Summary: If Jungwon can’t sleep it’s only fair you can’t either. It was basically all your fault he couldn’t sleep after all.
"The night was young, and the young man was restless. He tried to look beyond the endless skies but could only help but stare at the moon." This was what Jungwon was rambling on about in his mind. It was 2 in the morning, and he was unable to sleep. He spent the whole day missing you. You spent the day with your friends shopping and gossiping. Jungwon spent his waiting for your return. He felt like the princess waiting for his knight to save him of boredom. He tried to close his eyes but the way you were tossing n turning in your deep sleep was annoying him. You only gave him a quick peck then rushed to sleep. Then the fact that you got a good night rest while he was unsatisfied because of you. It was all your fault so now you must pay the price. He turned to see your delicate features just like an angel, he thought to himself. Your shorts were riding up and your shirt which was supposed to be big instead accentuated your tits. "Slut would sleep with no bra." He whispered to himself. That was the last convincing evidence he needed. He was ready to corrupt you and your selfishness. He tucked your hair behind your ear and called out your name to try and wake you up. He starred for a couple seconds and when he got no reaction, he threw the blanket on the ground and got on top of you. He studies the features of your sleeping face and the soft noises you made.
He leaned down and nibbled the skin of your neck. He made sure to bite hard on your most sensitive area. You quickly awoke with a soft moan staring at him half asleep. "Wonnie what are you doing?" He ignored you and dipped down towards your breast. He left a mark on your collarbone making sure it hurts you enough. "ow, Won that hurts.." You said as you pulled his newly dyed blonde locks. He could just hear the pout that came with that sentence. "Good" He lifted his head to look you in your eyes. He scoffs, your eyes were still closed while he was pleasuring you him. "Look at me." He said in a stern voice. "I'm tired I was out all day.." You pouted and groan of exhaustion. "Not my problem." He slid his hand down to your sensitive area, teasing the cloth that was acting as a barrier. He slid his finger up and down and teased your hole. You started to squirm and tried to close your thighs. His other hand on your sensitive nipple. Licking his fingers then tugging n teasing your nip. "Wonnie... please" You cried out. "I thought you were tired? I guess you only care when you get enjoyment huh? Selfish." He smirked and continued his movement.
He pulled your shorts off leaving you in your panties. He dipped his head down until he was face to face with your cunt. He wrapped his arms under your thighs and pulled you even closer. He used the tip of his tongue to lick up and down then circling your nub. He was barely putting any pressure, but it was driving you crazy. You gripped the pillow underneath your head and laid their useless. One because you were tired and two knowing Jungwon wouldn't do anything no matter how much you begged. Your panties were still in place, and he made sure your center was soaked both from his tongue and you. He looked up and you still looked unbothered which bothered him. Jungwon returned to his original position and topped you. He then gripped your hips and gave them a tight squeeze before flipping you on top of him. He laid his back against the headboard while you were sitting up straddling him. You rubbed your eyes half awake. "Wonnn~" You whined and pouted. "I'm horny" Now you were the one annoyed. "and?" "and it's your job as my wife girlfriend to pleasure me." you asked then he answered. The only energy you had was used whine and lay down on his chest. You were hopping if you stayed there long enough, he would let you sleep. "Come on now do your job." He said kissing the top of your head.
"I'll even help you get started." He smirked and lay his hands on your ass checks making you grind down onto his hardon. "Why can't you just do the work? I'll lay there looking pretty letting you do whatever you want with my body. Every hole every position, as long as I'm laying of course." You suggested seductively trying to convince him. He replied with a "No" making you whine even more. You were already drained but now you had to deal with being all wet n sticky. You pulled out the pout and your innocent eyes just for him to laugh in your face, "If you make me cum, I'll let you sleep." Jungwon suggested. You could only mope and groan knowing he wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted. You slowly and tiredly sat up. You took off his pants and underwear as quickly as your exhausted hands could. You wrapped your fingers around his member and stroked it then teased the tip with one finger. Jungwon groaned and threw his head back. You moved your panties to the side and slowly slid down letting his girth fill you up ever so fully. You whined but now for a different reason. Then you lifted his shirt so you could place your hands on his abdomen for support. You grinded up and down but not bouncing. You made sure to clench here and there to add to the pleasure. "It'll take hours for me to cum if you're only going to do this bullshit." Jungwon said glaring at you. Which you could only pout and start to bounce up and down sloppily. "So mean" "Shut up, you like it." Which you couldn't argue with so you stayed silent focusing on doing a good job so you could get you well-earned beauty sleep. Jungwon moved one of his hands from your hips and relocated it on your shirt. He pulled the bottom of your shirt up and towards your mouth. "Open" He demanded, and you obliged. He bunched the fabric up and placing it into your mouth to shut you up and to get a better view of your tits bouncing. He meanly tugged and manhandled with one of your tits. You couldn't help but start drooling from how wide your mouth was from not being able to moan.
"Come on princess pick up the pace or else we'll be here all night." Jungwon said with a toying grin. You glared at him the best you could with your half lid eyes. You still complied and started to pick up the pace. "Good girl." He stroked your hair. Only the devil could play innocent so well after feasting off it for so long. You felt the pit of your stomach suck in making you dizzy. You clenched and starred into his eyes trying to let him know you were about to cum. You started to rut your hips and lost your constant pattern. Jungwon gripped your hips making you slow down to a stop. He closed his eyes and laid back enjoying your suffering. You spat your shirt out and started to complain. "I was so close?" You were genuinely confused. You were far from being simply overstimulated. You started to tear up overwhelmed with so many emotions. "aww is the dumb princess crying?" Jungwon said sarcastically then whipped your tears playing into your emotions. "Come on I won't toy with you anymore as long as you enthusiastically do your part." You just glared knowing he was just acting nice. The real princess was him wanting everything his way. You continued to bounce but even more now giving him what he wanted. "Please Jungwon..." "Please?" "Please let me cum" He could only laugh. "Okay baby"
With everything you had you powered through. The only sound being heard was your heavy breathing and skin slapping together. You leaned down and kissed him hungrily. Tongues clashing and encapsulating each other. You bit his bottom lip in revenge for your collarbone. You licked it before going back into kissing him. Jungwon groaned into the kiss and gripped your hips tight enough to leave a bruise. You knew he was close and so were you. You both stopped kissing just your mouths hovering with heavy breaths, locking eyes. You arched your back, clenching and with a couple more thrust you could feel Jungwon filling you up. Not long after you came your hips started to shake uncontrollable, exhausted being an understatement. You rested your forehead on his shaking still. "I love you." Jungwon said pecking your lips. "You only say that after cumming in me." You teased pinching his biceps. "It's when I love you most, when you let our children flow into you and hopefully impregnate you." He teased back. "Great way to ruin the moment and luckily I'm on the pill." He pouts and flips you under him. "I guess I'll just have to keep filling you up until my cum overpowers your stupid pills." You rolled your eyes. "Thats not how it works. Plus, I'm going to sleep I did my job as your girlfriend."
Jungwon uses his hand to brush his hair back making you gawk. "Wife" He corrects you. "and the deal was that you can sleep but I don't have to. Plus you said I could do whatever I want to your body as long as you just get to lay there." He smirks leaving you speechless. "Every hole every position, was what you said if I remember correctly." Trust, he put you in many positions that night. You couldn't sleep but how could you with your needy husband boyfriend was oh so so soo~ needy for your attention.
It was a typical summer day, Keonho over and distracting you from the summer journaling you insisted on starting. He had pulled you onto his lap because, “Contact sports is something he takes very seriously.” His arms are wrapped loosely around your hips. He’s using his boyish smile on you to get you from getting piss at him.
“Gimmie a kiss.” He demanded softly while looking into your eyes. “Nah” you replied while playing with the necklace he’s wearing with your initials. He pouts instantly, “Oh so you hate me?” You roll your eyes and lean down to kiss his right cheek. He looks at you seriously “I was expecting to be kissed somewhere more to the left.” You grip his collar and lean down to kiss his left cheek. “Ok so you do hate me.” He said slightly annoyed. You giggle at his seriousness and lean down to kiss his right then left cheek. He rolls his eyes and lays his head back onto the bed frame with a huff. He turns back to look at you and says, “So do you want me to get on the ground and beg cause I will?”
You grip his cheeks with one hand and lean down slowly to kiss him on the lips. He kisses back instantly and smiles into the kiss. His hands melt down your sides as you kiss him. When you lean away his boyish smile returns. “Good girl-“ you smack him in the face with a pillow while your face turns red. When the pillow falls he’s still smiling loving how much he flusters you.
︶︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶︶
An: Expect to see me when you see me. I have so much I want to write just no time lol. Hope you enjoyed this cute Oneshot.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ sim jake “You don’t have to like her. Just take her out.”
━━ PLEASE JUST TAKE MY SISTER OUT.
(🦮) After seventeen years of surviving his older sister’s constant supervision, Riki Nishimura decides you need a hobby. Preferably one that is tall, charming, and costs him a hundred bucks a week.
paid! jake x fem! reader
˗ˏˋ brother’s friend, paid dating, he falls first, slow burn, romcom, highschool au BUT THEY'RE NOT MINORS they're 19 and 20, mean reader, patient jake, little angst, fluff, smut, porn with plot, crack, profanity, unprotected sex, oral sex, f receiving, MDNI !
inspired by 10 things i hate about you !
wc: 30451
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (but can be a standalone)
Riki was seventeen years old, which by legal law, he understood there were certain things he wasn't supposed to do. He wasn't allowed to drink, gamble, or just make any life-altering decisions with the judgment of someone whose brain was still developing. It was, no doubt, very reasonable and he never tried to argue.
What he didn't understand though, were your laws.
No smoking, drinking, piercing, tattoos.
No driving without adult supervision.
No going out past 10PM.
No girlfriends until eighteen.
No accepting rides from people he didn't know.
No staying out without answering his phone.
The worst part was that none of these rules came from his father — a man who, at first glance, seemed exactly like the kind of parent who'd enforce discipline, high standards, high expectations, strict curfews, and strict grades. Except he wasn’t.
These rules came from you, his older sister. Scratch that — his terrifying older sister that’s also been known as a heinous bitch. You somehow managed to be nineteen years old and forty-seven years old at the same time, right after hearing Beyonce talk about girls running the world, and ultimately decided to make it your entire personality.
You remembered appointments, you knew where every important document in the house was, you made sure groceries appeared in the fridge, and you knew the hardware store. That was a good thing, especially since your Mother is a long story and has been gone from the picture since you turned eleven. It should be a good thing, because while your father forgot that he was meant to be a parent, you managed to step into the role for the then nine-year-old boy.
The bad part was that you also happened to be ruining his life.
"Don’t drink." you state.
Riki looks up from his phone, brows furrowed and eyes wide with confusion. "Why?"
You roll your eyes. "Because you're seventeen."
He stands up, his hands raised in even more confusion. "So are half the people going!"
You didn't even look up from your laptop, just continued on with your academic duties as the poster-child and perfect student you exactly are. Everything that Riki isn’t (he doesn’t give a fuck, he’s actually glad he isn’t as tense as you are). "Be home by ten."
He groans. "It's a party."
You narrow your gaze at him. "Then leave at nine-thirty."
He had barely been there twenty minutes before somebody handed him a drink and accepted it immediately. He didn't even know what was in it, but it was blue and it was something that would give you an MI, which practically made every sense for him to take it.
A hand suddenly smacked the back of his head. "Ow — what the fuck?!"
Riki turned around to find Jay looking unimpressed and clearly annoyed, arms crossed like he was already embodying your spirit for you. “Your sister would freak the fuck out if she saw you.” he says.
Riki scoffs, shaking his head before taking more sips. “Good thing she isn’t here.”
“Wow, someone’s bold.” Jungwon snickers.
Sunoo lets out a laugh from where he's leaning against the counter. “I can already count the amount of times she’ll call me tonight because you won’t be answering your phone.”
The worst part was that none of them were exaggerating. Most people heard the words overprotective older sister and pictured somebody mildly annoying that decided the takeouts. You were something else entirely, you were a mean person with good intentions, who treated Riki like a highly intelligent houseplant that couldn't be trusted unsupervised. Which, admittedly, was only a little unfair.
Jake looks significantly less invested in the conversation than everyone else, which makes sense considering he'd never actually met you before. He knew who you were, obviously. He had seen you around school a handful of times, though only in fragments, passing through hallways with your books tucked against your chest, standing behind podiums during assembly speeches, moving through student events with a clipboard in hand, and occasionally appearing in Riki’s house whenever his friends came over, though never long enough for Jake to understand what everyone meant when they talked about you like you were a natural disaster.
You didn’t hover during those visits, maybe because Riki was already home and therefore safely within the borders of your net, which meant Jake never had any firsthand evidence of the so-called atrocity people kept describing, no grand personal encounter with the hornless devil of a woman they swore you were. To him, you were just Riki’s older sister, put-together, sharper than most people, and clearly the kind of girl who knew how to keep things from falling apart.
