AKA━━━━⊱ jake feels like he’s holding you back; like his introverted lifestyle keeps you away from the partying with your friends that you love. but, you don’t care—you’re cupid, and he’s just an idiot in love.
mcwilla.log : hello hello, i finally wrote something! sorry it's not the two fics i've been promising, don't hate me :( but... i hit 1k followers!!! holy shit guys, i am ETERNALLY grateful, and the fact that i was able to reach such a milestone so quickly into the life of my blog is just... genuinely surreal. i want to thank everyone so so sooo much, i truly love you all <33 not sure what im gonna do to celebrate, but if you have ideas lmk!! likes, comments, and reblogs are forever appreciated
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The bass boomed loudly, completely drowning out everything and anything besides the upbeat music bouncing off the walls. Your heels clicked almost rhythmically, your hips swaying as you swerved through the crowds.
Your presence was something commanding; everyone noticed when you stepped into a room—or arrived at a Halloween house party. The short red miniskirt you had on left almost nothing to the imagination, and your matching red corset showing off your assets had every man you passed staring shamelessly.
You didn’t care about their attention—how could you when you had the perfect, loving boyfriend? Jake held your hand as he trailed behind you, nervously bowing his head as he shoved past people to keep up with you. Where the sea of people naturally parted for you had suddenly closed shut when it was his turn to pass.
This wasn't Jake's scene; never had been and never will be. It wasn't that he was shy or anxious, he was just awkward. He didn't know what to do with himself—didn't know how to behave around the crowd you surrounded yourself with.
Sometimes he felt strange about it, like he was holding you back or something. The thoughts always lingered in his mind—what if you wanted a boyfriend that you could show off, and what if Jake was the person preventing you from living your fantasy? On the nights when you'd beg him to go with you and your friends to a party, he'd always graciously decline your request, opting to study or be a complete idiot with his friends instead.
Jake wasn't ever scared you'd leave him or cheat on him—no, absolutely nothing like that. He just felt bad. You'd hung out with him and his friends plenty of times—they'd even given you a stupid nickname to call you by. Endless nights of movies or video games or going out to restaurants and doing food challenges had made you a true staple to the group.
He'd probably hung out with your friends once, maybe twice. Actually, probably three times if you count the time where he stood around awkwardly waiting for you to get back from the bathroom when picking you up from your cafe-study-date. His lips had pursed a smile towards Chaewon before a clumsy 'hey' slipped out in Yunjin's direction.
Actually, he'd rather you didn't count that.
At the end of the day, they were your friends, not his, and therefore there was never any pressure for him to be around them; that's what you told him, at least. But Jake wasn't buying it.
So, when you mentioned in passing that you were going with Yunjin and Chaewon to the MOA house for the Halloween party they were throwing, he kept that bit of information and filed it under the 'of utmost importance category.'
And now he was here, hand in hand with you as you pushed through the crowd.
You weave through a few more people before popping into a closed off area. You reach into Jake's jacket pocket, pulling your phone out with a heavy sigh. "Ugh, I swear to God—if Yunjin already ran off with that guy I'm gonna kill her."
Jake huffs a laugh through his nose, already missing the warmth of your hand in his. He leans in closer, invading your space with his body as you swipe your screen. "I doubt you're gonna get any service in here," he hums, cheek falling onto the crown of your head, "these frat houses always have busted lines."
"I know," you sigh, "but I kinda feel bad dragging you through all these people—I know it's not really your thing."
Jake smiles to himself, awkwardly moving his head to kiss the top of your hair, "Don't worry about me. I'm here 'cause I wanna be, remember?"
You reach your hand up, patting his cheek (and some of his eyelid) as you coo at him. Yunjin texts you back, informing you that she has not, in fact, run off with Yeonjun yet—but that the clock was ticking before she did.
Your ass better fucking hurry, that's what she said, to be exact.
"Alright, Jakey-boy, time to face the crowd again," you chirp, pulling yourself out from underneath your whining boyfriend. He reaches for your waist, but instead of pulling your body closer to his, he simply follows behind you.
Jake decides that he wasn't going to let anything scare him tonight. No amount of drunk college kids or guys hoping to hookup with his girlfriend would make him cower. Jake Sim was going to stand tall with you in his arms like the good boyfriend he was.
"Oh, [Name]," you hear that familiar voice, "over here!" You look around for a moment, trying to pinpoint the location of the voice before your eyes find Yunjin. She's standing in the kitchen, Yeonjun's arm wrapped around her shoulders with Chaewon close by. You bounce onto your toes for a moment, waving to your friends with one hand as you take Jake's with your other.
Jake's heart was going to explode.
He wasn't a nervous guy—never. Jake never felt anxious for tests or presentations or for his debate conferences. He never felt scared to talk to new people or to simply exist in the world. But, well, Yunjin and Chaewon were fucking scary. They never did anything to him; never rude or oozing a feeling of superiority. But, they were your friends, and therefore, their opinion probably mattered more to you than anything Jake had ever said.
So, one wrong move or embarrassing statement and he was sure they'd convince you to get with someone 'on your level.'
"Oh, Jinnie," you squeal as you approach her, "you look so hot!"
Yunjin giggles at your compliment, clicking her tongue as she eyes you up and down, "Nah, let's talk about you, babe."
"Can we, please," Chaewon chimes in, "your tits look so good!"
You pull Jake closer to you from where he stands behind your figure, eyes darting around the kitchen. He takes in the atmosphere—takes in the amount of people. All of whom he wouldn't ever consider talking to on a normal day.
"I didn't know cupid was so fuckable," Yunjin winks at you, taking a sip from her cup. She hums—high pitched like she remembered something—before she turns around and faces the counter she was leaning against.
Yeonjun adjusts his hand placement, looking back to see what she was doing.
"Hi, Jake," Chaewon muses, wiggling her fingers as she giggles. "I'm glad you came—we always got sad when [Name] said you didn't wanna come." She frowns as she talks, interlocking her fingers with the man standing next to her.
Jake clears his throat, awkwardly smiling at her. "Uhm—yeah, I just," his voice shakes as he talks, "figured it's Halloween, no better time to party."
Chaewon laughs at his words, giving him a kind smile. "Are you [Name]'s victim?"
Jake's eyebrows shoot up as he squints his eyes—somehow believing that would allow him to hear her better. "Victim—what? No, I'm her boyfriend."
Chaewon can't help but laugh, hand flying up to cover her mouth. "I know. I'm talking about the costume."
Jake feels the heat rush up his entire body and settle across his cheeks, embarrassment flooding his system. He rubs the nape of his neck with his free hand, biting his lip. You just coo at him, squeezing his hand, "He's an idiot in love."
You hear Yunjin whine an 'awe' out at your words. "And look—aren't his stickers so cute!" Your friends coo as you tug at Jake's collar, showing off the numerous heart-shaped stickers adorning his neck. Jake offers a shy smile, trying his best to stay still for you. "I put 'em everywhere," you grab his shoulders, forcing him to spin around for your friends.
When he turns to face you once more, you clap all giddy before taking his face in your hands and kissing his cheek.
Jake just takes it.
"I hate how cute you guys are," Yunjin hums, turning around with a bottle of liquor in her hands. "But, hey, you guys have to try this," she chirps, waving the bottle in the air.
"It's from Brazil," Yeonjun finally speaks, "Lily brought it back with her—it's so fucking good."
"Brazil?" You quirk a brow at the statement, "why the Hell,"
"It's Cachaça," Jake chimes in, words barely above a whisper. The group goes quiet, waiting for him to say something else. "Oh, uhm," Jake clears his throat, motioning for the bottle. Yunjin gives it to him, a pout on her lips as she waits for his next words. "You can only get it in Brazil—it's got some kind of patent or something so people aren't allowed to make it outside the country."
You glance over at Chaewon, biting your lip as a stupid smile overtakes your face. She rolls her eyes, mouthing 'ew' at your reaction. Jake keeps examining the bottle, not paying you any attention until he feels your hands snake up his arm, resting onto his bicep.
"You'll like it, [Name]," Yunjin says, "it's kinda sweet."
"Yeah, I've heard it sweeter than most liquors—which would make sense 'cause it's made from sugarcane," Jake sighs, finger tracing over a small Portuguese paragraph on the back. He looks down at you, smiling as he offers the bottle to you. "Try not to like it too much, 'cause you'll probably never see it again."
"Does our professor want a shot?" Yunjin teases, wiggling a shot glass towards Jake.
"Jake doesn't drink," you sigh, reaching for it yourself. You drag Jake over to the counter with you, placing the bottle and glass down before pouring yourself a shot.
"Jake doesn't drink?" Chaewon gasps, rushing over to the two of you.
"Oh, relax, Wonnie," you giggle, eyeing the shot.
"I don't wanna be mean, but, like," Yunjin says, eyes wide, "what the Hell is there to do at a party besides drink?"
You throw the shot back, hissing as the liquor slides down your throat in a fiery trail. "Not much—that's why we're leaving soon."
"You're what?"
Your friends stare at you, eyes wide and mouths agape. Jake knew they meant no offense by it, but this is what he meant. He always felt like he was holding you back—like his introverted lifestyle was a nuisance and something you felt obligated to partake in. "We can stay," he mumbles, trying to ease up his pounding heartbeat.
"No—we're not staying, Jake," you roll your eyes playfully, turning to your friends. "It's fine—you two are probably gonna bang your dates in the bathroom soon, anyway," you whisper. "And, besides, this isn't really Jake's usual crowd, and I don't wanna make him uncomfortable."
"'m not uncomfortable," he tries again, but you aren't really listening.
"So, you two got dressed up all hot and sexy and making me hope you're looking for a third just to up and leave after one shot?" Chaewon can't believe the words coming out of your mouth.
"Oh, c'mon, Wonnie, we always look hot," you squeeze Jake's bicep, "and 'm sorry—but, I already promised Jake, and,"
You're cut off by the sound of a shot glass tapping the counter, echoing throughout the almost quiet kitchen. The three of you stare at Jake and his twisted, warped face.
"Holy—bleugh," he sticks his tongue out, pinching his eyes shut. "What the fuck, babe," he reaches for the counter, bracing himself as he nearly gags. "Oh, my God that is so fucking nasty!"
"Jake," you squeak out, eyes bouncing from his hunched over body to your two friends.
"Forget what I said about it being sweet," he stands up, pointing dramatically at the bottle, "that's disgusting."
You and your friends don't say anything.
Jake's eyes dart between the three of you.
"Wha,"
"Jake, why did you do that?" You almost shout at him. "You said you weren't a drinker and now you're here at a party I dragged you to taking a shot! We were gonna go home soon—you didn't have to give into Yunjin and Chaewon's peer pressure!"
Jake's eyes go wide, "I'm sorry," he stammers, hands finding yours as he holds them in front of you. "[Name]—'m so sorry! I just," he looks around desperately, "I just thought 'hey, liquor from Brazil, let's give it a try!' And Yunjin and Chaewon are over here making a big deal about me drinking," he pauses his statement, turning to face the two girls.
"Please don't take offense to that—I just," he turns back to you, "you're so outgoing and fun at parties and I feel like a total dick making you feel like you have to leave just to make me comfortable, or whatever the Hell."
Yunjin and Chaewon giggle beside the two of you, hands covering their mouths as they slap each other for laughing at the situation.
"Jake, that's no,"
"He's your fucking victim, [Name]!" Chaewon cackles.
"Oh, my God—I can't," Yunjin follows.
"He's not my—he has free will!" You bark, dropping Jake's hands and redirecting your seeming anger. "Enough with this dog-on-a-leash shit—it's not true!"
"Dog-on-a—what?" Jake asks.
"You're so whipped—you act like her little puppy!"
Chaewon and Yunjin can't stop laughing. The two hold onto each other for support, trying their best not to fall.
"[Name], what're they,"
"It's a stupid joke! They're being idiots," you grumble, crossing your arms with a pout and turn your back to Jake.
"Well, I wanna know what's funny," he muses, hands sliding up your waist as he settles behind you.
"They just," you sigh, throwing your arms in the air, "they just say that you follow me around everywhere and do whatever I tell you to—which is so not true! And they're just a bunch of stupid idiots saying I bitch you out or whatever."
"Oh, you do more than bitch him out," Yunjin gasps between her fits of laughter, "you fucking own him!"
"Who would've thought cute, little Miss [Name] was a fucking dominatrix," Chaewon adds.
"I'm not a—ugh! I swear to God, if you two don't cut it out, I'm leaving!"
"You can't leave," Jake whines, hands traveling further up to your stomach. "I've been drinking now—remember? I can't drive." Jake sighs, tapping a beat into your corset. "And I really wanna hear more about you being a," he pretends to think, "ah, Chaewon, help me out here."
"A dominatrix," she giggles.
"Yes!" Jake snaps his fingers, bringing his fist forward to bump Chaewon's fist. "A dominatrix. Enlighten me, please."
🔔 asul’s notes: sabi sa inyo maglalapag ako! feeling angsty ako tonight since nanood ako ng the loved one (pangit!) kaya eto muna tayo guys, eme more lapags to come, i swear, hindi ko ito iiwan.
jake, your roommate who’s been secretly obsessed with you for six months — stealing glances at your tiny shorts, jerking off to the sound of you moaning when you stretch, and memorizing every little habit of yours until one night when he finally snaps.
|tw: 𝟷𝟾+ 𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢, minor dni. porn with NO plot, (zero plot, straight filth) somnophilia / dubcon → consensual (starts while you’re “asleep,” you wake up and beg for it) roommate AU with heavy mutual pining + slight yandere/obsession vibes size kink, detailed, creampie, breeding talk, cum leaking jake is very whiny, whimpery, and vocal (moaning, stuttering, whining between words) oral (jake eating pussy + desperate mattress humping) dirty talk (praise + light degradation) slight possessiveness? slight choking. unprotected sex (do it) p in v,
idk manew lmk if i missed smth
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Jake couldn't sleep. Again.
It was becoming a real fucking problem at this point—this insatiable, gnawing ache that settled deep in his gut every night without fail. Every time he closed his eyes, images of you flashed behind his eyelids like a dirty film he couldn't turn off. The way your lips wrapped around your morning coffee, slow and deliberate, leaving a faint gloss on the rim. How your shorts rode up your thighs when you sat cross-legged on the couch, the soft fabric bunching and exposing the smooth, warm skin he kept catching himself staring at. The fucking sound you made when you stretched after a long day of classes—a soft, breathy little moan that slipped from your throat and went straight to his cock, making it twitch hard against his thigh.
He groaned into his pillow, the fabric damp from the heat of his breath, and shifted onto his side. His body felt feverish, heavy with frustration. The sheets tangled around his legs, doing nothing to ease the insistent throb between them. He willed his mind to calm the fuck down, to think about anything else—work, the leaky faucet in the kitchen, tomorrow's errands. But the universe, it seemed, had other plans for him tonight.
Because through the thin walls of your shared apartment, he could hear you. The soft rustle of your sheets as you turned over. A quiet, contented sigh that spilled from your room and directly into his racing mind, wrapping around every filthy thought he'd tried to bury.
You'd been roommates for six months now. Six months of torture. Six months of Jake pretending he wasn't completely obsessed with you, with your body, with every little thing you did. He'd memorized your schedule—what time you woke up, the exact rhythm of the shower water when you washed your hair, which nights you stayed in curled up with a book versus when you went out with friends in those tight little tops that made his jaw clench. He knew more about you than any roommate should—the way you hummed when you cooked, how your laugh filled the living room, the faint scent of your vanilla body lotion that lingered in the bathroom long after you'd left. But he couldn't bring himself to care about how wrong it was. Not when every glimpse of you made his blood run hotter.
And tonight, with you just one room away, asleep and completely unaware, Jake felt his last thread of self-control snap like a rubber band pulled too tight.
His feet hit the cold floor before his brain caught up, the chill biting into his bare soles and sending a shiver up his spine. The hallway was dark, quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen and the heavy thud of his own heartbeat in his ears. He told himself he just needed water. That's all this was. A quick trip to the kitchen, a splash of cold on his face, and then back to bed like a responsible adult.
But his feet carried him past the kitchen. Past the bathroom. Straight to your door.
Your bedroom door was cracked open, just enough for the faint glow of your bedside lamp to spill into the hallway like a golden invitation he had no right to accept. You always left it on—a habit from childhood, you'd told him once over breakfast, your cheeks flushing slightly as you admitted to being scared of the dark. Jake thought it was adorable. He thought everything about you was adorable. And dangerous. And so fucking tempting.
He pushed the door open slowly, wincing at the faint creak of the hinges. The sound seemed to echo in the silence, loud as a gunshot to his heightened senses, and he froze, heart pounding against his ribs like a caged animal. Every muscle in his body tensed, waiting for any sign that you'd heard him—the shift of sheets, a sleepy question, the click of your lamp turning on.
Nothing.
You were fast asleep — or were you?— curled up on your side with one arm tucked under your pillow and the other stretched out across the empty space beside you, as if reaching for something in your dreams. Your hair was fanned out across the mattress, a messy halo that caught the soft light and gleamed like silk. And those fucking pajama shorts—the ones with the little bows on the hem—had ridden up dangerously high on your thighs, exposing the soft, smooth skin that Jake had spent countless nights imagining touching, tasting, gripping.
He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his disheveled hair, fingers catching on the damp strands at his nape. His cock strained against his boxers, already leaking, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to the swollen head.
What the fuck am I doing?
This was wrong. He knew it was wrong. You were his roommate, his friend, someone who trusted him enough to share this apartment, to leave your door cracked open without a second thought. And here he was, standing in your doorway in the middle of the night like some kind of depraved predator, breathing hard and fighting the urge to palm himself right there.
But then you shifted. Slowly. Your legs fell open just a fraction, the movement lazy and unconscious, and you let out this tiny, breathy whimper that hit him like a punch to the gut. His cock throbbed painfully, a bead of precum soaking through his boxers as heat flooded his veins.
That was it. That was the final nail in his coffin.
He moved before he could stop himself, crossing the small distance between the door and your bed in two quick strides, each step feeling heavier than the last, like wading through molasses. The floorboards creaked under his weight, a low protest that made his stomach twist, but you didn't stir. You were completely out, lost in whatever dreams had taken you for the night, your chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths that made your tank top cling to the soft curves of your breasts.
For a long moment, Jake just stood there, looming over your sleeping form like some kind of predator. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath, his fingers twitching at his sides as the air between you thickened with unbearable tension. He could smell you—vanilla and warm skin and that faint floral shampoo that always drove him insane. His mouth watered. His hands ached.
Then, slowly, carefully, he lowered himself onto the edge of your mattress.
The bed dipped under his weight, the mattress sighing softly, and he held his breath, every nerve on fire as he waited for you to wake. To scream. To demand to know what the fuck he was doing in your room in the middle of the night.
But you didn't.
You just snuggled deeper into your pillow, letting out another soft sigh that made Jake's head spin and his cock jerk against his thigh. The heat from your body radiated toward him, pulling him closer like a magnet.
His hand trembled as he reached out, fingertips hovering for what felt like an eternity before brushing against your hip. Your skin was so fucking soft—softer than he'd imagined in all those desperate late-night fantasies, warm and smooth like velvet under his calloused fingers. The touch was featherlight, barely there, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight through his body, straight to his aching cock. He bit back a groan, feeling the way your skin pebbled slightly under his touch.
"Fuck," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, raw and strained.
He should stop. He should turn around, go back to his room, and jerk off in the privacy of his own space like a normal person. That was the right thing. The smart thing.
But Jake wasn't thinking with his brain right now. All the blood in his body had rushed south, leaving him dizzy and desperate and completely out of control. The tension in the room was suffocating, every second stretching out as his hand lingered on your hip, thumb stroking the tiniest circle against your skin.
He shifted closer, inch by agonizing inch, his body moving of its own accord until his chest was pressed against your back. You were so small compared to him, so delicate, and the contrast made his head swim. His arm draped over your waist, slow and careful, pulling you flush against him. The moment your ass nestled against his crotch, the heat of you seeping through the thin layers of fabric, he nearly lost it. His cock throbbed hard, trapped between your bodies, the friction making stars burst behind his eyelids.
You stirred slightly in your sleep, a soft "Mm" escaping your lips, your body instinctively pressing back into his warmth.
"Jake?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep, barely coherent.
He froze. Every muscle in his body locked up as he waited, heart hammering so loud he was sure you'd hear it. The seconds dragged on, thick with unbearable tension.
But you didn't pull away.
Instead, you snuggled closer, pressing your ass back against his crotch in a slow, unconscious roll that made him bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. The pressure was exquisite torture—your soft, warm curves molding perfectly against his rock-hard length.
"Thought you were at your girlfriend's," you mumbled, your words slurring together, still half-lost in sleep.
Jake's mind reeled. Girlfriend? What fucking girlfriend? But the words died in his throat as you drifted again, your breathing evening out, your body going slack yet still pressed so intimately against him.
And Jake? Jake was in fucking hell.
Your ass was pressed right against his aching cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his boxers and your tiny pajama shorts. He could feel the heat radiating from your core, the way your body fit against his like it was made for him. Every tiny shift of your hips sent sparks shooting up his spine. He stayed like that for long, torturous minutes, just breathing you in, fighting the overwhelming urge to grind against you.
But then you shifted again in your sleep, your hips moving in a lazy little circle, and suddenly there was friction—delicious, torturous friction that made Jake's vision blur at the edges.
"Shit," he hissed through gritted teeth, the word barely audible.
He couldn't do this. He shouldn't do this.
But his hips had other plans. The first roll was almost involuntary, a shallow drag of his cock against the swell of your ass that sent pleasure exploding through him. He stilled immediately after, chest heaving, waiting. Watching. The tension coiled tighter in his gut.
Nothing. You slept on.
Emboldened yet terrified, he moved again—slower this time, more deliberate. His cock slid against the curve of your ass, the fabric creating just enough drag to make him dizzy. He could feel every inch of you, the heat, the softness, the way your body responded even in sleep with tiny, unconscious twitches. His hand, resting on your hip, began to wander, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist, dipping under the hem of your pajama top to feel the bare, fever-warm skin of your stomach. You shivered under his touch, a full-body tremor that made his balls tighten.
"Jake?" you mumbled again, clearer this time, hovering on the edge of awareness.
He froze, hand splayed across your stomach, heart in his throat.
But you pressed back harder, a soft, needy moan escaping your lips as your ass ground deliberately against his throbbing cock.
The tension snapped.
Jake's breath caught in his throat as your ass pressed back against him with more purpose, the slow grind sending white-hot sparks racing up his spine. His cock throbbed violently between your bodies, trapped against the soft, yielding flesh of your ass, the thin fabric doing almost nothing to dull the searing heat radiating from you. He could feel the dampness starting to seep through your shorts—your arousal mixing with his own precum—and the realization made his head spin.
He stayed perfectly still for several agonizing seconds, every muscle coiled tight, waiting for you to fully wake. To realize. To push him away or pull him closer. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the sound of your breathing and the pounding of his own heart.
Then your hand moved—slowly, lazily—reaching back to rest on his thigh. Your fingers flexed once, digging in just enough for him to feel your nails through his boxers.
"Jake..." you whispered again, voice husky and low, still laced with sleep but unmistakably aware now. The way you said his name made his cock twitch hard against you.
He swallowed thickly, his mouth dry. "You... you're awake."
A soft, breathy laugh escaped you, the sound vibrating through your back and into his chest. "Have been for a few minutes." Your hips rolled again, slower this time, deliberate, dragging the curve of your ass along the entire aching length of his cock. "Felt you watching me. Felt you get on the bed."
Jake let out a shaky, pathetic sound, the sound guttural and broken. His forehead dropped to the back of your neck, lips brushing against your warm skin as he inhaled your scent—vanilla, faint sweat, and something undeniably feminine that made his mouth water. His hand on your stomach spread wider, fingers splaying across your soft skin, feeling the way your muscles fluttered under his touch.
"You should tell me to leave," he rasped against your neck, even as his hips finally gave in and rolled forward, pressing his rigid cock harder against you. The friction was maddening—slow, heavy drags that made his balls draw up tight. "Tell me to get the fuck out, right now."
But you didn't. Instead, you arched your back slightly, pushing your ass more firmly into his lap, trapping his cock perfectly between your cheeks. The heat between your thighs was intoxicating, even through the fabric.
"I don't want you to leave," you murmured, voice thick. Your fingers trailed higher up his thigh, teasing the hem of his boxers. "I've been waiting for you to finally do something."
The confession hit him like a drug. Jake's grip on your stomach tightened, pulling you impossibly closer until there wasn't a single inch of space between your bodies. He could feel the rapid flutter of your heartbeat against his chest, matching his own frantic rhythm. His free hand slid up your side, pushing your tank top higher, exposing more of your bare skin to the cool air. His fingertips traced every dip and curve—your ribs, the underside of your breast—moving with excruciating slowness, savoring every shiver and hitch in your breath.
"Fuck, you have no idea how long I've wanted this," he moans, lips grazing the shell of your ear. His cock throbbed again, leaking steadily now, the wet spot on his boxers growing. "Every night. Listening to you through the wall. Jerking off — mhm— thinking about these thighs..." His hand slid down, palming the soft flesh of your upper thigh, squeezing gently. "...this fucking ass."
You whimpered softly at his words, the sound going straight to his cock. Your legs parted just a little more, inviting him. The movement caused your shorts to ride up even higher, and Jake's fingers brushed against the edge of the fabric, dangerously close to your core.
He paused there, teasing, letting the tension build until it felt like the air might crack. His fingers hovered, barely grazing the damp heat seeping through your shorts. You pushed back again, trying to chase his touch, but he held you still with his arm around your waist.
"Not yet," he whispered, voice rough. "Been dreaming about this too long to rush it."
He rocked his hips in a slow, filthy grind, letting you feel every thick inch of him sliding between your ass cheeks. The fabric barrier made it torturous—too much and not enough all at once. Each drag pulled a quiet, needy sound from your throat, and Jake drank them in like oxygen.
His hand finally dipped beneath your shorts, moving with agonizing patience. His fingers traced the crease where your thigh met your body, then slowly—painfully slowly—slid inward. The first brush against your bare pussy made you both gasp. You were soaked. Dripping. Your slick coated his fingertips instantly, hot and slippery.
"Jesus Christ," Jake moaned, burying his face in your hair. "Fuck— You're fucking drenched for me."
He circled your clit with one finger, featherlight at first, feeling it swell and throb under his touch. Your hips jerked, chasing more pressure, but he kept it torturously light, drawing out every sensation. His cock continued its slow grind against your ass, perfectly in time with the movement of his hand.
You reached back, fingers finally slipping under his waistband, wrapping around his bare cock. The sudden skin-on-skin contact made Jake hiss sharply. Your hand was warm, soft, and so fucking small around his thick length. You stroked him slowly, thumb swirling over the leaking head, spreading his precum.
"Been wanting to feel this," you whispered, voice trembling with arousal. "Wanted you inside me for months."
Jake's exhaled sharply, control frayed further. He pushed two fingers inside you without warning—slowly, stretching you open, feeling your tight walls flutter and clench around him. You were so wet that they slid in easily, but he took his time, curling them, searching for that spot that made your breath catch.
When he found it, your moan was louder, rawer. Your hand tightened around his cock, stroking him with more urgency, but still matching his deliberate pace.
The room filled with the obscene sounds of his fingers working in and out of your soaked pussy, the wet squelch mixing with your shared heavy breathing. Jake's hips kept moving, grinding his cock against your ass while he fingered you, the dual sensation driving him closer to the edge with every passing second.
He pressed his lips to your neck, sucking gently, then harder, marking you. His teeth grazed your skin as he added a third finger, stretching you wider, preparing you.
"Jake..." you moaned, pushing back onto his fingers. "Please. I need you."
He pulled his fingers out slowly, savoring the way your pussy tried to keep them inside, then brought them to his mouth, tasting you with a deep groan.
"You'll get me,baby" he promised in a breathy whisper, voice dark. "But I'm taking my time with you tonight."
He pulled his fingers out of you with deliberate slowness, savoring the way your pussy clenched around them like it didn’t want to let go. A thick string of your arousal stretched between his fingers and your dripping folds before breaking. Jake brought those fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low, filthy groan that vibrated against your back.
“Fuck— oh god— mhmm— you taste even better than i fucking imagined,” he moaned, voice wrecked.
Before you could respond, he shifted. In one smooth but hungry movement, he rolled you onto your back and positioned himself between your spread thighs. The mattress dipped under his weight as he settled low, his broad shoulders pushing your legs further apart. Your pajama shorts were still bunched around your knees, and he yanked them the rest of the way off, tossing them aside.
He paused there for a moment, just staring. The lamplight cast a warm glow over your glistening pussy, swollen and slick, clit peeking out from its hood. Jake’s mouth watered. His cock was painfully hard, trapped against the mattress, already leaking a steady stream of precum onto the sheets.
He lowered his head slowly, dragging it out, letting the tension coil tighter. His hot breath fanned across your sensitive skin, making your thighs tremble. Then his tongue—flat, broad, and greedy—dragged a long, slow stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit.
The moan that tore from your throat was raw.
Jake whimpered against your pussy like a starving man, the vibration shooting straight through you. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every drop of your wetness. His hips started moving on their own—desperate, shameful rolls against the mattress. He humped the bed like a dog in heat, grinding his aching cock into the sheets while his tongue worked between your folds.
“Jake—oh fuck—” you gasped, your fingers threading into his hair, gripping tight.
He ate you like he was possessed. Long, messy strokes of his tongue, circling your clit before sucking it gently between his lips. Then he dipped lower, pushing his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in shallow thrusts. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room—his mouth slurping and licking, mixed with the rhythmic creak of the bed as he desperately humped the mattress.
His cock dragged against the sheets, the friction rough and imperfect, but he couldn’t stop. Every time you moaned or rolled your hips against his face, his own hips jerked harder, rutting pathetically into the bed. Precum smeared across his stomach and the sheets. The burning need in his groin was almost unbearable, but he refused to stop tasting you.
He moaned loudly into your pussy, the sound muffled and desperate. “Could eat this fucking pussy for hours,” he rasped, voice thick with spit and your arousal. His nose pressed against your clit as he licked deeper, his hips grinding faster now, chasing any kind of relief.
Your thighs started shaking around his head. The pleasure built in heavy, pulsing waves—his warm, wet tongue working you open, the obscene sounds of him devouring you, the sight of his muscular back flexing as he humped the bed like he was losing his mind.
You were close already. So fucking close.
But Jake pulled back just before you tipped over the edge, his lips shiny and swollen. He looked feral, eyes dark with lust as he crawled up your body. His cock—thick, heavy, and flushed dark red—slapped against your inner thigh, leaving a trail of precum on your skin.
He gripped himself, stroking once, twice, spreading your wetness and his own spit along his length. Then he lined up, the fat head of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance.
“You sure?” he asked, voice strained, even though his hips were already twitching forward.
“Yes,” you breathed, pulling him down into a messy kiss. “Want you to fuck me.”
Jake pushed in.
The first inch was slow, deliberate. The burning stretch hit you immediately—his thick cock forcing your tight walls to part around him, a sharp, delicious sting that made your breath hitch. He was big. Thicker than you’d expected. The sensation was intense, almost too much, but the overwhelming fullness made your eyes roll back.
“Fuck—Jake—” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.
He let out a shaky, needy whimper,forehead pressed to yours, jaw clenched tight. Inch by inch, he sank deeper, savoring the way your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, trying to adjust. The burning stretch slowly melted into a heavy, throbbing pleasure as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, balls pressed against your ass.
“Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking tight,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Can feel you pulsing around me.”
He stayed buried deep inside you, hips flush against yours, breathing hard through his mouth. The burning stretch of his thick cock filling you was still so intense—your walls fluttering and pulsing around every inch of him, trying to accommodate his size. His cock twitched inside you, thick and hot, stretching you open so completely it felt like he was reshaping you.
Then he started moving—slow, deep rolls of his hips. Each thrust dragged against that sensitive spot inside you, the burning stretch returning every time he pulled back and pushed in again, only to bloom into blinding pleasure.
His mouth found yours in a desperate kiss, tongues sliding together as he fucked you with deep, measured strokes. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy mixed with your shared moans and the creak of the bed.
Jake’s forehead pressed harder against yours, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding still. A soft, broken whimper escaped him, high and needy.
“F-fuck… oh my god—” he whined, voice cracking. “You’re so—ahh— so fucking tight. I c-can’t… hah—”
He pulled back just a little, slow and careful, only to push back in again. The drag was exquisite, that same burning stretch flaring up as your pussy clenched around his retreating cock, then blooming into heavy, throbbing pleasure when he sank back in. His hips stuttered, a desperate little jerk that made you both gasp.
Jake’s face dropped to your neck, lips parted against your skin as another whimper slipped out, muffled and pathetic.
“S-so warm… so wet—mmh— I’m losing my fucking mind,” he moaned, the words shaky and interrupted by soft, breathy sounds. Every shallow thrust made him whine quietly, his voice raw with desperation. “Been wanting this for s-so long—ahh, fuck— you’re squeezing me so good.”
His hips started moving in earnest now—slow, deep rolls that dragged his cock along every sensitive inch inside you. The wet, slick sounds of your pussy taking him filled the room, obscene and filthy. Jake couldn’t stop the sounds spilling from his throat. Every thrust pulled a new whimper or moan from him.
He braced himself on his forearms, hovering over you so he could watch your face. His eyes were glassy, lips swollen and parted as he panted.
“Feels— hah— feels better than I imagined,” he whined, voice breaking on the last word. “Your pussy is— mmh— fucking perfect. So hot. So fucking tight around me— oh god—”
You arched beneath him, nails digging into his back as another wave of burning pleasure shot through you when he ground his hips in a slow circle, pressing even deeper. The head of his cock nudged against that spot inside you, making your toes curl.
Jake’s rhythm faltered, turning into desperate little thrusts as he buried his face in your neck again.
“I’m— ahh— I’m trying to go slow but you feel too good,” he moaned, the words stuttering out between shaky breaths. “W-wanna stay buried in you forever— fuck, I’m whining like a bitch but I c-can’t stop— hah— please—”
His hips snapped forward a little harder on the next thrust, pulling a sharp cry from you and a long, needy whimper from him. He was trembling, muscles tight, clearly fighting the urge to fuck you faster. Instead, he kept the pace torturously slow, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open again and again.
He kissed you messily, tongues sliding together as he continued those deep, grinding thrusts. Between kisses, he kept whimpering against your mouth.
“You’re— mmh— you’re dripping down my cock,” he whined, voice wrecked and desperate. “Can feel it— ahh— running down my balls. You’re so fucking wet for me— oh fuck—”
One of his hands slid down between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit. He rubbed it in slow, slick circles, matching the rhythm of his hips. The added stimulation made your pussy clamp down harder around him, and Jake let out a high-pitched moan that bordered on a sob.
“F-fuck—! Don’t do that— I’m gonna— hah— I’m gonna lose it,” he whimpered, hips stuttering again as he fought to keep control. “Want to make you cum first— please— mmmh— cum on my cock while I’m stretching you like this.”
His thrusts stayed deep and deliberate, that constant burning stretch mixing with toe-curling pleasure every single time he bottomed out. Jake’s whimpers and moans grew louder, more broken, as he rubbed your clit faster, his own desperation leaking into every shaky breath and needy sound.
Jake’s hips rolled forward again in that same devastatingly slow rhythm, pushing every thick inch of his cock back into your soaked heat. The stretch was still there — that delicious, burning pull as your walls were forced to open around his girth. It wasn’t painful anymore, but the intensity made your toes curl and your breath catch every single time he bottomed out.
You moaned softly beneath him, fingers digging harder into the muscles of his back. “Jake… fuck— you’re so deep,” you whispered, voice trembling. Your pussy fluttered around him involuntarily, squeezing his length as another wave of slick heat dripped down between you.
He whimpered against your neck, the sound broken and needy. “Hah— oh god, y-you keep clenching like that and I— mmh— I’m not gonna last,” he whined, hips stuttering for a moment before he forced them back into that torturously slow grind. “Feels too good… your pussy is— ahh— sucking me in. So hot. So fucking wet.”
You arched your back, pressing your breasts against his chest as you rolled your hips up to meet him. The movement made his cock drag against that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks shooting up your spine. A needy moan slipped from your lips, louder than you intended.
“Don’t stop,” you breathed, one hand sliding up to grip the back of his neck, nails scraping lightly against his skin. “I’ve wanted this for so long too… wanted to feel you stretching me open just like this.”
Jake’s whole body shuddered at your words. He lifted his head to look at you, eyes glassy and desperate, lips parted as soft pants and whimpers kept falling from him. “Y-yeah? You thought about me fucking you?” he moaned, voice cracking between words. “Thought about my cock buried inside you while you were lying in here alone?”
He punctuated the question with a slow, deep thrust, grinding his hips in a tight circle when he was fully seated. The pressure against your cervix made your eyes flutter shut, a burning fullness spreading through your lower belly.
“Yes— fuck— yes,” you gasped, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. “Every night. I’d touch myself thinking about you… mmh… hearing you through the wall and wishing you’d just come in here and take me.”
A high-pitched whine tore from Jake’s throat. His fingers on your clit stuttered for a second before resuming those slow, slick circles. “F-fuck… you’re gonna kill me saying shit like that,” he whimpered, burying his face in your neck again. His hips kept moving in those long, dragging strokes — pulling almost all the way out until just the fat head of his cock stretched your entrance, then sinking back in so slowly you felt every vein, every ridge.
The burning sensation flared again with every re-entry, that perfect mix of slight sting and overwhelming pleasure that had your head spinning. Your juices coated him completely, making the slide wetter, filthier. You could hear it — the soft, obscene squelch every time he pushed inside.
You reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock where he was sliding in and out of you. Jake moaned sharply at the contact, hips jerking.
“Feel how wet I am for you?” you murmured, voice husky. Your fingers got slick instantly as you stroked what little of him wasn’t buried inside you. “All this is because of you, Jake.”
He let out a pathetic little whine, trembling above you. “S-stop— hah— you’re making me throb so much,” he moaned, voice breaking. “I can feel it… feel how tight you are every time I push in. It burns a little when I stretch you, doesn’t it? Tell me.”
You nodded quickly, biting your lip as another deep thrust made that exact burning stretch bloom again. “Yes— it burns so good. You’re so thick… I can feel you opening me up. Don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”
Encouraged, Jake shifted his weight, hooking one of your legs higher over his hip. The new angle let him sink even deeper. He whimpered loudly as he bottomed out again, the sound turning into a series of soft, desperate moans as he kept grinding.
“Oh my god— oh fuck— you’re taking me so well,” he whined, hips stuttering in shallow little thrusts while staying pressed deep. “I c-can’t believe this is real. Can’t believe I’m finally inside you— ahh— finally fucking the girl I’ve been obsessed with.”
You cupped his face, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Tongues slid together slowly, matching the pace of his hips. Between kisses you kept whispering against his lips.
“Harder, Jake… I can take it. Want to feel you lose control a little.”
He moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. “Trying to be gentle— mmh— don’t wanna hurt you. But fuck— you feel so good I just wanna— hah— bury myself and never leave.”
Still, he gave you what you asked for. His next thrust was a little harder, a little deeper. The slap of skin was soft but audible. That burning stretch returned stronger, making you cry out softly into his mouth. Pleasure and slight discomfort twisted together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began — it just felt overwhelming.
Jake’s fingers kept working your clit, faster now, slick and steady. Your pussy clamped down around him again and he let out a long, broken whimper.
“F-fuck— you’re getting tighter. Are you close? Please tell me you’re close— I need to feel you cum on me,” he whined, voice cracking with desperation. His hips kept that slow, deep pace, but his breathing was ragged, little moans and gasps falling against your ear with every thrust.
“I’m so close,” you moaned, rolling your hips up to meet him. “Just like that— right there— oh god, Jake—”
He kept the angle perfect, grinding against that spot inside you on every forward motion. The burning fullness mixed with the constant pressure on your clit had you shaking. Your thighs trembled around him. Heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly until it finally snapped.
You came hard, back arching off the bed as your pussy spasmed around his cock. A loud, shaky moan tore from your throat. Waves of pleasure crashed through you, making your vision blur at the edges. Your walls fluttered and squeezed him rhythmically, trying to pull him even deeper.
Jake’s eyes rolled back, a high-pitched whine escaping him as he felt you cum.
“Oh fuck— oh my god— you’re cumming— you’re cumming on my cock,” he moaned, voice wrecked and stuttering. “It feels— hah— feels so good. So tight— squeezing me so fucking hard— ahh— I can’t— I’m—”
He didn’t pull out. Instead he kept thrusting through your orgasm, slow and deep, whimpering and moaning with every squeeze of your pussy. His own hips started losing rhythm, becoming more desperate.
You were still riding the aftershocks when you felt him start to throb inside you. His cock twitched hard, the burning stretch intensifying as he swelled even more.
“Gonna— mmh— gonna cum,” he whined, burying his face against your shoulder. “Can I— inside? Please let me fill you up— I need it— hah— please—”
“Yes,” you gasped, still trembling, legs locked around him. “Cum inside me, Jake. Fill me.”
That was all it took.
Jake let out a long, broken moan that turned into a series of pathetic whimpers as he came. His hips jerked erratically, pressing as deep as he could while thick ropes of cum spilled inside you. You could feel every pulse, every hot spurt painting your walls. The sensation was overwhelming — warmth spreading deep inside, mixing with your own wetness, some of it already leaking out around his cock.
He kept moving through it, slow, shallow thrusts as he rode out his orgasm, whimpering softly with every twitch of his cock. “F-fuck… so much… can’t stop cumming,” he moaned, voice hoarse.
When he finally stilled, he collapsed on top of you, breathing hard. His cock was still buried deep, softening only slightly. You could feel his cum leaking slowly out of you, warm and messy.
For a long minute, the only sounds were your shared heavy breathing and the faint creak of the bed as you both shifted.
Then Jake lifted his head, eyes soft and hazy as he looked at you. “That was… I’ve never cum that hard in my life,” he whispered, voice still shaky. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, then your jaw, then your neck. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”
You smiled, running your fingers through his messy hair. “I’m perfect. The stretch burned a little but it felt so good.” You clenched around him on purpose, making him whimper again. “Still feel you inside me… all that cum.”
Jake groaned — no, whined — burying his face in your neck once more. “You’re gonna get me hard again saying stuff like that.”
You laughed softly, rolling your hips experimentally. His cock twitched inside you, already starting to thicken again.
“Good,” you murmured, kissing the side of his head. “Because I wasn’t kidding earlier. We have months of lost time to make up for.”
Jake lifted himself on his elbows, looking down at you with that same desperate, hungry expression. His hips gave a slow, testing roll, pushing his half-hard cock deeper into your cum-filled pussy.
“Round two already?” he whimpered, voice cracking with fresh arousal. “You’re really gonna let me keep fucking you tonight?”
You pulled him down into another deep kiss, moaning softly when he started moving again — still slow, still savoring every inch.
“I want you to fuck me until neither of us can move,” you whispered against his lips.
Jake’s answer was a needy little moan as he sank back into that slow, deep rhythm, the wet sounds of his cum being pushed in and out of you filling the room once more.
🗯️ 内容 established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, married couple dynamics, parents!au, lots of domestic intimacy, skinship, kisses, yumi is jay and rea's family babysitter, haneul and dohyun are cuties !
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : double update for today woooow (i need to get these over with i'm so sorry) anyways goodness gracious this was so cute i'm actually giggling i need jay in my life as my husband !!!! thank you for the request ♡ lovelots
The alarm doesn't wake you. Jay makes sure of it.
He's been awake since 5:43 AM — not because his body doesn't know how to sleep in on a Sunday, but because he set a backup alarm on his phone and slipped it under his pillow the night before, vibrating like a secret against the cotton.
He kills both alarms with his thumb before the second one can even think about ringing, and then he lies there for exactly eleven seconds, looking at you.
You're on your side, one hand curled under your chin, the other flung over the duvet like you'd reached for him in your sleep and found empty air. Your hair is a mess. There's a crease on your cheek from the pillowcase. Your lips are parted the tiniest bit, and your breath is so quiet he has to lean in to hear it.
He leans in. Presses his mouth to your temple, just barely, just enough for you to feel warmth if you were awake to feel it, and then he rolls out of bed.
The floorboards in the hallway are the enemy. He knows which ones creak: the third one from your bedroom door, the one at the top of the stairs near the linen closet, two consecutive ones outside Haneul's room. He's mapped them out over years of late nights and early mornings, and he navigates them now in his socks, stepping over the worst ones like he's walking through a minefield of sound.
Haneul's door is cracked open. He eases it wider and peeks in — his daughter is starfished across her toddler bed, one foot hanging off the edge, her stuffed rabbit crushed against her chest. She's three and sleeps like she's fighting a war. Jay crouches next to the bed and brushes her bangs off her forehead.
"Haneul-ah," he whispers. "Baby. Wake up."
She doesn't.
He tries again, this time with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Haneul. Come on, my little bear."
She makes a sound like a grumpy cat and swats at his hand without opening her eyes. He almost laughs, he can see where you get your morning disposition from, but he swallows it and tries once more, softer this time, his thumb rubbing her tiny shoulder through her pajamas.
"Mama's special day," he murmurs. "We gotta make breakfast, remember? You said you wanted to crack the eggs."
That gets her. One eye cracks open. Then the other. Her face does something magnificent, confusion, then remembrance, then pure, incandescent excitement, and she's sitting up so fast her rabbit falls off the bed.
"Eggs," she whispers, but it comes out like a scream that's been stepped on.
"Shh, shh, shh—" Jay claps a hand over her mouth, grinning. "Quiet. Mama's sleeping."
She nods against his palm, eyes huge, and he lifts her out of bed. She weighs almost nothing. She always wraps her arms around his neck when he picks her up, always tucks her face into his shoulder, and he's never once in his life gotten tired of it.
