sarah breathed. The mother-bear instinct, honed over twenty-six years of managing crises, snapped into place instantly.She crossed the kitchen in three strides. She didn't yell, knowing the volume would shatter Jake further. She dropped to her knees right beside the two of you, placing a firm, grounding hand on Jake’s shaking shoulder.
"Jake," Sarah said, her voice dropping into that calm, authoritative, unshakable register she used when he was a child having a meltdown. "Look at me, honey."
Jake lifted his head from your neck. His face was a mess of tears and raw, unfiltered terror. "Mom," he gasped, his voice cracking. "The sequence initiated early. The pain variable is extreme. I cannot stop her pain."
"You aren't supposed to stop it, Jakey," Sarah promised him fiercely, brushing a sweaty curl off his forehead. "You are just supposed to hold her. And you are doing a perfect job. But we need to move the environment to the hospital. Right now."
"I cannot leave her to start the car," he wept, his grip tightening around your waist. "She requires deep pressure."
"You don't have to leave her," Sarah commanded, already pulling her car keys back out of her pocket. "My car is running. It's warm. It's parked right at the bottom of the driveway. I am driving. You are going to stay right beside her the entire time."
Another wave of tightness began to coil low in your back. The interval was impossibly short."Sarah," you whimpered, bracing your hands against the floor again. "Another one. It's coming fast."
"Okay, Jake, on three, we are going to lift her," Sarah instructed, moving to your other side. "We are going to get her to the backseat of my car. You will provide the physical support. Can you execute the lift?"
Jake’s jaw clenched. The tears were still streaming down his face, his chest still heaving with panicked sobs, but the presence of his mother and a clear, defined set of instructions offered a tiny foothold in the chaos.
"I can execute the lift," Jake confirmed, his voice vibrating with absolute determination.
"One. Two. Three."
Jake hauled you up, taking almost your entire weight against his own body. He practically carried you down the hallway. He didn't even stop to grab his coat. He just grabbed the grey hospital bag by the door with his free hand and pushed out into the biting, freezing February air.Sarah had the backseat door of her SUV open. Jake maneuvered you inside, laying you across the seats, and instantly climbed in right beside you. He didn't sit in the seatbelt; he wedged himself onto the floorboard, kneeling so his face was level with yours and his hands could maintain their vice-grip on your hips.Sarah slammed the door, threw the hospital bag into the front, and jumped into the driver's seat. "I'm putting the hazards on," Sarah announced, throwing the car into drive and accelerating hard out of the suburban neighborhood. "We will be there in twelve minutes."The small, confined space of the backseat felt like a pressure cooker.The second contraction hit its peak just as Sarah took a sharp turn. You screamed, a loud, ragged sound that bounced off the windows. You couldn't help it. The pain was an all-consuming fire.Jake flinched violently at the sound, a fresh sob tearing from his own throat. He was crying just as hard as you were, his face buried in the heavy wool of your maternity sweater."I'm sorry," he wept, his thumbs pressing brutally hard into your hipbones, trying to force the deep pressure through the agony. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. Please, I want to take it. I want to swap the data. Give it to me."
"You're... doing it," you panted, your fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, pulling his head up so you could see his face. "Jake, look at me. Count. Remember the protocol? Count my breaths."He stared at you, his brown eyes wide and shattered, swimming in tears. He took a massive, shuddering breath, forcing his analytical brain to latch onto the numbers."Inhale," Jake choked out, his voice shaking. "One... two... three... four. Exhale."You blew the air out through your teeth, your eyes locked onto his."Inhale," he wept, keeping the rhythm steady even as his own body shook with terror. "One... two... three... four. The interval is approximately ninety seconds. The duration of the peak is forty-five seconds. You have fifteen seconds of peak physical trauma remaining."
"I love you," you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as the pain finally began to recede. "I love you, Spidey."
"I love you," he cried, leaning forward to press his wet, salty forehead against yours. "I am right here. I am the wall."
"Jake," Sarah called from the front seat, her voice tight but remarkably steady as she navigated the icy roads. "Your headphones. Put them on. The hospital emergency entrance is going to be loud, and I need you grounded."Jake reached blindly into the front pocket of his hoodie. He pulled out the heavy Sony noise-canceling headphones. His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped them, but he managed to slide them over his ears.
He didn't turn the noise-canceling feature all the way up. He left it at 50%. He needed to hear the ambient noise dampened, but he absolutely refused to block out the sound of your voice. If you needed him, he had to hear the data.Sarah pulled the SUV sharply into the red-lit emergency bay of the hospital. She laid on the horn, a long, aggressive blast that signaled an incoming emergency.
Nurses were outside with a wheelchair in seconds.The transition from the safe, insulated bubble of the car to the blinding, chaotic reality of the hospital was an assault on the senses. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with that aggressive 60-hertz cycle. The air smelled of sharp alcohol and sterile bleach. Radios were crackling, and people were shouting orders.
It was Jake's personal hell.As they helped you into the wheelchair, another contraction ripped through your body. You folded forward, crying out.
Jake stood frozen by the car door for exactly two seconds. His hands flew up to the sides of his headphones, his shoulders hiking up to his ears, his body desperately trying to fold inward to escape the sensory attack of the emergency room bay. The static in his head was a roaring, deafening tidal wave.
System crash imminent.
But then he looked at you. He saw you gripping the armrests of the wheelchair, your knuckles white, your face pale and twisted in pain.
His permanent variable.Jake let out a low, guttural growl—a sound of sheer, absolute defiance against his own neurology. He dropped his hands from his headphones. He closed the distance, grabbed the handles of your wheelchair from the nurse, and shoved it forward himself.
"Do not touch her," Jake snapped at an orderly who tried to assist, his voice taking on a cold, flat, entirely robotic tone—his ultimate defense mechanism. "She requires deep pressure. I am the husband. I am the primary support. Direct me to the labor and delivery ward. Now." The nurses, taking one look at the massive, fiercely protective man with tears streaming down his face and headphones over his ears, didn't argue. They led the way.Sarah ran right beside you, carrying the grey duffel bag, her hand resting on Jake’s back to guide him through the harsh, echoing corridors.When they finally got you into a delivery room, the chaos only intensified. Machines were hooked up. Wires were taped to your belly. The monitors began to beep—a sharp, high-pitched ping that measured the baby's heart rate and the intensity of your contractions.Jake stood rigidly beside the bed. He had pulled his dark blue hoodie up over his head, the hood layered over his headphones to create an additional sensory barrier. He looked terrified. He was still crying, silent tears tracking steadily down his pale face, but his hands were locked onto yours.
"The biological anomaly is arriving," Jake whispered to you, his thumb stroking your knuckles frantically as the nurse adjusted the IV in your arm. "The data is overwhelming. But the heart rate monitor indicates 140 beats per minute. Arthur is stable. You are stable."
"I need you to stay with me," you panted, the exhaustion beginning to blur the edges of your vision.
"I am stationary," Jake promised fiercely, leaning down so his face was inches from yours. "I am not leaving the coordinates. I will count every breath. I will audit every variable."And he did.
For the next six hours, Jake Sim endured the most profoundly overstimulating environment of his entire life, and he did it without shutting down.When the pain grew too intense for you to speak, he became your voice. He utilized his incredibly clinical vocabulary to communicate exactly what you were experiencing to the nurses, leaving no room for medical ambiguity. When the fluorescent lights became too much for him, he didn't leave the room; he simply closed his eyes and buried his face in the blankets beside your hip, maintaining the heavy, deep pressure you required.
Sarah sat in the corner, managing the logistics, answering the doctors' questions, and watching her son perform miracles.When it was finally time to push, the room filled with doctors. The noise level spiked. The clinical smell of iodine and blood filled the air.Jake stood right by your shoulder. He pushed one side of his headphones back, exposing his ear so he could hear you perfectly. He slid his arm behind your back, supporting your entire weight as you curled forward."The friction is massive," Jake wept with you, his face pressed against your sweaty cheek. "You are structurally incredible, Y/N. The output is almost complete. Keep pushing. One... two... three... four." You gave one final, agonizing, earth-shattering push, screaming his name into the chaotic room. And then, a new sound pierced the air.
It wasn't a beep. It wasn't the buzz of a fluorescent light. It was a loud, wet, furious wail.
You collapsed back against the pillows, gasping for air, your chest heaving.
"Time of birth, 11:42 PM," the doctor announced, placing a tiny, squalling, incredibly messy bundle directly onto your bare chest.
Jake completely froze.
He stared at the tiny, red, screaming infant resting on your chest. The baby's fists were clenched, his eyes squeezed shut against the harsh hospital lights. He was loud. He was unpredictable. He was covered in biological fluids. He was a sensory nightmare.Jake slowly reached up and pulled his headphones completely off his head, letting them drop around his neck.He didn't flinch at the crying. He didn't pull away from the mess.He leaned down, his broad shoulders shaking with fresh, overwhelming sobs, and rested his large, trembling hand gently over the baby's tiny, frantic back. The contrast between his massive hand and the tiny infant was staggering.
"Arthur," Jake whispered, his voice cracking with a love so profound it seemed to pull the gravity out of the room. "The variable is complete."
The baby, feeling the sudden, firm warmth of his father's hand, let out one last shuddering cry and slowly began to quiet down, settling into the familiar rhythm of your heartbeat."He's here, Jakey," you wept, turning your head to press a kiss to Jake's tear-soaked cheek. "He's perfect." Jake looked from the baby to you. He leaned his forehead against yours, his dark eyes shining with absolute, unvarnished awe. He had survived the noise. He had survived the chaos.
"The data was correct," Jake murmured into your skin, a wet, beautiful smile breaking across his face. "Fifty percent you. Fifty percent me. He is mathematically perfect."
Three days in the maternity ward felt less like a medical recovery and more like a prolonged sensory endurance test. For seventy-two hours, the world had been reduced to a small, starkly white room. It was a chaotic environment dictated by the hum of fluorescent bulbs, the sharp scent of antiseptic wipes, and the unpredictable, revolving door of nurses who came in at all hours to check vitals, administer pain medication, and press on your bruised, aching abdomen.For you, the exhaustion was absolute. Your body felt as though it had been put through a commercial-grade compactor. Every muscle ached, walking was a slow, shuffling physical trial, and your center of gravity had completely shifted, leaving you feeling hollowed out and incredibly fragile. Yet, beneath the crushing fatigue and the physical soreness, there was a profound, intoxicating euphoria.
You were a mother. Arthur was perfect. He was tiny, warm, and entirely reliant on you. He had a mop of dark, fluffy hair that mirrored his father’s, and a pair of dark, observant eyes that he opened just long enough to study the blurred shapes of the world before falling back into a deep, milk-drunk sleep.
For Jake, the three days in the hospital had been an exercise in sheer, unadulterated willpower. He had not left the room once. Not to get coffee, not to go to the cafeteria, not to step outside for fresh air. He had established a perimeter around your bed and Arthur's clear plastic bassinet, and he guarded it with the hyper-vigilant dedication of a sentry.
He wore his noise-canceling headphones almost the entire time, keeping the volume dial just low enough to hear your voice or Arthur’s cries, but high enough to drown out the beeping monitors and the hallway chatter. He tracked the nurses’ shifts in a small notebook. He memorized your medication schedule, reminding the staff exactly three minutes before your ibuprofen was due.But most importantly, he was your anchor. When Arthur cried in the middle of the night and the hormones and exhaustion made you weep, Jake was there. He would carefully lift the baby, applying the perfect, broad-handed deep pressure that Arthur seemed to inherently crave, and then sit on the edge of your hospital bed, wrapping his free arm around your shoulders to ground you both.Now, it was Friday morning. Discharge day.You were sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in soft, loose sweatpants and a maternity sweater. You watched as Jake executed the final packing protocol.He was standing by the small bassinet, his brow furrowed in absolute, laser-focused concentration. Arthur was dressed in his going-home outfit: a soft, dark blue, organic cotton onesie with the seams sewn on the outside to prevent localized friction.
Jake was currently securing the infant into the portable car seat.
"The chest clip must be aligned precisely with the armpit axis," Jake murmured to himself, his long fingers gently but firmly adjusting the plastic buckle over Arthur’s tiny sternum. "If it is too low, it compromises the skeletal restraint system in the event of sudden deceleration. If it is too high, it introduces an asphyxiation variable."
"It looks perfect, Spidey," you said softly, your voice raspy from fatigue.
Jake didn't look up until he had pulled the tightening strap at the bottom of the seat. He inserted two fingers beneath the shoulder harness, verifying the tension with mathematical precision. "The slack is eliminated. He is secured."
Jake finally turned to look at you. His dark eyes were shadowed with heavy bags, the physical toll of his hyper-vigilance evident in the pale, tight lines of his face. The hospital had drained his battery down to a critical one percent. He desperately needed his sanctuary."Are you ready to initiate the transit sequence?" he asked, walking over to you."I'm so ready to go home, Jake," you breathed, reaching your hands out.He leaned down, wrapping his arms around your waist, and carefully hauled you to your feet. He didn't let go of you immediately. He pressed you flush against his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.
"You still smell like the hospital," he mumbled into your skin, his nose wrinkling slightly. "The iodine and the synthetic linens. I need to recalibrate your olfactory baseline. I need you to smell like vanilla and oats again."
"I'll take a shower as soon as we get home," you promised, rubbing his back. "Just get us to the quiet room."
A sharp knock on the door made Jake flinch, his shoulders instantly hiking up defensively.A cheerful nurse walked in, pushing a wheelchair. "Alright, Mom and Dad! It’s policy that we wheel you down to the exit. Is your ride here?"
"My mother is parked in the designated loading zone at the East Entrance," Jake stated, his voice flattening into its protective cadence. He stepped back from you, picking up the heavy car seat with one hand and grabbing the grey duffel bag with the other. "We are prepared for extraction." The nurse blinked, slightly taken aback by his terminology, but she smiled politely. "Great. Have a seat, Y/N." The journey through the hospital corridors felt like running a gauntlet. The fluorescent lights buzzed violently overhead. The wheels of the chair squeaked against the linoleum. Jake walked exactly half a step behind your left shoulder, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. He was staring straight ahead, refusing to look at the other patients, his headphones securely clamped over his ears.When the automatic sliding doors finally parted, the rush of cold, crisp February air was like a physical blow of relief.Sarah’s SUV was idling by the curb. She leaped out the moment she saw you, a massive, tearful smile on her face.
"Oh, my babies," Sarah cooed, rushing over. She hugged you first, carefully avoiding your tender abdomen, before turning to her son.
Jake didn't hug her back. He couldn't. His hands were full, and his sensory capacity was entirely maxed out. "The external environment is 34 degrees," he stated abruptly, dodging her embrace to move toward the backseat of the car. "The infant will experience a rapid thermal drop. I must initiate the docking procedure."
Sarah didn't take it personally. She knew the signs of an impending system crash better than anyone. She stepped back, her smile softening into profound understanding. "The car is warm, Jakey. Go ahead."Jake clicked the car seat perfectly into the pre-installed base. Click. Clack. He tested the structural integrity by pulling aggressively on the handle. It didn't budge a millimeter.
He then helped you into the backseat, sliding in right beside you. He pulled his door shut, sealing out the noise of the hospital traffic.The silence inside the SUV was sudden and heavy. Sarah had turned the radio completely off. The only sound was the low, steady hum of the heater and the rhythmic sound of Arthur’s tiny, snuffling breaths.Jake let out a long, shuddering exhale. His head fell back against the headrest, his eyes sliding shut. His hands, which had been clenched into tight fists, slowly uncurled on his thighs."Deep breaths, Spidey," you whispered, shifting your weight painfully to lean your head against his broad shoulder.
Jake shifted instantly, bringing his arm up to wrap securely around your shoulders, tucking you against his side. He opened his eyes, his gaze locking onto the car seat in front of him.
"The hospital is a chaotic variable," Jake murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. "But the data collection was successful. We entered as two. We are exiting as three."
"We did it," you smiled, closing your eyes.The drive back to the house took exactly twenty minutes. Sarah drove with excruciating care, avoiding every pothole and taking the turns at a glacial pace. Jake spent the entire transit staring at Arthur’s chest, visually tracking the rise and fall of the baby’s breathing.When the SUV finally turned into your familiar driveway, the snow piled high on the lawns, your heart did a massive, relieved flutter."We're home," Sarah announced softly, putting the car in park.She got out, grabbing the duffel bags from the front, and hurried to the front door to unlock it and turn on the lights.Jake didn't rush. He opened his door, stepping out into the cold air. He unclicked the car seat with practiced ease, lifting Arthur out. Then, he offered you his free arm, providing the deep, stable pressure you needed to hoist yourself out of the low seat.Together, you walked up the front steps.
The moment Jake crossed the threshold into the house, you physically felt the shift in his energy.The front door clicked shut behind you, and the chaotic noise of the outside world vanished entirely. The house was bathed in the soft, warm glow of the amber lamps. The air smelled faintly of cedar and the clean, unscented laundry detergent he used."The temperature is exactly 69 degrees," Jake whispered, his chest expanding as he took his first real, deep breath in three days. He looked around the living room, his eyes scanning the perfectly aligned sofa cushions, the blackout curtains, and the neat rows of his LEGO bins.
The baseline had been restored.
"Welcome home, boys," you smiled, tears pricking your eyes at the sheer, overwhelming peace of the space.Sarah came walking out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "I stocked the fridge," she told you, keeping her voice pitched to a soft, soothing volume. "There's a massive batch of the organic chicken soup Y/N likes, and all the ingredients for Tuesday grilled cheese are prepped and sorted in the crisper drawer."
"Thank you, Mom," Jake said. He was still holding the car seat, standing in the entryway, processing the sensory relief.Sarah walked over. She didn't try to hug him again. She just reached out and gently smoothed down the collar of his hoodie. "You did so good, Jake. I am so incredibly proud of you. You protected them."
Jake’s jaw tightened. He looked down at the sleeping infant, then looked at you."They are my permanent variables. It is my primary function."
"I know it is," Sarah smiled, a tear slipping down her cheek. She picked up her purse from the entryway table. "Now, I am going to leave. You three need to establish your new routines. The static is gone, honey. You’ve got the manual now."
"I have the manual," Jake agreed softly.
Sarah blew you a kiss and slipped out the front door, locking it securely behind her.
And then, there were three."Let's get him out of the restraint system," Jake said, his focus immediately shifting back to the baby. "Prolonged containment in the car seat can restrict diaphragmatic expansion."
"To the nursery," you agreed, shuffling slowly down the hallway.
The nursery was exactly as Jake had built it—a masterpiece of sensory control. The walls were that soft, calming sage green. The lighting was dimmed to a mere twenty percent capacity. The acoustic panels absorbed the sound of your footsteps, making the room feel like a quiet, insulated cocoon.Jake set the car seat gently on the rug. He unbuckled the harness, his large hands incredibly gentle as he scooped the tiny infant into his arms.Arthur let out a small, disgruntled squeak at being moved, his tiny arms flailing out in a sudden startle reflex. His face scrunched up, the precursor to a loud, chaotic cry.Before the hospital, a sudden, unpredictable noise from a baby would have sent Jake’s nervous system into an immediate tailspin.
But not now.Jake didn't flinch. He didn't look for his headphones. He immediately pulled Arthur against his chest, tucking the baby's head beneath his chin. He spread his large hand over Arthur's entire back, applying a firm, steady, continuous deep pressure."Sensory overload," Jake murmured to the baby, his voice dropping into a low, resonant baritone that vibrated through his chest cavity. "The transition from the restraint system to the open air caused a proprioceptive disruption. I understand, Arthur. The world is too big right now. I am providing the boundary."
Jake began to rock. It wasn't the frantic, erratic rocking of a meltdown. It was a slow, deeply mathematical sway. Forward, two, three. Back, two, three. He calculated the momentum, keeping the rhythm flawless.Arthur’s scrunching face instantly smoothed out. The impending cry died in his throat. He felt the deep pressure. He felt the heavy, rhythmic vibration of his father’s voice. He let out a tiny, contented sigh, his little fists relaxing against Jake’s hoodie.You stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame, watching your husband work his magic."You're a natural, Spidey," you whispered, your heart swelling until you thought it might burst through your ribs.
Jake looked up at you as he rocked. "His nervous system is essentially a blank hard drive," he explained, though his eyes were incredibly soft. "He does not know how to self-regulate yet. He requires external compression to find his physical coordinates. It is highly logical."
"It's beautiful," you corrected him.
Jake walked over to the crib—the structurally flawless, birch wood fortress he had built. He lowered Arthur into the bassinet, keeping his hand flat against the baby's chest until the very last second, ensuring a smooth transition to the mattress.
Arthur didn't even twitch. He was out cold.Jake stood over the crib for a long moment, verifying the rise and fall of the tiny chest. He checked the digital thermometer on the changing table."The environment is stable," Jake announced quietly.He turned away from the crib and walked over to you. He didn't stop a foot away. He stepped directly into your space, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your tired, aching body flush against his."Your turn," Jake whispered into your hair."My turn for what?" you asked, melting against his solid warmth, letting him support your weight.
"Maintenance," he stated factually. "You have undergone massive biological trauma. The fluid loss, the muscle exertion, the sleep deprivation. Your structural integrity is compromised. I must initiate the recovery protocol." He didn't wait for you to argue. He swept one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you entirely off your feet. You let out a startled laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Jake! I'm heavy!"
"Your mass is irrelevant. I have calculated the load-bearing capacity of my skeletal structure," he replied, carrying you out of the nursery and down the hall toward the master bedroom. "You are not to walk anymore today. It introduces unnecessary friction to your healing tissues."He carried you into the master bedroom. The blackout curtains were drawn tight. The bed was freshly made, the sheets crisp and smelling of his unscented detergent.He set you down gently on the edge of the mattress. He knelt in front of you, carefully untying your sneakers and sliding them off your swollen feet. He pulled your socks off, his thumbs instinctively pressing into your arches to offer that deep, soothing pressure."The swelling is already decreasing," he noted, analyzing your ankles. "But you require hydration and horizontal rest."
He stood up, pulling the heavy, fifteen-pound grey weighted blanket back. "Get in."
You didn't need to be told twice. You slid under the sheets, groaning in absolute bliss as the familiar, heavy weight of the blanket settled over your exhausted body. It was like sinking into a cloud of pure safetyJake didn't immediately join you. He went into the master bathroom, returning a minute later with a large glass of ice water—no, room temperature water, because ice clinked and the cold shocked the system.
He set it on the nightstand, then walked around to his side of the bed.
He stripped off his hoodie, leaving him in his soft, tagless t-shirt, and climbed under the weighted blanket beside you.The moment his body settled against the mattress, the final piece of the algorithm locked into place. He pulled you flush against his side, his heavy arm slinging over your waist, his long legs tangling with yours.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your collarbone.
"The static is entirely gone," Jake whispered, his voice incredibly thick.
"Me too," you murmured, your eyes already drifting shut, anchored by his heavy, beautiful weight. "I love you, Jake."
"I love you, Y/N," he replied, his hand resting flat against your stomach, which was now soft and empty. "And I love Arthur. The variables are perfect."
The house was completely silent. The temperature was exactly 69 degrees. Down the hall, the anomaly slept peacefully in his mathematically sound crib. And in the quiet dark of the bedroom, Jake Sim finally allowed his hyper-vigilant processor to power down. He had built the perimeter. He had survived the noise. And as he held you in the safety of the beige house, he knew with absolute certainty that no matter how loud the world outside got, he would always be the wall that kept you safe.
The first few weeks of parenthood were exactly what Jake had calculated they would be: a massive, systemic disruption of their previous baseline. Sleep was fragmented into two-hour intervals. The laundry machine ran almost constantly, cycling through organic cotton burp cloths and tagless onesies. The pristine quiet of the beige two-story house was frequently punctuated by the sharp, demanding cries of a newborn who had not yet learned how to exist in a world with gravity and cold air.
But miraculously, the system didn't crash.Jake had adapted with the fierce, hyper-focused dedication he usually reserved for three-thousand-piece architectural models. He had built a schedule so airtight it left no room for the paralyzing anxiety of the unknown. He tracked Arthur’s ounces of milk intake on his iPad spreadsheet. He mapped out the exact times to dim the smart bulbs to promote melatonin production. He became an absolute master of the swaddle, folding the organic receiving blankets around Arthur with the precise tension required to simulate the deep pressure of the womb.It was exactly 3:14 AM on a Tuesday, roughly three weeks after you had brought Arthur home. You woke up with a slow, heavy blink, the phantom echo of a baby’s cry pulling you out of a deep sleep. You reached your hand out instinctively across the mattress.Your fingers met cool, empty sheets.You pushed yourself up, the heavy grey weighted blanket sliding off your shoulders. The house was utterly silent. The ambient temperature was locked at 69 degrees.
You slid your feet into your quiet, rubber-soled slippers and walked softly out of the master bedroom, the acoustic dampening of the hallway absorbing the sound of your steps.A soft, warm amber glow was spilling out from the open doorway of the nursery.
You didn't walk in right away. You stopped just behind the doorframe, peeking into the room.The scene inside made your breath catch in your throat.Jake was sitting in the wide, upholstered rocking chair in the corner of the room. He wasn't wearing his noise-canceling headphones. He was dressed in his soft, worn-in navy hoodie, the hood pushed down, his fluffy dark curls sleep-mussed and sticking up in every direction.Arthur was fully awake, resting against Jake’s chest, swaddled perfectly into a tight, dark blue burrito. The baby’s large, dark eyes—an exact mirror of his father’s—were wide open, staring up at Jake’s face in the dim light.
Jake was rocking the chair. Forward, two, three. Back, two, three. The momentum was perfectly calculated.He was talking to his son. His voice was pitched to that low, resonant baritone, a steady, vibrating hum that you knew provided Arthur with immense tactile comfort."The light you are currently observing is a wavelength of approximately 590 nanometers," Jake was whispering, his long, elegant fingers gently stroking the soft peach fuzz on the top of Arthur's head. "It is the color amber. It is statistically proven to be the least disruptive to your circadian rhythm. That means it is safe for your eyes."
Arthur let out a tiny, soft coo, a bubble of spit forming on his lips.