He shrugs as if the entire conversation had been blown wildly out of proportion. “Honestly, she can’t be that bad.”
They all try and fail to hide the biggest smiles, until Riki finally let out a laugh so unhinged it sounded like Jake had just said the stupidest thing ever invented. “You’ve never met her, then.”
Jake frowned. “I mean, she just sounds responsible.”
That only made the laughter worse, because how exactly did someone describe you without sounding dramatic? How did anyone explain a girl who could build furniture, schedule doctor’s appointments, cook dinner, maintain perfect grades, and still somehow have enough energy left to lecture her younger brother about road safety, curfew, peer pressure, and why riding in a car with anyone named Jay was apparently a preventable tragedy?
“She’s like…” Riki started, then stopped, because there genuinely wasn’t a normal word for you, only some abstract painting of red and black, wrathful but organized, terrifying but color-coded.
Jay stepped in with both hands raised, like he was trying to translate a myth. “Imagine your mom, but if she had anxiety.”
“And a planner,” Riki added immediately, “and a superiority complex, and an attitude, and the ability to track your location and all your friends’ locations. She has everyone’s number saved, too, just so she can call around and make sure I’m actually where I said I was.”
Riki smiles though, because the way Jake shrugs it off and doesn’t think you’re that bad makes a terrible idea begin forming in his head. If he felt that way about you, maybe some things could be arranged.
The thing was, if anyone could survive you, it would probably be Jake. He was patient enough, he was also the kind of person teachers liked, parents trusted, classmates voted for, and strangers somehow ended up telling their life stories because he was just so easy-going. He was responsible enough to get good grades without making it his entire personality.
It was weird how the two of you had somehow never interacted despite orbiting the same school, same academic events, same kind of reputation, and yet somehow the universe had kept you separated for years. Now potentially united because of a very dumb idea.
Riki takes another sip of his drink while the idea starts taking shape. If Jake was as patient as he seemed, maybe he could handle you, if Jake could handle you, maybe he could distract you, and if somebody distracted you — Riki's life would finally begin.
Riki clears his throat, staring directly at Jake, with the kind of focus that makes Jake slowly lower his cup and narrow his eyes in suspicion.
"Why are you looking at me like tha —"
“Have you ever considered dating my sister?”
Jake simply stares, because a question that insane and honest has never landed on him before. The more Riki thinks about it, the better the idea becomes, which is unfortunate for everyone in the room because his expression slowly shifts from impulsive desperation to genuine, terrifying conviction.
“No.”
“Why not?” Riki asks, genuinely offended, like Jake is the unreasonable one here.
Jake looks at him as if he has lost his mind. “Because she’s your sister.”
Riki waves a hand, dismissing the concern as if family relation is just a minor technicality on a form. “You don’t have to like her. Just take her out.”
Jake shakes his head, “What?”
“Take her out,” Riki repeats, slower this time, like Jake is the one struggling with basic comprehension. “Dinner, coffee, whatever girls like. Somewhere outside the house where she can’t govern my life.”
And for all the ridiculousness of the conversation, something in his face turns a little more serious. “Look, she’s always busy. Always. If she’s not studying, she’s doing house stuff, and if she’s not doing house stuff, she’s worrying about me, and ruining my life. Anyway, I think she needs to go outside and be a normal nineteen-year-old.”
“I’m not dating your sister because you want fewer curfew checks,” Jake says, though his voice has lost some of its earlier horror.
Riki stares at him for a long second, and whatever dignity he has left seems to lose the fight somewhere between desperation and the thought of another month spent being interrogated. So he will compensate. “Okay, fine,” he sighs, “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks weekly,”
Unfortunately, the offer is not completely ridiculous in the financial sense. Your father might have forgotten how to parent somewhere along the way, but he had certainly remembered how to compensate for it by making sure money was never a scarce resource in the household. You're both pretty spoiled.
Jake was not desperate, of course, and he was not exactly suffering in the financial department either, because the Sim family had enough money for philanthropy. He did not need a hundred bucks a week, did not need to be paid to sit across from a girl at dinner, and definitely did not need to accept what was less like a favor and more like an internship. Still, there was something almost offensively easy about the idea of it — a challenge.
The proposition is ridiculous, the girl in question sounds even more ridiculous, and yet the more Riki talks about you, the more Jake finds himself wondering what kind of person could make everyone so terrified.
Jake exhales slowly, then shakes his head like he is disappointed in himself before finishing the rest of his drink. “When do I start?”
By the time the party began thinning out and people started calling rides home, Riki had graduated from slightly irresponsible to actively incapable of functioning like a normal human being. By his fifth blue drink, he started a speech about oppression that was very clearly about you and was dangerously starting to sound like a prick to the hard-earned established feminism that Jungwon had to cover his mouth. Jake was also unfortunately present for all of it, because he has to drive Riki home.
"You're a good man, Jake."
"I'm aware."
"No, like, a really good man."
"Thank you."
"The best."
Jake adjusts his grip on him, while Riki is leaning heavily against his shoulder, forcing most of his weight onto the former as they make their way up the front path of your house. Every few seconds he stumbles, nearly dragging both of them into the bushes.
"You know what my problem is?" Riki asks. "My sister."
Like he managed to summon you with a single call, the front door opens. And for the first time in his life, Jake finally sees you and not as a passing figure. The first thing he noticed was that you looked nothing like the distant, polished version of yourself he had seen around school. Those glimpses had always been quick and incomplete, a neat figure behind a podium during assemblies with your hair done properly and your expression fixed into something polite enough. Standing on your front porch at midnight, however, your hair loose, a few loose strands escaping around your face, and you're in sleeping clothes. The porch light caught the irritation on your face clearly, and you exactly had a face that looked like it had been designed to ruin a person’s confidence.
Your gaze landed on Riki first, and whatever thin thread of patience you had left snapped immediately. “You’re dead.” you said, voice flat enough.
Riki, drunk and useless, pointed at you before looking back at Jake. “See?”
Jake could see, yes, but not exactly what everyone else seemed to see.
“I told you not to drink,” you said, already stepping forward.
“Technically,” Riki started. “You said I couldn’t drink too much, and I think —”
“No.”
Riki shut his mouth, which Jake found impressive considering he had spent the entire car ride arguing. You reached them and immediately took over, not gently, but not aggressively either. One second Jake was supporting most of Riki’s weight, and the next you had somehow taken your brother’s arm, and dragged it over your shoulder.
“You are seventeen years old,” you muttered. “Seventeen. Not grown enough to survive every stupid decision your friends encourage.”
Riki groaned and sagged against you, deciding, with the cruelty only younger brothers possessed, to become completely boneless. You nearly stumbled beneath his weight, and your annoyance sharpened so visibly that Jake almost took half a step back. “Stand properly,” you snapped. “I swear to God, Riki.”
“Uh,” Jake said, because apparently he was articulate, just not under porch lights and direct eye contact.
You paused, like you had forgotten he was there, then turned your head just enough to look at him. “What?”
“I can help.” The words left his mouth before he could fully decide whether he meant them, and for the first time that night, your attention shifted from Riki to him.
It lasted maybe two seconds, three if he was being generous, but it was enough for Jake to finally get a proper look at you and realize, with a strange and deeply inconvenient sense of betrayal, that nobody had mentioned the tyrant had pretty eyes.
You looked at him like he was another problem that had arrived, taking in his face, his clothes, and his car behind him. Your expression did not soften, in fact, it became even more unimpressed. “No,” you said. “I’ve got him,”
You turned away before he could say anything else. The door closed a moment later, leaving Jake alone on the porch with the cool night air, and the silence of having been dismissed by a girl who had barely given him enough time to become charming.
For several seconds, he just stared at the closed door.
That was it? That was his grand introduction to the infamous sister everyone had sworn was some terrible, unbearable monster? He had spent the entire night hearing stories about you, had driven your drunk brother home, had offered to help, and all he got in return was a death sentence aimed at Riki, two seconds of eye contact, and a rejection so cold.
Wow. Okayyy.
You’re sitting alone beneath one of the trees lining the courtyard, legs crossed neatly at the ankle, a planner open on your lap. Your attention is fixed on whatever system of color-coding you have, your neat cursive filling the page in careful lines. Even from across the courtyard, you look overwhelming. The Miu Miu loafers, the Bottega Veneta resting beside you, like you were deliberately trying to repel anyone who didn’t belong in the same tax bracket as your family.
Jake walks over easily, casually, friendly in the way he usually is without trying.
“Hey.”
You look up, not startled nor pleased, just disturbed. He smiles automatically, the kind people return before they even realize they’re doing it, because he has the sort of face that makes friendliness look charming instead of invasive. Your eyes move from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes, slow and blatantly judgmental, before returning to his face.
He waits, yet you close your planner, stand up, pick up your bag, and leave.
For a second, he just stands there while every gear in his brain grinds to a halt. Nobody has ever dismissed him that cleanly and efficiently, like he had been a minor scheduling conflict you decided to remove from your day. Obviously, he follows. You hear his footsteps behind you but you don’t react, your pace remains even, your expression unchanged, and by the time he catches up beside you, you still don’t give him so much as a glance.
“So that’s how this is gonna be?” he asks, amused despite himself. “You pretending you don’t hear me?”
You finally look over briefly. “Hi.”
Jake practically lights up at that; his smile widening, eyes brightening like he has just won something ridiculous, considering all you did was say hi. Still, he takes it as progress, watching your profile as you keep walking with your attention already returned to your planner.
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you remember me?”
That barely gets your attention. “Yes, Jake Sim,” you say, your voice stays perfectly even. “You’re one of Riki’s friends.”
The answer comes instantly, and Jake has no idea why you saying his name feels satisfying. “So you do know me.”
You only look back down at your planner as he flashes another smile, the one that usually makes people start talking, or laughing, or tucking their hair behind their ear because what is anyone supposed to do with all of Jake Sim’s attention? Unfortunately, you aren’t looking at him at all.
He exhales a quiet laugh through his nose. “Have you always been this friendly?”
“No.”
He frowns. “So it’s personal.”
“No.”
Before he can decide whether to be offended or impressed, you push open the door to a classroom. He follows one step too close, only for you to stop at the threshold and turn around, leaving him outside. Your eyes land on him properly, sharp and unreadable, and his thoughts stumble over themselves for half a second.
“What exactly do you need?” you ask. Your tone is calm, but somehow it feels like an insult wearing perfume.
Technically speaking, he needs nothing. This becomes obvious the longer he stands there saying absolutely nothing, and from the way your eyes narrow, you reach the same conclusion at the exact same time. “If you’re looking for assistance regarding academics, facilities, or student concerns,” you say politely, “I suggest you start by talking to a member of the student body.”
He opens his mouth, but you continue before he can speak. “Although,” you add, giving him one last slow once-over, “the nurse’s building might be more appropriate.”
For a second, Jake genuinely cannot tell if you’re joking.
You are not. You offer him the smallest smile imaginable, neither warm nor friendly, but decorative at best. Then you shut the door directly in his face — which, for the record, is the second time you have done that since he met you. He stands there, staring at the wood, while inside the classroom he can already hear you speaking to someone else in a perfectly normal voice, as if he had never existed at all.
Jake spots you three days later in the library, clearly because he was looking, but this time he has a plan, and for some reason, he still believes plans work on you.
Afternoon sunlight slips through the tall windows and stretches across the desks in pale strips, and Jake finds you near the history section, seated at a wide table with your laptop open and your papers arranged so neatly. Your curls are pinned back from your face, loose pieces framing your cheeks, your eyeshadow soft and precise in a way that makes you look even more put together. You are highlighting something when he sees you, chin resting lightly on your hand, completely absorbed and completely unreachable.
Naturally, he walks straight toward you. The chair across from yours screeches when he pulls it back, loud enough that two people at another table look up. Your eyes lift immediately, widening at the earsplitting sound before narrowing at him with such open irritation that he almost feels proud for earning a reaction at all.
“What are you doing?” you ask, voice low.
Jake drops into the seat with the confidence of someone who has already survived two doors being shut in his face and is somehow eager for a third. “Studying.”
Your gaze moves from him, to the empty table behind him, to the empty seats beside you, then back to him. The silence that follows is not confused, just judgmental. “And you chose the only occupied table in this section?"
“It had the best lighting.”
“It has me.”
“Exactly.”
You stare at him for another second, face unreadable except for the small, unimpressed lift of your brows. Then you look back down at your notes, clearly deciding he is not worth the strain of further expression. For about twelve seconds, Jake pretends to open his textbook for a real reason — flips one page, glances at your highlighter, then at your face. “Can you help me with something?” he whispers.
You don’t look up. “No.”
Jake’s mouth parts slightly, then closes. He has been rejected before, technically, but never with so little effort. It bothers him more than it should, especially when you do not even look pleased with yourself. You simply continue highlighting, lips slightly parted in concentration, as if dismissing him is just another item on your to-do list.