Down the hall, the nursery. Dohyun is standing up in his crib, hanging onto the railing, already awake — he always is at this hour, like his internal clock knows dawn is his territory. When he sees Jay and Haneul, he opens his mouth and Jay says, very calmly, "No," which makes Dohyun's face crumple in offense before it can even become a wail.
"I know," Jay says, lifting him one-armed while Haneul clings to the other side. "I know, buddy. But Mama's sleeping. Quiet voice, okay?"
Dohyun is twenty months old and does not have a quiet voice. But he seems to understand the gravity of the situation, or at least he's distracted by Haneul's pajama sleeve, because he reaches over and grabs a fistful of it and doesn't scream.
The kitchen is dark when they get there.
Jay settles Dohyun into his high chair, the one with the faded dinosaur sticker on the tray that Haneul put there six months ago and nobody could bring themselves to peel off, and crouches down to look Haneul in the eye.
"Alright. You remember the plan?"
She nods, bouncing on her heels.
"What do we do first?"
"Flowers!" she says, too loud, and claps her hand over her own mouth this time. He can see you in her, the way she catches herself, the way her eyes go wide like oops — it's so exactly you that it knocks the breath out of him for a second.
"Right. The flowers are already on the table. I got them yesterday, remember? After work." He tilts his head toward the dining table, where a bouquet of white peonies and soft blush ranunculus sits in your grandmother's old ceramic vase, wrapped in brown paper he hasn't untied yet because Haneul wanted to be the one to do it. "What's next?"
"Eggs."
"Eggs. And what else?"
"Pancakes with the—the—thingy, um—" She frowns, searching. "The faces."
"The faces, that's right." He grins. "Alright, let's do it."
He cracks two eggs into a bowl and lets Haneul whisk them with a fork.
She's meticulous about it, her little tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth the same way yours does when you're reviewing case files, and she only splashes a tiny bit onto the counter. Jay wipes it up without comment.
The pancake batter is from the container in the fridge, he made it last night after you fell asleep, standing in the dark kitchen at midnight in his boxers, stirring and then washing every single dish and putting it back so you'd never know.
He pours small circles onto the pan, and Haneul stands on her step stool next to him, watching with her chin on the counter, whispering "flip it, flip it, flip it, flip it, daddy," every time the bubbles appear.
Dohyun gets banana slices. He mashes them into the high chair tray with both fists, and Jay lets him.
That's what the dog is for, Miso, their old golden retriever, who materializes under the high chair like she has a sixth sense for falling food and sits there thumping her tail against the floor.
When the pancakes are done, Jay lets Haneul arrange them on the plate. She puts two in the center, banana slices for eyes, a strawberry slice for the mouth, blueberries in a zigzag that she apparently says is hair. It looks like a happy monster. It looks like something you'd frame.
"Perfect," he says, and he means it.
He pours your coffee into the mug that says Attorney in gold lettering — the one your law partner got you as a joke when you made partner yourself, the one you use every single morning even though it's chipped on the rim and the gold is flaking off the R.
He adds exactly one sugar and enough cream to turn it the color you like, the color you described once as "cloudy" and he described as "the exact shade of your skin in winter" and you threw a pillow at him for.
He plates everything. Pancakes. Eggs, scrambled the way you like, soft and wet. Fruit. Coffee.
A single white peony, stem trimmed, laid across the napkin. And the envelope — the one Haneul drew on for forty minutes yesterday while you were on a call, the one she insisted on gluing glitter onto even though Jay said it would get everywhere, which it did; he's still finding glitter on his dress shirts.
Under the envelope, wrapped in tissue paper printed with tiny hearts: the earrings.
He found them three weeks ago. You'd been scrolling on your phone in bed, half-asleep, and you stopped on a photo and turned the screen to him. "Aren't these pretty?" you said, already half-distracted by something else. "The droopy kind. Teardrop shape. I've always wanted a pair in gold."
You forgot you showed him. He didn't.
They're fourteen-karat gold, delicate, teardrop-shaped drops on fine chains, the kind that caught light when you turned your head, the kind that moved when you laughed.
He'd had them gift-wrapped at the store and then unwrapped them at home because the store's wrapping job wasn't good enough, and then wrapped them again himself with the heart tissue paper and a ribbon he had to watch a YouTube tutorial to tie properly.
He puts the wrapped box behind the plate, props the envelope against the coffee mug, and looks at the table. Haneul is vibrating with excitement. Dohyun has a few banana slices on his eyebrows.
"Ready?" Jay whispers.
Haneul nods so hard her whole body wiggles.
"Okay. Go get Mama."
You wake up to a small hand patting your cheek and a voice saying "Mama. Mama. Mama. Mama."
"M'awake," you mumble, and Haneul's face blooms into a smile so bright it could replace the sun.
She grabs your hand and pulls, and you let yourself be dragged out of bed, through the hallway, past the family photos on the wall you keep meaning to reorder, down the stairs with Miso bounding ahead of you like this is the best day of her life too.
And there's Jay, standing in the kitchen in his socks and the grey henley you stole from him last week and he stole back, leaning against the counter with Dohyun on his hip and a smile on his face that is so soft, so unbearably fond, that you stop walking.
"Happy Mother's Day," he says.
The table. The flowers. The food. The envelope with glitter everywhere. The small wrapped box. The coffee in your chipped mug. The pancake monster with its blueberry hair. The morning light through the kitchen window catching the edges of everything like it knows this is supposed to be golden.
"Oh," you say, and your voice cracks on it.
Haneul tugs your hand. "I cracked the eggs, Mama. Both of them."
"You did?"
"Both. And I didn't splash. Only a tiny splash. Daddy wiped it."
"That's—wow—you did so good, baby." You crouch down, and she throws herself into your arms, and you hold her and look up at Jay, and his smile hasn't changed, not even a little — he's looking at you like you invented the concept of morning, like the sun came up because you walked into the room.
"Open it," Haneul says, squirming out of your arms and pointing at the envelope. "Open it open it open it."
The envelope with glitter everywhere.
Inside, a card — construction paper, folded crookedly, with a drawing of three stick figures: one very tall, one medium, one very small, and a yellow blob that might be Miso. Above them, in Haneul's wobbly handwriting, the words MOMY I LUV YOO SO MATCH and below that, in Jay's handwriting, smaller: And I love you more than my vocabulary could ever be able to encapsulate. Every day. — J
You stare at it. Your eyes are burning.
"Open the box!" Haneul says.
You open the box. The tissue paper crinkles. The ribbon falls away. And there they are — gold teardrops on fine chains, delicate and warm and exactly what you pointed at on your phone screen three weeks ago and forgot about.
"Jay—"
"You showed me," he says, shrugging, like it's nothing, like remembering things you forget about yourself isn't the entire point. "I figured you'd forget you showed me. You always forget."
You're going to cry. You can feel it building, the heat behind your eyes, the shake in your chin. You haven't even had your coffee yet. This isn't fair.
He must see it, because he crosses the kitchen in two strides, shifts Dohyun to one arm, and cups your face with his free hand. His thumb brushes your cheek.
"No crying," he says, quiet, just for you. "It's too early for crying. We have a whole day."
"I'm not crying."
"You're about to cry."
"I'm not." You are. "These are—they're so, so perfect."
"I know." He kisses your forehead. "Come on. Eat your monster pancake before Dohyun decides to share his banana with it."
After breakfast, he doesn't let you touch the dishes.
"Jay, I can at least—"
"You can at least sit on the couch and drink your coffee."
"It's cold now."
"I'll make another one."
"No? I can still drink it, besides I can make my own—"
"Sit." He says it gently, with a kiss to the top of your head, and you sit, because sometimes the only thing to do with Jay in this mode is surrender.
He does the dishes. He does the dishes while Haneul sits on the counter "helping," which is basically just rinsing the same spoon over and over, and Dohyun plays with a plastic cup on the floor. He makes you another mug of coffee. He cuts up an apple for the kids. He wipes down the table. He puts the flowers in the vase properly, unties the brown paper, fluffs the peonies with his fingers like he watched a florist do once.
You sit on the couch with Miso's head on your lap and watch him move around your kitchen like he was built for it, like being a CEO is his job but this, this is what he actually is.
When the dishes are done and the kids are set up with crayons at the coffee table, he sits next to you. Close. His arm around your shoulders, your feet in his lap. He rubs your ankle with his thumb, absent and warm.
"What do you want to do today, sweetheart? Anything? Any plans?" he asks.
"I don't know actually. Anything, really. This is already—"
"No," he says. "Not 'anything.' What do you want? Specifically."
"I don't—Jay, you already got me the earrings, and breakfast, and the flowers—"
"That's the kids' side. That's for this morning. I'm asking about the rest of the day. Afternoon, evening, you name it."
You look at him. He looks back at you. His eyes are steady and certain, the way they are in boardrooms, contract negotiations, and every single time he's decided something is going to happen.
"Whatever I want?"
"Whatever you want, sweetheart."
"Like—shopping?"
"Like anything. Shopping. Appliances store. The park. A different store. Four different stores. I don't care. Today you point at things and I get them, got it?"
"You're absolutely absurd, Jay."
"Hey! No, I'm consistent. There's a difference, you know?"
You laugh. You can't help it. He grins, and it's the same grin he gave you six years ago across a bar, when you were a second-year associate too tired to function and he was a stranger who bought your drink and then argued with you about tort law for an hour and a half.
"Okay," you say. "Shopping. But I'm not going crazy."
He doesn't say anything. He just smiles and kisses your temple.
He drops the kids at Yumi's at two. Haneul clings to his leg and he crouches down and promises three times that he'll pick her up before bedtime, that she can stay up late if she wants, that he and Mama are just going out for a little while. Dohyun doesn't care; Dohyun is already trying to eat Yumi's cat's tail. Miso stays home with the back door open to the yard.
In the car, you put your feet on the dashboard. He doesn't say anything about it. He never does. He reaches over and puts his hand on your knee instead, and drives.
The boutique you've been eyeing for months, the one with the silk blouses in the window you always slow down for, he pulls into the lot before you can say anything.
"I saw you looking," he says, turning off the engine. "Every time we drive past. You press your foot on the brake just a little, every single time."
"That's—what in the world, how do you even catch that? I don’t, end of the story."
"Yes, you totally do. You brake-check me for silk."
You get out of the car so he can't see you blush, but he catches up and laces his fingers through yours, and you go in together.
He sits in the armchair by the fitting room. Every time you come out in something new, he gives you a real answer, not it's fine or whatever you want but actual opinions, specific ones, the kind that mean he's paying attention.
He tells you the sage green dress makes your shoulders look incredible.
He tells you the black one is too stiff, you'll hate it by noon.
He tells you the cream blouse with the tiny buttons is very you, and when you ask what that means, he says "it means you'd wear it to court and think about me when you button it."
You buy the cream blouse. You buy the sage dress. You buy a linen maxi-skirt you don't need and a pair of sunglasses he picks out, silver frames, slightly cat-eyed, because he says they match the new earrings, and you're already wearing them, the teardrops catching the store's warm light every time you turn.
He pays. You tell him you can pay. He pays anyway, card already out, already sliding it across the counter, already taking the bags before the cashier can offer.
"Jay—"
"It's Mother's Day."
"It's not—you don't have to—"
"What’s the harm in spoiling my queen? I know I don't have to. I want to." He says it lightly, but he's already steering you toward the door, bags in hand, one arm reaching for yours.
The second store is makeup. You don’t actually need anything, but the sight of glossy tubes lined up like candy makes you drift toward the lip section anyway.
He follows close behind, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie while you unscrew tester after tester, swiping colors onto the back of your hand until your skin looks like a paint palette.
“You’re running out of space,” he says.
“I’m conducting important research.”
“You’re smearing six shades of pink on yourself.”
“There are differences.”
He hums like he doesn’t believe you for a second, then suddenly reaches over and flips your wrist gently to inspect the chaos of colors. His brows pinch together in exaggerated concentration.
“This one’s too orange.”
“You don’t know what orange undertones are.”
“I know when it makes you look like you ate spicy noodles.”
You snort. “Oh my gosh.”
Before you can grab another tester, he holds his hand out between you both, palm up.
“Use mine.”
You blink. “What?”
“You’re out of skin.” He wiggles his fingers impatiently. “C’mon, makeup artist.”
“That’s literally not sanitary, Jay, I got this.”
“You just used three testers directly from the display.”
“…fair point.”
Trying not to smile too hard, you drag a mauve shade across the back of his hand. The color looks absurdly delicate against his knuckles, and he watches with the seriousness of someone signing legal documents.
“Hm,” he murmurs. “Not the one.”
“You can’t reject it after one swatch.”
“I absolutely can. Next!”
You laugh under your breath and swipe another color beside it, then another, until his hand is covered in glossy streaks of pinks, berries, roses. He studies every single one like he’s on a judging panel.
Finally, he taps one shade with his free hand — a soft warm rose.
“That one.”
“You picked the most normal color here.”
“Because it’ll look good on you.”
“You say that with a lot of confidence for a man who used to head out in baggy hoodies and skinny jeans twenty-four seven.”
“Hey! Sweetheart, they were the thing back then. Now? I’ve left them behind. Besides, I have no distractions. My judgment is pure.”
“You’re insane.”
He closes his fingers carefully so the swatches won’t smear and looks at you completely deadpan.
“Consistently insane. There’s a difference.”
You buy the lip color. And a new setting spray. And a tiny pot of highlighter he picks up and says "this one, you always run out of this one," and he's right, you do always run out of that one, and the fact that he knows that makes your chest hurt in the best way.
The third store is jewelry. Not because you need more, but because you both see a bracelet, a simple gold chain with a single tiny disc, and he picks it up and turns to you and says, "Haneul's birthday's in three months."
"She's three. She doesn't need jewelry yet."
"Not for her. For you, of course. So you have something of hers that you wear." He pauses. "I'll get her name engraved on the disc. Or—a star, or a heart, or something. Whatever you want, sweetheart."
You stare at him.
"What?" he says.
"You’re literally going to make me flood this whole jewelry store with my tears."
"You've cried in worse places, it’ll be fine."
"That was your fault too."
He buys the bracelet.
He tells the sales associate he'll come back for the engraving.
Outside, on the sidewalk, he hands you all the bags and cups your face with both hands and kisses you, slow, deliberate, right there in front of the store window and a woman walking her dog and two teenagers on skateboards, and when he pulls back, you're both flushed.
"Where next?" he asks.
You're smiling so hard your face hurts. "What about… oh my gosh, the park! The one with the big willow tree."
He doesn't ask why. He just takes your hand and walks you to the car.
The park with the willows is the one you found on your first year of dating, back when he was just a sharp-suited guy with a nice car and way too many opinions about your brief writing, and you were just a lawyer who couldn't believe he'd argued a motion and won and then texted you about it like a kid with five golden stars. You'd wandered here after dinner, both of you, still buzzy from wine, and sat under the biggest willow and talked until the streetlights came on.
Nothing's changed. The willow is bigger, maybe. The pond still has the same ducks. The bench by the water has been repainted but it's in the same spot, and Jay sits down and pulls you next to him, and the shopping bags go on the ground at your feet, and his arm goes around you, and it's so exactly like that first night that you feel time fold.
“You know,” you say, “you’re annoyingly good at this.”
“At what?”
“Making me feel loved without making it a big thing.”
He smiles a little. “That’s because it isn’t a big thing.”
He's quiet for a second, looking at the water. Then he turns to you, and his face is different — not the easy grin, not the playful certainty. Something deeper. Something he doesn't bring out often, not because he's hiding it but because it's too real for small moments.
"I think about it sometimes," he says. "The way you move through the world."
You blink. "Huh?"
"The way you—" He stops, starts again. "You argue in court like you're building a house for someone. Brick by brick. You take cases that eat you alive and you carry them anyway because somebody has to, and you come home and you're so tired you can barely keep your eyes open, but you still read Haneul two stories instead of one, and you still rock Dohyun even though he's getting too heavy for it, and you still—you still find my shirts in the laundry and fold them the way I like, even though I've never once asked you to."
Your throat is closing. You can feel it.
"I think about what it would be like if you weren't here," he says, "and I can't. I can't think about it. It doesn't compute. You're the whole structure. You're the thing everything else hangs on. And I know—I know I'm not always good at saying it, absolutely terrible even, and I know I work too much, and I know sometimes I come home and my head is still in the office—but I notice. I notice everything you do. I notice every single thing, and I don't say it enough, and today—today is just me trying to make a dent in what I owe you."
He looks at you. His eyes are steady. His voice is steady. His hand on your shoulder is gentle enough to break something.
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," he says. "You and Haneul and Dohyun. The three of you. And I'm going to spend my whole life trying to be worth it."
You're crying. Full tears, silent, rolling down your cheeks, and you can't stop them, and you don't even want to. He sees it and his expression shifts — the deep thing tucks itself away, and the other Jay comes back, the one who makes you laugh, the one who knows exactly how to catch you before you fall too far.
"Okay, that's enough of that," he says softly, and thumbs the tears off your cheeks. "I wasn't trying to make you a mess. I was trying to be romantic."
"You were romantic. You are romantic, Jay. I'm just—"
"You're crying on Mother's Day. That's a violation."
"A violation of what exa—"
"Of the official Mother's Day rules. Section four, paragraph two: no tears allowed on the designated day of spoiling." He wipes another tear with the pad of his thumb. "I'm going to have to issue a citation."
You laugh. It comes out wet and messy, and he smiles, and the smile is so warm you can feel it in your bones.
"There she is," he says. "Come on. The ducks are judging you."
You look over. A duck is, in fact, looking at you from the pond with a sort of flat judgment.
"That duck has nothing to say about my emotional state."
"That duck is a living being. Therefore, that duck is capable of forming its own opinions, and he has some about you."
You lean into him, and he pulls you closer, and you sit there under the willow until the light goes amber, until the shopping bags have tipped over on the grass, until the duck loses interest and swims away.
Dinner is at the Italian place situated at the heart of the city. The one with the bad lighting and the incredible pasta and the owner who knows both of you by name because you've been coming here since before Haneul, since before the house, since before anything except the two of you and the feeling that this might be real, might be.
Jay orders your wine without asking. The carbonara. A chocolate mousse for dessert, two spoons. He eats half his rigatoni and then swaps plates with you like he always does because the carbonara is better and he knows you'll want it but won't order it for yourself.
You tell him about a case you're working on. He listens the way he always does, fully, completely, like what you're saying is the most important thing in the room, and asks questions that are smart and specific, because he's been listening to you talk about law for six years and he's learned enough to be dangerous.
He tells you about a deal that fell through. You tell him it's fine, it happens. He says it's not fine, he wanted it, and you tell him the next one will be better, and he looks at you like you've just handed him the answer to something.
The chocolate mousse comes. You eat it with two spoons. He gets cream on his lip and you wipe it off with your thumb and he catches your hand and kisses your knuckles, and the couple at the next table smiles at you both like you're something worth looking at.
The drive home is quiet.
The windows are down, just a crack, and the night air is cool on your face.
His jacket is over your shoulders, he put it there when you got in the car, didn't ask, just draped it and adjusted the collar and turned back to the road.
In the cup holder between you: two ice cream cups from the place you remembered your childhood friend dreamily talk about, the one that stays open late, the one you discovered when you were pregnant with Haneul and craved mint chocolate chip at eleven p.m. and he drove forty minutes to get it.
He'd driven forty minutes tonight, too. Without you asking. Because he remembers.
You lean your head against the window. The gold earrings shift against your neck. On your wrist, the new bracelet catches the streetlights as they pass, gold chain, tiny disc, blank for now but not for long. On your finger, your wedding ring. On the seat beside you, bags from four different stores. In the cup holder, ice cream. In the driver's seat, your whole entire life, one hand on the wheel and the other reaching over to rest on your knee like it belongs there.
Because it does.
"Hey," he says, not looking away from the road.
"Hey."
"Good day?"
You look at him, the line of his jaw, the henley sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the way his hair is falling after a full day of you running your hands through it, and you think about all of it.
The eggs Haneul cracked. The pancake monster with its blueberry hair. The flowers. The earrings. The cream blouse and the sage dress and the lip color he chose for you. The bracelet with the empty disc. The bench under the willow. His voice, low and sure, saying you're the best thing that ever happened to me. The tears and the duck and the way he made you laugh exactly when you needed to. The chocolate mousse with two spoons. The jacket on your shoulders. The ice cream in the cup holder.
"Good day," you say.
He squeezes your knee. You close your eyes.
The road unspools ahead of him. The city blurs past. The car hums. And you are so full — of him, of the day, of the kind of love that doesn't just hold you up but builds the ground under your feet — that you don't think you could fit another single thing inside you.
Then he says, quiet, almost to himself, like he's checking: "More than Father's Day?"
You open your eyes. He's smiling. That smile — the one that's only for you, the one that makes you feel like you invented the sun.
"So much more than Father's Day," you say.
"Good." He looks at you, quick, then back at the road. "Because I've already got next year planned."
"You're impossible to deal with."
"A better way to word it is that I’m consistent, sweetheart, there's a—"
"Difference. I know."
He laughs. You laugh.
Miso's going to lose her mind when you walk through the door, and Haneul is going to want to show you the crayon drawing she made at Yumi's, and Dohyun is going to reach for you the second he sees you, and tomorrow is Monday and there are briefs to file and deals to close and the whole ordinary machinery of your life waiting to start up again.
But right now, you are the most spoiled woman on the planet, and you're not even a little bit sorry about it.
⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
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💿 ࿐ . . every summertime by niki
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
when you first agreed to start trying for a family, both of you decided to not think about it too much.
even when your family teased you both during gatherings, or wriggling eyebrows from your friends.
“when the time comes, it’ll happen.”
he reassures you. every single time.
the both of you are back on track after your wedding and honeymoon. taking breaks, savoring the joy of being newlyweds.
you both never verbally say it, but it was apparent on how he stopped using protection during your intimate nights and how you never seemed to mind it.
but even after your first marriage anniversary, no news of a little one yet.
everytime you feel a little off, you became nervous and take a test everytime.
it all comes back negative.
heeseung never left your side. he notices all the nights you were slightly more quiet, the times you stopped paying attention during movie nights and stare blankly.
but he never forces you to voice it out.
always waiting for you to reach him.
and always giving hints that when you’re ready to talk? he’s right there. with you.
but these days…you feel it.
in the sudden exhaustion, tenderness.
the strange sensitivity to everything: fabrics against skin, footsteps on the floor, the squeak of sneakers in a hallway suddenly sharp enough to make you wince.
food you love suddenly smell unbearable, your period being late.. what if?
you wasted no time and immediately get your hands on the pregnancy test in the bathroom.
“it’s okay if it’s not. it’s alright. if it happens, it’ll happen.” you keep repeating to yourself.
and when a few minutes has passed and you see the undeniable two lines? the world stopped.
you felt tears building up, but you need to hold back.
how do you tell heeseung this?
right, you have a date night tonight! after he’s donw with work.
gotcha.
you took your time getting ready, that pregnancy glow already affecting your features despite the early stage.
your mind wanders to how he would react. will he cry? or will he be loud?
but one thing you will admit? he’s gonna be the happiest man in the world.
a few hours later, the date night starts as heeseung takes you out to a fancy restaurant.
he tilts his head in confusion when you refused champagne, it was your favourite.
you brust it off with a small remark, something about wanna tone it down for a while.
heeseung didn’t question you.
while he payed, you went to his side whispering: “can we stop by a photobooth before going home?”
he looks at you suspiciously, but agreed nonetheless. “you and your cute trends.” he smiles,
you both got inside the photobooth, you sat on his lap.
4 frames. alright, you can do this.
you clutched on the positive pregnancy test inside the sleeve of your sweater while the both of you posed for the first one.
“normal first!” you say, slightly nervous.
he nods, tucking his chin on your shoulder as the both of you grin at the camera.
the second one, he leans in for a kiss.
snap!
in the third frame, you take the test out making it visible for the both of you.
heeseung freezes while the camera takes a snap.
“baby,” he says,
you look into his eyes, already blurry with tears.
“we’re having a baby.” you grin.
he immediately wrap his arms around you in a secured embrace.
snap!
printing in process: please wait.
but heeseung didn’t budge. face tucked in the crook of your neck as you feel his shoulders shake.
“hee?”
“oh my god, baby,” he sniffles, “is that why you refused champagne?”
your smile widen even more and nodded.
he hugs you tighter, whispering small gratifying words in your ear.
“i’m gonna be better. a better husband. a better papa.” he says, making you laugh.
“you’re already perfect.”
he shakes his head, “no, you’re perfect. my perfect sweet wife. the mother of my child.”
his hand carress your stomach softly, as his gaze follows.
“gonna make you both the happiest in the world, starting tomorrow’s clinic checkup.”
you took the printed photo strips, smiling as you see the snapped reaction of your husband.
“knew it you’d cry.” you booped his nose, as he scrunched it and takes one strip.
“gonna make copies of this and put it in our car, my office desk, my wallet, my everything.”
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who wakes up early just to make breakfast for you, even when you tell him you can do it yourself. He just shakes his head softly, hair messy, voice still sleepy as he says, “Just sit down. I’ve got it.”
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who talks to your unborn baby through your stomach, resting his hand gently against it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Daddy loves you a lot, my baby,” he murmurs, smiling when he feels even the smallest movement like a response.
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who has become more protective—almost instinctively so. Whenever you talk to another guy, his gaze changes without him even realizing it. Not rude, not loud… just quiet, burning jealousy he tries to hide behind a calm expression. And yet, the moment you look back at him, he’s already walking closer—hand finding yours like it belongs there.
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who doesn’t like it when you make your midnight cravings yourself instead of waking him up. He insists that you wake him every single time, no matter how late it is, so he can cook for you while you rest comfortably in bed. Even half asleep, he’s already in the kitchen making whatever you want without a single complaint.
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who becomes extra protective as your appointment dates get closer. His hand never leaves yours in public anymore, eyes constantly checking if you’re tired, cold, uncomfortable—anything. He tries to stay calm, but everyone can tell how nervous he really is.
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who falls asleep while holding your stomach, softly whispering little things to the baby like, “Mine,” with the sleepiest smile on his face.
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who immediately stops playing games on his PC the moment you get whiny about him not spending enough time with you. Even though he’s literally in the same room, he still shuts everything down without hesitation and pulls you into his lap with a quiet, “I’m here now.”
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who sings softly for you whenever you wake up from a nightmare late at night. His fingers run gently through your hair as he hums sleepy songs against your forehead until you slowly fall asleep again in his arms.
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who gets jealous over the smallest thing—like you cuddling a teddy bear because it’s “softer” than him. He immediately pulls you against his chest with the most offended expression ever, mumbling about how unfair it is that a stuffed bear is stealing his place.
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who worships you with so much love and affection that you slowly forget every insecurity clouding your mind. Not through big words, but through the way he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever had.
𐙚 Husband!Heeseung who instantly pulls you onto his lap the moment he sees you crying because of your insecurities. His thumb gently wipes your tears away while he holds your face carefully, whispering, “Darling, look at me… you’re carrying our whole world right now. There’s nothing in you that isn’t beautiful to me.”
synopsis: Assigned as a peer aide for a withdrawn college student no one seems able to understand, you expect awkward conversations, difficult schedules, and long silences. What you don’t expect is Anton.
Soft-spoken and selectively mute, Anton moves through campus like someone slightly out of step with the rest of the world. He avoids eye contact, struggles to process emotions in real time, and finds comfort in routines, textures, music, and beautiful things. Most people see him as strange before they ever try to know him. But beneath his careful silence is someone painfully observant, deeply sensitive, and desperate for connection in ways he doesn’t fully understand himself.
As the semester unfolds, your role in his life slowly becomes more than academic support. Anton begins seeking you out instinctively — waiting outside your classes, memorizing your routines, touching your sleeve without realizing how intimate it feels. He doesn’t understand the meaning people attach to closeness, only that your presence quiets the overwhelming parts of the world around him.
And somewhere between rainy walks across campus, quiet practice rooms, and conversations filled with unfinished feelings, you begin falling for him.
But loving Anton means learning patience. His emotions arrive slowly, often after the moment has already passed. He struggles to recognize jealousy, affection, and longing until they’ve already rooted themselves deeply inside him. While you begin understanding your feelings almost immediately, Anton has to discover his piece by piece — through trust, comfort, and the terrifying realization that for the first time in his life, someone stayed.
A quiet, emotionally intimate slowburn about tenderness, misunderstood affection, and two people learning how to exist gently beside one another.
The email had sounded simple enough when you first read it half-awake in bed that morning. Student accessibility services is assigning you as a peer aide for the spring semester. Flexible hours. Escorting between classes when needed. Organizational support. Occasional note-taking. The pay wasn’t terrible, and you needed another campus job anyway, so you accepted before really thinking about what it meant.
You regretted that decision a little when the counselor slid a thin folder across the desk and said, carefully, “He’s… not always easy with new people.”
The folder had almost nothing inside. Just a student profile and a class schedule.
Lee Chanyoung.
Preferred name: Anton.
Under accommodations, there was a longer list than you expected. Extended testing time. Alternative presentation formats. Excused absences during periods of overstimulation. Selective mutism.
“He usually communicates through typing,” the counselor explained. “Or writing. Sometimes verbally, but not often. Don’t pressure him to speak if he doesn’t want to.”
You nodded slowly.
“He’s very intelligent,” she added quickly, like she felt the need to defend him before you’d even met him. “He just struggles with certain social situations and transitions. Some aides have had difficulty because they expected him to respond in typical ways.”
Typical ways. You almost laughed.
“So what exactly am I supposed to do?”
“Mostly help him navigate campus life. Keep him on schedule. Make sure he actually eats sometimes.” Her expression softened faintly. “He responds well to consistency.”
That part stayed with you for the rest of the afternoon.
Consistency.
By the time you found the humanities building, the campus had settled into that gray lull between morning and evening classes. Wet footprints marked the tiled floors from the rain outside, and the air smelled faintly like old books and coffee grounds. You checked the room number twice before knocking lightly against the open classroom door.
Nobody answered.
Inside, students packed their bags noisily while the professor erased the whiteboard. Near the back corner, separated from everyone else by two empty seats, sat a boy with pale headphones hanging around his neck and a cardigan slipping off one shoulder. He was staring at his laptop screen with complete focus, fingers motionless over the keyboard as if he’d forgotten mid-thought what he intended to type.
You recognized him immediately without needing the student ID photo.
He was prettier than you expected.
Not handsome, exactly. Pretty in the way porcelain figures were pretty. Delicate wrists disappearing into oversized sleeves, soft mouth slightly parted in concentration, dark lashes low against his cheeks. His hair looked impossibly soft, falling over his eyes in uneven layers that almost hid his expression completely.
The room gradually emptied around him.
He didn’t move.
You approached carefully, suddenly hyperaware of your own footsteps. “Anton?”
His shoulders tightened immediately.
Not dramatically. Just enough for you to notice.
He looked up after a second, though not directly at you. His gaze stopped somewhere near your chin instead, uncertain and fleeting. Up close, he looked younger than a college student should’ve. There was something guarded about him, but not cold. More like someone constantly bracing for discomfort.
You offered your name gently. “I’m your student aide this semester.”
His expression didn’t change.
Then slowly, he reached for his phone.
The silence stretched long enough to become awkward before the screen lit up with typed words.
| You’re late.
You blinked. “Late?”
He turned the phone toward you properly this time.
| You were supposed to come at 2:40.
You checked the clock instinctively. It was 2:47.
“Oh.” Heat crawled up your neck. “Sorry. The office took longer than I thought.”
Anton stared at you for another quiet second before looking away again. Not dismissively. More like he’d already filed the interaction away somewhere in his head.
You noticed then that he had arranged everything on the desk with impossible precision. Laptop centered. Pens aligned parallel. Water bottle label facing outward. Even the edges of his papers stacked perfectly flush together.
Without warning, he stood.
You nearly stepped back from how sudden it was.
He slid his bag over one shoulder, then paused beside you awkwardly, fingers curling once against the strap. Waiting.
“For me?” you asked before thinking.
A tiny nod.
Right. Escorting between classes.
You followed him out into the hallway, trying not to make it obvious you were observing him already. He walked quietly, head lowered slightly, one hand tucked into his sleeve. Students brushed past in loud clusters, backpacks bumping into shoulders, sneakers squeaking against the floors. Every time someone came too close, Anton subtly shifted away before contact could happen.
He didn’t speak once. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to fill the silence or leave it alone.
“So… what’s your major?” you tried eventually.
Anton pulled out his phone again without stopping his pace.
| Composition and media studies.
“You like music?”
Another pause.
Then:
| I like beautiful things.
You glanced at him.
He remained completely serious.
Something about the answer caught you off guard. Not because it was strange, but because of how plainly he said it, like beauty was an objective category instead of a vague preference.
“What counts as beautiful?”
This time he took longer to respond. You could almost see the processing happening behind his eyes.
Finally, he typed:
| Certain voices.
| Clean piano sounds.
| Rain before it gets dirty.
| People with kind mouths.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
Before you could answer, a group of students burst through the stairwell doors laughing loudly. The sound ricocheted sharply through the narrow hallway. Anton flinched hard enough that you noticed immediately.
His hand caught your sleeve.
Not your wrist. Not your hand. Just the fabric near your elbow.
The contact seemed unconscious.
His fingers twisted lightly into the material while his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, unfocused and distant for a moment. You could feel how tense he’d suddenly become, every muscle drawn tight beneath layers of soft fabric.
“It’s okay,” you said quietly without thinking.
Anton blinked once.
Then slowly looked down.
Like he’d only just realized he was touching you.
He released your sleeve immediately, but not before his fingertips dragged against your arm through the fabric. Light. Careless. Intimate in a way he clearly didn’t understand.
A faint pink flush spread across the tops of his ears. Not embarrassment exactly. More like confusion.
Neither of you mentioned it.
By the time you reached the music building, rain had started again outside the tall windows, turning the campus silver-gray. Anton stopped near the entrance to his next class, shifting his bag higher onto his shoulder while students filtered around both of you.
You waited for some kind of goodbye.
Instead, he stared briefly at the charm hanging from your bag. A tiny cat keychain.
His eyes lingered on it with open concentration.
Then he reached out suddenly and touched it with careful fingertips. Softly rubbing the plush fabric between his fingers once. Twice.
The movement was so absentmindedly gentle it startled you.
“It was from a friend,” you explained quietly.
Anton nodded faintly but didn’t let go immediately. His thumb brushed across the worn stitching near the ear before he finally withdrew his hand back into his sleeve.
Then he typed something quickly and turned the screen toward you.
| I don’t like most textures.
You looked at the message, then at him.
“But you like that one?”
A pause. Another small nod.
For the first time since meeting him, something in his posture loosened slightly around you. Not trust yet. Nothing that simple. But maybe curiosity.
The classroom door opened behind him.
Anton glanced toward the sound before looking back at you briefly, eyes flickering near yours but never fully meeting them.
Then his phone buzzed softly in his hand. Another message already typed before he turned away.
| You should arrive at 2:40 next time.
-
You spent the rest of the day thinking about him against your will.
Not in the embarrassing way your roommate immediately assumed when you mentioned meeting “a pretty quiet boy” during dinner, but in the persistent, nagging way people stayed in your head when you couldn’t fully understand them. Anton didn’t behave like anyone you knew. Every interaction with him felt slightly mistimed, like his responses existed half a step outside the rhythm everyone else moved to. He wasn’t rude. If anything, he seemed painfully aware of other people at all times. He just reacted differently, processing everything somewhere deeper and slower before deciding what to do with it.
You found yourself replaying small details while brushing your teeth that night. The way he’d described beautiful things with complete sincerity. The careful alignment of objects on his desk. The confused look on his face after grabbing your sleeve, like he genuinely hadn’t realized touching someone unexpectedly might mean something.
At exactly 2:38 the next afternoon, you walked into the humanities building carrying two coffees and an unreasonable amount of awareness about being on time.
Anton was already there. Of course he was.
He sat in the same corner seat from yesterday, laptop open, headphones on this time. His fingers hovered over the keyboard without moving while students shuffled noisily around him. Even from across the room, he looked disconnected from everything else inside it, tucked into his own atmosphere entirely.
You approached quietly. “Hi.”
He looked up immediately.
Not at your eyes. Never your eyes. His gaze caught somewhere near your mouth before flickering away again. His headphones slipped down around his neck as he noticed the drink tray in your hands.
“I didn’t know what you liked,” you admitted, setting one coffee carefully beside his laptop, “so I guessed.”
Anton stared at the cup for several long seconds.
You suddenly wondered if maybe you’d broken some invisible routine and made a terrible mistake.
Then he reached out and turned the cup slowly until the logo faced away from him.
Only after adjusting it did he pick it up.
His fingers were slender, almost delicate-looking, silver rings glinting softly beneath the fluorescent lights. You noticed his nails were neatly trimmed and slightly glossy, as if he buffed them absentmindedly.
He took one cautious sip.
Then another.
A pause.
His phone appeared in his hand a second later.
| Vanilla is acceptable.
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
Anton blinked at the sound, attention catching on your face immediately. Not startled exactly. Focused.
“You sound like you’re reviewing a product.”
He watched you type something into your own phone for class notifications while processing the joke several beats too late. You saw the exact moment understanding landed.
The corners of his mouth lifted faintly.
Tiny. Brief. But unmistakable.
It transformed his whole face.
Before you could comment on it, students started filing into the room more aggressively, conversations overlapping loudly enough that the atmosphere shifted from quiet to crowded within seconds. Anton’s posture changed almost immediately. His shoulders rose subtly. His hand tightened around the coffee cup. The soft crease forming between his brows looked more uncomfortable than irritated.
A boy dropped heavily into the seat beside him without noticing.
Anton froze.
Not metaphorically. Completely.
The student kept talking to his friend across the aisle, elbow spreading over the shared desk space while Anton sat perfectly rigid beside him, fingers curling tighter inside his sleeves.
You looked between them.
Then gently said, “Hey, I think he needs a little more room.”
The student blinked. “Oh. Sorry.”
He shifted over carelessly.
Anton still didn’t relax.
His breathing had gone shallow enough that you noticed it immediately now that you were paying attention. You leaned down slightly toward him.
“Do you want to wait outside until class starts?”
For a second you thought he might ignore you completely.
Then his hand moved under the desk and lightly caught the edge of your cardigan sleeve.
The same way he had yesterday.
Small. Quiet. Automatic.
You waited while he gathered his things with stiff movements before leading him back into the hallway. The moment the classroom door shut behind you both, some of the tension visibly left his body.
You leaned against the wall beside him. “Does crowded noise bother you?”
Anton nodded once.
Rain pattered softly against the windows nearby. Students passed through the corridor in uneven waves, but it was quieter here, the sounds more spread out and manageable.
After a minute, Anton typed something.
| He smelled too strong.
You blinked.
“Oh.”
| And his coat kept touching mine.
The seriousness of his expression nearly made you smile again. Not because it was funny to him, but because he explained discomfort so literally. No exaggeration. No attempt to make himself sound easier or more reasonable.
Just facts.
“You don’t like being touched?”
Anton stared at the screen for a long moment after reading the question.
Then slowly typed:
| I don’t mind when I know it’s happening.
Your heartbeat stumbled embarrassingly hard at the memory of his hand around your sleeve yesterday.
Before you could respond, the classroom door opened again. Students began settling down for lecture, voices quieter now.
Anton made no move to return inside.
“You still have class,” you reminded gently.
His gaze dropped toward the floor tiles.
Then his phone lit up.
| You come too.
“You want me to sit with you?”
A pause. Tiny nod.
Technically, student aides weren’t supposed to attend lectures unless necessary, but the way Anton stood there waiting made refusal feel strangely impossible. He shifted slightly closer while students continued walking around you both, the sleeve of his cardigan brushing your arm for half a second before he stepped away again.
You followed him back inside.
This time, Anton chose seats in the very back row.
You noticed he picked the one nearest the wall.
He sat down first, then hesitated oddly before placing his bag on the opposite side instead of between you. Like he’d considered creating distance and changed his mind halfway through.
Throughout the lecture, he barely looked at the professor. Instead, he typed constantly, notes impossibly organized across his laptop screen. Color-coded. Timestamped. Every heading perfectly aligned.
About twenty minutes in, you noticed movement beside you.
Anton had gone still again.
His fingers rested motionless over the keyboard while his attention fixed somewhere ahead, unfocused. The lecture hall lights buzzed faintly overhead. Someone behind you kept clicking their pen repeatedly.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Anton’s jaw tightened almost invisibly every time the sound repeated.
Without really thinking about it, you reached into your bag for your spare earbuds and placed them gently beside his laptop.
He looked down at them.
Then at you.
“They’re noise cancelling,” you whispered.
Anton stared for such a long time you thought maybe he wouldn’t take them.
Finally, he picked one up carefully between his fingers.
Not putting it in yet. Just feeling the smooth plastic surface.
His thumb brushed over it slowly.
Then, unexpectedly, he placed it back down and typed something instead.
| You notice too much.
You frowned slightly. “Is that bad?”
He read your lips while you spoke, eyes fixed there with quiet concentration.
Then he shook his head once.
A few minutes later, without warning, his shoulder tipped lightly against yours.
Not enough pressure to seem intentional.
Just there.
Warm through layers of fabric.
Anton continued typing with complete focus like he hadn’t noticed the contact at all.
You became aware of his shoulder long before you became aware of the lecture again.
Not because the touch itself was dramatic. It wasn’t. Anton barely leaned into you at all, just enough for the warmth of him to settle against your arm through the fabric of your sweater. But there was something dangerously intimate about how unconscious it seemed. He wasn’t testing boundaries or searching for reassurance. His body had simply decided you were easier to exist beside than everyone else in the room.
And apparently, that was that.
The professor’s voice blurred into background noise while rain streaked slowly down the windows. Anton kept typing steadily, expression soft with concentration. Every few minutes he paused to adjust something tiny: the angle of his pen, the brightness of his screen, the cuff of his cardigan slipping over his wrist. His movements were precise in a way that felt practiced rather than obsessive, like the world only stayed manageable if things remained arranged correctly.
The clicking pen behind you finally stopped.
Anton relaxed almost immediately afterward.
You weren’t sure why noticing that made your chest ache a little.
When class ended, students shoved chairs back noisily and crowded toward the exits in impatient waves. Anton didn’t move. He stayed seated beside you while the room emptied around him, fingers still resting on the keyboard even after the screen dimmed from inactivity.
“You okay?” you asked quietly.
His eyes lifted toward you briefly before drifting away again.
Then he typed:
| There are too many transitions in one day.
You read the sentence twice.
It was such a strange way to describe exhaustion, but somehow it made perfect sense. You thought about how often people expected immediate adjustment from one thing to another without hesitation. Loud cafeteria to silent lecture hall. Crowded sidewalks to empty dorm rooms. Conversation to isolation. Most people did it automatically.
Anton probably felt every shift like stepping between different temperatures.
“That sounds tiring,” you said softly.
His gaze flickered back toward your face then, lingering there a fraction longer than usual. You got the unsettling feeling he wasn’t used to people responding like that. Not dismissing him. Not trying to correct or simplify what he meant.
Just accepting it.
Outside, the rain had worsened into a steady silver downpour. Students hurried across campus beneath umbrellas while water gathered along the sidewalks in shallow reflective puddles.
Anton stood beside the building entrance staring outside with visible hesitation.
“You don’t have an umbrella?” you guessed.
He shook his head once.
“You could’ve checked the weather.”
A pause.
Then his phone appeared.
| I did.
| It said 40%.
You stared at him for a second before laughing again despite yourself. Anton’s attention snapped toward the sound instantly, distracted from the rain.
“What?”
His brows pulled together faintly.
| Why do you keep doing that?
“Doing what?”
| Making that noise.
“Oh.” You smiled a little. “Laughing?”
He considered the word carefully, like matching it to memory.
Then:
| You laugh more quietly than most people.
Something about the observation felt far too intimate for someone you’d known less than two days.
Before you could answer, Anton stepped out into the rain without warning.
“Wait—”
Cold droplets immediately soaked into the dark fabric of his cardigan, dampening his hair within seconds. He didn’t seem to care. Or maybe he cared and didn’t know what to do about it. You hurried after him beneath your umbrella, catching up just as he crossed the sidewalk toward the arts building.
“Anton.”
He slowed.
“You’re getting soaked.”
He looked down at his sleeve like he’d only just noticed the rainwater spreading through it.
Then he typed while still walking.
| I like rain before people touch it.
You almost told him that made no sense before remembering who you were speaking to.
“What does that mean?”
Anton paused near the crosswalk, watching water rush along the curb in thin rippling streams.
For a while, he didn’t answer. Cars hissed past on wet pavement while students crowded beneath awnings nearby. You thought maybe he’d abandoned the thought entirely.
Then:
| Rain is clean when it first falls.
| Afterward it becomes campus rain.
You looked at him carefully.
His hair clung damply against his forehead now, soft dark strands curling slightly at the ends from the moisture. There was something vulnerable about him standing there in the middle of the gray afternoon looking entirely consumed by a thought no one else would ever have.
“You think about things strangely,” you murmured before you could stop yourself.
The moment the words left your mouth, regret hit hard.
Anton’s expression changed immediately.
Not dramatically. Just quieting.
His fingers stilled against his phone screen.
You opened your mouth quickly. “I didn’t mean—”
But he was already looking away from you.
Shit.
The walk to the arts building suddenly felt much longer.
Anton stayed half a step ahead the entire time, cardigan sleeves pulled over his hands again. You replayed your sentence over and over in your head, trying to figure out exactly where it had gone wrong. You hadn’t meant strange in a bad way. If anything, talking to him felt oddly refreshing compared to the exhausting predictability of everyone else.
But maybe he’d heard that before.
Maybe people had spent his entire life calling him strange.