Jake’s expression softened into a look of such absolute, unvarnished adoration that it made your heart physically ache. He didn't pull a tissue. He just used the soft sleeve Pof his hoodie to gently wipe the baby's chin. "You are experiencing rapid neurological growth," Jake continued, his tone factual but completely laced with wonder. "Every time you blink, your synapses are forming new pathways. It must be very overwhelming. The data input is massive. But you do not need to process it all at once, Arthur. I have optimized the perimeter."Jake leaned his head back against the chair, keeping the baby securely anchored to his chest."When I was your age," Jake murmured, his voice growing incredibly quiet, "the world was very loud. The lights were too sharp. The tags on my clothes felt like sandpaper. My processor did not know how to filter the noise. I was very afraid, very often."You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe, tears pricking your eyes. You had never heard him talk about his infancy this way."But you will not have to be afraid," Jake promised his son, his hand flattening against Arthur’s tiny back, providing that essential deep pressure. "I have audited the textiles. I have sealed the windows. And when the variables become too unpredictable, I will be the wall. Just as your mother is the wall for me. You are fifty percent her, which means you are structurally flawless."
Arthur blinked slowly, his heavy eyelids finally beginning to droop under the soothing cadence of his father’s voice and the rhythmic math of the rocking chair.
"You are my favorite anomaly," Jake whispered, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the baby's forehead. "Now, initiate sleep mode. The environment is stable."
You stepped into the room, unable to stay hidden any longer.
"You're amazing with him," you whispered, walking over to the rocking chair.
Jake looked up, his dark eyes instantly finding yours. The hyper-vigilant tension he carried in the outside world was entirely absent. Here, in the amber light, holding his son, he just looked like a man perfectly at peace."His distress vocalizations woke me at exactly 3:02 AM," Jake reported softly, not stopping the rocking motion. "He required a diaper change and an additional two ounces of formula. He is now entering the final stages of the sleep cycle. You did not need to break your REM sleep, Y/N. The sequence was under control."
"I know it was," you smiled, reaching out to run your fingers through Jake's messy curls. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his warm cheek. "I just woke up and missed my permanent variable. Both of them."Jake hummed, a deep sound of profound satisfaction, and leaned his face against your stomach as you stood beside him. "The volume of my love for you is mathematically incalculable," he murmured into your shirt.
"I love you too, Jakey," you whispered, watching Arthur's eyes flutter entirely shut. "Let's put him down and go back to sleep. We have a lot of variables to conquer tomorrow."
Two Years Later
"Dada! Bwock!"
The joyful, demanding shout echoed through the sunlit living room of the house.
It was a Saturday morning. The world outside had thawed into a beautiful, vibrant spring, but inside, the climate control was, as always, locked at a comfortable 69 degrees.You were standing at the kitchen island, a mug of hot coffee in your hands, watching the scene unfolding on the plush living room rug with a heart so full it felt like it might burst.Arthur was now two years old.
He was a whirlwind of kinetic energy, a miniature clone of his father with the same fluffy, dark curls and enormous brown eyes. But unlike Jake’s historically cautious approach to the world, Arthur attacked his environment with fearless enthusiasm, entirely confident that his parents had made the world perfectly safe for him to explore.Jake was sitting cross-legged on the floor.He was wearing his favorite vintage Spider-Man pajama set—the soft, tagless ones with the flat seams. Sitting exactly opposite him, mirroring his posture with striking accuracy, was Arthur, wearing an exact, miniature replica of the same tagless Spider-Man pajamas. Between them sat a massive plastic bin of vibrant, primary-colored LEGO Duplo blocks.
Jake had originally planned to introduce standard LEGO sets when Arthur's fine motor skills developed, but he quickly realized that the larger, safer Duplo blocks were mathematically perfect for a toddler's grip. "Bwock, Dada!" Arthur demanded again, slapping his small, chubby hand against the carpet.Jake picked up a bright red 2x4 Duplo brick. He didn't just hand it to his son; he held it up, examining it with the same intense, analytical focus he used for his architectural commissions.
"This is a fundamental structural component," Jake explained to the two-year-old, his tone perfectly serious and respectful. He never used 'baby talk'. He spoke to Arthur as if he were a colleague. "The clutch power of the interlocking tubes underneath will allow us to build a stable foundation. You must align the studs precisely."
He handed the red block to Arthur.Arthur grabbed it with both hands. He picked up a blue block from the carpet and, with a look of intense concentration that mirrored Jake’s exactly, mashed the two blocks together.
Click.
"I did it!" Arthur cheered, throwing his hands in the air."Your spatial awareness is developing flawlessly," Jake praised, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across his face. He leaned forward and ruffled Arthur's dark curls. "You have achieved a successful connection. Now, we must reinforce the lateral stability." You took a sip of your coffee, leaning against the counter. Watching Jake as a father was the greatest privilege of your life. All the fears he had harbored during your pregnancy—that his sensory limitations would make him inadequate, that he wouldn't be able to handle the noise of a child—had been completely dismantled. He hadn't stopped being autistic. The world outside the house was still too loud, the grocery store still required noise-canceling headphones, and unexpected changes to his schedule still caused his anxiety to spike. But with Arthur, Jake had rewritten his own algorithm.
If Arthur cried loudly because he scraped his knee, Jake didn't cover his ears. He immediately recognized the sound as 'distress data' rather than 'chaotic noise', and his protective instinct completely overrode his sensory defenses. He would scoop Arthur up, apply the deep pressure his son loved, and calmly assess the "malfunction."
He was the most patient, attentive, and deeply affectionate father you had ever seen. He was, in every sense of the word, a puppy husband—utterly devoted, deeply loving, and profoundly safe. "Mama! Look!" Arthur shrieked, spotting you in the kitchen. He scrambled to his feet, abandoning his Duplo tower, and ran across the living room on his sturdy little legs. "I see it, my brave little spider!" you laughed, putting your coffee down just in time to catch him as he crashed into your knees. You scooped him up, settling his warm, solid weight onto your hip. You pressed a loud, exaggerated kiss to his cheek, making him giggle uncontrollably. Jake stood up from the carpet. He uncrossed his long legs with fluid grace and walked over to the kitchen island, his eyes locked onto the two of you. He stepped directly into your space, wrapping his long arms around both you and Arthur, pulling his entire family into a massive, encompassing hug. He pressed his face against the side of your head, inhaling your scent, then leaned down to bump his nose affectionately against Arthur’s. "The tower is incomplete," Jake informed his son, his eyes crinkling with warmth. "But Mama required morning compression. We will resume the construction sequence in approximately five minutes."
"Okay, Dada," Arthur chirped, resting his head on your shoulder and immediately beginning to play with the zipper of your cardigan. You looked up at Jake, running your free hand up his chest to rest flat against his heart. It was beating in a slow, steady, perfect rhythm. "Are you happy, Spidey?" you asked softly, the morning sun catching the lapis lazuli in his wedding band as he held you.
Jake didn't need to run an internal diagnostic to answer the question. The data was glaringly obvious.He looked around the house. He looked at the Duplo blocks scattered on the rug. He looked at the acoustic panels on the walls that kept the world at bay. And then, he looked at you—the woman who had walked into his life three years ago with a crooked diploma and a willingness to understand the math of his mind."Before you arrived, my brain was filled with static," Jake said, his voice dropping into that deep, resonant octave reserved only for you. "I spent all my energy building walls to keep the unpredictable variables out."
He lifted his hand, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch feather-light and incredibly tender."But you did not break my walls," he continued, his dark brown eyes shining with absolute, unfiltered devotion. "You walked inside them. You helped me reinforce the foundation. And then, we built Arthur."
He looked at the toddler currently trying to put your zipper in his mouth, pulling it gently away.
"I am not just happy, Y/N," Jake stated, leaning down until his forehead rested flush against yours. "The static isn't entirely gone but it feels like it is. The variables are perfect. My life is... it is no longer an equation to be solved. It is a masterpiece."
You smiled, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. He kissed you back immediately, a deep, grounding pressure that anchored you to the earth. "Ew! Kisses!" Arthur protested loudly, squirming against your hip. Jake pulled back, a genuine, hearty laugh escaping his chest—a sound that still felt like a victory every time you heard it. He reached out and scooped Arthur out of your arms, tossing the squealing toddler slightly in the air before settling him securely against his chest.
"Kisses are highly optimal for maintaining the parental bond, Arthur," Jake informed his giggling son, turning back toward the living room rug. "Now, we must finish the tower. The structural integrity depends on us."
You stood in the kitchen, picking your coffee mug back up, and watched your two Spider-Men sit back down on the carpet. Jake picked up a blue piece of plastic. It wasn't a Duplo block. It was the translucent blue, polycarbonite "power blast" web piece that he had given you on that rainy afternoon three years ago. The one you still kept in the ceramic bowl on the counter.
He held it up for Arthur to see. "This," Jake told his son, his voice thick with meaning, "is a web. It connects things. It holds things together when they are falling." He looked over his shoulder, catching your eye across the room, and flashed you a smile so bright it outshined the morning sun. "And it never breaks."
You took a sip of your coffee, the warmth spreading through your chest, settling deep in your bones. The diploma was still hanging in your office at the community center. You had plenty of real-world experience now. But your greatest achievement wasn't a file folder or a caseload.
It was right here. In this perfectly controlled, 69-degree sanctuary, watching the man who had once been terrified of the world teach his son how to build a beautiful, indestructible life, one plastic brick at a time.
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this wasn’t in the script ? — heeseung lee oneshot
summary. despite being in a public relationship for 3 years, both of you were private about it. after years of interrogations by fans, media and even your friends, you both decide to go live for a Q&A session, breaking the silence.
pairings. celeb!heeseung x celeb!reader
content / warnings. just tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, nicknames (baby), they get sentimental, hee is a FLIRT, mentions of the industry and it’s downsides, they’re in love your honor, slightly suggestive in one question but nothing much.
w.c. 1.3k
You adjust the camera with careful hands, trying to ignore the way your heart won’t settle, even after all this time.
The frame shifts slightly before you fix it, exhaling softly as the silence stretches between you and Heeseung.
“We’re really doing this, huh?” you say, half-laughing, half-hoping he’ll say no—but when you turn, he’s already looking at you, steady and certain, like he decided long before you did.
“We said we would,” he replies quietly, voice steady in a way yours isn’t. He took your hand in his, before kissing it. “I’m right beside you, baby.”
You swallow, nodding once, more to yourself than to him, before reaching forward again. Your finger hovers over the screen for a second too long.
Three years of dodging questions.
Three years of silence. Of subtle hints.
And now… this.
“Okay,” you murmur, barely above a whisper, before pressing the button.
The screen flickers.
For a split second, it’s just the two of you—unchanged, unseen.
Then, YOU ARE LIVE! shows up on the screen.
Numbers begin climbing faster than you expected. Comments flood in almost instantly, too quick to read, too loud even in their silence.
“Hi everyone,” Heeseung starts first, his voice calm and grounding, but you could feel the excitement in it.
welovetheace: WOAH THIS NEW
dialtragedy2790: wait i’m scared r they announcing a pregnancy?
You choked on your saliva at that. “What—No! No pregnancy announcement,” You reply with a huff in which he just laughs at.
“We’re here today because…” He looks at me, smiling before turning to the camera again. “…We want to talk about us. Answer questions and reveal things we never did over the past few years.”
“That’s right, I know all of you are dying to know—we went public three years ago, but that’s just it. Just an official statement from our agency and that’s basically it.”
You laugh, “Some of you even accused us of being a PR stunt!” You narrow your eyes at the screen while Heeseung smirks.
“Not so PR stunt if I kiss you right here, no?”
(name)lover: oh here mr flirtypants go
heedagoat: she’s stronger than me i would’ve died
hevanly: the way you can tell she’s used to his bs 😭😭
You clear your throat as you change the topic.
“So, I told you guys to ask me some questions about our relationship on Instagram and to say the least, we were entertained by your questions!”
You smile at the screen, your hand ready with your phone full of questions—some picked by you, some Heeseung and of course, filtered by the assistance of your dedicated Manager, Jen.
“Let’s just get into it, then?” He looks at you, gaze loving.
lovestrucked2508: he is looking at her like she’s his whole world… I’m sick.
———
“The first question—What’s something fans were right about—but you never confirmed?” You read, Heeseung hums.
“Oh! That we were already dating during that award show, remember?” He looks at you, grinning.
“The one that you wouldn’t stop staring at me?” You scoff, he nonchalantly shrugs.
“In my defense, that dress? With the split? You were killing me, baby.” He holds his heart, as if you are actually assassinating him.
You can already imagine what the comments are like.
“Oh stop it, you were not helping it. Even other celebs were suspecting it that time!” You laugh.
number1ace: WE WERE NOT CRAZY AFTER ALL
You read another question, “Who gets sulky more easily?”
“Heeseung.”
“(Name).”
You gasp, mock-offense. “You do! I literally have to put up with your little pout every time I say no!” Your finger boop said pout he’s forming right now.
“Well, I can’t help it. That’s just how my lips are. Besides, what type of girlfriend refuses her boyfriend’s cuddles?”
“The type that has schedules to attend, and not stuck in bed with you all day!”
He pouts.
jujuprincess: THAT POUT omg she’s so strong to deny him
“Okay, moving on!” He reads. “How did going public affect your relationship emotionally?”
He thinks of a second, before answering.
“To be completely honest, nothing. Both (Name) and I are aware that once we go public, the lack of privacy, interrogations, people over analyzing our actions and words— are a given,” He turns his attention to me. “I guess, we’re both mentally strong people?” He chuckles.
“Because while yes, the world knows we’re each other’s person, but the moments that we kept to ourselves? That’s what ground us as a couple. Because the (Name) off screen is for my eyes only, and that made me feel like…nothing really changes.”
You smile at his sentimental answer, while agreeing with him.
“What’s your ‘normal date’ actually like?” He reads another one.
“It’s our favourite, actually. Locking our doors and spend the whole day sleeping,” I chuckled.
“While hugging each other, of course.” He laughs, “We both have demanding schedules, so when we’re tired and have eachother? (Name) here becomes my teddy bear.”
You roll your eyes, faux annoyed. “His grip—God—It’s like he has magnets in him.”
“But I never see you complaining.” He winks at you.
f4taltroubl3: why is she calmer than me and I’m not even in the relationship
The questions continue, some light-hearted and funny, some headliner-worthy you could feel your manager stressing out as she monitors your live from her screen.
“What’s a moment where you felt proud of each other as artist?” You read, and immediately answer.
“Uhm, while I am proud for all the awards he achieved…what makes me even prouder of him is that his tendency to stay commited to his intentions. By his side, you can really see how much hardship he went through. However, through it all— his mindset never wavered, and that’s so significant in this fabricated and chaotic industry. As a fellow artist, I respect him so much. As a lover, I’m so proud of him.” I held his hand, and smile.
Heeseung’s breath hitches as he stares at you answering.
“That means so much to me, baby.” He says, voice soft enough it passes as a whisper only you hear.
LHS1COMINGSOON: the way u can tell they protected this relationship a lot, oh my heart.
He reads another one: “When was a moment you felt ‘this is my person’?”
He smiles before answering, “Before her, I’m someone who avoids talking to people or in general shut myself out from the world when things get tough, and then get back on track myself. But…when we started dating, I realised instead of wanting solitary, I crave her. In my silence, I search for her. She grounds me even more that past me can do it myself.” He chuckles.
“Loving (Name) is so easy. You just can’t not fall in love with her.” He kisses your hand again, and you feel your face heating up, as well as the lump in your throat forming.
“Tch, what a sap.” You smile, blinking quickly to avoid tearing up.
He just grin at that.
beliftlabdestroyer: The way they talk about each other is so gentle
heeseung4life: No wonder he fell for her
“Who is more affectionate in private?” You scoff, “I fear this is obvious, you guys.”
Heeseung looks at you, before smirking.
“Oh really now?” His hand creeping up your inner thigh.
“Yup.”
“But the last time I checked, it wasn’t me who was on their knees last n—”
“Okay—! Next question.” You glare at him, “Have you talked about your future seriously?”
Heeseung hums, “Future…” He shrugs. “Both of us really hold onto the concept of Carpe Diem, but…” He tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“I’m so sure we’re each other’s future too. Maybe a family of our own?” He smiles.
You grin, “Well—that’s a given. But, too early to talk about that.”
gojosatoruineedthatdih: wait lowkey imagined a kid with both of their genes….we’re not ready
After the last question fades and the comments slow just enough to breathe, you glance at Heeseung, unsure who’s supposed to end it. For a moment, neither of you speaks—until he quietly thanks the viewers, his voice softer than it’s been the entire time.
“Thank you for supporting us,” you add, voice steadier than you expected.
You reach for the screen to end the live—
—but he stops you. Just for a second.
Not dramatic. Not obvious.
Just enough to gently intertwine his fingers with yours and kiss your temple.
“Now you can end it,” he murmurs.
And of course—
the camera catches everything.
note: hi loves! projected one of my thoughts about hee in here wanna guess which one? 😋 also! i considered using y/n but i never really tried it before, so tell me, is (name) too distracting? or just nice? or just stick to y/n? also! i miss heeseung :(
You and Satoru broke up for a reason, you keep reminding yourself.
But even months later and, ehm… other people later, you find yourself staring at his contact picture, typing and deleting the same message over and over again.
How are you even supposed to break no contact? Is there a good way of reaching out to your ex without coming across as desperate or delusional?
"I miss you" your fingers type.
Delete.
No way you're starting with that – even if it is the truth.
"Hope you're well" …you groan before you even finish typing that one, the little sound of each letter disappearing managing to piss you off even more.
You had heard it enough times already. A monotone soundtrack to every little memory of Satoru, both good and bad, that jumped to your mind without warning the longer you stared at his handsome picture.
It felt ridiculous to miss him that much. You had tried so hard to move on – maybe just to prove a point too. Because otherwise you’d have to admit what he knew all along.
You shouldn’t embarrass yourself like that, you decide with a long sigh, ready to lock the device.
But suddenly – three little dots appear on the screen.
satoru: just send it already i can't take it anymore
Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, and it takes everything in you to not throw the phone across the room and hide from sheer embarrassment.
Then it pings again.
satoru: hellooo?
Fuck.
Was it too late to change your number and move to a different country?
You sigh, finally typing a message you actually send.
y/n: how long have you been watching the screen
Three dots.
satoru: like 10 minutes
You let out a silent scream, heart hammering in your chest.
This is the worst possible scenario – time to deflect.
y/n: why the hell did you have my chat open anyway
Three dots again…
satoru: princess I've been waiting for this moment for months
Your cheeks heat up with something other than embarrassment this time.
y/n: you're an idiot
You know he’d practically be able to hear your pout through that text. But then–
satoru: that guy you were dating finally fuck up?
You let out a small chuckle at his honesty. And yeah, fuck up was putting it lightly, but you didn't exactly want to get into how every man since Satoru had been a complete disappointment.
You sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to try and force back the smile that tried to form on your lips.
y/n: guess you could say that
Satoru was typing again, three dots appearing and disappearing. Maybe he was the one deleting the messages on the other side now.
You could almost picture him – that wide cheese eating grin, celebrating his prophecy coming true. You hated how right he was about the fact you wouldn't find anyone better than him.
The overly confident bastard he was.
But the message you received wasn't smug at all. If anything, it made your heart ache with that familiar comfort no one but him seemed able to give you.
satoru: did he hurt you?
You felt a tightness in your throat as you typed out a yes. It's not like you were ever in love with the guy – you hadn't really been in love with anyone since, well… since the man you were texting right now.
White haired, blue eyed, handsome Satoru Gojo, shining so bright he overshadowed everyone in his wake, including you.
But how could anyone else even compare?
satoru: are you ok?
You bite your lower lip, reading and rereading his text. Yes that guy proved to be an asshole, but what was really making your chest hurt wasn't that short lived situationship – it was how much you missed Satoru.
Missed his stupid jokes. Missed the way he'd easily pick you up and place kisses all over your face. Missed cuddling on cold nights, laughing at the dumb movie he chose, baking cookies for lunch when his adorable pout convinced you it was healthy.
What was the use of lying, anyway?
y/n: i just really miss you
There. You finally admitted the truth you had been trying to conceal for months now.
And his response came so fast you wondered how his thumbs could type so quickly.
satoru: ill be there in 10
You laugh – Satoru easily lives a half an hour away, but you fully believe him.
How did you ever think you’d get over Satoru Gojo?
(important) DO NOT MESSAGE YOUR EX – unless he is satoru gojo, of course
Money, sex, and a lifetime of feeling like luck was never really on your side—until the universe decided to fuck with you in the most inconvenient way possible. What started as simple coexisting turned into something more when you paid a little too much attention to your quiet, awkward, painfully responsible roommate—who, on paper, is a complete fucking loser. But, hey, he’s not that bad!
In which Sim Jaeyun becomes the only genuinely good, unfairly lucky thing that’s ever happened to you… and just like everything else in your life, good things have a way of slipping right through your fingers. So now you have to figure it out, fix it, or risk losing the only thing that ever felt right before you run Out of Luck.
1: AGAINST THE ODDS
content tags and warnings: roommate au! romantic comedy, jake is an engineering student x volleyball varsity player reader, ANGST for this chapter! profanities, jake has braces! hopeless romantic reader (she almost get off), internal conflict, jake is such an awkward introverted baby (he likes lego and collects hot-wheels), burning slowburn (slow pacing i swear), superstitious beliefs, lots of awkward erm moments, jake is secretly a simp, reader is pathetic, ft. karina, other kpop idols and robots as side characters. explicit content (smut): sub! jake, virginity loss, handjob, lots of kissing, grinding, unprotected sex. (WC: 35.2K)
Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life too, which felt like a cruel fucking trifecta to kick off 2026.
As if the universe had taken one look at you and decided to stack the odds just to see how much you could take before cracking. You rang in the new year under the table eating grapes, promising yourself things would get better even though you didn't really believe it, because every year started the same way—broke, tired, horny, and stuck pretending you had your shit together when you absolutely didn't.
Well... this year, your varsity scholarship barely did more than keep you enrolled, covering tuition and some little allowance, nothing else, which meant every other expense came straight out of your pocket, and college was already draining you dry without rent, utilities, groceries, and all the other bullshit that came with trying to survive in the city.
You worked your ass off, trained until your muscles screamed, counted every dollar like it might disappear if you didn't watch it closely enough, and still it never felt like enough, the numbers never quite lining up no matter how careful you were. Living alone had been a nice idea, but it died fast once you actually looked at the prices, reality slapping you hard enough that you didn't bother pretending anymore.
That was how you ended up scanning roommate listings with a pit in your stomach, sitting through awkward interviews, nodding politely while doing mental math in your head, telling yourself you could deal with almost anyone if it meant splitting the bills and not drowning.
That was how you ended up with a roommate. Andddd your roommate was a boy named Sim Jaeyun.
"Is he like so handsome and hot?" Karina yelled as she spiked the ball straight at you, and you dropped to your knees on the covered court to receive it. "Most people fall in love with their roommates! Take it as a chance—remember when Coach made you eat grapes under the table during New Year's? They said you'd meet your true love within the year. It's a sign!"
No. What the fuck.
Because Sim Jaeyun was... different, and that was putting it nicely. Geeky was the first word that always popped into your head whenever you thought about him, followed closely by awkward as hell, because the first time you met him during that short, painfully quiet interview, he stuttered through half his sentences and wouldn't stop fidgeting with his hands like they had a mind of their own, tapping, twisting, pulling at his sleeves until you wondered if he was going to vibrate right out of the chair.
Still, annoyingly enough, he was better than most of the people who applied—clean record, stable background, no weird red flags on paper—which was how he made the cut despite the whole mess of nerves.
The first week really sealed it for you, though, because when you came back from training one night, you found him sprawled on the living room floor for hours, surrounded by Lego pieces, carefully snapping them together with this intense focus, and you just stood there for a moment, eyebrow twitching, face twisting before you could stop yourself. You weren't trying to be judgmental—at least that's what you told yourself—but watching a grown man play with Legos like that weirded you the fuck out, and the word loser lodged itself in your brain whether you liked it or not.
Sometimes you'd pass by his room and sneak a glance inside, catching sight of his tiny model cars lined up neatly on a shelf, perfectly arranged, and every time it made your stomach tighten with secondhand embarrassment, because this was the guy you were stuck sharing a space with, the supposed "true love" the universe was trying to shove into your life, and you already knew there was no fucking way.
"Come on, tell me more about this roommate of yours, why are you so quiet about it? It's been like five months," Karina laughed, and you couldn't help yourself as you spiked the ball straight toward her face, irritation snapping through your arm, only for her to catch it effortlessly and fling it right back at you like it was nothing.
You scoffed as you received it, rolling your shoulders, already annoyed at how easily she brushed you off.
"It's nothing special like you're trying to romanticize, okay?" you shot back. "All I know is he's an engineering major with this weird-ass Lego and tiny car obsession, and whenever he actually talks—which is rare as hell—it's always about practical shit like the rent, the electricity bill, or some absentminded 'hi' if we happen to cross paths at the exact right second."
"Oooh, a nerdy type?" Karina teased, eyes lighting up as she bounced on her feet, clearly enjoying this way too much. "So he's not that talkative? Why don't you try asking him more?"
"Why would I?" you shot back, eyebrow lifting just as the shrill sound of the coach's whistle cut through the air, making both of you snap your heads toward the court as he signaled for a break.
You grabbed your towel and water bottle, walking alongside Karina toward the bench, sweat clinging to your skin while she kept running her mouth like she always did. "Because it's for the thrill," she continued, lowering her voice only slightly, hands hovering in the air as if she were pitching some grand idea. "I mean, you literally told us you want to get laid but you don't do hookups, so hello? The opportunity is right there in your fucking apartment. Grab it. So you don't have to masturbate all the time."
"Jesus, no," you muttered, unscrewing your bottle and taking a long drink, water spilling down your chin as you scoffed. "I bet that man is a fucking virgin," you added without hesitation, already pushing off the bench and heading back toward the court as the break ended, trying to leave the whole conversation behind with your towel tossed over your shoulder.
"And what if he was?" Karina shouted after you. "Are you not curious at all? You're not even talking about it, and it's a man. It's a big deal!"
You clenched your jaw as you took your position, telling yourself to shut it out, to focus on the ball, the court, the rhythm of your body moving the way it always had, but her words slipped under your skin anyway.
It wasn't like Sim Jaeyun—Jake, as he awkwardly introduced himself—was unattractive, and that realization annoyed you even more, because technically, objectively, he had the kind of face people trusted without thinking twice. Innocent-looking, pale skin that never seemed to tan no matter how much time passed, a pointed nose, plump lips that curved into an almost shy smile, and those stupid braces flashing whenever he talked about something painfully mundane like daily water consumption, as if that was the most important thing in the world.