“Fine,” he says, leaning back. “I need help with economics.”
Your highlighter stops moving, and for one hopeful second, Jake thinks he finally got you. Then your eyes lift from the page, slow and suspicious. “You got a ninety-four.”
He blinks. “So?”
“You have the second-highest grade in the class.”
“You know my grade?”
“I’m the TA,” you say flatly. “That isn’t special.”
It lands with embarrassing accuracy. His smile falters for half a second before he recovers and leans forward again, lowering his voice like the two of you are sharing a secret. “Maybe I want to be first.”
This time, you do smile, but it is not warm. “No,” you say, “Because I’m first.”
The corner of his mouth rises before he can stop it. “Then I definitely need your notes.”
“You need attention,” you correct, closing your highlighter with a soft click. “There’s a difference.”
You turn a page, your tone still calm after shutting him up. “You ask questions you already know the answers to. You sit where you clearly aren’t wanted. You make jokes because you think being charming is the same thing as being interesting.” Your eyes lift to his again. “It’s not.”
Jake stares at you. Around you, the library stays quiet, and the air feels suddenly too still, like everyone else has been kind enough not to watch him being quietly dismantled. He tries to laugh it off. “Wow.”
“You asked for help.”
“I asked for economics.”
“And I gave you something useful.”
His mouth opens, but nothing decent comes out of it — the worst part of it all. Usually, he has a joke, a grin, a way to make people soften, but with you, every easy thing he reaches for turns useless in his hand.
You begin packing your papers into your bag with that same infuriating grace, not rushed, not flustered, not even angry. You stand, bag over your shoulder, eyes catching the light when you tilt your head slightly. “Also, next time you want to sit with me, try having a reason that isn’t your ego.” Then you walk away.
For a long moment, Jake just sits there, staring at the library doors after they close behind you. The silence settles back into place around him, heavy and humiliating. He exhales slowly and comes to one devastating conclusion: he can’t do this.
“Come on, dude! It’s barely been a week and nothing happened yet. I already gave you the cash!” Riki practically begs on his knees.
Jake frowns from the other edge of the pool table as he chalks the cue, the crumpled bills still existing somewhere in his pocket because, technically speaking, he hadn't earned them. At this point, the arrangement felt less like a job and more like repeated exposure therapy that would actively ruin his psychological welfare rather than heal it.
“No.”
Riki stares. “No? Jake.”
“No.”
Across, Jungwon looks up after his turn in billiards, with the expression of someone witnessing a familiar trainwreck but still expecting it from a mileway anyway. “What happened?”
Jake isn’t entirely sure where to begin. Maybe the front porch, then the devastating situations after it. Collectively, all encounters had taught him one important lesson: you’re impossible, not in the fun way people usually meant when describing someone to be cute — but actually a pain in the ass.
“She’s difficult,” Jake finally says while adjusting the cue against his purlicue. Jungwon just shrugs because such inference wasn’t surprising at all, I mean it’s you.
“She doesn't want anything,” he adds. “There's usually something. People want you to laugh, they want you to like them, or they want attention. Dude, people want conversation — or literally anything.” Jake scoffs. “And she doesn't.” he exclaims, coming out more frustrated than he intended, resulting in a miscue.
Social interactions followed a pattern and Jake knew that well, even if he wasn’t the most outgoing person on this planet, he still spent his entire life understanding that pattern. With you, it felt like throwing pebbles at a castle wall that decides public embarrassment for his punishment. Normally, being Jake Sim worked. He was hot, smiley, handsome, smart, well-spoken, and had great, healthy hair too. You treated all of that the same way you'd treat a weather report; filed away and forgotten before opening up an umbrella.
The more Jake thought about it, the more absurd you seemed. You’re nineteen years old and somehow functioning as a parent, a student, a volunteer, and whatever terrifying responsibilities that you could have stowed in that pink planner. There was probably a reason you looked perpetually exhausted, and why every conversation felt like you were mentally checking a to-do list. Also probably why you looked at Jake the way someone looked at a pop-up advertisement — unnecessary.
“Please,” Riki says, and for the first time all afternoon there was genuine desperation in his voice. “Just keep trying.”
Jake groans. “No.”
“Please.”
Jake rubs a hand down his face, because he already knows he’s going to lose this argument. Not through Riki’s annoying persuasion, but because somewhere between getting his face ignored at the Humanities building and getting dissected in the library, Jake had become painfully curious. Every interaction left him feeling like he'd only managed to scratch the surface of an entire unearthing no one yet has discovered. He hated that a lot, the mysteries and the unfinished conversations because you just can’t seem to bear him.
Most of all, of course, he hated that he was already wondering where he'd find you next.
A few days later, Jake finds himself in a bookstore three blocks away from campus, flipping through a poetry collection he absolutely does not want to buy. His teacher has insisted on physical copies because apparently PDFs are destroying the educational experience, while Jake personally believes the educational experience would improve significantly if the book cost less than a decent meal.
The bookstore is small, old, and crammed from floor to ceiling with shelves. It smells like paper, dust, and someone’s grandmother’s living room. He is still pretending to care about Shakespeare when the front door chimes, and he barely looks up until he hears your voice. You step inside with a headband pushing your hair back, still dressed like you came from school, except this version of you looks nothing like the girl he has been trying and failing to understand. For one thing, you are smiling, which isn’t polite smile you use like a weapon, but something real and easy.
“Hi, Mrs. Park,” you greet.
The elderly woman behind the counter brightens immediately. “There you are.”
Jake stares because, apparently, his brain has decided blinking is no longer necessary. A fat orange cat sprawled across the counter lifts its head when you approach, and you reach over to scratch beneath its chin. The cat melts instantly, stretching into your hand while you coo at it under your breath. He has seen you annoyed, composed, sharp, and dismissive, but this version of you, smiling at an old woman and whispering sweet nonsense to a cat, feels almost impossible to place beside the girl from campus.
It startles him how much he wants to keep watching.
After telling Mrs. Park you are only going to browse, you turn toward the shelves and move right into his aisle. Jake steps back instinctively, half-hidden behind a row of books, but the sensible part of him lasts for about four seconds before he decides, unfortunately, to bother you.
“You come here often?” he asks, leaning against the shelf like this is a normal thing to say and not the opening line of someone who has clearly run out of better ideas.
Your hand pauses on the spine of a novel, expression already rising from irritation. Slowly, you look at him, then around the aisle, then back at his face. “What are you doing here?”
He blinks, as if the answer should be obvious. “To read books.”
You stare at him for a second before your expression flattens. “Wow. I didn’t know you knew how to read.”
His face shifts into immediate offense. “I know how to read.”
You hum, entirely unimpressed, and continue walking down the aisle. “Coloring books don’t count.”
He laughs under his breath, dragging a hand over his face like he is trying very hard not to look too entertained. Or annoyed at how plainly rude you are without masking it. “Wow,” he mutters, following after you. “For the record, real books. Little Women. The Bell Jar. Percy Jackson.”
You stop walking and turn to him properly, huffing once through your nose. “Percy Jackson is new. Is that a thing now? The male campaign for feminism?”
His eyebrows lift. “All I’m hearing is you also read Percy Jackson and that we have something in common.”
Your eyes lift to his, flat and unimpressed, but there is the faintest twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Right, how exciting it is to bond over a children’s fantasy series.”
“Well,” he says, smiling. “It’s a start.”
You turn away, but he catches the tiny pause in your movement, the almost-smile you refuse to let happen. It feels ridiculous, how much that small reaction does to him even though he has won games in front of cheering crowds and accepted medals in crowded auditoriums, yet somehow, getting half a smile out of you in a dusty bookstore feels more victorious. “Since we’re apparently literary equals now, do you want to get coffee?”
You just stare at him, brows drawn together, lips parted slightly, as if you are trying to understand what series of events in his life has led him to think that was an appropriate thing to say to you. “No,” you say.
The answer comes cleanly, and he just blinks. “What? Why not?”
“I have coffee at home.”
For a second, he just stands there, disbelieved and a little done. You turn back to the shelf like the matter is settled, fingers skimming over another row of spines while he processes the fact that you have somehow rejected him without remorse or politeness.
“That’s not the point,” he says.
You scoff. “Then why did you ask?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Instead, he exhales a laugh, softer this time. “Because most normal people actually understand that getting coffee means spending time together.”
You hum, still not looking at him. “Then you should have asked that.” You reach for a book on the higher shelf, and when you glance at him again, there is the faintest flicker of amusement in your eyes.
He laughs under his breath, and this time, he doesn’t even bother hiding how entertained he is. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable.”
“Fine,” he says, straightening a little. “Go out with me?”
You stop moving for barely a second, but Jake sees the tiny pause in your hand against the shelf, the way your face goes still like the question landed somewhere you didn’t expect. For once, he doesn’t grin.
Then you pull a book from the shelf and shove it against his chest. “No,” you say, coming out quieter than before, less mean than before. “Read your book.”
Jake catches it automatically, turning it a little to see that it’s the poetry collection he came here for.
By the time he looks back up, you’re already walking away, but not before he catches the smallest curve at the corner of your mouth. And, unfortunately for him, that feels a lot like a maybe.
The annual charity gala occupied all three floors of the Grand Ballroom, transforming an expensive venue into something that looked less like an event and more like a display of wealth (though, yes, it is). Guests emerged draped in custom couture and tailored suits, while somewhere near the entrance, a string quartet played softly enough not to interrupt conversation. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead in cascading tiers, fresh floral arrangements towered from the center of each table (imported blooms flown in specifically for the event, you coined in the suggestion of peonies). Waiters moved soundlessly between guests carrying silver trays lined with champagne flutes.
You had spent your entire life in diamond rooms where people discussed acquisitions over appetizers and spoke about money like it was weather. You'd sat beside CEOs at dinner because they were family friends, and investors shared laughter with your father over barbecue in your backyard. Without the pretense of acting remotely impressed, you boredly made your way through the halls as you passed by familiar faces. You smile, greet, remember names, and pretend you enjoy hearing about quarterly growth projections — your father did tell you to learn from what the older ones tell you, but now you learn to breathe deeply through your nostrils so as to not yawn.
The Elie Saab Spring 2003 gown skimmed against your legs as you moved through the ballroom, pale fabric catching the chandelier light whenever you turned. It was just something your father had pulled from storage for tonight, another piece of old couture that had spent more time preserved in garment bags than actually being worn. The fabric itched, the fit was annoyingly snug around your hips, and entirely wasted on you considering all you could think about how little room it left for dessert.
You'd just escaped a conversation about market expansion into the rural regions of the country when you reach for a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
"Wow."
You freeze immediately. Because you know that voice. Know it well enough that your eyes roll before you even turn around. Jake Sim stands a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, looking entirely too entertained by something.
Specifically you.
"What?" The question leaves you sharper than intended, but he has always had a talent for earning it.
His gaze sweeps over you once, slowly. It isn’t enough to be inappropriate, just enough to be annoying. "Nothing."
You narrow your eyes. Jake, unfortunately, appears completely unbothered by this, like he’s finally used to it and finds it amusing rather than frightening.
For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, shoulder to shoulder, watching guests drift across the ballroom that it almost looks normal — respectable, even, as if you’re two people attending the same charity gala with poise and tact instead of a high school bizarrerie of a situation this has become.
"You clean up well." His gaze drifts back to you for a brief second before returning to the ballroom.
You turn so quickly towards him he actually laughs. "I always clean up well."
"Right."
"I do."
He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly trying not to smile. You take a sip of champagne as he steals a glass from a passing waiter, mirroring your movement to sip from his. "What are you doing here?" you shoot back under your breath.
He blinks at the question, looking almost offended on behalf of his own presence. "Are you asking why I'm at a charity event," he begins slowly, "or are you accusing me of stalking you?"
You practically glare at him but quickly shift to a warm smile when a familiar older face greets you, wrinkly and your father’s acquaintance. Once she leaves, you clear your throat and shrug casually. "I’m starting to think it's reached concerning levels."
That earns you a look — a long, disbelieving stare. He gestures vaguely to himself, as though presenting evidence before a jury, and that he clearly belongs here about as much as anyone else in attendance. "Come on." he chuckles as his eyebrows rise. "I look like this and your conclusion is that I trespassed just to see you?"
You hate how your eyes give in to immediately flicking toward him because, God, he's annoyingly right.
The black suit fits him unfairly well. His hair, usually left to do whatever it wants, has actually been styled for once, pushed neatly away from his face save for a single strand that has somehow escaped and fallen across his forehead. Standing beneath the chandeliers with a champagne glass in hand, he looks less like the guy who regularly shows up during the most random times and a prince, unfortunately.
You clear your throat and look away before that thought can do any more damage. "You make it hard not to think that way."