By the time you reached the building entrance, guilt sat heavily in your stomach.
“Anton.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around fully.
“I’m sorry,” you said carefully. “I wasn’t making fun of you.”
Silence.
Rain hammered softly against the glass doors nearby.
Then Anton finally looked toward you, eyes lowering automatically before they could meet yours completely. Up close, you noticed faint water droplets caught in his lashes.
His phone lit up slowly.
| I know.
But he still looked hurt.
The realization unsettled you more than it should have.
You stood there awkwardly while students brushed past into the building around you. Anton readjusted the strap slipping off his shoulder with damp fingers, movements slower than usual now.
Then, unexpectedly, he stepped closer.
Close enough that your umbrella tilted awkwardly backward from the movement.
His hand appeared near your sleeve again.
Not grabbing this time.
Just touching the wet fabric lightly between two fingers.
“You’re cold,” you said quietly.
Anton blinked once, looking down at where rainwater darkened the cuff of your sweater too.
After a few seconds, he typed:
| You came into the rain anyway.
You weren’t sure why that sentence lingered so heavily in your chest afterward.
Maybe because he said things so plainly that they stopped sounding plain at all.
You came into the rain anyway.
Like it meant something.
Anton followed you silently into the arts building, water dripping softly from the ends of his sleeves onto the polished floors. The lobby buzzed with low conversation and distant piano scales echoing from somewhere upstairs, students moving between practice rooms carrying instrument cases and sheet music folders pressed against their chests. Compared to the rest of campus, the building felt strangely warm, almost sleepy, lit gold by old hanging lamps instead of harsh fluorescents.
Anton visibly relaxed the moment the doors shut behind you.
Not entirely. He never seemed entirely relaxed. But his shoulders lowered slightly, and his breathing evened out again beneath the soft hum of music drifting through the hallways.
“You have class here?” you asked.
Small nod.
“What kind?”
He typed one-handed while wringing rainwater absentmindedly from the cuff of his cardigan with the other.
| Composition lab.
That explained the major, at least partially. You tried imagining him making music and immediately could. Not performance. Nothing loud or attention-seeking. Something intricate and emotional and probably far too beautiful for most people to understand properly.
A girl passing through the lobby slowed suddenly when she noticed Anton.
“Chanyoung!”
He stiffened instantly.
She either didn’t notice or pretended not to. “Professor Kim was asking where your revised arrangement went. Did you ever email it?”
Anton’s gaze dropped toward the floor.
Three seconds passed.
Five.
The girl’s smile faltered slightly as the silence stretched.
You watched panic build subtly beneath Anton’s expression, not dramatic enough for most people to catch. His fingers curled tightly into the soaked fabric hanging over his hands. His lips parted once without sound emerging.
He was trying.
Your chest tightened.
“He probably hasn’t had the chance yet,” you answered gently before the silence could become humiliating.
The girl blinked toward you like she’d forgotten other people existed. “Oh.”
Anton remained completely motionless beside you.
“Well…” She laughed awkwardly. “Tell him Professor Kim’s been emailing.”
Then she hurried off down the hallway.
The second she disappeared around the corner, Anton exhaled softly through his nose.
Not relief exactly. More like recovery.
You looked at him carefully. “You don’t like when people expect answers right away.”
His eyes shifted toward you. Then downward again.
After a moment, he typed:
| Sometimes words don’t arrive before the moment is over.
The sentence hit you so hard you almost forgot to breathe for a second.
You wondered suddenly how many people mistook his silence for indifference when really it was delay. Like his emotions and thoughts existed behind glass slightly thicker than everyone else’s.
“That sounds frustrating,” you said quietly.
Anton stared at the phone screen after reading your response. His thumb hovered near the keyboard as if he intended to say more.
But instead, he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
A nearby piano stumbled through the same wrong note three times in a row from one of the practice rooms upstairs.
Anton visibly winced.
“You can hear that from here?”
Tiny nod.
“That’s kind of impressive.”
Another wince at the fourth mistake.
Then, unexpectedly, he reached for your wrist.
Not dramatically. Not even fully.
His fingertips just settled there lightly, cool from the rain, before he began guiding you toward the staircase without explanation.
The contact shocked you enough that you followed automatically.
Anton climbed the stairs quietly, still holding your wrist with absentminded gentleness the entire way. Not possessive. Not nervous. Casual in the way someone might carry an object they’d already decided belonged beside them.
Meanwhile your heartbeat had become humiliating.
On the third floor, the hallway narrowed into rows of small soundproof practice rooms with rectangular windows set into each door. Music spilled unevenly through the walls anyway — violin scales, fragments of jazz piano, someone singing warmups badly enough to make Anton’s nose wrinkle slightly.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
He noticed immediately.
“What?”
Anton tilted his head faintly.
“You make expressions even when you don’t talk much.”
A pause.
Then he let go of your wrist abruptly like he’d only just remembered he was touching you at all.
The sudden absence of warmth felt strangely noticeable.
Anton stopped outside one of the practice room doors and pushed it open carefully. Inside sat a keyboard, two chairs, scattered sheet music, and little else. The room was dimmer than the hallway, insulated from most of the outside noise.
You stepped inside after him.
“This is yours?”
He nodded once, already moving toward the keyboard.
The room changed him somehow.
Not personality-wise. More like the tension he carried around campus loosened in specific places here. His movements became smoother, more instinctive. Comfortable.
Anton sat down on the bench and adjusted the sleeves falling over his hands before resting his fingers lightly against the keys.
Then he froze.
You waited quietly.
After a few seconds, he typed into his phone again without looking up.
| You can sit.
“Oh. Right.”
You settled into the chair nearby while rain tapped softly against the narrow window beside the piano. Anton remained still for another long moment, staring at the keys with intense concentration.
“You don’t have to play for me,” you said gently, suddenly worried he felt pressured.
He shook his head immediately.
Then finally, he played.
The first notes were so soft you almost missed them.
Not a melody at first. Just careful fragments unfolding slowly beneath his fingertips, delicate and thoughtful and strangely lonely. The sound filled the small room without overwhelming it, each note lingering long enough to feel intentional. Anton’s expression changed while he played. Not happier exactly, but clearer somehow. Like music translated things his body couldn’t organize into speech quickly enough.
You watched his hands move across the keyboard.
Beautiful hands, honestly.
Long fingers. Silver rings glinting faintly under the dim lights. Sleeves slipping down toward his knuckles every few seconds before he impatiently pushed them back again mid-song.
The music deepened gradually, weaving into something fuller and aching enough that your chest hurt unexpectedly listening to it.
Anton never looked at you once while he played.
But somehow it still felt like being let inside something private.
When the final note faded, silence settled gently back over the room.
You realized only then that you’d stopped moving entirely.
“That was really pretty,” you whispered.
Anton stayed motionless at the keyboard.
Then slowly:
| You keep using that word.
“Pretty?”
A tiny nod.
You smiled faintly. “Do you not like it?”
For the first time since meeting him, Anton actually looked close to nervous.
Not externally. You were just beginning to recognize the signs now — the slight tension in his jaw, fingers rubbing together beneath oversized sleeves, gaze fixed stubbornly on the piano keys.
Finally, he typed carefully.
| No one usually means it kindly.
Something inside you softened painfully at that.
The practice room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, the rain outside reduced to a dull silver murmur against the windows. Anton kept his eyes lowered toward the keyboard after showing you the message, shoulders slightly hunched like he regretted saying it at all.
You thought about him walking across campus with his oversized cardigans and careful posture, about the glossy shine on his nails, the silver rings, the softness he didn’t bother hiding even though people probably noticed immediately. You could already imagine the kind of comments college boys made when someone didn’t fit neatly into whatever version of masculinity they found acceptable.
“You know I mean it kindly,” you said gently.
Anton didn’t respond right away.
His fingers drifted absentmindedly across a few silent piano keys without pressing hard enough to create sound. Thinking. Processing. You were beginning to realize he often needed silence the way other people needed conversation.
| I know now.
Now.
Not before.
Your chest tightened again.
Before you could answer, voices echoed loudly down the hallway outside the practice rooms. Several students passed by laughing, the sound muffled but sharp enough to pull Anton immediately out of whatever calm the piano had given him. His posture straightened. His hands stilled.
One of the voices paused near the door.
“Oh, he’s in there.”
Another laugh. “Of course he is.”
The doorknob rattled lightly.
Anton froze so suddenly it almost frightened you.
Not fear exactly. Anticipation. Like his body had learned to brace before his mind even caught up.
The door opened halfway before either of you could react. Two boys from what looked like an ensemble class leaned inside casually, both carrying instrument cases.
“There you are,” one of them said. “Kim keeps emailing about your arrangement.”
Anton’s gaze dropped instantly toward the floor.
Neither of them acknowledged you at first.
“You gonna answer him this year or what?” the other joked.
Silence.
You watched Anton’s fingers slowly curl into the sleeves covering his hands.
The first guy sighed awkwardly after a few seconds. “Right. Sorry.”
But he still lingered there waiting, clearly expecting some kind of response.
Anton’s throat moved faintly.
Nothing came out.
You could almost feel the pressure building inside the room.
“He said he’ll send it,” you interrupted quietly before the silence could turn cruel.
Both boys finally looked toward you.
The second one blinked. “Oh.”
Then, lowering his voice slightly but not enough, “Does he just not talk ever?”
The question landed heavily.
Anton remained perfectly still at the piano bench beside you, expression unreadable now in that way you were beginning to hate because it meant he’d withdrawn somewhere unreachable.
“He talks,” you answered before thinking. “Just not whenever people demand it.”
The room fell quiet.
One boy looked embarrassed immediately. The other shifted awkwardly against his instrument case strap.
“Right,” he muttered. “Whatever.”
They left a second later, the door clicking shut behind them.
Silence rushed back in.
Anton still hadn’t moved.
You exhaled slowly, anger simmering hotter in your chest than it probably should have after only two days of knowing him. “They were being rude.”
Nothing.
“Anton?”
His hand moved toward his phone slowly.
Then stopped halfway there.
Instead, he pressed both sleeves against his mouth briefly, eyes fixed somewhere distant across the room. Processing again. You could see it happening now — the delayed impact arriving piece by piece after the interaction already ended.
When he finally typed, the message appeared slower than usual.
| They weren’t trying to be mean.
“That doesn’t make it better.”
Anton stared at the screen after reading that.
Then:
| Most people become uncomfortable eventually.
The matter-of-factness of the sentence hurt more than self-pity would’ve.
Like he’d accepted it as inevitable.
“Well, I’m not uncomfortable.”
The room went very quiet.
Anton blinked once.
Then again.
You got the distinct feeling you’d said something unexpectedly important.
His attention lifted toward your face slowly, cautiously, eyes stopping just short of yours like always. For a second he looked almost disoriented, as if he didn’t know where to place the statement inside his understanding of people.
Then his phone buzzed softly in his hand.
| Not yet.
The words startled a laugh out of you before you could stop it.
Anton watched your reaction immediately, shoulders loosening just slightly at the sound.
“You’re kind of mean, you know that?”
A pause.
Then:
| You laugh when you aren’t upset anymore.
You stared at him.
Anton stared back in that indirect way he had, gaze hovering near your mouth while he read your expression carefully. Observing. Cataloging.
“You notice everything,” you murmured.
He processed that silently.
Then typed:
| Only things I need to remember.
The air in the room suddenly felt too warm.
Before you could recover, Anton stood from the piano bench in one smooth movement and crossed toward the stack of papers scattered near the music stand. He crouched to reorganize them with immediate focus, aligning the corners carefully against the floor before clipping them together.
You watched him for a second before kneeling automatically to help.
Anton went still beside you.
“What?” you asked.
His eyes flickered toward your hands gathering the loose sheets.
Then toward your knees pressed against the carpet beside him.
Finally:
| You don’t have to do that.
“It’s literally two papers.”
He kept s taring anyway.
Up close like this, you noticed how long his lashes were again. Ridiculously long, honestly. They cast faint shadows against his cheeks whenever he looked downward.
Without thinking, you reached over and brushed a damp strand of hair away from his eyes.
The second your fingers touched him, Anton stopped breathing.
Not metaphorically.
Actually stopped.
Your hand froze too.
His skin was cold from the rain. Soft.
You should’ve pulled away immediately.
Instead, both of you stayed there for one horribly suspended second, Anton staring at you with open confusion written across his face. Not discomfort. Something more startled than that, like his brain had failed to categorize what just happened.
Then, slowly, very carefully, he leaned forward.
Just slightly.
Into your hand.
Your breath caught so hard it almost hurt.
Anton didn’t seem to notice the effect he had on people when he did things like this. Or maybe he noticed reactions without understanding where they came from. Either way, the movement was small enough that another person might’ve missed it entirely — the faint tilt of his head against your palm, the way his eyes lowered halfway shut for a second like he was concentrating on the sensation.
Soft.
That was the first thought that hit you.
Not just physically. His entire presence felt soft in ways the world probably hadn’t handled gently.
Then realization flickered across his expression.
Anton pulled back immediately.
His hand came up halfway toward his face before stopping awkwardly in the air. You watched confusion move through him in real time, slow and visible behind his eyes as he tried to process the interaction after it had already happened.
“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, dropping your hand back into your lap. “I shouldn’t have just—”
Anton shook his head hard enough to interrupt you.
Not upset. Just overwhelmed.
He stared down at the papers scattered between you both, fingers tightening once around the edge of a music sheet before he typed something with abrupt intensity.
| Don’t apologize for touching me if it was kind.
The sentence settled heavily between you.
You looked at him carefully. “Has nobody ever told you there’s a difference?”
Anton frowned faintly.
“Between wanted touch and unwanted touch.”
He went still again.
Not frozen this time. Thinking.
You could practically watch him sorting through memories and information behind his eyes, reorganizing old experiences against the new wording. After a long silence, he typed slowly:
| People usually touch me accidentally.
Something about that answer made your chest ache.
You thought suddenly about crowded hallways brushing against him, strangers shoving past without warning, uncomfortable handshakes, impatient taps on the shoulder when he didn’t respond quickly enough. Touch that happened to him instead of for him.
And maybe because Anton processed emotions later than everyone else, maybe by the time discomfort fully arrived, the moment had already passed.
“That’s not the same thing,” you said quietly.
He read the sentence twice.
Then:
| You ask before doing things.
You almost pointed out that you hadn’t asked before touching his hair, but Anton continued typing before you could.
| Most people decide things for me first.
The practice room felt unbearably quiet after that.
Outside, someone played scales down the hallway while rain tapped steadily against the narrow windows. Anton gathered the rest of his papers into a neat stack again, movements slower now, attention split somewhere deeper inside himself.
“You think about people a lot, don’t you?” you asked softly.
He glanced toward you.
Then away.
A tiny shrug.
After a moment:
| I have to study people longer than other people study me.
You didn’t know what to say to that.
Because it was true, probably.
Most people would look at Anton once and make immediate assumptions. Quiet. Strange. Awkward. Difficult. Sensitive. Meanwhile he seemed to spend enormous amounts of energy trying to understand everyone around him properly while they rarely extended the same patience back.
Your eyes drifted toward the music sheets in his lap. The notes were impossibly neat, handwritten annotations arranged with color-coded precision along the margins.
“You really like organizing things.”
That earned the faintest reaction from him. Almost defensive.
| Things behave better when they’re organized.
You smiled slightly. “People don’t?”
Immediately, before even typing:
“No.”
The sound startled you both.
Anton’s eyes widened a fraction.
It was the first time you’d heard his voice.
Quiet wasn’t even the right word for it. His voice sounded soft in the same way fabric could be soft, low and airy from disuse, almost careful around the edges. Like speaking required more physical effort for him than most people realized.
For a second neither of you moved.
Then color rose slowly into Anton’s cheeks.
He looked away so quickly it almost gave you whiplash.
You tried not to react too strongly, suddenly aware that if you made a big deal out of it he might retreat completely.
But your heartbeat was going insane.
“You’re right,” you said gently, pretending your pulse wasn’t stumbling all over itself. “People are kind of impossible.”
Anton kept staring stubbornly at the floor.
The blush spread all the way to the tips of his ears now.
You bit back a smile.
“You have a nice voice.”
The reaction was immediate.
Anton’s shoulders drew up slightly, like the compliment physically struck him somewhere sensitive. He tucked his hands deeper into his sleeves and focused aggressively on aligning the papers again even though they were already perfectly straight.
Interesting.
“You don’t like compliments?”
A pause.
Then, quietly this time, barely above a whisper:
“I don’t know.”
You almost melted directly into the carpet.
Anton seemed startled by his own answer too. His throat moved faintly afterward, like he was still adjusting to the unfamiliar feeling of speaking aloud. But he didn’t fully shut down again. If anything, he looked more disoriented than distressed.
“You don’t know if you like compliments?”
Tiny shake of his head.
“Why not?”
He reached for his phone again, clearly more comfortable typing complicated thoughts than saying them.
| Sometimes people compliment me because they think I’m strange.
| Like observing an animal that learned something impressive.
Your expression must’ve changed because Anton immediately looked down again.
“I wasn’t doing that,” you said quietly.
He nodded before you even finished.
| I know.
That I know sounded different now too. More certain than earlier.
You sat there for another moment listening to the muffled music outside before your phone buzzed with a calendar reminder.
Work shift. Ten minutes.
“Shit,” you muttered, checking the screen. “I have to go.”
Anton’s attention lifted immediately.
“I forgot I’m covering someone at the library tonight.”
The atmosphere shifted so subtly you almost thought you imagined it.
Not disappointment exactly.
But something adjacent to it.
Anton looked toward the rain-streaked window automatically before typing:
| You don’t like leaving in the middle of things either.
You stared at him.
“No,” you admitted softly. “I guess I don’t.”
For a second he just watched you gather your bag and jacket. Or rather, watched your hands. Anton seemed to focus on hands often, you realized suddenly. Movements. Gestures. The physical shape of emotion instead of eye contact.
When you stood, he stood too.
Immediately.
Like it was obvious he should.
“You don’t have to walk me out,” you said.
Anton blinked once, confused.
Then:
| I know.
But he still followed you anyway.
The hallway outside the practice room had grown quieter by the time you left, most classes already in session. The muffled sounds of instruments still drifted through the walls in uneven fragments — piano chords from somewhere downstairs, a violin stopping and restarting the same passage over and over again, distant laughter echoing briefly before fading down another corridor.
Anton walked beside you without speaking.
Not awkwardly silent. Just present.
You were beginning to realize there was a difference with him.
Most silence between people felt empty because both parties waited for someone to fill it. Anton’s silence felt occupied already, crowded with observation and delayed thoughts and tiny details he seemed to absorb constantly without comment. Walking beside him made you hyperaware of your own movements in return — the squeak of your shoes against the polished floor, the shift of your bag strap on your shoulder, the warmth lingering in your palm from where he’d leaned into your touch earlier.
You tried very hard not to think about that too much.
At the stairwell landing, Anton stopped suddenly.
You nearly walked past him before turning back. “What?”
He looked distracted by something over your shoulder. Following his gaze, you noticed a girl descending the stairs carrying a bouquet wrapped in pale pink paper. Tiny white flowers peeked through the plastic.
Anton stared openly.
Not at the girl. At the flowers.
The intensity of his focus almost made you smile.
“You like those?”
His attention flicked back toward you, caught.
Then he nodded once.
“They’re just baby’s breath.”
Another small shake of his head this time. Incorrect.
Anton typed carefully while still watching the bouquet disappear downstairs.
| They look soft.
Of course that was his reason.
You wondered if he categorized the world entirely through sensory feeling. Soft. Sharp. Loud. Beautiful. Wrong. Safe.
The realization made him seem somehow even more vulnerable.
As you continued downstairs, Anton drifted closer beside you whenever groups of students passed in the opposite direction. Not enough to touch. Just enough that his sleeve brushed your arm occasionally before he corrected the distance again. Like his body naturally sought proximity before his mind remembered it was supposed to maintain space.
By the first floor lobby, the rain outside had softened into a fine mist coating the windows silver.
You adjusted your bag strap. “I’ll see you tomorrow before your lecture?”
Anton nodded immediately.
Then hesitated.
You could tell by now when something was stuck inside him trying to become language.
His fingers moved once against the edge of his sleeve before he finally typed:
| You don’t have to keep talking when I stop responding.
“Oh.”
You frowned slightly. “Was I talking too much?”
He looked alarmed instantly and shook his head hard enough that damp strands of hair fell into his eyes again.
Quickly:
| No.
| Most people become uncomfortable with silence.
You stared at the screen.
Then at him.
“Do you?”
Anton seemed genuinely confused by the question.
| With silence?
“Yeah.”
A long pause.
| Silence is easier because nobody expects immediate versions of you.
The words settled somewhere deep in your chest.
Immediate versions of you.
You thought suddenly about every rushed conversation you’d ever had, every moment people interrupted each other or filled pauses before anyone could truly think. Anton moved through interactions like someone translating feelings manually while everyone else operated automatically.
No wonder he got exhausted.
“You think really beautifully sometimes,” you murmured before you could stop yourself.
Anton went still. Not tense. Just attentive in that startlingly complete way he had.
Then slowly, carefully, he typed:
| You say things to me like they aren’t dangerous.
The comment confused you for half a second before understanding arrived.
Compliments. Kindness. Gentleness.
Things he’d apparently learned to handle cautiously.
Your chest ached again.
“Well,” you said softly, “they aren’t dangerous.”
Anton looked at you for a very long time after that.
Not direct eye contact. You still weren’t sure he’d ever fully meet your eyes comfortably. But his attention stayed fixed near your face with unusual steadiness, expression unreadable beneath the soft fluorescent lobby lights.
Then someone entered the building loudly behind you both, the door slamming harder than necessary.
Anton startled.
Not dramatically, but enough that his hand caught the fabric of your sleeve again automatically.
The movement happened so naturally now that neither of you reacted immediately.
His fingers stayed there lightly curled against your wrist while he glanced back toward the entrance, orienting himself. You looked down at the contact for a second before lifting your eyes toward him again.
Anton followed your gaze belatedly.
A flush spread across his face almost instantly.
He released you carefully this time instead of jerking away.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
The second the word left his mouth, surprise crossed his expression again. Like he still wasn’t entirely deciding when speech happened.
You smiled a little despite yourself. “You don’t have to apologize every time you touch me.”
Anton stared.
You watched the sentence process in real time.
Slowly. Dangerously.
His lips parted slightly before closing again. He looked down toward his own hand like it had become unfamiliar to him somehow.
Then his phone appeared.
| I think about it afterward.
“What part?”
| Whether I was supposed to know something.
Your heartbeat stumbled.
“About touching?”
Tiny nod.
The honesty of it nearly killed you.
You leaned against the wall slightly, trying to steady yourself before answering. “Most people attach meaning to physical affection.”
| Even small things?
“Yes.”
His brows pulled together faintly.
| That seems exhausting.
You laughed softly before you could help it. “It can be.”
Anton watched your face with quiet concentration.
| When you touch me it feels calm.
| So afterward I don’t understand why everyone makes those things complicated.
The entire world seemed to tilt sideways for one horrifying second.
Anton, meanwhile, looked completely sincere.
No flirting. No awareness of the effect he’d just had on you. He said things the way people described weather patterns — observationally, honestly, without understanding how intimate they sounded once spoken aloud.
You were absolutely doomed.
Before you could respond, Anton’s phone buzzed sharply in his hand. The sudden sound made him flinch slightly before checking the screen.
His expression shifted immediately.
“What is it?”
He turned the phone toward you.
A calendar notification.
Dinner — 6:00 PM
Underneath it, another smaller reminder:
Eat full meal. Not snacks.
You blinked.
Then looked at him slowly. “Did someone actually schedule meals into your phone?”
Anton took the phone back.
After a moment:
| I forget.
“You forget to eat?”
Tiny shrug.
| Other things are louder.
-
You looked at him for a moment longer than necessary after that.
Other things are louder.
Anton said sentences like they were simple facts, then left you standing there trying to recover from the weight of them afterward. You wondered if he had any idea how revealing he sounded sometimes, how easily little pieces of himself slipped into conversation before he could recognize them as personal.
Probably not.
“Have you eaten today?” you asked carefully.
Anton’s silence answered first.
You stared at him. “Anton.”
Another pause.
Finally:
| A banana.
“Since when?”
His eyes drifted upward slightly, thinking.
| Morning.
Your chest tightened in immediate irritation. “That’s not enough.”
He looked mildly confused by your tone, like your concern had arrived too intensely for him to categorize right away. You were beginning to notice that too — strong emotion seemed to make him pause longer, processing each word more carefully before deciding how to react.
“I mean…” You exhaled, softening your voice. “No wonder you’re tired.”
Anton leaned lightly against the wall beside you, cardigan sleeves pulled over his hands again while students passed through the lobby in scattered groups. He looked genuinely thoughtful now, considering your statement with unusual seriousness.
| I didn’t notice until you said it.
“That you were hungry?”
Small nod.
You weren’t sure why that made you sad.
Maybe because Anton seemed disconnected from his own body half the time, noticing discomfort only after it became impossible to ignore. Hunger. Overstimulation. Emotions. Everything arrived delayed.
“Well,” you said, adjusting your bag again, “you should eat before your next class.”
His gaze shifted toward the rain outside immediately.
Avoidance.
“You don’t want to go to the dining hall.”
Another tiny nod.
Too loud. Too crowded. Too unpredictable. You could practically map the reasons out yourself already.
“You could get takeout somewhere quieter.”
Anton didn’t answer.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “You’re not going to, are you?”
| Eventually.
“That means no.”
Anton blinked slowly, caught.
The expression that crossed his face was so unintentionally cute you almost got angry about it.
Before you could stop yourself, you sighed and said, “Come on.”
He frowned faintly
“Where?”
“There’s a café behind the library that stays pretty empty around this time.”
You watched confusion spread across his expression in stages. Then surprise. Then something more hesitant underneath both.
“You don’t have to,” he said quietly.
The soft sound of his voice caught you off guard again. It was still strange hearing him speak aloud after spending most of the past two days communicating through typed messages and silence. His voice felt intimate somehow. Fragile in a way people instinctively leaned closer to.
“I know,” you said gently. “I want to.”
Anton stared at you for a second too long after that. Then lowered his gaze first.
You were starting to suspect he did that whenever emotions became too large to process immediately.
The walk to the café was quieter than usual because the rain had driven most students indoors. Damp leaves clung to the sidewalks, the entire campus washed gray and silver beneath the evening sky. Anton stayed close beside you without seeming aware of it, occasionally brushing against your shoulder before drifting away again.
At one point, your umbrella tilted slightly from the wind.
Anton adjusted it for you automatically.
Not taking it from your hands. Just reaching up carefully to straighten the angle so the rain stopped hitting your sleeve.
The gesture was so natural it took you a second to even process it.
“Thanks,” you murmured.
He nodded once like the action required no acknowledgment.
The café sat tucked behind the library exactly as promised, warm yellow light glowing through fogged windows. Inside smelled like espresso and cinnamon with soft instrumental music low enough not to overwhelm the room. Only a few students occupied the scattered tables.
Anton stopped just inside the doorway.
You turned toward him. “Too much?”
He looked around carefully.
Then shook his head.
Relief loosened something in your chest.
While you ordered at the counter, Anton lingered several feet away studying the dessert display with complete concentration. Not the food itself, you realized after watching him for a moment.
The colors. The arrangement.
Tiny fruit tarts lined perfectly in rows beneath warm lighting. Frosted cakes decorated with edible flowers. Soft pink macarons stacked like polished stones.
Beautiful things.
You smiled to yourself before ordering.
When you carried the drinks and food back to the table, Anton immediately moved his phone and sleeves out of the way for you with careful precision. You set a sandwich in front of him.
His eyes widened slightly.
“That’s too much,” he murmured.
“It’s half a sandwich.”
“It’s large.”
“You had a banana six hours ago.”
Anton stared at the sandwich like you’d handed him a complicated assignment instead of food.
“You remembered.”
The words landed strangely soft between you.
“Of course I remembered.”
Something changed in his expression again. Small enough that another person probably wouldn’t notice. But you were starting to recognize these tiny shifts now — the way his shoulders loosened when he felt safe, the faint unfocusing of his eyes when emotions became difficult, the careful stillness whenever he was trying to hold onto something internally.
Anton picked up the sandwich obediently after a moment.
You expected him to eat delicately.
Instead, he took one bite and immediately closed his eyes.
Not dramatically. Just briefly.
Processing.
“It’s good?” you asked, amused.
After swallowing, he typed one-handed:
| The bread texture is correct.
You laughed so suddenly a nearby student glanced over.
Anton’s attention snapped immediately toward your face.
Again.
Always again.
He watched your reactions with such complete focus it made your stomach feel strange.
“What?”
His fingers stilled against his phone.
| You laugh differently now than yesterday.
“Oh?”
Tiny nod. Less careful.
You looked down at your drink for a second, suddenly embarrassed by how comfortable you’d already become around him. It had only been two days. Two very strange, emotionally days.
Across from you, Anton continued eating in small precise bites while occasionally glancing toward the rain streaking the café windows. His damp hair had finally begun drying, soft dark strands curling slightly near the ends.
Without warning, he spoke again.
“You touch people a lot?”
You nearly choked on your coffee.
“What?”
Anton looked immediately concerned, like he’d skipped too many conversational steps again without realizing it.
“You…” He paused, visibly searching for the words. “Move close easily.”
“Oh.”
Heat crept into your face embarrassingly fast.
“I mean, not everyone.”
Anton processed that carefully while peeling the wrapper from his straw with meticulous attention.
“Only people you like?”
You stared at him across the tiny café table while he waited with complete sincerity for an answer, entirely unaware of how loaded the conversation had become.
“I guess so,” you admitted quietly.
Anton nodded once.
Then returned to eating like he hadn’t just destabilized your entire nervous system.
For a while, neither of you spoke again.
The café settled into a comfortable hush around you both, low music blending with the soft hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. Rainwater crawled slowly down the windows in thin uneven trails, turning the lights outside blurry and gold. Anton seemed calmer here than anywhere else you’d seen him on campus so far. Not fully relaxed — you were beginning to think that state barely existed for him — but settled enough that the constant tension in his shoulders had eased.
You watched him absentmindedly peel the paper sleeve from his straw into perfectly even strips.
Not fidgeting.
Organizing.
His sandwich sat precisely centered on the napkin between bites.
“You always do that?” you asked softly.
Anton glanced up.
“With objects.”
Then his eyes drifted toward the neat pile of paper strips beside his drink.
“Oh.”
He looked faintly embarrassed for the first time all evening.
“I’m making a mess,” he murmured.
“No, you’re not.”
You reached over before thinking and straightened one of the uneven paper pieces he’d missed. Anton went completely still watching your fingers brush the table.
The silence stretched.
“You don’t get irritated by things?”
The question caught you off guard. “What kind of things?”
He gestured vaguely toward the strips.
“The wrongness.”
You looked down at the table.
Then back at him slowly.
“I mean… sometimes.”
Anton waited.
“But not like you do, I think.”
He stared at your mouth while you spoke, expression thoughtful and slightly distant again. Processing. You were getting frighteningly good at recognizing when he’d gone inward like that.
After a moment, he typed:
| Most people say I overreact to discomfort.
The ache in your chest returned immediately.
You wondered how many parts of himself Anton had spent years apologizing for simply because other people experienced the world less intensely than he did.
“Well,” you said carefully, “if something genuinely feels overwhelming to you, then it’s overwhelming. Even if other people don’t understand it.”
Anton stopped moving entirely. Listening.
You saw the exact moment your words landed somewhere important.
His fingers tightened once around the edge of his sleeve before loosening again. Then he lowered his gaze toward the table almost abruptly, like he suddenly needed somewhere else to look.
“You say things softly,” he said after a while.
Your heartbeat stumbled.
“What does that mean?”
Anton frowned faintly, searching.
“Like…” He paused again. “Like you don’t want them to hurt anyone.”
The sincerity in his voice nearly killed you on the spot.
You looked away first this time, pretending to focus on your drink so he wouldn’t notice how flustered you’d suddenly become.
Across from you, Anton continued studying you openly in that indirect way he had. Not eye contact exactly. Attention contact. Total and unnervingly observant.
Then his phone buzzed against the table.
The reaction was immediate.
His shoulders tensed before he even checked the screen.
You watched his expression shift as he read the notification. Not upset. Just… burdened.
“What is it?”
Anton turned the phone toward you after a second.
Mom calling
He stared at the screen while it rang. Didn’t answer.
The vibration stopped after several seconds before immediately starting again.
“You should probably pick up,” you said gently.
Anton looked genuinely distressed by the idea.
“She worries if I don’t.”
“Then answer?”
Another ring.
He swallowed faintly before pressing accept and lifting the phone to his ear.
You looked away automatically to give him privacy, but silence stretched so long you eventually glanced back.
Anton hadn’t spoken.
He sat perfectly still listening to the voice on the other end while his thumb rubbed repeatedly against the edge of his sleeve beneath the table.
Then, very quietly:
“Yes.”
A pause.
“No.”
Another pause.
“I ate.”
Something in your chest twisted at how carefully he said each word, like speech over the phone required even more concentration than face-to-face conversation.
His mother’s voice carried faintly through the speaker, too muffled to understand.
Anton’s gaze drifted toward you unexpectedly.
Then away again.
“Yes,” he whispered after another long silence. “I’m with someone.”
Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.
Whatever his mother said next made faint pink rise into his cheeks almost instantly.
“No,” he murmured quickly. “Not like that.”
You nearly inhaled your straw.
Anton looked absolutely horrified the second he realized you’d probably heard that.
His fingers tightened around the phone.
“No,” he repeated, quieter this time. “She’s my aide.”
The sentence shouldn’t have stung. It did anyway.
You hated yourself a little for that.
Another stretch of silence followed while Anton listened again, expression becoming more and more strained by the second. You could almost see the social exhaustion building in real time.
Then finally:
“I know.”
A beat.
“I’ll sleep.”
Another.
“Yes.”
And softer this time:
“Love you too.”
The call ended.
Anton immediately set the phone facedown against the table and exhaled through his nose like he’d been holding tension in his lungs the entire time.
You looked at him carefully. “You okay?”
He nodded automatically. Too quickly.
You didn’t call him out on it.
Instead, you stirred your drink quietly while Anton reorganized the paper sleeve strips again despite already arranging them perfectly. The café lights reflected softly against the silver rings on his fingers.
After a minute, he spoke without looking up.
“She asks if I’ve eaten every day.”
You smiled faintly. “Sounds like she knows you well.”
Anton’s expression shifted strangely.
“She remembers things even when I don’t tell her.”
The words lingered between you both.
Then, after another pause:
“You do that too.”
Your chest tightened so suddenly it almost hurt.
Before you could answer, Anton finally looked up fully enough that his eyes nearly met yours for half a second. It was the closest he’d gotten yet.
“She’ll think…” He stopped, visibly reorganizing the sentence mid-thought. “She’ll think you’re important.”
The café suddenly felt too warm again.
You stared at him across the table while he remained completely sincere, completely unaware of the effect he had when he spoke like this. He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t testing anything. Anton just said honest things before understanding the emotional consequences attached to them.
And somehow that made it worse.
“What do you think?” you asked quietly before you could stop yourself.
The second the question left your mouth, Anton went still.
Slowly, carefully, his attention fixed near your face again while the entire café blurred strangely around you.
Then, after what felt like forever, he answered in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I think…” He paused. “I noticed when you were gone.”
HEESEUNGㅤloves to kiss your neck because he knows the way he does it gets you worked up.
and his hobby— having you on his lap while you tell him about your day. he always pulls you onto him, mindlessly, habitually. with face innocently nuzzled in the crook of your neck because he missed you so much.
innocent until it isn’t; until his hands slip just a little under your top, until his lips start worshipping your neck with slow, sweet kisses.
your breath hitches and he indulges even more. “go on, angel. you know i love hearing you talk,”
your words start blending into nonsense and your boyfriend presses you against himself— he has you exactly how he wants.
JONGSEONGㅤif given the chance, would kiss you anywhere and everywhere, but your lips hold a special place in his heart— even more ever since you two got married.
“stay still,” you order, a tug at his tie as a warning. it is a ritual for you to do his tie every morning while he admires your pretty face.
and jay would never admit but he likes when you get a little bossy with him. “yes ma’am,”
but then his leans in for a kiss— quick and soft— with a proud grin on his face. “jay—” another kiss, you feel him smiling into it. “—let me do your tie—” and another, with his hands on your waist. “park jongseong!”
he kisses you yet again, this time for a little longer. “can’t help it, darling,”
“you’ll be late for work,”
“i’ll tell them i was busy kissing my beautiful wife,” and with that, his lips are over yours all over again.
JAEYUNㅤkisses your belly and thighs like it’s a ritual. don’t get it wrong, he would kiss your anywhere— there is no one favourite place, just a little preference.
your boyfriend has set his alarm for fifteen minutes earlier because he wants to wake up and smother you in kisses— all the way from your cheeks, lips, chest, then staying for a long, long time on your belly.
“gonna miss you, love,” his words everyday as he gets up for work, little complaints whispered against your skin amidst kisses that trail down to your thighs. “should i quit?”
and you laugh— he loves making you laugh the first thing in the morning. “don’t be silly, jake,”
“right,” he plants a chaste kiss to your inner thighs while his eyes stay fixed on yours. “gotta make sure i earn a lot so i can spoil you,”
SUNGHOONㅤkisses your wrist like a promise, like a confession, and like a warm hug from someone who’s entire world is you.
“rough day?” he senses it the second you walk in through the door, shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
you don’t even have to say it, he is already walking to you, helping you out of your coat, putting away your bag, making you comfortable on the couch.
he takes your hand in his ever so gently then kisses your palms, wrist— his lips linger there a few seconds longer— then the other hand before pulling you into a warm embrace.
“missed you,” just two words from you and you know he will stick to your side for the rest of the night.
SUNOOㅤloves smothering your face with kisses, wanting to drown you in love, but your cheeks have his heart.
“you’re—” his hands cup your face, a kiss planted to both your cheeks. “ —so—” and one more. “ —cute,”
you sigh, pointing at your laptop. “i need to finish this—”
“and pretty,” and he cuts you off efficiently with another kiss to your cheek. “time for a break,”
he has it all planned out: cup of nice tea or maybe your favourite snacks and lots of kisses peppered all over your face, especially your cheeks that he holds carefully in his hands like you’re something precious, because you are.
“you work so hard,” another kiss— forehead then cheek, again, while caressing the other with his thumb. and that’s how evenings are with your fiancé, kisses and praises.
JUNGWONㅤalways finds himself gravitating towards the nape of your neck like a moth to the flame.
like always, his hands snake around you from behind, lips immediately falling over the skin of your nape in a gentle kiss. “you smell so good. new perfume?”
a random question, really. he only wants an excuse to hold you for as long as he can. “yes, i got it a few days ago,”
you continue with your post shower routine and he continues to adore you with little kisses, moving down to your shoulders. “you should wear it more,”
and his lips move over your skin with practiced ease, knowing all the spots that make you shiver— you can feel him smirk when he gets a little sound out of you.
he continues with his little ministrations, hands getting a little risky, might have even left a little mark. “wonie!” and before you could complain further, he is already pulling you to bed.
NI-KIㅤmight be taller than you but his favourite thing is to get on his knees and kiss your waist like a ritual.
or pull you between his legs after a long day as he melts on the couch, losing himself with his face buried in your stomach and waist.
“gosh, you’re so amazing,” a soft, quiet praise falls off his lips— he can compliment you all day, all night. “can never get enough of you, baby,”
thread your fingers through his hair and he sighs ever so gently against your skin, lips mapping your skin inch by inch with feathery kisses of love.
when you pull back, he nudges further, nose pressed against your waist— he looks up at you with the cutest eyes. “five minutes more, please,”
synopsis: senior year isn’t magical for y/n—stuck between school, diner shifts, and her stepsisters’ teasing, she feels invisible to everyone except the anonymous boy she messages every night. at school, jake is the popular golden boy hiding behind expectations, only truly himself with the girl who signs off at 11:59. when they agree to meet at the winter formal, one perfect dance feels like fate—until y/n disappears before midnight, leaving jake searching for the girl who’s been right in front of him all along.
genre: romcom, fluff, angst
back to masterlist | next part
inspired by ‘a cinderella story’ (we cheered)
no plagiarizing pls | hate = blocked
reblog 4 a kiss ! ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎
contains: based in the 2000s, mild suggestive scenes (kissing, making out, skinship), cursing, adult jokes, jake is a YEARNER, reader has a bitchy stepmom + snarky stepsisters, sunoo as readers bff, basically all of enha mentioned (duh), mutual pining, angst, reader IS DOWNBAD for jake, highschool setting, mentions of character death, RAIN CONFESSIONS, happy ending !!
pt. 1 wc: 9.4k
now playing: kiss me - sixpence none the richer, transform - daniel caesar (ft. charlotte day wilson), she will be loved - maroon 5, hear you me - jimmy eat world, dance with me - bruno mars, raindance - dave (ft. tems), letter home - childish gambino, come back - the five stairsteps, every breath you take - the police, cinderella - mac miller (ft. ty dolla $ign), any yearner song tbh
𐬽 . ♡︎
You used to think your life was perfect.
Back then, it was just you and your dad.
He was a widower long before you were old enough to understand what that meant.
All you knew was that he wore his wedding ring on a chain around his neck and that he smiled at you like you were the only good thing left in the world.
He owned a diner—not fancy, not trendy, just warm.
The kind of place where the booths were cracked red leather and the bell above the door rang too loudly.
Business was booming. People loved him. They loved you too, mostly because you were always perched on a stool behind the counter, swinging your legs while he flipped pancakes like it was an Olympic sport.
He was your best friend.
Though you were never introduced to what younger girls liked then, you were still thriving and happy with what your dad could give.
He'd look at you like you hung the stars.
He’d wink at you and say, “One day, this place will be yours.”
And you believed him.
On your 8th birthday, everyone celebrated at your dad's diner, and you had a big cake in front of you.
"What's your wish, sugar?" Your dad asked as he lit the candles for your cake.
You didn't know what to wish for.
You were happy with everything that was in your life thus far.
But, the universe thought you could use one more person in your life.
So, Jiwon stepped into the picture.
She wore perfume that smelled expensive and smiled like she was practicing for something. At first, you thought she was nice. She brought you macarons and called you “sweetheart” in a voice that felt rehearsed.
But she didn’t like you.
She never did.
You noticed the way her jaw tightened when your dad laughed too hard at something you said. The way her hand lingered on his arm when customers complimented you instead of her.
She married him within months.
And with her came Haneul and Hera—identical twins with matching lip gloss and matching superiority complexes. They looked at you like you were gum stuck to the bottom of their designer sneakers.
Still—you tried.
You told yourself your dad deserved to be happy.
You told yourself you could handle it.
Until… the night of the fire.
The diner had burned faster than anyone expected. Electrical issue, they said. An accident.
Your dad ushered everyone out quickly, as firefighters fought to cool down the fire.
You were terrified—the diner your dad has always dreamed of building—was crumpling to the ground in front of you.
Your dad kneeled down to your small figure, and gave you a comforting hug.
"It's gonna be okay, sugar." He assures, "We'll fix this."
Then, a shriek came from inside the burning building.
"AGHHHH! Help me!" The voice screamed.
You knew that voice from anywhere—it was Jiwon.
Your dad snapped his head towards the shrill of her voice, and looked back at you with frightened eyes. "I have to go help her."
You cling to your dad, fisting his shirt. "No! Don't go, appa.."
He sighed, tucking a hair behind your ear. "Don't worry, I promise you I'll come back."
He hugged you again, one last time—
Then your dad went back inside, for her.
He saved Jiwon. She came out, terrified; Covered in ash and soot, clutching onto firefighters.
But he didn’t make it out.
You were grieving—you'd lost the only person who truly cared about you. You’d discovered that your father never actually wrote a will, so after that, the diner legally became Jiwon's.
And to her misfortune, so did you.
You don’t remember when exactly it shifted—when “helping out” became obligation.
Jiwon had stopped pretending. You became the one opening the diner at dawn. The one closing at midnight.
The one scrubbing grease from floors while Haneul and Hera got to enjoy their youth.
“You should be grateful,” Jiwon would say. “that I’m letting you stay here.”
Letting you stay. In your own damn house.
You balanced school and twelve-hour shifts like a circus act. Homework done behind the register. Studying during slow hours. Falling asleep with textbooks stuck to your cheek.
But you had a plan—Columbia University.
It was your dad's dream that you'd get in there.
You whispered that school like a spell. Like if you said it enough, it would pull you out of this house and into a life that belonged to you.
So, you made a promise to yourself—you would endure.
You would push through.
You would leave.
𐬽 . ♡︎
Riiing, riiing!
“Y/N!”
The voice slices through your dream.
You jolt upright, disoriented. Your cheek peels off a stack of wrinkled papers. You’re still at your desk. The old digital clock beside your bed glows 6:42 a.m. in green numbers.
Your neck aches. There’s an imprint of graph lines faintly pressed into your skin.
“Y/N!” Jiwon’s voice crackles through the house intercom system—a relic from the ‘90s she refuses to remove because she likes summoning people without moving.
“Get your ass up and make me my breakfast!”
You groan, rubbing your eyes.
Your bedroom still feels like the only space untouched by her. Posters of early 2000s pop stars taped slightly crooked.
A stack of standardized test prep books threatening to topple over. A corkboard with ‘Columbia University’ printed in bold at the center.
You stand slowly, joints stiff.
Downstairs, the house smells like cut grass and expensive perfume.
You move on autopilot.
Chop romaine. Toss it in a chilled bowl. Add shaved parmesan. Drizzle dressing in careful spirals. Caesar salad—because Jiwon insists carbs before noon are “uncivilized.”
You plate it precisely; Just how she liked it.