And fuck, speaking of masturbation, that thought made you shift uncomfortably because you did it—a lot—at least you used to, but somewhere along the line it had stopped, and you couldn't even pinpoint when or why. Maybe it was the brutal training schedule, the constant exhaustion, your body collapsing into bed every night without energy for anything else, or maybe it was the fact that you were now living with a boy, his quiet presence seeping into your routines in ways you didn't want to think about too closely... wait NO, you were not going to let Karina's words worm their way into your head, not when you had bigger priorities, like finally getting some long-overdue "me time" with your own body. You'd barely had the space to breathe, let alone touch yourself properly, and now there was the added complication of sharing an apartment with a guy.
Thin walls, shared spaces, the constant awareness that someone else existed just a few steps away made everything feel awkward and exposed, like privacy had become this fragile thing you had to tiptoe around. But then... why the fuck were you letting his weird shy-boy aura control what you did with your own body in your own apartment? Get a grip. It was 2026, for fuck's sake, and women didn't have to shrink themselves or pretend they didn't have needs, didn't want pleasure, didn't get horny. It wasn't embarrassing to want it, to crave it, to take care of yourself, and you refused to feel guilty about it. You decided right then that you were masturbating tonight, no excuses, no letting some awkward roommate situation dictate your life.
When you got home, you dumped your bag by the door and locked yourself in your room, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto the bed, trying to force your muscles to relax and your mind to shut the hell up.
Jake was just some innocent presence in your thoughts, nothing more, but... maybe he really was some timid little virgin. He was so damn quiet, so careful, that doing something dirty under the same roof almost felt wrong, like you were corrupting the space just by wanting it. And of course, the more you tried not to think about him, the more firmly he lodged himself in your head, sooo stubborn and intrusive.
"Shit," you breathed, shifting on the bed as your fingers slid between your thighs, touching yourself slowly. "Stop thinking, stop thinking, fuck," you whispered, eyes squeezing shut, but the moment you did, your brain betrayed you, flashing an image of him sitting in the living room, hunched over his stupid Lego sets, completely absorbed and unaware.
Your eyes flew open when you felt how wet you were getting, heat pooling low in your belly, because suddenly the idea of getting off in the same space where he always sat, that couch where he spent hours building his little towers, started to turn you on. You imagined yourself sprawled there instead, hand buried between your thighs, touching yourself openly while he sat just a few feet away, quiet and focused, oblivious or maybe not, and the image sent a dirty thrill through you that made your breath hitch. What the fuck?!
"Weirdo," you thought, jaw tightening as your fingers moved faster. You're a fucking weirdo, and yet you didn't stop, didn't pull your hand away, because your body didn't give a shit about shame.
You let out a soft, broken sound as your hand finally slid where the tension had been coiling all night, nudging your underwear aside, your pulse spiking when your brain betrayed you again with the idea of him noticing, of him catching you in the act, the possibility alone pouring gasoline on an already reckless fire. You couldn't stop imagining his reaction if he walked in and saw you sprawled on the couch, touching yourself without shame—eyes blown wide, jaw slack, stuttering over some useless apology while his ears burned red—or worse, the thought that he wouldn't even realize what you were doing, that he'd sit there beside you completely oblivious while your body unraveled, sent an uneasy shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with pleasure.
Dude? You barely even talked to him. You shared a space, not a life, and your brain choosing this to fixate on made you feel unhinged in the most irritating way.
"Shit," you muttered out loud, dragging yourself back into reality when a sudden noise broke through your haze. Some kind of rummaging echoing from outside your room.
Your eyebrows knitted together in irritation as you shoved yourself off the bed, fixing your clothes, wiping your hands and padded across the floor. When you opened the door and stepped into the living room, the sight waiting for you, Jake was face down on the floor, his arms spread out. And circling nearby, bumping into his side, was a little round vacuum robot, whirring around.
This was it. This was the image your brain had been spiraling over all night. You stared at him for a long second, annoyance with disbelief, and the tension draining out of you in one sharp exhale. What a fucking loser.
"Uhh, hey," you said. You walked a little closer, looking down at him with your arms crossed. "Are you okay?" Your eyes flicked toward the robot, then back to him. "Where the hell did that come from?"
Jake pushed himself up on his elbows, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead, his glasses tilted crooked on his face. His cheeks were red—whether from embarrassment or just hitting the floor, you couldn't tell. "Ah... uh... my friend gave it to me," he muttered quickly. He didn't look up at you once, his eyes glued to the floor as if meeting your gaze would make him combust. "I-It's, uh... I fixed it. There's still an error but... uhhh, it would help us clean... you know."
You narrowed your eyes at the little robot, watching it bump clumsily against the leg of the table, circle around for a second, and then slam itself into the same spot again.
"Uh... I thought these things were supposed to, like, go the other way when they hit something?" You raised your eyebrow, arms folded as you leaned against the wall, still focused on the thing rolling around.
"It's still not fixed," Jake admitted under his breath, his tone shrinking down even more. He sat himself upright, knees bent, scratching at the back of his head. "W-Wait, I... I'll just turn it off."
You watched him scramble toward the robot, his movements frantic, It almost made you laugh, how hard he tried not to fuck up while he was clearly already fucking up. His shoulders were tense, his breath a little quick, and you could practically feel how badly he wanted this scene to end and you thought he was some kind of idiot.
The thing was, after that day, your eyes didn't really stop following him.
Okaaay, it was nothing, just the result of sharing the same damn space with another person, bound to notice shit when you lived under the same roof, and if anyone was to blame, it was Karina and her big mouth planting stupid ideas in your head. Still, it felt like some traitorous part of your brain had started recording him without permission, filing away details you had no reason to care about, noticing patterns you definitely didn't ask for.
In the mornings, when you dragged yourself out of bed half-dead and sore, there he was in the kitchen, quiet as always, pouring chocolate almond milk into a mug and sipping it like some kind of kid who never grew out of comfort drinks. No coffee, no energy drink, no caffeine-fueled desperation like a normal college student, just fucking chocolate almond milk, and it made you wrinkle your nose every time because who the hell does that and survives?
When you mentioned it to Karina one day during warm-ups, she didn't even hesitate. "Okay, I bet his cum tastes good," she said casually, and you stopped mid–jumping jack, staring at her like she'd lost her goddamn mind, heat crawling up your neck despite yourself.
That was also when you started noticing his schedule, because it was painfully predictable in a way that almost felt unsettling. Out of the apartment by eight, back by five, every single day, like his life ran on rails and deviation wasn't an option, and when you realized he actually went to bed at eight in the fucking evening, you nearly laughed out loud. Nobody did that. Nobody except him, apparently, which finally explained why the apartment was always dark and dead silent when you stumbled home late, and why that stupid little sign taped to the wall—Please don't turn the lights on—existed at all. He actually lived by that shit!
"Isn't he so cute and healthy?!" Karina cooed the second you mentioned it, pinching your cheeks between her fingers like you were some kind of toy, and you immediately scoffed, swatting her hand away with a slap. She laughed, completely unfazed, while you rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, already regretting ever opening your mouth in the first place.
You were absolutely going to blame her for all of this, because if she hadn't started running her mouth about your roommate like he was some kind of rare fucking specimen, none of these thoughts would've taken root. What was so malicious about having a boy roommate anyway? It wasn't a love story, it wasn't fate, it wasn't some goddamn porn plot waiting to happen— and you were getting real tired of your own brain trying to spin it into something bigger than it was, especially when you were flat on your back staring at the ceiling, hands resting on your stomach, forcing yourself to breathe like everything was normal.
"Uh... h-hello..." Three soft knocks landed on your door, followed by another quiet, hesitant "hi," and your chest tightened instantly, irritation floating with the fact that of course it had to be him, the very devil that had been squatting in your thoughts nonstop.
You sighed, staring up at the ceiling for a beat longer like maybe ignoring him would make him disappear, but then another knock came, a little firmer this time, and your eyebrow twitched as annoyance finally won out. You sat up with a sharp movement, clicked your tongue, and stood, swinging the door open hard, only to be met with Jake standing there with his shoulders hunched in that familiar way, back slightly scrunched, an awkward smile tugging at his lips.
"Hi..." he mumble as he scratched at the back of his neck, and your eyes dropped immediately, not out of kindness but because you didn't feel like dealing with his face yet, landing instead on his feet.
Dinosaur slippers. Bright, stupid dinosaur slippers, tapping softly against the floor as he shifted his weight.
"I-I wanted to give you the advance payment... u-uh..." he trailed off, fumbling with something in his hands, and you just stood there, watching him struggle.
He finally managed to hold it out to you, bills slightly wrinkled, that same awkward smile glued to his lips, and your eyes betrayed you by drifting up instead of staying where they should've been. Pointed nose, plump lips, the shine of his braces catching the light when he swallowed nervously—fuck, this was absolutely Karina's fault, because somehow, without warning, he looked more attractive than he ever had before.
"Jake," you said, scratching at your ear and straightening your posture, refusing to look directly at him as you took the money from his hand, your fingers brushing his for half a second too long, your heartbeat kicking stupidly hard at the contact.
"Hm?" he responded softly, and you bit your lip, finally lifting your gaze to him, your brain screaming at you to shut up while your mouth had other plans. Ask him something normal... just a question— casual, harmless question— because you were only... a little interested, and that didn't mean shit.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, blunt and way too direct, and you mentally slapped yourself immediately, because great, now you sounded like the weird one.
"H-huh?" His face went red almost instantly, color blooming across his cheeks as he fumbled with the fabric of his pajama pants, wiping his hands over and over. "I—I don't have..." he said quietly, trailing off as if the sentence itself embarrassed him.
You pressed your lips together and looked away, nodding like that was nothing to react to, crossing your arms and staring down at the floor before glancing back up at him again. "You haven't had anyone?" Fuck, stupid, dumb decision! You cursed yourself again, because apparently you'd lost all sense tonight.
"Uh... I had one b-back in high school," he admitted, eyes still avoiding yours. "But it didn't work."
"Ah," you nodded, forcing a neutral tone you didn't entirely feel, shifting your weight as you stood there in the doorway with money in your hand, suddenly aware that what started as an annoying, harmless question had cracked something open, and now neither of you seemed quite sure how to close it again.
You weren't even sure how you managed to fall asleep that night, because the embarrassment clung to you heavier than exhaustion ever did, replaying the scene over and over until your head hurt. When morning came, you stayed in your room longer than usual, listening for movement outside, making damn sure he wasn't in the living room or the kitchen or anywhere you might accidentally run into him, because the thought of seeing his face after that made your stomach knot. You slipped out only when the apartment was quiet, grabbing your things and leaving like a coward.
Stupid. Idiot. So fucking dumb. You and him barely talked, and suddenly you were asking personal questions like you had any right to them. What the hell would he think? That you were weird? Desperate? Bored? You groaned to yourself, dragging a hand down your face as you walked, already hating how much space the whole thing was taking up in your head.
"This is all your fault," you snapped later, shoving Karina's shoulder as you told her what happened, only for her to burst out laughing.
"Admit it," she said, grinning wide. "You're interested. I mean, something pushed you to talk to him and even ask personal shit."
"It wouldn't be like that if you weren't planting ideas in my head," you hissed back, glaring at her, pointing at your head.
"Oh, dear, dear," she mocked, shaking her head as she leaned in and traced stupid little hearts over your chest with her finger. "You wouldn't be affected at all if it wasn't already there. Stop denying it and just accept it fully."
"Let's think about progress," she continued, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Next time, talk to him more. Ask what songs he listens to, what food he likes—"
"Shut up," you cut in immediately, heat crawling up your neck as you folded your arms tighter. "It's embarrassing."
"No. Listen to me," Karina said, grabbing your shoulder and physically turning you back toward her like she wasn't about to let you escape this. "He's single. And I swear I don't even know him, but from everything you've told me, he's perfect for you. When you see him, don't act all awkward and twitchy. Be confident. Stand straight. Shoulders back. Don't cross your arms like you're about to fight someone." She started counting on her fingers. "Maintain eye contact—even though he won't, that's your advantage. Smile a little. Ask him something normal, like what he's working on, or why he drinks chocolate almond milk, or anything. And if he stutters? Don't jump in. Let him finish. Let him drown a little."
You stared at her with your lips pursed, face twisted in pure secondhand embarrassment. "And why exactly should I listen to you?"
"Because I'm right," she said instantly. Then she tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Is he your type or not?"
You swallowed. "No. What the fuck."
She didn't miss a beat. "But would you fuck him?"
Silence, your brain running in useless circles while Karina just watched you like she already knew the answer. You exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging. "...Why... not," you muttered.
You hated how much her words stuck with you, hated how they pushed at something you'd been trying to ignore, because when you got home from practice later that evening, there he was in the living room.
Jake was sitting on the floor, legs folded awkwardly as he unscrewed the little vacuum robot, fiddling with its insides before setting it down and watching it.
The moment it rolled in your direction, you saw him stiffen, shoulders tightening before he forced that same awkward smile onto his face.
You paused, heart thudding harder than necessary, Karina's voice echoing in your head, and forced yourself to do exactly what she'd said. You lifted your chin, met his eyes even when he almost looked away, and spoke first.
"Hi," you said, steadying your voice as you held the eye contact.
"Hi," he replied softly, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed, hands hovering uselessly near the robot.
Your gaze drifted to the little vacuum circling around aimlessly, bumping once against the wall before correcting itself. "...So it's fixed now?" you asked casually, even as you swallowed the lump forming in your throat.
"Y-Yeah," he nodded quickly. "D-Don't worry, it's just a battery issue. It w-won't affect the electric bill."
Of course that was his first concern. You huffed internally, dropped your bag onto the table, and before you could overthink it, you walked straight over and sat down next to him on the floor. Close. He stiffened instantly, shoulders locking up as he subtly scooted a few inches away, trying—and failing—to make it look natural.
"Have you had dinner?" you asked, keeping your tone light, like Karina's voice wasn't screaming instructions in your head. "I was thinking of ordering something. You wanna check?"
Normal. This was normal. Roommates did this shit all the time. It wasn't weird unless someone made it weird.
"Uh—I already a-ate—"
"What about chicken?" you cut, sitting up straighter as you scrolled through your phone and angled it toward him, a poor excuse to lean closer. "Or burgers? Wait—shit, I'm actually on a diet right now. Are you okay with veggies?"
You waited, and... nothing. When you finally looked at him, you realized he was barely breathing, blinking like he'd forgotten how, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder like looking at you directly might short-circuit him. "Uh... I already ate," he repeated, voice dropping smaller.
"Oh."
Before you could recover, he stood abruptly, movement jerky, still refusing to meet your eyes as he pointed vaguely toward his room. "I—I need to, uh... I have something to do," he said, bowing slightly out of pure habit before retreating, the door opening and closing with a soft final click.
You stared at the door for a long second before letting your phone drop onto the table, sinking back with a long sigh. Fuck. That went great.
"Maybe he just got overwhelmed?" Karina said the next day, eyebrows raised as she watched you slump forward, elbows on your knees, retelling the disaster. "You did tell me you kind of talk a lot. Or he's just shy as hell."
"What if he thinks I'm weird?" you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to replay everything from his side.
"No," she said immediately. "Absolutely not. We will try again. Casual questions only. Like... ask about the weather. It's raining today, right?"
And you did. You actually tried. You walked fast all the way home, phone clutched in your hand as you kept checking the time, timing it just right for when Jake was usually in the living room. 6:39 p.m. You fumbled with your keys, nearly tripping over your own feet as you pushed the door open, breath a little too rushed, and thank fuck—there he was, sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the TV.
You pretended to stretch your shoulders as you stepped inside, rolling your neck like you were just another exhausted student coming home, your jersey lifting slightly and revealing more of your black shorts than necessary.
"It's so rainy, fuck," you complained aloud. "I didn't bring an umbrella, so I ran all the way from the university. God, my body hurts," you added, letting out a small groan with your eyes closed, even though it was a lie—you ran because training went overtime and because you didn't want to miss another chance to talk to him.
Silence.
When he didn't respond, you cracked one eye open, then the other, glancing toward him only to find him still completely fixated on the TV, posture relaxed, attention fully absorbed. Your mouth fell open slightly, irritation bubbling up, and when you drifted a little closer to your room under the excuse of passing by. That was when you finally caught what he was watching—some kind of documentary, planets and stars filling the screen, a calm narrator talking about galaxies, gravity, and shit you barely remembered from high school.
You paused, blinking. Seriously? This was his way of relaxing? Sitting there quietly, absorbing new information like it was entertainment? You scoffed under your breath, suddenly feeling stupid, because now talking about the weather felt painfully dumb in comparison, like small talk he wouldn't even care about. Without another word, you turned and went into your room, shutting the door a little harder and dropping onto your bed before forcing yourself to open your notes and study for quizzes you barely cared about.
"Don't give up," Karina said firmly, gripping your shoulders when you sagged forward on the bench, this rare break finally giving you room to breathe after weeks of nonstop training with the city-wide university tournament looming over your head.
"He can barely look at me," you snapped, pointing at yourself, teeth gritted in frustration.
"Because you're too hot and beautiful," she shot back without missing a beat. "He's overwhelmed. He's probably thinking you're so so hot that his brain is literally short-circuiting every time you talk to him. Think about it—it's been a long time since his last relationship." She smoothed your hair like she was calming a feral animal, tone softening.
You both went quiet after that, and you stared off to the side, chewing on the thought despite yourself. Right. Maybe he really was just awkward because it'd been a long time. Maybe you were coming on too strong without realizing it. You needed to be subtle, calmer, casual, like you didn't give a shit even if part of you very clearly did. Play it cool.
That night, you came home with two cups of ramen swinging lightly from your hand, your chest rose and fell from the walk up the stairs, shoulders finally dropping in relief when you stepped inside and saw Jake in the living room. He was crouched on the floor again, tools scattered around him as he fiddled with another robot you'd never seen before, while the stupid circular vacuum from before rolled lazily around the room.
"Hi," you said, still catching your breath.
He looked up at you, eyes wide and innocent for half a second before that familiar awkward smile kicked in, forced and shy all at once, and fuck, the sight of it irritated you because he was unfairly cute in a way that made no sense. "Hi," he replied softly.
You lifted the two ramen cups and walked toward the table, setting your bag down as casually as you could manage. "I bought two," you said, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Got my daily sports allowance and wanted to treat myself... then I thought of you." You shuffled the plastic lids, pretending to be more focused on that than the way his attention locked onto you. "You're probably hungry, right?"
You didn't wait for his answer. You slid one of the ramen cups toward him and finally met his eyes, holding his gaze just long enough to make your point clear without saying it outright, your mouth curling into a small smile. "...Right?"
"U-Uh... t-thank you," he whispered as he shrank in on himself, shoulders curling forward while he opened the container. He flashed you that same awkward, almost childish smile again, and fuck, he's really really so cute.
You sat across from him at the table, the two of you eating in silence, the only sounds the soft slurp of noodles and the faint hum of the appliances around you. You poked at your ramen with your chopsticks more than you actually ate, stealing glances at him while he chewed, trying to find an opening that didn't feel forced, something that wouldn't send him running again. "Soo..." you started, dragging the word out like a test. "You're a scholar too?"
Jake nodded before he even spoke, eyes lifting briefly before darting away again. "Yes," he said.
You nodded back like you were genuinely interested, leaning your elbow on the table. "How much allowance do they give you?" you asked. "Or is it the same as mine? I heard academic scholars can apply outside the university too, like government stuff."
He nodded again, eyes flicking up to you for half a second before he went back to biting his noodles, slurping softly like that was easier than talking. You kept going anyway, because silence made your skin crawl. "Sometimes I wish I was smart instead of just... sport-inclined," you admitted with a half-laugh, slumping your shoulders for emphasis. "Like, what the hell am I supposed to do after I decide I'm done with volleyball?"
You looked at him, waiting, hoping, and the silence stretched out so long it felt loud, ringing in your ears until you swore you could hear imaginary crickets chirping in your head. Embarrassment crept up your neck, heat blooming as you realized this was it again—you talking, oversharing, filling space while he stayed quiet.
"I'm done for now," you said abruptly, clacking your chopsticks against the plastic before snapping the lid shut, forcing a smile that felt stiff on your face. You stood, shoved the ramen into the fridge with more force and retreated to your room, closing the door behind you.
Bitch, you thought, dropping onto your bed and staring at the ceiling. All you ever do is embarrass yourself!
The next morning, Sunday dragged itself, and the only thing on your schedule was volleyball training, which somehow made it worse. Your body ached in that familiar, dull way, muscles stiff and protesting as you forced yourself out of bed and into the living room to pack your bag, movements sluggish. You were halfway through shoving your gear inside when you realized the bathroom door was open, steam drifting lazily into the hallway, and you froze mid-motion when he stepped out.
Jake stood there with a towel slung over his shoulder, hair still damp and sticking up in odd places, dressed in his usual comfortable home clothes like it was any other morning, and for a split second your brain short-circuited. What the hell? It was Sunday. He never woke up early on Sundays!
The sight of him caught you so off guard that your mouth moved before your thoughts caught up. "A-Are you done?" you asked, forcing a stiff smile and immediately wanting to slap yourself for stuttering like an idiot.
He nodded, eyes sliding away from yours almost instantly, stepping past you with that small, polite bow he always did. The air felt weirdly tight after he passed, and you stood there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the bathroom door.
By the time you were on the court with Karina, dropping your bag down beside hers and joining her for stretches. "I swear he's not interested," you muttered, brow scrunched as you stretched out your legs. "I might just give up."
"Wow," Karina replied dryly, glancing at you. "Good morning to you too."
You rolled your eyes and pushed into a half split, focusing on your breathing. "Everything is your fault," you went on, shifting your weight, arching your back to stretch deeper. "And yeah, okay, I admit he's cute and attractive and whatever, but—ugh." You abandoned the stretch altogether, dropping onto the floor and flailing your hands in frustration. "He won't even talk to me, no matter what I try or what you tell me to do."
"Maybe because—" Karina started.
"No," you cut her off immediately, rubbing your face. "I'm done. Why am I even doing this?" You weren't sure if the question was meant for her or yourself, and that uncertainty only made it worse.
You didn't even know what you wanted—maybe you wanted him in your bed, maybe you were just bored, lonely, horny, maybe you wanted a boyfriend, or maybe you just wanted something to break the monotony of your days.
Fuck, you honestly didn't know.You pushed yourself up to your feet with a sharp exhale, forcing your shoulders back as training began, telling yourself this was it, that you were un-crushing him, that whatever weird hold he'd had on your thoughts was gone. You just needed to focus, sweat it out, forget the way he'd looked that morning, forget the way your chest had tightened for no good reason, and move the hell on!
And so you went back to not caring about him—or at least you tried to. You kept things strictly transactional, clipped conversations that revolved around rent, water bills, electrical bills, and nothing else, the kind of exchanges that didn't require eye contact or emotion or the risk of awkward pauses. You timed your routines carefully, stayed in your room more, wore your headphones even when nothing was playing.
Somehow, though, the apartment got weirder instead of quieter.
At some point, there were suddenly two circular vacuum robots roaming the place, one pink and one white, bumping lazily into furniture like bored pets, and then there was a third one that made you pause the first time you saw it. This one had a small screen instead of a blank surface, animated eyes blinking as it rolled around the house, looping endlessly in wide, slow circles like it was patrolling its territory. It was unsettling in a way you couldn't quite explain, especially the way it behaved whenever you came home.
The first time it happened, you stepped through the front door, already halfway to your room when the robot rolled toward you, stopping just short of your feet. Its eyes widened slightly on the screen, focusing on you, and then a soft, robotic voice chimed, "Hi."
You stopped, stared at it, and after a second of confused silence, answered back without thinking. "Hi," you muttered, eyebrows knitting together as you watched it blink like it was pleased with the response. You shook your head and went to your room.
But it kept happening. Every time you came home after training at 7:30, without fail, the robot would find you, roll closer, look up at you with those stupid animated eyes, and greet you. "Hi." Over and over again, like some kind of programmed acknowledgment that you existed, and it annoyed you! Part of you wondered why a machine noticed you more consistently than the person who built it?
Whatever.
When tournament month finally hit, it felt less like a schedule and more like a slow, grinding punishment that refused to end. Hell week stretched into hell weeks, days bleeding into each other until your body stopped distinguishing between soreness and exhaustion, and your mind lived in a constant fog of drills, scrimmages, ice packs, and shouted instructions. Your team kept winning—somehow—defeating other universities one after another, which meant you qualified for the next rounds, which also meant more training, longer hours, heavier pressure. Victory didn't feel like relief anymore; it felt like another door slamming shut behind you.
After one match, you stood on the edge of the court, hands on your hips, chest heaving as you watched people filter out of the bleachers. Couples laughed, friends clapped each other on the back, families waved and called out names, and you wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to just be normal—to be a regular college student who watched sports for fun instead of bleeding for it, who cheered and went home without their knees screaming or shoulders burning. Would life be easier that way? Would you have more space in your head for things that weren't survival and performance and pushing yourself past your limits?
And then your thoughts drifted further. Would you have found a lover by now? If your life wasn't so wrapped up in training? Someone you met in a theory class, bonding over shared misery and late-night study sessions, or someone introduced through friends, a clean, easy connection that didn't feel so fucking complicated.
The idea made your chest tighten, and you frowned at yourself, annoyed. Why were you suddenly like this? Why so emotional, so restless? Were you really that lonely? What the hell was wrong with being single anyway? You'd been fine before. You had friends. You had people to talk to. You weren't isolated!
Except you knew it wasn't the same. You watched your teammates get swallowed into hugs after the match, hands squeezing shoulders, foreheads pressed together, quiet comfort exchanged even without words, and you felt it then—a sharp, stupid ache. While they leaned into someone else's warmth, you retreated to the back room alone, wiping sweat off your face, peeling off your jersey, changing in silence. Maybe this was just who you were—someone who got jealous not because you lacked people, but because everyone else seemed to have that person, someone to lean on when their body gave out, when the day finally caught up with them.
By the time you dragged yourself home, your limbs felt heavy, movements are sluggish as you kicked off your shoes and let the door shut behind you. The familiar hums filling the space as the robots whirled around the floor, doing their endless loops. One of them—the one with the animated eyes—rolled toward you like it always did, eyes blinking up at you before that same neutral voice chimed.
"Hi."
"Hi," you replied automatically. Normally you would've gone straight to your room, but lately Jake had been staying holed up behind his door, and the living room felt strangely empty without him.
You dropped your bag, pulled a beer from it, popped it open, and took a long drink before letting yourself sink down onto the floor. The robot lingered nearby, hovering like it was waiting for something.
You stared at it for a second, exhaled slowly, and shook your head. "Do you know how to say anything besides hi?" you asked it quietly.