You almost forgot just how affluent the Sim’s are — that is, in your defense, was just a detail you overlooked. He isn't some random idiot who keeps appearing in your life through increasingly unlikely circumstances, his family name actually appears in newspapers and annual reports and conversations your father has over dinner.
You drain the rest of your champagne before he can say anything. "Well," you say, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from your gown, "it's been lovely speaking with you, Mr. Sim." The title earns an immediate snort, and you continue before he can interrupt. "Please extend my regards to your family." Satisfied with yourself, you offer him the sort of polished smile that had been drilled into you and turn to leave, as you’ve decided that you will stop entertaining the jest.
A hand settles lightly at your shoulder. “There you are.”
You turn at the sound of your father’s voice and immediately straighten. It happens before you can stop it, your spine aligning, your expression smoothing, every loose, irritated part of you folding back into place like a napkin at a five-star restaurant. “Hi, Dad.”
He then guides you aside with the kind of effortless authority. “You’ve been doing well tonight,” he says.
The compliment should feel nice, and it does for half a second until you remember who it’s coming from and how rare it is, and suddenly it feels less like praise and more like something you have to catch carefully. “Thank you,” you say.
His eyes drift past you, scanning the room. “Where’s Riki?”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the stem of your champagne glass. The room remains warm with bodies and lights and expensive alcohol, but somehow you feel cold all at once. “He probably forgot. He had practice earlier, and his workload’s been heavy.”
Your father looks at you then, and you immediately hate the expression on his face. Because it’s disappointment dressed up as responsibility, one you know too well. “You’re his older sister,” he says. “You know how he is. You should have made sure he came.”
For a second, you only stare at him, at the neat way he fixed his hair and made his collar. Somewhere near the stage, the host tests the microphone and the feedback screeches faintly through the room. “I can’t force him to come,” you say carefully.
Your father’s mouth presses into a thin line. “You’ve never had a problem controlling him before.”
Something hot sparks behind your ribs. You didn’t care for anyone to think that way about you, but the way your father had borrowed the notion feels shitty. “He’s seventeen, he’s going to be careless — that’s expected. But you know better.” he looks at you this time. “So do better.”
For a moment, you can’t speak. Because how can you be nineteen, and somehow old enough to be held responsible for everyone else’s failures. “I should talk to some friends,” you say as you take a step back.
Your father nods, already looking toward another guest who has begun approaching him. “Good.”
You turn before your face can betray anything and walk away, heels clicking against the marble floor. By the time you reach the hallway leading away from the ballroom, irritation has burned through whatever hurt came first — your jaw aches from clenching and your chest feels tight with things you can’t say. You turn the corner too quickly and a hand catches your wrist, a gasp spilling as you’re pulled backward, your shoes skidding slightly against the polished floor before another hand steadies you just enough to keep you from stumbling.
Then you look up to see Jake.
“What the hell?” you hiss.
He raises both hands immediately, though one stays close in case you lose your balance again. “Okay, bad approach.”
You stare at him, breath uneven. “Are you insane?”
“A little,” he admits. “But I just came from the restroom and you came out looking very mad.”
Your expression shifts before you can stop it. “Move,” you say, trying to step past him.
However, he doesn’t move. “You need air,” he says.
“I need people to stop telling me what I need. And I need you to stop appearing everywhere.”
His mouth twitches. “Fair.”
You narrow your eyes again. “Then move.”
He glances behind him toward a side door at the end of the corridor and you follow. Beyond it, you can see the faint spill of garden lights through the glass, and when you look back at him, you can see the words in his eyes. “Two minutes,” he says.
“No.”
“Then one.”
“Jake.”
“You can yell at me outside.”
You should go back into the ballroom, smile at executives, pretend your father didn’t just hand you responsibility for a brother he barely remembered to parent. Instead, when Jake gently reaches for your wrist again, you let him anyway.
The garden outside is cooler, quieter, and beautiful. Tall hedges line the stone pathway, trimmed carefully beneath strings of warm lights while white roses climb the trellises, their petals pale and some aging. The distant sound of the ballroom fades behind the closed door until it becomes nothing but a muffled noise as you walk further.
The cold reaches you almost immediately, slipping through the thin fabric of your gown and settling against your skin, but you refuse to shiver in front of him. For a while, neither of you says anything as you only tighten your arms around yourself, pretending it’s irritation and not the cold making your shoulders rise. He watches you for a second, like he’s debating whether saying anything will get him killed faster than staying quiet. Then, with both hands tucked into his pant pockets, he nods toward the stone path. “Walk with me?”
You stare at him, unimpressed, but eventually follow because the alternative is going back inside and smiling until your face cracks in half. The two of you move beneath the garden lights in silence, your heels clicking softly against stone while his steps stay slower than usual, like he’s matching your pace without making it obvious. You keep your arms crossed tight, eyes fixed on the roses ahead, while Jake walks beside you with his hands still buried in his pockets. For once, he doesn’t fill the silence just to fill it.
Which lasts forty-seven seconds.
“Riki told me he wasn’t going.”
Every strange thing that had happened to you recently could be traced back to your brother tonight. When you open your eyes again, Jake is looking ahead, hands still tucked in his pockets. “Right. You’re friends.” you say as you remember. “So he just tells you things.”
He shrugs. “Occasionally.”
“About me?”
He looks like he already regrets opening his mouth, but only halfway. “Not that much.” He falls into step beside you again, catching up with your pace. “Him not showing up must be why you’re upset?” he says carefully.
You turn your head slowly and he immediately lifts both hands, palms out, although the smile pulling at his mouth ruins the surrender. “I’m just asking.”
“You’re nosy.”
“Well, yes.”
You stare at him for a second longer, trying very hard to remain annoyed. Unfortunately, Jake has this terrible habit of making honesty look harmless. Although, he is very much a threat, maybe not the loud or dramatic kind, but the sort that slips past defenses because it smiles and asks questions and walks slower beside you when your feet are hurting.
You look away first, only for him to take that as permission, because he continues. “Let me guess. Your dad’s pissed because he didn’t show up.”
“No.” Still, your jaw tightens. And he notices. His expression shifts slightly, amusement dimming into something quieter. “You’re shitty at guessing.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He nods like he’s accepting the challenge. “Then maybe it’s the champagne. Bad year?”
You give him a look. “It’s champagne.”
“So yes.”
“No.”
“Is it the gown? You keep tugging at it.”
Your hand immediately stills at your hip, growing a little insecure. “I am not.”
“You are.”
You glare at him, but there’s a traitorous twitch at the corner of your mouth that you immediately force away. He catches it anyway and his eyes brighten. “There it is.”
“There’s nothing.”
“Well, I think there is something. The garden’s very enchanted tonight.” he sighs in relief, looking very pleased with himself.
“You are so annoying,” you mutter, turning your face away before he can catch the smile fighting its way onto your mouth.
“I’ve been told.”
“Frequently, I hope.” You roll your eyes and keep walking, but the anger inside your chest has loosened slightly, enough that breathing doesn’t feel like swallowing flute glass anymore. It irritates you a little that he helped without doing anything grand, only so much as walking beside you, filling the silence with stupid guesses, making it impossible for you to fully sink into whatever your father had left behind.
He looks at you again. “Is it one of the donors?”
“No.”
“Board member?”
“No.”
Then, because Jake really is bad at guessing, he says, “Or maybe it’s about a guy.”
Your head snaps up. “A guy?”
He shrugs, trying for casual and failing spectacularly because there is something too deliberate in the way he doesn’t look directly at you. “Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe a boyfriend.”
You actually laugh, disbelieving. “A boyfriend?”
“A shitty boyfriend,” he clarifies, like that makes it a more reasonable theory to hypothesize tonight. “Maybe he said something stupid. Maybe he’s the reason you look so grumpy in couture.”
You stare at him before you scoff, shaking your head as you look away. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
The silence that follows is immediate and loud. He doesn’t say anything, and because he doesn’t say anything, you look back to see he’s looking ahead now, with the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly.
“Good.”
Your heart trips over itself. You stare at him, horrified by the fact that your face feels warm. “Good?”
His mouth twitches. “Yeah.”
“You’re being weird.”
He turns back to you then, eyebrows raised. “How?”
You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Explaining it would mean admitting that you noticed the difference between his usual and this one; it would mean admitting that you were paying attention to the boy that’s making space for himself in your life, little by little. So instead, you do the mature thing of looking away and walking.
He hums, pleased with himself, and the sound makes your hands tighten around your arms again without the cold having to do with it at all. For a few steps, neither of you speaks as the garden path curves around a fountain, water spilling quietly over stone. Out here, your hair has loosened from its pins and the night air has cooled your cheeks after learning warmth a little too much tonight.
“You know,” he says after a while, softer now, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think Riki skipping tonight is your fault.”
Your throat tightens before you can stop it, continuing to stare ahead. “I didn’t ask.”
For once, he doesn’t tilt his head with that pleased little smile, doesn’t turn your sentence into something lighter just because he can. He only keeps walking beside you in silence, letting the water from the fountain grow louder as you near it. You almost wish he would say something annoying, just so that it would give you something to swat at, something easy to roll your eyes over, something that didn’t require you to stand there with all the ugly feelings still sitting in your chest like stones.
A bench sits just in front of the fountain, tucked between two rose trellises and half-hidden from the ballroom windows. One second you’re walking, the next you’re lowering yourself onto the bench, careful with the fabric of your gown, your hands folding tightly in your lap like you’re trying to hold yourself together through posture alone. He stops a few feet away and after a careful pause, he sits on the opposite end of the bench, far enough that there’s a whole stretch of cold stone between you, choosing to understand that closeness right now might make you run.
He isn’t looking back when you look at him, his hands are clasped loosely in front of him as he stares at his fidgeting fingers instead, giving you the sort of space he knows you need. The kindness of it is small. A boy sitting a respectful distance away from you in a garden at a charity gala, saying nothing while you pretend you don’t feel miserable.
You bite your bottom lip, contemplating whether you’ll entertain words sitting at the back of your throat, heavy and stubborn, and you tell yourself not to say them. You don’t even know him like that because he’s not your friend; he’s Riki’s friend, an irritating hallway apparition, a boy who somehow knows too much and still not enough.
Your eyes stay on the building across the garden, right where you both came from. When you speak, your voice is quieter. “It’s not just because Riki didn’t show up.”
Jake remains still, but you notice the way his attention sharpens a little. “I told him about tonight,” you say. “I reminded him. I even texted him this morning.” Your fingers tighten around each other in your lap. “And he didn’t come. Which is annoying, yes, but it’s also just Riki. He forgets things, gets distracted, acts like nothing bad can happen to him.”
The fountain fills the silence for a moment, the ballroom doors open briefly, spilling faint music and laughter into the garden before closing again. “I don’t do it for fun,” you say, almost under your breath. “The controlling thing.”
You hate that word and how easily people use it, like it explains everything, like you woke up one day and decided being difficult was easier. “I don’t know how to parent,” you admit. “I know he’s my brother, not my child, but somehow it became my job anyway.”
Jake does not interrupt, he only looks at you, steady and quiet, and that makes it worse because it makes you want to keep talking. “My mom’s a long story, and my dad…” You laugh softly, but there is no humor in it. “He pays for things. He’s not cruel. He just doesn’t know the small things. When Riki has practice, or when he has exams, or when he’s sick and pretending he isn’t.”
You look down at your hands. “He doesn’t know who to call when Riki doesn’t answer his phone.” Your throat tightens. “And I do.” The words sit between you, heavier than you meant them to be. “I just did what I thought was right. I’m not a mom. I don’t know what I’m doing. But then my father looks at me tonight and tells me to do better, like I haven’t been trying since I was eleven.”
For a moment, Jake doesn’t say anything. His expression shifts again, losing the last of its teasing until all that’s left is something quieter, something you don’t quite know how to hold without feeling embarrassed.
He looks down at your hands. “Is that why you’re upset tonight?”
You press your lips together before you nod. His gaze lifts to your face again, his voice gentle when he asks, “Is that why you’re upset every day?”
The question catches you so off guard that you laugh, a soft and helpless sound that slips out before you can stop it.
Then you nod again and he smiles a little too. “Okay.”
You huff, wiping beneath your eye quickly before anything can happen there. Somehow sitting beside Jake Sim in the cold garden after admitting the worst parts of yourself feels less humiliating than it should. Maybe because he hasn’t moved closer, even though some terrible, traitorous part of you wonders what would happen if he did. Instead, he stays on his side of the bench, careful and warm from a distance.
You look at him finally. “Do people really think I’m a bitch?”
He freezes instantly, so immediate that you sigh for even asking. His eyes flick to you, then away, then back again, like he is suddenly trying to navigate a conversation with several live wires tucked into it.
You raise your brows, but you’re smiling. “So yes.”
“No.”
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, looking genuinely shy, which is oddly enough to distract you from your own misery. “I mean, I don’t think that.”
You tilt your head, amusement softening your face. “Okay, so what did you think?”