Outside, the morning sun is already harsh.
Jiwon sits beneath a large patio umbrella, oversized sunglasses covering half her face. She’s wearing a crisp white outfit that somehow never wrinkles.
In front of her, Haneul and Hera stand on the tennis court Jiwon had installed last year “for networking purposes.”
Their instructor, a patient man in his mid-thirties, feeds them balls with diminishing enthusiasm.
“Just return it gently,” he says.
Haneul swings—then misses entirely.
The ball bounces twice and rolls past her.
Hera snickers. “Maybe try using your eyes this time.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Haneul snaps, tossing another ball up dramatically.
She swings again. This time she connects. Unfortunately, the ball rockets directly into Hera’s face.
Thwack.
Hera freezes for half a second before shrieking. “Oh my God—? You hit me!”
“You moved!”
“I was standing still!”
The instructor closes his eyes like he’s reconsidering his life choices.
You bite your lip to keep from laughing.
Jiwon doesn’t look up until you clear your throat and hold out the bowl. “Finally,” she says coolly. “What the hell took so long?”
“Sorry,” you murmur.
She takes a delicate bite. “…At least you made it right.”
You nod faintly, clutching your backpack strap.
Her gaze shifts downward.
“And where,” she asks slowly, lowering her sunglasses just enough to peer at you, “do you think you’re going?”
“School..?” you reply carefully. “I have a math quiz first period.”
She lets out a short, humorless laugh.
“You should be at the diner. If you expect to afford college, you’ll need those paychecks.”
“I can go after school,” you try. “I just need to—”
“What is the point of going to school,” she interrupts sharply, “if you already have a job?”
The twins have stopped arguing and are now watching.
Heat creeps up your neck. “I need grades to get into university..”
“Uh—no, you need money,” Jiwon corrects.
Silence stretches thin.
Finally, you lower your gaze. “…I’ll go to the diner first.”
“Good,” she says, satisfied.
You turn toward the house—and immediately get blasted in the face by the automatic sprinkler system.
Cold water soaks through your hoodie in seconds. You gasp, stumbling forward as the rhythmic spray continues its merciless rotation.
Behind you, Haneul bursts into laughter.
You sprint toward the sprinkler system, trying to turn it off.
Then, Jiwon intervenes. “Y/N, no! Leave those sprinklers on, our grass looks too brown.”
“The grass is greener than green,” you reason. “HOA already told us we should conserve our water!”
“God, just leave it the hell on!” Jiwon snaps.
Giving up, you rush across the yard, dodging the next spray barely in time. Water drips from your hair into your eyes.
You shove the back door open and slip inside, slamming it shut behind you.
Silence.
You lean against the wood, breathing heavily.
Your clothes cling to you. Your backpack is damp. Your morning is already ruined.
You close your eyes.
'Just one more year of this,' you thought to yourself.
Then you'd be gone.
You’d disappear far from this life your father had left you with.
You straighten up, grab your keys from the hook, and head out the front door toward the diner that was supposed to be yours.
And you decide—no matter how long it takes—one day, it will be.
𐬽 . ♡︎
The morning air still held that early chill when you pulled into the gravel lot behind the diner. The sky was a dull gray-blue, the kind that meant the sun hadn’t fully decided to wake up yet. The neon OPEN sign in the front window buzzed faintly, flickering in a way that made the place look older than it already was.
Your dad’s diner.
The place you practically grew up in.
And lately, the place you couldn’t escape.
You barely let the engine die before you were grabbing your apron from the passenger seat. The fabric was wrinkled from being crumpled into a ball, smelling faintly like fryer oil and syrup no matter how many times you washed it.
You shoved the apron over your head while stepping out of the car, the cold air brushing your cheeks as you hurried toward the back door.
The back door creaked when you pushed it open, the familiar smell of coffee, grease, and maple syrup immediately filling your nose. The diner was already awake. Plates clinked. Someone laughed loudly from one of the booths. The low hum of an old jukebox played something soft and scratchy from the corner.
“Morning.”
You looked up to see Soobin leaning against the counter, a rag slung lazily over his shoulder.
His hair was still messy, like he’d rushed out of bed just as fast as you had.
He looked at you with that half-knowing smile he always had whenever you showed up way earlier than any normal high school student should be working.
“You look like you ran here,” he added.
You sighed, tying the apron strings around your waist. “Feels like it.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying you.
“Let me guess,” he said, dragging the rag across the counter in slow circles. “Jiwon forced you to come in today?”
You didn’t even try to hide the tired sigh that escaped your chest. “Yeah.”
Soobin clicked his tongue softly. “Figures.”
You shrugged like it didn’t bother you, even though the tight feeling in your chest said otherwise.
“She said the morning shift needed help,” you muttered. “Apparently the diner will collapse if I’m not here.”
Soobin snorted quietly.
“ ‘m pretty sure the diner survived a lot of stuff before you were old enough to reach the counter.”
You huffed out a small laugh, though it barely held any real amusement.
From the dining area, a customer waved their hand impatiently.
“Coffee!” they called.
Soobin raised an eyebrow. “Duty calls.”
You nodded and slipped past him, heading toward the EMPLOYEES ONLY door behind the kitchen.
The hallway back there was narrow, with faded linoleum floors and a flickering fluorescent light overhead. Lockers lined one side of the wall, dented and scratched from years of use. You had one too, even though half the time you didn’t bother putting anything in it.
You leaned against the wall for a moment, breathing out slowly.
School starts in an hour.
Yet, you were here—again.
It was funny, really.
How you were able to manage excessive amounts of work shifts while balancing your education on top of it.
You were smart, infuriatingly smart.
And maybe that's why Jiwon refused to let you reach your academic potential.
Then, a beeping sound from your cellphone pulled you from your thoughts.
You pulled your phone out.
The small screen glowed softly in the dim morning light.
1 New Message.
But it wasn’t a normal text notification.
It was from the messaging site you used with your pen pal.
Your thumb tapped the notification.
The chat opened immediately.
At the top of the screen was the username you’d come to recognize over the past few months.
soccerlverr1115.
You didn’t know his real name.
You didn’t know where exactly he lived.
But what you did know was that he went to your school.
You also knew small things he’d mentioned in passing—like how he liked soccer, how he stayed up way too late, and how he somehow always managed to text at the exact moments you needed a distraction.
A new message appeared.
soccerlverr1115:
hey
are u awake or is this way too early
You leaned against the side of one of the lockers, a small smile tugging at your lips as you typed back.
stargirl_0327:
im awake
unfortunately :P
The typing dots popped up almost immediately.
soccerlverr1115:
unfortunately ?
You glanced toward your untouched roller skates.
stargirl_0327:
ya
got work before school
A pause.
Then—
soccerlverr1115:
damn
that sounds terrible
You huffed quietly, leaning your head back against the locker.
stargirl_0327:
u have no idea
A few seconds passed before another message appeared.
soccerlverr1115:
do u at least get free pancakes
You stared at the screen for a second before typing.
stargirl_0327:
only when no one's looking lol
soccerlverr1115:
id say it's worth it then ;)
im definitely gonna be late again today
You snorted quietly.
stargirl_0327:
im always late
soccerlverr1115:
yeah ive noticed
You blinked.
Your fingers paused over the keyboard.
stargirl_0327:
noticed?
The typing dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
soccerlverr1115:
i mean like u always say ur late a lot
You smirked slightly.
Sure.
stargirl_0327:
right
Another message popped up.
soccerlverr1115:
what class do u have first today ?
stargirl_0327:
calculus
A few seconds passed.
soccerlverr1115:
lol good luck surviving that
You laughed quietly under your breath.
stargirl_0327:
i need more luck surviving my shift first TT
Your phone buzzed again.
soccerlverr1115:
try not to fall asleep in class stargirl
You rolled your eyes fondly.
stargirl_0327:
no promises
There was a pause.
Then one last message appeared.
soccerlverr1115:
see u at school :)
Your fingers hovered over the keypad for a second.
You still didn’t know what he looked like.
Or where he sat at lunch.
Or what classes he actually had.
But the idea that he could be somewhere in the same building as you every day made something in your chest feel weirdly warm.
You typed back.
stargirl_0327:
see you at school soccer boy
You slipped your phone back in your bag, and pulled out the pair of white roller skates sitting inside your locker.
They were part of the uniform. Jiwon's idea. It made the diner seem "fun."
You sat on the small bench and swapped your sneakers for the skates, tightening the laces quickly. The wheels clacked softly when they touched the floor.
You rolled your shoulders once.
Then stood.
When you pushed through the door back into the diner, the noise swallowed you immediately.
The diner looked exactly like it always did. Red vinyl booths. Chrome-edged tables. The long counter lined with spinning stools. The windows fogged faintly from the warmth inside.
It almost felt comforting.
Almost.
You grabbed a small notepad from the counter and skated toward the first table.
“Morning,” you said softly.
The couple sitting there smiled politely.
“Can we get two coffees and the pancake special?” the woman asked.
“Mhm, ‘f course.”
Your pen scribbled quickly across the page.
You dropped the order in the kitchen window before gliding toward another booth.
Coffee refills, wiping tables, taking orders.
The wheels of your skates rolled smoothly across the floor as you moved around the diner like you’d done a thousand times before.
Because you had.
Time blurred together the way it always did during morning rush.
Plates stacked.
Orders shouted.
The coffee machine hissed loudly.
You wiped down another table, pushing damp strands of hair away from your face.
A glance at the wall clock made your stomach twist.
School started soon.
You should already be on your way.
But instead—
“Why are you here?”
The voice made you look up.
Giselle stood near the counter with her hands on her hips.
She looked half-annoyed, half-concerned, her dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Unlike most people in the diner, she didn’t look half asleep.
She looked like she’d already figured out exactly what was going on.
Your heart sank slightly.
“Working?” you said weakly.
Giselle’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
You looked down at the rag in your hands, wiping the same clean spot on the table again.
“School starts soon for you,” she added.
“I know.”
“Then why,” she continued slowly, “are you still in the diner?”
You hesitated.
Because the answer wasn’t complicated.
“Jiwon said I had to come in,” you muttered.
Giselle scoffed immediately. “Of course she did. Y/N, your dad wouldn’t want you skipping school for that bimbo.”
You opened your mouth to argue but didn’t have anything strong enough to say.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
Giselle crossed her arms, watching you carefully.
“You’re going to be late.”
You forced a small shrug.
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.”
Her voice softened slightly, though the seriousness stayed.
“You’ve already missed too many mornings.”
You looked away toward the kitchen window where cooks were shouting orders back and forth.
“I’ll catch up.”
“That’s not the point, Y/N.”
You didn’t respond.
The rag in your hand twisted between your fingers.
The words hung between you.
You hated how right she sounded.
Your eyes drifted back to the clock. Thirty-five minutes.
Maybe you could still make it if you left now.
But the thought of Jiwon’s reaction made your chest tighten.
“I can’t just leave,” you said quietly.
Giselle’s eyebrows raised. “Why not?”
“Because Jiwon will lose her shit.”
The words came out more honest than you intended.
For a moment, Giselle just stared at you.
Then she shook her head.
“She doesn’t get to decide whether you go to school.”
“She kinda does,” you muttered.
“No,” Her voice was firm now. “She doesn’t.”
You didn’t argue again.
Because arguing meant admitting things you didn’t want to say out loud.
Giselle stepped closer, lowering her voice slightly.
“Listen to me.”
You finally looked up.
“You are not staying here all morning because Jiwon thinks you’re free labor.”
Your grip on the rag tightened. “It’s not like that.”
“Yes it is.”
You didn’t respond. Giselle sighed again, softer this time.
She reached out and flicked your forehead lightly. “You’re seventeen,” she said. “Your biggest problem right now should be math homework! Not diner shifts.”
A small laugh escaped you despite yourself. “I hate math.”
“I know.”
She smirked. “But at least it’s better than dealing with Jiwon.”
You couldn’t even argue with that.
Giselle nodded toward the door. “Go.”
You blinked. “…What?”
“Go to school.”
“I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can.”
You glanced around the diner nervously. “What if Jiwon finds out?”
Giselle rolled her eyes. “Tch, I’ll handle her! She doesn't have anything on me.”
“You don’t know how she gets, Giselle.”
“I know exactly how she gets.” She leaned against the counter casually. “And I still don’t care.”
Your heart beat a little faster. “You’ll get in trouble.”
Giselle shrugged. “She can't afford to fire me anyway.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
She grinned.“It should be.”
You hesitated. Your mind ran through every possible outcome, Jiwon yelling, calling you useless.
But Giselle’s voice cut through the noise. “You shouldn’t skip school,” she said softly.
Her expression wasn’t joking anymore. “Least of all for her.”
The words landed heavily.
Because she wasn’t just talking about today.
She meant every morning like this.
Every time you showed up when you should’ve been somewhere else.
Your chest felt tight.
“You deserve better than this,” Giselle added quietly.
You swallowed.
The diner noise hummed around you again.
The clock ticked. Thirty minutes now.
Giselle nudged your shoulder lightly.
“Go grab your bag.”
You hesitated one more second.
Then slowly—
You nodded.
“Okay.”
Her grin returned instantly. “Good.”
You started rolling toward the back hallway again.
“And hurry!” she called after you. “School waits for no one.”
You laughed softly under your breath.
For the first time that morning, the tight knot in your chest loosened a little.
𐬽 . ♡︎
The morning had brightened a little by the time you pulled onto Sunoo’s street.
Rows of nearly identical suburban houses stretched along the block, their lawns still damp from the early sprinklers. The sky had shifted from pale gray to a soft blue, sunlight finally starting to spill over rooftops.
Your car hummed quietly as you slowed in front of the Kim family house, tires crunching lightly over the curbside gravel.
Right on cue, you spotted Mr. Kim in the driveway.
He stood beside a shiny black car, carefully wiping the hood with a microfiber cloth like it was some kind of priceless artifact. The car practically reflected the entire neighborhood in its polished surface.
You leaned slightly out of the open window.
“Morning, Mr. Kim!”
He looked up immediately, his face breaking into a warm smile when he saw you.
“Well, good morning, Y/N.”
He straightened up, tossing the cloth over his shoulder as he walked a little closer to the curb.
“Sunoo will be out in a minute,” he said. “I was just about to call him.”
You nodded.
“Take your time. We’re only a little late.”
Mr. Kim laughed under his breath.
“Just a little?”
You gave him a guilty smile.
“Okay, maybe more than a little.”
He turned toward the house and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“SUNOO!”
His voice echoed across the quiet street.
“YOUR RIDE IS HERE!”
You leaned back against the driver’s seat, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel while you waited.
A few seconds passed.
Then the front door swung open dramatically.
And there he was.
Sunoo.
He stepped outside like he had absolutely nowhere urgent to be, one hand adjusting his jacket while the other ran through his hair. His expression was relaxed—far too relaxed for someone who was about to be late for school.
You scoffed quietly to yourself. “Unbelievable.”
Sunoo walked down the driveway with a lazy sort of confidence, like the entire morning existed purely for his convenience.
You couldn’t help chuckling under your breath.
“Look at him,” you muttered.
When he reached the driveway, Sunoo flashed you a bright smile.
“Hey, Y/Nniee!”
But before you could answer, he turned dramatically toward his dad.
“Seriously, though,” he said. “Why do I still have to get picked up by her?”
He gestured toward your car with one hand before adding quickly—
“No offense.”
You gasped in mock offense. “Wow.”
Mr. Kim crossed his arms, unimpressed.
Sunoo tilted his head at him. “Do you even feel remotely bad?”
His dad didn’t even hesitate.
“I feel bad,” Mr. Kim said calmly, “for the four cars I’ve bought you that you managed to total.”
You burst into laughter.
Sunoo groaned loudly. “That was a one time thing!”
“Four,” his dad corrected.
“Okay, but—”
You leaned over and honked the horn.
The sound cut him off mid-sentence.
“Sunoo!” you called. “Hurry up and get your ass in here!”
He turned back toward you slowly, rolling his eyes like you were the most dramatic person alive.
“Relax,” he muttered.
But he waved goodbye to his dad anyway. “Bye, Dad.”
Mr. Kim gave you a small wave.
“Drive safe, Y/N.”
“Always do, sir,” you replied with a smile.
Sunoo finally walked over and opened the passenger door, dropping into the seat with an exaggerated sigh.
The door shut with a solid thud.
“Someone’s impatient this morning,” he said.
“You walk like you’ve got all the time in the world,” you shot back, pulling away from the curb.
Sunoo leaned back in the seat, glancing sideways at you.
He only needed one look.
Just one quick glance at your face.
The faint shadows under your eyes.
The slight slump in your shoulders.
The way your grip tightened around the steering wheel for a second.
Sunoo sighed softly. “Did Jiwon make you work today?”
You nodded once, letting out a tired breath. “Yeah.”
He leaned his head back against the seat. “I knew it.”
The car rolled smoothly down the quiet neighborhood street as you turned toward the main road.
For a few moments, neither of you spoke.
Sunoo stared out the window, watching the houses blur past.
His jaw tightened slightly.
“You can’t keep doing that,” he said finally.
You raised an eyebrow.
“Doing what?”
“Letting her push you around.” He firmly told you.
You gave a small shrug. “It’s not that big of a deal, Sun.”
Sunoo turned toward you immediately. “Yes, it is.”
His tone wasn’t angry—just worried.
“You’re working before school, after school, sometimes weekends too,” he continued. “That’s not normal at all.”
You kept your eyes on the road. “I’m fine.”
“You’re definitely exhausted.”
“I’ve been more tired.”
“That’s not very comforting,”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “You sound like Giselle.”
“Good,” Sunoo said. “Somebody has to.”
You slowed at a stoplight, tapping your fingers lightly against the steering wheel.
Sunoo watched you carefully. “You should do something about Jiwon.”
You glanced at him briefly. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Refuse to go in. Something.”
You shook your head.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
The light turned green.
You pressed the gas again.
“Because,” you said quietly, “she’s the only reason I can attend Columbia.”
Sunoo blinked. “What?”
You shrugged slightly.
“Jiwon told me her friend works in admissions connections. She promised she’d help me get in if I kept working at the diner.”
Sunoo stared at you like you’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah.”
He let out an incredulous laugh. “So you’re letting her boss you around because of a maybe?”
“It’s not a maybe.”
“Y/N—”
“She already helped me with recommendations,” you insisted.
Sunoo ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s still not fair to you.”
You glanced at him again, softer this time. “My life isn’t that miserable, Sunoo.”
He frowned slightly. “I didn’t say it was.”
“I know,” you said. “But you look like you think it is.”
The car turned into the road leading toward the school.
Students were already walking toward the building in small groups, backpacks slung over their shoulders.
Sunoo sighed. “I just worry about you.”
You smiled faintly. “I know.”
“And you hate when I do.”
“Not hate.”
“Strongly dislike.”
You laughed quietly. “Something like that.”
He studied your face again. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah, of course."
He didn’t look entirely convinced. But he let it go—for now.
The school parking lot came into view ahead of you.
Sunoo leaned back in his seat.
“Still,” he muttered.
“What?” You glanced at him.
“If Jiwon ever pushes you too far…” He paused. “…you’re telling me.”
You smirked slightly. “What are you gonna do?”
He shrugged casually. “Commit a minor crime.”
You burst into laughter. “Sunoo!”
“I’m serious!”
“Please don’t commit crimes for me.”
“No promises.”
You shook your head, still smiling as you pulled into the parking lot.
Despite everything—
Mornings felt a little easier with him around.
𐬽 . ♡︎
You and Sunoo practically run through the school gates.
The morning bell hasn’t rung yet, but it’s close enough that the hallways are already packed with students shoving books into lockers and rushing to their first classes. Your car ride had cut it dangerously close, and the two of you had bolted across the parking lot the second you arrived.
Sunoo jogs beside you, still catching his breath.
“Why,” he pants dramatically, “do mornings like these exist?”
You snort. “You’re the one who took ten years to walk to the car.”
“That was confidence,” he argues. “I know how to walk with a purpose.”
“You walk like you’re in a fashion show.”
Sunoo scoffs loudly. “Please. If I were in a fashion show, people would actually appreciate it.”
You laugh as the two of you turn down the hallway where your lockers are. Students crowd the corridor, voices overlapping into a loud buzz of conversation.
Sunoo groans beside you. “I seriously cannot deal with biology first period today.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong with biology?”
“Everything,” he says immediately. “The frogs, the diagrams, the fact that my teacher enjoys suffering.”
You chuckle, pushing past a group of freshmen. “At least you don’t have calculus first thing in the morning.”
Sunoo gasps dramatically. “Oh my god, you’re right.”
He puts a hand over his heart. “I take back my complaints.”
“You should.”
“Thoughts and prayers go out to you.”
You roll your eyes, smiling faintly as you walk.
But before you reach your lockers—
“Hey!”
A voice cuts through the hallway noise.
You already know what’s coming.
A group of boys strolls past you and Sunoo, their backpacks slung lazily over their shoulders. One of them grins when he notices you.
“Well, if it isn’t the diner girl.”
Your shoulders tense slightly.
Another boy nudges his friend.
“Yo, when are we getting that burger discount?”
“Yeah,” the first one adds. “You work there, right?”
Sunoo’s entire expression changes instantly.
His friendly morning mood disappears.
He steps slightly in front of you, glaring at them.
“Why don’t you back your fatasses up,” Sunoo snaps, “and take your business somewhere else?”
The boys blink.
One of them scoffs. “Relax, dude. It’s a joke.”
“Oh, well then it wasn’t funny. Get better jokes,” Sunoo shoots back.
They mutter something under their breath but keep walking down the hallway, clearly deciding it’s not worth the argument.
Sunoo rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t fall out. “God, they’re so fucking annoying.”
You shrug lightly. “I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“They weren’t being that bad.”
Sunoo stops walking for a second and looks at you like you’ve just said something ridiculous.
“Y/N.”
You glance at him. “Yes?”
“It’s ridiculous that the only reason people talk to you is to tease you about where you work.”
You smile faintly.
“They’re not the only ones who talk to me.”
He sighs.
“You know what I mean.”
You do.
But you still shrug again. “It’s fine, really.”
Sunoo doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go as the two of you finally reach your lockers.
You spin the dial and pull the door open with a metallic clang.
Sunoo leans against the locker beside yours while you start digging through your bag.
“Alright,” he mutters. “Mentally preparing myself for frog dissection.”
You laugh quietly as you reach for your math book.
But when you look up—
You freeze.
Across the hallway, standing by the lockers opposite yours—
Jake.
Your school's soccer captain.
Your school's golden boy.
He’s leaning against a locker while talking to Heeseung, one of his closest friends. His soccer jacket hangs loosely over his shoulders, and his hair still looks slightly messy, like he didn’t bother fixing it this morning.
Heeseung is saying something animatedly, but Jake doesn’t look very interested.
In fact—
He looks… tired.
Or bored.
Or maybe both.
Like he doesn’t really want to be standing there.
Next to him is Hyeji.
His on-and-off girlfriend.
She’s clinging to his arm like it belongs to her, laughing loudly at something her friends are saying.
Her friends, Mina and Yeseo, stand beside her, whispering and giggling.
Sunoo follows your line of sight and groans quietly. “Ugh.”
You blink, pulling your math book from your locker.
“What?”
Sunoo crosses his arms. “Hyeji.”
He glares across the hallway.
“She’s the worst.”
You glance at him. “I thought you didn’t have a class with her.”
“She’s in my biology class.”
Sunoo’s tone is full of disgust. “And her and her little minions just love terrorizing people.”
You nod absentmindedly.
But you’re barely listening.
Because your eyes keep drifting back to Jake.
Heeseung is still talking.
Jake nods occasionally, but he doesn’t look engaged.
Hyeji laughs again, tightening her grip on his arm.
You notice the way Jake glances down the hallway like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Like he’s searching for an exit.
For a split second—
His eyes almost look tired.
Then suddenly—
Yeseo notices you.
And you don't realize.
Her gaze sharpens slightly.
She leans closer to Hyeji and whispers something into her ear.
Hyeji’s head turns immediately, and her eyes land on you.
Your stomach drops.
“Oh,” Hyeji says loudly. “Look who’s staring.”
The hallway noise seems to quiet around you.
Your body stiffens.
Hyeji smirks. “Are you stalking my boyfriend or something?”
Your eyes widen slightly. “I wasn’t—”
“Mind your own business next time,” Hyeji cuts in sharply.
You suddenly become painfully aware of how many people have stopped to watch.
Students glance over.
Whispers ripple through the hallway.
Your face heats up.
And then—you notice Jake.
He’s staring at you now.
His expression isn’t annoyed. It’s… shocked.
Almost like he didn’t expect this.
And worse—he looks like he feels bad.
Your voice comes out quieter than you want. “I wasn’t staring.”
A few people nearby laugh.
Mina snickers. “Sure you weren’t.”
Hyeji tilts her head mockingly. “Don’t you have pancakes to serve or something?”
Your stomach twists.
Before you can say anything—
Sunoo steps forward.
“Hyeji,” he says coldly. “You don’t need to be a bitch about it.”
The hallway goes silent.
Hyeji stares at him like she can’t believe what she just heard.
Sunoo crosses his arms. “And the only person who should be minding her business is you.”
Hyeji’s jaw tightens.
She glares at both of you.
Then she grabs Jake’s arm and yanks it slightly. “Come on.”
“Let’s go.” She gestures to Mina and Yeseo.
The three girls walk down the hallway, dragging Jake with them.
He glances back for half a second.
Then he’s gone.
Sunoo scoffs loudly.
“Unbelievable.” He shakes his head.
“Those girls are the last people who should be picking on anyone.”
You stare down at the math book in your hands.
Trying to ignore the way your heart is still racing.
And the way Jake looked at you before he walked away.
𐬽 . ♡︎
The bell rings the second you step out of calculus.
It’s loud and jarring, cutting straight through the quiet concentration of the classroom and spilling you back into reality. The hallway outside is already crowded—students pouring out of rooms, voices overlapping, lockers slamming shut, footsteps echoing against the tile floors.
You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, exhaling slowly.
Your head still feels heavy from numbers and formulas, your brain lagging behind like it’s still stuck halfway through the last problem you didn’t understand.
“Survived?”
The voice pulls you out of it.
You look up.
Sunoo is leaning against the row of lockers across from your classroom, like he’s been there for a while. One foot is propped casually against the metal, and he’s holding something bright orange in his hand, folded in half.
He looks way too put together for someone who claimed he was going to suffer through biology an hour ago.
You walk over, raising an eyebrow.
“Barely,” you admit, letting out a tired breath. “I think I just failed at least three different concepts at once.”
Sunoo winces sympathetically. “Yeah… that sounds about right for calculus.”
He pushes himself off the lockers and straightens up, holding out the folded paper toward you. “Here.”
You take it, glancing down at it.
“What is this?”
“Just look.”
You unfold it slowly.
The paper crinkles softly between your fingers, and your eyes scan the bold, decorated lettering across the top.
HALLOWEEN HOMECOMING FORMAL
THIS SATURDAY NIGHT
The design is over-the-top in that very high school way—fake spiderwebs printed in the corners, glittery font, a cartoonish black cat arched across the bottom. Someone clearly put a lot of effort into making it look festive.
You stare at it for a second. “…Oh.”
Sunoo watches your face carefully, like he’s trying to read your reaction before you even say anything.
“So,” he says, dragging the word out. “We’re going, right?”
You glance up at him, then back down at the date.
This Saturday.
Your stomach tightens slightly.
You already know what that probably means.
A late shift. Maybe closing. Jiwon hovering nearby, making sure you don’t leave early.
You fold the paper again, handing it back to him with a small shrug.
“I don’t know Sun,” you say quietly. “Jiwon might make me work that night.”
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh and rolls his eyes, pushing himself off the lockers again. “Jiwon can suck it up and find someone else.”
You let out a small breath. “You know it’s not that easy—”
“Yes, it is,” he cuts in. “There are literally, what, ten other people working there?”
“Eight,” you mumble.
“Exactly,” he says quickly. “Eight other people. The diner will survive if you’re gone for one night.”
You glance down at the floor for a second. “I just… don’t really do things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Big events,” you say. “Dances. Formals. Whatever this is.”
Sunoo looks at you for a long second.
Then his expression softens.
Not dramatically—just enough that you notice.
“Y/N,” he says.
You already know where this is going.
“No.”
“Y/N,” he repeats, this time more drawn out, almost pleading.
“Sunoo—”
“This is our last year,” he cuts in.
You pause.
The hallway noise continues around you, but his words settle heavier than everything else.
“Our last year of high school,” he adds, quieter now. “And you’ve spent most of it working, or hiding.”
You don’t respond right away.
Because he’s not wrong.
Sunoo nudges your arm gently.
“I just…” he hesitates for a second, then continues, “I want to see you have fun. Like actually have fun. Not just survive another day.”
Your chest tightens a little.
You look at him.
He’s not joking this time.
Not being dramatic.
Just… honest.
He clears his throat slightly, shifting back into a lighter tone.
“We could go together,” he adds quickly. “As friends.”
You blink. “Together?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You and me. Completely normal. Totally not weird.”
You narrow your eyes at him slightly. “…Right.”
He nods. “Exactly.”
You study him for a moment.
Then a small, knowing smile starts to form.
“You just want me to go with you because you ran for homecoming king and you don’t have anyone to go with.”
Sunoo pauses.
Then, without hesitation—
“Yeah, I guess that too.”
You let out a quiet laugh. “At least you’re honest.”
“I try.”
Before you can say anything else, he suddenly grabs your arm, shaking it lightly.
“Please, Y/N,” he says, his voice slipping back into full dramatics. “I’m begging you.”
You try to pull your arm back, but he just holds on tighter.
“Sunoo—”
“Please.”
“Sunoo.”
“Pleaseeeee!!”
You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. “God, you’re so annoying.”
“And yet,” he says proudly, “I’m still your favorite person.”
You roll your eyes.
He leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to say something important.
“You might even see your online friend there.”
Your smile falters, just a little.
You glance at him. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” he shrugs. “You go to the same school. Big event. It’s not impossible.”
You shake your head. “You watch too many romance movies.”
“And you don’t watch enough.”
You hesitate.
Just for a second.
Then you sigh softly. “…I’ll try to go.”
Sunoo freezes.
Then his entire face lights up. “Wait—seriously?”
“I said I’ll try,” you repeat.
“That’s basically a yes.”
“It’s not—”
“It is to me.”
You shake your head, but there’s a small smile still lingering on your lips.
And then—your phone beeps.
The sound is small, almost lost in the noise of the hallway.
But you recognize it instantly.
And funny enough, so does Sunoo.
He raises an eyebrow slowly. “…Was that him just now?”
You try to keep your expression neutral. “Was what him?”
“Your online friend,” he says. “The one you literally never stop texting.”
You sigh, but you can’t stop the slight smile that slips through as you reach into your pocket. “Maybe.”
You pull your phone out and glance down at the screen.
soccerlverr1115:
did u survive first period
Something about it—
So simple, so casual—
It still makes your chest feel a little lighter.
“Yeah,” you admit quietly.
Sunoo groans. “You’re smiling at your phone again. This is so cheesy, I can’t deal with this.”
You ignore him, your thumbs already moving across the keypad.
The bell rings again, signaling the next period.
Students start moving faster now, brushing past you as they rush to class.
Sunoo sighs, stepping back.
“Alright,” he mutters. “Time for me to go suffer.”
You glance up.
“Bye Sunoo,”
“Have fun with 'soccer lover'.”
He starts walking backward down the hallway, pointing at you.
“And don’t forget—you’re coming to the formal.”
“I said I’ll try!”
“That literally means yes!”
You shake your head as he disappears into the crowd.
Then you look back down at your phone.
Your fingers hover for a second before typing.
stargirl_0327:
yep, barely survived
You hit send and start walking toward your next class, slipping your phone back into your pocket.
But the small smile stays.
And for once—
The day doesn’t feel quite as heavy.
𐬽 . ♡︎
Jake hated working at the car wash after school.
It wasn’t the kind of hatred that made him miserable or dramatic about it. He wasn’t waking up every morning dreading his life or anything. He’d just spent so many years there that the place had started to feel like an extension of himself, and not in a good way.
Everything about it followed him around constantly. The smell of soap and wet pavement stuck to his hoodies no matter how many times they were washed. His hands were always dry from chemicals and hot water. Even at school, he sometimes caught himself smelling tire shine on his sleeves during class.
And the worst part was how his dad talked about the place.
Every single time Jake complained, even jokingly, his dad would clap him on the shoulder and say the exact same thing.
“Well son, one day this place is gonna be yours.”
But honestly, the idea made him feel trapped more than anything else.
Jake didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life yet, but he knew it definitely wasn’t this. He couldn’t imagine himself spending the rest of his life standing in a parking lot holding a clipboard while customers complained about water spots on their windows.
Still, arguing with his dad about it never got him anywhere.
So instead, Jake showed up after school every day and did the job.
The car wash was packed that afternoon. Cars wrapped around the lot in a long line, engines rumbling while employees hurried between lanes with towels thrown over their shoulders. Water sprayed continuously in the background, and the pavement reflected the late afternoon sunlight so brightly that Jake had to squint every few seconds.
Some old song played faintly from the garage radio while one of the younger workers struggled to vacuum out the backseat of a minivan.
Jake had barely finished helping with an SUV when his dad’s voice suddenly echoed across the lot.
“JAKE!”
Jake looked over immediately. “Yeah?”
“Take lane three!”
Jake let out a quiet sigh and grabbed the clipboard sitting nearby before making his way across the lot.
The second he reached lane three, he recognized the car. It was old, slightly dented near the bumper, and looked like it had survived years entirely out of stubbornness.
Jake blinked once. Was that...?
The driver-side door opened, and there you were.
Jake froze for half a second.
He recognized you immediately from school earlier that day. The image of you standing awkwardly by your locker while Hyeji embarrassed you in front of everyone had been replaying in his head for hours, no matter how much he tried to focus on something else.
And now you were here, at his car wash.
Jake suddenly became very aware of himself.
You stepped out of the car, adjusting your bag on your shoulder before looking over at him. The sunlight caught the side of your face softly, and Jake hated how quickly he noticed little things about you.
The way your hair moved in the breeze.
The tired look in your eyes, and the fact that you somehow looked prettier outside of school than you did in it.
Not intimidating pretty, not polished or perfect in the way girls like Hyeji looked. You looked real. Like the kind of person people naturally felt comfortable around.
Jake realized he’d been staring when you greeted him.
“Hey.” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts immediately.
Jake straightened up so quickly it was kind of embarrassing. “Oh— uh, hi.”
Real smooth, Jake.
You gave him a polite smile, though it looked a little cautious around the edges. Jake couldn’t blame you for that. As far as you knew, he was just the guy who stood there silently like an idiot while his girlfriend berated you in front of everyone.
The guilt hit him all over again.
He cleared his throat quickly and looked down at the clipboard in his hands. “So,” he said, trying to sound normal, “what seems to be the issue?”
You leaned lightly against the side of your car. “Uh, the engine's making this weird sound,” you explained. “And my brakes squeak sometimes.”
Jake nodded. “Okay. Got it.”
He crouched near the hood and started checking the car over while trying very hard not to seem awkward.
But it was pretty difficult. Because every time he looked up, you were standing there quietly watching him, and for some reason that made him nervous.
Jake opened the hood and inspected the engine carefully.
The car did need work.
Not terrible work, though.
Just enough to show it had been pushed a little too hard for a little too long.
Jake straightened up again after a moment and flipped through the checklist attached to his clipboard.
“You also need a wax...” he said absentmindedly while writing notes down.
Silence. Then, Jake looked up.
You were staring at him with your eyebrows furrowed. “…Excuse me?”
Realizing what he'd said, Jake’s stomach dropped instantly.
His eyes widened. “Oh—no,” he said quickly, nearly dropping the clipboard. “I meant the car. The car needs a wax.”
You blinked at him for a second before sighing dramatically. “Oh.”
Jake wanted the ground to open up beneath him.
You crossed your arms loosely. “Okay fine,” you shrugged. “Whatever.”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly while trying not to die from embarrassment.
Why would he phrase it like that?
He quickly finished writing down the services your car needed before tearing the paper off the clipboard and handing it to you.
“If you take this to the front desk inside,” he explained, “they’ll handle everything from there.”
You took the paper from him carefully. “Thanks.”
Your answer was polite, but short.
Jake couldn’t tell if you disliked him or if you were just naturally guarded around people.
Before he could think too much about it, loud honking suddenly echoed through the lot.
Not angry honking, melodic honking. Like somebody was intentionally trying to play a tune with their car horn.
Jake closed his eyes immediately, he already knew.
Two filthy cars pulled into the lot at the same time, covered in enough dirt and mud to look like they’d driven through a swamp.
Jake stared blankly as both car doors flew open.
“HIIII JAKE!”
“JAKEYYYYY!”
Haneul and Hera practically sprinted toward him.
“Jake, look!” Haneul said proudly while pointing toward her disgusting car. “It’s dirty!”
“We need a car wash,” Hera added dramatically. “Pleeeeaaassseeee?”
The two girls started bouncing excitedly in front of him like children asking for candy.
Jake blinked once. “…Did you guys drive through a natural disaster?”
Haneul gasped.
"Jake," Hera said laughing, “That is soo rude.”
Then both girls noticed you standing nearby.
Watching them silently, and judging them very openly.
Haneul narrowed her eyes immediately. “Don’t you have someplace else to be, y/n?”
Hera laughed beside her. “Yeah,” she added. “Our mom is looking for you.”
You looked completely unimpressed as you stepped away from your car, still holding the paper slip Jake gave you. “Gotta get the car waxed,” you said flatly.
Meanwhile, you glanced between the girls and their cars. “Who did you two hire to make your cars that dirty?”
Jake let out a laugh before he could stop himself.
Haneul put a hand dramatically over her chest. “What are you,” she asked, “the car police?”
Hera laughed loudly before trying to add onto the joke. “Yeah, because if she is then… uh…”
She paused awkwardly. “You’re under arrest?”
Silence. Nobody laughed. Jake had been looking around in awkwardness.
Hera looked around uncertainly while Haneul slowly turned toward her. “You just ruined the joke.”
“I got nervous!”
Jake shook his head, laughing quietly to himself.
"Why does Jiwon need me?" You say, breaking the silence.
Haneul simply glared at you.
"Something about the diner," Hera responds and points out, "don't just stand there! Get going."
You roll your eyes in finality, and walk towards the car wash reception.
Then Haneul suddenly turned back toward him with exaggerated doe eyes. “So,” she said sweetly, “Jakey.”
Jake already knew he was about to regret whatever came next.
“Give us a car wash?”
She blinked at him dramatically while Hera copied her expression beside her.
Jake scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Uh… yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Sure. One moment, ladies.”
Haneul and Hera immediately squealed like he’d just agreed to buy them a mansion instead of spray soap onto their cars.
“I knew he loved us,” Hera whispered dramatically.
“Of course he does,” Haneul replied while flipping her hair. “We’re delightful. He loves me more, though.”
“You guys are exhausting,” Jake muttered.
Neither of them heard him.
They were already arguing over which car looked dirtier while walking toward the waiting area together.
Jake looked over at your disappearing figure, and shook his head quietly, still smiling a little despite himself.
𐬽 . ♡︎
By the time Friday rolled around, you were exhausted.
Not the normal kind of tired either.
Not the kind sleep could fix.
It was the sort of exhaustion that sat heavy in your chest and followed you around all day, making everything feel slower. The week had dragged painfully, each morning blending into the next between school, the diner, homework, and Jiwon constantly breathing down your neck.
Even walking home from school felt harder than usual.
Your backpack hung heavily from one shoulder as you stepped through the side gate leading into the backyard. The late afternoon sun was still warm, casting long shadows across the patio furniture and overgrown grass.
You were already thinking about finally lying down for a little while when—
“Y/N.”
Your body stiffened slightly.
Jiwon’s voice came from the backyard patio.
You looked over immediately.
Jiwon was stretched out lazily across one of the lounge chairs near the pool, sunglasses perched on top of her head while a magazine rested against her lap. She looked completely relaxed, like she hadn’t spent the entire week ordering everyone around the diner.
She didn’t even look up right away when she spoke again.
“Come here for a second.”
You adjusted your bag higher onto your shoulder and walked over slowly.
The closer you got, the more your stomach tightened.
Because Jiwon only used that calm voice when she wanted something.
You stopped near the edge of the patio.
“Yeah?”
Jiwon finally glanced up at you over the rim of her sunglasses.
“Can you work a night shift tomorrow?”
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow was Saturday.
Your stomach dropped immediately.
Saturday was the formal, the Halloween homecoming formal.
The one Sunoo had spent the entire week begging you to go to.
For a second, you just stood there quietly. Because normally, this part was easy. Normally you just said yes.
It was always yes.
You’d never really rejected Jiwon before. Not seriously, not when it came to work.
But this time—you took a slow breath.
“I can’t.”
The words felt strange coming out of your mouth.
Jiwon blinked once, then slowly sat up straighter in the lounge chair.
The movement was calm, too calm.
“And why,” she asked smoothly, “can’t you work tomorrow?”
You shifted awkwardly where you stood. Your shoe nudged at a loose pebble near the patio while you avoided looking directly at her.
“I… wanted to go to the Halloween formal.”
The second the words left your mouth, Jiwon scoffed, like actually scoffed. “Seriously?”
You looked up slightly. “Jiwon—”
“Formals are stupid,” she interrupted immediately. “You don’t need to go to those things.”
You swallowed slightly. “But I’ve never been to one before.”
Jiwon rolled her eyes. “And?”
You hesitated. “Sunoo wanted me to go with him.”
For a second, Jiwon just stared at you, then she laughed.
Not loud, and not kindly either.
It was the sort of laugh that made your stomach twist.
“Oh my god,” she muttered, shaking her head slightly. “You’re actually serious.”
Your grip tightened slightly around your backpack strap.
“The diner’s already gonna be understaffed tomorrow night,” Jiwon continued. “I need you there.”
“There are other workers—”
“And no offense,” she cut in smoothly, “but nobody wants someone like you at those dances anyway.”
The words hit harder than you expected.
Jiwon leaned back against the chair again, like this conversation bored her already.
“You really think people at school aren’t gonna make fun of you?” she asked. “Please.”
Your chest tightened.
You looked down at the ground again.
Because part of you hated how quickly her words got inside your head.
You swallowed hard. “I just wanted to—”
“Y/N,” Jiwon interrupted again, sharper this time.
You went quiet immediately.
Jiwon stared at you for a long moment before speaking again. “Do you still want to go to Columbia University?”
Your stomach twisted. Slowly, you nodded. Of course you did. That dream was the only thing keeping you going half the time.
Jiwon tilted her head slightly. “Well then you need to keep working if you wanna pay that tuition,” she said flatly. “Because I’m sure as hell not paying for it.”
You opened your mouth slightly, then closed it again.
Because what were you even supposed to say to that?
Jiwon sighed dramatically, already sounding irritated with the conversation.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re acting difficult all of a sudden.”
You stared down at the pebbles near your shoes. “I’m not trying to be difficult.”
“Then stop arguing.”
Silence settled between you, heavy and uncomfortable. The wind moved softly through the backyard trees while somewhere in the neighborhood, a dog barked faintly.
Finally, Jiwon waved a dismissive hand toward the house. “Whatever. Just get out of my face.”
You stayed still for half a second longer.
Then—
“And you’re not going to the formal,” Jiwon added firmly. “Period.”
That was it. Final.
Your shoulders sagged slightly.
Not because you were surprised, just because you were tired.
So tired. You nodded faintly even though it hurt to do it, then turned away from the patio without another word.
Jiwon had already leaned back into her chair again by the time you walked off, like the conversation was over the second she decided it was.
You walked quietly across the backyard, your backpack feeling heavier with every step.
By the time you reached the back door, your chest felt tight in that familiar way again.
Like you couldn’t breathe properly inside this house sometimes.
You climbed the stairs slowly once you got inside, exhaustion settling deeper into your bones with every creak of the steps beneath your feet.
And when you finally reached your room—
You shut the door softly behind you and just stood there for a moment, trying very hard not to cry over a stupid high school dance.
A collection of stories of enhypen and their manager, Yuki will also be mentioned here and there. Most won't be romantic leaning but I'm opening to some romance.
You can make requests for the mini series
Mission: most attractive manager - in which during the hybe games, ENHYPEN has to bring their most attractive manager.
Jealous!Enhypen - in which their manager goes on a date and their jealous
Overworked - In which the their manager overworks herself and ends up in the hospital
SVT Mingyu - in which their manager has a binder dedicated to Kim mingyu
Boy in luv - in which Heeseung is on love with their manager
No members shouting over a game in the living room.
Just soft rain tapping against the windows and the dim yellow light above the kitchen counter where you sat with a schedule book open in front of you.
You were exhausted.
The preparations for the comeback had everyone running on barely three hours of sleep, and as the group’s manager, it felt like every problem ended up on your plate.
“Tomorrow’s rehearsal got moved,” you muttered to yourself while jotting down notes.
A sleepy voice responded from behind you.
“You’re still awake?”
You looked up to see Heeseung standing in the hallway in loose gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, his dark hair messy from sleep.
Your chest tightened a little.
He always looked unfairly pretty at night.
“You should be asleep,” you told him softly.
“So should you.”
He walked over slowly, dragging his feet until he reached the counter beside you. Without asking, he leaned against your shoulder, warm and heavy.
You sighed. “Heeseung.”
“Mhm?”
“You’re crushing my arm.”
“But you’re comfortable.”
You tried not to smile.
That was the problem with him.
He made it hard not to smile.
Over the last two years of working with Enhypen, you learned all their habits.
Jungwon got quiet when stressed.
Jay cleaned when angry.
Sunoo needed reassurance after harsh evaluations.
Ni-ki became clingy when tired.