The robot blinked, its animated eyes widening and shrinking in a way that almost felt intentional, and you huffed out a weak smile despite yourself. Your fingers hovered over its smooth, round surface, stopping just short of touching it. "I don't really know shit about these things," you muttered, gesturing vaguely at it, "but aren't you supposed to be, like... a comfort robot or something? The kind people put on their desks so they don't feel so damn alone." You tilted your head, squinting at it. "But you're round. And you roll. You're like... a vacuum with feelings."
The robot blinked again.
You took another sip of your beer, the bitterness sitting heavy on your tongue. "I think I'm so lonely I might cry," you admitted, voice cracking just a little as a hiccup slipped out of you. You set the beer aside and started peeling off your protective gear, fingers clumsy, dropping the pads onto the floor one by one. Bruises bloomed across your skin—dark, ugly marks layered over older ones.
"I don't want to be a libero anymore," you said flatly, staring down at your legs. "God, why am I not rich? Or smart? Or just... lucky for once."
You looked back at the robot, its eyes fixed on you like it was actually listening. "I wish I had someone," you continued. "Someone who'd hug me after games. Someone I could talk to when training's over and my body feels like it's about to give out." You scoffed and lifted a finger, pointing at it like you were lecturing. "You know my teammates? Let me introduce you, since apparently you're the only thing paying attention right now."
"So there's Karina," you said, holding up one finger. "She's our setter, loud as hell, always running her mouth, and yeah—she's dating the basketball captain." Another finger. "Rei's the youngest, dating some art dancer who comes to all her games and cries like a baby." Another. "Giselle's gay, she's in a relationship, and Ningning's with her. I swear they fight all the time, but it's kinda cute because they're both middle blockers and stubborn as shit." You kept going, listing names, relationships, connections, until your hand dropped back into your lap. "Winter—well, that's not even her real name. And Yunjin, Yuna, Yeji, Ryujin... all in relationships."
You leaned back against the sofa, sliding down slightly as you sat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling like it might have answers. "Everyone has someone," you whispered.
"Why... am I such a fucking loser?" you laughed, the sound is too loud in the quiet apartment, echoing for a second before it died out. The laugh collapsed in on itself, and you buried your face in your hands, shoulders shaking as tears burned behind your eyes. You didn't bother wiping them away when they spilled over, there was no one around to see you break—just a robot blinking back at you, silently witnessing everything you'd been holding in for far too long.
"I want someone," you choked out into your palm, the words are so ugly and bare, pathetic in a way that hurt to admit out loud. You dragged your hands down your face and looked at the robot again, eyes wet, vision blurry. "God, that sounded so fucking sad," you laughed weakly.
"Maybe you should ask your owner to build me one of those realistic human robots." You sniffed, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "Ask him to make one for me, yeah? Since apparently I can't even talk to him like a normal person."
Your laugh came again, tears still sliding down your cheeks as you shook your head. You leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, words spilling out now that you'd opened the floodgates. "I want him to make me a boyfriend with high emotional intelligence," you said bitterly, counting it off in your head like a stupid wish list. "Someone who'd cook me healthy meals that actually fit my training, because finding decent food is a nightmare. Someone who'd show up to every tournament, even the shitty ones, and cheer for me."
Your voice dropped. "Someone who'd listen. Someone who wouldn't freak out when I'm exhausted or pissed or quiet. Someone who'd talk to me through the hard days instead of making me feel like I'm too much." You swallowed, chest tight, then let out a shaky breath. "And yeah," you added, snorting through your tears, "someone who'd fuck me hard enough to knock the stress out of my body and make me forget everything else for a while. How does that sound, huh?"
For a second, there was only the low hum of the apartment. Then the robot's screen shifted, animated eyes changing as a little emoticon popped up—round, pink, unmistakably blushing.
Your eyes widened. Then you burst out laughing, real laughter this time. "No fucking way," you said between laughs, wiping at your face. "Did you just blush at that?" You leaned closer, still grinning like an idiot through tear-streaked cheeks. "Are you programmed with PG-13 only or what?"
The robot blinked once, then shook its round body side to side like it was offended. You gasped dramatically, pointing at it. "Oh my god. You are judging me." You sniffed, then tilted your head. "Okay, smartass. What does the fox say?"
The screen flickered. Suddenly the robot's eyes morphed into exaggerated fox eyes, whiskers popping up on either side as its little screen started wobbling in place.
"Tingining-ngining-ngining."
You choked on your own laughter, hands slapping against the floor as you doubled over. "No—no way—stop," you wheezed, laughing harder as the robot kept dancing, completely unbothered. Tears streamed down your face again, but this time they were from laughing so hard your chest hurt.
You stayed there for hours after that, talking absolute nonsense to it, asking stupid questions, daring it to do random shit, reacting like it was some kind of miracle instead of a rolling piece of metal with a screen. At some point your words slowed, your body sagged, and without even realizing it, you slid down where you sat, head resting against the sofa, eyes finally drifting shut.
Morning came and you woke up confused, the first thing you registered being how soft everything felt. You were lying on the sofa, not the floor like you remembered, a blanket pulled up around you, tucked snugly enough. You blinked, staring at the ceiling, then shifted slightly and froze. Your skin felt... warm. Not sore in the usual way. When you pushed the blanket aside, you saw neat bandages wrapped around your bruises, carefully placed, clean, and faintly scented with something herbal that made your muscles relax just breathing it in.
"What the fuck..." you murmured, sitting up slowly. Your head wasn't pounding. You weren't dizzy. You definitely weren't drunk enough to forget doing this. You glanced around the living room, heart starting to thump harder as pieces didn't line up. The robot sat docked in its corner, screen dark. The apartment was quiet—too quiet.
You dragged the blanket tighter around yourself, staring at your own hands. Did you do this? No. You would've remembered bandaging yourself. And the smell, so warm, so clean, so comforting—it wasn't yours. Your chest fluttered uncomfortably. Of course you weren't stupid. You weren't that fucking oblivious. Someone had moved you. Someone had carefully lifted your dead weight off the floor, arranged you on the sofa, wrapped a blanket around you like you were fragile instead of a grown woman who could bench half the team. Someone had cleaned you up, bandaged your bruises, and let you sleep it off instead of waking you or leaving you there like a mess. And there was really only one person in that apartment who would've done it.
Jake.
Jake.
Heat start crawling up your neck as your brain started filling in the blanks you didn't want answers to. Why the fuck would he do that? You stared down at the bandages again, fingers hovering over them. You didn't remember waking up. You didn't remember him touching you. It was only a beer, sure, but you'd been emotional, rambling, spilling your guts to a robot like a lunatic.
God. What if you'd talked in your sleep? What if you'd laughed too loud, cried harder, said something you shouldn't have? Worse—what if you'd drunkenly confessed how fucking lonely you were, how badly you wanted someone, how much you'd been thinking about him without ever meaning to? The thought made your face burn. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You couldn't look at him after that. You didn't even try.
For the next few days, you turned into a ghost in your own apartment, timing everything around him without even meaning to. Training ended at 6:30, but you didn't go home until eleven, sometimes closer to midnight, killing time wherever you could—late dinners, extra stretching or workouts, pointless walks—until you finally started crashing at Ryujin's place in the next building over. Her couch became familiar, her fridge raided, her complaints ignored. Anything to avoid running into him in the living room, anything to avoid seeing that awkward smile and wondering what the fuck he knew about you now.
Your head wasn't in the game either, and it showed.
"You seriously need to stop pulling faces on court," Ryujin said one afternoon, shoving her phone in your face while you were still catching your breath. Sweat dripped down your temples as you squinted at the screen, instantly recognizing the photo—your body low in a squat, eyes sharp, eyebrow raised, jaw set like you were ready to kill someone. The sports journalist had caught you mid-focus, mid-intimidation, and it was already blowing up on the university page.
"What do you want me to do?" you snapped, irritated, pushing the phone away. "Smile at the other team?"
"At least look... approachable?" she said, shrugging. "I mean, that's your default face, yeah, but you know when I first met you, I thought you hated me."
You glanced at her, pausing.
"You didn't talk to me for weeks when I joined," she continued, stretching her calves casually. "I legit thought I pissed you off somehow. Then one day you just asked me to grab lunch with you like nothing happened, and that's when I realized you were actually nice. Just... intense."
You scoffed, rubbing the back of your neck. "That's just how I am."
Unfortunately for you, that day lined up perfectly with everyone else having a life. Ryujin had a date with her girlfriend, Karina was off doing couple shit with hers, and you were left with too much energy and nowhere to dump it. You went to the gym even though training had ended early, pushing yourself through another pointless workout just to avoid going home, until your muscles finally protested enough to force you to stop. By the time you dragged yourself back to the apartment, it was already 7:04 PM.
You unlocked the door and stepped inside, pretending to be deeply invested in your phone as you kicked off your shoes and slid them into the rack beside your roommate's. The apartment was calm in that familiar way, and right on cue, there he was— Jake was fresh out of the bathroom, towel slung loosely over his shoulder, wearing those ridiculous dinosaur slippers. Seven o'clock. Of course. You could already tell he was winding down, getting ready for his absurdly early bedtime.
Your eyes met for half a second. You looked away immediately, pulse kicking hard against your ribs. You walked past him like you didn't care, thumb scrolling mindlessly through takeout apps you weren't even reading, already reaching for your bedroom doorknob when his voice stopped you.
"I—I always... uh... cook food f-for dinner..."
You froze, fingers tightening around the knob as your brain scrambled to process what you'd just heard. You turned your head slightly, not fully facing him, afraid that if you did your face would give you away. He was standing a few steps behind you, shoulders tense, eyes glued somewhere near the floor.
"I-If you want to eat," he added quickly, words tripping over each other, "uh... it's on the table..."
Before you could say anything—before you could even decide what the hell you wanted to say—he retreated, practically speed-walking into his room and shutting the door.
You stood there in the hallway, hand still on the doorknob, staring at nothing. What the fuck was that?
You could order takeout. Obviously. That had been the plan. But this was the first time he'd actually initiated anything. Was this his way of talking to you? Of trying? Why were you even overthinking this? It was just food. Fucking food. "Get a grip," you muttered, yanking off your varsity jacket and tossing it over the chair. Curiosity won anyway. You walked toward the table and lifted the food cover, already telling yourself it was just about saving money, nothing else.
Your mouth watered instantly. In front of you was a Chicken breast that are perfectly cooked. Sweet potato, roasted just enough. Steamed broccoli, still bright green, not soggy, not sad. This is kind of meal athletes killed themselves. The kind of meal you'd complained about not having time or money to prep a hundred times. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you whispered. This was exactly what your body needed. You might've laughed if you weren't so close to crying. After weeks of exhaustion, shitty schedules, loneliness you pretended didn't exist, here was this quiet, nerdy, awkward roommate who barely looked you in the eye—coincedently cooking the perfect post-training dinner.
You didn't even bother pretending to be civilized about it. You dropped into the chair and dug in like you hadn't eaten in days, shoveling food into your mouth with zero shame, chewing fast, shoulders finally loosening as real fuel hit your system. The chicken was tender, the sweet potato was so soft, the broccoli exactly how you liked it, and you were too busy inhaling everything to notice the soft whirring near your feet.
"Hi," the robot chirped, rolling up beside your chair like it always did.
You waved it off vaguely, mouth full, head down, focused on the plate. It didn't even cross your mind then that the robot hadn't been greeting you lately when you came home past midnight, that it used to roll toward you every time. You were too hungry, too focused, too busy scraping the plate clean to notice anything beyond the food in front of you.
The next day, you came home a little earlier than usual, around eight. Training had been brutal, your legs shaking by the time you unlocked the door, and you were already mentally preparing yourself for instant noodles or whatever garbage you could throw together without collapsing. Instead, you stopped short.
Another meal sat on the table.
This time it was tofu stir-fry with rice, still covered, steam faintly trapped beneath the lid. The robot sat docked beside the table like it was guarding the food, screen dark, finally resting. You glanced toward the sink and noticed a single plate already washed and set aside—proof that Jake had eaten earlier. Your stomach growled embarrassingly loud.
You didn't overthink it. You just sat down and ate, quietly this time. God's perfect, it was convenience. Timing. Coincidence. That he probably cooked in bulk and didn't want leftovers to go bad. You definitely didn't think about how the portions were always just right for you, or how the meals lined up perfectly with your training load.
And then it kept happening.
The next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Sometimes you came home early and ate while he was already locked in his room. Sometimes you came home late and the food was still there, waiting. You rarely saw him. You rarely spoke. But you ate. Every night.
Every night, no matter what time you came home, there was food waiting. Always balanced. Always exactly what your body needed, like someone had been paying attention—really paying attention—to what an exhausted athlete needed to survive. You stopped ordering takeout without even realizing it. Your fridge stayed full longer. Your energy during training didn't crash as hard. Your muscles recovered faster.
"You're gaining weight," your coach said one afternoon, flipping through his clipboard as he read off numbers.
Your heart jumped. "Huh? Is that a bad thing?" you asked, nerves creeping up your spine.
He raised an eyebrow, then snorted. "No. It's a good thing." He looked up at you, "I've been telling you to eat more for months. Looks like you're finally listening." He closed the clipboard and stepped closer, ruffling your hair roughly. "Finals are coming up. You need more muscle if you want to keep up your defense."
You laughed awkwardly, nodding along. Don't think about it too much. Don't think about it too much. Don't think about it too much. It's healthy, right? That's all that matters. Your body feels better, stronger, steadier during drills. You don't feel like you're about to collapse halfway through practice anymore. Whatever you're eating is exactly what your body needs. Exactly what it's been begging for. And yeah—fuck—it's also exactly what your heart didn't know it was starving for, but you're not touching that thought. Not with a ten-foot pole.
"What if he's purposely cooking too much so you'll eat?" Karina had said earlier, lips curled into that wicked smile she always wore when she knew she was poking at something sensitive.
No. Absolutely not. You refused to let that sink in. You wouldn't let her words crawl under your skin and set everything on fire again. Roommates do this shit. People share food. People are nice without ulterior motives. It's normal. It's fucking normal. Just because you're a hopeless romantic doesn't mean you get to project that onto someone who's clearly just... kind. Assuming otherwise would make things awkward again, and you were done with awkward.
With training dismissed early that day, you stopped by the grocery store on your way home, wandering the aisles without much thought until something familiar caught your eye. Chocolate almond milk. The same brand. The one he always drank in the mornings. You stared at it for a second longer before grabbing and tossing it into your basket.
You got home at 5:30 PM sharp.
The smell of savory cooking hit you the moment you stepped inside. Jake stood in the kitchen wearing an apron, moving carefully between the counter and the stove. Soft music played in the background, Cigarettes After Sex, of all things.
When he noticed you, he startled like he'd been caught. His eyes widened, body jerking awkwardly as he took a step back, then forward, clearly unsure what to do with himself. "Y-You're h-here— wait—"
"Groceries," you said quietly, cutting him off before he could spiral, offering a small smile as you set the plastic bag on the table. You pulled out the carton of almond milk and held it up slightly. "I bought you this."
He stared at it, his mouth fell open just a little, eyes flicking from the carton to your face and back again, cheeks already starting to color.
"I've been eating your food for a week," you added, shrugging lightly, forcing your voice to stay steady. "Consider it a thank you."
"T-Thank you," he whispered, eyes flicking up to yours for half a second before he turned his back, shoulders hunching slightly as he went back to stirring whatever was on the stove.
You busied yourself with the groceries, unloading them one by one. Yogurts into the fridge. Vegetables in the crisper. Almond milk placed carefully on the shelf where you'd seen his before. When you were done, you grabbed your bag, already planning to retreat to your room and give both of you space, because that was safer.
"H-Hey." His voice stopped you mid-step.
You turned around slowly, heart doing that stupid stutter again, and found him standing by the table with two plates in his hands. He set them down carefully, and for a moment he actually held your gaze. Really held it. The eye contact made something like an electric flicker through you that you almost looked away first—but then he broke it, eyes darting off to the side like he'd just realized what he was doing.
"Let's— I-I cooked dinner," he said, words tumbling over each other. "There's a-a lot, so l-let's share."
Fuck. You swallowed, nodded, and quietly took a seat across from him before your mouth could betray you by saying something stupid. You both served yourselves rice in silence, the clink of utensils and the low hum of the music filling the space between you. The food was good and for a few minutes you just ate, letting the tension settle instead of fighting it.
"You listen to CAS?" you asked eventually, nodding toward the speaker.
He froze for a split second, shoulders tensing. "Y-Yeah," he said softly. "I... uh... it helps me focus. And... relax." He glanced up at you, then away again, fingers tightening around his chopsticks. "Y-You?"
"Casual listener," you replied, reaching for the rice bowl again without thinking, scooping out another generous serving and plopping it onto your plate. "I prefer loud music. Like, really loud." You shrugged, already chewing as you talked, words slightly muffled because that was just how you ate. "It helps me focus during workouts, especially during hard training days. Phonk music, mostly. Some of my teammates are into it, so I kinda adopted it." You rambled on, barely realizing how much food you'd shoved into your mouth, cheeks full, posture relaxed in a way you hadn't been around him before.
There was a brief pause, you were still chewing when Jake quietly leaned forward and placed the last slice of meat onto your plate. The movement made you stop mid-bite. Your eyes dropped to the food, then lifted slowly to him, finding him watching you with that same awkward concentration, lips pressed together before they curved into a small, uncertain smile.
"I-I listen to music similar to CAS," he continued, voice gaining a bit of momentum like he was warming up. "A-And wave to earth too, b-because it helps me calm my mind. Makes it easier to sleep early." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly rambling now, which somehow made it worse in the best way.
Your brain short-circuited. Fully. You stared at him for a second too long, then forced yourself to finish chewing, swallowing slowly as you tried to get your thoughts back in order.
"I—" you started, then stopped, laughing awkwardly under your breath. "Yeah. That... checks out." You gestured vaguely with your chopsticks. "I mean, I noticed you go to bed at eight." You let out another small laugh, embarrassment creeping in fast. "That stupid sign on the wall finally made sense."
His ears turned red almost instantly. "S-Sorry," he blurted out. "I didn't mean to be... annoying."
"It's not annoying," you said immediately, a little too fast, shaking your head like your life depended on clearing that up. The last thing you wanted was for him to retreat back into himself again. "It's just... different." You hesitated, then added more softly, "Kinda impressive, actually. Most college students have completely fucked body clocks and awful habits." You snorted lightly. "Speaking from experience."
He nodded, relief loosening his shoulders just a bit. "Uh... yeah. I-I try not to pick up bad habits," he said. "I-I value time a lot. What we do and what we eat affects how our body p-performs." He gestured vaguely at the table, at the food. "If I get sick, a-a lot of time gets w-wasted."
You stared at him, chopsticks paused halfway to your mouth.
Okay. What the fuck. This guy went to bed at eight, didn't drink caffeine, cooked balanced meals, and talked wisely about time and health. Made you want to smack yourself for ever writing him off as just some awkward nerd with Lego sets and robots. You could feel it now, that pull in your chest, that annoying curiosity digging deeper, urging you to peel back more layers you hadn't even known were there.
And God help you, he was talking. Actually talking. To you.
"Yeah," you said, finally swallowing your bite. "You're right." You leaned back slightly in your chair, lips twitching as you tried to play it off. "Teach me your ways, then. I clearly need your level of dedication." What the fuck are you saying?
He blinked, then let out a small, surprised sound that might've been a laugh. "I-I'm not that dedicated," he said quickly, waving a hand like he was swatting the idea away. "Just... organized."
"Sure," you replied, smirking faintly. "That's what all disciplined people say."
He ducked his head, embarrassed again, but this time it was lighter in the air. Less tension.
And it made it really fucking hard to pretend you didn't care.
The next day proved that. You didn't even linger after training like you usually did. No extra laps, no pointless cooldowns, no killing time just to avoid going home. You showered, changed, and headed straight back, heart thudding with a stupid mix of anticipation and denial. When you opened the apartment door, the familiar sounds of the soft whirr of the robot vacuums roaming the floor and the muted clatter of pans from the kitchen greeted you immediately. He was cooking again!
"I bought apples," you said, setting the bag down on the table.
Jake glanced over his shoulder, offered you a quiet, "Hi," paired with that same awkward smile that somehow felt less awkward every time you saw it. He turned back to the stove, setting down plates—rice, and vegetable soup. And yeah, his dinners were always exactly what you were supposed to be eating after training. Jackpot was an understatement.
"Is it okay if I eat with you?" you asked, already pulling out a chair and sitting down like you'd made the decision before finishing the sentence. "I mean, you cook for yourself."
"Of course... I-It's okay," he said quickly, nodding.
You watched him a little too closely, waiting, hoping he'd say more instead of retreating into silence. He hesitated, eyes flicking toward you, then away, lips parting as if he was debating with himself. "I-I've been cooking more these days," he admitted. "B-Because... uh... I was thinking of gaining weight myself, b-but I think my appetite c-can't really keep up."
"Ohhh," you said, snapping your fingers. "Yeah, that makes sense." You leaned forward, already getting animated without realizing it. "You're gonna need a loooot of protein for that. My coach never shuts up about it, especially for me. Defense needs muscle, apparently." You laughed lightly, rambling now, turning toward him with an easy smile as you scooped soup straight into your rice. "My budget's always shit though, so I rely on protein powders and gym meals."
He nodded slowly, listening, before going quiet again and digging into his food. Somehow, that quiet didn't feel awkward. It felt comfortable.
You didn't notice how relaxed you looked, how your shoulders dropped, how your expression softened as you ate. You didn't notice how naturally you mirrored his pace, slowing down, breathing easier. You definitely didn't notice the way your heart jumped when he picked up one of the apples you'd bought, peeled it carefully, and slid it onto your plate without a word.
Your pulse spiked, so stupid and fast. "Thanks," you murmured, suddenly very aware of him sitting across from you, of how close this all felt without crossing any lines.
God, don't read into it too much. You told yourself that firmly. He's just nice. He's your roommate. He cooks. He shares. He listens.
But fuck—how were you not supposed to like him when he made space for you so quietly, when being around him started to feel like rest?
"It felt nice," you sighed, sprawled flat on the court with your arms stretched above your head. Sweat cooled against your skin as the basketball players ran laps around you. Karina sat beside you, legs crossed, phone in hand, thumbs flying across the screen. She glanced down at you, eyebrows lifting slowly, curiosity sharpening her expression as she clocked how distant you looked.
"What exactly feels nice?" she asked, frowning. "Because it sure as hell isn't sharing the court with these fuckers. Our training schedule's been cut all week." She tilted her chin toward the far end of the court, where her boyfriend was jogging past, shirt clinging to him. She grimaced. "Look at him. I bet he smells like an ass."
You huffed out a weak laugh but didn't move, eyes fixed on the ceiling lights glowing overhead. "It just... feels nice," you repeated. Your voice dipped as the thought finally slipped out. "Am I really that lonely that I start liking someone just because they pay a little attention to me?" You swallowed, jaw tightening. "I mean, I already knew I was fucked the moment I caught myself thinking about him while touching myself, and we hadn't even had a proper conversation. Just you, planting bullshit ideas in my head like a menace."
"Oh my God," Karina gasped, dropping her phone instantly. She rolled onto the floor beside you, mirroring your position but turning onto her side to face you, eyes wide and way too excited for your liking. "Is this about your cute nerd roommate again?"
You didn't answer. You kept staring at the lights, blinking slowly, letting the words tumble out because once they started, it felt impossible to stop. "He cooks extra food without making it a thing," you said. "Like it's nothing. And I eat it. And sometimes I talk. Just starting dumb shit about my day. And that night I passed out on the floor, he carried me to the couch and wrapped my bruises, and I woke up with bandages that actually helped." Your throat tightened. "So what, Karina? Am I really that pathetic for feeling like this?"
Karina stared at you for a long moment, her teasing expression finally softening. She reached out and poked your forehead. "First of all, shut up," she said gently. "Second of all, you're not pathetic. You're human." She sighed and lay back, hands folded on her stomach. "You're exhausted. You train like a beast, you carry your team, and you come home to an empty room most nights. Of course small kindness feels huge right now."
You turned your head slightly, finally looking at her. "But what if I'm just projecting?" you asked. "What if I'm clinging to scraps because I don't want to feel alone anymore?"
"That's called being aware," she replied. "Not desperate." She nudged your shoulder. "And listen to me. You're not imagining things out of nowhere. He didn't have to cook extra. He didn't have to move you. He didn't have to take care of your bruises. Those are choices." She paused, then added carefully, "Does that mean he's in love with you? No. But it means you're not crazy for feeling something."
You exhaled slowly, chest easing just a little. "I don't even know what I want," you admitted. "I just know it feels... safe. And that scares the shit out of me."
Karina smiled softly. "Good. It should scare you a little. That means it matters. Lmao." She squeezed your hand. "Just don't rush it. Let it breathe. You're allowed to want someone. You're allowed to be taken care of sometimes."
You smiled faintly to yourself. Right. Don't rush. Go with the flow. Let it breathe. Jake probably had no idea what was spiraling around in your head anyway. You could keep this normal, no stupid fantasies. There was nothing to lose if you kept it like that... right?
"You can call them Whitey, Pinky, and Bumble," Jake said casually, gesturing toward the living room.
You followed his hand. The two vacuum robots were roaming around like usual, bumping gently into chair legs and correcting themselves. The pink one spun lazily near the couch, the white one hovered closer to the dining table, and Bumble—the one with the animated eyes—was docked near the TV, screen dimmed as she recharged.
You almost snorted. It was stupid how endearing it felt. Any other time, with any other guy, you'd probably be weirded the fuck out. But with Jake? It just slid into place too easily, like another quiet, odd piece of him you were already getting used to. White robot: Whitey. Pink robot: Pinky. And Bumble... because apparently it's soft blue glow reminded him of a bumblebee.
"That's... very on the nose," you said, lips twitching as Whitey rolled dangerously close to your foot. You shifted your leg, and the robot obediently veered away. "Does your course actually teach you this stuff, or are you just secretly a scientist?"
Jake let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "Uh... I'm a civil engineer," he said, rubbing the back of his ear. "B-But I have a friend. He's... uh... computer and electrical engineering." He hesitated, words tangling like they always did when he tried to explain himself. "We... sometimes make things."
You leaned back against the chair, listening.
"Bumble was... uh..." He paused, glancing toward the robot like he was checking if she could hear him. "She was supposed to be a vacuum robot for desks. It was for our Grade 12 STEM research. But our teacher said vacuum robots were too common, and we... didn't know enough about coding back then." He shrugged awkwardly. "So we just... continued it anyway. Changed her design. That's why she's small."