His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. “I thought you were scary.” He looks at you, then immediately adds, “I still think you’re scary.”
Your eyes narrow, almost to a glare. “You’re scared of me?” You try to make it sound like a joke but it doesn’t quite work.
His mouth tilts. “The first time you shut the door in my face? Yeah.”
A breath of laughter escapes you as you remember a very irritable night of a brother coming home drunk. “You should’ve stopped then.”
“I considered it.” He leans back slightly, looking at the fountain instead of you now. “But then you smiled at a cat named Chicken.”
Your head snaps toward him. For a second, he looks like he wants to physically pull the words back into his mouth after saying it too easily and comfortably, like the memory had been sitting there the whole time and slipped out before he could decide. He exhales, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “I saw it,” he admits. “You were with Mrs. Park, and then the cat got up, and you just...” He stops, suddenly aware of how much detail he is giving. “You looked different.”
Your face warms despite yourself, but you keep your expression sharp. “So you were watching me.”
He lifts one hand like he is surrendering in court. “I know how it sounds. I just mean I noticed you before you noticed me.”
You fold your arms, still looking at him like he has committed some minor felony against your privacy. “And you remembered the cat’s name?”
“You called him Chicken.”
“Because his name is Chicken.”
“Which is insane, by the way.”
You almost smile at that, but you press it down immediately. Unfortunately, Jake sees the attempt; fortunately, he has enough survival instinct not to mention it, and to choose his words with more care this time. “I guess I just didn’t expect you to look less angry.” His gaze flicks to yours.
You scoff, but there is barely any bite in it. “So you watched me because I looked less angry?”
“No,” he says, then pauses. “Maybe. A little. I don’t know.” He exhales, looking down at his hands. “Everyone talked about you like you were this impossible person. Then I met you and, yeah, you were mean to me.”
A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, quiet and a little disbelieving. “Yeah, well,” you say, looking away first, “I wasn’t exactly making myself likable.”
His smile softens at that, not teasing this time. “I’m not saying you made it easy.” His eyes stay on you, steady enough to make your chest feel weird. “I’m saying I still wanted to get to know you.”
For once, you don’t have anything sharp to say back. You study him, searching for the joke, the little loophole where he gets to wriggle away from accountability. But he only sits there on the far end of the bench, shoulders slightly hunched, looking embarrassed enough that it almost feels unfair to keep glaring. The two of you listen to the fountain where water spills over stone, soft and repetitive, while the ballroom continues humming in the distance like another life waiting for you to come back and behave.
“You know,” you say slowly, “normal people introduce themselves.”
He glances at you. “I did.”
You give him a look. “You followed me through campus.”
“I said hey.”
“That is not an introduction, that was stalking.”
He laughs, and you roll your eyes, though the smile threatening the corner of your mouth makes the whole thing less convincing than you probably want it to be. He turns his body slightly toward you, still careful not to crowd your space, his expression shifting into something softer beneath the amusement.
“Okay,” he says. “Then let me redo it.”
He straightens a little, smoothing one hand over his suit jacket like he is preparing for something far more formal than a conversation beside you. It should look ridiculous, but then he looks at you with an earnestness that makes your guard hesitate before you can stop it.
“Hi,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m Jake Sim. I’m Riki’s friend. I have a border collie named Layla. I play soccer, I’m good at math, and I’m apparently terrible at approaching girls who scare me.”
You stare at him. Surprised. Confused. Heart fluttering a little.
His smile softens, but he keeps going, quieter now, like the next part matters more than the joke. “I also know I made a bad first impression. And I know you had every reason to think I was annoying.”
“You are annoying,” you say automatically while your hand reaches his to shake.
“I know.” His smile grows a little. “But I’m trying to be less annoying.”
“Unlikely.”
“Probably,” he admits. “But I’d still like to try.”
For a second after that, neither of you says anything. Your hand slips out of his, and both of you look away at almost the same time, like you’re both processing that you’ve just held hands. Jake clears his throat and fixes his posture, sitting up straighter as if that might undo the way his smile is still refusing to leave his face.
“Well,” you say after a moment, folding your hands over your lap, “you’re the first person who’s actually lasted this long with me.” You say it lightly, almost dismissively, but your eyes stay in front of you. “Most people usually give up before this part.”
His smile fades just a little, not into sadness exactly, but into something more attentive. “Because you push them away?”
You huff out a small laugh. “Friends, mostly.” Then your mouth twists, like you’re deciding whether to soften the words or not. “Apparently, people can’t handle a heinous bitch for very long.”
He huffs a small laugh, looking down at his fidgeting hands. You glance at him, confused. “What?”
He shakes his head once, like he’s amused by something private. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
His gaze lifts to yours again. There’s a strange look on his face now, which isn’t teasing exactly, but not shy either.
Then he says, “I’m not trying to be your friend.”
The sentence lands so cleanly that, for one impossible second, your entire brain goes quiet. You stare at him and Jake stares back.
Somewhere behind the doors, people are still drinking champagne and discussing donations and waiting for you to return as the version of yourself they understand, while here, on this bench, Jake Sim has just said something far too simple to be misunderstood.
Your mouth parts slightly. “What?”
His confidence seems to flicker only after he realizes he has actually said it out loud and not something he kept in his head. His ears go faintly red, but he doesn’t look away, keeping his legs crisscrossed on the bench like an idiot prince, looking at you like he knows exactly what he meant and is terrified by it anyway.
“I mean,” he starts, then stops. He exhales, laughing under his breath, embarrassed now. “I mean, I can be. Your friend.”
“That is not what you said.”
“I know.”
“You said you weren’t trying to be my friend.”
“I know what I said.”
Your face feels hot. Horribly, unmistakably hot.
His eyes drop for half a second to your mouth before returning to your face so quickly you almost think you imagined it. You look away first because if you keep looking at him, something very stupid is going to happen to your composure.
You clear your throat. “I should go back.”
His gaze lifts immediately, but he doesn’t argue. “Yeah.”
You expected a joke, a dramatic sigh, maybe some irritating line about how tragic it is that society needs you more than he does. Instead, he only nods and begins unfolding himself from the bench. “You’re not going to convince me to stay?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Jake stands, brushing one hand over his trousers. “Do you want me to?”
He looks at you, and something in his expression grows rigid again when he realizes what he just asked. So he corrects himself. “I mean,” he says, “I can. But I can also walk you back.”
You look away, pretending to adjust the fabric of your gown. “Fine.”
His mouth curves. “Fine?”
“Yes.”
He laughs under his breath, and you hate that you smile. You stand carefully from the bench, smoothing the skirt of your gown with both hands, only to freeze to find the pale fabric is stained. It’s not ruined, necessarily, but definitely marked where the garden path must have turned soft near the fountain, with a faint smear of mud that darkens the edge of the gown, and when you glance down at your shoes, the thin straps and pointed toes have flecks of dirt on them. You’ve spent all night holding yourself together, only to end up in a garden with Riki’s friend, exposing everything you’ve kept to yourself, and now covered in mud at your father’s charity gala.
“I can’t walk back in like this.” you can only sigh.
He grins, then his eyes drop again to your shoes, while the amusement fades into thoughtfulness. “Do you want me to carry you?”
You look at him so fast your neck nearly protests. “What?”
His face changes instantly and his ears go red again. “Sorry. I mean, not like that. I just meant because of the mud, and your heels, and the dress, and the path is kind of wet. It might get worse. Aren’t your feet tired?”
You stare at him as he exhales, glancing away for a second before looking back at you, steadier this time. “I can carry you back.” The correction is soft, because it’s not a question that leaves you to decide whether accepting makes you ridiculous. It’s an offer.
“In front of everyone?”
“No,” he says quickly, then gestures toward the side path. “Not everyone. There’s another entrance near the hallway, right? The one we came out of. I can take you there.”
You blink and the idea is absurd, too much for everything that has happened tonight. “I’m not letting you carry me.”
“Okay.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling again, and this time you don’t try to hide it anymore.
The two of you start down the side path slowly, your steps careful over the damp stone and softer patches of grass. The garden seems colder now as the breeze slips beneath the thin fabric of your gown, crawling across your bare shoulders until you can’t stop the small shiver that runs through you. You tuck your chin, tighten your arms around yourself, and keep walking like your body hasn’t just betrayed you in front of the most observant boy alive.
One second he is walking beside you in his perfectly fitted black suit, and the next, warm fabric settles around you, heavy and soft, falling over your bare shoulders with a carefulness that makes your breath catch. You stop walking, letting his hands hover for half a second near your shoulders to make sure the jacket doesn’t slide off before he pulls them back.
You look down at the jacket, then back at him with a glare of concern. “You’re going to get cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re in a dress shirt.”
“And you’re shivering.”
“I was not.” You glare at him, but it has no teeth now, no bite, which he seems to know that too, because his smile turns softer.
“Just wear it.”
The two of you continue toward the side entrance, slower than necessary, slower than you have ever been. Your gown brushes against the grass, stained hem gathered slightly in one hand, while his jacket hangs around your shoulders.
You should worry about the mud, the whispers, your father, the fact that Jake Sim’s jacket is currently covering your gown in a way that feels too intimate for something so practical. But you haven’t cared even though the vintage and expensive dress you wear is dirty. Instead, you laugh again when your heel sinks slightly into the damp ground. Your heels click against the marble as you step back into the hallway, the sound suddenly too clean after the wet grass and stone path outside. You can already hear the faint swell of conversation beyond the ballroom doors waiting at the end like a mouth full of gold light and noise; the clinking glasses, the polite laughter, the entire world you are supposed to return to with your posture fixed and your expression arranged.
You reach for his jacket before you can think too much about it. He takes it carefully, his fingers brushing the fabric where your hands had been. You smooth the front of your gown, trying to rebuild yourself enough to step back inside. “If you tell anyone what happened...”
“I won’t,” he says, before you even finish. “I won’t.” he repeats, softer.
For some reason, you believe him immediately. So you nod once, gathering yourself before pushing the doors open. The warmth and noise rushes back in at once, golden light spilling over your face as you step into the room again.
It takes less than a minute for your father to find you, and once he does, his eyes move over you, first your hair, then the faint mud near your dress, then your shoes. His brows draw together. “What happened to you?”
Normally, you would straighten, explain and apologize, but this time, you only shrug. “I had a bit too much champagne,” you say lightly.
By the time you returned to your room that night, the mud had already dried along the hem of your gown, your hair had loosened almost completely from its pins, and even though Jake Sim’s jacket had been returned before either of you stepped back into the ballroom, the warmth of it still seemed to sit stubbornly across your shoulders — surreal until beneath the covers.
That was the irritating part, really. Things were supposed to end when they ended. Jackets were returned, doors were opened, conversations were folded away with the rest of the evening, but the garden did not leave with the night, nor did the memory of him sitting across from you on the bench, careful with the distance, looking at you like he had seen the worst parts and somehow decided they were not enough to scare him away.
Neither of you talked about it after. Not properly.
There were moments where it almost happened, which was perhaps worse than if nothing had happened at all, because the next morning at school, when you saw him across the courtyard with Riki and the others, laughing at something Jay said, his eyes found yours through the movement of students and sunlight, and for one strange second, the entire campus seemed to narrow into the space between you — before Riki shoved his shoulder like a dumbass.
Jake learns fairly quickly that he is feeling (concerned, of course, that’s all) for you. And it’s inconvenient.
At first, that is the only word he lets himself use, because it sounds harmless enough. It is easier to call you inconvenient than admit that somewhere between a porch light, a bookstore cat, and a garden bench, his original reason for approaching you has started to rot quietly in the back of his conscience.
Riki had paid him.
Not in a serious way, or in a way any adult would consider legally binding or morally sophisticated, but still enough that Jake sometimes thinks about the crumpled bills and feels something unpleasant crawl under his skin. At the beginning, it had meant a task, this whole idea of keeping you occupied so Riki could have room to breathe. You were a challenge then, a sharp-tongued older sister with a reputation, a schedule, a glare that could salt the earth, and a list of rules for a brother who needed to survive for his benefit.
It was getting harder to think of you as a job when you showed him what you thought were the ugliest parts of yourself, and he could only think you still looked pretty.
He is also actively trying not to think about it on the pavement when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Bro,” Riki says the second Jake answers, voice low and hurried. “I need you to take my sister out tonight.”
He pauses with one hand still on Layla’s leash, standing on the sidewalk outside his house while the dog sniffs a bush. Jake’s starting to think that Riki’s a bit more insane than you are, because he always asks the most unhinged favors. “What?”
“You know,” Riki says quickly, then seems to think about it. “Our deal. I need it badly tonight. I have plans.”
Jake’s expression flattens. “What plans?”
“A date.”
There is silence — one awkward silence.
Layla tugs at the leash and Jake lets himself be pulled two steps forward before asking, very carefully, “Does your sister know?”
“No, obviously not.”
“Riki.”