And Heeseung…
Heeseung became affectionate.
Dangerously affectionate.
At first, you thought it was harmless. He was naturally touchy— an arm around your shoulders, leaning against you during van rides, resting his chin on your head while you checked schedules.
But eventually, you noticed something different.
He only acted like that with you.
And only when other members were around.
“Y/N!”
Sunoo came running into the practice room during break, throwing himself onto your back.
“I’m starving,” he whined. “You said snacks were coming an hour ago.”
“They are coming,” you laughed. “The delivery driver got lost.”
Sunoo groaned into your shoulder.
Across the room, Heeseung stopped dancing.
His expression flattened immediately.
Jake noticed first.
“Oh no,” Jake muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“He’s jealous again.”
Sure enough, Heeseung walked straight over without saying a word.
He didn’t even acknowledge Sunoo.
He simply slid between the two of you, wrapping an arm around your waist possessively.
“You said you’d watch the recording with me,” he said flatly.
Sunoo blinked.
“You could’ve just asked?”
“I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I was about to.”
You stared at Heeseung suspiciously. “Why are you glaring at him?”
“I’m not.”
“You literally are.”
“I’m just tired.”
Sunghoon snorted from the floor. “Sure.”
Heeseung shot him a death stare.
The members exchanged knowing looks.
Because everyone knew.
Everyone except you.
It got worse during promotions.
Long schedules meant less sleep, which made Heeseung clingier.
And lately, he’d been following you everywhere.
“You already checked the van twice,” you told him one morning.
“Mhm.”
“So why are you still standing here?”
He blinked lazily at you before lowering his head onto your chest.
Your entire body froze.
“Heeseung.”
“Hm?”
“What are you doing?”
“Comfort.”
“You can’t just use me as a pillow.”
“Yes, I can.”
His voice was muffled against you.
Behind him, Jungwon nearly choked on his coffee.
Jay turned around to hide his grin.
Meanwhile, Heeseung looked perfectly content, eyes closed as if he belonged there.
Your heart raced.
“You’re acting weird lately,” you mumbled quietly.
At that, his expression shifted.
Just slightly.
You caught a flash of hurt before he covered it with a pout.
“You don’t like it?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then why do you sound disappointed every time I touch you?”
Your throat tightened.
If you admitted the truth, everything would change.
Because you liked it too much.
Because every small act of affection from him stayed in your mind for days.
Because somewhere along the line, you stopped seeing him as just another idol you managed.
And that was dangerous.
You gently pushed his shoulder. “Go rehearse.”
His jaw tightened.
“Fine.”
But he walked away upset.
For the rest of the day, he barely spoke to you.
It should’ve made things easier.
Instead, it made your chest ache.
You noticed every little thing.
How he stopped sitting beside you.
How he answered your questions with short responses.
How he laughed with everyone else but grew quiet around you.
You hated it.
Which was ridiculous.
You were supposed to keep boundaries.
So why did his distance hurt so much?
That night after filming, the members went inside the dorm while you stayed behind to organize the next day's itinerary in the van.
The door suddenly opened again.
Heeseung climbed back in.
Neither of you spoke for a moment.
Rain poured outside.
You kept your eyes on the papers in your lap.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said quietly.
You swallowed.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
His voice wasn’t teasing this time.
It sounded tired.
Frustrated.
“You pull away every time I get close to you.”
“Heeseung—”
“I know I’m being obvious.”
Your breath caught.
He finally looked at you then.
Really looked at you.
His eyes were soft. Exhausted. Honest.
“I know the members notice,” he continued quietly. “I know you notice too.”
The air felt suffocating.
“Heeseung…”
“But you never say anything.” His laugh was hollow. “You just keep pretending.”
You stared at him speechlessly.
Because he was right.
You had been pretending.
Pretending you didn’t notice the way his eyes followed you.
Pretending you didn’t feel nervous whenever he touched you.
Pretending your stomach didn’t flip every time he rested against you like you were the safest place in the world.
“You shouldn’t like me,” you whispered.
His face fell instantly.
“That’s your reason?”
“You’re an idol.”
“And you’re my manager.”
“Exactly.”
“So?”
“So this ends badly for both of us.”
He moved closer slowly.
“Do you know how frustrating you are?”
You blinked.
“I spend months trying to show you how much I care,” he murmured, “and every time you look at me like you care too, you run away.”
Your chest hurt.
“You deserve someone easier.”
“I don’t want easy.”
His voice cracked slightly, and somehow that hurt more than anything.
“I want you.”
Silence.
Rain against the windows.
Your pulse roared in your ears.
Then quietly—
“…Since when?”
He laughed softly, almost embarrassed.
“A long time.”
“How long?”
“Probably since you yelled at me for skipping meals on tour.”
You groaned. “That was two years ago.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re insane.”
“You still made me lunch afterward.”
“…You looked sad.”
“That’s when I realized I was done for.”
You stared at him helplessly.
For the first time in months, you stopped trying to deny what was happening between you.
Heeseung stepped closer carefully, like he was afraid you’d disappear.
When you didn’t move away, his shoulders relaxed.
Then gently—
so gently—
he rested his forehead against your chest again.
Not teasing this time.
Not dramatic.
Just tired.
Needing you close.
Your fingers hesitated before sliding into his hair.
The breath he let out sounded shaky.
“You're really unfair,” you whispered.
“Why?”
“Because I was trying very hard not to fall for you.”
Pairing : emperor sunghoon x empress wife reader
Genre : fluff, arranged mariage, mean concubines, jealousy, sunghoon realizes he loves his wife (idiot)
Synopsis : As emperor, Sunghoon took a wife and concubines. However, when jealousy made his wife bitter, he changed wives, preferring to repudiate her rather than his concubines. Then, when his third wife, Y/N, stirred up the palace with her calm and gentle authority, Sunghoon quickly realized that he loved his wife (big idiot).
If there was one emperor that no one wanted to be part of his life, it was Emperor Sunghoon. Yes, he ruled his kingdom with an iron fist and offered his people security and harvests, but he tended to have too great an appetite for women.
He was handsome, that was certain, no one could deny it. And his council had pressured him to take concubines in addition to a wife to conceive an heir as quickly as possible and secure his lineage. It wasn't something that bothered him, so he took a wife and concubines to live at court.
However, it always degenerated and ended badly. His wife couldn't stand him spending so much time in his concubines' chambers and would end up throwing a fit, jealous and bitter towards the concubines. Sunghoon couldn't stand the shouting and would end up dismissing his wife or worse…
So yeah, no one wanted to get too close to the emperor's private life, especially since after six years, no heir was yet in sight. After two wives, Sunghoon decided to take a third, making Y/N, the eldest daughter of the great Y/L/N family, his wife. When the announcement was made, her mother had long wept over her daughter's departure, not wanting to see her married to the man, but protesting would do nothing.
Y/N hadn't flinched and had bid farewell to her family before climbing into the carriage that took her directly to the royal palace. Servants immediately took her to her private quarters in the East Wing, preparing her for the ceremony.
Dressed in her long red robe, the young woman didn't look up at her husband until the priest asked them to exchange their vows before pronouncing them husband and wife. She had to admit, Sunghoon was a very attractive man, and she could fall for him. But she won't.
The emperor gazed at her, appreciating the woman before him. Sunghoon gently took her hand in his and placed a kiss on it, Y/N gave a small curtsy. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the concubines whispering among themselves, betting on how long she would last against them.
"I will await you in my quarters, husband," Y/N declared, looking Sunghoon straight in the eye and speaking loudly enough for all to hear. "Come or not, I don't care." Sunghoon's eyes widened, not expecting such an affront. His wife bowed to greet him, then turned away, her ladies-in-waiting bowed awkwardly before trotting after her.
Arriving in her room, Y/N immediately removed the hairpins that were pulling her hair, placing them on small velvet cushions. Her ladies-in-waiting exchanged glances, not used to the calm of the emperor's wives. "Empress…"
"Have my suitcases arrived ?" Y/N asked.
"Yes, Empress."
"Can you put my things away ?" she asked, looking at two women. "Lay out my robes by color and put my books in the library, please." They nodded and quickly got to work while the other two helped her remove her robe. "I'd like to take a bath. I haven't been able to wash after that long journey, I had to go straight to my wedding."
"I'll heat some water right away, Empress."
"Take your time, I'm in no hurry." In her silk robe, the new empress stretched out on a sofa, her legs delicately folded, a book in her hand. Her attendants worked in silence, throwing her sideways glances. Her bath finally ready, Y/N removed her robe and entered the tub, immersing herself in the water.
The hot water relaxed her, and she closed her eyes, resting her head against the edge of the basin. She could feel her ladies-in-waiting's stares and sighed. "Speak, I can feel your stares from across the room."
They stepped forward cautiously, as if expecting a fit of nerves instead of calm. "Your predecessors met unfortunate fates, Empress."
"Yes, I heard that. Except I'm not here to play lovey-dovey with Sunghoon. I only want to live, and above all, survive the three hags who serve as his concubines. If they're expecting fits of jealousy, shouting, and tears, they'll soon realize that the only circus here is them."
The ladies-in-waiting visibly relaxed, sporting timid smiles. "We are happy to hear that, Empress. I am Hina. And this is Jiya, Suha, and Sunwoo."
"There's no need to call me 'Empress' when we're alone, Lady Y/N will suffice."
"Alright, Lady." Y/N got out of the tub and grabbed the towel handed to her to wrap herself in. She dried off and put on her nightgown.
"You may retire, I'll manage until tomorrow morning." The women bowed and left the room, the door closing softly behind her. Y/N sighed, finally enjoying the silence of her own company.
She slipped under the sheets and opened her book, reading a few pages by candlelight. She didn't expect Sunghoon to join her for their wedding night and therefore wasn't disappointed not to see him arrive. Y/N placed her book on the nightstand and blew out the candle to extinguish it. Tomorrow is another day.
Y/N didn't avoid Sunghoon, at least, she didn't try to. She simply didn't care where he might be or with whom, so her daily life was quite peaceful. Everyone at the palace expected the new empress to be as jealous as the other two, but seeing her lack of reaction and her calm disconcerted them all. But a little peace at the palace was also welcome.
Y/N was actually closer to the palace staff than to her own husband. It wasn't unusual for her to stop by the kitchen to greet the cooks or to stroll through the gardens talking to the gardeners. She was well-liked at the palace.
The young woman also fulfilled her role as empress by attending all of her husband's councils with the advisors and ministers, even if it meant sitting for hours listening to them talk about uninteresting things.
Y/N was sitting on her throne next to Sunghoon's, upright with her legs elegantly folded. Her dark red robe draped over her curves like a delicious caress, her fingers tapping the armrests of her throne to distract herself.
"If winter arrives before we can bring enough resources to the capital, we'll have to tighten our belts until spring returns !" a minister declared, once again raising the issue of winter provisions. She rolled her eyes, having heard this dozens of times since her arrival at the palace without any solution being proposed. "You know very well that merchants can only reach the capital through the mountains in winter, but the snow makes the crossing too difficult !"
She scoffed, exasperated by all these words said for nothing. To her right, Sunghoon glanced at her, contemplating her bored face. "Something to say, wife ?"
Silence fell over the throne room. Gazes slowly turned to Y/N, who wasn't surprised by her husband's call, looking at him without blinking. "Your ministers are useless, husband."
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving upward. "Excuse me ?"
She ignored him and rose from her throne, descending the steps to approach the table around which the ministers and advisors stood, maps and parchments covering it. Y/N fixed her gaze on the minister who had first stated the problem. "This is the fifth council I've attended, and you keep repeating this provision problem over and over. You keep complaining without ever proposing solutions."
"Empress, I…"
"Did I say you could talk ?" The man closed his mouth without a word. "It's all well and good to talk, but if no action is ever taken, we might as well dissolve this council right now. The problem isn't knowing whether we can transport enough food for the winter here, but how to ensure we can still have some even when snow makes the mountain crossing impossible. It's not that the merchants don't want to cross it, it's that they don't have time to do it in one day and are afraid of getting stuck in the mountains. You want a solution ? Here's one. You have four months before the first snows arrive, use the remaining funds from the last taxes to build several shelter chalets and inns in the mountains to accommodate the merchants. Thus, they can make the crossing without fear of freezing to death or their mounts breaking their legs. It doesn't matter if they take an extra week as long as we have the provisions in the end. You complain about all the problems you have to solve without ever considering the origin first."
Y/N turned to Sunghoon, who was watching her with a smirk, and placed a hand on her hip.
"So yes, I think your ministers shouldn't be ministers if they can't use their brains, unless the origin of the problem here is that they don't have any at all."
She turned on her heel, having heard enough for the whole day, and left the throne room, her personal guards on her heels. She wasn't going to put her ladies-in-waiting through those long useless hours. "God, these ministers are all incompetent !" Her ladies-in-waiting rose at her arrival, bowing.
"Lady, would you like some tea ?" Jiya suggested.
"Yes, good idea." The woman busied herself preparing tea while Y/N settled onto the sofa.
"You should stop attending councils if they put you in this state, Lady."
"And have people say behind my back that I'm not doing what's expected of me ? No way. I was just hoping that Sunghoon surrounded himself with smarter people." Y/N took the cup of tea Jiya handed her and took a long sip of the fruity liquid that relaxed her. She finished her drink in no time, then stood up. "Let's take a walk in the gardens, Ladies. Let's enjoy the sun."
She linked her arm with Suha's and emerged from the room. Walking through the palace, the women entered the gardens, the bushes perfectly trimmed and the flowers aligned. It was definitely Y/N's favorite place in the palace. It was always peaceful and problem-free.
"Well, well, well." Y/N turned and stifled a sigh as she saw the concubines coming toward them, waving their fans.
"If it isn't our great Empress taking a stroll in the gardens." They giggled, and Y/N stared at them wearily.
"If you had learned good manners like ladies, you would know that you should bow before your Empress," she said, turning her gaze toward the roses.
"You little…" The first concubine was held back by another. "You won't last here ! We are the emperor's true companions ! All these women they marry meet the same fate ! Death or exile !"
Y/N chuckled, her fingers tracing the flower petals. "How cute that you think you'll live here forever. You, low-born girls who only serve as cock warmers for my husband."
"At least we can enjoy his presence ! Unlike you, who have never shared his bed !"
"What's going on here ? We could hear you screaming from the other end of the garden." All the women turned to see Sunghoon and his Lord friends joining them, their hands clasped behind their backs. Immediately, the concubines took their victim stance and threw themselves at the emperor to complain.
"My love ! The Empress insulted us !"
"Yes, she called us low-born girls ! Even though we are royal concubines !"
Sunghoon looked up at his wife, who didn't care what the concubines could complain about, preferring to focus her attention on the flowers, which were decidedly more interesting. "The roses are magnificent at this time of year," she said to her ladies-in-waiting. "We must enjoy them before winter makes them fall."
"Yes, Empress," Suha smiled. "Let us ask the gardeners to make several bouquets for your apartments." Y/N smiled tenderly at the youngest of her servants, caressing her cheek.
The Emperor couldn't take his eyes off her, having never seen a smile light up her face since their marriage, at least not in his presence. And her gaze turned cold again when Y/N looked at him.
"Husband, you'd better put leashes on your dogs. Regardless of the deplorable taste you have in women you want to sleep with, I would appreciate it if you would train them. Bowing in the presence of the Empress and speaking only when invited is a golden rule at court."
"See, she's insulting us !" But Sunghoon was far from listening to their lamentations.
"If you think I'm jealous, think again and don't dream. I only expect the respect I deserve in this palace. They may be your concubines, but they are only whores you chose for a little fun."
Y/N fixed her gaze on the concubines and smirked. "And these little mice would do well to remember that I am the only daughter of the greatest house after the royal family, and if something serious were to happen to me, my father, the General, would be happy to hunt down those responsible." The women swallowed.
The Empress inclined her head. "Husband. My Lords." She rolled her eyes at the concubines. "Whores."
Her ladies-in-waiting giggled as they walked away beside her, Y/N sporting a satisfied smirk. Sunghoon followed her with his eyes until they disappeared into the palace, and his concubines rushed at him. "My love ! Do something !"
"Punish her ! Have her whipped so she learns her lesson !"
Sunghoon snapped out of his contemplation and turned his gaze to her, scoffed, and pushed them away with his arm. "I have better things to do than start conflicts with my wife. Go complain to whoever will listen and don't bother me."
He walked away with his Lords, the concubines fuming because they had never been treated like this. And the Empress would pay for it.
The following days were very strange. Even though Y/N and Sunghoon still weren't speaking to each other, he was more observant of his wife and discovered her in a new light. He had learned more about her, what she liked and what she hated, and found that she might not be so bad after all.
Y/N stared at Sunwoo when her lady-in-waiting returned carrying a cat in her arms. The white-furred animal looked around the room curiously. "What is that ?"
"It's a gift from the Emperor, Lady. He gave you this cat to entertain you, hoping you wouldn't be too bored."
"Sunghoon gave me this cat ?"
"Lady, it's so romantic," Hina cooed, looking up from her embroidery. "The Emperor has never given any gifts to his previous wives ! Perhaps he's beginning to like you !"
"Don't be ridiculous, Hina." Y/N took the cat from the woman's arms and stroked its head. The cat began to purr, and she found herself smiling. "I suppose I can accept this gift. But don't tell him."
Her servants giggled but nodded. Y/N named him Snowflake, and he definitely loved his new mistress, spending hours lying across her lap or on her bed. It wasn't uncommon to see the cat follow the Empress through the palace as if he were her bodyguard.
Y/N was returning from the library, carrying Snowflake in her arms, when a small body collided with her. She looked down to see a little boy who had fallen on his bottom and leaned down to help him up. "Sorry, E-Empress," he stammered, missing one of his front teeth. "I didn't mean to…"
"Don't worry, it's alright. Are you lost ?"
"Y-Yes. I'm looking for my mom, she works at the palace."
"I'll help you find her. What's her name ?"
"Sun-nia."
"She's one of the cooks, if I'm not mistaken. Your mom makes the best cakes I've ever eaten." The boy nodded, knowing his mother's talent for baking.
"Dear wife."
The young woman turned to find Sunghoon in front of her, flanked by two guards. "Husband." The boy hid behind her when he saw the terrifying emperor.
"Who is this ?"
"The son of one of the cooks. He got lost looking for his mother, so I was going to walk him there." Y/N patted the boy's head, he moved away from her. "Come on. Don't worry, he's not going to eat you." The child quickly bowed before hiding behind her again, making her smile.
Something made Sunghoon's heart beat a little faster as he looked down at the cat in her arms. "I see you accepted my gift."
"Indeed. I thank you, I really like cats. Alright, I'll see you later if you wish."
He nodded, and Y/N took the boy's hand to lead him toward the kitchens, the emperor watched them leave. A child among them would be so nice, something he had wanted for a long time…
"Seon-jun." One of the guards stepped forward. "Have my quarters moved to the East Wing where my wife is, not to the West Wing of the concubines. Let them have only guest privileges, not those of the royal family."
"Yes, Emperor." The soldiers exchanged relieved looks. The emperor was finally coming to his senses, they couldn't take those mistresses anymore.
Y/N was sleeping peacefully, Snowflake curled up at her feet, when she felt the blanket being pulled back and a body slipping into her bed. Her fingers closed around the handle of the knife she hides under her pillow, and she turned to press the blade against the person's throat.
"Jesus Christ, woman ! It's me !" Sunghoon whispered. She sighed and lowered her knife, putting it back in its safe place. "Why do you have a weapon under your pillow ?"
"You never know who might slip into my bed in the middle of the night," she mocked, giving him a weary look over her shoulder. "Like you, husband." She pulled the blanket over herself to go back to sleep, closing her eyes. "Why are you here, anyway ?"
"I settled into the adjacent room. I'm your new neighbor."
"I don't want you as a neighbor."
"Why ?"
"I don't want to hear you snore."
"I don't snore," Sunghoon defended himself.
"Yeah, right." Y/N gave Snowflake a stroke as he came to lie down beside her, giving her husband a threatening look. It made him smile as she kissed the top of his head, resting her head on her pillow.
Sleep soon overcame her again, while Sunghoon remained wide awake, watching her back, her chest rising and falling at the regular rhythm of her breathing. He couldn't fall asleep, his mind was racing in all directions, preventing him from finding rest.
The young woman woke up a few hours later, thirsty, getting out of bed to approach the table where the carafe rested. She filled herself a glass of water, bringing it to her lips and emptying it. She walked toward the window to observe the landscape bathed in moonlight.
Stifling a yawn, Y/N closed the curtain and turned toward the bed, startled to find Sunghoon watching her. "You scared me ! Did I wake you ?"
"No, I wasn't sleeping." She frowned, turning back to lie down and pulling the duvet over herself.
"Why ?"
"I have insomnia. And I can't stop thinking."
"That's bad." She lay back down, breathing deeply as her body relaxed. The young woman froze when she felt Sunghoon's body press against hers and his arm wrap around her waist.
"Is this okay ?" he asked.
"Yes." Happy with her answer, Sunghoon pressed his chest to her back, nestling his face in the crook of her neck. His eyes closed, he was finally feeling sleep overtake him when he heard her voice.
"Sunghoon ?"
Say my name again…
"Mmm ?"
"If you intend to play the husband at night when no one is watching, you can go fuck yourself. I will not be the secretly loved wife. And I certainly will not be another woman you repudiate. Do you want me ? Then show it to everyone. Do you want to sleep in my bed ? Fine, but don't go warming others' anymore. Be my husband, and I'll be the wife at your side."
"You would be the Empress at my side, and I would be your husband." Satisfied, Y/N nodded and let herself be lulled by his warmth to fall back asleep. Sunghoon listened to her breathing, his fingers tracing small circles on her waist, and her presence granting him the comfort he had so hoped for.
The change didn't happen overnight, but gradually, the servants and guards began to notice the Emperor's attentions toward his wife. Asking for her favorite pastries to be served during long councils or sending her herbal tea in the evening. He joined her more regularly at meals and was often caught watching her.
Of course, Y/N was satisfied to see that Sunghoon kept his promise, and if he continued like this, she would be ready to give him a chance. After all, she wanted to have a pleasant life with her husband if that was also what he desired.
The biggest shock was that Sunghoon hadn't visited his concubines' chambers for several weeks, which had never happened before. And the women were outraged to see that the Emperor had succumbed to his wife and no longer paid them any attention.
Sunghoon was coming out of his office accompanied by Lords Jay and Jake when his concubines approached him, dressed lightly enough to seduce him. "Hello, my love."
"Hi, Lords, we hope we're not bothering you." The young man nodded slightly to invite them to speak, which gave them courage.
"Why wouldn't you come to our chambers tonight ? You've had so much to do lately, we could help you relax."
He looked at them without a word. Before, he would have accepted without hesitation, seeking the pleasure that would ease his thoughts, but now, only the image of his wife came to mind.
"Thank you, but I will spend the night with my wife. Find yourselves lovers if you need someone."
They blushed with anger as they walked away, throwing a fit. Jake elbowed his friend, who turned his head toward him. "So, it seems your little wife pleases you."
"She is my wife, of course she pleases me," Sunghoon said, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, but you killed the others," Jay mocked.
"Stop it with that ! Those are just rumors ! I never killed anyone, and you know it, I just sent them back to their families with a large compensation. I'm sure it was Heeseung hyung who started those rumors."
"He's capable of it," Jake chuckled. "But what's different about her ?"
Sunghoon turned his gaze to the gardens, where Y/N was sitting on a bench, Snowflake on her lap, reading a book. The sun's rays reflected off her loose hair, and his eyes were drawn to her lips as she ran her tongue over them.
"Wow, we've lost him," Jay laughed. "God help us." The Emperor snapped out of his contemplation and bumped into them, muttering, as they snickered.
Y/N wasn't surprised to see Sunghoon join her at nightfall, which he now did every day. He slipped under the sheets, burying his face in the pillow. She gave him an amused glance. "Hard day, husband ?"
His voice was muffled by the pillow as he nodded. She set her book down on the nightstand before kneeling on the mattress, taking advantage of his bare chest to slide her hands along his back, massaging his tense muscles up to his shoulders.
Sunghoon groaned as he felt his muscles relax under her massage, the sensation of her fingers massaging his skin sent shivers down his spine. He turned his head to the side, his arms crossed under his chin. "This is divine, wife."
"I'm glad to hear it."
He rolled onto his back and pulled her into his arms, Y/N sprawled across his chest. Her cheek pressed against his chest over his heart, she could hear it beating fast. Sunghoon nestled his face in her hair, closing his eyes. "Thank you for giving me a chance."
"You kept your promise, you deserve it." He smiled and kissed her forehead.
Y/N soon fell asleep, Sunghoon didn't really sleep, only dozing due to his insomnia. His wife's presence beside him relaxed him, although sleep took a while to find him. That's why he heard the bedroom door open and the first floorboard creak.
He frowned, his eyes opening in the darkness to see two silhouettes slipping through the shadows. Without a sound, he slid his hand under Y/N's pillow to grab the knife she kept there.
He waited for the intruders to advance far enough, their shadows projected onto the bed, before pouncing. He crashed to the floor with one of the men, the sudden movement pulled Y/N from her sleep. She saw Sunghoon fighting on the ground with one of the intruders, the second one aiming for her.
The young woman jumped to her feet, grabbing one of the swords that served as decoration below the headboard but was just as deadly. She parried the man's blade, he grabbed her ankle and pulled her toward him. She stumbled out of bed, and they both staggered on the floor.
Her sword slipped from her grip in her fall, allowing the man to pin her to the ground, his hands closing around her throat. Y/N grabbed his wrists to try to force him to let go, in vain. Sunghoon saw his wife in a bad position, seeing red.
"Don't fucking touch my wife !"
He plunged the dagger into the side of the one attacking him before throwing himself at his wife's assailant, knocking him out with an uppercut, as the guards rushed into the room due to the commotion.
"Y/N !" He rushed to her, lifting her in his arms to set her on the bed. His gaze hardened when he saw the finger marks around her throat as she coughed, struggling to catch her breath. "You alright, baby ?"
She nodded, bringing the glass of water he handed her to her lips. The Emperor turned to the soldiers who had arrested the two intruders, clenching his fists when he saw their armor, confirming they worked at the palace. "Who gave you the order ? Was I the target of this assassination attempt ?"
They didn't answer, and Sunghoon grabbed one by the collar, lifting him off the ground. "Answer me ! And perhaps I will be lenient !"
"We were supposed to kill the Empress…"
"Why ? Under whose orders ?!" Sunghoon released the man after getting his answer, fixing his gaze on his wife.
He approached the bed and took her face in his hands to place a kiss on her forehead. "No one will hurt you again, I promise you." He turned to the soldiers. "Take these two to the dungeons, let them await their sentence."
The guards nodded and left the room. Sunghoon lay back down beside Y/N, holding her in his arms. Neither of them managed to find sleep until sunrise, remaining in each other's arms.
The Emperor called an emergency council to discuss the night's attack, the strangulation marks were still fresh on Y/N's neck despite the makeup applied by her ladies-in-waiting.
The couple sat on their thrones, the advisors and ministers facing them. "Did they talk ? Did you manage to get them to confess the culprit ?"
"Yes, it wasn't difficult. They will be executed at sunset, along with the instigators of this attack."
"Who are they ?" Sunghoon waved his hand, and soldiers returned with his three concubines in chains.
"Using your favors to manipulate soldiers and order them to kill the Empress was not clever," the young man declared. "They will be killed with the two soldiers tonight."
"You can't kill us ! You don't have the right !"
"Silence !" Sunghoon thundered, slamming his fist on the armrest of his throne. "When you attack my wife, your Empress, you must expect consequences ! This is treason !"
"How can you prefer her to us ?! She is useless !"
Sunghoon fumed, Y/N placed her hand on his arm to urge him to keep his calm. "In fact, their complaints annoy me. Take them to the courtyard and execute them now."
The women begged, cried, and screamed for mercy, but Sunghoon only turned his eyes to his wife. Y/N smiled at him, approving his decision, and he squeezed her hand in his, promising himself that no one would ever lay their hands on her again.
Except him, of course. Because she was his favorite wife. Only his.
Synopsis: Forced into an arranged marriage with the cold and distant Crown Prince, you struggle to survive palace life while trapped in a loveless union built on duty instead of choice. But beneath Heeseung’s icy exterior lies something far more complicated than you expected—and getting too close to him may destroy you.
series warnings: Arranged marriage, emotional angst, emotional neglect, loneliness/isolation, toxic family dynamics, cold/avoidant love interest, unhealthy communication, royal court politics, power imbalance, abandonment issues, jealousy, emotional repression, anxiety, verbal arguments, themes of duty over love, grief, manipulation, social pressure, and slow-burn romance. eventually smut and fluff.
AN: woah… its been so long hello all… ive been writing this one for quite some time it might be a long one so stay tuned! this is also my first time writing such a long fic so i really hope you guys enjoy it and feel free to dm/cmt with any tips or suggestions for this series! tysm for reading!
https://www.tumblr.com/siyalogue/818014908270641153/when-they-act-like-your-boyfriend-until-commitment plss make a part 2 where they are the one who beg bc she’s ignoring them n they’re jealous at party seeing her talking w someone else n maybe they drunk text her? idk but i need a prt2 where they are desperate/jealous n she’s js a girlboss😭
since you asked so nicely🫶 | part 1 | heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon
when they act like your boyfriend until commitment is mentioned, smau!
• SYNOPSIS: A collection of texts where Enhypen give you everything that comes with being a boyfriend...except the title.
• FEATURING: Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon.
• A/N: long fics are currently kicking my ass, so it might be a while before i post another one. until then, i thought i'd try something new that i've never done before. hopefully you guys enjoy it!
黑穗病 ─── "I'm not drunk enough to answer that tonight." after months of fantasizing about your best friend, he finally teaches you what real sex with him feels like.
ⳇ 𝓟 airing ╸ bff!jay x needy!f!reader
ⳇ w/c: 12.5k
㰙꯭ؚۣۙۗ㰛꯭ؚؔ 𝓦arnings: MDNI, overstimulation, unprotected sex, edging, mild ass play, rough sex, fingering, oral sex (f!rec), orgasm denial, hair holding, creampie, tipsy sex, lmk if moree
𝓡ina's note: firstofall, want to apologize bcuz i think theres a repeated part bcuz tumblr froze on me, n even though ive read it twice i cant find it and im going crazy... second... i wasn't quite sure how to write Jay's personality, n im taking a little longer with Sunoo's, so in between ig i'll do a smau asked for n if u want to request something, go ahead, headcanons or smau for u«3 reblog or life if uliked ittt
总清单之家 check my ::⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── 𝓜asterlist 𝓗ome
You had been in love with Jay Park since the second year of high school.
It started as something quieter than a crush — a slow, warm pull every time he leaned over your desk to show you a riff on his phone, or when he'd wait for you after class with one earbud dangling, offering the other so you could listen to the same song.
He was always cool, a little sharp with his humor, but never cruel.
He remembered the small things: how you liked your coffee, the way you fiddled with your sleeves when you were nervous, the fact that you secretly wanted to learn guitar even though you were convinced your fingers were too clumsy.
Two months had passed since graduation, and the two of you had slipped into this strange new version of adulthood.
No more uniforms, no more bells dictating your day. just late nights, cheap takeout, and the growing tension that neither of you had named.
You told yourself it was just a silly, accumulation of caring over the years.
But lately it had become something heavier. needier.
Because it wasn't just his smile or the way he looked at you like he could read every thought behind your eyes.
It was the guitar lessons.
Every few nights you ended up in his room — that warm, low-lit sanctuary at the back of his aparment.
Soft golden lighting, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with wood polish and whatever bottle of wine he'd opened that evening.
He'd sit behind you on the bed or on that worn leather stool, chest brushing your back as he guided your fingers along the fretboard.
His voice would drop low when he corrected your posture, breath warm against your ear.
And every single time, you left that room wet, aching, and painfully aware of how badly you wanted more than just his hands on yours.
Tonight, that ache felt louder than usual.
The restaurant was still buzzing when you all stepped outside.
The four of you had taken over a corner table for nearly three hours — pasta plates half-empty, bottles of soju and beer scattered like evidence.
Heeseung had been the calm anchor as always, laughing deeply at Jake's ridiculous stories about his latest failed attempt at cooking.
Jake, true to form, had been loud and playful, teasing you about how red your cheeks got after your third glass.
"Alright, i'm tapping out" Heeseung said, stretching his arms above his head. he grinned at you and Jay. "you two heading back too?"
Jake slung an arm around your shoulders for a second, giving you a quick squeeze. "don't let Jay bore you to death with more guitar talk."
You laughed, the sound a little loose from the alcohol. "too late. i think i'm officially addicted."
Jay stood a step behind you, hands in the pockets of his dark jacket, watching the exchange with that trademark half-smirk.
He hadn't drunk much — maybe one beer the whole night. he never did when he knew he'd be the one making sure everyone got home safe.
"Get home safe, hyung" Jay told Heeseung, bumping fists. "Jake, stop burning your kitchen down."
Jake flipped him off playfully as he and Heeseung headed toward the main road to catch a cab. you waved until they disappeared around the corner, the streetlights catching their silhouettes.
And then it was just you and Jay.
It was barely past 9 PM, but the city had already slipped into that quieter, darker version of itself.
The restaurant sat on a side street lined with closed shops and a few scattered people hurrying home.
Neon signs flickered softly in the distance. your cheeks felt warm, the alcohol humming pleasantly in your veins, making everything feel a little softer around the edges.
Jay glanced at you, dark eyes scanning your face.
"You good?" he asked, voice low and steady. "you look a little flushed."
"I'm fine" you answered, maybe a touch too quickly.
You smiled up at him, feeling bolder than usual. "just… warm. and i don't really want to go home yet. my brothers are probably screaming at some video game right now. your place is quieter."
He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. that familiar mix of amusement and something unreadable.
"You sure? i can drop you off. you drank more than usual tonight."
You stepped a little closer, the alcohol loosening your usual shyness. "i'm sure. i'd rather be with you."
The words came out softer than you meant them to, almost flirty. Jay's gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than normal before he nodded.
"Alright. let's go."
The walk to his place wasn't long.
Jay kept pace beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed every few steps. he didn't say much, but he was always like that — comfortable in silence.
Every once in a while he'd glance over to make sure you were steady on your feet.
When you finally reached his apartment, you stepped into his room, the familiar warmth settled over you like a blanket.
The lighting was exactly how he liked it: soft, gold tones from the tall floor lamp in the corner.
His acoustic guitar rested on its stand beside the electric one. a half-finished bottle of red wine sat on the low wooden table next to two clean glasses.
The small leather couch had a couple of blankets thrown over it, and the walls held photos — some of the group, some of just the two of you from random outings over the years.
It smelled like him: wood, faint cologne, and that subtle hint of wine that always seemed to linger here.
Jay shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the back of his chair.
"Sit" he said, nodding toward the couch. "i'll get you some water first. you're going to thank me tomorrow."
You dropped onto the couch, watching him move around the room with that effortless confidence.
Even after years of friendship, you never got tired of looking at him. the sharp line of his jaw, the way his black hair fell across his forehead, the casual way his shirt stretched across his shoulders.
He came back with a glass of cold water and handed it to you before pouring himself a small amount of wine.
"You're really not that drunk, are you?" you asked, teasing lightly as you sipped the water.
Jay chuckled, settling beside you on the couch. not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat of his body.
"I'm sober enough to know you're tipsy" he replied, voice smooth. "and sober enough to know you get chatty when you are."
You laughed softly, pulling your legs up onto the couch.
The alcohol made your thoughts swirl — memories of all those guitar lessons mixing with the deeper, filthier ones you tried to push down.
You'd been in love with him for years.
But lately, the need had grown teeth.
It wasn't just romantic anymore.
You wanted him.
Wanted his hands on you for reasons that had nothing to do with chord positions. wanted to know what his mouth felt like. wanted to taste him.
To have his cock in your mouth, heavy and warm, to hear the way his voice would break if you took him deep.
Not anyone else's. just Jay's.
Those thoughts had been getting louder since the lessons started two months ago.
Every time his fingers covered yours on the strings, every time his chest pressed against your back and he murmured instructions against your ear… you left his room throbbing, panties ruined, fingers slipping between your legs the second you got home.
And now here you were again, in his room, a little drunk, heart racing.
"Now you're quiet" Jay observed, tilting his head. his dark eyes studied you carefully. "what's going on in that head of yours?"
You bit your lip, feeling heat rise to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
"Just… thinking about how long we've been friends" you said, keeping your voice light. "feels weird sometimes. like we're actual adults now."
Jay hummed in agreement, taking a slow sip of wine. "yeah. but some things don't change." he glanced at you, a small smirk playing on his lips. "you still suck at guitar."
You gasped dramatically, shoving his shoulder. he laughed — that low, rich sound you loved — and caught your wrist gently before you could pull away.
"See? still easy to mess with."
His thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist, just once. the touch sent electricity straight down your spine. you didn't pull away.
The air between you felt thicker than usual. the golden lighting cast soft shadows across his face, making him look even more unfairly handsome. you could smell his cologne again, warm and familiar.
"Jay…" you started, not even sure what you wanted to say.
He raised an eyebrow, still holding your wrist loosely.
"Yeah?"
You swallowed. the need you’d been carrying for years — the filthy, aching want — sat heavy on your tongue. but you weren't brave enough yet.
Instead, you just smiled, shy but warm, and leaned your head against his shoulder like you'd done a hundred times before.
"I'm glad you're my best friend" you whispered.
Jay was quiet for a moment. then his hand shifted, resting lightly on your knee.
"Me too" he murmured.
But his fingers stayed there, warm through the fabric of your jeans, and neither of you moved to change the subject.
The night was still young, and the tension that had been building for years felt dangerously close to spilling over.
The water helped a little, but the alcohol still buzzed warmly through your system, making your limbs feel loose and your thoughts dangerously unguarded.
You watched Jay move across the room with that effortless grace he always had. he reached for one of his guitars, and your breath caught.
He picked up the acoustic — his prized custom-made gibson Vesper.
The instrument looked beautiful under the soft café-gold lighting: dark wood with elegant black binding, sleek and modern with a vampire-inspired design he'd once explained to you in detail.
It was his baby, the one he played when he wanted something intimate and warm-toned.
"I've been working on a new melody" he said casually, settling on the stool across from the couch. his long fingers wrapped around the neck of the Vesper like it was an extension of himself. "want to hear it?"
You nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. "yeah… show me."
He strummed a few soft chords first, then launched into the short piece. just five or six seconds of a smooth, melancholic melody that shifted into something warmer, almost seductive in its simplicity.
His eyebrows furrowed slightly in concentration, lips parted just a fraction as he focused. the way his fingers moved — precise, confident, pressing and sliding along the frets — made heat pool low in your stomach.
God, you didn't even know if you actually cared about learning guitar anymore.
Was it the music? or was it just him?
The way his forearms flexed, the focused set of his jaw, the way the warm light caught on his sharp cheekbones and made his dark hair look softer.
You wanted him so badly it embarrassed you sometimes.
Especially tonight, with the alcohol making your skin feel too hot and your inhibitions paper-thin.
In your head, the thoughts were already spiraling: kneeling between his legs, taking his cock into your mouth, tasting him, hearing that low voice of his break while you sucked him deep. not just any dick. his.
Jay finished the short melody and looked up, smirking when he saw your expression.
"Not bad, right?" he asked.
"It was beautiful" you said honestly, your voice a little breathy. "i love how it sounds on the Vesper."
He stood and walked over, offering you the guitar. "you know the basics now. let's try teaching you your first real short melody. nothing too crazy."
You took the Vesper carefully, the wood warm from his hands.
On the outside, you looked focused and innocent, adjusting the strap and sitting up straighter.
"Posture." Jay reminded you.
He moved behind you on the couch, one leg on either side of your body so he could reach around. his chest pressed lightly against your back as he corrected the angle of the guitar on your lap.
One hand settled on your shoulder to straighten your back, the other sliding down to adjust your left hand on the fretboard.
His touch was warm. deliberate.
You bit your lip hard without thinking, a quiet little sound escaping as his fingers covered yours, guiding them into position. the alcohol made it impossible to hide your reaction — your cheeks burned, your thighs pressed together instinctively.
Jay paused. you could feel him smirk against the side of your head.
"Easy there" he murmured, voice low and teasing near your ear. "don't break my strings with that death grip. or is the Vesper too much for you tonight?"
You let out a shaky laugh. "shut up. i'm trying."
He didn't move away immediately. his fingers stayed over yours a second longer than necessary, then he pulled back just enough to watch but remained close.
"Go ahead. start with the first four chords i showed you last time. slow."
You tried.
Your fingers felt clumsier than usual from the drinks, but you managed to hit the notes — not fluid, not pretty, but recognizable. better than a total beginner.
The Vesper's rich tone filled the room even with your imperfect playing.
Jay hummed approvingly. "not terrible. you're improving."
Then, out of nowhere, he dropped the bomb.
"So… how was that blind date with Sunghoon a week ago?"
Your fingers slipped. a horrible, discordant twang rang out from the guitar. you winced.
"Why are you asking about that?" you said quickly, glancing over your shoulder at him.
Jay shrugged, leaning back against the couch but still watching you closely. his expression was casual, but his eyes were sharp. "just curious. Jake mentioned Sunghoon told him you two… hooked up."
The room felt suddenly warmer. you stared down at the guitar, fingers frozen on the strings.
It was true.
You'd gone on that blind date desperate to convince yourself that your insane attraction to Jay was just horniness. just lack of sex.
Sunghoon was good-looking, you'd slept with him after a couple of drinks. the sex had been… fine. mechanically okay.
But it left you emptier than before. because all you could think about during and after was Jay. how you wished it was Jay's hands, Jay's mouth.
It had only made your filthy fantasies about your best friend worse.
You tried to play it off, strumming a few awkward notes that sounded completely off-key. "Jake needs to mind his own business. why is he such a gossip?"
Jay chuckled, that low, amused sound that always sent shivers down your spine. he reached over and gently corrected your finger placement again, his touch lingering.
"Because he's Jake. and you're avoiding the question."
You huffed, the alcohol making you bolder even as embarrassment burned your face. "it happened, okay? it was… whatever. not life-changing."
Jay raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by how flustered you were getting. "not life-changing? damn. poor Sunghoon. but ifeel like details are missing."
You shot him a look, trying to sound defensive. "i've grown up, you know. i'm not that irresponsible girl from high school who told you every dirty detail about her first time in graphic, disgusting detail anymore."
Jay laughed outright at that, leaning closer again. his breath brushed your neck.
"Oh yeah? because i remember that conversation very clearly. you did not hold back. 'it felt like a sad hot dog in a hallway' was the line that still lives rent-free in my head."
You groaned, covering your face with one hand while still awkwardly holding the guitar with the other. "i was drunk and stupid! and like… seventeen."
"You're still a little drunk tonight" he pointed out, voice teasing but softer. "and still oversharing, apparently."
The conversation hung between you, heavy with years of history. you tried to play again, but your notes kept clashing — messy, out of rhythm, completely unfocused.
Jay didn't stop you. he just watched, eyes dark and thoughtful under the warm lighting.
You sighed. "it was just an escape, Jay. i thought maybe if i… did something, it would quiet my head. but it didn't. it was okay, but… it wasn't..." you trailed off, not brave enough to finish that sentence.
It wasn't you.
Jay was quiet for a long moment. his hand came to rest on your lower back, a casual but intimate touch as he leaned in to adjust your right hand strumming position.
"You're thinking too hard" he said eventually, voice low. "that's why it sounds like the guitar is in pain."
You laughed despite yourself, the sound shaky.
Being this close to him, drunk, with his hands on you and your mind full of filthy thoughts about sucking him off right here in this room… it was torture.
The lesson continued like that for a while longer.
Jay guided you through the simple melody, patient even when your playing fell apart. every correction involved him touching you — fingers on yours, hand on your waist to fix posture, knee brushing your thigh.
Each touch sent sparks through your body.
At one point you shifted on the couch, and your thigh pressed firmly against his. you didn't move away. neither did he.
"You're really warm" he commented after a while, almost absentmindedly. "still feeling the drinks?"
"Yeah" you admitted, biting your lip again as his fingers guided yours into a new chord. "everything feels… a lot right now."
Jay hummed. his voice dropped lower. "i can tell."
The air in the room felt thicker.
And as Jay leaned in once more to correct your hand, his lips accidentally brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured instructions, you wondered how much longer you could keep pretending this was just about learning guitar.
The warmth of his breath sent a shiver racing down your spine. you froze, fingers stiffening on the frets of the Vesper.
The rich, dark wood of the guitar felt heavier in your lap now, like it knew the real reason your heart was hammering.
"I… i think i can't keep playing right now" you admitted, voice softer than you intended. the alcohol made your words feel thick on your tongue. "i'd love to, though. your Vesper sounds so beautiful. it's honestly such a pretty guitar. the tone is just… perfect."
Jay pulled back slightly, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. that sound — God, that sound — always did dangerous things to you.
He reached around you to gently take the guitar from your hands, his fingers brushing over yours one last time.
"Yeah? she's my favorite for a reason" he said, standing up with the instrument.
He walked over to the stand and carefully placed the custom Gibson Vesper back in its spot, adjusting it with the same care he always showed his things.
You watched him move, the soft golden lighting casting gentle shadows along his shoulders and arms.
The room felt smaller now. cozier. the faint scent of wine still lingered in the air, mixing with his cologne and the wood polish from his guitars.
He turned back to you, hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. "it's getting late anyway. past eleven already. you're pretty drunk, and i'm not letting you go home like this. you can just stay over. saves time, and your brothers are probably still up causing chaos."
You let out a bright, tipsy laugh, the kind that came out a little too loud because of the alcohol. "yeah? okay. i'd like that. a lot, actually."