Oh.
You blinked. Of course he had friends like that. Smart, curious, building things just because they could. Of course he carried projects from years ago instead of throwing them away. And of course he called the robot she, like she was a person, or a pet, or something he cared about.
"That's actually kind of impressive," you said honestly, eyes flicking back to Bumble. "You kept working on her even after the project ended."
Jake's shoulders lifted slightly, then dropped. "I... didn't want to waste it," he said quietly. "Time, I mean."
And there it was again, that quiet, infuriatingly gentle way he treated time and effort, like both were fragile things you weren't supposed to waste or throw around carelessly. God, he was cute.
You hated how easily it slipped past your defenses, how your brain kept screaming don't read into it while your body already had its own stupid opinions. Still, you couldn't deny it anymore, not even to yourself. Something had shifted. Maybe a door cracked open, maybe you'd just stopped bracing so hard, but suddenly there was space between you that didn't feel awkward or tense. It felt... safe. Comfortable. Like you didn't have to perform or fill the silence for once. And the fucked up part was, what you'd said earlier was true.
It really did feel nice.
"I... cook for breakfast," he said one morning while you were tying your shoes, backpack already slung over your shoulder, half-awake and mentally preparing yourself to survive another long day. "D-do you want to eat before you go?"
You should've said no. You almost always grabbed coffee and whatever sad snack you could find on campus, ate standing up, rushed through everything like your life. But you just nodded, sitting at the table in the early morning light, eating something warm and balanced while he moved quietly around the kitchen, you realized your shoulders weren't tight for once. You weren't rushing. You weren't thinking about the next thing you had to do.
It felt nice. Way too nice.
Later that week, after a practice match wrapped up earlier than expected, you found yourself standing outside his door, heart beating faster than it should've over something so stupid. You knocked anyway. When he opened the door a minute later, one earphone dangling loose, hair slightly messy, that familiar awkward smile creeping onto his face, you almost chickened out.
"Am I... disturbing you or something?" you asked, forcing a casual tone that didn't quite hide the nerves twisting in your gut. He shook his head, and you felt the tension in your shoulders finally ease.
"Uh... I was just fixing my books," he said. "Why?"
You took a breath, then another. "I bought snacks. Chips and stuff," you said, holding up the bag. "I was just wondering if you... wanted to watch a movie with me."
Immediately your brain started spiraling, tearing you apart for how you phrased it. Too direct. Too demanding. You should've softened it, given him an out, made it sound like an optional, no-pressure thing. God, what if this was crossing some invisible roommate line? You braced yourself for rejection, already rehearsing how you'd laugh it off, how you'd pretend you weren't embarrassed if he said no. You told yourself it was fine. You hoped he'd be gentle about it if he did.
"Uh, sure," he said after a beat, smiling that shy, crooked smile. "Let me fix my things quick."
You ended up on the couch together, a polite distance between you, snacks spread across the table. 50 First Dates played on the screen, and even though some scenes were objectively funny, you found yourself holding back, afraid of laughing too loud. You were hyperaware of everything—your posture, the way you chewed, the way your knee bounced slightly with leftover adrenaline.
Then Jake laughed, mouth full of chips, a soft, unguarded sound that slipped out before he could stop it. You froze, turning to look at him, watching the way his shoulders hunched as he laughed, how genuine it was, how unfiltered. And fuck. Something loosened in you. You smiled before you could stop yourself, then laughed too.
It felt nice, and you weren't used to nice things sticking around without demanding something in return.
Jake wasn't some mystery anymore, not really, at least not on paper. Third-year Civil Engineering student, double scholar, university-funded and government-backed, the kind of résumé that made professors nod approvingly and parents brag to relatives. President's Lister every damn semester, GWA floating between 1.27 and 1.46. You learned these things not because he bragged—he never did—but because papers were left on the table, emails popped up on his phone screen when it lit up, certificates tucked neatly into folders he handled with care. He was impressive in a way that didn't shove itself in your face.
As a roommate, Jake was... steady. Organized without being controlling, balanced in a way that made you painfully aware of how messy your own routines were. He slept at eight, woke up early, moved through the apartment. You noticed small things you shouldn't have been paying attention to, like how he liked sour candy and kept a stash hidden in one drawer, how his fingers fidgeted when he was nervous or thinking too hard, how he couldn't leave broken things alone. A loose screw, a cracked hinge —he'd insist it was still usable, still salvageable, like throwing something away felt wrong to him on a fundamental level. Sometimes you wondered if that applied to people too, if he believed everything and everyone could be fixed if you just gave it enough patience.
You noticed more than you meant to. Jake liked stars, documentaries about space that played quietly in the background while he worked, liked the ocean even though he rarely talked about it, liked anything that revolved around science or math or systems that made sense. It was almost funny how predictable he was once you paid attention, how comforting that predictability became without you realizing it. You caught yourself syncing your schedule around his without meaning to, coming home earlier, lingering longer, listening for his footsteps like it mattered whether he was there or not.
It felt nice going home to someone, where the apartment didn't feel empty when you unlocked the door. Having someone to talk to, even if the conversations were simple and sometimes awkward, felt like relief after days filled with noise and expectations. Having someone prepare meals that actually made your body feel better instead of worse, someone who noticed when you were too tired to cook and never made you feel guilty for it, felt dangerously close to being taken care of. And doing nothing together—sitting on opposite ends of the couch, eating in silence, watching something stupid, sharing space without pressure.
"There's a typhoon coming up, and God help me with this heavy rainfall," Ryujin groaned dramatically, flopping onto the gym bleachers with her hands pressed against her temples. You could hear the rain hammering against the roof above. "My body is so fucking sore, finals are coming, and you're telling me I still have to endure a goddamn storm outside?" Her voice cracked at the end.
"You all act as if we're not aiming for nationals," Giselle said, bouncing the ball with an almost lazy precision, her eyes flicking sideways at the group of basketball players lounging at the edge of the court. They were obnoxiously loud, laughing and showing off, and Giselle's glare could've frozen them mid-air if that were even possible. She tossed the ball in your direction, and you tightened your grip, flexing your fingers around the ball, feeling the familiar pressure in your palms that meant focus—control. You set yourself, crouched low, and spiked it with everything you had.
"They are already giving out tickets for the finals," Rei whined from the sidelines, dragging her towel across her shoulders as she leaned against the wall. "My boyfriend won't shut up because everyone is hyped about it. It's gonna sell out in like, five minutes." You snorted because, as usual, she was dramatic about everything, and as usual, you were the only one sitting there without someone to care or argue or plan with.
"Coach gave us tickets for our friends, right? Only two each! I need three for my boyfriend and his friends. Can some of you spare an extra?" Winter demanded, arms flailing slightly as she leaned toward Ningning and Giselle. "Giselle, give me yours! Ningning, come on, you're on our team!"
"No. We're giving them to our other friends," Ningning said sharply, slapping Winter's hands away.
"Not fair! I'll treat you to Taco Bell if you just give me one!" Winter snapped back. The rest of the team was clustered around, debating, negotiating, trading possibilities.
"Winter," you muttered, rolling your eyes even as you adjusted your feet and tossed the ball into the air, "just take my tickets. I don't have friends to give them to anyway." You tossed the volleyball up and down in your hands, practicing your set.
You could feel her gaze burning on you, even though you weren't looking directly. "Really?! Like, both of your tickets?" she pressed, a note of disbelief in her voice.
You barely had time to nod before the ball smacked you straight in the face, ricocheting sideways, and suddenly your brain betrayed you. Out of nowhere, an image of Jake popped into your head—his stupid braces smile, the one that twisted your stomach every time you saw it, the one that made you stupidly aware of your own heartbeat and that little thrill you always swore wasn't there. You blinked, flustered, and hit the ball again, flinching slightly as the team waited.
"Actually... just one," you said quickly, fumbling for a way to sound casual. Karina let out a sharp whistle behind you, and Winter's lips pouted in mock outrage. "I was... planning to give it to my... friend," you added, stumbling over the lie.
"Wow, suddenly you have a friend!" Winter exclaimed with mock indignation, "but fine, that's cool! You promise that one is mine, no taking it back, ha!"
If you asked him to watch your game... would that be too personal? It wasn't like you were asking him to cheer for you, or scream your name from the stands, or wait for you after with flowers and sweaty hugs like your teammates' partners did. It was just a game. An outdoor thing... Still, it felt like crossing some invisible line, like letting him see a part of your life that didn't exist inside shared rent. Letting him see you as more than just his roommate who ate his food and sat beside him on the couch.
You told yourself not to overthink it, even though overthinking was already happening at full speed. It was normal. He was your roommate. You talked now. You shared meals. Of course you'd invite him. That's what normal people did, right? That's what people who weren't emotionally fucked did.
The thunder cracked overhead and rain poured down by the time you got home, your clothes damp, your muscles aching, your head buzzing with too many thoughts, the familiar hum of the TV filling the space. Jake was on the couch, exactly where you half-expected him to be, watching one of his documentaries, posture straightening the second he noticed you. You dropped your bag onto the table and rolled your shoulders.
"Hi," he said softly, eyes flicking up to meet yours before darting away again.
"Hi," you replied, sitting down beside him with that same respectful distance you'd both somehow agreed on without ever discussing it. Your eyes drifted to the screen, absorbing nothing of whatever science-heavy topic was playing.
The silence stretched, like both of you were waiting for permission to speak.
"I made salad earlier—"
"Are you interested in sports—"
You both stopped at the exact same time, voices colliding awkwardly in the air. You turned toward him, mouth slightly open, blinking in surprise, and he mirrored you perfectly, eyes wide behind his glasses.
"You first," you said, exhaling a short laugh to break the tension.
He cleared his throat, nodding toward the dining table. "I made salad earlier. If you want to... I didn't expect you to be here early, so I didn't get to cook dinner right away..." His words tumbled out unevenly.
"Ah," you leaned back, glancing down at your feet. "It's okay. Coach said we should go home early to relax anyway. I'll eat it later. Thank you." Your voice softened without you meaning it to.
Another pause settled in. The documentary kept playing, some distant narration about oceans or planets or whatever, but neither of you were listening anymore. "So..." he started, breath hitching slightly as he stared at the floor. "What were you saying?"
This was it. Your chest tightened as you inhaled deeply, bracing yourself, forcing the words out before you could chicken out. "Are you interested in watching the tournament finals on the 24th?" you asked, eyes flicking toward him before darting away again. "I have a ticket, and I figured I could give it to you... if you want to."
The seconds that followed felt cruelly loud. You could hear the clock ticking, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the rain still hammering outside. You stared at the floor, then at him, then anywhere but his face, mentally preparing yourself for whatever came next.
"I'm—" he began, and you looked at him despite yourself. His mouth opened and closed like he was searching for the right words, hands fidgeting in his lap. Another beat passed, then another. "T-thank you," he said finally, voice quiet, apologetic. "But I'm not really into that... especially with big crowds. S-sorry." He squeezed his eyes shut afterward, like he was bracing for impact.
Oh.
Of course. It made sense. Crowds, noises, people—it was everything he avoided. You'd known that before you even asked. The game would start at six-thirty, probably end close to eight if it dragged on, loud and packed and overwhelming. Saying yes would've been completely out of character for him.
You forced a small nod, a smile you hoped looked convincing. "It's okay," you said quickly. "I figured. Just thought I'd ask."
And that should've been the end of it. You'd tried. You'd done the brave thing. That was enough. So why did disappointment settle in your chest anyway. Why did it sting more than you expected, like you'd been quietly hoping for something you had no right to hope for?
You were considered lucky, at least according to every bullshit horoscope Karina ever forced you to listen to during some booth event you never even wanted to attend. Apparently, the stars loved you. Apparently, fate had a soft spot for you. She once read aloud that you were supposed to fall down a flight of stairs when you were four years old, crack your head open, ruin everything before it even began, but some divine intervention stepped in and said no, not today. You survived childhood without dramatic tragedy, without scars that people could point at and say, see, that's where it all went wrong.
Back in elementary school, during tryouts, you didn't even know what defense really meant. You just knew you were fast, stubborn, and didn't like backing down when something came flying at you. Everyone else flinched, screamed, covered their faces, cried when the ball hit too hard. When the coach spiked it straight toward you, you reacted without thinking, arms locking, wrists steady. The ball bounced back clean, and just like that, you were a libero. Just like that, people said you were lucky, like it wasn't your reflexes, your pain tolerance, your refusal to be scared that made it happen.
Because luck, real luck, was supposed to feel good, and most of the time it didn't. On the court, when you spiked and the middle blockers mistimed their jump and sent the ball out of bounds, earning your team the point, you didn't feel joy. You just reset your stance and waited for the next play.
When allowance day came and you counted your money and realized you had just enough left to afford ramen for the week, people called you lucky, joked about your budgeting skills. You weren't happy then either. You were relieved, maybe, but relief tasted nothing like happiness.
And when your teammates whispered about how lucky you were for hooking up with that handsome men's volleyball player, the one everyone drooled over, they didn't know he was gay and spiraling through an identity crisis, and they sure as hell didn't know how awkward and hollow the sex was. They envied you. You lay there afterward staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing but discomfort and regret, wondering how something everyone hyped up could feel so fucking empty.
You were unlucky in the kind of life you wanted but couldn't seem to reach, no matter how many points you saved, how many games you won, how many scholarships you earned. You worked hard, you pushed your body past exhaustion, you sacrificed sleep and weekends and normal college shit, and yet when it came to the softer parts of living, the parts people took for granted, you always seemed to come up short. Love didn't land where it was supposed to. Comfort felt temporary, like something borrowed that could be taken back at any moment.
"God, aren't they being misogynistic?" Karina's voice exploded through your phone, echoing slightly because someone else in the group call was yelling at the same time. It was already past 10:36 in the evening and the Viber group call lit up your screen, faces popping in and out, voices overlapping, screenshots being spammed into the chat. One of them showed the Men's Volleyball Team's group chat from your university, their messages dripping with mockery, acting like your qualification to the finals was some kind of joke. Saying you wouldn't survive Men's Volleyball, telling you to stop being egoistic, laughing about how you "wouldn't even win against them" if you played on their side.
You turned the volume down as you started packing your things for tomorrow. Your mind was tired, body sore, and halfway through, you remembered your other bag was still in the living room. You scratched behind your ear and stood, phone still pressed between your shoulder and cheek, listening to the call as you padded out of your room. You didn't turn on the main lights, already knowing Jake would be asleep by now.
"I mean, it's completely different when it comes to force, agility, speed," you said calmly. "But skills? That's not gendered. The best response is no response. Their egos are just bruised because they didn't qualify. With that attitude, I doubt they ever will." You sighed softly, ducking into the living room and kneeling by your bag. "God help those boys."
"Like?!" Giselle yelled through the phone, her face practically vibrating with rage on your screen. "They're being fucking misogynistic! Did you see their group chat? They're mocking you specifically for being fierce during matches! Look at this shit—'I can't wait for them to lose tomorrow, let's see if her fierce face stays then.' Bitch, I'm about to throw hands. Tell me to do something and I will."
You lowered the volume again, a small laugh slipping out despite yourself. Honestly, if you were being real, you didn't care that much. Not because it wasn't wrong, but because you were too damn tired to give their words any big deal. You started pulling unnecessary things out of your gym bag, tossing wrappers and old tape into the bin. Men talking shit was practically background noise at this point.
Then your hand froze. The ticket slipped into view between your fingers. You held it there, two fingers pinching the corner, staring at it like it might say something back. The girls were still yelling in the background, voices overlapping, insults flying freely now.
"They're giving small dick energy," Yunjin chimed in loudly. "I mean, it's obvious. There's literally no imprint when they wear gray shorts."
You barely reacted. Your eyes stayed on the ticket, chest tight, thoughts drifting somewhere else entirely. Jake's awkward smile. His quiet apologies. The way he'd shut his eyes when he said no, like he hated disappointing you even when he hadn't done anything wrong. Sighs, he is so cute.
Without letting yourself think any further, you opened the bin and dropped the ticket inside. You grabbed your bag, stood up, and walked back into your room, shutting the door behind you with careful quiet.
When finals finally rolled around, you found yourself moving in circles, literally and figuratively, as the coach herded you into a tight formation at center court. Everyone's hands were linked, fingers brushing, gripping just enough to feel grounded. The coach, in his usual way, told you all to close your eyes and "ask the universe for guidance."
You closed your eyes, not because you believed in any divine intervention, not really. You were too much of a realist for that. Still, it felt nice, comforting even, to pretend. To hope. To imagine the universe leaned in and whispered, Yeah, you can do this. You will win, but not because of luck—because you earned it. Your shoulders loosened slightly, the tension in your jaw softening as you let yourself breathe into the ritual, even as every fiber of your body screamed with exhaustion from training.
Around you, the girls were buzzing with energy, eyes closed but faces alight, humming a silent rhythm of anticipation. Their drive from yesterday had carried over—Karina's fist clenched in quiet determination, Giselle bouncing slightly on her heels, Winter rocking back on the balls of her feet like she was about to launch herself forward. You felt a twinge of envy—how easy it seemed for them to throw themselves into hope, to lean on belief, even if it was in some hokey pre-game ritual. You, meanwhile, were caught in this weird limbo between wanting to believe in the magic of it and knowing, deep down, that you relied on nothing but your own hands and legs to make anything happen.
Hm.
What else could tonight bring? Maybe a good meal after? You glanced at your teammates, at the VIP section with its flowers and loud supporters, thinking about how nice it would be if someone threw a bouquet your way too. Not that you deserved one—hell, your muscles were probably going to scream at you tomorrow regardless. You almost snorted at yourself. Ridiculous. Wanting someone to soothe your sore body, to run a hand over a knot in your shoulder, to be there after everything, like it was some kind of reward for existing.
You could picture the universe rolling its eyes if it were a person. Slapping you upside the head. Really? You want that too? Just for surviving a volleyball match?
The corners of your lips twitched into a small, ironic smile as you closed your eyes again. You tried not to think about Jake—the way he cooked extra portions, the way he smiled awkwardly when he handed them to you. Not that it had anything to do with the universe or magic or divine intervention. Not really. And yet, as your fingers brushed against the hands of your teammates, as your legs trembled in anticipation of the first whistle, a tiny, secret part of you hoped he was somewhere out there, watching or thinking of you, maybe even wishing for you in his quiet, careful way. Geez, so out of reach.
The whistle blew.
Finals was hell in the most honest way possible, finals dragged on longer than your lungs wanted and demanded more than your body should reasonably give. It was the most intense match of the season, not just because of the score, but because of what was hanging over everyone's heads. Regionals. You didn't just want it, you needed it. You had refused to back down this far. You were not about to stop now, not when nationals were just one brutal step closer.
The crowd roared every time you sprinted out of bounds, every time you threw your body after that fucking ball like it owed you money. You barely felt the sting when your chest slammed against the floor after a dive, only thinking it as something to deal with later. Adrenaline was pumping so hard your heartbeat felt louder than the whistles, louder than the screams. You pushed yourself up, sweat blurring your vision as you glanced at the other team, then back at your own. Everyone looked wrecked. Knees bent, hands on thighs, jerseys soaked through. You were all running on fumes and stubbornness at this point.
Your chest heaved as you sucked in air, the scoreboard flashing in the corner of your vision. Big mistake. Numbers swam in your head. Forty. Thirty-nine. Too close. Way too close. The noise pressed in on you from every direction, cheers crashing over your thoughts until it felt like your skull might split open. Fuck. Don't look. Don't think. You needed to make it into regionals. Regionals. You needed to make it—
Huh?
Your eyes flicked to the VIP section without meaning to, drawn by something that didn't belong. Someone stiff. Someone painfully familiar. For half a second, your brain refused to process it, like it was some fucked-up hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But no. He was real. Sitting there in a Type D university uniform, shoulders tense, posture straight like he didn't know what to do with himself in a place this loud, this crowded. Jake. Your nerdy, early-sleeping, crowd-hating roommate. And in his left hand, of all things, he was holding a blue balloon.
What the fuck was Jake doing here?
Your heart stuttered, not from the game this time, but from the sheer wrongness of it. It was past eight!
When his gaze finally met yours, it was like the rest of the gym dropped out of existence. He gave you that same awkward, painfully familiar smile, the one that always looked like it was halfway between nervous and sincere. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand and waved. The crowd was deafening, chants and stomping and whistles crashing over each other, but somehow you still caught it. His lips moved, barely forming the words, but you read them clear as day.
Bring it home.
Your throat closed. Championship. He meant championship. And fuck, you didn't know how something so simple could rearrange you from the inside out. People always said liking someone made you stupid, made you corny, made you weak. Maybe it did. Because suddenly your chest felt too full, like someone had plugged you straight into a charger you didn't even know you were running on empty from. You dragged your eyes back to the court, licked your dry lips, tried to flatten your expression—but it was useless. The smile crept up anyway. You were smiling. Inside the fucking court. In the middle of finals. Like an idiot.
The whistle blew again, and instead of dread, something hot surged through you. You felt full. Fueled. Like the last hours of exhaustion had been replaced with pure, reckless purpose. Your legs moved before you thought, sprinting, cutting, diving. You hit the floor hard, again and again, arms burning as you popped the ball up just in time. The pain was there, sure, but it didn't slow you down.
You got up grinning, clapping for your teammates, shouting encouragement you never fucking shouted before.
They stared at you like you'd lost your mind. Probably because you had. You never did this shit. You were the quiet one, the focused one, the one who saved the ball and moved on. But now you were smiling at them, slapping hands, nodding like yeah, we've fucking got this. And weirdly, it worked.
You planted your feet again, wiping your sweaty palms against your shorts, lungs burning as you bent into position.
For regionals. For your team. For the boy in the VIP section holding a blue balloon like an idiot, who had no fucking idea he'd just become your lucky charm.
The serve came flying toward you.
And you didn't miss.
Your arms burned as the ball ricocheted cleanly upward, exactly where it needed to go—and then the whistle screamed through the gym. For half a second, everything froze. Your lungs forgot how to work. Your legs locked like they'd finally decided they were done carrying you.
"And just like that, with the score of 50–43, Decelis Academy earns the champion title!"
The roar hit you like a fucking wave. It crashed into your chest, into your ears, into your bones. Your knees buckled, and if your teammates hadn't swarmed you immediately, you would've kissed the floor right there. Arms wrapped around you, lifting you up, spinning you, screaming into your hair. You screamed too hands flying to your face as tears spilled without permission. Your body shook, adrenaline still screaming even though the fight was over.
You did it. You fucking did it! The students from your university went feral in the stands, chants echoing, banners waving. Someone shoved a towel over your shoulders, someone else slapped your back hard enough to knock the air out of you. When they finally set you down, your legs wobbled like jelly, barely holding your weight. The trophy hadn't even been handed out yet, the awards still being organized, but your chest was already too full. Too loud. Too alive.
And then your eyes went to the bleachers.
He was standing. Not sitting stiff anymore, not hiding behind his shoulders—standing, gripping the rail. Your nerdy little roommate. Your heart did that stupid thing again, skipping like it always did around him. Without thinking, without waiting, your feet moved on their own, carrying you toward him.
"Hi," you said when you reached him, breathless, sweaty, grinning like a fucking idiot.
"Hi," he replied, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were shining. Bright. Wide. Almost overwhelmed. "Y-You looked so cool," he said, words tumbling out faster than usual. "With all the defense, and the jumps, and the spikes, and the serves—" His hands moved as he spoke, clumsy little gestures like he was trying to reenact the whole game at once.
Your heart softened so hard it almost hurt. You laughed. "It's already nine," you said, teasing, tilting your head. "You're supposed to be asleep."
He smiled and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't miss something s-so cool," he admitted. "I don't know what other words to use, but... losing an hour or two of sleep is worth it." Then his brows pulled together, concern slipping in. "You dived really hard though. Does it hurt?" He pressed a hand to his own chest like he felt it too.
You laughed again, shaking your head. This—this was the longest he'd ever talked to you without tripping over himself, and fuck, it was endearing as hell. "It's no big deal," you said lightly, tapping your foot against the ground. "I'm trained for that." Then, quieter, more honest, "Thanks for watching. It... feels nice. Knowing someone out there was actually watching me."
You glanced away, embarrassed by your own sincerity, then looked back just as he reached down and pulled something up from behind his chair.
Your heart fucking stopped.
The universe had jokes, apparently. Personal ones.
"Uh... f-for you," he said, holding it out with both hands. "For bringing pride to the Academy. And for... being the coolest roommate ever." He let out a nervous laugh. It was a LEGO bouquet. Big colorful bouquet, wrapped in pink. Painfully thoughtful. Flowers that wouldn't die. Flowers that fit him perfectly.
Your vision blurred before you even realized what was happening. You didn't think and didn't hesitate. You just moved—vaulting forward, ignoring the metal barrier between the court and the bleachers, throwing yourself straight into him. Your face buried against his neck. You clutched the bouquet awkwardly as your other arm wrapped around him like you were afraid he'd disappear.
He froze at first, breath hitching, body stiff with surprise.
Then—slowly, carefully—his free arm came around your waist. It was hesitant in that painfully sincere way, like he was asking permission without words. His hand pressed flat against your back, warm through the thin fabric of your jersey, and after a second it began to move—small, slow circles that comforted you, that reached somewhere deep inside your chest and eased something you didn't even realize had been clenched for years.
"Thank you," you whispered, voice breaking despite your effort to hold it together.
The tears still came anyway. It felt nice—no, it felt right. You trained your body to take hits, to throw yourself into floors, to stand tall and hard and unshakable. But here you were, soft as hell for a boy who held you like you might shatter if he squeezed too hard.
You slowly pulled back from the hug, and the distance between you was barely anything. Too close. Intimate in a way that made your breath hitch. You noticed everything at once—how sharp his nose was up close, how full his lips were when he wasn't biting them, how his skin smelled clean and familiar. Your arms were still looped around him, your fingers resting against his back and you were staring at his face like your brain had short-circuited.
His cheeks were flushed red, eyes wide, frozen.
"S-sorry," you blurted, snapping back to reality and pulling away.
Before the silence could swallow you whole, your teammates shouted your name, waving you over, yelling about awards and photos and medals. You swallowed hard, nodding as you stepped back, heart still beating stupidly fast.
You hesitated, then handed him the LEGO bouquet. "Hold this for me?" you said, already half-turning away before he could answer.