“It’s not bad,” Riki insists immediately. “I’m just going out with this girl from school, and I’ll be home early, but if my sister’s home and I’m not, she’s gonna start calling people and asking questions again. It’s part of her rules that I’m not allowed to date ‘til I’m eighteen.”
Jake rubs a hand over his face, already feeling the shape of the problem and disliking how familiar it has become. Especially not when he was just trying to control his little growing trouble that made up of you and your pretty eyes and adorable smile. “So your solution is to make me distract her.”
“I pay a hundred bucks a week for that!”
Jake almost laughs, because three weeks ago he might have been amused enough to play along with the joke, but now the whole thing sits differently in his chest. There is the old agreement, of course, the stupid one made at a party over drinks and Riki’s desperation, but there is also the garden, your face under the lights, your voice beside the fountain, your hand taking his jacket before you stepped back into the ballroom, and the way you had looked at him like you did not know whether to trust him but might have wanted to.
“I’m not doing this because you asked,” Jake says.
Riki makes a confused sound. “But I did ask.”
“I know.” Jake says, watching Layla sit neatly at his feet and look up as if even she understands this is going badly. “I’m saying if I take her somewhere, it’s because I want to.”
Then Riki says, with the kind of slow horror that proves he has begun realizing his plan may have developed organs and free will, “Oh.”
By the time evening settles over the city, you are in your room with your hair clipped back and a half-finished movie open in front of you when your phone lights up with Jake’s name, which is already annoying because he has apparently become someone whose name makes your attention trip over itself before you can discipline it with strict rules and bad parenting.
You stare at the screen for two rings. Then you answer. “What?”
There is a brief pause, and you can almost hear his smile through the phone. “Hi to you too.”
His voice slips through the speaker in a way that makes your room feel a little more warm than it did a second ago. You hate that he can do that now, that he can enter a space and rearrange the air without even being physically present, as though your life has become embarrassingly vulnerable to boys with good timing and probably bad intentions, because who calls at 9PM?
You lean back against your headboard. “Why are you calling me?”
“Because I’m going to the night market across town,” he says. “There are food trucks, stalls, probably overpriced shit,”
You cock a brow at relevance. “Okay?”
“Come with me.”
The sentence is too simple. Not do you want to come, or are you free, or any kind of question you can fold neatly into an excuse and return unopened.
Your fingers tighten around your phone. “No.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and you expect him to push immediately, because that is usually what he does. He appears in hallways, sits at your library table, follows you through conversations until you leave, but now he only lets your answer sit there for a second.
Then he says, “Okay.”
You blink. The movie on your laptop continues playing in the background, but your attention has already abandoned it entirely. “Then why are you still calling?” you ask.
On the other end, there is a small pause.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I don’t really want to hang up yet.”
The movie keeps playing in front of you, bright colors moving across your laptop screen, but the sound has become nothing. You stare at the monitor instead, and try to ignore the way your face has warmed.
“That’s a terrible reason,” you say quietly.
“Yeah.” he laughs after. Neither of you speaks for a second until he breathes out softly. “I just thought you might like it.”
You smile down at your phone, suddenly brave because he can’t see your face. “You sound nervous.”
He goes quiet for half a second before answering, softer, “I am nervous. A little.”
You press the phone closer to your ear without meaning to. “Why?”
Then, quieter, “Because I asked you to come with me and you said no.” he lets out a soft chuckle, like he can’t believe himself for what he’s about to say, “But I’m going to be there,” he says. “And I’d rather go with you.”
There it is again, that careless honesty of his, the kind that does not ask for anything too loudly. Despite the oddity of the situation, your brain is less of a shamble than it is mellowed out — which you should probably question and panic about. Later.
You stare at your laptop for a long second. And for reasons you cannot fathom, you wonder what’s so bad about going somewhere tonight. With Jake. “How far is it?”
He does not answer immediately, maybe busy weighing in what that means already. You can practically feel him trying not to sound pleased. “Across town,” he says carefully. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”
You still for a moment, playing with your blankets in between your fingers while you think this through. And like he can sense your hesitance, he helps you. “Give me one hour,” he says. “If you hate it, I’ll take you home.”
You shake your head, still smiling. “You’re very confident for someone I haven’t technically agreed to go out with.”
The silence that follows is immediate as your eyes open wide, just realizing it at the exact same time he does. You sit up straighter, heat rushing to your face because you didn’t mean it like that. “I mean go out to the market.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “I know.”
Fifteen minutes later, you step out of the house in comfortable clothes, locking the door behind you before you can think too hard about the fact that you came out at all. The night air hits your face immediately, cooler than expected, and you hug your arms loosely around yourself as your eyes find him near the curb.
Jake is leaning against his car with his hands in his pants pockets, head slightly lowered, looking unfairly casual in a hoodie layered beneath a jacket, his hair falling over his forehead like he did not spend even one second thinking about how he looked before coming here. Which is ridiculous, because some people look better when they try, but Jake Sim has apparently been designed by nature to look the most when he appears completely unaware of himself.
His gaze travels over you once, slow to take you in. You usually look like you’ve been assembled by clothing that make people feel underdressed by association, but tonight you’re in sweatpants and a fitted tank top beneath a jacket, hair loose, face bare. He looks at you like he is taking in the fact that you came downstairs for him.
“What?” you ask, already defensive.
He shakes his head, but the smile gets there before his denial does. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
He pushes himself off the car, one hand already reaching for the passenger door handle. “You look cute.”
You physically jerk to a stop and your face warms immediately. “You’re weird.”
“I’ve heard.”
“You can’t just say things like that.”
He opens the passenger door and looks at you, smiling in a way that is trying to be innocent and failing by a devastating margin. “Get in.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re bossy tonight.”
“Please get in,” he corrects, still smiling.
You stare at him for another second, mostly because your pride requires a brief fight before surrender, then walk past him and slide into the passenger seat with as much dignity as possible. He closes the door once you are settled, and through the window, you catch the small smile he tries to hide as he circles around the front of the car.
The ride’s quiet with the memory of Jake flirting with you in the gala garden — it makes you feel warm despite how cold the night is. You look out the window, watching streetlights slide over the glass, trying not to notice how different this feels from every other time you have been near him. The night market appears before you in scattered pieces first, a line of cars, a spill of warm lights, people crossing the street in groups, then the whole thing opens up beyond the parking area in a bright, crowded stretch of stalls and food trucks and lanterns strung overhead.
You step out of the car and immediately pause, because it’s loud and crowded, which means it’s not your thing. There is smoke from grills twisting into the cold air, music blasting everywhere, laughter rising and falling in waves — which feels less like a market and more like a small fair.
You look at the crowd, then up at Jake. “This is busy.”
He closes his door and comes around the car, following your gaze. “Yeah.” He laughs, but softly, and when you look at him, he is already looking at you with that careful smile again, the one that does not make fun of you for being cautious. He looks at the crowd, then back at you, and for a second you think he might offer to leave, which would be considerate and therefore deeply inconvenient, but instead he reaches over and gives the sleeve of your jacket a small tug.
“Come on,” he says.
Before you can decide whether to argue, he starts walking, slow enough that you can follow without feeling dragged into the crowd. You hesitate for another second, but then the smell of something fried and warm cuts through the smoke, and your stomach chooses betrayal.
At first, you keep maneuvering to avoid everyone. You move through the crowd with shoulders turning at sharp angles, arms tucked close, stepping aside whenever someone comes too near. He notices after the third time you dodge a stranger by nearly stepping into a potted plant.
He laughs and you sigh without looking at him. “People have no spatial awareness.”
“People are walking.”
“Badly.”
Jake looks like he is trying very hard not to enjoy you, which makes the smile on his face even worse. You are halfway past a food truck with skewers smoking over a grill when you stop so abruptly that Jake nearly walks into you.
He catches himself at the last second. “What?”
You are staring at a small stall tucked between two larger ones, steam curling from bamboo baskets stacked in neat towers while a woman behind the counter folds dumplings quickly with practiced hands.
“I’ve been craving dumplings.”
The sentence leaves you softer than intended, and his expression changes in a way you do not have time to analyze because you are already in front of the stall. He follows without comment. A few minutes later, the two of you are walking again, slower this time, both eating from your trays with the market moving around you in bright, noisy pieces.
For a while, neither of you says anything, though it is not uncomfortable. You take another bite, then he glances at you. “Do you want a drink with that?”
You nod, mouth still full, and he’s already turning toward a nearby cooler display. He comes back with two cheap glass soda pops, the kind with bright labels and caps that need to be opened on the side of the stall counter, and hands one to you without making a thing of it.
You take it, fingers brushing condensation. “Thanks.”
“Was that gratitude?”
You look at him over the rim of the bottle. He lifts both hands in surrender, still holding his own drink.
You walk with him after that, and slowly, your shoulders unintentionally begin to loosen. The crowd is still loud, still too close, still full of strangers with elbows and sauce and terrible directional instincts, but it becomes less unbearable now. He notices when your attention starts catching, but he never comments, which is the only reason you allow yourself to drift toward a booth crowded with little trinkets and charms. There are cats, dogs, bears, strawberries, cherries, tiny books, moons, stars, and one orange cat keychain with a round face and a deeply unimpressed expression.
You pretend your decision is practical, of course, like owning a tiny orange cat charm is somehow a necessary purchase. He watches quietly while you pay, your expression focused and pleased in a way that makes him look away for half a second because apparently he has some survival instincts left.
You attach it to your bag immediately. He looks at it, then at the rest of the display, and his mouth twitches. “That one looks like you.” You follow his gaze to a small cat charm with narrowed eyes, pointed ears, and an expression so deeply displeased it almost feels personally designed to insult you.
Your face flattens. “No, it does not.”
He picks it up. “It does.”
You glare at him and he smiles at the charm. “See? Same expression.” he says as he holds it up beside your face to compare.
“Put it back.”
Instead, he pays for it and you stare at him. “Why did you buy that?”
He looks at it once, and then pockets it without explanation. “Come on.”
“No, why did you buy it?”
“I liked it.” He keeps walking, and you have to follow because the crowd is moving again. For some reason the gesture bothers you more than the teasing does.
The next booth that caught your attention is almost obnoxiously catered to your weaknesses, with neat stacks of sticker sheets, tiny memo pads, washi tape, highlighters in soft colors, planner tabs, bookmarks, stamps, and pens arranged in little acrylic containers. You stop so completely that Jake has to step aside to avoid blocking a passing couple.
For the next several minutes, you become very busy with the most random things, all as Jake stands slightly behind you, holding his soda and yours because at some point you handed it to him without looking, and he accepts this responsibility without saying anything. The two of you keep walking after, and you look more relaxed now than you did at the entrance, less like you are bracing for the world to touch you and more like you have forgotten that you disliked it. You stop at stalls, drift toward anything cute or useful, and Jake continues to follow at your side with no complaint, carrying your soda when you need both hands and slowing whenever you slow.
Then, just as you lean slightly toward a booth selling handmade bookmarks and tiny pressed-flower frames, a pair of kids comes rushing through the gap between stalls, chasing each other with glowing toys in their hands. He moves before thinking, his hand finds the space near your lower back, hovering as he shifts closer to keep the children from bumping into you. His other arm angles subtly between you and the crowd, and he looks over his shoulder just long enough to make sure they pass without catching your side.
You do not notice because you are too busy looking at a bookmark with a little painted cat on it. For some reason, that makes him smile to himself as he lets his hand fall away before you can feel the absence of it.
You turn to him a second later, holding up the bookmark. “This is cute.”
He looks at the bookmark, then at you, still smiling faintly. “Yeah.”
At some point, the crowd gets worse, which you didn’t even notice at first, but then the path in front of you disappears almost entirely, swallowed by families, couples, groups of students, people stopping without warning, people cutting through gaps that do not exist — just people. For a moment, both of you stand at the edge of the crowd, watching everyone press forward in a messy current of shoulders and laughter and swinging shopping bags.
You sigh. “This is ridiculous.”
He looks thoughtful for a second, then makes a decision you do not see coming at all. His arm lifts slightly, hovering behind your shoulders, and you immediately turn your head to look at him.
Jake, to his credit, only looks mildly nervous. “It’s practical.”
Your eyes narrow. “Is it?”
He glances toward the crowd like it might help him build a better defense. “There are a lot of people.”
He presses his lips together, fighting a smile, but his arm stays there, careful and waiting rather than assuming. It should not feel like such a big thing, but it does, mostly because he looks like he is giving you every chance to refuse. “You don’t have to,” he says after a second, already starting to lower his arm.
You hate that the consideration makes it worse. So before you can think too much about it, you roll your eyes and step closer, letting his arm settle around your shoulders like this is somehow the most casual thing in the world (it is not). Jake goes very still for half a second, like he did not actually expect you to allow it, and the brief pause is so obvious that your face warms immediately.
“This is practical,” you say, staring straight ahead.