Jay's smirk deepened, but there was something softer behind it. "didn't even think twice, huh?"
"Nope" you said, popping the 'p' playfully.
He walked over to the built-in closet near the back of the room and pulled out clothes. two oversized t-shirts — one black, one dark gray — and a pair of soft black pajama shorts.
He held them out to you.
'Here. you can wear these. that dress looks cute but it's not exactly sleep-friendly. too cold in here at night if you're not covered up properly."
You stood up, a little unsteady, and took the clothes from him.
Your fingers brushed his, and you felt that familiar spark again. "thanks, Jay."
Before he could say anything else, you grabbed the bundle and slipped behind the heavy cream-colored curtain that separated the small changing corner from the rest of the room.
It was something he'd put up after one too many late-night study sessions when you'd crash here.
You heard him laugh quietly on the other side.
"Drunk you is way shyer than sober you" he teased, voice warm with amusement. "usually you just strip down in front of me like i'm not even here. claiming 'we're best friends, it doesn't matter.' but the second alcohol hits… curtain time."
You fumbled with the zipper of your dress, cheeks burning. "shut up. i'm being responsible."
"Responsible" he echoed, clearly not buying it. you could hear him moving around, already changing too. "sure."
"I am!" you called back, laughing as you pulled his t-shirt over your head. it smelled like him — clean laundry, faint cologne, and that comforting warmth that always made your stomach flip.
The shorts were a little loose on your hips, but they were soft and comfortable. "i've grown up. i'm not that chaotic high school girl anymore."
You stepped out from behind the curtain, adjusting the hem of the oversized shirt. and then you stopped dead.
Jay was in the middle of pulling his own shirt on.
He already had the gray pajama shorts on, hanging low on his hips, but his torso was still bare. the warm lighting highlighted every line of muscle on his chest and abdomen — the result of casual gym sessions.
His skin looked smooth, shoulders broad, that sharp V-line disappearing into the waistband of his shorts.
You let out a soft, involuntary exhale, almost a gasp. your heart skipped hard.
Jay noticed immediately. he tugged the shirt down quickly, but not before you got a full view.
His eyebrow arched, that signature smirk returning.
"Damn. you really are wasted tonight" he said, voice low and teasing as he stepped closer. "if you want, i can tie you up so you can control yourself better. keep those wandering eyes in check."
Your brain short-circuited for a second.
Yes. God, yes. tie me up. use me. anything.
The filthy thought flashed through your mind so fast it made you dizzy. but on the outside, you just let out a nervous laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly.
"Stop it" you mumbled, still smiling. "i'm fine. perfectly fine. just… surprised you're changing in the middle of the room, that's all."
He chuckled, running a hand through his dark hair. "this is my room. and you've seen me shirtless plenty of times. at the beach last summer, remember? or when we went swimming at Sunoo's parents' pool?"
"That was different" you muttered, walking over to the couch and dropping down onto it, pulling one of the soft blankets over your legs.
Your face felt hot. the alcohol wasn't helping you hide anything.
Jay followed, sitting on the other end of the couch but turning toward you. the room felt even more intimate now — just the two of you in comfortable clothes, the golden lights dimmed slightly, the faint sound of the city outside barely audible.
"So" he said after a moment, grabbing the half-empty bottle of water and taking a sip before offering it to you. "you really didn't enjoy it with Sunghoon?"
You groaned, covering your face with both hands. "we're back to this?"
"I'm curious" he said simply. "you're my best friend. if some guy didn't treat you right or couldn't make it good for you, i need to know. i'll kick his ass if necessary."
You peeked at him through your fingers. he looked genuinely relaxed, but there was that focused intensity in his eyes again — the same one he got when he was trying to read you.
"It wasn't bad" you said slowly, lowering your hands. "he was… nice. polite. good-looking, obviously. but it just felt… mechanical. like we were both going through the motions. i thought maybe sleeping with someone would help clear my head about certain things, but it only made it worse."
Jay tilted his head. "worse how?"
You shrugged, tracing patterns on the blanket with your finger.
Your mind was still swirling with images you couldn't say out loud —his low groans filling this exact room.
"Just… confirmed some stuff" you said vaguely. "that i'm probably not built for casual stuff. my brain gets too loud."
Jay was quiet for a beat. then he shifted closer, stretching his arm along the back of the couch until his fingers lightly brushed your shoulder again.
"You've always been like that" he murmured. "even back in high school. you overthink everything. except when you're telling me way too many details about your personal life."
You laughed, the sound breathy. "i was young and stupid. and you were the only person i trusted enough to say that stuff to."
"Still am?" he asked, voice quieter now.
You met his eyes. the tension between you felt alive, humming under the surface. "yeah. still you."
The silence stretched comfortably. Jay eventually stood up. he grabbed another blanket and tossed it over you before settling back down — closer this time, so your legs were almost touching.
"Remember when we first became friends?" he asked suddenly, staring at the ceiling. "you used to sit there during lunch, pretending you weren't listening to me play. i thought you were cute. shy, but cute."
Your heart fluttered. "i had the biggest crush on you for like… two years before i even admitted it to myself."
Jay turned his head to look at you, surprise flickering across his face for a split second before that cool mask returned. "Yeah?"
"Yeah" you whispered, the alcohol making you honest. "but you were always so… you. cool. talented. out of reach. so i settled for being your best friend instead."
He didn't answer right away. instead, he reached over and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. his touch lingered.
"You're not out of reach to me" he said softly.
The words hung heavy in the air. your body felt warm all over — from the drinks, from his proximity, from years of wanting.
You turned onto your side to face him better, the blanket slipping down slightly.
"Jay… can i ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Have you ever… thought about me like that? more than just a friend?"
He was quiet for a long moment, dark eyes studying your face. then he gave you that half-smirk again, the one that made your knees weak.
"I'm not drunk enough to answer that tonight."
You laughed, but there was nervous excitement bubbling inside you. "coward."
"Maybe" he said, chuckling. "or maybe i'm just responsible. one of us has to be when the other is this tipsy."
You spent the next hour talking like that — about old memories, stupid fights you had in high school, the group chats with Heeseung and Jake that always got chaotic, how weird it felt to be actual adults now.
Eventually, you both were in bed under thin blankets.
Jay's voice was low and soothing. every once in a while his hand would brush your arm, casual touches that felt anything but.
At some point you shifted, and your head ended up resting against his chest.
He didn't push you away. instead, his arm came around you, holding you loosely.
"You're warm" you mumbled sleepily, the alcohol finally catching up to you fully.
"So are you" he replied, voice barely above a whisper.
Your mind kept drifting back to filthy places even as sleep pulled at you — imagining sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts, tasting his skin, hearing him say your name in that deep tone.
But for now, you let yourself enjoy the closeness. the safety.
Jay's fingers traced slow patterns on your back through the t-shirt.
"Get some sleep" he murmured against the top of your head. "we'll talk more in the morning. when you're sober."
You nodded, eyes already closing.
But even as you drifted off, safe in his arms in the soft golden light of his room, you knew one thing for certain:
Pretending was getting harder and harder.
You lay there for what felt like forever, curled against his side under the soft blanket, but sleep refused to come.
The alcohol had loosened your body, but your mind was wide awake, buzzing with years of suppressed feelings and the heavy warmth of Jay's arm draped loosely around you.
Every small shift of his body, every steady breath he took, made your skin prickle with awareness.
Jay wasn't sleeping either. you knew him too well — he never could fully relax until he knew you were safe and asleep. it was one of those quiet protective habits he'd had since high school.
With a soft sigh, you sat up slowly, the oversized t-shirt slipping slightly off one shoulder. you stayed close, your thigh still pressed against his.
Jay shifted beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. his dark hair was slightly messy, and his eyes scanned your face with that familiar sharpness.
"Can't sleep?" he asked quietly.
You shook your head. "too many thoughts."
He hummed in understanding but didn't push. for a moment, comfortable silence settled between you again. then you spoke, the alcohol still giving you just enough courage.
"You know… i doubt Jake would've randomly told you about Sunghoon unless you asked him first." you turned your head to look at him directly. "so why the curiosity, Jay?"
Jay let out a slow sigh, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the ceiling for a second. when he looked back at you, his expression was calm but serious.
"Because you're my best friend" he said simply. "it's my job to look out for you. to make sure no dickhead hurts you, gets your hopes up, or leaves you feeling like shit afterward. i've been doing that since we were in secondary school. nothing's changed."
You fell quiet, processing his words.
The weight of them sat heavy in your chest. his protection had always felt safe… but lately it felt like something more. something that made your stomach twist in confusing, needy ways.
Jay noticed your silence. he tilted his head slightly. "why are you thinking about all of this right now? you know i worry about you. that's not new."
You bit your lip, fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. "i guess… i've been wondering lately if i've ever mistaken your protection for something else. like… possessiveness."
Jay stared at you for a beat, then let out a low, genuine laugh — the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
He sat up fully now, swinging his legs so he was facing you directly. the movement brought him much closer, your knees nearly touching, his presence suddenly filling your space.
"Possessiveness?" he repeated, still chuckling in disbelief. "you're way too drunk to be throwing words like that around."
You met his gaze, your heart beating faster. "i'm drunk, but i'm sober enough to notice that you're the one acting weird tonight."
Jay laughed again, softer this time, shaking his head. "me? weird?"
He leaned in a little, voice dropping. "you're the one whose breathing keeps changing every time i get close. the one who keeps pressing your thighs together when my hand brushes your arm or when i fix your posture during lessons. you think i don't notice?"
Your mouth went dry. heat flooded your cheeks.
He was right — painfully right. you'd been doing exactly that for the past two months during every guitar session. and tonight, with the alcohol stripping away your filters, it was impossible to hide.
You stayed silent for a long moment, just looking at him. then you put on that fake-innocent expression you knew he could see right through — wide eyes, slight tilt of your head.
"If you know all of that… why don't you do anything about it?"
The question hung in the air like smoke. Jay's smirk faded into something more intense, more focused. his dark eyes searched yours carefully.
"Because i'd never do anything you haven't asked for" he said, voice low and steady. "not with you. never."
Your face grew hotter. you could feel the blush spreading down your neck.
The tension in the room thickened, wrapping around both of you. you were hyper-aware of everything: the way his bare arm looked under the golden light, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the laundry detergent on the t-shirt he was wearing, how close his mouth was if you just leaned forward a few inches.
You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "and if i did ask… would you give it to me?"
Jay didn't answer with words right away.
Instead, he reached out slowly, his fingers gently brushing your hair away from your face before tucking it carefully behind your ear.
The touch was light, but it sent electricity racing across your skin. His hand lingered there for a second, thumb grazing your cheekbone.
Then he nodded. once. slow and deliberate.
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
The simple gesture and that quiet confirmation made your stomach flip violently.
In your mind, the thoughts rushed in unfiltered — filthy, desperate images of his hands on your body, his voice in your ear, finally giving in to what you'd wanted for years. but you stayed still, letting the tension stretch.
Jay's eyes stayed locked on yours, calm but burning with something deeper. he didn't move closer or pull away. he just waited, giving you the space to decide what came next.
"You're really going to make me say it out loud, huh?" you murmured, a nervous little smile tugging at your lips.
He smirked again, that trademark Jay confidence returning. "i'm not assuming anything with you. i've known you too long. if this is what you want, you're going to have to be clear."
You let out a shaky breath, shifting slightly on the bed.
Your thigh pressed more firmly against his. neither of you moved away.
"I've wanted this for so long" you admitted quietly, the alcohol and years of repression loosening your tongue.
"Not just tonight. since we were in high school. every time you taught me guitar… every time we'd end up here talking until 3 a.m.… it's been driving me crazy."
Jay listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable but his body language open.
He moved one hand on the bed near your leg, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him.
"You hid it well" he said eventually, voice rougher than before. "most of the time."
"Guess i'm not hiding it anymore."
He chuckled softly. "No. you're really not."
Another stretch of heavy silence. your eyes dropped to his mouth for a second before flicking back up. Jay noticed, of course.
He always noticed.
"You're nervous" he observed, not teasing this time. just stating it. "your pulse is going crazy right here." his fingers lightly touched the side of your neck, feeling your heartbeat.
You didn't deny it. instead, you leaned into his touch just slightly.
"I'm nervous because it's you" you whispered. "because if we do this… it changes everything."
Jay's thumb brushed slowly along your jaw. "it doesn't have to. not unless we want it to."
His words were careful, responsible — so typically Jay.
Even now, when the air between you crackled with years of built-up desire, he was still thinking about protecting what you had. it only made you want him more.
You stayed like that for a while longer, talking in low voices.
Every small movement — your fingers brushing his arm — felt loaded.
The tension was thick enough to taste. your body ached with it, a deep, warm need that had been growing for years, sharpened by every guitar lesson, every late-night conversation, every moment you'd spent pretending.
But still, you didn't cross the line. not yet.
The silence between you stretched, thick and electric. your heart hammered so hard you were sure he could hear it.
The soft lighting in Jay's room wrapped around both of you like a secret, making every small movement feel heavier than it should.
You shifted closer on the bed, moving until you were on your knees beside him.
Jay was leaning back against the pillows in a way that left space — deliberate space. if you wanted to climb on him, kiss him, do anything… he wouldn't pull away. his dark eyes followed you calmly, patient as always.
"You don't have to feel any pressure" he said quietly, voice low and steady. "even Heeseung and Jake noticed. they've been telling me for weeks how obviously into me you are. i couldn't exactly deny feeling it too… but i didn't want to make things weird between us."
His honesty hit you hard. you leaned in slowly and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a second. his skin was warm under your lips.
"I don't want things to get uncomfortable either" you whispered against his cheek. "if we do this… if something happens… i promise i can pretend it never did. until we figure out how we really feel. no pressure on you either.”
Jay nodded once, then shifted back until he was leaning against the headboard of his bed.
The blankets were rumpled around you both.
You hesitated only a moment longer before swinging one leg over his lap and settling yourself straddling him.
The oversized t-shirt you wore rode up your thighs slightly as you sat down. Jay's hands came up naturally to rest on your waist — steady, supportive, but respectful.
His fingers didn't wander lower. he simply held you there, giving you balance without pushing for more.
For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. you were both breathing a little heavier. your hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart under the thin fabric of his shirt.
You traced small, nervous circles with your fingertips, exploring the firm muscle you'd stared at so many times during those guitar lessons.
Jay watched you closely, that cool, observant expression still on his face even now.
"You've been thinking about this for a long time, haven't you?" he murmured.
You nodded, biting your lip. your hands slid slowly up his chest to his shoulders, then back down again, feeling the warmth of him through the shirt. "yeah… especially during those lessons. every time you sat behind me… every time your hands were on mine…"
You leaned forward and kissed his other cheek, then the corner of his jaw. your fingers kept moving, sliding over his collarbones, down his arms, learning the shape of him like you'd wanted to for years.
Jay's grip on your waist tightened just slightly — not enough to control, just enough to show he was affected.
"You have no idea how hard it's been keeping my hands where they belong during those lessons" he said, voice dropping lower, a little rougher around the edges.
"Sitting that close to you, feeling you react every time i touch your fingers… knowing you're getting wet just from that. it's been driving me fucking crazy too."
Your breath hitched at his words. the slight dirty edge to them — so rare from him — sent heat rushing through your whole body. you pressed your palms flat against his chest again, feeling how his breathing had changed.
"I want you to teach me what good sex feels like, Jay" you finally whispered, the words spilling out shy but honest.
Your face burned as you said it, but you didn't look away.
Jay's eyes darkened, but he still held himself back. his thumbs brushed slow, soothing circles on your waist over the t-shirt.
"You're sure?" he asked, even now checking. "we can stop anytime. this doesn't change anything if you don't want it to."
"I'm sure" you breathed.
You leaned in and finally kissed him properly.
The first kiss was soft — tentative, testing.
His lips were warm and surprisingly gentle against yours. then you tilted your head a little more, deepening it, and Jay responded with a low hum that vibrated through his chest.
One of his hands stayed firmly on your waist while the other came up to cup the back of your neck, not pulling, just supporting.
You kissed him again, slower this time, savoring it. your hands grew bolder, sliding under the hem of his shirt to touch bare skin.
You traced the lines of his abs, feeling the way his stomach tensed under your fingertips. Jay let out a quiet breath against your mouth when your nails grazed lightly over his skin.
"Fuck..." he muttered between kisses, voice husky. "you've been holding back a lot, haven't you? all those times you sat in this room acting innocent while your mind was somewhere filthy…"
You smiled shyly against his lips, still that mix of timid and needy. "Maybe."
Your hands kept exploring — running up his back, feeling the muscle there, then back to his chest.
You could feel how hard his heart was beating. you shifted slightly in his lap, not grinding, just adjusting closer, and Jay's fingers flexed on your waist.
He kissed you again, a little deeper this time, his tongue brushing yours carefully. when you pulled back for air, he rested his forehead against yours.
"You're shaking" he observed quietly, always noticing everything. "still nervous?"
"A little" you admitted, your fingers still tracing patterns on his chest under his shirt. "but i want this. i've wanted it for so long."
Jay's hand slid up your back in a slow, comforting stroke. "then we take it slow. i'm not rushing anything with you."
His voice dropped again, that slight dirty tone returning. "even if i've thought about bending you over that guitar stool more times than i should admit."
Your face flushed hot. you kissed him again to hide your embarrassment, hands cupping his face now.
The kiss grew heavier, more urgent, but Jay kept control — never letting his hands move lower than your waist, never pushing your hips down against him.
You broke the kiss and pressed your face into his neck, breathing him in as your fingers continued their slow exploration of his torso.
You could feel him getting hard beneath you, but he made no move to do anything about it.
"Tell me what you've thought about" you whispered against his skin, shy but curious.
Jay let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against your cheek. "you really want to hear that right now?"
You nodded, kissing his neck softly.
He exhaled slowly. "a lot of nights after you left these lessons… i thought about how pretty you look when you're concentrated. how your breathing changes when i get close. thought about what sounds you'd make if i finally touched you properly instead of pretending it was just about guitar chords."
Your thighs squeezed instinctively around his hips. Jay noticed but didn't comment on it, just kept talking in that low, controlled voice.
"I've wondered how you'd taste" he added, almost casually. "how you'd look sitting on my lap like this, trying so hard to stay quiet because your brothers might hear if we were at your house."
You let out a shaky breath, your hands tightening on his shoulders.
The tension was almost unbearable now — heavy, aching, delicious. you kissed him again, deeper, your body pressing closer against his chest while your hands roamed freely under his shirt.
Jay kissed you back with the same measured intensity, one hand still steady on your waist, the other gently threading through your hair. he was hard beneath you, you could feel it clearly, but he remained the same Jay — cool-headed, teasing even now.
"You're going to kill me if you keep touching me like that" he murmured against your lips, a hint of a smirk in his voice. "those hands have been driving me insane for months."
You smiled, a little breathless, and kissed the corner of his mouth. "good. because you've been doing the same to me every single lesson."
The two of you stayed like that for a long time — kissing slowly, touching carefully, talking in low voices between heated moments.
The world outside felt far away. years of friendship and hidden desire were finally cracking open, but still slowly, still safely.
Jay pulled back after one particularly long kiss, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.
"Still okay?" he asked, eyes searching yours.
You nodded, leaning in to kiss him again.
Neither of you were ready to stop yet. the night was young, the tension was perfect, and for the first time, you weren't pretending anymore.
You kept kissing him, deeper now, with a hunger that surprised even you. despite the innocent, pure look on your face — wide eyes, flushed cheeks — any shyness had melted away under the heat of the alcohol and years of built-up need.
Your hands moved with purpose, sliding down Jay's chest, over his stomach, until you boldly palmed the obvious bulge straining against his gray pajama shorts.
Jay let out a sharp breath against your mouth, then another low sigh as your fingers rubbed him slowly through the fabric. je was hard, thick, and warm under your touch. you didn't hesitate, stroking him with more confidence, feeling him twitch under your palm.
"Fuck…" he muttered between kisses, his voice rougher.
He finally broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look down between your bodies.
There you were — straddling him, hand shamelessly rubbing his erection right beneath where you sat. his dark eyes darkened further.
"You're not playing around tonight, huh?" he said, voice low and slightly amused, but clearly affected.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear, your voice needy and breathless. "i need you so bad right now, Jay… please. i want you to fuck me."
Jay let out a short, surprised laugh, the sound husky. "then take all your clothes off" he said, half-joking, half-challenging, that signature teasing tone still there even now.
But you were too far gone.
Without hesitation, you sat back on his thighs and pulled the oversized t-shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest. then you lifted your hips and slid the pajama shorts down your legs, kicking them aside until you were left in just your panties.
Your skin felt hot under his gaze.
Jay cursed under his breath — a low, impressed "shit…" — as his eyes raked over your body. his hands stayed respectful on your waist for a moment longer before he helped steady you.
"Come here" he murmured, pulling you back onto his lap properly.
The kissing resumed, hotter this time.
Your hand returned to stroking him through his shorts while his mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, then down your neck.
He sucked lightly on your skin, not enough to leave marks yet, but enough to make you whimper softly.
You ground against his bulge slowly, feeling the friction through the thin layers separating you. Jay's breathing grew heavier, his hands finally sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.
"You've been hiding this body from me during all those lessons?" he said against your neck, voice low and a little dirty. "sitting there acting all innocent while i was trying not to think about how you'd look like this… straddling me, touching my cock like you own it."
You moaned softly at his words, your hand squeezing him firmer. "i thought about it every time."
Jay kissed you hard again, then shifted both of you. he moved you off his lap gently and stood up, quickly pulling his own shirt off and dropping his shorts.
His cock sprang free — hard, flushed, and bigger than you'd imagined in your filthiest thoughts. he was smooth, well-kept, the head already glistening.
He sat back down against the headboard and pulled you back on top, but this time he guided you into a different position.
He turned you so you were facing away from him, your back to his chest, straddling his lap in reverse.
"Like this" he said quietly, voice steady but thick with want. "i want to feel you."
His hands settled on your hips, guiding you as you lowered yourself.
He didn't enter you yet — instead, he pulled your panties to the side and slid his cock between your folds, letting you grind along his length. the heat of him against your wet pussy made you gasp.
You leaned back against his chest, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you steady while his other hand reached down to rub slow circles on your clit.
His mouth was right by your ear, breathing warm against it.
"Slow" he reminded you, always in some control. "we've got all night."
You rocked your hips, sliding along his cock, coating him with how wet you were.
Jay groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your back. he kept rubbing your clit with practiced fingers, occasionally squeezing your breast with his free hand, rolling your nipple gently.
"Feel how hard you made me?" he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "all those guitar lessons… you sitting between my legs, biting your lip every time i touched you. i wanted to pull you back against me just like this."
You moaned, moving faster against him. Jay adjusted his grip, lifting you slightly before finally guiding the head of his cock to your entrance.
"Ready?" he asked, checking one last time.
"Yes" you breathed.
He lowered you slowly onto him, inch by inch.
The stretch was perfect — full, deep, overwhelming in the best way.
When he bottomed out, both of you let out shaky breaths. he stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, his arm tight around your waist, the other hand still between your legs rubbing your clit.
Then he started moving.
He thrust up into you in a steady rhythm, deep and controlled.
You braced your hands on his thighs, leaning forward slightly as you rode him in reverse, matching his pace.
The position let him hit deep with every roll of his hips, his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you.
Jay's breathing was ragged now, but his voice stayed low near your ear. "that's it… just like that. you feel so fucking good."
His hand on your clit never stopped, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.
The other hand gripped your hip, guiding you down onto him harder.
The sound of skin meeting skin filled the warm room, mixed with your soft moans and his occasional low groans.
You leaned further forward, hands on his knees for leverage, bouncing on his cock while he thrust up to meet you. Jay cursed again, the view from behind clearly affecting him.
"Look at you" he said, voice strained but still teasing. "taking me so well after wanting it for years…"
The pleasure built fast — the angle, his fingers on your clit, the deep thrusts.
Your thighs started trembling. Jay noticed, as always, and wrapped his arm tighter around you, holding you close as he fucked you through it.
Your back arching against his chest, a broken moan leaving your lips. Jay kept moving, slower now, drawing it out, murmuring quiet praise against your neck.
He didn't stop completely. after you caught your breath, he guided you to lean all the way forward, chest almost to the bed, still connected.
He sat up straighter behind you, hands on your hips as he thrust deeper, faster, chasing his own release.
The position was intense — you face down, ass up, Jay behind you thrusting with controlled power. his hands roamed your back, occasionally gripping your hair lightly to pull you back against him.
"Fuck, you're squeezing me so tight" he groaned.
You pushed back against him, meeting every thrust. Jay's pace grew more urgent, but he never lost that cool edge — always making sure you were okay, his hands soothing even as he fucked you harder.
You kept moving on him, rolling your hips in a slow, needy rhythm as you rode Jay in reverse.
Your back was pressed against his chest, his cock buried deep inside you with every downward motion.
The stretch felt incredible, and the position let you feel every inch of him. your hands gripped his thighs for balance while his arm stayed wrapped around your waist, the other hand still teasing your clit with slow, deliberate circles.
But Jay had other plans.
His hands slid to your hips, gripping firmly but not harshly.
With a low murmur against your ear — "let me take over for a bit" — he guided you forward. you leaned down, hands bracing on the bed as he smoothly shifted your body off his lap and onto all fours. the transition was fluid, his cock slipping out for just a second before he positioned himself behind you.
Your hips stayed high, ass up, while your chest and face pressed down into the mattress.
The soft sheets muffled your heavy breathing as Jay knelt behind you.
He reached forward, gathering both of your arms gently but decisively, pulling them behind your lower back. he held your wrists together with one hand, limiting your movement without being overly restrictive.
His grip was secure, controlling, but still careful — classic Jay.
"Fuck… Jay…" you moaned loudly, the sound shameless and needy.
Your voice echoed in the warm room, much louder than you'd ever been with anyone else. "it feels so deep like this…"
He rubbed the head of his cock along your soaked folds for a moment, teasing, before pushing back inside you in one smooth, deep thrust.
You cried out, face buried in the mattress as your ass stayed arched high for him.
Jay started moving — deep and fast, but not brutal.
Each thrust was powerful and controlled, hitting that perfect spot inside you with precision. the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, steady and rhythmic.
"Shit, listen to you" he said, voice low and slightly amused even now.
"You're so loud tonight. all those years pretending to be shy during our lessons… and now you're moaning like this with your face in my bed."
You whimpered loudly in response, unable to hold back. "i can't help it… you're so deep— ahh!" another loud moan tore from your throat as he thrust particularly deep, holding it there for a second before resuming his pace.
Jay kept your wrists pinned at your lower back with one hand while his other hand reached up and gathered your hair.
He didn't yank it — he simply held it firmly, using it as leverage to keep your head down against the mattress while he fucked you. the gentle tug on your scalp sent sparks through your body.
"That's it" he murmured, breathing heavier but still composed. "keep that ass up for me. you feel incredible like this… so wet. been thinking about this view for months every time you left my room."
Your moans grew louder, unrestrained. every deep thrust pushed a new sound out of you — high-pitched whimpers mixed with desperate gasps and full moans.
Your hips pushed back against him instinctively, meeting his rhythm as much as his grip on your wrists allowed.
"Jay— oh god, right there— fuck" you cried out, voice breaking. Your face stayed pressed into the sheets, cheek turned to the side, eyes half-closed in pleasure.
He leaned forward slightly, chest closer to your back, changing the angle just enough to make you see stars.
His thrusts never faltered — consistent, deep, fast enough to make your thighs shake but never rough enough to cross into discomfort.
"You're squeezing me so tight" he groaned near your ear, voice rough but still that familiar Jay tone — teasing underneath the lust. "all that tension from the guitar lessons finally coming out, huh?… you were this wet thinking about me fucking you like this?"
"Yes— fuck" you moaned loudly, almost sobbing into the mattress.
Your body rocked forward with each thrust, but Jay's hold on your wrists and hair kept you exactly where he wanted you. "i need more… please don't stop—"
He didn't.
He kept the pace steady, fucking you thoroughly.
Minutes passed like this — long, drawn-out, filthy minutes filled with the wet sounds of your bodies connecting and your increasingly loud moans. Jay would occasionally slow down to grind deep inside you, letting you feel every inch, before picking up speed again.
After a while, he released your wrists but only to adjust your position further.
He gently pushed your upper body fully down onto the bed, guiding you into a prone-bone angle — your hips still tilted up, legs slightly spread, chest and face pressed flat against the mattress.
He moved with you, covering your back with his chest as he slid back inside.
This new position felt even deeper. Jay's weight pressed you into the bed as he thrust down into you, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other braced beside your head for support.
"Still good?" he asked between thrusts, voice low and caring even as he fucked you harder. "tell me if it's too much."
"It's— ah... it's perfect— Jay, fuck" your voice was loud and broken, moans spilling out continuously now.
The mattress muffled some of them, but not enough. you were loud, needy, completely lost in the sensation.
Jay let out a low chuckle that turned into a groan as you clenched around him. "you're going to wake up the whole house if you keep moaning like that. not that i mind… i like hearing how much you need this."
He kept the rhythm deep and fast, hips snapping against your ass with controlled power.
The angle made his cock drag perfectly against your g-spot with every stroke. his hand in your hair kept you grounded, his lips occasionally brushing your shoulder or the back of your neck as he fucked you.
"You're doing so well" he murmured, voice husky against your ear. "my best friend moaning my name while i fuck her exactly how she needs."
"Jay— please…" you whined loudly, pushing your hips back as much as the position allowed. your hands gripped the sheets tightly, body trembling from the sustained pleasure.
He kept going, deep, fast, relentless but never rough.
Always observant — adjusting when your moans pitched higher, slowing for a few strokes when your thighs shook too much, then building the pace again.
Jay kept his steady, deep rhythm, fucking you thoroughly from behind while you stayed pressed into the mattress. your loud moans continued filling the room without filter — raw, needy, and unrestrained.
But he wasn't done changing things up.
He slowed his thrusts gradually, then pulled out carefully.
Before you could protest the sudden emptiness, he flipped you onto your back with strong but gentle hands.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was between your legs again, spreading them wide and settling on top of you.
This time, though, he hooked both of your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half.
Your hips lifted off the bed as he leaned forward, bringing his face close to yours. the new angle made everything feel impossibly deeper.
"Jay— fuck—" you moaned loudly as he pushed back inside you in one smooth motion.
Your voice cracked with pleasure, eyes fluttering. "it's so deep like this… i can feel everything—"
He braced his hands on either side of your head, his dark eyes locked on your face as he started moving again. deep, fast strokes that made your breasts bounce with every thrust.
Your legs trembled over his shoulders, ankles near his ears.
Jay's expression stayed focused — that cool, controlled look mixed with clear desire.
He wasn't being rough, but the way he drove into you was relentless, hitting that perfect spot over and over.
"Look at me" he said, voice low and a little strained. "want to see your face while i fuck you."
You tried, but another loud moan tore from your throat as he ground deep inside you, rolling his hips in a way that made your toes curl. "ah— Jay, right there— don't stop—"
Your hands flew up to grip his arms, nails digging into his biceps as he held you folded beneath him.
The position left you completely exposed, hips tilted up, taking every inch of his cock with each thrust.
You were so loud now — moaning, whimpering, gasping his name repeatedly.
The sounds bounced off the walls of his warm-lit room.
Jay leaned down further, almost bending you in half, and kissed you messily.
His tongue slid against yours as he kept thrusting, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder. when he pulled back, his breathing was heavier.
"You're so fucking loud tonight" he murmured against your lips, a hint of that teasing smirk appearing even now.
"I can't— ah, it feels too good—" you cried out, head falling back against the pillows.
Your face was flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with pleasure. every deep thrust pushed a new moan out of you. "Jay… Jay, please— it's so much—”
He kept the pace fast and deep, hips snapping forward with controlled power.
The angle made his cock drag perfectly against your g-spot on every stroke. one of his hands moved down to rub your clit again, adding another layer of overwhelming sensation.
You were a mess beneath him — legs over his shoulders, body folded, moaning shamelessly loud with every movement.
Your hands roamed his back, scratching lightly down his skin as pleasure built higher and higher.
"Fuck, you feel perfect" Jay groaned, voice rough but still composed.
He kissed your neck, sucking lightly as he continued thrusting. "been wanting to have you like this for so long. all spread out, taking me so well… moaning my name like you can't get enough."
"I can't— i really can't—" you sobbed-moaned, voice breaking. your hips tried to move to meet his thrusts, but the position left you mostly at his mercy. "it's so deep, Jay… i'm so close already—"
He immediately slowed his pace just enough to keep you on the edge without pushing you over, drawing out the moment. His thrusts became long, deliberate strokes — pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in deep and grinding against you.
"Not yet" he said softly, almost teasing. "we're not done."
He changed the angle slightly, pressing your thighs further back as he leaned over you.
The new depth made you cry out even louder, your voice echoing in the room. Jay's hand stayed on your clit, rubbing slow circles while he fucked you with those deep, fast strokes.
Sweat glistened on both your bodies under the soft brown-gold lighting. Jay's hair fell messily over his forehead as he watched your face, always observant, always checking your reactions.
"Every time I hit this spot right here—" he thrust deep and ground against you to emphasize, making you moan loudly again. "—you get even wetter. you really did want this bad, didn't you?"
"Yes— god, yes— i've wanted you for years—" you gasped, voice loud and broken.
Your hands gripped his shoulders tighter as another wave of pleasure washed over you, keeping you right on the edge.
Jay kept going, deep and fast, but always controlled. he would lean down to kiss you messily every so often, swallowing some of your loud moans before pulling back to watch you again.
His hand never left your clit, building the tension higher without letting it break.
After a while, he lowered your legs from his shoulders but kept them spread wide. he stayed on top, chest pressed to yours in a more classic missionary, but still deep and intense.
His hips rolled against yours in a steady rhythm, grinding deep with every thrust.
"Still okay?" he asked between strokes, always the caring one even now.
"So okay— fuck, Jay, it feels amazing—" you moaned loudly, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.
The room filled with the sounds of your loud, needy moans, his low groans, and the wet rhythm of your bodies moving together.
Jay kept the pace deep and fast, drawing it out, making the pleasure last as long as possible.
He kissed your neck, your jaw, your lips — mixing tenderness with the raw intensity of how he was fucking you.
His hand occasionally slid up to hold one of your wrists above your head, not pinning hard, just keeping you in place while he drove into you.
"You sound so pretty when you're this loud" he whispered against your ear, voice rough. "moaning for your best friend like this… after all this time."
Your response was another loud, broken moan as he hit that perfect angle again.
The tension kept building, higher and higher, but Jay expertly kept you both teetering right on the edge — not letting either of you fall over just yet.
You were right on the edge.
Your body was shaking underneath Jay, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he fucked you deep and steady. your moans had become desperate, broken cries that filled the entire room.
"Jay— i'm so close— please, i'm gonna cum—" you gasped loudly, your voice cracking with need. your nails dug into his back as the pressure built unbearably tight inside you.
But Jay suddenly slowed down, then stopped moving completely, buried to the hilt inside you. he held perfectly still, breathing heavily against your neck.
"Not yet" he murmured, voice low and composed, that teasing control still fully intact. "you're not cumming yet."
You let out a loud, frustrated whine, trying to roll your hips up desperately, but he pinned you down with his weight, refusing to give you the last bit of friction you needed.
"Jay… please…" you begged, voice needy and loud. "i was so close—"
He kissed the corner of your mouth softly, then slowly pulled out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness.
Your pussy throbbed painfully, slick and desperate.
Jay moved down your body with deliberate calmness. he spread your legs wide, settling between them on his stomach.
His dark eyes looked up at your flushed, innocent-looking face as he wrapped his strong arms around your thighs, holding you open for him.
"Since you're being so loud and impatient" he said, voice husky but still teasing, "i'm going to taste you instead. but you still don't get to cum until i say so."
Before you could respond, Jay leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your soaked folds.
You moaned loudly, back arching off the bed at the sudden intense pleasure.
"Fuck— Jay—"
He took his time, exploring you with his mouth like he had all night. his tongue moved in slow, broad strokes from your entrance up to your clit, savoring how wet you were.
Then he circled your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue, applying just enough pressure to keep you right on the edge without pushing you over.
You were loud — extremely loud. your moans echoed shamelessly in his warm-lit room as he ate you out.
"Oh my god— Jay… that feels so good—" you cried out, one hand flying down to grip his hair. your hips tried to buck against his face, but his strong arms kept your thighs firmly pinned down, controlling your movements.
Jay hummed against your pussy, the vibration making you whimper even louder.
He alternated between long, slow licks and focused sucking on your clit, occasionally dipping his tongue inside you. his technique was precise and confident — typical Jay, even in this.
"You taste even better than i imagined" he murmured against your wet skin, voice slightly muffled. "all those guitar lessons… and i had no idea how sweet this pretty pussy was."
You moaned brokenly, head thrown back against the pillows. "Jay— please— i need to cum so bad— i can't take it—"
He ignored your begging and continued devouring you.
His tongue flicked rapidly over your clit for a few seconds, then slowed down again, edging you mercilessly.
Every time your thighs started trembling harder and your moans pitched higher, he would pull back slightly, kissing your inner thighs or blowing cool air on your sensitive folds until the orgasm threat faded just enough.
You were a complete mess — loud, desperate, and dripping.
"Ah! Jay— your tongue feels too good—" you sobbed, voice hoarse from how much you'd been moaning. your free hand gripped the sheets tightly beside you, knuckles turning white.
Jay slid two fingers inside you slowly while his mouth focused on your clit, curling them upward to press against that sensitive spot. the combination made you cry out even louder, almost screaming his name.
"Jay— fuck— i'm so close again— please let me cum this time—"
But he pulled his fingers out and slowed his tongue once more, denying you for the third time.
You let out a loud, frustrated whimper, tears of overwhelming pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes.
"Not yet" he repeated calmly, kissing your clit softly. "i want you shaking for me first."
He buried his face deeper between your legs, sucking your clit into his mouth while his tongue flicked rapidly.
The wet, obscene sounds of him eating you out mixed with your loud, broken moans. he kept you spread wide, completely exposed, as he worked you over with expert patience.
Minutes passed like this — long, torturous minutes of Jay's mouth on your pussy.
He would bring you right to the brink with fast, focused licks and suction, then slow down to lazy, broad strokes that kept the pleasure simmering without exploding.
Your body was covered in a thin layer of sweat, thighs trembling uncontrollably around his head.
"You're dripping all over my chin" he murmured, voice low and slightly dirty. "such a messy girl tonight. and still trying so hard to be quiet when we both know you can't."
"I'm not— i can't be quiet— Jay, please—" you moaned, almost incoherently now.
He slid his fingers back inside you, fucking you slowly with them while his tongue circled your clit.
The dual sensation had you seeing stars, right on the edge once again.
Your voice was getting hoarser, your moans desperate, needy sobs as he continued edging you with his mouth for what felt like forever.
Jay between your spread legs, focused and in control, while you writhed and moaned loudly beneath his skilled tongue.
He was clearly enjoying himself, occasionally humming in satisfaction against your pussy or glancing up to watch your innocent face contort with overwhelming pleasure.
"You're doing so well holding it for me" he praised softly between licks. "just a little longer…"
Your body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release, but Jay kept you right there — teetering, desperate, and completely at his mercy.
Now you were shaking uncontrollably, your thighs trembling around Jay's head as he continued working you with his tongue.
Jay sucked your swollen clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue rapidly while his two fingers curled deep inside you, pressing firmly against that sensitive spot.
His dark eyes flicked up to watch your face as he pushed you over.
"Jay— fuck— i'm cumming—!" you cried out loudly, voice breaking into a high-pitched moan that echoed through the room.
The orgasm crashed over you hard.
Your back arched violently off the bed, hips jerking against his face as waves of intense pleasure ripped through your body.
You moaned shamelessly loud, almost screaming his name as your pussy clenched around his fingers and flooded his tongue.
But Jay didn't stop.
He kept his mouth on you through the entire orgasm, licking and sucking gently but consistently, drawing it out and immediately pushing you toward another peak.
"Jay— oh my god, it's too much... i just came— ah" you wailed, one hand gripping his hair tightly while the other twisted in the sheets. your legs shook uncontrollably around his shoulders.
He hummed against your pussy, the vibration sending aftershocks through you.
"I know" he murmured, voice low and slightly smug against your wet folds. "but you sound too pretty when you're falling apart. i'm not done with you yet."
He continued eating you out with focused determination — slow, broad licks mixed with quick flicks on your oversensitive clit.
His fingers kept moving inside you, curling and thrusting steadily. the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on your dripping pussy filled the room alongside your loud, hoarse moans.
After several long minutes of this delicious torture, Jay finally pulled his mouth away, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal.
He looked up at your flushed, wrecked face with that signature cool smirk.
"On your stomach again." he said quietly, voice rough with want.
You barely had the strength to move, but he helped you, flipping you onto your belly with strong, careful hands.
He pulled your hips up so you were in doggy again — ass high, chest and face pressed down into the mattress, exactly how he liked you.
Jay knelt behind you and rubbed his hard cock along your soaked folds before pushing back inside you in one smooth, deep thrust. you moaned into the sheets as he filled you again.
"Jay— nggh—"
He started fucking you again with those perfect deep and fast strokes, his hips snapping against your ass.
One hand gripped your hip firmly while the other slid up your back. Then you felt it — his thumb circling your tight rim teasingly before slowly pressing inside.
The dual sensation — his thick cock stretching your pussy while his thumb gently worked inside your ass — was overwhelming.
"Shit... Jay" your body trembled as he pushed his thumb deeper, moving it in slow, careful thrusts in time with his cock.
"Relax for me" he murmured, voice low and steady even as he fucked you harder. "just a little. i've got you."
He kept the pace deep and rhythmic, cock driving into your pussy while his thumb gently fucked your ass.
The feeling was intense but not painful — just enough stretch and fullness to make your loud moans turn even more desperate.
You were a wreck — face down, ass up, moaning shamelessly loud with every thrust. Jay's free hand reached around to rub your clit again, pushing you toward another orgasm while he continued the double stimulation.
"Listen to how loud you are" he said, voice husky with arousal but still teasing. "you love this, don't you?"
"Yes... ngf... fuck yes, i love it—" you cried out, pushing back against him desperately. "don't stop... please."
Jay kept going, deep and controlled.
His cock dragged perfectly against your g-spot with every thrust while his thumb moved gently inside you, stretching you just enough to heighten everything.
The room was filled with the wet sounds of sex, skin slapping skin, and your continuous loud moans.
He leaned forward, chest pressing against your back as he fucked you, his mouth close to your ear.
"You're squeezing me so fucking tight" he groaned softly. "both holes. such a greedy girl tonight."
You could only moan in response, completely lost in the pleasure.
Jay's rhythm never faltered — deep, fast strokes in your pussy, steady movements of his thumb in your ass, and his fingers still working your clit.
He kept you right on the edge of another orgasm, drawing it out just like before.
After several long, intense minutes, he pulled his thumb out carefully and focused entirely on fucking you deep from behind, both hands gripping your hips as he drove into you with powerful, controlled thrusts.
Jay leaned down again, kissing the back of your neck as he continued fucking you thoroughly.
"You're doing so well" he said quietly, voice warm despite how hard he was driving into you. "taking me so deep… being so loud for me. my perfect girl."
He kept the pace going, switching between deep grinding and faster thrusts, always keeping you full and stimulated.
He gripped your hips tighter and drove into you harder, his cock sliding in and out of your soaked, sensitive pussy with wet, obscene sounds.
"Jay, fuck... it's too much—" you cried out, voice breaking as he hit that perfect spot over and over.
He leaned forward, chest pressing against your back, and wrapped one arm around your waist to hold you in place. his other hand slid up to grip your shoulder, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust.
"You can take it" he murmured against your ear, voice rough and low. "you've been waiting years for this. take it like a good girl for me."
Then he shifted again, pushing your upper body fully down while keeping your hips raised.
The weight of him on top of you again, the way his cock drove so deep at this angle, had you moaning loudly into the sheets, almost sobbing with overstimulation and pleasure.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of him fucking you thoroughly, Jay's breathing became more ragged. his thrusts grew faster, more desperate.
This was exactly how he needed it.
He fucked you harder, hips snapping against your ass with urgent, almost frantic strokes.
His cock drove deep inside you with every thrust, the angle letting him hit as deep as possible. his breathing was heavy and labored against the back of your neck.
"Fuck— i'm close—" he groaned, voice strained for the first time that night. "you feel too good… i can't hold it anymore."
You moaned loudly in response, pushing your ass back against him as much as you could. "cum inside me, i want to feel you—"
That seemed to break the last bit of his control.
Jay's thrusts became erratic and desperate. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other gripping the sheets beside your head.
His hips slammed against you faster, chasing his release with raw need.
"Shit— fuck" he growled, voice breaking as the pleasure overtook him.
With a deep, guttural groan that vibrated against your skin, Jay buried himself as deep as possible inside you and came hard.
His cock pulsed strongly, releasing thick, warm spurts of cum deep into your pussy.
His hips stuttered and jerked against your ass as he rode out the intense orgasm, grinding deep to push every drop inside you.
He kept thrusting weakly through his climax, desperate and almost whimpering against your neck as the pleasure overwhelmed him.
His body trembled on top of yours, muscles tense, breathing ragged and hot against your skin.
He stayed pressed against you, hips twitching, making sure you took every single drop.
The desperation in his movements — the way he held you so tightly, the broken groans, the way he couldn't stop moving even after he started cumming — was raw and intense. years of tension finally snapping in that exact moment.
He stayed inside you for a long time afterward, breathing heavily, body still covering yours completely as the last aftershocks ran through him.
His cock continued to twitch inside your cum-filled pussy, making you whimper softly at the overstimulation.
The room was quiet now except for both of your heavy breathing. Jay's warm, sweaty body remained pressed against your back, his face hidden in your neck as he tried to catch his breath.