As you walked back toward the court, you bit down on your lip so hard it almost hurt, trying to stop the grin that threatened to split your face open. You swung your arms back and forth like that might shake the feeling out of your system. It didn't help. Not even a little. You could already imagine Karina's smug, knowing smile from a mile away.
Sure enough—
"Care to introduce us to your companion?" Karina teased, nudging you with her shoulder as medals were placed around your neck.
You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning.
The celebration dragged on—photos, cheers, teammates getting swallowed by their partners, hugs turning into kisses, laughter spilling everywhere. When it finally became too much, you slipped away from the crowd.
And Jake was still there. Sitting on the bench. Waiting. Like he hadn't even considered leaving without you.
"Let's go home?" you asked softly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, suddenly very aware of how tired your body was now that the adrenaline was fading.
He nodded immediately and stood up, a little too fast. His gaze dropped to your bag, then back up to you, then away again. He gestured vaguely toward it, fingers twitching at his side.
You frowned slightly. "Hm?" you asked, lifting your head to look at him, confused.
"Uh..." He scratched the back of his head, lips pressing together like he was debating something internally. His ears were already red. Without waiting for your response, he stepped closer and carefully took the bag from your shoulder, sliding the strap off you and onto himself instead. He left you holding only the LEGO bouquet.
"Oh," you said, letting out a small, awkward laugh.
You glanced around at the lingering crowd, then back at him, then anywhere but directly at his face. You swung your upper half just to bleed off the urge to scream, or laugh, or do something completely unhinged like grab his hand or kiss his stupid, careful mouth. Your heart was still racing, your muscles still buzzing, and now this—this quiet, domestic kind of care—was hitting you harder.
The silence between you stretched as you walked back to the apartment. It wasn't awkward, not really, but it was loud in its own way. You could feel every unsaid thing vibrating in the air. You wanted to say something—anything—but every possible sentence felt like a trap you'd fall into and embarrass yourself with. So you stayed quiet. Let your footsteps match his. Let the city noise do the talking for you.
When you finally stepped inside the apartment, you froze.
The table was covered in foil and containers—different shapes, different sizes, way more food than two people needed. And there, lined up neatly in the living room like little soldiers, were Whitey, Pinky, and Bumble, powered down, silent for once, which means only one thing. Jake had been here before the finals. Long before.
Your brain immediately went to war with itself.
Did he cook all of this before going to your game? Where the hell did he even get the ticket? How did he manage his time—his precious, carefully scheduled time—to cook this much? Did he order it instead? Was this planned? Was this normal?
Why did he watch your game?
You watched him set your bag down gently on the couch. He moved toward the table, fumbling with the food covers, suddenly clumsy again.
"Uh... y'know, I—I wasn't supposed to watch," he started, almost rushed. "I ordered a bunch of meals for you to eat after, but... I—" He stopped himself, staring at the food like it might give him the right words. He scratched at his ear, shoulders curling inward. "Uh... I..."
"Thank you," you said, cutting him off gently before he could spiral any further.
He looked at you with wide eyes, you smiled at him and nodded as you sat down in the living room, the tension easing just enough to breathe again.
As usual, you ate in silence. And as usual, you ate comfortably around him. Shoving food into your mouth, muttering little "mm" sounds between bites, nodding at how good everything tasted, even closing your eyes like you were savoring.
And God, Jake really was the best roommate you'd ever accidentally asked the universe for.
If you thought about it too long, he felt like the only lucky thing that had ever landed in your life without strings attached. How being around him made you happy. How you didn't have to plan your words or armor yourself up. How you could be tired, bruised, vulnerable, and still be met with care instead of judgment.
When you finally finished eating, you leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Thank you for the meal!" you said brightly, reaching out and slapping his back in a burst of affection.
Jake arched forward slightly and let out a soft whine, clearly not expecting it.
"Shit—sorry!" you laughed immediately, panic and amusement colliding as you rubbed the spot you'd hit. "I forget you're not built like one of my teammates."
He huffed out a shy laugh, shaking his head, ears red again.
By the time everything was packed up and wiped down, it was already past eleven. There were no leftovers—of course there weren't. Your body had burned through everything like fuel dumped straight into a fire. You stretched your arms over your head and volunteered to wash the dishes, half-joking that it was the least you could do after eating like a starved animal. Jake protested at first, shaking his head and mumbling something about it being fine, but after a bit of back and forth he gave in, hovering awkwardly nearby like he wasn't sure whether to help or get out of your way.
You worked side by side in silence, the comfortable kind this time. Plates clinking, water running. It felt domestic in a way that made you uneasy.
When you finished and wiped your hands dry, you crouched near Bumble, who was shut down and charging by the wall. It felt weird that it didn't greet you tonight. You had half a mind to flick it on just to hear that familiar robotic "Hi." You wanted to tell it everything—that you won, that you were heading to regionals, that you earned a title you'd bled for. That somehow—against all odds—you were developing feelings for its awkward, gentle owner without even meaning to. You snorted softly at yourself and patted Bumble's rounded top "I'll tell you tomorrow," you whispered, like it could hear you.
You grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom. The hot water hit your skin and you hissed, muscles screaming in protest, bruises blooming darker under the steam. You leaned your forehead against the tile and let yourself breathe, replaying flashes of the night—Jake in the crowd, the balloon, the Lego bouquet, his arms around you. Fuck. You shook your head hard, rinsed off, and wrapped the towel around yourself before your thoughts went somewhere dangerous.
When you stepped back into the living room, hair damp and towel slung over your shoulder, you expected the lights to be dimmed and Jake to be long asleep like usual.
Instead, you froze.
He was still there, crouched near the wall, focused on powering down the vacuum robots one by one. Whitey and Pinky blinked to life, then began their slow, looping rounds across the floor, humming softly.
"Oh," you said before you could stop yourself. "You're... still not asleep."
Jake glanced up, startled, then pushed himself to his feet. "Y-Yeah," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... uh... I needed to shut them down properly. They, um... run better if I don't leave it for the morning."
You nodded and sat down on the couch, absently rubbing your hair with the towel, watching Whitey bump gently into the leg of the coffee table before redirecting itself. Your body sank into the cushions, heavy and spent, but your mind was still buzzing.
"Thanks," you added quietly, not looking at him. "For... everything. Tonight."
It suddenly sounded too intimate, too loaded, and you immediately regretted not cushioning it with a joke or some careless shrug. You could almost predict what would happen next—his shoulders stiffening, that polite little cough, the retreat.
Sure enough, you heard him clear his throat, footsteps padding toward his room, and you exhaled slowly. Do not be stupid about it.
The door clicked shut. You were already settling deeper into the couch, telling your heart to calm the fuck down, when the door opened again. You frowned, lifting your head just in time to see Jake step back into the living room with a small cloth in his hand. He didn't look at you right away. Instead, he moved to the refrigerator, rummaging around. You watched him with a crease between your brows, confused.
When he turned back around, your breath caught. He crossed the space between you without rushing, then knelt down in front of the couch. Your eyes widened as he gently took hold of your foot, so careful, his gaze fixed on the angry bruises blooming along your shin and ankle. Up close, they looked worse—swollen, and darkening.
"Wait—you don't have to," you blurted, heat rushing up your neck. You reached for him instinctively, fingers closing around his wrist as if to stop him, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was.
He shook his head before you could pull away. "J-Just... let me," he said quietly, his voice steadier than you'd ever heard it. "Please."
The word please was was sincere. Caring. Like this was something he wanted to do, not something he felt obligated to offer. Your grip loosened without you even realizing it, fingers slipping from his wrist as you gave a small nod, surrendering.
The cloth was cool when it touched your skin, and you hissed softly before the ache eased just enough to make you sag back against the couch. Jake worked carefully, dabbing, not pressing too hard, his movements slow like he was afraid of hurting you. You watched him from above, the way his brows knitted in concentration, the way his thumb hovered before every touch as if silently asking permission.
In that moment, with your legs aching and your heart doing stupid, hopeful things, you felt it clearly—like the universe had finally thrown you a bone. You swallowed, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes, and let yourself wish—just a little—that this wasn't the end of it. That maybe, if you were brave enough, it could become something more.
The rain was relentless, hammering down on the campus like it wanted to wash everything away. You weren't supposed to be here—technically, the university might announce a suspension for this one-day anniversary celebration, and yet, here you were, dragged into anywhere by your batchmates. Booths sprawled across the open field, tents flapping violently in the wind, people shouting over the rainfall, trying to make their sales, their events, their little festivals matter despite the downpour. Your mind was flying, your focus already zeroed in on the smell of food wafting through the air.
Your batchmates were bouncing around like hyperactive ping-pong balls, dragging you to every booth, explaining every club, organization, or activity. You smiled, nodded, occasionally talking back, but your attention was already elsewhere. You made a beeline for the food tents, because at least there you could indulge without pretending to care too much about the rest of. You handed over your allowance, little coins and bills disappearing faster than you could count, but it didn't matter. You were eating! You were alive!
"This is Caramelized Banana! It's a banana with melted sugar on top. We also have banana wrapped, no sugar, or with sugar, and you can dip it in our chocolate syrup! It's a recipe popular in the Philippines—" You nodded, intrigued despite yourself, and bought one, your teeth sinking into the warm sweetness. You didn't even mind the vendor's continued spiel, too busy savoring the sticky sugar sliding down your fingers.
"Nachos with a lot of melted cheese! Would you like that? Buy here, come!" Oh, cheese. You couldn't say no. You grabbed it, scarfed down the gooey chips, and licked your fingers. The crowd barely mattered, the wet grass barely mattered—you had your food and that was enough.
"Nasi Goreng, originated from Malaysia, and we also have Murtabak with curry dipping sauce—" One you hadn't tried before, hm, promising. You bought it anyway, letting the unfamiliar spice surprise you.
You wandered, hands overloaded with plates, cups, skewers, dripping food and drink. You smiled at familiar faces, waved at acquaintances, all without really stopping, just enjoying the simple pleasure of eating. But then, of course, you saw Karina, by the Engineering booth. And just like some magnetic pull, she was staring right at you, that big, wide, infuriatingly cheerful grin on her face.
Your first instinct was to turn on your heel and walk fast, hoping she wouldn't catch up. Ha. Of course, she did, slinging an arm around your shoulder and tugging you in the direction she wanted.
"Come on," she sing-songed, leaning heavily into you. "You're really not interested in the Engineering booths? That's wild." She grinned, nuzzling her nose against your cheek in that infuriatingly intimate way she had. "I saw your cute little roommate earlier, you know. Passing papers to the Grade 12 students. He looked all serious and responsible. Wanna say hi? Let's go say hi."
You huffed through the banana cue still in your mouth, your cheeks hollowing as you chewed. Three days had passed since the finals, three days of rest and light training, but your mind was still a battlefield. Thoughts of him kept creeping in, and the more you tried to ignore them, the louder they became. You wanted to avoid him—yes, goddamn yes—but at the same time, every fiber of you ached to see him, to be near him, to steal a moment that wasn't really yours.
Karina jabbed your side playfully again, practically dragging you forward, and you let yourself be led, cheeks flaming hotter with each step. Your stomach was twisting like a knot of nerves and excitement as she maneuvered you through the rain-slicked paths, past other tents, right to the Engineering booth where Jake was standing. Flyers were scattered across the table, little models of buildings precariously balanced on top, and he was carefully carrying one in his hands.
"O-Oh, hi," he stammered when his gaze landed on you. You forced a small, awkward smile and waved, trying to look casual, though your knees threatened to buckle under the intensity of your own heartbeat. His eyes flicked to Karina, who was grinning and waving energetically at him, and you could feel her elbows nudging you forward with impatience.
"Hi! I'm Karina, her friend!" she chirped, pointing at you. She looped her arms around yours in a sort of gesture, pressing her hip gently against yours, signaling you to do something—anything—so you wouldn't freeze completely.
"Hi, I'm Jake..." he said, his words catching slightly as he placed the tiny building models on the table with deliberate care, his gaze snapping back to you immediately. Karina squealed again, poking your side for emphasis, and you could barely focus on anything except the way his eyes met yours.
The past three days, he had been almost invisible in the apartment, buried in whatever work the booth had demanded. You had tried to cook dinner once, thinking maybe it would be a way to reach out, but you burned the rice, cursing yourself under your breath. After that, you'd stuck to ordering takeout, leaving it neatly on the table for him, only to be met with his quiet thanks and a promise to sleep early because of his busy schedule. Talking to him directly had always been this impossible thing, a wall of nerves and hesitation that you could never figure out how to scale.
"Uh..." you said finally. "What's around your booth?" You felt Karina pinch your back sharply, a mischievous jab reminding you to ask more, not less.
"M-Mostly, just models and blueprints of b-buildings. N-nothing special, sorry—our plan was to encourage the Grade 12 students to enroll in our c-courses... that's why..."
You nodded, staring at the mini-building he had just placed down, but your gaze inevitably wandered to his hands. White, slender, pale hands, veiny in the softest, most perfect way. Hands that looked like they could build worlds or crush them, delicate and capable at the same time. You swallowed hard, blinking, your mind wandering to impossible thoughts—holding those hands, wrapping yours around them. It was infuriating how unfairly perfect he was in every little way, how nothing about him seemed flawed, nothing you could grasp onto to stop yourself from melting quietly inside.
"The fuck are you doing? Ask him more!" Karina hissed into your ear, breaking through your daze and making you jump slightly.
"Uh... you want some food?" you blurted, holding up the banana cue you still had, dipping it in chocolate sauce with trembling hands. Your fingers shook as you offered it to him, locking eyes with his as if your courage depended on it. You could see the sudden widening of his eyes behind his glasses, a tiny flare of surprise that made your stomach twist. "It's a banana with sugar... I roamed around the area and ate all of their food. Haha..." You tried to laugh lightly, hoping it sounded casual instead of awkward.
Jake's hands were still slightly dusty from handling the models, and he rubbed them awkwardly on his pants. "Uh... D-Do you have alcohol wipes or—"
"It's okay, just take a bite. I'll hold it for you," you said quickly, forcing your voice calm even though your heart was hammering. Your feet tapped nervously against the ground as you leaned slightly forward, the tiniest tremor of excitement running up your spine.
Then he leaned forward, slowly, cautiously, and took a bite. Your fingers tightened around the stick as you watched him, the small tunnel of the booth around you fading until all you could see was him. Karina's muffled clap from the side snapped you briefly back, and you caught her giving you a sly thumbs-up, eyes closed in encouragement as if saying, Finally, you're doing it.
God, Jake is so handsome it knocks the air clean out of you. Your brain short-circuits in the dumbest way possible, every thought evaporating until there's nothing left but him—standing there, biting into your food. You watch his lips close around the banana, the faint shine of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, the way his jaw moves when he chews. He nods softly, murmuring a quiet thanks, his palm hovering over his mouth as if he's embarrassed to be seen enjoying it too much.
You don't move. You barely breathe. It's humiliating how sensitive you suddenly feel to everything—how close he is, how warm the air feels between you, how one small movement from him makes your stomach flip. Seconds pass, maybe minutes, you're not sure. Then Jake looks up and catches you staring, really staring, and your chest tightens painfully because fuck, you didn't even try to hide it.
Karina, bless her soul, steps in before you can combust on the spot. "Jake? Right?" she says brightly, already reaching out to clap a hand on his shoulder. He jumps a little at the contact, stiff as a board. "Actually, my friend Sangwon—you know Sangwon? Yeah? He's an engineer. He's gonna take over the booth with Leo in a bit." She gestures wildly behind her, where Sangwon and Leo are walking past with drinks in their hands. "What if you two just roam around the area? My friend here is a loner," she adds, squeezing your arm hard, "and it might be nice for you to walk instead of being stuck here all day, hmm?"
Jake freezes completely, eyes darting between Karina and you. Sangwon and Leo stop mid-step, staring at Karina. "Are you fucking with me?" Sangwon mutters, incredulous. Leo just blinks, mouth open.
"Shut up," Karina snaps without looking at them.
"Actually—" you finally manage to speak, like you just woke up from a dream. You clear your throat and glance at Jake, trying not to melt under the way his attention snaps back to you instantly. "I saw at the other booth... the sponsored one... they were selling Hot Wheels."
"Really?!" Jake's eyes widen so much they practically light up behind his glasses. The shift is immediate and endearing as hell, all his stiffness melting into pure, unfiltered excitement. "Like... the die-cast ones? Or the limited edition—" He cuts himself off, realizing he's rambling.
You smile before you can stop yourself. You don't even know what are the die cast or the limited editions but— "I think I saw some limited ones," you say. "Near the food stalls."
Karina grins, "see?" she declares. "Go. Walk. Talk. I'll handle the booth." She physically pushes Jake a step away from the table, then nudges you forward too.
Jake hesitates, fingers twitching at his sides, then looks at you like he's asking permission without saying it. "I-If... if you don't mind," he says quietly.
You shrug, pretending your heart isn't slamming against your ribs. "Yeah. I don't mind."
And just like that, you're walking side by side, away from the booth. Your shoulders almost brush, close enough that you're hyper-aware of it, but neither of you moves away.
"How do you know I like Hot Wheels?" Jake asks after a moment.
You shrug, like it's nothing, like it didn't take weeks of quiet observation to notice. "Dunno," you say casually. "Every time I talk about rent or bills and you open your door, I just... notice the tiny cars." You glance at him, then gesture vaguely behind you. "They're lined up. Organized. Very... you."
He lets out a small, embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. You continue before you can second-guess yourself. "But you kinda like everything, right? Stars. Oceans. Dinosaurs. All that science stuff." You pause, then add, "There's a lot of booths here that reminded me of you." The moment the words leave your mouth, you bite your lip.
"Really?" he says, stopping for half a second just to look at you properly. Not a quick glance—an actual look. His eyes search your face like he's checking if you're joking, if this is some kind of tease. When he realizes you're not, his ears turn red almost instantly. "Let's take a look then," he adds, a little brighter.
You nod, grateful for the excuse to look away, and guide him toward the booth you spotted earlier. The Hot Wheels stand is crowded with students leaning over glass cases, bright lights reflecting off tiny polished cars. Rows and rows of them—limited editions, old-school designs, racing models, cartoonish ones.
"Oh my God," Jake breathes. The words slip out before he can stop them, and you swear you've never seen him look so openly excited. He leans closer to the glass, hands clasped behind his back like a kid trying not to press his face against a window. "Th-This is— I've never seen this many in one place."
You watch him instead of the cars. The way his eyes light up, the way he rocks slightly on his heels, trying to contain himself. It hits you then—this is what it looks like when someone feels safe enough to be fully themselves.
"These ones are rare," you say, pointing at a row near the back, pretending you know more than you do. "I heard people were lining up early for them."
Jake leans in closer, his arm brushing yours accidentally. "Y-Yeah," he says, "I've only seen pictures of these online."
You're not even really looking at the cars anymore. You're watching him—how his focus sharpens, how his shoulders loosen, how this small joy pulls him out of his shell. Then, without thinking too much about it, he reaches out and lightly wraps his fingers around your forearm. "C-Come here," he murmurs, already tugging you a step to the side. "Take a look at this."
He points at a single car nestled among the others. "That one," he says, "It's a Super Treasure Hunt. See the 'TH' logo?" He leans closer to the glass, his grip on you tightening just a fraction. "They don't make a lot of them. People s-search for years sometimes."
"And... what about it?" you ask, heat creeps up your neck. Your cheeks flush, not just from the closeness, but from the way he's still holding you—thumb resting against your skin. You don't pull away. You don't want to.
Jake finally realizes what he's doing and stiffens slightly, his fingers twitching like he's about to let go. "S-Sorry," he starts, panicking, "I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay," you cut in quickly, turning your arm just enough that his hand stays where it is. You meet his eyes. "You're excited. I get it."
His mouth opens, then closes, then he lets out a small, breathy laugh. "I, uh... I just—" He swallows. "I think it's c-cool. When something small means that much."
You smile without thinking, slow and soft, nodding along. Yeah. Totally relatable. Your life has been built on small things that meant everything.
You and him end up roaming around the booths despite the shit weather, rain misting the air and soaking the edges of banners and tents. For once, you don't care. For once, you're not rushing, not counting time, not worrying about training schedules or what comes next. And really—this is the first time you see him like this. Not just Jake-the-roommate, or Jake-the-awkward-genius, but Jake letting himself exist out loud.
"It's my first time roaming around this much," he says, eyes wide as he takes everything in. His hand is still loosely wrapped around your arm. "Wow... I think there's a lot more compared to last year." His other hand is full of paper bags from the Hot Wheels booth.
You hum, letting him talk, letting him lead, and he really does. He points things out with this quiet excitement that sneaks up on you. The biology booth makes him stop dead in his tracks. "And that one—" he says, tugging you closer, voice lifting despite himself. "They're doing dissections. Look, that's a scorpion—see how detailed it is? And they patched it up themselves. That's so cool." His words tumble over each other, hands moving.
Then he's already dragging you again, apologizing under his breath but smiling all the same, pulling you toward a booth filled with wires, blinking LEDs, half-built machines. You figure it's IT or robotics—something adjacent to his world. His eyes light up immediately, pupils blown wide.
"This one—" he says, pointing at a small rectangular robot with tiny arms and legs. "It's an emo robot. Originally meant to sit on desks." He wiggles his finger in front of it, and the robot mirrors the motion, its digital eyes shifting expressions. Jake laughs under his breath, soft and fond. "I wanted one before, but it was expensive. So maybe Bumble can be an improvisation." He glances at you. "Someday... what do you think?"
You look at the robot, then back at him, then shake your head lightly. "I think I like Bumble more," you say honestly. "She greets me. Judges me silently."
He snorts before he can stop himself, clapping a hand over his mouth. And God—there it is again. That sound. That real laugh. It makes something warm bloom in your chest.
"Y-Yeah," he says, smiling openly now. "She does that."
And somehow, after that, everything loosens. The tension you didn't even realize you were carrying melts into the background as the two of you keep walking, drifting from booth to booth, laughing more than you expect to. It's awkward, yeah—there are pauses, stutters, moments where you both talk at once and then stop—but it's the good kind. He points at everything like a kid seeing the world for the first time, rambling about random facts, half-formed theories, things he read once and never forgot. And you listen. Really listen. Not because you feel like you have to, but because hearing him talk like this feels... comforting.
You catch yourself smiling for no damn reason, nodding along while he explains why certain materials work better in buildings or why he likes models more than finished structures. He talks with his hands, fingers fidgeting when he gets excited, eyes lighting up in a way that makes your chest ache a little.
"They said after this," you say eventually, glancing up at the sky, "judging by the weather, the government might suspend classes." The clouds above are heavy and gray, the wind sharp enough to bite through your clothes.
You're halfway through the walk back when the sky finally gives up pretending. Rain pours down all at once, soaking you in seconds. You both stop, startled, then look at each other like idiots before breaking into a run. Jake hugs the paper bags to his chest, trying—and failing—to shield them with his body.
"Oh no—!" he yelps, slipping slightly, and you grab his arm without thinking, dragging him forward.
You fumble with your keys at the door, hands slick and shaking, rain blurring your vision as you finally get it open. The two of you stumble inside, slamming the door shut behind you, breathing hard. For a second there's just the sound of rain pounding against the walls and your own uneven breaths.
Then you look at each other.
And you both lose it.
Laughter bursts out of you, echoing through the apartment. Water drips from your hair, down your face, soaking your clothes. Jake's curls are plastered to his forehead, his glasses fogged, his braces flashing as he grins and pushes his wet hair back with his palm.
God. He looks ridiculous. And beautiful.
Your chest feels warm, too full, as you watch him walk over and carefully set the bags on the couch like he's still worried about them, even now. He glances back at you, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, still smiling like this moment.
"We should immediately shower and change our clothes," he said, voice still a little breathless from laughing.
By the time you wrapped yourself in a towel and crawled into bed, your body finally gave in. The government suspension announcement came not long after. Continuous heavy rainfall. Classes canceled. City on standby. You stared at the window instead, watching water race down the glass in uneven lines, your mind is finally quiet. Just an unfamiliar sense of peace.
You didn't even realize how long you'd been lying there until a soft knock pulled you out of it.
It was too early for you to feel human again, too early to leave the bed—but of course, it was Jake. Standing at your door, holding a bowl with both hands. "Uh... I made b-breakfast," he said. "Porridge. With egg." He hesitated, then added, "If you're hungry."
God. You could live like this forever.
After washing the dishes together—your hands bumping once, both of you apologizing at the same time—you leaned against the counter, watching him wipe the table with careful strokes.
"Do you think it'll take weeks?" you asked, glancing at your phone. "Another typhoon's coming, right? Friday, I think."
He shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Dunno. Our profs already sent some online activities." He paused, then added, almost apologetic, "I still have to study."
"Sucks to be you," you said, grinning. "I just wanna be lazy all day. But also... being lazy gets boring fast."
He lifted his head then, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There was a brief pause, like he was debating with himself, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Wanna b-build a Lego with me?"
Oh fuck. Your heart did that stupid thing again—jumping, twisting. You nodded anyway, too fast, too eager. "Yeah," you said. "Sure. Why not."
That was how you ended up on the living room floor, legs folded awkwardly, backs against the couch, Lego pieces scattered everywhere. Jake sat close—but not too close—careful in the way he always was, knees tucked in, sleeves pushed up as his fingers worked with quiet focus. He explained things as he went, apologizing every time he thought he was talking too much, which only made you want to hear more. You kept stealing glances at him, the way his brow furrowed when a piece didn't fit, the little hum he made under his breath when he figured it out.
And it didn't stop there.
The next morning, the rain was still relentless, hammering against the windows with no mercy, wind howling. You were half-awake, wrapped in a blanket, when Jake hovered near the couch, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Uh... do you wanna watch a series?" he asked, holding his tablet. "I—I started it last week. It's... kinda long."
You agreed before your brain could catch up, again.
That's how you ended up watching a chess series together, bodies sunk into the couch, knees occasionally brushing. You didn't understand half of it, but you liked the way he watched—leaning forward, eyes sharp, fully absorbed. You pointed at the screen when the female lead pulled off some insane move, eyebrows raised. "I don't get how it works," you said honestly, "but she's cool as hell."
He smiled at that, a real one, eyes lighting up. "Y-Yeah. She is." He hesitated, then added, softer, "She's really smart."
Hours slipped by without either of you noticing. Episodes blurred together. You asked questions, most of them are dumb ones, sometimes ones that made him pause and think. When the character lost a crucial match, you frowned at the screen. "Why did she lose?"
Jake straightened a bit. "B-Because she got checkmated," he said gently. "There's... rules. A lot of patterns. Math, too." He leaned forward, pointing at the paused screen. "Her queen is trapped here. If she moves it, her king's exposed. No safe squares left."