“Yeah,” he answers, voice lower than before. “Very practical.”
You glance up at him despite yourself, and he is already looking away, but the corner of his mouth is lifted, and his ears have gone faintly pink beneath the market lights.
“Are you blushing?” you ask.
Jake looks at you then, and the smile finally breaks loose. “No.”
“You are.”
“It’s cold.”
You should move away after that because the path opens slightly, enough for you to walk without being separated, and there is no official reason for his arm to stay around your shoulders anymore. But he keeps it there, loose enough that you can step away anytime, steady enough that no one can push between you.
So you stay.
He walks half a step beside you, not dragging you, only guiding when the crowd tightens again. His shoulder angles gently through the busiest parts, his arm drawing you closer whenever someone cuts too near, and each time it happens, your side brushes against him.
You stare ahead and try to remember that this is for crowd navigation, nothing else. Then someone with a swinging tote bag steps backward without looking, and Jake reacts before you do, pulling you in carefully until your shoulder presses against his chest for one quick, breathless second.
“Sorry,” he says near your ear, already loosening his hold. “You okay?”
You nod too quickly. “Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
You hate how much easier it becomes after that. Not the crowd, because the crowd is still awful, still shifting and pressing and stopping without warning, but moving through it with him is easier. He notices gaps before you do, and he shifts when people come too close. At some point, without asking, he takes the unfinished cake cup from your hand too, tucking the little wooden spoon beneath the lid and holding it in his free hand like carrying your dessert is normal.
You do not protest, and that is the truly alarming part. For once, your brain gets to go quiet. Not completely, of course, because you are still you, but some strict part of you loosens just enough to let him lead. It should bother you more. It does bother you. But it also feels good.
By the time you finally return to the car, the one hour has become more than one hour by a margin neither of you mentions — you both had stopped checking the time altogether.
He only opens the passenger door for you, takes your bags long enough for you to get in comfortably, then hands them back once you are settled like this is all very normal. You start to think that’s the kind of person who knows where your hands are too full and fixes it without asking (which is bad because it detangles the wires in your brain). The drive back is quiet because you’re both tired, and the city slips past the windows in streaks of light while you sit with your head turned slightly toward the glass. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other resting loosely near the gear shift, his posture relaxed now, his eyes on the road.
When he finally pulls up outside your house, you both sit there. Then Jake unbuckles first, getting out already, and by the time you open your door, he is already there with your things gathered carefully in his arms.
“I can carry my own stuff,”
“I know.”
He hands you the paper bag first, then the little pouch from the trinket stall, then your phone, which you had somehow left in the cup holder without realizing. With your things in your hands, you stand across the passenger door while he leans back against it, spine resting against the car, hands slipping into his pockets after he has nothing left to hand you. He is closer like this, enough that the porch light catches the tired softness around his eyes.
Jake looks at you for a moment, and for once, he does not seem like he is trying to come up with anything clever. Then his voice goes soft. “Did you have fun?”
You look down at the paper bag in your arms, thinking that you could say it was fine, or tolerable, or simply that dumplings were good. Instead, you think about his hand around yours in the crowd, his laugh when you dragged him away from the flowers, the way he never made you feel strange for relying on someone.
“A little,” you say.
His smile appears slowly, like he is trying not to let it happen too fast. “A little?”
“Don’t get greedy.”
“I feel greedy.”
Your face warms immediately, but he seems to hear himself a second later because his smile widens just slightly. “I had fun,” he says and you hold his gaze.
Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag. “You’re very easy to entertain then,” you say.
“Only tonight.”
“Because of the market?”
“Sure.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “What was it then?”
He leans his head back lightly against the window, still watching you through half-lidded eyes, his smile barely there now. “You really wanna know?” he asks.
You smile despite yourself, shaking your head before he can answer. “No.” because you know what he’ll say, and it feels dangerous to hear it out loud.
He laughs softly, head still leaned back against the window, the porch light catching the slope of his cheek and the tired softness in his eyes. For a second, he looks less like someone trying to win an argument and more like someone who would be perfectly fine just standing there with you until the night runs out. “I figured.”
You lift the paper bag in your hand. “The dumplings were good.”
He sighs, disbelieving but still completely okay with it anyway. “I’ll take it,” he says. Then he straightens slowly, pushing himself off the car like he has finally accepted that the night has to end, but even after he says, “I should go,” he does not actually move.
You nod. “Yeah.”
Neither of you moves.
You should say goodnight, walk up the steps, unlock the door, and pretend the whole drive home had not gone quiet in a way that felt different from tiredness. But your feet stay planted near the passenger side, your bags looped awkwardly over your fingers, your phone pressed against the paper bag in your arms. The porch light spills softly over the driveway, catching the side of Jake’s face, and he looks tired in the gentlest way, hair slightly messy from the night air, hoodie sitting loose on his shoulders, eyes still on you like he is waiting for something without wanting to ask for it.
That is the worst part: he does not push, he does not tease, he does not make some stupid comment that would make it easier for you to roll your eyes and leave. He just stands there, patient in a way that makes your chest tighten.
“You should go,” you say, even though you are the one not stepping away.
His mouth curves faintly. “I know.”
“You’re not going.”
“Neither are you.”
You look away first, irritated by the truth of it. This is awful.
It is awful because you are used to handling things yourself, used to needing no one, used to being sharp enough that people stop trying. And then Jake Sim shows up, too warm, too persistent, too easy to like when he stops trying so hard, and suddenly your own brain feels like it has been rearranged.
He watches your face, his smile fading into something softer. “What is it?”
You shake your head. “Nothing.”
“Okay.”
He says it like he believes you have the right to keep it, and somehow that makes it harder to keep anything at all. You glance at him again, and he is still there, hands tucked into his pockets now, shoulders relaxed, giving you every chance to go inside.
You hate that. You hate him. You hate that you don’t hate him at all.
“You’re thinking really loud,” he says quietly.
You let out a small breath, almost a laugh, but not quite. “You’re very annoying.”
“I’ve heard.”
“No.” You look up at him properly this time, and your voice comes out softer than you meant it to. “You’ve been very inconvenient.”
He tilts his head, confusion crossing his face. “Inconvenient?”
You hate that he genuinely does not seem to understand. It makes the whole thing worse, somehow, because of course he would stand there looking at you like that, soft-eyed and patient, after spending the entire night making it harder and harder for you to pretend he was still just Riki’s friend.
“Yes,” you say, almost sharply. “Inconvenient.”
His mouth opens, probably to ask another stupid question, but you cannot handle another second of him being careful with you. So you drop your bags at your feet, step forward before you can change your mind, grab the front of his hoodie, and pull him down.
Then you kiss him.
He goes completely still beneath your hands, so still that your heart drops almost immediately. The courage leaves you as quickly as it came, replaced by a sharp rush of embarrassment that burns all the way up your neck. You pull away before he can even react, fingers slipping from his hoodie as your eyes fall anywhere but his face.
“I —” You swallow, already stepping back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have —”
But you’re already turning before you can finish. You barely make it half a step before his hand catches your wrist, gentle but certain. The next second, he turns you back toward him, and you stumble straight into his chest.
Jake is looking at you now like he has finally caught up with himself. His hands find your waist, careful for only a heartbeat before his grip firms, pulling you closer, and he kisses you back. It is warm and firm and breathless, like he is making up for the second he lost, like he cannot believe you almost walked away again.
Your hands grab at his hoodie again, more out of surprise than anything, and he leans into you just enough that the whole world seems to narrow down to his chest against yours, his fingers at your waist, and the quiet night around you. He towers closer, holding you tighter when your knees buckle underneath you, especially when a gasp slips out of your lips and his tongue enters your mouth.
When he finally pulls back, he does not go far. For a moment, both of you just stand there, close and silent, breathing unevenly under the porch light. Then Jake lets out the smallest, stunned laugh, his forehead pressed against yours.
“You have no idea,” he says quietly with his hands steady at your waist. “How long I’ve wanted you to stop walking away from me.”
For once, there is no sharp answer on your tongue, no insult, no eye roll, no clean little exit you can use to save yourself from the way he is looking at you. There is only Jake and you.
“You froze,” you whisper, because it is the only thing your pride can still manage.
His laugh comes out breathless. “You surprised me.”
“That’s your excuse?”
His hands tighten at your waist, like even now he cannot believe you are still arguing with him. “That’s my apology.”
You lift your chin slightly. “It wasn’t very good.”
His eyes drop to your mouth for half a second before coming back to yours, and this time, the smile he gives you is softer than it is teasing.
“Then let me do better,”
You barely have time to pretend you are annoyed before he kisses you again. This one is slower at first, like he is giving you the chance to pull away, but your hands are already gripping his hoodie and pulling him closer before either of you can pretend otherwise. You feel him smile against your lips as he deepens the kiss.
When you part again, your face is warm, his hair is a little messed up from where your fingers had caught in it, and both of you are breathing like the night has tilted beneath your feet.
You look toward the door, then back at him, suddenly shy now that the night has become quiet again. “Do you want to come in?”
His gaze lifts to yours, and the look on his face changes so quickly it makes your breath catch. The teasing is gone now, the stunned smile from earlier fading into something quieter, heavier, like he understands exactly what you just asked and is trying very hard not to make you regret saying it.
For once, he does not say anything clever. He only looks at you and nods.
You unlock the front door carefully, as if the sound itself might become suspicious, then step inside with him following after you. The house is dim, only the soft light over the staircase left on, and for a second the two of you stand in the entryway like you have smuggled the whole night in with you.
He closes the door quietly behind him as you slip off your shoes. Neither of you says anything, but when you glance back, he is already looking at you. You step toward him first, his expression shifting like he has not fully learned what to do with you when you are the one closing the distance. For once, he does not move first. He only stands there, still and watching, as your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie. You pull him in and his breath catches softly, then you reach up and kiss him again. He responds after half a second of surprise, hands lifting to your waist, like even now he is keeping some part of himself gentle.
The kiss is still sweet, still careful, but there is less hesitation in it this time. Your hand stays fisted in his jacket, and when he leans closer, you feel his smile against your mouth before he kisses you back properly.
He pulls away just enough to breathe, his face still close, eyes warm and slightly dazed in a way that makes your stomach turn uselessly soft. “You’re getting very bold,” he whispers.
You glare at him, which is difficult when you are still holding onto him. “Are you complaining?”
His smile breaks wider. “No. I’m not.” Then he kisses you again before you can argue, which is unfair because arguing has been your only reliable defense against him and he has apparently discovered a much better strategy. His hands stay at your waist, warm and steady, not pushing, only holding you close enough that you forget to keep track of where the hallway ends and where he begins.
Somehow, between one kiss and the next, your back meets the front door. You do not notice right away because all you notice is him, the warmth of his mouth, the careful way he keeps slowing down like he is reminding himself to let you breathe, the way his thumb shifts at your waist when your fingers tighten in his jacket. The whole house is quiet around you, but your heart is being so loud it feels impossible that he cannot hear it.
Then he pulls back just enough for his words to brush against your mouth. “I want to be your boyfriend.”
You go still, and his eyes open, searching your face. You look at him for a second, breath still uneven, then whisper, “Think you can wait a little bit more?”
His expression softens immediately. The shift is quick; the want in his face makes room for patience again, how fast he understands. He nods once, small and serious, his hands loosening at your waist like he would let go the second you asked him to. “I can wait,” he says quietly.
And he looks like he means it. Like he would stand there in your hallway with your lipstick slightly smudged on his mouth, with his heart in his hands, and let you kiss him while still waiting for you to decide what to do with it. Like he would take every almost, every maybe, every not yet, and still look at you like you are not being cruel for needing time.
Your hands slide up from his jacket to his hair, fingers threading carefully through the soft strands at the back of his head, and his eyes flutter like that small touch just ruined whatever patience he had left. You lean in again and he goes still for one startled breath before he melts into it, a quiet laugh slipping against your mouth as he realizes, too late, that you were not saying no. Your hands stay curled in his jacket, keeping him close, and this kiss feels different from the others, still soft, still careful, but warmer now, more certain, like an answer you are not ready to say out loud.
When you pull away (barely), he is smiling so openly that you almost regret letting him have this much evidence. His smile turns stupidly happy. “That sounds like a yes.”
“It sounds like you should kiss me again before I change my mind.”
He laughs, quiet and breathless, and does exactly that. Somewhere between the hallway and the kiss after that, the two of you become very bad at making responsible decisions.
In whispered laughs and careful footsteps up the stairs, with your hand around his wrist and him following behind you like he is trying not to smile too loudly. The house stays dim around you, every creak in the floorboards suddenly dramatic enough. By the time you reach your room, your heart is doing something ridiculous again. You open the door slowly, letting the faint light from the hallway spill over your bed, your desk, the half-finished planner still open from earlier, the ordinary pieces of your life that suddenly feel less ordinary with him stepping into them behind you. He looks around for half a second, not nosy, just quietly taking it in.