No words yet.
Just the heavy, satisfied silence and the feeling of him still deep inside you, having cum exactly where he needed to — deep, desperate, and completely lost in the moment.
The room felt quieter than it had all night.
You stayed there — face down, body spent and trembling — trying to process the overwhelming wave of emotions crashing over you.
The pleasure was still echoing through your limbs, but something deeper was settling in. something terrifying and warm at the same time.
Jay finally let out a long, shaky breath.
He pressed a slow, almost hesitant kiss to the back of your shoulder before carefully pulling out of you.
The loss of him made you whimper softly. you felt empty.
Exposed. raw.
He rolled off you and lay on his side, facing you.
For a few seconds, he just looked at you — dark eyes searching your face with that familiar intensity. his hair was messy, lips slightly swollen, skin glistening with sweat under the soft brown-gold lighting.
He looked beautiful. and suddenly, painfully real.
You turned your head to face him, cheek still pressed against the bed.
Your heart was doing something complicated in your chest.
"Jay…" you whispered, voice hoarse from how loudly you'd been moaning.
He reached out and gently brushed damp strands of hair away from your face. his touch was careful now, almost reverent.
"Yeah?" he answered quietly. his voice was lower than usual, a little rough.
You didn't know what to say. there were too many things at once.
I just slept with my best friend.
I let him cum inside me.
I've been in love with you for years and now i'm scared.
Instead of speaking, you shifted closer and tucked yourself against his chest.
Jay didn't hesitate — he wrapped his arms around you immediately, pulling you in.
One hand rubbed slow circles on your bare back while the other rested at the nape of your neck.
The silence stretched again, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
It was heavy.
"I…" you started, then stopped.
Your fingers traced small patterns on his chest, feeling his heartbeat slowly begin to calm. "i don't know what to say right now."
Jay let out a soft breath that was almost a chuckle. "me neither."
He tilted his head down to look at you.
His expression was calm on the surface, but you knew him too well. there was something vulnerable behind his eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked. the question was simple, but the way he asked it — gentle, serious — made your chest tighten.
You nodded against him. "yeah. just… a lot."
He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again, voice low. "i know. for me too."
You pulled back slightly so you could see his face better. "did you… want this? like, really want it? or did i just—"
Jay cut you off by pressing his forehead against yours.
"I wanted it" he said firmly. "i've wanted it for longer than i probably should admit. but i never let myself think about it too much because… you're you. my best friend. the one person i didn't want to risk losing."
Your eyes stung a little.
You swallowed hard.
"I've been in love with you since second year" you confessed in a whisper. the words felt scary to say out loud, but after everything that had just happened, they also felt necessary.
"Not just… wanting you. loving you. for years. and tonight i just… i couldn't pretend anymore."
Jay's hand stilled on your back for a second. then he pulled you closer, tucking your head under his chin.
"I figured" he murmured. "i'm not blind. the way you looked at me during those guitar lessons… how you'd get quiet sometimes. i noticed. i just didn't know if acting on it would fuck everything up."
You let out a shaky laugh. "and now?"
He was quiet for a long time. his fingers resumed their slow movement on your back.
"Now i don't know" he admitted honestly. "but i don't regret it. not even a little." he paused. "do you?"
You shook your head quickly. "no. God, no. it felt… right. even if it was intense. even if i was so loud i probably woke up your neighbors."
Jay chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest.
The familiar teasing tone returned just a bit. "you were really loud. i didn't know you had that in you."
You hid your face in his neck, embarrassed but smiling. "shut up. you were the one edging me for like an hour."
He laughed again, but it faded into something softer. his arms tightened around you.
"I just… i needed to know you really wanted it" he said quietly. "all of it. not just because you were drunk or horny. i needed to hear you fall apart for me."
You stayed silent, absorbing his words.
The vulnerability in his voice was rare. Jay was always the cool one, the one who had everything under control. hearing him admit that he'd been holding back too made something warm bloom in your chest.
"I've never felt like that with anyone else" you whispered. "not even close. it wasn't just sex, Jay. it was you."
He exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding that breath for a long time.
"Yeah" he said finally. "same here."
The two of you stayed tangled together like that for a while.
You traced a finger along his collarbone. "are you scared?" you asked softly.
Jay was quiet for a few seconds.
"A little" he admitted. "i don't want to lose what we have. the friendship. the late nights. the stupid arguments about music. you're important to me. really fucking important."
You nodded, throat tight. "me too. but… i also don't think i can go back to pretending i don't feel this way."
He tilted your chin up gently so you were looking at him. his dark eyes were serious, but there was warmth there too.
"Then we don't pretend" he said. "we figure it out. slowly. no pressure. you're still my best friend first. everything else… we'll see."
You felt tears prick at your eyes again, but this time they were different. not sad. just overwhelmed.
Jay noticed immediately. he wiped the corner of your eye with his thumb.
"Hey" he said softly, that teasing smirk returning just a fraction. "don't cry on me now. i just made you cum so hard you almost forgot your own name. this is supposed to be a victory lap."
You laughed wetly and shoved his chest lightly. "you're such an asshole."
"Your asshole" he corrected, smirking.
The joke helped. it reminded you that even after everything, he was still Jay.
Your Jay.
You snuggled closer again, legs tangling with his. His hand resumed rubbing your back, soothing and steady.
The emotional weight of the night settled over both of you — the relief, the fear, the hope, the deep affection that had always been there underneath the tension.
It wasn't simple. it wasn't clean. but it was real.
Jay held you tighter, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.
"Get some sleep" he murmured eventually, voice soft. "we'll talk more in the morning. when your brain isn't fried from all the orgasms i gave you."
You smiled against his skin. "cocky."
"Accurate" he replied.
Even in the emotional aftermath, the teasing remained. it felt safe. familiar.
As your eyes grew heavier, wrapped in his arms in the warm glow of his room, you realized something important:
Whatever happened next — whether this became something more or complicated everything — you didn't regret a single second.
And from the way Jay's fingers kept tracing gentle patterns on your skin long after you thought he'd fallen asleep, you suspected he didn't either.
SUMMARY: once the college’s golden girl, you had it all: endless parties, a popular boyfriend, and flawless grades. but behind the spotlight, your mind was slowly unraveling. pretending everything was fine became exhausting, and for the first time, you didn’t recognize the person staring back at you anymore. then came Sim Jake, the awkward, quiet nerd you never thought twice about, who somehow saw through every carefully built wall around you. and the more your world fell apart, the more he became the only place that still felt safe.
WARNINGS: mutual cheating? (y/n on her bf and her bf on y/n), toxic relationship (not with jake), SMUT, virginity loss, subby!jake, switch!reader, riding, car sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, missionary, jake is so sensitive ma babe, mentions of anxiety attacks, panic attacks (slight description), pills consumption, jake is silly (we love him), y/n’s anxiety is mentioned A LOT, alcohol consumption, arguing, fightin (no punches actually), slow burn but they had sex, poor decision making (welp), y/n is in denial, mentions of bullying, this is low-key trash (but don’t we all love a little trash sometimes?), mentions of period, jake is VERY desperate, abandonment issues (🙁), i SWEAR it gets better as y/n breaks up with jacob. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
NOW PLAYING: Skin by Sabrina Carpenter - I THINK I’M LOST AGAIN by Chase Atlantic - Fame is a Gun by Addison Rae - Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae
a/n: as someone who struggles with anxiety i wanted to bring awareness to how much it can shape your life 💔 i’m sorry i had to divide it in two parts but tumblr is a bitch with a word limit!! hopefully you’ll like it anyways 🩷 STAY TUNED for PART 2!
The dorm room buzzed with the quiet hum of preparation as you stood before the full-length mirror, turning slowly to examine every angle of your reflection.
The deep blue dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the glittery lace on the skirt catching the warm light and scattering it like tiny stars across the walls.
You ran your palms down the fabric, smoothing it over your hips, satisfied with how the halter neckline framed your shoulders.
“You look incredible,” Sophia said from behind you, her voice carrying that familiar note of admiration she always had when you got dressed up.
She was already in her light blue dress, a simple but elegant number that made her skin glow.
She was fixing a loose strand of hair in her own mirror, her lips pursed as she applied a final layer of gloss.
“So do you,” you replied, meeting her eyes in the reflection. “That color suits you.”
She grinned, about to say something when a loud, impatient honk cut through the evening air from outside. Three short blasts, then a longer one, the sound jarring against the quiet campus night.
Sophia moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside just a fraction, peeking out. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise “Holy shit. He really rented a limousine?”
You sighed, already feeling the familiar knot of irritation tighten in your chest.
Of course he did.
Jacob (your boyfriend, unfortunately) never did anything quietly. Everything had to be a spectacle, a performance, a way to show off how much money he could throw around.
It had been charming once, in the beginning, when you were both drunk on the novelty of each other.
Now it just felt... exhausting.
“Do you want a ride?” you asked, grabbing your small clutch purse from the bed and checking that your phone and lipstick were inside.
Sophia laughed, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. I love you, but I really don’t want to witness you two making out the whole way there. My girlfriend is coming to pick me up anyway.”
You blew her a kiss, the gesture light and affectionate. “Fair enough. Text me when you get there.”
“Will do. Have fun and try not to strangle him.” She sang-song.
“No promises.” You stepped out of the dorm room and made your way down the stairs, the click of your heels echoing in the stairwell.
The night air hit you as you pushed open the front door, slightly cool for early autumn.
And there it was, stretched along the curb like a white whale, the limousine.
It was absurdly long, the kind of vehicle that screamed look at me from every polished inch.
The driver of the limousine opened the car door for you, helping you step inside with a kind hand.
“There she is.” Jacob said, his voice already carrying that slight slur that meant he’d started drinking before picking you up.
His tie was loose around his neck and his jacket discarded somewhere on the seat beside him. His eyes were glassy, his smile too wide. “My beautiful girl. Took you long enough.”
“I wasn’t aware I was on a schedule.” you said, smoothing your dress back down and settling into the seat across from him, putting distance between you.
The limousine was spacious, with plush cream leather seats that wrapped around the interior, a mini bar stocked with bottles, and a strip of colored lights along the ceiling that cast everything in a soft, muted glow.
The driver pulled away from the curb without a word, and the limousine glided smoothly through the campus streets.
Jacob reached for you, his fingers grazing your knee. “Come here, dont sit all the way over there.”
“I’m fine here.” You replied with pursed lips.
His jaw tightened, but he let his hand fall back. “Suit yourself.”
The ride to the gala was spent in strained silence punctuated by Jacob’s attempts to make conversation that quickly devolved into complaints.
“Want a drink?” He questioned, holding a glass of what seemed to be whiskey. “You know I can’t.” You replied with a stern look
“Party pooper,” he sneered, "Whatever, more for me.”
You stared out the window, watching the streetlights blur past, counting the minutes until you could be surrounded by other people and not have to be alone with him.
When the limousine finally pulled up to the venue, you felt a wave of relief.
The building was an modern building that had been converted into an event space, its stone facade draped in white lights and a red carpet was leading up to the grand entrance.
People were milling about in blue suits and gown as the air filled with the murmur of conversation.
Jacob was out of the car first, offering you his hand with the practiced charm of someone who knew people were watching.
You took it, because appearances mattered, and let him lead you inside.
The ballroom was stunning. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting prisms of light across the marble floors. the tables were draped in white linen, they lined the edges of the room and centerpieces of white roses and candles flickering softly.
A bar stretched along one wall, already busy, and a small orchestra played near the far end, their music floating through the air like silk.
You spotted Sophia almost immediately, standing with her girlfriend near one of the tall windows with a glass of champagne in her hand.
She gave you a small wave, and you smiled back.
For the first hour, things were fine. You mingled, you laughed at the right moments, you nodded along to conversations about internships and family businesses and who was dating whom.
Jacob stayed close, his hand on the small of your back, his presence a constant pressure that you tried to ignore. But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed, his grip grew heavier and his touches more insistent.
He started rubbing your hip while you were talking to a professor, his fingers dipping dangerously low to your backside.
You shifted away, giving him a pointed look, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.
“Jacob,” you murmured, leaning close to his ear. “Stop.”
“What?” His voice was too loud, his breath hot and sour against your cheek. “I’m just showing you off.”
“You’re being inappropriate.”
His expression darkened. “I’m being your boyfriend. When did you become such a prude?”
You felt heat rise to your cheeks with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I’m not doing this here.”
“You never want to do anything anymore,” he said, his voice rising. A few nearby heads turned. “You’re always tired, always stressed, always on your fucking pills—”
“Jacob.” Your voice was sharp, a blade. “Don’t.”
But he was already beyond listening. He downed the rest of his drink, set the glass down on a passing tray with more force than necessary, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m done.”
“Don’t make a scene.” You begged.
“Too late.” he said, and stormed off toward the exit, weaving slightly as he pushed through the crowd.
You stood there for a moment, with your hands trembling and your face burning.
Sophia caught your eye, her expression worried, and you could see her starting to move toward you. You shook your head, mouthing “I’m okay.” and followed Jacob out into the night.
The cool air hit you like a slap. The street was quieter there, away from the main entrance as the sounds of the gala muffled behind the thick walls.
Jacob was pacing near the sidewalk with his phone in his hand. “Jacob.” You called.
He spun around with wild eyes. “What?”
“What the hell was that?” You asked. “What the hell was what? Me wanting my girlfriend to actually pay attention to me?” He scoffed.
“I was paying attention to you, I was standing right next to you all night.” you frowned.
“You were ignoring me. Flirting with everyone else.” Jacob accused.
“I wasn’t flirting, I was making conversation. That’s what people do at these things.”
He laughed bitterly, his expression as cold as ice, “You’ve changed, you know that? You used to be fun. Now you’re just... detached. You never want to have sex anymore, you never want to party, you just want to stand around and talk about boring shit.”
You felt something snap inside you. “I’m taking anti-anxiety pills, Jacob. Do you remember that? Do you remember the panic attacks I’ve been having? Do you remember me telling you that the medication makes me feel different? Or do you just not care?”
He stared at you, his mouth open, but no words came out.
“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, and your voice was steadier than you expected. “I’m not going back inside with you. I’m not getting back in that limousine with you. Go home, Jacob. Sleep it off.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” He looked at you as if you had grown two heads, or as if he had never heard the world ‘no’ in his life.
“I’m not.” You stood your ground.
He looked at you for a long moment, something shifting in his eyes. Then he turned, pulled out his phone, and started walking down the street, his steps unsteady. “Fine. Whatever. Fucking fine.”
You watched him go until he disappeared around a corner, and then you stood there alone, the night silent around you. You took a deep breath, then another, willing your heartbeat to slow.
You didn’t want to go back inside. You didn’t want to face Sophia’s pitying looks or the whispered speculation of the other guests.
You just wanted to go home.
You started walking, your heels clicking against the pavement, heading toward the main road where you could call a ride.
But you honestly didn’t even want to move, so you sat on a bench near the river and let your tears silently fall.
It all hurt, why couldn’t Jacob try to understand you? Why did he have to make everything about him?
“That was very rude, if you ask me.” You gasped as a voice spoke from your left.
You hadn’t noticed someone was sitting on the other side of the bench
You recognized him vaguely. You had seen the guy around at campus, but his face had never stuck in your memory until that moment. He had thick glasses and styled hair, with a gummy smile.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. My mom always tells me I tend to speak at the wrong moment.” He apologised, glancing away.
You sighed and scooted closer, “No, I think you’re very right.” You tuned toward him. “By the way, you go to Saint Cross’s college too, no?”
He nodded with a quick motion that messed his hair. “Yeah…. I’m Jake.”
“I’m Y/N.” You stepped closer, and he seemed to shrink back, his shoulders hunching. “What are you doing out here?”
“I— uh…” he gulped, “I hadn’t read that the dress code was blue, so I wore this suit.” He pointed at his very white suit. “The waiters are wearing white…”
You let the information sink in before letting out a quiet snort at the weirdness of it all. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
He finally glanced at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a fraction of a second before darting away.
In the dim light, you could see the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Do you… uhm, want some of this?” he questioned, raising the bottle he was drinking.
It was a bright orange liquid that looked like a spiked punch. “Sorry, I’m cutting down on the alcohol.”
“Oh, this is not alcohol.” He replied, shaking the bottle. “This is Gatorade, it’s way past my bed time, i needed the energy.”
As you threw your head back and laughed, you caught sight of the white limousine with the back of your eyes.
An idea formed in your mind, reckless and impulsive, the kind of idea you would have talked yourself out of a year ago.
But tonight, sitting there in your glittery dress with your boyfriend’s abandonment still fresh in your chest, you didn’t feel like talking yourself out of anything.
“Do you want to be my buddy for the night?” you asked.
He blinked. “What?”
“The limousine there? My boyfriend forgot it. Let’s take it for a spin.” You shrugged.
He looked at the car, then at you, then back at the car. “I don’t think that’s—”
“The driver’s paid for the whole night. He’ll drive wherever we want.” You walked over to the driver, who had stubbed out his cigarette and was watching you with mild curiosity. “We’re taking the car out. My boyfriend left, but the night’s still young.”
The driver shrugged, his expression indifferent from when he had opened the door for you just a couple of hours earlier. “You’re the boss.”
You turned back to Jake, who hadn’t moved. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, his hands wrapped around the Gatorade bottle like it was a lifeline. “Come on,” you said, holding out your hand. “I promise I don’t bite.” you sang song.
He hesitated for a long moment, and you thought he might say no, might turn and walk away and go back to whatever quiet corner of the gala he had emerged from.
But then he stepped forward, his fingers brushing against yours, and let you lead him into the limousine.
The interior felt even more opulent now, in the quiet intimacy of just the two of you. The colored lights were still on, casting soft greens and purples across the leather seats.
Jake sat down carefully, as if afraid he might break something.
You sat across from him, watching him. “Have you ever been in a limousine before?” You tried as an ice breaker.
He shook his head. “What about the gala? Do you usually go to those?”
“Not really, but I thought I could try.” He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I think I regretted it as soon as someone asked me to refill their champagne flute.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” you said. “Socializing is overrated.”
He looked at you then, a real look, his eyes searching your face as if trying to figure out if you were being genuine or mocking him.
You held his gaze, and something in his expression softened.
The driver’s voice came through the intercom. “Where to?”
You looked at Jake. “Anywhere you want.” He thought about it, biting his lower lip. “I don’t know. Just... around?”
“Around it is.” you said to the driver, and the limousine pulled away from the curb, gliding into the night.
The first few minutes were awkward, filled with the kind of silence that felt heavy with unspoken things.
Jake stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, while you studied him from across the car.
He had nice hands, you noticed. Long fingers, neatly trimmed nails. He was nervous, you could tell, from the way he kept fidgeting with the bottle cap, the way his leg bounced slightly.
“So,” you said, breaking the silence. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”
He turned to you, curious. “What do you mean?”
You reached over and pressed a button on the console. The ceiling lights shifted, changing from soft green to a warm blue.
You pressed another button, and a small television screen descended from the roof. Another, and a panel slid open to reveal a karaoke machine, complete with microphones.
Jake’s eyes went wide. “That’s insane.”
“Right?” You pressed another button, and the mini bar lit up, revealing rows of tiny bottles. “Do you want a drink?”
“I, uh, I don’t really—”
You nodded, “It’s okay, you’re not a drinker.”
He shook his head, looking almost embarrassed. “I’ve never had any alcohol.”
“What?” You sat up straighter, genuinely shocked. “Never? Not even a sip of beer?”
“My parents don’t drink,” he said, shrugging. “And I never really saw the appeal.”
“Well, tonight you’re trying tequila.” You pulled out two small shot glasses and a bottle of Tequila, setting them on the counter. “Consider it a rite of passage… I’ll even have a shot with you, come on.”
He looked nervous, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “Okay.”
You poured the shots, sliding one toward him. He picked it up, examining the clear liquid like it might bite him. “Do I just... drink it?”
“Lick the salt, take the shot, suck the lime,” you said, demonstrating with practiced ease. You set up a small line of salt on the back of your hand, licked it, downed the shot, and bit into a lime wedge, the sourness cutting through the burn.
He watched you, then attempted to copy your movements. His hand shook slightly as he lifted the shot glass, and he winced as the tequila hit his throat, coughing and sputtering. “That’s— that’s strong!”
You laughed, genuinely. “It gets easier. Trust me.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and when he looked at you, there was a smile on his face. It transformed his features and made him look younger. “I feel warm.”
“That’s the alcohol. Give it a few minutes.” You poured another round, then another. The third shot went down smoother, and by the fourth, Jake was laughing at something you said, with his head thrown back and his shoulders relaxed.
The awkwardness had melted away, replaced by an easy, electric energy that filled the limousine like the colored lights.
“Show me the karaoke.” he said, his voice looser now, the words slightly slurred.
You grabbed one of the microphones and handed him the other. “What are we singing?”
He scrolled through the options, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t know any of these.”
“Pick the first one you recognize.”
He stopped on a song, and when the opening chords started playing, you recognized it immediately. Lana del Rey’s National Anthem notes filled the car. He started singing, his voice tentative at first, then growing bolder as you joined in, your voices blending together in a harmony that was probably terrible but felt incredible. It was crazy how much he knew the lyrics, singing his heart out.
At some point, you slid closer to him on the seat, your shoulders brushing, and he didn’t pull away.
When the song ended, the silence that followed was different. The air between you felt thick, heavy with possibility. He was looking at you, his eyes dark in the dim light, his lips slightly parted.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For tonight. I was... I was really nervous about coming here. I almost didn’t.”
“Thank you for being my knight in shining armor for the night.” you said, and you meant it.
He smiled again, that soft, transforming smile, and something in your chest fluttered. Without really thinking, you leaned closer and pressed a small kiss on his cheek.
A broken sound left his throat and he turned around, shielding himself from you.
“Jake?” You asked, your brows furrowing in worry, “I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?”
“No, no, it’s okay…” He said, his voice strained.
You took a better glance at him and… Oh.
His hands were shielding his crotch from your sight and you chuckled, “Are you hard?”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “It’s just that… I’ve never been kissed by a pretty girl.”
“I could eat you alive,” you laughed softly, turning him towards you again, “You are so cute.”
“Thank you.” He blushed, actually blushed, and looked away from you. You suddenly felt a strange sensation, a warmth inside of you. After two years of being treated like an afterthought from your own boyfriend, Jake’s gentle nature was a stark contrast.
“Do you want me to kiss you? On your lips?” You asked quietly, and his eyes widened comically. “I mean, I would like it… But only if you want to? I should probably have a mint first, though.”
“Oh my God.” You laughed, fisted his shirt and pulled him towards you.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, your lips brushing against his like a question.
He responded slowly and unsure, his hand coming up to rest on your arm as if he needed something to steady himself.
You deepened the kiss, your tongue tracing the seam of his lips, and he opened for you with a soft, surprised sound.
He tasted like tequila and lime, and you kissed him until you were both breathless, until his hands moved from your arm to your waist, pulling you closer.
Your hand drifted from his knee to his thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath your fingers.
He was wearing dress pants, the fabric smooth and warm. You traced circles on his thigh, watching his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed and the way his breath hitched.
“Is this okay?” you asked.
“Yes,” he breathed. “God, yes.”
You moved slowly, wanting to savor every moment. Your hand slid higher, until you could feel the heat of him through the fabric, the growing hardness that made your own body respond in kind.
He gasped when you palmed him, his hips bucking slightly into your touch.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured against his neck, pressing kisses along his jaw. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
He shook his head, his hands fisting in the fabric of your dress. “No one’s ever... told me that.”
You pulled back, meeting his eyes. “Then they were blind.”
He kissed you again, hungrier this time, his hands exploring your body with a clumsy, earnest desperation that made your heart ache.
He traced the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the lace of your dress. When his fingers brushed against your breast, he pulled back as if burned.
“Sorry,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay.” You took his hand and guided it back to your chest, letting him feel the weight of you through the fabric. “You can touch me. I want you to.” With one hand, you reached for the ‘Do Not Disturb’ button near the window, so the driver would know not to intrude.
He looked at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, and then his hand moved again, cupping your breast with a reverence that made your breath catch. He was gentle, almost afraid, but there was a curiosity in his touch that was intoxicating.
You reached behind your neck and untied the halter strap, letting the front of your dress fall forward. His eyes went widen as his gaze fixed on your breasts, the peaks that tightened under his stare.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
You laughed softly. “Have you never seen a pair of boobs before?”
He shook his head, his cheeks burning. “I mean, I’ve seen them in movies and stuff, but not... not like this. Not in real life.”
You widened your eyes… fuck! He was a virgin.
“Oh my God,” you said, your body stopping. “We can stop if you want, if you don’t want your first time to be here. I understand.”
“No, no, no.” He begged, nodding his head so much you thought it would fall down, “I want you— want it… please? I’ll be a good boy.”
You searched for his eyes, and when you found sincerity, you guided his hand to your bare skin, and he let out a shaky breath.
His touch was tentative, his warm fingers brushing against your nipple with a featherlight pressure that sent a shiver down your spine.
He looked at you, checking, making sure he wasn’t hurting you. “You’re doing great,” you encouraged. “Just keep going.”
He grew bolder, his hand cupping your breast as his thumb rubbed circles around your nipple until it peaked against his palm.
You leaned into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips, and the sound seemed to spur him on. “Can I...” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to your mouth.
“Yes.”
He kissed you again, his hand still on your breast, and you felt the last of his reservations melt away. He was kissing you like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment, like he was afraid it might disappear if he stopped. And in a way, you realized, he probably had been.
Your hand found his belt, working the buckle open with practiced ease. You smiled, soft and genuine, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “let me take care of you.”
You sank to your knees on the plush carpet of the limousine floor, your dress pooling around you like spilled ink.
He watched you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as his hands gripped the edge of the seat.
You unfastened his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers, and then you saw him.
You sucked in a breath. He was huge. Thick and long, veined and flushed, standing proud against his stomach.
For a virgin, he was packing more than most experienced men you’d been with. You looked up at him, and he was staring down at you with wide, terrified eyes.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” you said, your voice husky. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re just... wow.”
He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so you didn’t give him time to. You leaned forward and took him in your mouth.
He cried out, a high, desperate sound, his hips bucking instinctively. You held him steady, your hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and your tongue swirled around the head.
He was already slick with precum, and you moaned at the taste of him.
“Oh god,” he gasped, his fingers threading through your hair. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”
You took him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate his size. He was so thick that it was a stretch, but you loved the feeling, the fullness of him filling your mouth.
You bobbed your head, setting a rhythm as your hand worked what you couldn’t reach.
He was vocal, more vocal than you expected. Little whimpers and moans escaped him with every movement of your head with his hips twitching and his grip on your hair tightening. He was a mess, and you loved every second of it.
“I’m— I’m close,” he warned, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”
You doubled your efforts, taking him as deep as you could, and he came with a shuddering cry, his release hot and thick in your throat.
You swallowed it all, every drop, and when you pulled back, he was panting, his eyes glassy, his body trembling. “Fuck,” he whispered, the word falling from his lips like a prayer.
You wiped your mouth and climbed back onto the seat beside him, your body humming with arousal. He looked at you, and there was something new in his eyes. Wonder, maybe. Or worship.
“That was...” He shook his head, at a loss for words. “It gets better,” you said, reaching for the zipper of your dress. “Trust me.”
You stood, shimmying the dress completely down your body until it pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but a scrap of lace that barely covered you. He stared, his mouth open, his spent cock already beginning to stir again.
“Can I touch you?” he asked, his voice reverent.
“I was hoping you’d ask.” You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, your thighs bracketing his hips. He was hard again, pressing against your stomach, and you reached down to guide him to your entrance. You were wet, so wet, your body ready for him.
“Look at me,” you said, and he did. “I’m going to go slow. Tell me if it’s too much.”
He nodded, his hands finding your waist, his grip gentle but firm.
You sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch. He stretched you, filled you, and you cried out at the sensation, your head falling back.
He was so big, hitting places inside you that you had forgotten existed. He groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as his eyes squeezed shut.
“You feel so good,” he gasped. “So fucking good.”
You began to move in a slow, steady rhythm, your hips rocking against his. He met your movements, his own hips rising to meet you, and soon you found a groove, the two of you moving together like you had been doing this for years.
He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss, sloppy and desperate, his tongue tangling with yours.
“Is there something that might make you feel good?” He asked, pulling away and watching you with his big, dark eyes.
You smiled, gripped his hair and gently guided his lips to your breast. As if in command, he parted his lips and took your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the tip.
You moaned softly, the sensation combined with his cock inside you almost too much.
He gently bit the swollen skin, making you arch your back and whelp.
“Did I hurt you?” He asked, looking up at you again. You shook your head and gripped his shoulders, “You’re doing so good.” You quickened your pace.
“I’m not going to last.” he admitted, his forehead pressed against yours.
“That’s okay,” you breathed. “Come for me, Jake. Let go.”
He did, with a broken cry, his hips stuttered as he spilled inside you.
The feeling of him pulsing, of his warmth filling you, sent you over the edge as well, your own orgasm crashing through you in waves, your body clenching around him.
You collapsed against him, your skin slick with sweat. He held you, his arms wrapped around you and his lips pressed gently to your hair.
The energy drained from you quickly, from the exertion of sex, the alcohol in your body and the drowsiness from the pills.
Your eyelids dropped slowly, until your eyes were fully closed.
In your sleepy state, you murmured, “Thank you, Jacob.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
“I fucked up,” you said, the confession spilling out before you could stop it.
The words tasted like ash on your tongue as you slumped into the chair across from Sophia.
The west library was nearly empty at this hour, the pale morning light filtering through the tall arched windows, casting long shadows across the wooden tables.
Sophia looked up from her laptop, her eyebrows furrowing.
She had been away at her girlfriend’s place for the weekend, and you had deliberately avoided texting her, not wanting to drag her into the mess you had created.
But now, sitting across from her, the weight of the weekend pressed down on your chest like a physical force.
“What happened?” she asked, closing her laptop and giving you her full attention.
You took a shaky breath, your fingers curling around the edge of the table. “I… I deflowered a guy.”
Her eyes widened, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Wait, you finally broke up with Jacob? Good for you—”
“No,” you cut in, your voice sharp. “I didn’t break up with him.”
The smile froze on her face. “What do you mean you didn’t break up with him? You had that huge fight at the gala. I thought that was it.”
“We didn’t officially break up,” you said, your throat tightening. “We just… fought. And then I went and had sex with someone else while we are still together.”
Sophia leaned back in her chair, processing the information. Her fingers tapped against the table, a nervous habit you recognized. “Okay. Okay, I’m not judging you. But… who?”
You shook your head, your gaze dropping to your hands. “I can’t tell you. I’m not sure he wants people to know.”
“Y/N, you have to tell me—”
“I can’t, Sophia. Please.” You cut her off.
She sighed, her expression softening. “Alright. I trust you. But how did it happen? Wait, was it the limo driver?”
“No, no.” You let out a hollow laugh. “It was someone from college. I was angry and hurt, and I just… I invited him into the limousine. One thing led to another.”
You remembered the warmth of his body, the way he had held you afterward, the tenderness in his touch that had felt so different from Jacob’s demanding hands. “I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in my room, wearing my dress. I think he put it back on me. He carried me upstairs and he even bought me Plan B.”
“Aw, he was a gentleman,” Sophia teased, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
You bristled, your jaw tightening. “This isn’t funny, Sophia. I cheated on my boyfriend.”
“Y/N, listen to me.” She reached across the table, her hand covering yours. “Jacob has been a dismissive asshole for months. You two were going to fall apart anyway. This was just the last drop.”
The words stung, hitting a nerve you hadn’t expected. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what we have.”
“I know you’ve been miserable,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “I know you’ve been crying in the bathroom after your phone calls with him, I know he makes you feel small about your anxiety. That’s not love, Y/N.”
You pulled your hand away, anger flaring in your chest. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m just being honest.” She shrugged.
“Well, I didn’t ask for your honesty.” You stood up, grabbing your bag from the floor. “I told you because I needed to get it off my chest, not because I wanted you to trash my relationship.”
Sophia’s face fell. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”
“I have to go.” You stalked toward the exit as your vision blurred with unshed tears.
The library’s heavy oak doors loomed ahead, promising escape, but before you could reach them, you collided with something solid.
The impact sent you stumbling backward, your bag slipping from your shoulder. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry—” you started, bending down to gather your things.
“It’s okay.” The voice was soft, familiar. You looked up, and your heart stopped.
Jake.
He was standing there, dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans, his dark brown hair falling across his forehead.
He looked as startled as you felt, his hands frozen mid-motion, as if he had been about to help you but had stopped himself.
“Jake,” you breathed, straightening up. “I… hi.”
“Hi.” He glanced around, as if looking for an escape route, but that library wing was empty except for the two of you.
“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “About Friday. I shouldn’t have… I mean, I was drunk, and I took advantage of you, and I—”
“You didn’t take advantage of me,” he said, cutting you off. His voice was quiet but steady. “I wanted to. I said yes.”
“But I am in a relationship.” You pressed a hand to your forehead, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “That was wrong. It doesn’t mean you did anything bad— you were actually… very good. Really good. But it was still wrong of me.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I understand.” He paused, then added, “Can I go now?”
“Wait.” You reached out, your fingers brushing his sleeve.
He flinched but didn’t pull away. “Did you… were you the one who took care of me? After we… you know.”
He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked away. “Yeah, I did.”
“Why?” You frowned.
He was silent for a long moment, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. “Because you murmured Jacob's name. You said it in your sleep, and I… I felt guilty. Like I had done something wrong. So I got you dressed, as best as I could. The driver knew your address from the gala pickup. I carried you up to your room and left you on your bed.”
Your heart ached at the image. Him, struggling to zip up your dress, lifting you in his arms and climbing the stairs to your dorm. “You also bought me Plan B.”
He shrugged, a small, self-conscious motion. “I didn’t know if you were on anything. I wanted to be safe.”
“I’m on birth control,” you said. “So you don’t have to worry about that.”
He nodded again, his eyes still avoiding yours. “Okay, good.”
“Can you keep this a secret?” you asked, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Please… I don’t want anyone to know. Especially not Jacob.”
He met your gaze then, and something in his expression softened. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty library, and you watched him go, a knot of guilt and confusion tightening in your stomach.
“Jake?” You called out, and he stopped in his tracks. He turned around, just slightly, letting you know that he was listening. “You didn’t deserve that… me saying his name.”
He gave you a forced smile, “It’s okay.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The afternoon sun was harsh, slanting through the windows of the college cafe and casting everything in a golden, unforgiving light.
You spotted Jacob immediately, standing in line with his friends Juyeon and Justin. He was laughing at something Justin said, his head thrown back with an easy smile.
You walked over, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jacob.”
The laughter stopped immediately. He looked up at you, and the warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, distant expression. “What do you want?”
“Can we talk? Please. Just for a minute.” You begged.
He took a sip of his coffee, deliberately slow. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Jacob, please.” You could feel Juyeon and Justin watching, their eyes boring into you. “I know we fought. I know I said some things, but I don’t want to leave it like this. Can we just… talk it out?”
He set the cup down on the counter with a sharp clink. “You made yourself pretty clear at the gala. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ Those were your words.”
“I was upset and angry. You were drinking, and you were being inappropriate.”
“So it’s my fault?” His voice rose, and a few heads turned. “Everything is always my fault.”
“That’s not what I’m saying—” He cut you off. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it.” He turned back to his friends, effectively dismissing you.
Humiliation burned through you, hot and sharp. You could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.
Not here. Not in front of him.
“Fine,” you said, your voice cold. “Go fuck yourself, Jacob.”
You turned and stormed out of the cafe, the door swinging shut behind you with a bang.
The cool air hit your face, and you took a deep, shuddering breath, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.
You heard footsteps behind you. “Y/N— Y/N, wait.”
Jacob had followed you outside, with his hands in his pockets and his expression no longer cold.
“What?” you snapped, turning to face him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and the words seemed to cost him something. “I shouldn’t have… I’ve been an asshole.”
“You think?” You raised an eyebrow.
He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of agitation. “Justin and Juyeon, they told me to come after you. They said I was being an idiot.”
“Yeah? And now that your friends told you what I’ve been telling you for a while, what so you think?”
He was quiet for a moment, the traffic noise filling the silence until he broke it. “I think I miss you… I miss us. But I don’t know how to fix this.”
You stared at him, and for the first time in a long time, you saw something vulnerable in his eyes. Not the cocky, dismissive Jacob who made jokes about your issues. Just a guy who was scared of losing someone.
“You make me feel insecure,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You make me feel embarrassed about my own issues. I hate when you act like taking my anxiety pills is a bad thing. Yes, they lower my libido. Yes, they make me feel numb sometimes. But at least I’m not waking up in the middle of the night thinking I’m going to choke on my own breath.”
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
You pulled away. “Because you never asked.”
He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just… I miss the fun we used to have. The spontaneous sex, the parties, the laughing. I don’t know how to handle the change.”
“It’s not a change I wanted,” you said, your voice breaking. “It’s just my life now.”
He pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly.
You hesitated for a moment, then melted into his embrace, your face pressed against his chest. His scent was familiar, comforting, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that everything could go back to the way it was.
But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t stop replaying the feeling of Jake’s arms around you that Friday night.
The way he had held you, tender and careful, as if you were something precious. The way he had looked at you, with wonder and awe, as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
You pushed the thought away, burying it deep.
“I’ll try to be more considerate,” Jacob murmured into your hair. “I promise.”
“Thank you.” you whispered, and you held him tighter.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The living room was buzzing with conversation, voices mixed with the occasional burst of laughter.
Streamers hung from the ceiling, and a banner reading “CONGRATULATIONS MINA!” was taped across the wall above the couch.
Pizza boxes were scattered across the coffee table, alongside bottles of beer and soda.
Mina was glowing, her arm wrapped around Juyeon’s waist with a radiant smile. “I still can’t believe I got it, they really gave me a prize for getting straight As.” she said for the fifth time, and everyone cheered again.
You smiled, raising your can of coke in a toast, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes.
Your mind was elsewhere, fixated on the economic principles test you had tomorrow.
The formulas, the graphs, the theories— they swirled in your head like a storm, and no matter how hard you tried to focus on the celebration, the anxiety crept in, cold and insistent.
Your hands started to tremble.
You set the can down, not trusting yourself to hold it.
Your heart was pounding too hard, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, the laughter grating against your ears.
You needed air. You needed space.
You excused yourself, your voice barely audible, and walked to the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind you, and you leaned against it, your chest heaving.
The mirror reflected a pale, frightened version of yourself with wide eyes, flushed cheeks and hands shaking so badly you could barely unzip your purse.
The pills bottle rattled as you fumbled with the cap. Your fingers felt like clumsy sausages, and you nearly dropped them twice before finally managing to twist open the lid.
You tapped out two small tablets, brought them to your mouth and cupped your hand under the faucet to drink the water directly.
The pills went down with a struggle, and you gripped the edge of the sink, waiting for them to take effect.
But the panic was still there, clawing at the edges of your consciousness.
The bathroom door creaked open.
Sophia stood in the doorway, her expression soft with concern. She had always known when something was wrong, had always been able to read you like a book. “Oh… my poor baby.”
She crossed the small space and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.
You broke down, the tears spilling over, your body shaking against hers. You cried for the guilt you carried, for the confusion, for the way you felt torn between two worlds and undeserving of either.
Even if you had been mad at her, even if you had stormed off a couple of days before, she still held you.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, stroking your hair. “I’ve got you.”
It took a long time for the sobs to subside. When they did, you pulled back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry. I ruined the party.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. Are you okay now?” She asked, worried.
You nodded, though the lie was obvious. “I think so.”
“Do you want to go home? Mina won’t mind.” Sophia offered.
You glanced toward the door, thinking of Jacob out there, laughing with his friends. “If I leave, Jacob will get mad. He’ll say I’m ruining his night.”
“He can fuck himself,” Sophia said firmly. “I’ll drive you home, mh?.”
You hesitated, but the thought of staying in that noisy room, surrounded by people who didn’t understand, was unbearable. “Okay.”
You washed your face, the cold water soothing your flushed skin.
Sophia handed you a towel, and you patted your face dry, trying to look more presentable. Together, you walked back into the living room.
“Hey, guys,” you said, forcing a smile. “I’m not feeling great, so I’m going to head out. Congratulations again, Mina.”
Mina’s face softened with sympathy. “Oh, Y/N, I hope you feel better. Get some rest.”
Jacob looked up from his conversation with Justin. He didn’t ask if you were okay and neithr did he reach out to touch you. He just leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to your lips, and turned back to his friend.
Something inside you cracked.
You walked out of the house without looking back.
The car ride was silent, the streetlights casting shifting shadows across the dashboard.
Sophia didn’t push you to talk, and you were grateful for that. When you reached your dorm, she waited while you changed into your pajamas, then hovered by the door.
“Do you want me to sleep beside you?” she asked, her voice gentle. “We can have a pajama party, just like in junior year.”
You shook your head. “I just need to be alone.”
She nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m right next door.”
“I will.” You promised.
She left, and you climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin.
The room was dark, the only sound being the faint hum of the heater.
You closed your eyes and tried to sleep, but the guilt followed you into the darkness, a shadow you couldn’t escape.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The library was quiet, as you were hunched over your laptop at one of the corner tables, the glow of the screen illuminating your tired face.
A cup of cold coffee sat beside you, untouched for the last hour. Your eyes burned from staring at the same paragraph about macroeconomic indicators, the words blurring together until they lost all meaning.
You had barely slept in three days.
Every time you closed your eyes, the weight of upcoming exams pressed down on your chest, and your mind would start racing about formulas, deadlines and expectations.
You would toss and turn, check the clock, calculate how many hours of sleep you could still get, and then panic because it was never enough.
By the time dawn crept through your curtains, you gave up, dragging yourself to the library before the sun was fully up.
Now it was mid-afternoon, and exhaustion clung to you like a second skin.
Your phone buzzed, the notification sharp in the quiet room. You glanced at the screen, expecting a text from Sophia or maybe Jacob.
Instead, you saw the college email app, a new message marked with a red exclamation.
You tapped it open and your heart plummeted.
It was from your professor, he had scheduled another test. A quiz for your economic theory class. The date was in four days, right in the middle of the week you had already dedicated to three other finals.
You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your throat.
A full week of tests.
You had been cramming for the ones you already knew about, and now this.
How were you supposed to cover everything? How were you supposed to keep your grades up? It was barely November, and you were already drowning.
Your hands began to tremble.
The spiral came fast, vicious, and merciless. Your mind raced through worst-case scenarios: failing the class, disappointing your parents, watching their proud faces fall into confusion and shame. They bragged about your straight As to their friends, to your relatives back home.
If you failed, what would they say? What would they think?
Your chest constricted, the air turning thick and unbreathable. You tried to take a deep breath, but it caught somewhere in your throat with a strangled gasp.
Your vision started to tunnel, the edges of the library fading into a dark blur.
You needed your pills.
You grabbed your backpack with clumsy fingers and unzipped the main compartment. You fumbled inside, your hand searching desperately for the familiar plastic bottle.
But all you found were notebooks, a pen case and a half-eaten granola bar. No pills.
You had left them in the kitchen cupboard. You remembered now— you had taken your morning dose, and then you had been in such a hurry to get to the library that you had forgotten to put the bottle back in your bag.
Panic surged through you, hot and suffocating. You slammed the backpack shut, tears already pricking at your eyes.
You couldn't stay here. You couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in, the silence too loud, and the fluorescent lights too bright.
You abandoned everything and stumbled out of the library. Packing up would take too long. Every second felt like an eternity, and you needed air, space, somewhere quiet where you could fall apart without an audience.
The hallway stretched before you, long and empty, the floor tiles a dizzying pattern of white and gray. Your footsteps echoed, uneven as your vision blurred at the edges.
You walked, then stumbled and then fell to your knees, your hands pressing against the cold floor.
Your lungs were being crushed. Each breath was a battle, your chest heaving abs a high-pitched wheezes escaping your lips.
The world tilted, the walls swirling around you. You couldn't hear anything over the roaring in your ears.
Then, through the chaos you heard a voice. Distant at first, like someone calling from the other end of a long tunnel. “Y/N? Y/N!”
It was warm and familiar, but you couldn't place it, you couldn't focus. Your body was shaking too hard and your mind too tangled in panic.
Strong arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the floor. You felt yourself being guided, your feet dragging and your weight leaning against a solid chest. The voice kept talking, soft and steady, but the words were muffled, lost in the static of your panic.
You were sitting now, your back against something hard and your knees pulled up to your chest.
The voice was clearer now, right in front of you. “Y/N, look at me. Follow my breathing.”
You blinked as your vision slowly cleared.
A face emerged from the blur: dark hair falling across a worried forehead, glasses slightly askew, and brown eyes full of concern.
Jake.
He was crouched in front of you, his hands gentle on your shoulders. He took a slow, deliberate breath in, then let it out, long and even. “Breathe with me. In… out. In… out.”
You tried, but your breath hitched, stuttered. He didn't rush you. He just kept breathing, slow and patient, his eyes locked on yours. He reached for your hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart. You could feel it beating, steady and strong, a rhythm to anchor yourself to.
“Feel that? Just follow it. You're safe.” You focused on the warmth of his chest under your palm, the rise and fall of his breathing. You matched it, in and out, each breath a little deeper, a little slower.
Your vision cleared completely, now you could make out that you were in a storage room, surrounded by shelves stacked with boxes and old filing cabinets. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light over you both.
Jake was still crouched in front of you, his face very close to yours. He was watching you carefully, with brows furrowed with concern. “You’re back?” he asked softly.
You nodded, then shook your head, frustrated. Tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and unstoppable. “I'm such a mess,” you choked out, your voice cracking.