You nodded slowly, pretending you understood more than you did, eyes flicking between the screen and him. He kept explaining anyway, hands moving as he talked, sketching invisible boards in the air.
Night fell without ceremony. The rain didn't let up. At some point, you realized your head had tipped onto his shoulder, your body was warm and heavy against his side. He stiffened for half a second, then relaxed, breathing evening. Neither of you said anything. The show kept playing. Your eyes drifted shut.
Another morning arrived with rain slamming against the windows like it was angry at the city itself. The wind howled, rattling the glass hard enough that it felt alive. Your phone buzzed with the announcement before you even checked the time: University Suspension — Classes Cancelled Until Further Notice. You stared at the screen for a second, then let yourself fall back against the couch with a breathy laugh. Trapped. Stuck. Whatever word people wanted to use. You didn't mind it. Not when being stuck meant him.
What surprised you most was him. Jake, who used to barely look at you without stuttering himself into knots, was the one filling the space now. He suggested things quietly but confidently—movies, games, stupid little activities that somehow filled the hours without feeling forced. He brought out board games you didn't even know he owned, set up playlists that hummed softly in the background. It was like once the outside world paused, he stepped forward like this was where he belonged.
"Wow," you said, staring down at the chessboard. "I can't believe we were just watching a chess series, and now we're actually playing." You picked up a random piece—no idea what it was—and shoved it forward. "This is unfair. I couldn't even comprehend a single rule."
You glanced up at Jake, expecting a laugh or at least a smug look, but he was focused—elbows on his knees, chin tilted down, eyes fixed on the board and cute as hell.
"You can't place it there," he said calmly, reaching out before you could protest. His fingers brushed yours as he lifted the piece you'd just moved, the contact brief but electric, like your skin had suddenly woken up. He shifted it to another square, "I can eat you."
You froze. He froze too. Then his eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he realized what he'd just said. "Y–Your piece," he corrected quickly, voice dropping, ears turning red. "I mean. The piece. I'll take it."
You stared at him for a second. And then you laughed, leaning back on your hands as the sound spilled out of you. "Holy shit," you said, grinning. "Buy me dinner first, nerd."
He let out a strangled sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand as his shoulders shook. "I—I didn't mean it like that," he muttered, mortified.
"I know," you said, still smiling. You leaned forward again, elbows resting on your knees, eyes dropping to the board like you were suddenly very invested in this stupid little war of wooden pieces. Your fingers traced the edge of a pawn absentmindedly. "But I don't mind..."
"Mind... what?" he asked, tentative, eyes flicking up to you and then away again like he was afraid of what he might see on your face.
You didn't even give yourself time to overthink it, you were just done pretending you didn't feel this pull. "You eating me." —and your mouth moved before your brain could chicken out. Fuck. You were flirting. You were actually, openly flirting.
Jake froze like you'd hit a pause button on him. His hand hovered over one of his pieces, then he snapped back to life and shoved it forward a little too fast, the wood clacking loudly against the board. You leaned forward too, mirroring him, reaching for one of your pieces and sliding it closer to his side of the board, deliberately slow, deliberately close. You lifted your eyes to his face, watching the way his blush deepened, spreading from his ears down his neck.
"My piece," you added quickly, lips twitching. "I mean." You pulled it back with a grin that told him you absolutely did not mean just that.
He swallowed hard as he moved again, taking your piece this time, fingers trembling just slightly. You caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he gulped, the way his jaw tightened like he was trying very hard to keep it together. God, he was cute like this—unraveled but trying, flustered but still playing, still sitting there with you instead of running for his room.
"I—I..." he started, then stopped, exhaling through his nose. "I know," he said finally, like he was bracing himself. "Your turn."
You didn't move right away. You just looked at the board, then at him, heart thudding harder than it had any right to over a chess game and a few words loaded with way too much meaning. Slowly, you picked up a piece and nudged it forward, smiling faintly to yourself as if you were enjoying how this felt far more than you should.
"Okie," you said lightly, then—just to be an asshole—you shoved another random chess piece forward. Jake scratched his head, blinking at the board.
"You can't move it from the back to the front, it's the Queen. You're exposing it," he said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. You almost laughed at how serious he was, brows furrowed, already reaching out to fix your mistake.
The next few hours blurred into him lecturing you about chess pieces, strategies, positioning, endgames, openings—things you half-listened to while watching the way his hands moved.
It didn't shock you at all that most of your pieces were eaten, one by one, until the board looked pitiful on your side. He leaned back slightly, studying it, then glanced up at you. "You're cornered," he said, almost apologetic.
"Sucks," you muttered, staring at your lonely queen. You tilted your head, eyes flicking up to his. "But I'm facing your queen. Is it not a checkmate?"
Jake blinked. Once. Twice. Then he leaned forward again, squinting at the board, lips parted in concentration. You watched him closely, the way his shoulders tensed, the way he bit his lower lip without realizing it. After a long moment, he froze, realization dawning on his face. "...Shit," he breathed.
You grinned, resting your chin on your palm. "Guess I win."
"Y-You didn't even know what you were doing!" he said.
"Nah!" You clapped your hands loudly, then you pointed straight at him like you'd just defeated a final boss. "You lose, loser!" You stuck your tongue out without shame, leaning into the childish victory.
You pushed yourself up from the floor and climbed onto the couch, ignoring the scattered chess pieces. You did a slow spin, arms swaying dramatically, hips moving just enough to be obnoxious. "Bow to your champion!" you declared, laughing at your own stupidity as you were trying to annoy him. But you stopped mid-twirl.
Jake wasn't annoyed, he wasn't scrambling to defend himself. He was just staring at you. A wide smile stretched across his face, braces flashing. His eyes were bright, crinkled at the corners, completely unguarded. He looked at you like you were something entertaining and precious at the same time.
Your stomach flipped. The teasing energy drained out of you in an instant. You stepped down from the couch and sat back on the floor across from him, suddenly more aware of the space between you. The chessboard sat abandoned, pieces knocked over like the game didn't matter anymore.
"So," you said, clearing your throat as you folded your legs under you. You tilted your head slightly, trying to keep the playful tone even though your pulse had started racing. "Do winners have a prize?"
Jake's smile softened immediately. He looked down at his hands, then rubbed the back of his ear, and right on cue, the tips turned red. He pressed his lips together, then bit the lower one gently like he was thinking too hard. His feet shuffled against the floor, restless, nervous energy buzzing off him.
At first, you weren't sure what he was thinking. Maybe he thought you meant snacks. Maybe he was calculating some logical reward system in his head. But the longer he stayed quiet, the more your mind spiraled. Is he thinking what you're thinking? Or are you just being delusional? Your heart pounded louder, drowning out the rain for a second. He kept biting his lip, glancing up at you and then away again. His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants.
"I—" he started, then stopped. He inhaled slowly, steadying himself. "What kind of prize?" he asked.
You leaned forward just slightly, enough that your knees were only inches away from his. "I don't know," you said, watching his face carefully. "You're the one who lost."
His eyes lifted to yours, and this time, he didn't look away. The storm outside continued raging, wind howling, rain pounding relentlessly, but inside, everything was suspended in this quiet, dangerous pause. You could see the conflict in his expression—the nervousness, the want, the restraint. He swallowed again. "I can... cook?" he offered, almost shyly. "Or... d-do the dishes for a week?"
You stared at him for a second. And then you laughed softly, shaking your head. Of course he would offer something practical. Of course he'd default to taking care of you in the safest way possible. "You're such a nerd," you murmured.
He smiled again, uncertain. "Is that... not okay?"
You looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think about it. Your teeth caught your lower lip as your mind spiraled. If you say this, you're crossing the line. If you say this, you're not just flirting anymore—you're stepping over that invisible boundary that kept things safe. If you say this, you might lose the easy mornings, the quiet dinners — But then again... what the hell were you so scared of?
"What about a kiss?" you asked, finally looking back at him, forcing your voice to stay steady. You watched it happen in real time—the shift in his face. His eyes widened just slightly, then softened, then panicked. Color bloomed across his cheeks, spreading down his neck in a slow, undeniable flush. His lips parted like he was about to speak, but no sound came out. For a second, you regretted it.
"Forget it," you said quickly, nerves snapping at you. You moved to stand, heart racing, ready to laugh it off, ready to run before you saw rejection in his eyes. But you didn't get far when a firm hand wrapped around your wrist. It wasn't rough, but it wasn't hesitant either. It caught you mid-motion and pulled you back down with enough strength to surprise you. A small yelp escaped your throat, cut short when you felt his lips against yours.
Your eyes flew open. Jake's were closed, brows slightly furrowed like he was concentrating too hard. His lips were soft—warmer than you expected. He kissed you like he did everything else: carefully at first, uncertain. You could feel the inexperience in the way he tilted his head a little too abruptly, the way his mouth moved like he wasn't sure what rhythm to follow.
Your shock melted fast. You closed your eyes and leaned in properly this time, pushing the chessboard out of the way with a clatter of wooden pieces hitting the floor. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping them, feeling the solid warmth beneath his shirt. He let out the smallest, breathy sound against your mouth, half a whine, half a gasp.
The cold wind outside rattled the windows, but the room felt like it was closing in, warm with the sound of your breathing mixing together. You moved your lips more deliberately, guiding the kiss, pressing closer. When you brushed your tongue lightly against his bottom lip—slow, asking—he froze for a split second before he opened up. A quiet, shaky moan slipped from him as you deepened it, tasting him, feeling the way his hands tightened around your waist. His fingers dug in just enough to make you aware of them.
Still kissing him, you shifted your weight and swung a leg over, settling onto his lap without breaking contact. He inhaled sharply into your mouth at the movement, his grip adjusting to keep you steady. You could feel how tense he was beneath you, how his whole body seemed lit up by every point of contact. Your hands slid from his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly into his hair. You pulled him closer, and this time, he responded without pause—kissing you back with more confidence. A sharp gasp escaped you when his grip on your waist tightened suddenly, pulling your body flush against his. The pressure of him beneath the thin fabric of his pajama pants was obvious. Your head spun so fast you didn't even think about pulling away for air. It felt like your bodies had turned into magnets, stuck together with a force neither of you had the will to fight.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck.
Your hips shifted slowly, a roll meant to test him. You refused to break the kiss, and when the heat between your legs pressed directly against the tense outline beneath you, a quiet moan slipped from your throat before you could stop it. The sound vibrated between your mouths. That was when Jake broke the kiss.
Your lips chased his, catching his bottom lip between your teeth before he could pull too far away. The separation was reluctant, both of you breathing hard like you'd just sprinted a mile. Your chest rose and fell rapidly while you stayed seated on his lap, fingers still tangled in his hair like you might drag him back if he dared move too far.
"What— why?" you asked, your voice still shaky and breathless.
Jake's face was flushed a deep red, spreading from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. His glasses had fogged slightly from the heat between you. For a second he just stared at you, then he shook his head once, almost frustrated, and pulled his glasses off. Without much care he tossed them somewhere toward the floor beside the couch where they landed with a faint clatter. Before you could even react, his hands returned to you and he leaned forward again, capturing your mouth in another kiss.
This one was different. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore. His grip on your waist was firmer, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. A small squeal escaped you when he suddenly stood, lifting you effortlessly like you weighed nothing. The sudden movement made your arms tighten around his neck while your legs wrapped around his waist, locking you against him. The new position pressed your bodies together even closer, heat building fast between you as he carried you across the room without breaking the kiss for more than a second.
Your mind tried to catch up, tried to ask what the hell was about to happen next, but the thought dissolved the moment his mouth found yours again. Overthinking felt impossible now. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of his lips, the warmth of his hands, the way your pulse pounded in your ears. You had spent too long ignoring the tension between you, pretending it wasn't there.
Right now you didn't care about tomorrow, or consequences, or whatever awkwardness might follow.
Right now you just wanted him.
Jake's breathing had turned uneven by the time your mouth drifted away from his lips. Your kisses trailed along the corner of his mouth, brushing his cheek before moving down to his jaw. You nipped lightly at the warm skin there, feeling the way his body tensed beneath your hold. One of his hands slid up your back while the other steadied you against him, fingers flexing slightly like he wasn't entirely sure where to touch first. "Where?" he whispered.
The word barely made it out before your teeth grazed his skin again. You could feel his pulse under your lips. You didn't answer, instead, you dragged your mouth slowly along his jaw toward his ear, letting the silence stretch while his grip on you tightened almost unconsciously. Your fingers brushed through the hair at the back of his neck again, tugging making him inhale sharply.
Then you finally murmured your answer against his ear. "Your room"
Your cunt fluttered at the sound of your own words, heat pooling wet as a low, long whine escaped him. You barely had time to register the sensation before you were being carried again, the familiar weightless surge of being lifted making your stomach knot with anticipation and arousal. The world blurred around you, furniture and light flashing past as he moved. You tried to hold onto something, but there was nothing to hold onto except him. Every nerve ending in your body was awake, every touch of his hand, every movement of his body against yours, sending sparks you didn't even know you could feel.
When he finally lowered you onto the bed, it was gentle despite the desperation in his hold. His hands guided you, careful, cradling your head like you were made of something fragile he didn't want to break. The bed beneath you was soft, yielding under your weight, but somehow it didn't lessen the intimacy of the moment—the way he leaned over you, holding you steady, letting you both pause before the next wave hit. You froze for a heartbeat, just staring at him.
Seeing Jake without his glasses was like seeing him stripped bare in a way you hadn't noticed before. His eyes were glossy and brilliant, gleaming with something almost otherworldly. There was a kind of intensity in them, like the stars he loved to watch in those documentaries he'd obsess over, but alive, raw, and focused entirely on you. You could see a storm of desire and confusion, clarity and hesitation all tangled up behind those shining orbs, and even though you didn't understand all of it, it made something coil tight in your chest.
You just leaned in, pressing your lips against him, trailing soft, hungry kisses across his nose, the tip of his chin, the curve of his cheeks, letting your hands wander freely over the hard lines of his triceps, feeling the muscle tense and flex under your touch.
"Still with me?" you whispered, your teeth grazing his jaw as you tugged lightly, testing him, teasing him, feeling the shiver roll down his spine. Your hands drifted to his, guiding them up your body, threading his fingers through the fabric of your shirt, pressing them to your chest. "Is this okay?" you asked, your eyes locked on his, searching, and needing him to answer without words.
Jake gasped sharply, chest rising and falling, his eyes wide, pupils blown, and the flush spreading across his face so deep it looked almost painful. His cock twitched insistently beneath his pajama pants. Every nerve in his body screamed for more, as if your hands on him had awakened something he had been holding back. You moved slowly, coaxing him, rubbing him through the fabric, kneading the hard length of him in small, teasing motions while letting your fingers drift over the edges of his hips and down the side of his thighs. At first, his hands hovered uncertainly, until he finally mirrored you, sliding over your chest, kneading your breasts softly, fingers gentle yet unsteady.
A shared whine broke through your lips almost without thought. You couldn't bear the waiting any longer. Your hands fumbled at your top, ripping it free along with the bra in one shameless movement. The sudden freedom of your bare skin against the cool air made you shiver, and you felt him lean closer immediately, drawing in your scent as if it intoxicated him. He found the confidence to follow your earlier movements, pressing his mouth to your jaw, nibbling in small, sharp bites that made you wince, pulling a low moan from your chest despite the sting.
"Pretty," he whispered in a way that made you question if you'd imagined it. "So... so, pretty." He repeated it, a breathless chant, before diving back into your lips with renewed hunger.
You lost track of time, swallowed whole by the rhythm of his mouth and the press of his body against yours. His arms wrapped tighter around you, fingers pressing against your back and shoulders. Your bare breasts brushed against the fabric of his shirt, and the friction made your stomach coil tight with heat. You wanted more—you wanted all of it—but you were afraid to ask, afraid that if you broke the kiss to say so, he would retreat into awkwardness and the fragile tension you'd built would shatter. So instead, you cut the kiss abruptly, pressing the back of his head against your chest, guiding him where you wanted without speaking.
"Nghh," you moaned, tilting your head back, arching your back, letting him explore freely. His lips closed around your nipple, sucking with the inexperience of someone trying to mimic what they thought they should do. It was awkward but it sent shocks through your body. You felt him adapt, he swirled his tongue over your areola, teasing, learning, feeling. You guided one of his hands into your other breast, holding the back of his palm against your skin as he kneaded gently, and your eyes closed, lost in sensation.
He seemed to catch every nuance in your reactions, every small gasp that slipped out of your mouth, every tremor that ran through your body when he touched the right spot. His tongue flicked slowly between your nipples while his thumbs moved in steady circles around them, rough pads grazing the sensitive skin again and again. The sensation made your breath hitch sharply, another helpless gasp leaving your throat as your fingers curled into his hair. Jake stayed there for a long moment, almost stubborn about it, alternating between sucking, licking, and pressing soft kisses against your chest.
Eventually he pulled away, his lips lingering for a second before he leaned back up to capture your mouth again.
Oh boy, Jake must really love kissing.
You dragged him closer, one hand gripping the back of his neck while your body shifted beneath him. Your hips rolled upward without thinking, pressing into him, searching for friction. The kiss quickly turned messy as both of you started moving at the same time, your bodies grinding together clumsily on the bed. Each time your hips pushed up you felt the hard pressure of him through the fabric between you, and the contact made a low sound rumble from his chest.
"Re... move," you muttered between kisses, the word breaking apart as your lips kept bumping into his. Your fingers tugged impatiently at his shirt, pulling at the fabric.
Jake let out another strained whine before pulling away. He fumbled with his clothes quickly, clearly not thinking about grace or neatness. His shirt disappeared first, tossed somewhere beside the bed, and then his hands went straight for the waistband of his pajama pants. In his rush he dragged them down together with his boxers, pushing the fabric down his hips in one impatient motion.
"Oh..." you whispered before you could stop yourself, your body shifting backward slightly against the mattress.
Jake stood there for a second, breathing heavily, chest rising and falling while he looked at you, trying to read your reaction. But your attention had already dropped lower. Your gaze locked on him, on the obvious heat and color of his cock, the flushed pink that leaned almost red under the soft light in the room. You could see the veins along the base, the damp shine at the tip where precum had already gathered. It looked almost angry, twitching slightly with each breath he took.
How the hell had Jake—your awkward, nerdy, always-overthinking roommate—been hiding something like that?
Jake noticed where you were looking. His shoulders shifted awkwardly and his hand moved as if he wanted to cover himself, the embarrassment creeping back onto his face. But before he could actually hide anything, you moved. You pushed yourself up onto your knees on the mattress and reached forward, catching his wrist and pulling it aside. Your other hand slid forward immediately after, your palm wrapping around his cock.
"No— ahh—" Jake's head tipped back the moment your hand closed around him.
You felt the warmth of it against your palm, and your fingers tightened slightly without thinking. His reaction made you reach up with your free hand, grabbing lightly at the back of his neck and pulling him down toward you again. Your lips crashed back into his before he could say anything else. The angle was awkward now, with him half leaning over you and most of his weight pressing down onto the mattress while your hand stayed wrapped around him. His hips kept shifting forward, brushing against your palm. You deepened the kiss, your mouth moving slowly against his while your hand finally started to move. Your grip circled him carefully at first, sliding upward and then back down in a slow motion as you tested the rhythm.
Jake's moan burst straight into your mouth. His entire body jerked in response, hips twitching sharply against your hand. His legs tensed, muscles tightening as if he'd been hit with a sudden wave of sensation he wasn't prepared for. The sound he made this time was even more desperate, muffled by the kiss.
And then you felt the sudden spurt against your hand, the unmistakable wetness as his body reacted faster than either of you expected. Your movement slowed automatically, your mind catching up with what had just happened.
Oh... Oh.
Jake pulled away from your mouth so suddenly, his breath ragged and uneven as he immediately buried his face into the crook of your neck. The movement was clumsy like he was trying to disappear somewhere inside you. His entire body collapsed forward, and you swore the air left your lungs for a second under the full weight of him. He wasn't holding himself up anymore—he was just draped over you, chest pressed to yours, arms braced awkwardly on either side of your shoulders. You could feel how hot his skin was, how fast his heart was pounding against you. One of his hands quickly grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from him. He didn't say anything. He just breathed hard against your neck, warm bursts of air brushing your skin while his body stayed tense.
A small patch of warmth spreading slowly against your neck. At first you thought it was just his breath, or sweat from how heated everything had gotten but — "Are you..." you paused, confused, one hand coming up to touch his back carefully, fingers brushing along his spine. "Crying?"
"Sorry I cum too fast," he whimpered into your neck, his voice muffled and shaking as he buried his face deeper against your skin. His head shook slightly as he said it, the motion rubbing his cheek against you.
Your eyes widened immediately. "Hey—no, it's okay, shhh, stop—" You started patting his back quickly, almost awkwardly, because the sudden shift in mood caught you completely off guard. His shoulders trembled under your hands as his quiet crying turned louder, broken breaths hitching against your skin. You didn't even understand what exactly had upset him so much — like, he was still hard, twitching against your thigh.
"Shhh, stop crying," you said again, your palm moving slowly up and down his back in an attempt to calm him. Your fingers traced small circles between his shoulder blades, trying to soothe him.
"So—sorry," he hiccupped, the word breaking apart in his throat. His arms slid fully around your back now, hugging you tightly.
"I told you, it's fine," you murmured, your voice gentler now. You kept rubbing his back while staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened in the last few minutes. "It's really fine. You don't have to freak out about it." After a moment you hesitated before asking carefully, "Do you want to stop—"
"No."
The answer came out as a strained whine before you could even finish the question. His voice cracked around the word, his hips shifted again against yours, the movement dragging his still-hard cock against your thigh through the mess he'd already made. The mattress creaked softly beneath both of you as his weight shifted forward, his body clinging to yours. He held onto you tighter, arms wrapped around your back, face still buried deep in your neck like he couldn't bear the embarrassment of looking at you.
You stared at the ceiling for a second, processing the situation, then exhaled sharply and shoved at his shoulders. "Okay— move."
With more strength than he expected, you pushed him back, forcing him to roll off you so you could sit up. The sudden shift made him blink in confusion, his hair messy and his face still flushed as he stared at you. You tossed your hair back over your shoulder, chest rising and falling as you quickly reached down and tugged your bottoms off your hips. The fabric peeled away easily, damp where your arousal had soaked through, and you didn't even bother hiding it. Jake watched the entire thing, his chest still heaving as his eyes dragged over your body.
Swinging your leg over him, you straddled his hips and settled directly over his shaft. The moment your weight pressed down, he sucked in a sharp breath and shut his eyes tight, his head tipping back against the pillow. Your panties were still clinging to you, the wet patch obvious against the thin fabric as you slowly started grinding your hips down against him. The friction made your stomach tighten immediately, your clit dragging over his cock with every slow roll of your hips.
"First time?" you asked, like you weren't currently rubbing your soaked panties all over his cock. Your hands braced on the mattress on either side of his shoulders as you leaned forward slightly, adjusting your rhythm. You rolled your hips in small circles, testing different angles, letting the pressure build while watching his reactions closely.
Jake nodded quickly, eyes still shut. His hands moved to your hips automatically, gripping them tight.
Your movements sped up a little and the change in pace made him whine louder, the sound escaping his throat in a helpless, high note that made your stomach flutter. His fingers dug into your skin, nails pressing hard into the soft flesh of your hips, and you actually winced at the pressure. His entire body tensed beneath you, thighs tightening, his breathing breaking into uneven gasps.
And then it happened again. His hips jerked sharply upward with another loud whine, the movement uncontrolled as he came.
"Ahh— sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Please, please, please—" he panicked immediately, his eyes snapping open wide. Fresh tears were already shining in them again as his body trembled beneath you. His cock twitched visibly between your thighs, another small spurt of cum leaking from the flushed tip as he tried to catch his breath. The poor guy looked like he was having a full crisis.
Meanwhile, you just moaned. The friction hadn't stopped for you. Your hips had kept moving through his entire meltdown, chasing the pressure building between your legs.
Your hands moved to push his hand away from your hips so you could pull back, assuming his frantic "please" meant he was getting overwhelmed.
But his hands didn't let go. Not even a little. Instead, his grip tightened. You blinked in confusion as he actively tried to guide your hips again, pulling you forward so your soaked panties slid against his cock once more. The thing was still hard—still angry and flushed and twitching despite the fact that he had already finished twice in less than a few minutes.
What the hell? How can this man cum so fast yet still not go soft?
"Please, please, please," he whined again, his voice breaking as he suddenly sat up. His arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling your body flush against his chest as he started guiding your hips with both hands. The motion forced your grinding to continue, your soaked panties dragging over the sensitive head of his cock again and again. Each pass made him shudder violently. His breath kept catching in his throat, little helpless sounds escaping him every time your hips rolled forward. The mattress creaked beneath you with every movement, the room filled with the mix of his shaky whining and your heavier breathing.
Still wrapped in his arms, you shifted slightly in his lap. One hand slid down between your bodies and hooked into the side of your panties, dragging the damp fabric aside.
The moment your bare cunt brushed against his cock, Jake's reaction was loud, a broken moan tearing out of him, you leaned forward quickly and kissed him hard to shut him up, swallowing the noise before it could get any louder.
If he kept whining like that—face flushed, voice trembling—you were pretty sure you'd lose control just from hearing him. Fuck. His mouth was warm and messy against yours, his breathing still shaking as your hips kept moving slowly against him.
Your hand slipped down to his cock, fingers wrapping around it again. He wasn't fully soft, not even close, but there was still a slight give to him under your palm. You pulled back from the kiss just enough for both of you to breathe, your foreheads almost touching while your breaths mixed together. Your eyes stayed locked on his as you guided him between your legs.
Slowly, deliberately, you started rubbing the length of him against your cunt, dragging the tip along your slick folds. Your hand moved with controlled rhythm, sliding him up and down, occasionally letting the head bump against your entrance before pulling him away again.
"Lay down for me," you murmured. You guided him backward onto the mattress, one hand pressing lightly against his chest until he sank into the pillows. Your own body hovered above him as you stayed straddled over his hips. You were painfully wet by now, your stomach tight with the need for friction that grinding alone hadn't been able to satisfy. Even so, you stayed patient with him. Your fingers brushed over his face, pushing some messy strands of hair away from his forehead before trailing down his cheek. You kept eye contact the whole time, your hand gliding over his chest.