You brought your hands to your hair, pulling at the strands, as if you could punish yourself for your own weakness.
“Hey, hey, don't,” Jake said, gently prying your hands away from your head. He held them in his, his long fingers warm and steady, unlike your cold and trembling ones. “It's okay. You're okay.”
But you weren't okay. You were shaking again, this time from the release of tension, from the shame of falling apart in front of him. The tears came harder, sobs wracking your body that you couldn't stop.
Without a word, Jake pulled you into his arms. He hugged you, one hand cradling the back of your head as the other rubbed slow circles on your back.
You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent. You melted into him, letting yourself be held, letting the tears soak into his hoodie.
He didn't say anything. He just held you, his heartbeat steady against your cheek, his arms a safe harbor in the storm.
Minutes passed and slowly, the sobs quieted, your breathing evening out.
You pulled back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled tissue, handing it to you with a small, shy smile.
“Thanks.” you whispered, blowing your nose.
He waited until you had composed yourself, then asked, “What do you need?”
You took a shaky breath. “I want to go home. I can't… I can't be here right now.”
He nodded, already standing up. “I'll drive you. I don’t have any more classes.
Your heart squeezed, once again he was saving you. “I left my backpack and laptop on the table… can you get them for me? The backpack is pink and the laptop has a landscape wallpaper.”
“Got it. Stay here, I'll be right back.” He slipped out of the storage room, leaving you alone in the quiet.
A few minutes later, Jake returned, your pink backpack slung over one shoulder and your laptop case in his other hand. “Found them,” he said, a little breathless. “No one took anything.”
“Thank you,” you said, your voice small.
He offered you a hand, and you took it. His grip was firm, as he helped you to your feet. He stayed close, one hand hovering near your elbow, ready to catch you if you stumbled.
His car was parked in the student lot, an old BMW with a few dents and a faded paint job.
It wasn't fancy, but it was clean inside, the seats worn but comfortable. He opened the passenger door for you, waited until you were seated, then closed it gently.
The drive to your apartment was quiet. He turned on the radio, low, some soft indie station filling the space with gentle guitar strums. You leaned your head against the window, watching the streets pass by, the familiar landmarks blurring together.
When he parked outside your building, he grabbed your bags and followed you up the stairs. You unlocked the door, stepped inside, and he set your things down by the entrance.
“You can stay,” you said, your voice hesitant. “If you want.”
He hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Are you sure? I don't want to intrude.”
“You're not intruding. I… I think I need company. And you just drove here.” You shrugged.
He nodded slowly, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
You led him to the living room, a small space with a comfortable sofa and a coffee table cluttered with textbooks and empty mugs you and Sophia were too lay to clean up. You sat down, and he sat beside you, leaving a respectable distance.
You let out a bitter laugh, rubbing your face with your hands. “God, I'm such a mess.”
“You're not a mess,” he said quietly. “You're dealing with a lot.”
“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked after a pause. “Maybe you’ll feel better. I usually do.”
A real smile tugged at your lips. “A shower sounds nice, actually, thank you.”
“Do you need help?” He asked, then cringed, “Sorry, too much?”
“Thank you for the thought,” you called behind your shoulder. “But I can manage.”
You went to your room, grabbed a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, and stepped into the bathroom.
The hot water was a blessing, washing away the tension and the lingering panic. You stood under the stream for a long time, letting it beat against your shoulders, your mind slowly quieting.
When you came out, wrapped in a towel, you changed into the comfortable clothes. you walked back to the living room, and the smell hit you— chicken noodle soup.
Jake was in your kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. He turned when he heard you, his eyes softening. “You look better.”
“I feel better.” You sat on the sofa, and he brought you a bowl, a spoon and a napkin. He had even set out a glass of water.
You took the bowl, the warmth seeping into your cold hands. “Thank you, Jake… really.”
“It's no problem.” After a few spoonfuls, he asked, “Does this happen often?”
You sighed, setting the bowl on your lap. “In periods of high stress, yes. It got better over the summer. But now I'm a senior, and the pressure is… a lot.”
He nodded, not pushing for more. You finished the soup, feeling the warmth spread through your body. You set the bowl aside and stood up, walking to the kitchen cabinet where you kept your pill bottles. You popped two into your mouth and washed them down with water.
When you turned back, Jake was watching you, his expression unreadable. “I'm sorry,” you said, sinking back onto the sofa. “You had to take care of me again.”
He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “I'm glad I was able to help you. Again. I'd do it again if you needed me to.”
Your heart ached at his words. “You're too kind.” He shrugged, looking down at his hands. “Do the pills have side effects?”
You blinked at the question. It was so practical, so Jake. Nobody had really paid attention to that part of you, except for Sophia and Mina. “They make me drowsy and numb sometimes. The doctor said they can lower also my sex drive.”
He let out a small chuckle, the sound surprising you. “Well, it didn't seem that low in the limousine.”
Your cheeks burned. He caught himself, his eyes widening, and he quickly added, “Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up. I promised you not to.”
“It's okay,” you said, your voice soft. “You're right, maybe being treated with care was a turn-on.”
The air in the room shifted. He looked at you, his gaze lingering on your lips, then meeting your eyes. “I could take care of you…” Jake said, his voice low. “If you wanted.”
Your breath caught and he took it as an invitation to move closer and cup your jaw. Tentatively, he kissed your lips.
You answered by deepening it, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.
As realization dawned, you parted, breathless, and said, “We should stop. I'm still with Jacob.”
He pressed his forehead against yours. “Shush,” he whispered, and kissed you again.
You let yourself be pulled under. He laid you down on the sofa, his body covering yours, careful and gentle. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, then he pulled back, his cheeks flushed and his glasses slightly fogged.
“I watched some tutorials,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “On… eating someone out. Do you want that?”
You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. “You watched tutorials?”
“I wanted to be good at it,” he said, his ears reddening. “For you.”
“Yes,” Your heart melted. “I want that.”
He smiled, a shy, sweet smile, and then he moved down your body. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and tugged them down. he kissed your thighs, down to your hips, and then the sensitive skin of your inner legs, each kiss sending shivers through you.
Then he gently pulled your panties aside, lowered his head, and his tongue touched you.
Your back arched, it had been a long while since someone touched you like that. He was hesitant at first, then more confident, finding a rhythm that had you seeing stars.
His tongue traced circles, dipped inside, then moved up to your clit. He sucked gently, his nose pressing against you, and you cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair.
He moaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. You bucked up, grinding against his mouth, and he groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening. “Is this okay?” He questioned.
“Don’t talk,” you breathed out, “Just lick.”
“Yes ma’am.” And he delved in again. His movements were clumsy, as if he was following a certain pattern in his mind. It felt good nonetheless, uour while body on fire.
The pleasure built, coiling low in your belly, and when you came, it crashed over you like a wave, your body convulsing, a broken cry escaping your lips.
He didn't stop until you had ridden it out, then he lifted his head, his lips glossy and his eyes dark.
You noticed the wet patch on his pants, dark and obvious. “Did you cum already?” you asked, your voice hoarse.
He looked down, then back at you as his cheeks painted of a crimson. “Eating you out was really hot.”
You laughed softly, pulling him up to kiss him again. You tasted yourself on his lips and your hand moved to his waistband, but he caught your wrist.
“Today is about you.” he said, his voice firm but gentle. He kissed you again, slow and deep.
He caressed your body, his hands tracing your curves, your breasts, your waist. He kissed you for what felt like hours, worshipping every inch of you. You guided his face to your neck, and when his lips pressed against the sensitive skin, goosebumps erupted across your body.
He kissed, licked, nipped, and you moaned, the sensation reigniting the heat between your legs.
Time lost meaning. You made out on the sofa, tangled together, his hands exploring you as your fingers threaded through his hair.
But the drowsiness from the pills began to seep in and your eyelids grew heavy.
He noticed, so he pulled back with a soft smile on his face. He fixed his glasses, which had gone askew, and gently pulled your sweatpants back up, tucking your panties into place.
Then he scooped you up, carrying you to your bedroom. He probably remembered it from the night of the gala.
He laid you on the bed and pulled the covers over you. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he tucked you in. “Rest well, Y/N.”
He lingered for a moment, his hand brushing against your forehead, pushing a wild strand of hair away.
Then he turned and left, his footsteps fading down the hall. You were alone, but this time you didn't feel lonely.
The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin, a promise that maybe you weren't as broken as you thought.
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“I did it again.” That was how you greeted Sophia the following morning, your voice still rough from sleep, your hair unbrushed and your eyes carrying the heavy weight of a restless night.
She stood at the stove with a spatula in one hand and a slice of bread dipped in egg mixture waiting in the pan.
The smell of cinnamon and butter filled the small kitchen, which was a stark contrast to the mess of thoughts tangled in your head.
She turned to look at you, her eyebrows knitting together in that familiar expression of concern. “Did what again?”
You dropped onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, reaching for a box of cereal she had left out. You poured yourself a bowl, the sound of flakes hitting ceramic too loud in the quiet morning. “Fuck up? I had a panic attack yesterday.”
Her spatula paused mid-air. She turned the stove off and faced you fully, crossing her arms. “What? Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”
You waved a dismissive hand, even as a small, guilty pang hit your chest. “I’m fine now. I’m fine, but I stumbled in the hallway, and guess who found me?”
She tilted her head, waiting, so you didn’t let her wait. “Limousine Guy.”
Sophia’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Yup, yhe guy I deflowered.” You said it with a wry smile, but the memory of Jake’s hands steadying you and his voice soft in your ear, came flooding back. You looked down at your cereal, stirring it absently. “He helped me, drove me home… and well… it wasn’t with penetration this time, at least?”
Sophia let out a long, low whistle. She turned back to the stove, sliding the French toast onto a plate, and brought it to the island, sitting across from you.
She took a bite, chewing slowly, her eyes never leaving your face. “Wow, okay. You really need to break up with Jacob.”
The words hit you like a cold splash of water. You shook your head, even as your stomach twisted. “It’s complicated, Soph. You know that.”
“I know why it’s complicated,” she said, setting her fork down. “Your parents think he’s the golden ticket. He’s wealthy, he’s got connections, he has ‘high chances in life,’ or whatever your mom likes to repeat every time you call her. But when was the last time he looked for you— not because you’re a trophy on his arm, not because he wanted sex, but because he actually wanted you?”
The question landed hard. You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. You thought about Jacob… about the dinners where he talked about his internships and his networking events.
The way he introduced you to his friends as “my girlfriend, Y/N” but never actually looked at you when he said it. The way he kissed you like it was just lust, never love. The way he reached for you only when he wanted something.
“I used to be happy with him,” you said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. “Maybe… after I get better, we’ll all go back to how it was. And maybe me and Limousine Guy can be friends. Just friends.”
Sophia stared at you for a long moment. Then she sighed, stood up, and grabbed her bag from the counter. “Figure it out, Y/N.”
She slung it over her shoulder and walked toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “I really want to meet this Limousine Guy by the way. He sounds like he actually gives a damn.”
She left before you could respond.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
College felt louder than usual that day. You walked with purpose, your shoes squeaked against the polished floors as your eyes scanned every face that passed.
You were looking for Jake and it turned out to be harder than you expected.
You asked a few people, described him, but nobody seemed to know him.
He didn’t have many friends, apparently. He was something of a ghost on campus, someone you passed in the halls without ever really noticing.
The thought made your chest ache.
You ended up in the engineering wing, a group of students huddled around a table covered in blueprints, but your attention landed on a familiar face near the vending machine.
Lee Heeseung.
You’d seen him at parties before, always with a friendly smile and a drink in hand. He was tall, with sharp eyes and an easy way about him.
You approached him, your heart beating a little faster. “Hey, Heeseung, right?”
He turned, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Y/N, yeah. What’s up?”
“I’m looking for someone. Do you happen to know a Jake?” You asked.
Heeseung tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “Jake Sim?”
You paused… well, you didn’t even know his surname. “Uh… I’m not sure. He has glasses, dark hair, a cute smile? Kind of quiet?”
Heeseung’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah, that’s Jake. He’s in my dorm building. What do you need him for?”
You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “We’re… friends, I just need to ask him something.”
Heeseung studied you for a moment, something unreadable passing through his gaze.
Then he nodded slowly. “He’s probably in the mathematics building, since he’s a statistics major. You’ll probably find him in one of the classrooms on the second floor, he’s always there, working on something.”
You thanked him and started to turn, but he called your name.
As you looked back, his expression had hardened, a hint of seriousness in his eyes. “You’re not pulling a prank on him or something, right?
“What? No.” You frowned.
“Just… don’t hurt him, okay?” he said quietly. “Jake has a kind soul”
The words struck you deep, echoing Sophia’s earlier sentiment. You nodded when a lump formed in your throat. “I know.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The mathematics building was quieter than the rest of campus.
The halls were lined with old photographs of scholars and the air carried a faint scent of chalk dust and old paper. You climbed the stairs to the second floor and peered through the small glass window of each door until you found him.
He was in the last classroom, standing at the chalkboard with his back to the door.
A flannel shirt hung loose over his frame and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms dusted with chalk.
His hair was messy, sticking up in places as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was deep in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he scribbled equations in white chalk— a dense forest of numbers and symbols that looked like a foreign language to you.
You pushed the door open gently, he didn’t t notice you at first. You stepped inside and stood behind him.
“What are you doing?” you asked softly.
He jumped, the chalk in his hand skittering across the board and leaving a crooked line. He turned, his eyes wide behind his glasses, and when he saw you, his face flushed a deep pink. “Y/N! I— uh— I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Clearly.” You smiled, leaning against the edge of a desk. “So?”
He cleared his throat, gesturing awkwardly at the board. “I’m trying to solve a problem my professor gave me. But it’s not turning out. The deadline is in two days, and I’ve been at it for hours.”
You looked at the board again. It might as well have been ancient Greek. “I can’t help you with that, I’m sorry. I don’t know the first thing about statistics.”
He let out a nervous laugh. “That’s okay. Most people don’t.”
You hopped onto the desk, your legs dangling lazily. “I’ll just sit here, then, to keep you company.”
He hesitated, then turned back to the board, picking up another piece of chalk. But his movements were slower now, less fluid. You could feel his awareness of you, the way his shoulders tensed every time you shifted.
After a few minutes of silence, you spoke up. “Hey, Jake?” He turned, chalk pausing mid-stroke. “Yeah?”
“Can I have your number?” You tilted your head.
The chalk snapped in half. He stared at the broken pieces in his hand, then at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Uh… why do you want my phone number?”
You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “To text, duh. So we can hang out sometimes. If you want.”
Guilt flashed in your faced, “Well, minus the eating out part. I’m so sorry to remind you that I am in a relationship.”
His blush deepened, spreading down his neck. He set the broken chalk on the tray and fidgeted with the hem of his flannel. “I— right. Yeah, of course. I’m sorry if I took advantage of you.”
“Jake.” You said his name softly, and he stopped. “It wasn’t your fault. My head is all over the place in this period… But I don’t want to ruin whatever is growing between us. I really like it, and you are so kind to me.”
His expression softened, and he stepped closer, his eyes meeting yours with an earnestness that made your heart skip. “I like it too…”
He pulled his phone from his pocket, an older model with a cracked screen and handed it to you.
You typed your number in, saved it under your name and handed it back. He looked at the screen, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“There,” you said. “Now we’re official. Sort of.”
He pocketed the phone, still smiling. You slid off the desk and stretched, your joints popping. “How about you get out of this classroom and rest your very big brain for a while?”
He blinked. “What did you have in mind?”
“Come with me and you’ll find out.” You wiggled your brows.
He debated for a moment, glancing at th chalkboard, at the mess of unsolved equations. Then he grabbed his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “Okay.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
You led him to the college pool, a sprawling building with glass walls and the faint chlorine smell of the pool.
You signed in at the front desk and rented two swimsuits: a pair of trunks for him and a modest one-piece for you.
You changed in separate locker rooms, and when you met by the pool entrance, you had to stop for a second.
He was already in the trunks, and without his glasses, his face looked different, more open. His chest had abs you hadn’t noticed under his hoodies, and a happy trail disappeared from his belly into his swimming shorts. You fought very hard not to stare.
His hair was still messy, but wet now from a quick shower. He clutched the towel awkwardly, his eyes squinting slightly, shifting his weight from one feet to the other.
“You look good,” you said, and his face went red again.
“I— thanks. I can’t see very well without my glasses, so I’m kind of blind right now.” He chuckled awkwardly. “ You look good too. I mean—“ he waved his hands in front of him, “You always do! I’m not just saying that because you are wearing a swimming suit.”
You smiled, finding his rambling cute, “Thanks, Jake.” You took his hand, feeling the callouses from hours spent writing numbers and led him to the pool area.
The water was a clear turquoise, rippling gently under the bright overhead lights. The space was mostly empty at that time of the day , just a few people doing laps in the far lanes.
You stopped at the edge of the shallow end. “I always come here to swim when I need to clear my head. It helps.”
He looked at the water, a nervous expression crossing his face. “I’m not really good at swimming.”
“Then I’ll help you.” He smiled at you, a genuine, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. It was the most beautiful thing you’d seen in a long time.
Awww, he had dimples!
The trust in his eyes was so wholesome. So, you pushed him in.
He let out a yelp as he hit the water, splashing and sputtering, and you laughed— a real, full laugh that echoed off the tiled walls. You jumped in after him, the cool water enveloping you, and surfaced right in front of him.
He was wiping water from his eyes with a shocked look on his face. “You pushed me!”
“I did.” You grinned. “Now swim.”
He tried, paddling awkwardly, his strokes uneven and his legs sinking. You swam beside him, guiding his arms and showing him how to kick properly. “Relax your shoulders, you’re so stiff.”
He followed your instructions, improving little by little. Every now and then he would stop, treading water, and watch you swim laps with a quiet admiration.
You caught him staring once, and he looked away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by the tile pattern.
After a while, you both got tired. You swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted yourself up, sitting on the cool concrete with your feet dangling in the water. He joined you, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, the water streaming down his back and drops falling from his hair down his nose.
The silence between you was comfortable, broken only by the soft lapping of water and the distant echo of someone doing laps.
You turned to him. “Tell me something about yourself.” He looked at you, confused. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I always talk about myself when we’re together. I want to know something about you.”
He was quiet for a moment, his fingers trailing through the water. “Well… I have a dog at my parents’ house. Her name is Layla and she’s my best friend.”
You smiled. “She sounds adorable.”
“She is.” He paused. “I’m an only child. It’s just me and my parents and Layla.” His voice trailed off, and he stared at the water. “I’m sorry, I’m not interesting.”
“That’s not true.” You placed a hand on his thigh, feeling the warmth of his skin through the wet fabric of his trunks. He tensed, his breath catching, but didn’t pull away. “What are your hobbies?”
He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I like photography, I have a really cool camera at home and…”
It seemed hard for him to find something to say, “I like… Marvel. I’ve seen all the movies. I even own some of the gadgets..
You blinked. “Really? I’ve never watched any of them.”
He turned to you, his expression shifting into one of utter, comical offense. “Never? Not a single one?”
You shook your head, “Not one.”
He shook his own head now, a new determination settling in his eyes. “We have to remedy that. Immediately.” He hesitated, then added, his voice softer, more tentative, “If you want… you could come over to my place. I have all the DVDs, I even have popcorn!”
The offer hung in the air, fragile and sincere. You felt a warmth spread through your stomach, knowing how much courage it had taken for him to ask.
You squeezed his thigh gently. “I’d love that.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The drive from the college pool to Jake’s place was short, just a few miles through quiet residential streets.
You were still damp from the quick shower you had taken in the locker room, your hair still clung to your neck. Jake had waited for you outside the women’s locker room, his own hair still wet with a small towel draped over his shoulder.
He lived in a modest apartment complex, the kind with beige walls and identical doors. He unlocked the door and held it open for you, gesturing for you to enter first.
The apartment was small, but immaculate. Everything had its place. The couch was a simple gray fabric and the coffee table bare except for a laptop and a remote.
“Make yourself at home.” he said, his voice a little hesitant. He disappeared into the kitchen, and you heard the rustle of a microwave bag, then the hum of the microwave itself.
You took the opportunity to explore. Your feet carried you across the hardwood floor, past the small dining table with two chairs, past a bookshelf filled with textbooks and a few sci-fi novels.
Then you noticed the photographs.
They lined the walls in mismatched frames, a timeline of his life. The first one you saw was a teenage Jake, all limbs and braces, holding a puppy. The dog was licking his face, and he was laughing with his eyes crinkled shut.
You smiled at that. You assumed the dog was Layla, the one he mentioned before.
Next to it was a framed certificate and a photograph of him holding a trophy. He was standing on a stage with a medal around his neck and he was wearing a crisp white shirt.
It was a math contest, by the look of the banner behind him. His face was serious, focused, but there was a hint of pride in his posture.
Another photograph showed him in a cap and gown, a diploma in his hands. You guessed it was his graduation.
He stood next to a woman who must have been his mother, she had the same soft eyes, the same gentle smile. She was hugging him, her hand on his cheek. His father stood on the other side with n arm around his shoulders.
You moved further down the hall, and then you stopped.
This photograph was different, this one was larger, framed in black wood.
Jake was wearing a white taekwondo uniform and a blue belt held in his hands, with a wide smile.
He looked younger here, maybe early high school, but there was a confidence in his stance that you hadn't seen in the other pictures. His fists were clenched, and his chest puffed out, like he had conquered something.
You heard footsteps behind you, soft and hesitant.
“That was when I got my blue belt,” Jake said, his voice quiet. He stood beside you, with his hands shoved into his pockets. He was looking at the photograph, but his expression was distant, lost in memory.
“That’s amazing,” you said, turning to him. “How long did you do taekwondo?”
He shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “From elementary school until sophomore year of high school. My mom signed me up because…” He paused, licking his lips.
He seemed to wrestle with himself, then he let out a slow breath. “When I was in elementary school, my classmates didn’t really like me. Kids can be mean, you know? They made fun of my glasses and my clothes, of the way I talked. I was an easy target.”
Your heart clenched. You watched his profile as he spoke, the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes stayed fixed on the photograph.
“So my mom signed me up for taekwondo. For self-defense.” A small, wry smile touched his lips. “I never actually used it on anyone. But it made me feel powerful, like I could protect myself if I ever needed to.” He shrugged. “And I made friends there, kids who didn’t care that I was weird.”
He glanced at you, his eyes vulnerable behind his glasses. It was the first time he had opened up to you like this, truly opened up about something painful from his past.
You reached out and rubbed his arm, your fingers gentle against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m sorry they treated you that way, Jake. You didn’t deserve that.”
He looked away, blinking rapidly. “It was a long time ago.”
But you could see the memory still stung. You could see how it haunted his eyes. However, you didn’t push. Instead, you let your hand fall, and you gave him a soft smile.
He seemed to shake off the moment, his expression brightening. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He turned and walked to the couch, where two plushies sat on the armrest.
One was Iron Man, the other was the Hulk. He picked up the Iron Man and held it out to you. “Here. For you.”
You took it, surprised. The plush was soft, well-loved with the stitching on the arc reactor slightly frayed. “Are you sure? This seems special.”
“I have the Hulk,” he said, picking up the green plush and hugging it to his chest. “We can watch the movie with them.”
A warmth spread through you, at his innocence. You followed him to the couch, settling down side by side.
The popcorn was ready, he had made it perfectly, buttered and salted, and he set the bowl between you.
He grabbed the remote and navigated to Netflix, pulling up the first Marvel movie.
The opening credits rolled. You took a handful of popcorn, the buttery taste melting on your tongue. Jake was quiet, his eyes glued to the screen, but you could feel his tension, the way he sat stiffly, his hands clasped in his lap.
“It’s okay if you fall asleep during the movie,” he said suddenly with a soft voice. “I know the pills can make you drowsy. I won’t be mad.”
“I only took my daily dose.” You shook your head “It might be fine, but thank you.”
He nodded, but he still seemed uncertain. You were hyper aware of everything around you: you felt the warmth of the apartment, the softness of the couch and the gentle hum of the television. And when your eyelids grew heavy, you fought it.
You wanted to be close to him. So you shifted, leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder.
The fabric of his hoodie was soft, and you could smell the faint scent of detergent and his caramel-like cologne.
He went rigid. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little high-pitched.
“I’m snuggling?” you said, puzzled. “I snuggle with Sophia all the time when we watch movies.”
He blinked, his glasses reflecting the light from the screen. “Oh, right. Snuggling.” He sounded like the word was foreign to him, like he had never experienced it before.
There was a long pause, then, awkwardly, he shifted his position. He lifted his arm with hesitation, and then draped it over your shoulder. It was stiff, his hand hovering in the air, not quite touching you. He looked like he was trying to solve a complex equation in his head.
You suppressed a smile and settled deeper into his side.
After a moment, his arm relaxed with his hand coming to rest on your arm.
He was warm and his heartbeat steady against your cheek.
The movie continued. Jake began to relax, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on your arm. You let yourself sink into the comfort, the simple pleasure of being held.
As the second movie rolled in, Jake found his voice. “Did you know that the actor who plays Iron Man is also in the Oppenheimer movie?”
You hummed, your eyes closed. “No, I didn’t.”
“And in the first movie, there was a scene where he talks with Jarvis, but it was improvised. They kept the scene anwyas.” You opened your eyes, looking up at him. He was staring at the screen, his face animated, a small smile playing on his lips.
“You really know your stuff.” you said.
“I’ve watched these movies a lot,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing. “They’re comforting. The good guy always wins, you know?”
You nodded, resting your head back on his shoulder. The movie played on, and he continued to share little facts, about the bloopers, the references to the comic and the behind-the-scenes stories.
His voice was soft, almost like a whisper, but it filled the room, wrapping around you like a blanket.
By the time the credits rolled on the second film, the apartment was dark except for the glow of the TV.
You stretched, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was past ten pm. Your stomach dropped.
A full day lost. You hadn’t studied, hadn’t prepared for the tests that awaited you next week.
The panic was a slow burn, kindling in your chest, threatening to catch fire.
You took a breath, in and out. You could feel the anxiety trying to take hold, the familiar spiral beginning.
Jake noticed, he always seemed to do that. He shifted, turning to face you, his eyes searching yours. “Do you want to go home?”
You hesitated, then nodded. “I should, it’s late.”
He didn’t argue. He just stood up, offered you a hand, and helped you to your feet.
You gathered your things while he turned off the TV and grabbed his keys.
“I can drive you.” he said, but you shook your head.
“They’ve thankfully invited Ubers. My dorm is not to far.” You smiled, “I’ll be fine.”
He looked like he wanted to insist, but he held back. “Okay, If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” You paused at the door, turning to him. “Thank you, Jake, for tonight. I really had fun.”
His eyes widened, a soft, shy smile spreading across his face. “Me too, I’m glad you came.”
You stepped forward, rose on your tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm, just a little stubbly.
He went completely still, his breath hitching. “Goodnight, Jake.”
You opened the door and stepped out, the cool night air hitting your face.
“Wait!” Jake exclaimed.
He ran outside his door, barefoot and gripping the small Iron Man plushie in his hands. He reached you with a flushed face and that crooked smile, “Here, take this.”
You frowned, “What? Jake, no, it’s yours.”
He shook his head, handing the small gift to you, “Consider it a token of gratitude, for bearing with my constant talking during the movie.”
You smiled, taking it and caressing its furred head, “Alright, I will take good care of it. Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
The Uber dropped you off in front of your dorm building. You unlocked the door to your dorm, stepping inside. Sophia’s door was closed, so you guessed she was already asleep.
You changed into your pajamas, brushed your teeth, and climbed into bed.
But sleep wouldn’t come. Your mind was restless, turning over the events of the evening.
Your phone was on the nightstand, you had placed it there without even checking on it since you went to the pool with Jake. You reached for it, and your heart froze.
Nineteen missed calls from Jacob and dozen of texts from your friends, all the notifications flooding your screen.
You sat up, your stomach twisting.
You had forgotten.
Oh, God. You had completely forgotten. Today was Juyeon’s birthday party. The one Jacob had been talking about for weeks, and also the one you had promised to attend.
You quickly called him back. It rang three times before he answered. “Where the hell have you been?” His voice was sharp and angry.
You could hear music in the background, the noise of a party. “Jacob, I’m so sorry. I completely lost track of time, it totally flew over my head.”
“Everything flies over your head nowadays, Y/N.” His words were like a slap. “I told you this was important. Juyeon asked about you— everyone asked about you! I had to make excuses.”
You swallowed, the guilt pressing down on your chest. “I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well… Juyeon will understand, I’ll give him the gift at college.”
“Stop playing the victim,” he said, his voice cold. “It’s always about you and your feelings. What about me? What about what I need?”
Your throat tightened. “Jacob, I—”
The line went dead. You stared at the screen, the call ended notification blinking back at you. Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and unstoppable. You curled into yourself, hugging your knees, and let the tears fall.
You cried until your head ached, until your pillow was wet. And then, exhausted, you fell into a restless sleep.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The days blurred into a routine of classes, study sessions, and anxiety attacks that came and went as a week passed. But through it all, Jake was there.
You grew closer. He became a constant presence in your life. You had coffee together between classes, sitting in the campus café, with him nursing a black coffee while you sipped a caramel latte.
He would listen to you complain about professors, about the weight of assignments, and he never judged you, never made you feel like a burden.
When you felt the first signs of anxiety creeping in, the racing heart, the shallow breath and the tunnel vision, he would notice before you could even articulate it.
He would make funny faces, crossing his eyes and puffing out his cheeks, until a reluctant laugh escaped you. Or he would take your hand, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your palm, grounding you, bringing you back.
You felt lighter around him. Freer. And Sophia, ever the bestest friend, noticed. She had been bugging you for weeks, cornering you in your dorm room, her arms crossed.
“You’ve been hanging out with Limousine Guy a lot,” she said, her eyebrows raised. “And since then, you’ve looked better. Even though Jacob has been sulking like a child.”
“His name is Jake,” you said for the first time, your cheeks warming. “And we’re just friends.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe you. “Just friends who can’t stop smiling when they talk about each other. And who had sex.”
“Sophia, please. When you meet him, don’t mention that you know about the limousine.” You held out your pinky finger “Promise me.”.
She rolled her eyes, but she relented. “Fine, but only because I love you.”
The day of the hangout arrived. You had arranged to meet at the college bowling alley, a small, slightly run-down place with a few lanes and a snack bar.
Sophia and you waited near the entrance. She was tapping her foot while scanning the parking lot. “So, where is this mysterious nerd of yours?”
“He’s not mysterious. He’s just… himself?" Then you saw him. He was walking across the parking lot, and he looked like he had changed his outfit multiple times.
He was wearing a button-up shirt that was slightly too tight, paired with jeans that were slightly too baggy.
His hair was a mess, like he had been running his hands through it, and his glasses were slightly crooked.
Sophia’s eyes widened. She leaned into you, whispering, “Oh my God… hreally is a nerd.”
“Sophia, be nice.” You nagged and she raised her arms in mock defence. “I am nice..”
Jake reached you. “Hi, Y/N… uhm, hi, Sophia.” He gave a small, awkward wave.
“Hey, Jake,” you said, smiling. “Ready to get destroyed at bowling?”
He let out a nervous laugh. “I’ll try my best.”
You rented the shoes, picked out a ball, and found an empty lane.
Sophia went first, scoring a respectable seven pins.
Then it was your turn. You picked up the ball, lifted it, and threw it down the lane. It veered sharply to the left and landed in the gutter.
You groaned. “I’m terrible at this.”
Jake stepped up beside you. “Here, let me show you.” He hesitated, then gently placed his hands on your shoulders, adjusting your stance. “Spread your feet a little wider, bend your knees… yes, like that. And when you swing, keep your arm straight.”
He guided your arm, his hand over yours, showing you the proper form. His touch was light, careful, and you could feel the warmth of his body behind you.
“Okay, now try.” he said, stepping back.
You took a breath, swung, and released. The ball rolled down the lane, wobbling slightly, and knocked down four pins.
Not great, but better.
“There you go,” he said, a smile in his voice.
Sophia watched the exchange with a knowing smirk.
Then it was Jake’s turn. He picked up his ball, took a deep breath, and started his approach.
But his foot caught on something and he slipped. His legs flew out from under him, and he landed flat on his back with a loud thud. The ball rolled harmlessly into the gutter.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Sophia burst out laughing, a loud, unladylike cackle. You followed, giggling with your hand over your mouth.
Jake lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. After a second, he started laughing too, a genuine, warm sound. He didn’t seem embarrassed, just amused at himself.
“I meant to do that.” he said, still laughing.
Sophia and you helped him up, and the rest of the game was filled with laughter, bad scores, and a few more spills.
After bowling, you walked back to your dorm room. Sophia and you went to the small kitchenette, and Jake offered to help cook.
He was surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with precision and seasoning the chicken perfectly.
Sophia and you mostly watched, handing him utensils and stealing bites of the ingredients.
Dinner was served on the small coffee table. Sophia, ever the interrogator, started asking questions. “So, Jake, tell me about your family. Any siblings?”
He swallowed a bite of food. “No, I’m an only child. It’s just me and my parents.”
“And your dating history? Any crazy ex-girlfriends we should know about?” She wiggled her browse.
You kicked Sophia under the table, but obviously, she ignored you.
Jake’s ears turned red. “Uh, no. I’ve never really… dated before. I’m not good with people.”
Sophia’s expression softened. “But you’re good with Y/N.”
He glanced at you, then looked down at his plate. “She makes it easy.”
The conversation continued, and Jake answered every question, even the uncomfortable ones.
He talked about his childhood and his love for science fiction. He was open, vulnerable, and completely genuine.
When he left, Sophia stood beside you at the door, watching his car pull away.
“He’s the one,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I believe he’s the one for you, babes. He has my approval.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
Jacob’s texts came in like a relentless tide, each notification a small, sharp sting against the quiet peace you had built.
Cobie: Baby let’s make peace
Cobie: Come over, i’ll make u feel better
Cobie: Y/N? Don’t be like that
You glanced at your phone, saw his name flash across the screen, and turned it face down on Jake’s coffee table.
Instead, you focused on the soft scratch of Jake’s pencil against paper and the way the afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds and painted golden stripes across the hardwood floor.
This was where you wanted to be.
There, in his neat little apartment, with his textbooks stacked in perfect alignment and his calculator placed precisely beside his notebook.
You were sprawled across his dining table, your own chaos spread around you like a hurricane: loose papers, highlighters, a half-empty water bottle and a crumpled granola bar wrapper.
Jake didn’t complain. He simply worked around your mess, occasionally sliding a stray pen back into your reach or pushing a glass of water closer to your elbow.
It was nice studying together a.
He was quiet and focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked through some calculus problem.
You had your own assignment, but being there made it bearable. The anxiety that usually coiled in your chest, waiting to strike, was absent.
Your mind was at peace. For the first time in what felt like months, the noise in your head had quieted.
You smiled to yourself. It really seemed as if fate had reserved something nice for you, after all the chaos and heartbreak.
Your meeting with him had been so sudden but you were glad he had stuck with you, even though you were a mess.
He had seen you at your worst, crumbling under the weight of panic attacks, crying in his car and confessing your sins.
And he had stayed.
But then, as if sensing the calmness of the day, a sudden warmth bloomed between your legs, a familiar sensation that made you freeze.
You shifted in your seat, feeling a dull ache in your lower abdomen.
Oh, no.
You knew that feeling all too well. It was your body’s way of announcing the inevitable.
You excused yourself, your voice coming out a little strained. “I’ll be right back, uhm— can I use the bathroom.”
“Of course” Jake looked up, his eyes scanning your face with that quiet concern he always wore. “Are you okay?”
“Just… I need a minute.” You hurried to the bathroom, closed the door, and checked.
Yup, it was uour period.
Great timing, as always.
You sighed, pressed your forehead against the cool mirror, and tried to think.
You had left your backpack on the dining table, and you were certain you had a pad in there… somewhere.
But you didn’t want to walk out and dig through it in front of Jake.
You cracked the door open, just a sliver, and called out. “Jake? Could you check my backpack? There should be a pad in the front pocket. If you don’t mind.”
You heard his chair scrape against the floor, there was a long pause before his footsteps approached the door.
“Uh,” he said, his voice awkward, hesitant. “You can check in the left cabinet under the sink.”
Confused, you opened the cabinet he mentioned. And there, neatly arranged on the shelf, were pads. Multiple packs of them, of different brands and different sizes. A whole arsenal of menstrual products, lined up like soldiers.
You stared at them for a long moment, your mind struggling to process. You picked one, opened it, and took care of the situation.
When you came out, Jake was standing near the table, his hands shoved into his pockets and his ears bright red.
“Jake,” you said, your voice soft. “What are you doing with all those pads?”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. “I, um… I bought them… for you.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “You mentioned once that your cycle was irregular, and that sometimes you got caught off guard. I thought… maybe if you ever needed one, you’d have it here. I didn’t know which kind you used, so I got a few different ones. I’m sorry if they’re not the right ones.”
Your heart swelled to the point of pain. He had bought you pads on the off chance you might need them.
He had thought about you, about your comfort, about something so mundane and yet so deeply personal.
“And they are so expensive!” he added, his voice pitching higher. “I didn’t realize they cost that much. I’m sorry, I should have—”
You crossed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him.
He went rigid, then slowly and hesitantly, his arms came up to hug you back.
“You’re perfect,” you murmured against his shoulder. “You’re so kind. The girl who ends up dating you will be so lucky.”
You felt him tense. For a moment, he didn’t move, and then he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours.
There was a vulnerability there, a rawness that made your breath catch. “Why can’t it be you, that girl?”
The question hung in the air between you, heavy and honest. “What?”
He had never been this straightforward before. Usually, he danced around his feelings, hiding behind awkward jokes and shy smiles. But now, he was looking at you with a clear, unwavering gaze.
You stepped back, your arms falling to your sides. “Jake… I’m with Jacob, I’m happy.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re not happy, Y/N. Everyone can tell, Jacob treats you like garbage.”
The words stung, not because they were untrue, but because they pierced through the carefully constructed walls you had built.
You shook your head, defensive. “We’re just going through a rough patch, that’s all. That’s why things have been tense.”
“A rough patch?” His voice rose, incredulous. “He ignores you when you have panic attacks and he calls you a victim when you struggle.”
“He just doesn’t know how to handle the situation.” You shrugged “We will be fine. I’m the one who treated him like garbage, Jake. we slept together while i was still with him.”
Jake scoffed, a strange and scary shadow crossing over his features, “So he can cheat but you can’t?”
Your blood ran cold. “What?”
Jake’s face paled as he realized he had said too much.
He started pacing, his hands running through his hair and his breathing rapid. “I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t have said anything, it wasn’t my place.”
“Told me what?” You grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. “Jake, what are you talking about?”
He looked at you with eyes full of regret.
Then he sighed, a long, defeated sound, and walked to a shelf.
He picked up a camera woth a large lens, and brought it to the table. He sat down, and you followed, your legs feeling weak.
He scrolled through the camera’s gallery with fingers trembling slightly. “Remember when I said I was paired with a girl for a project? Minjee?”
You nodded slowly. You remembered him mentioning the name, but you hadn’t thought much of it.
“She brought her boyfriend to the meeting,” he continued, his voice low. “I didn’t mind, because I am used to working alone… but they made out the whole time. It was uncomfortable.”
He paused, his throat working. “Then, at the beginning of the school year, the football association asked me to take pictures at their celebration party. Jacob is the captain of the team across town, I didn’t know that until that night.” He explained, “I was just there to take photos, I didn’t talk to anyone.”
He turned the camera toward you, and you saw the image on the screen…. and your heart stopped.
It was a photograph taken at a party, there sitting on a couch, was Jacob. And on his lap, draped over him like she belonged there, was who you thought was Minjee.
She was laughing, with her hand on his chest, her legs crossed over his thighs. He was smiling down at her, his own arm around her waist and his fingers curled possessively over her hip.
You remembered that night, because you had refused to come all the times he insisted.
It was the night you had been stuck in your bed, caught in the throes of a panic attack that had left you breathless and shaking.
You stared at the photograph, your vision blurring. The room spun around you, and you felt the familiar claw of nausea rising in your throat.
“I didn’t know it was him until I saw you two arguing at the gala,” Jake said, his voice barely a whisper. “I connected the dots, I realized who he was. And I knew… I knew you didn’t deserve that. You never deserved a jerk like him, Y/N. You are so much better than he ever gave you credit for.”
You set the camera down, your hands shaking. “I need…” you said, your voice hollow. You gathered your things, shoving papers into your bag with jerky movements. “I need to go.”
“Y/N, please—” Jake’s voice cracked. He reached for you, but you stepped back. “Don’t. I need… I need to think.”
You grabbed your bag and walked toward the door. His voice stopped you, broken and desperate. “Please don’t hate me.”
You turned and saw him standing there with red-dimmed eyes. He looked shattered, like he was afraid he had lost you.
“We’ll talk later,” you promised, and you left.
You walked across the streets, your feet carrying you on autopilot.
The world was a blur of colors and sounds, but none of it registered. All you could see was that photograph.
You sat on a bench near the park, pulled out your phone, and saw Jacob’s texts still flooding your screen.
You: come to the campus park if you want to talk.
He arrived within fifteen minutes, walking toward you with a cautious expression.
He was wearing his usual confident swagger, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Y/N,” he said, sitting down beside you. “I’m glad you agreed to see me. I think we should talk.”
You smiled at him, a sweet, almost pitying smile. And then you said the words that had been forming in your chest for weeks. “We should break up.”
He blinked, taken aback. “What the hell?”
“I did something very horrible,” you said, your voice steady. “When we fought, I was with someone else, I cheated on you.”
His eyes widened, his face flushing with anger. But you continued before he could speak.
“But I found out you cheated on me too, with Minjee. At that party you said you couldn’t miss. While I was at home, having a panic attack, alone.”
His mouth opened, then closed. His hands clenched into fists.
“I’m not excusing what I did,” you said. “I’m telling you that we both betrayed each other. And that shows just how toxic we are. We aren’t happy, Jacob, we are holding each other back.”
He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the pavement. “You’re one to talk. I cheated because you were always stuck in your room, always making everything about yourself! You never gave me what I needed, it was inevitable.”
“And yet you stayed,” you said quietly. “Why didn’t you just leave?”
He glared at you, his eyes cold. “Because you’re mentally ill, you know that?” He scoffed. “You need help, you’re a fucking mess. And you cheated on me, you fucking slut.”
The words hit like a slap, but you didn’t flinch. You had expected worse. “We’re done, Jacob. I’m breaking up with you.”
“No,” he snapped. “I’m the one breaking up with you. Don’t you forget that.”
And with that, he turned and stormed away, his footsteps heavy and angry.
You watched him go, and for a moment, you felt nothing. Just a vast, empty numbness.
Then, slowly, a small wave of relief washed over you.
It was over.
You weren’t sure how you got home, just that one moment you were standing in the park and the next you were in front of your door.
The door clicked shut behind you, and you heard Sophia’s voice from the kitchen. “Hey! I was thinking we could order takeout tonight. Maybe some Chinese? Or pizza? I’m craving—”
She stopped mid-sentence as she turned and saw you. Her eyes widened, her face shifting from cheerful to concerned in an instant. “Y/N? What happened?”
And you broke. The dam inside you burst, and you crumbled, sobs tearing through your chest. Sophia rushed to you, wrapping her arms around you, holding you tight as you cried into her shoulder.
“I broke up with him,” you choked out. “I did it.”
“Oh, honey…” She stroked your hair, her voice soft and soothing. “You did the right thing… You did the right thing.”
She held you for a long time, letting you cry until your throat was raw and your body was limp. Then she guided you to your bedroom, helped you into your pajamas, and tucked you into bed.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” she whispered.
You curled up, reaching for the Iron Man plushie Jake had given you. You pressed it to your chest, burying your face in its soft fabric.
You fell asleep to the scent of him.
A hand on your shoulder gently shook you awake. The room was dim as the light from the hallway spilled in through the crack in the door.
Sophia was leaning over you with a soft face, “There’s someone at the door for you.”
You blinked, groggy and disoriented. “Who?”
“Go see for yourself.” She urged.
You stumbled out of bed with messy hair, your face probably smudged with old mascara. You looked terrible, but you didn’t care.
You shuffled to the front door, opened it, and found Jake standing there.
He looked awful. His eyes were dull and red-rimmed, as if he had been crying. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was a disaster. He looked like he hadn’t slept and as if he had aged years in a single night.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He ran a hand in his already messy hair. “I don’t want to ruin what is happening between us, because I really like it. I really, really like it.”
His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “Even if you don’t like me the way I like you. Even if you only had sex with me because Jacob wouldn’t take care of you, I don’t care. I cherished every moment. Every second with you was special to me.”
He gulped, anxious, “And if you only want to be friends, I can accept that. I just… I can’t lose you. I’ve never had a real friend before, Y/N. You’re the first person who made me feel like I am not invisible… Please don’t cut me off.”
He stood there, with trembling eyes. He looked so broken, so vulnerable, and your heart ached for him.
You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.
He let out a shuddering breath and buried his face in your hair, his hands clutching your back like you were the only thing keeping him upright.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” he said, his voice muffled. “I hurt myself by hoping.”
You pulled back, cupping his face in your hands. “Jake, I don’t want to lose what we have either. But I’m not ready for a relationship again… at least not yet.
You gave him a small smile, “I need to fix myself before I can give you my whole heart.”
He shook his head, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “You don’t need fixing, Y/N. You’re not broken. You’re just… a little lost, and that’s okay. I will wait however long you need, I promise. Just… please don’t cut me off. Please.”
“I promise I won’t.” you said, your voice soft.
You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek and he closed his eyes like he was savoring the moment. “Go home, Jake. We’ll talk better tomorrow.”
He opened his eyes, and for the first time that night, a small, fragile smile touched his lips. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