Slowly, you lowered yourself. The first contact made your mouth fall open slightly. The tip of him pressed against you, and you paused there for a moment just to breathe. Your legs trembled faintly as you started easing yourself down inch by inch. Jake's whining came back louder than before, almost helpless as his hands shot up to grip your hips. His head spun with the sensation, ears ringing as the tight heat of your pussy slowly took him in. Meanwhile your breathing grew heavier the further you sank down, your body adjusting to the stretch.
By the time you were fully seated on him, he was hard again, completely, filling you while your thighs trembled on either side of his hips.
"F–fuck," you muttered under your breath, biting down on your lower lip as you braced your hands against his chest. You lifted your hips slightly, letting a little of him slide out before lowering yourself again in a slow, controlled motion. The stretch made your face tighten, your brows pulling together as you focused more on the building pleasure than the sharp edge of discomfort from his size. "Fuck... fuck, fuck!"
Jake looked like he was barely holding himself together beneath you. A faint vein stood out along his forehead, his teeth pressing into his lip as he tried to keep quiet. He was clearly trying to control himself, trying not to lose it too fast again. But your hips told a different story. The way you moved, the sight of your body rising and lowering on top of him, the expression on your face as you adjusted to the feeling—it all dragged him closer to the edge again.
"Wait— wait... ahh," he groaned suddenly. Your hands slid from his chest down toward his knees as you shifted your weight, adjusting your position slightly. The new angle changed the way he felt inside you, and Jake let out another broken sound the moment you started moving again. You rolled your hips carefully at first, searching for the spot that felt right, letting your body experiment with the motion until the pressure finally lined up the way you needed.
A loud moan tore out of you as your hips sped up without thinking, your body chasing the sensation as you kept hitting the same spot again and again. Jake reacted just as quickly, sitting up to distract himself, his mouth finding your chest as he pressed against you. His arms wrapped around your back while his tongue dragged over your nipples, the contact making your whining grow louder with every movement.
Your vision blurred slightly as the sensation kept building, the pressure inside your body tightening in slow, relentless waves that refused to ease up. It felt like sparks were going off behind your eyes, tiny bursts of light flickering every time your hips dropped back down onto him. You were riding him harder now without even realizing it. The bed creaked beneath both of you with every movement, your thighs burning as they worked to keep you balanced while your body chased the pressure building deep in your stomach. Each roll of your hips dragged another broken breath from your lungs, your fingers tightening against his shoulders as the heat between your legs kept climbing higher.
Jake suddenly bit down on your breast. The sharp sting hit at the same moment his body jerked beneath you. His cock throbbed hard inside you as he came again, another hot pulse spilling deep while his hips twitched helplessly under your weight.
"Shit!" you cried out, the sudden jolt of sensation ripping straight through your body.
Jake only answered with a muffled whine against your chest, his mouth still pressed to your skin, hot bursts of air hitting your breast while his teeth loosened and his lips dragged weakly over the spot he'd bitten. His shoulders trembled under your hands, and you could feel the way his body struggled to handle the sensation as it moved through him.
Your hips didn't stop moving even with his body shaking under you, you kept rocking against him, your body chasing the last stretch of the high that hadn't quite broken yet. The movement forced more small sounds out of him, soft whines and broken breaths that vibrated directly into your chest where his face stayed buried. The heat between you felt overwhelming, your bodies still pressed close together while the tension inside you continued to wind tighter and tighter.
"Little more... little more— please," you breathed out as the pressure finally climbed to the edge.
Your legs trembled where they were wrapped around his hips, muscles tightening as the feeling crested higher. Your arms slid up around his shoulders, pulling him closer into you while your body reacted, tightening around him as the sensation finally tipped over. Your hips stuttered slightly but didn't stop, still rocking against him as the wave rolled through your body.
For a moment everything felt hot and heavy and loud in your head. What almost made you laugh, though, was the fact that Jake still hadn't stopped. His cock was still twitching inside you while your body clenched around him, another weak pulse followed the last. It felt like you were still milking him dry while your body finished riding out the tail end of your own high.
"Hah..." you breathed out shakily, your hips slowed, your body still moving slightly while you tried to steady yourself. Your chest rose and fell unevenly, lungs dragging in deep breaths as the tension slowly drained from your muscles. The moment stretched out quietly around you, the room filled only with the sound of both of you breathing and the faint rustle of sheets under your shifting weight.
Eventually your strength gave out. Your body leaned forward, pressing closer to him as the last of the tension faded from your limbs. You tilted your head down and brushed a soft kiss against his lips. It lingered there for a second, both of you still catching your breath as his mouth responded weakly beneath yours.
As your body finally relaxed, you let yourself slump forward and collapse gently against his shoulder, your cheek resting against his skin while your chest rose and fell heavily. Jake stayed still beneath you, arms loose around your back as you feel the world around you collapsed.
Sometimes, the universe had a sick sense of humor. It let you taste something so perfect just long enough for you to believe in it, only to remind you the next morning that happiness wasn't something you were allowed to hold on to without consequences. Maybe that was the lesson life kept trying to shove down your throat. Not every good moment turns into a good life.
Luck was temporary, a fleeting thing people grabbed with desperate hands. It felt real when it happened—bright and full and intoxicating—but it never stayed long. Because every time the universe handed you something good, there was always that lurking feeling in the back of your head that a disaster was waiting right around the corner, ready to collect the price.
You woke up to the sound of wind slamming violently against the windows. The glass rattled in its frame, branches scraping somewhere outside like fingers clawing at the walls. You groaned under your breath and rolled onto your back, one hand dragging lazily across your face before scratching the back of your head. Your body felt heavy, muscles loose from sleep, your brain foggy as hell. For a moment everything felt blurry—your surroundings, your thoughts, the slow realization creeping in that something wasn't quite right. Then you stretched your arms above your head, arching your back slightly, and your eyes opened fully.
You weren't in your room. The ceiling looked different. Your stomach flipped when the memory from last night flickered somewhere in the back of your mind... And Jake wasn't beside you.
"Huh?" you muttered to yourself, the confusion hitting you all at once. You sat up quickly, the blanket sliding down to your lap as you scanned the room. His desk lamp was off, the room dim except for the gray light leaking through the curtains from the storm outside. That was when you noticed the small pill sitting neatly on the bedside table beside a glass of water.
You reached for it slowly, fingers curling around the foil packet as your eyes squinted to read the label. Plan B. You stared at it for a long moment, turning it between your fingers. You were still dressed in your own clothes—same shirt, same shorts from yesterday. The apartment was quiet except for the storm raging outside, and when you glanced toward the corner of the room, you noticed the power strip lights were dead.
No electricity. Ah...right. The storm. You rubbed your face with one hand and slid out of the bed, walking over to the window to push it shut more firmly. The wind was forcing cold air through the cracks, when you finished, you stepped into the hallway and padded slowly toward the living room.
"Hey," you sighed in relief the moment you saw him.
Jake stood near the kitchen counter, quietly cleaning up the snack wrappers and empty cups left behind from earlier.
Your shoulders relaxed instantly at the sight of him. You walked closer. "Just clean it in the morning. It's really dark in here. You could trip on something." Your hand reached out automatically, fingers brushing his shoulder in a familiar, comfortable gesture. "I mean it's like—what—11:45 PM? Let's just go back to bed—"
"Uh." He cut you off. Your smile faded immediately when he gently removed your hand from his shoulder without even looking at you. He tossed the trash bag into the bin, his back stiff as he turned slightly away. It felt like someone had flipped a switch.
No, worse. It felt like everything had reset back to the beginning.
"Jake?" you said carefully. You stepped toward him, but before you could say anything else, he brushed past you and walked straight down the hallway. The door to his room shut with a quiet click, and you were left standing there in the middle of the living room. Confused. Frozen.
"Jake?" you called again, your voice smaller now as you walked toward his door. Your chest tightened, questions crashing into your head all at once.
What did you do? Everything had felt fine. More than fine. You were laughing, he looked happy. You were happy. So what the hell changed?
Maybe he was just overwhelmed. Maybe this was new to him. Jake wasn't the type of guy who would just shut someone out after something that intimate... right? Right?
You rested your hand lightly against the door, staring at the wood like you could see through it. "I'll give you time," you said quietly through the door. "Just... talk to me, okay?"
But he never did. The next morning came, then the day after that, and then the days kept piling on top of each other. Every time you knocked on his door, there was no answer. Sometimes you tried the doorknob just in case, hoping maybe it had been left unlocked by accident, but it never was. Always locked. Always shut. You would linger in the living room longer than usual, pretending to scroll through your phone or watch something, just waiting for the sound of his door opening. It never happened.
When classes started again, the pattern became obvious. Jake would leave ridiculously early, long before you even woke up. His shoes would be gone from the rack by the door, his bag missing from the chair. Sometimes the only proof he'd even been home was the faint smell of his almond milk lingering in the kitchen or the clean plate drying on the rack. And Sundays—God, Sundays were the worst. That used to be the one day he was always around, fixing something in the apartment, tinkering with his stupid robots or cooking meals. Now you would wake up, step into the living room, and the place would feel hollow.
You never found him there anymore. And every night before eight, the same thing happened. His room stayed dark and empty. Is he avoiding you? Dumbass. Of course he is. How naive could you be to pretend you hadn't noticed already? The signs were right there! He wasn't busy. He wasn't overwhelmed. He was avoiding you.
You didn't fucking understand. That was the worst part. If he had said something—anything—you could've dealt with it. You could've argued with him, yelled at him, laughed it off if it turned out to be something stupid. But this silence? This cowardly disappearing act? It drove you insane.
You wanted to talk to him.
Hell, you wanted to curse him out.
After you had sex, that's it? That's fucking it? What the hell was going on inside his head? You kept replaying that night over and over in your mind, trying to find the moment where everything went wrong. The chess game. The teasing. The kiss. The way he had looked at you like he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.
You're n0t dumb, you refuse to be dumb. You are fucking sure he felt that pull too. You are not delusional, right? You felt it! You fucking felt it in your hands, in your body, in your soul.
"I had sex," you said flatly, staring into nothing.
Ryujin barely reacted at first, just giving you a quick side glance as she continued bouncing the against the wall. It was the start of regional training, but your head was somewhere else entirely. Karina was off in Japan, living her best life, leaving you here dealing with whatever the hell this was. Figures. Of course she'd disappear right when you actually needed someone to scream at.
"Congrats?" Ryujin finally said, catching the ball and tossing it lightly in her hands. "What's with the long face?"
You watched the ball leave her hand again, hit the wall, bounce back in the same rhythm. You shrugged, forcing your shoulders to move like it didn't matter. "I don't know. He's not talking to me."
Ryujin's lips pressed into a thin line as she caught the ball again, this time pausing for a second before throwing it harder. "He?" she repeated, tone already shifting into something judgmental. "As usual. Men are usually like that. Don't expect anything from them, really—"
"He—" you cut her off. You exhaled hard, running your hand through your hair as your irritation flared up. "He is not like those other men." And the way you said it was defensive. You weren't letting her lump him into that category. Not him.
"I'm his first," you added, like you were trying to convince both her and yourself at the same time. "It must've been... awkward for him. I don't know. Maybe he didn't like it, maybe that's why he's avoiding me. I'm sure—"
Your hand pressed against your chest, fingers gripping your shirt like you could physically hold onto the feeling buried there. You turned to look at her fully now, your expression tighter, more serious than before.
"I'm sure he likes me," you said, voice lower, more vulnerable than you wanted it to be. "But... why won't he talk to me?"
Ryujin stared at you for a long second, like she was trying to figure out how deep you were already in before deciding how hard she needed to hit you with reality. Then she let out a sharp sigh. She crouched down in front of you, dropping the ball to the floor where it rolled a little before settling between her feet, forgotten.
"Look," she started, hands lifting and gesturing in the air like she was trying to physically piece her thoughts together. "I—I'm not good at this shit, okay? I don't do... whatever the hell this is." She paused, sucking in a breath before pointing straight at you. "I like girls. I don't deal with men and their bullshit. But you—" her finger jabbed lightly toward your chest again. "Did you seriously just let your guard down with a man because you think he's not like the rest of those fuckers?"
"You don't get it—" you tried to cut in, frustration rising immediately, your brows pulling together as your hands clenched at your sides, you had to defend Jake.
"I do not," she shot back just as fast, her voice is sharp as her words, it was cutting right through you. She straightened slightly but stayed crouched in front of you, her eyes locked onto yours. "I'm not the one who got fucked and then ghosted. That's you."
For a second you couldn't even respond. Your jaw tightened, your throat going dry, but she didn't stop.
"You're the one who knows him," she continued. "You're the one who keeps telling me all this shit about how he's different, how he's nice or whag." She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. "So yeah, I'm gonna say whatever the hell I want because you're the one feeding me all of that, and now you're sitting here confused like this came out of nowhere."
You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as her words started sinking in deeper than you wanted them to. Because she wasn't entirely wrong. Even Karina would say that to your face even though she started this all. Because,look at you. What the hell happen to you?
"But he's not like that," you insisted again, though your voice wasn't as strong this time. "He wouldn't just... use me and leave. That's not him."
Ryujin tilted her head slightly, studying your face like she was trying to decide if you actually believed that or if you were just desperately clinging to it.
"Then what is it?" she asked. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like that."
You opened your mouth, ready to argue, ready to defend him again—but nothing came out. Because you didn't know.
Your mind scrambled for an explanation, something that made sense, something that fit the version of Jake you had built in your head. The quiet guy who cooked for you, who stayed up to watch your games, who held you gently like you mattered.
That Jake wouldn't just disappear. Right?
"He's not... confident," you said finally, grasping at something, anything. "He overthinks. He gets overwhelmed. Maybe he just doesn't know what to do after... after everything."
Ryujin didn't immediately respond. She just watched you. "Okay," she said after a moment, nodding slowly. "Let's say you're right. Let's say he's just overwhelmed or confused or whatever the hell excuse you want to give him." She leaned forward a little, her gaze narrowing. "Then why isn't he talking to you?"
Right...
"Because if he actually liked you the way you think he does," she continued, "he wouldn't just leave you hanging like this. He'd at least try. Even if he's awkward. Even if he's bad at it. He'd try."
Your chest tightened again, your fingers curling into your shirt as you looked away from her, your thoughts spiraling.
You hated how that made sense.
"I'm not saying he doesn't like you," Ryujin added, exhaling as she picked the ball back up and held it loosely in her hands. "But liking someone and actually doing something about it? Two very different things."
Then she tossed the ball lightly toward you, snapping you out of your thoughts.
"Talk to him," she said simply.
You blinked, catching it automatically.
"He's avoiding me," you muttered, the frustration creeping back in.
"Then corner him," she shot back without hesitation. "You're telling me you can chase down a ball flying out of bounds but you can't corner that one?"
Ryujin stood up fully now, rolling her shoulders before glancing down at you one last time.
"Stop overthinking what he feels," she added,"You're already doing enough of that for the both of you. Just get your answer straight from him."
She paused, then added— "And if he still runs? Then you'll know exactly what kind of guy he is."
Your steps were sharp and fast as you made your way back to the apartment. The towel hung loosely over your shoulder, damp from training, your hair still slightly wet from sweat, as your mind was too busy running in circles, replaying his silence, replaying that night over and over until it made your chest feel tight.
You weren't going to let this drag on anymore.
Your grip tightened around the plastic bag in your hand, the thin material crinkling loudly as your fingers dug into it. You inhaled deeply like you were preparing yourself for something bigger than just a conversation. Maybe this was it—the point where everything either made sense or completely fell apart.
You weren't even sure which one you were more afraid of.
You exhaled sharply and stopped in front of your door, staring at it for a second longer. You didn't believe in fate. But right now, you found yourself hoping—just a little—that whatever the hell this was would finally lead somewhere. That all this confusion, all this frustration, wouldn't just end in nothing.
You pushed the door open with another exhale and there he was.
Jake stood in the living room, slightly hunched over as he turned on the robots one by one. Whitey buzzed to life first, then Pinky, while Bumble sat near the TV, its faint light flickering on. The scene looked so normal, so painfully familiar, like nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
He froze the second he saw you. His eyes widened behind his glasses, his whole body going stiff. Your jaw tightened. Of course he looked shocked. You weren't supposed to be here this early. You were supposed to be at training, sweating it out, you had just ran away from your training when it was supposed to be a short fucking break.
Your gaze didn't leave him, watching every small movement as he scrambled slightly. His hand hovered awkwardly near the table, his body already shifting like he was about to move—probably toward his room, probably to shut the door again, probably to run.
Not this time. Before he could even take a full step, you moved.
Your feet carried you across the room in seconds, your hand shooting out to grab his shoulder and shove him back before he could react. His back hit the wall, the impact making him wince, a strained sound slipping past his lips as his body tensed. "H-Hurts..." he muttered, teeth clenching as his eyes squeezed shut for a second.
And yeah, for a split second, you felt it—that flicker of guilt in your chest. But it didn't last. Your hands pressed harder against his shoulders, keeping him there, pinning him in place before he could even think about slipping away again. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he stiffened under your touch, but he didn't push you off. He didn't try to fight back.
"Let's talk, Jake." Your voice came out firm, leaving no room for excuses this time.
His eyes opened slowly, meeting yours, and you saw it again. That same look. Conflicted. Overwhelmed.
"I—" he started, his voice catching immediately, like the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure, restless, like he didn't know where to put them or what to do with them.
You leaned in just slightly. "No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "You don't get to 'I—' your way out of this again."Your grip on his shoulders tightened just a bit. "You've been avoiding me for days," you continued. "Locked doors, leaving early, disappearing on weekends—what the hell is that, Jake?"
He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering away from yours for a second before snapping back, like he couldn't decide where to look. "I wasn't—" he tried again, weaker this time.
"You were," you cut in immediately, your expression is pained. "Don't lie to me. Not now."
Silence fell between you for a moment, filled only by the faint whirring of the robots moving around the floor like nothing was happening.
Your chest rose and fell with a deep breath before you forced the words out. "Was it a mistake?" you asked, eyes locked on him, searching for anything—any reaction, any sign that this wasn't all in your head.
The silence stretched for a second too long, and you pushed again, your voice tightening despite yourself. "Because if it was," you continued, "then just say it. Don't do this shit where you pretend I don't exist."
Jake didn't answer. He didn't even look at you.
His head stayed slightly turned away, his gaze fixed somewhere past your shoulder like you weren't even there. You watched his lips press together, then part slightly as he bit down on the inside of it, nervous and restless. His fingers twitched at his sides, fidgeting in that familiar way you used to find endearing—tapping against his thigh, curling and uncurling like he didn't know what to do with them.
Now it just pissed you off.
"Jake," you whispered, your voice dropping. Your hand moved without thinking, fingers brushing against his cheek, turning his face toward you despite the resistance. His skin was warm under your touch, his jaw tense, and when his eyes finally met yours, it only made your chest ache more. "Those things we did... was it just a mistake?" you asked again. "Talk to me. I— I thought we... we were going somewhere." Your voice faltered, breaking in the middle of your sentence. "Is it... just me?"
You hated how the quetion made you sound so small.
You didn't even realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your skin.
"I like you too much," you admitted, your voice trembling now, barely holding together. "Is that wrong?" You sniffed, your lips shaking as you tried to keep yourself from completely falling apart in front of him. But Jake—he still wasn't saying anything. He wasn't moving. He wasn't even looking at you properly anymore, his gaze dropping again like he couldn't handle it.
Like he couldn't handle you.
"Talk to me, please," you said again, more desperate this time. Your fingers tapped lightly against his cheek, not harsh, just enough to get his attention, to pull him back to you. You leaned forward until your forehead pressed against his, your eyes closing as your tears kept falling, your grip on his face tightening just a little like you were afraid he'd slip away if you let go. "Just... say something," you whispered, your breath uneven, your whole body tense with the wait.
Maybe he just needed time.
Maybe he wasn't good with words.
Maybe he just needed a push.
But how long were you supposed to wait?
"Talk to me, fuck it!" you suddenly snapped, your voice breaking as it rose, the frustration and hurt finally spilling over. Your hands dropped from his face back to his shoulders, gripping him again, harder this time. You felt him flinch under your touch, his body trembling slightly as he shook his head.
"Sorry... Jake... please," you muttered again, your voice dropping back down, almost pleading now. Your grip loosened without you realizing it, your fingers slipping from his shoulders as something cold settled in your chest. The moment his hands gently moved yours away—careful, hesitant, but firm enough to create distance—it felt like everything just... stopped.
Like the world paused right there.
"I like you too much, is that wrong?" you repeated, but this time it came out emptier. Your arms fell to your sides, your gaze dropping to the floor because you couldn't keep looking at him anymore. "It's pathetic," you let out a weak, humorless breath. "And I'm still here, choosing to be open about it, getting fucking desperate over you." Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you forced yourself to look up again, your eyes glassy but steady. "Tell me... do I really not mean anything to you?"
You lifted your hand slightly, pointing at his chest, right over his heart.Your throat felt tight, dry, like every word you were about to say had to claw its way out, and still, you forced it. You needed to hear it. Needed him to say it straight instead of hiding behind silence. Needed something solid, even if it fucking hurt.
"S-sorry." He shook his head, not even meeting your eyes, and that alone felt worse than anything he could've said. "I—I... I don't think I feel the same way, that's why I-I feel guilty... on what happen... Sorry." The words stumbled out of him, broken and unsure, but they landed heavy, each one hitting you like a punch you didn't even try to dodge.
You were the one who dropped your head this time, your gaze falling to the floor as your mouth parted slightly, like you were about to say something—but nothing came out. Your ears started ringing loud, drowning out everything else. Everything blurred into this distant, muted noise while your mind tried to catch up, tried to process what the fuck he just said. It didn't make sense. It didn't line up with anything you felt, anything you thought you saw in him. Your chest tightened, breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls like your body forgot how to do something as basic as breathing.
"Sorry..." he said again, softer this time, like repeating it would somehow make it better, like it would fix anything. It didn't. It just made your vision blur more, tears spilling out faster than you could stop them, your face heating up with it as you stood there, stuck, unable to move forward or back.
"T-The things you d-did? T-The things w-we did?" Your voice cracked, stuttering over itself as you tried to piece together something that would make this make sense. But it didn't. None of it fucking did. Bullshit. This was bullshit. You were still denying it even as it was being shoved right in your face, because accepting it felt worse than anything else. What was he even saying? That it meant nothing? That you meant nothing? That all of that—every look, every touch—was just... what? A mistake?
"I-I just want to be a g-good roommate b-because I-I can't b-be vocal like a normal person... Uh... I'm sorry—" He kept going, stumbling through his explanation, but it only made your head spin more, your frustration bubbling up underneath the hurt. His words felt disconnected, like excuses that didn't match what actually happened between you.
"We had sex." You cut through it, your voice barely above a whisper, but it hit harder than anything else you said. Your eyes darted anywhere but at him—walls, floor, the stupid edge of the table—like maybe one of them would give you an answer, something to hold onto. But there was nothing. Just that same suffocating silence pressing in around you.
"I-I'm s-sorry, really. P-Please." His foot tapped nervously against the floor, the sound sharp and repetitive, grating against your already fraying nerves.
You shook your head slowly, the motion weak, almost disbelieving, as the plastic bag slipped from your hand without you even noticing. It hit the floor with a soft crumple before spilling open, the Hot Wheels cars tumbling out and scattering across the tiles.
Jake's eyes dropped immediately, widening as he stared at the mess, his chest tightening visibly. But you didn't follow his gaze. You couldn't. Your focus stayed unfixed, your steps already moving backward as your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides, your body didn't know what to do with all the shit building up inside you.
"Sorry." The word left your mouth, not even sounding like it belonged to you. It wasn't clear what you were apologizing for anymore—your feelings, your assumptions, yourself—but it was the only thing you could manage before turning away.
You walked out, leaving everything behind. The hallway felt narrow, too suffocating, like the walls were closing in the longer you stayed there, so you kept moving, one step after another, not even caring where the hell you were going as long as it was away. Your breathing was uneven, chest rising too fast, like you couldn't get enough air no matter how hard you tried.
You sniffled harshly, dragging the back of your hand across your face, smearing tears you couldn't seem to fucking stop. It was frustrating—annoying as hell—because you hated crying like this.
"Stop," you muttered under your breath. "Just fucking stop." But it didn't listen. The tears kept coming, blurring your vision until everything in front of you looked warped and unstable.
By the time you reached the stairwell, your steps had already turned sloppy, careless. You barely held onto the railing, your grip loose, your focus shot. Your eyes stung, your nose clogged, your head pounding with everything you were trying—and failing—to process. You took a step down, then another, too fast, too unsteady—
—and your foot slipped.
"Shit!" The curse tore out of you as your body lurched forward, your balance completely gone. You didn't even have time to catch yourself before you went down hard, your back hitting first, then your shoulder, then your face grazing against the edge of a step. The impact knocked the air out of you, an ugly sound leaving your throat as pain shot through your body.
For a moment, you just stayed there, sprawled awkwardly on the cold concrete, your body stunned. The pain registered slowly—your back aching, your limbs sore, your face throbbing—but none of it hit as hard as what was already twisting inside your chest. It was dull compared to that. Almost nothing.
You pushed yourself up slowly, wincing as your body protested, your hand pressing against the floor for support. Warm liquid dripped down over your lips, and when you touched your nose, your fingers came away stained red. Blood. Of course. You let out a weak, humorless breath, almost a laugh but not quite, your shoulders shaking for all the wrong reasons.
You just... gave up.
You dragged yourself to the side, leaning heavily against the wall, your body curling in on itself like you were trying to make yourself smaller, less visible, less there. Your palm covered your face, but it didn't do shit to muffle the sound that came out of you—a broken, shaky whine that turned into full-on crying before you could stop it. Your chest hurt, your throat burned, your head spun, and everything—everything—felt like too much.
It fucking hurt.
Not just your body, not just the sting on your face or the soreness creeping into your muscles.
You were that lonely, weren't you? A pathetic loser crying in a stairwell because she got rejected. Because she let herself believe something that wasn't even real to begin with.
You let out a shaky breath, your hand tightening against your face as if you could press the thought away. "I told you so," you muttered to yourself. You sounded fucking ridiculous. Delusional, even. Thinking it meant something. Thinking he meant something.
Of course you were the one who initiated it. Of course you were the one who crossed the line first. Sex in college was normal—casual, meaningless, easy to walk away from. People did it all the time!
You fucking hated it. Because you weren't built for that.
In the end, it all lined up, didn't it?
Unlucky with money. Unlucky with sex. Unlucky with love.
You let out a weak, broken laugh that dissolved immediately into another sob, your body curling tighter against the wall as if that would hold you together.
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