You step toward him before he can say anything worse, catching the front of his jacket again, and he lets you pull him down with an ease that makes your stomach turn soft. The kiss starts as a way to shut him up, or at least that is what you tell yourself, but then his hands find the small of your back to steady you, careful and familiar now, and suddenly the room feels smaller.
You back up without thinking, until the backs of your legs meet the edge of the bed, and he stops immediately. He pulls away just enough to look at you. “Okay?”
You hate that he asks. You love that he asks.
Instead of answering, you sit down on the edge of the mattress and tug him gently. He follows, careful even when he looks like every bit of caution in him is being tested. The bed dips beneath both of you, your knees brushing first, then your hands finding his jacket again, pulling him close enough that he has no choice but to lean over you when you lie back against the pillows.
For a second, he just looks at you. It is almost funny, how still he goes, hands planted beside your shoulder like he has forgotten what to do with himself now that you are the one inviting him closer. His eyes move over your face, not rushing anywhere else, and something about that makes your chest feel warmer.
“You’re overthinking,” you whisper.
Jake lets out a quiet laugh, but it sounds strained in the softest way. “Yeah.”
“You usually have more to say.”
His smile appears, small and helpless, before he leans down and kisses you again. It is still gentle and careful, but being this close makes everything feel bigger. The quiet room, the faint light from the hallway, the warmth of him above you and being in between your legs, the way his breath catches when your fingers slip to the back of his neck.
He pulls away, not far, just enough to look at you properly, his eyes searching yours. “Still okay?” he whispers.
You nod, but he does not move immediately, like he wants the answer to be something you choose twice. So you smile, softer than you mean to. “I’m okay.” The relief on his face is quiet, but obvious.
“You’re very careful.”
His mouth lifts faintly. “With you? Yeah.”
You look away for half a second, because that is a terrible sentence to hear while he is this close. He sees it, the way the gears turn inside your head, the way you’re suddenly pushing his jacket off him and your knees are tightening against his waist. He swallows, struggling as he keeps himself over you, trying not to dive into something he’s not sure you want.
Except, you do. And it is very obvious.
You pull him down again, kissing until you know you’ve bruised his plump lips, until his tongue finally slips into your warm mouth as you make a sound against him. You gasp when you feel his hips press in between your thighs and his breath hitches, like he’s in between behaving and giving in. He pulls away abruptly, mouths detaching with a pop, and you visibly grow annoyed.
“God,” he lets out an airy and startled laugh, “What the fuck.”
He hates that he really likes the way his growing bulge is pressing against your ass. The warmth of his body makes you so needy, embarrassingly enough, though you only pull him closer. “Why are you so far away?” you whine.
“We should probably stop,” he says, but it comes out more like a breathless laugh, his forehead dropping for a second.
But you frown. You grind your ass against his hips, feeling the imprint of his cock. “Your dick says otherwise,” God, you are so mean, and he loves it.
A hand lifts from the mattress and slips towards your bare thigh that’s pressed against his waist, squeezing the soft fat there. You practically melt at the sight of veiny hand smoothing over the skin, until the tips of his fingers carefully disappear into the fabric of your shorts. You squirm against him and he shoots his eyes back up at you, eyebrows furrowed down to his lids.
“I don’t have a condom,” he says lowly, voice made of velvet and restraint.
You smile, evil and insatiable. “I don’t care.”
He sighs, disbelieving of how you’ve completely turned to a 180. “I’m trying to be good,” he says. “You’re making it impossible.” Yet he slips his shirt off his body, exposing the toned muscles of his abs, the deep grooves carved. His chest is flat and broad, expanding to the sculpted arms that are solid without looking heavy, just all quiet strength.
“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly, “And I will.” right before he bows down to kiss you again. His tongue brushes into your mouth, meeting yours as your hands find the privilege of slithering down his exposed skin, fingers grazing against the muscles that twitch from your soft touch.
He kisses your cheek next, then your jaw, until his lips reach the soft skin of your neck. He sucks there, until it’s littered with hickeys. “This isn’t good, baby,” he whispers, contradicting himself when he continues to bite the flesh above your pulse. You can only smile and moan, fascinated with the way he’s quickly losing composure.
He helps you out of your sweater next, carefully lifting your upper body up. “Arms up,” you follow, staring into his eyes once he takes it off you. His hand slides to your back, leaning down a little where his lips ghosts above your forehead, then presses a kiss there as he unclasps your bra, the black material slipping off you. You grow a little shy, lips pressing to a line while your own arms curl around yourself. He chuckles softly, then reaches for your wrists with careful fingers and gently uncrosses them. “Where did all that attitude go now, hm?” he murmurs before leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist, then another just above it, slow enough to make your breath catch.
He circles your arms back around his neck and you pull him closer to you, so he presses a soft kiss to your lips right before he bends down to your chest. “You’re making this too easy,” he whispers. “I thought you liked arguing with me.” You can only bite down on your bottom lip when he takes your perked nipple into his mouth, all wet and warm, before he sucks and bites down gently.
“Shut up.” you somehow still manage, and you can feel him smile against your breast.
His tongue swirls around the bud before he pulls away, then takes the other one into his mouth next. After he fondles your breasts, caressing you gently but firmly, he moves down your belly, his soft tongue trailing down your skin slowly. He presses kisses on the swell of it, smiling when you tense against him. His large, veiny hands tightens on your waist, attempting to memorize the way the dip feels under his palms. They find your hips next, thumb teasing the hem of your thin shorts, slipping into the fabric just to feel how soft you can get underneath.
“Miss Attitude is so fucking soft,” he murmurs. “They have no idea.”
He hooks his fingers over the hem of your shorts and slides it off you along with your panties. You’re already feverish when his face meets your cunt after, his breath fanning your folds, large hands holding your thighs so tightly you know it’d mark.
He can smell how sweet you are, your wetness glistening with so much arousal. He looks over you, sharp eyes through the hoods, like he wants to make sure you’re watching him. “I’ve got you.” Then, because he’s so cruel and careful at the same time, he presses soft kisses on your folds first. Then he kisses your clit next, a deep breath spilling out of you, your hands locking through his hair, attempting to pull him closer.
He licks a stripe this time, from your hole to your clit, your sensitivity reaching an all time high. “Fuck, Jake, come on,” you practically whimper.
With a prideful grin, he pins your thighs back against the bed. Then he buries his face into your cunt, his tongue laps inside your folds like you’re his favorite meal. He kisses the flesh, then sucks on it like he’s mad, sounds so wet and frenzy.
“Oh my God — Jake, fuck —” Your eyes shoot to your ceiling before your eyelids shut. He groans against you, sending vibrations through your pussy, his moans muffled while yours echo in your bedroom. He stuffs his face in, tongue slurping your entrance before his lips latch onto your clit next, sucking it dry. Your fingers tug at his roots, while your thighs threaten to clench around his head.
He pushes his long tongue into your hole next, the tip of his nose nuzzling your clip as he buries himself deeper, making sure to coat his face with your sweetness and his saliva. He thinks he can do this until the sun sets again and again, just latching his lips around your clit and holding your shivering thighs around his head.
He shakes his head slightly, just drinking your juices and moaning into your cunt, not being able to have enough of you. When he pulls away, he’s breathing heavily and you’re pouting, unsure why he’s stopping. Though the sight’s going to kill you still anyway, black hair soaked in sweat, brushing over his eyes while his plump pink lips and chin glisten with your juices.
“I want more, please…” you sigh, attempting to reach for him.
His hand lowers from your thigh to your cunt now, thumb gently grazing over your clit before spreading the folds apart. Practically glimmering with how drenched you are, he teases by pushing his thumb in and pulling back right after. He watches your face, at the way your brows knit together and how you flush into a puddle for him.
He smiles, all of his teeth showing, before he leans back down. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” Then he inserts his middle finger in, impossibly longer than yours, stealing a gasp from your throat when he pushes his digits so deep inside, reaching his pink knuckles.
The squelch of your walls squeezing around him should be sin, as he feels just how soft you are. He sneaks another one in, two fingers buried deep into your pussy that you clench so tightly. “S-shit — s-so fucking good…”
“Fuck,” he huffs a chuckle. “So tight. How would my cock fit you?”
He licks his lips, swallowing the remnants of you from his mouth. Then he dives back down, open mouth attaching on your clit while his thick fingers pull, push, and curl inside you. Your legs spread for him while you whine his name as if in a desperate prayer.
He continues to retract his digits before pushing it all back inside, carefully picking up the pace with the thrusts. He sucks on your clit hard, the sheer overstimulation of both his mouth and hand working on your pussy makes you a whining mess, loud and fucked, that you have to cover your mouth with your palm.
Though it’s no use, your brother definitely knows now just who’s fucking you with just his fingers and tongue. After a few more thrusts, the tips of his fingers touches that spot that makes your cunt clench tighter and your spine curve against your sheets.
“I-I’m gonna cum — Jake, c-cumming —” He drinks up all your liquid but then abruptly pulls back, fingers leaving your entrance and his mouth detaching with a wet pop, leaving you so bare.
You feel empty without him filling you up, that you’ve got to open your eyes and look over your breasts and belly, where he sits up, adjusting his weight on his knees while his face and fingers are sopping with your arousal, somehow still making you embarrassed. He licks it off clean, making sure not to waste any of you that you’ve given to him, and you sheepishly curl a little in your bed.
He leans forward now, propping himself on his hands as he hovers over you. Your hands reach up to soothe over the muscles of his traps, warm and bulky under your palms, before you find his hair again, stroking through the black locks. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you mumble, soft and spent.
Jake only has to bite his bottom lip to keep from grinning, eyes soft with the kind of fondness that makes you want to look away. Your gaze falls on the veins protruding from his arms, trailing up to his elbows that you just have to turn away again because is his dick just as veiny? When you look back up at him, there’s something unbearably gentle in his eyes, like he’s looking at the prettiest thing he’s ever been allowed to keep close. Without any words, he leans down, kissing you again, soft but firm, but he presses you deeper into the bed.
He lifts your leg again, spreading you wider than your dignity lets you, taking your thigh against his hip before he jerks forward, pushing his clothed bulge against your exposed pussy. Your kiss stutters and he pauses a little, pulling away suddenly to let out a shaky breath. “S-shit…”
You whine, weak but pitched. “Take it out, Jake, please,” You buck into his cock, feeling the heavy outline of it slide into your folds.
He doesn’t even argue this time, he just nods, breath uneven, eyes fixed on yours like whatever fight he had left in him disappeared the second you said his name. His hand finds your waist like he’s been waiting for permission all night, squeezing you tightly.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low and completely gone. “Okay.”
He lets go of you for a bit to push his sweatpants off, revealing his boner so prominent and practically hanging in his boxers. You can see his hands shaking a little as he takes his boxers off next, before throwing them into a corner of the room.
His cock practically springs forward to you, desperate and leaking. He’s thick, long, veiny. And pink at the tip.
You don’t even pretend you’re not staring anymore, and you don’t notice the tips of his ears flushing pink this time, a little hint of sheepishness. You’ve never really considered yourself a sex addict, much less even lustful, but the way your pussy throbs at the sight of his pretty cock makes you think maybe you’ve been wrong about yourself in many ways. You want nothing more but to see how he tastes, or how it’d slap against your tongue. He strokes himself, thumb playing with his own slit, spreading his pre around his thick head.
“No condom, baby, I’m so sorry,” His mouth twists into a pout before he can stop it, eyes wide and miserably apologetic. “I’ll pull out, I promise.”
“I don’t give a fuck, Jake,” you urge him closer to you, hands roaming down his abs. “I need you inside me, please — “
If his cock wasn’t twitching in hand, begging to be inside you, he’d probably let out a chuckle at how cute and eager you look right now, practically squirming and begging underneath him. But he’s no better than you, so he adjusts himself forward, leaning once again before aligning the head against your pussy. He nudges your clit, a gasp tumbling from his mouth at the contact.
“It will only hurt for a second,” he warns and you swallow, staring at his dick as you wonder if it will even fit at all. “Breathe, baby, okay?” You nod, biting down your lip.
You lift your hips slightly with the help of his hand against your hip, letting the tip nuzzle against your entrance. He’s breathing heavily, taking one final inhale before he pushes forward and lets the head of his cocks slide past your folds, meeting your gummy walls. You gasp as the stretch, making you tense up and clench around him.
“Fuck, t-that’s so tight — ah —” Jake’s forehead rests against yours, the feeling of your pussy squeezing him in, practically sucking his cock inside until you feel him brushing your cervix. He finally sinks in fully, and all he can think about is trying not to fucking cum right now. Not even 10 seconds in and he’s gone like a horny loser, but seeing you so spread open just for him is undoing him anyway.
He sets a pace, slow to stretch you out, having to bury his head against your neck just to suppress his groans, shallow thrusts getting deeper and deeper. The way his member touches rubs on your walls draws the prettiest whines from you, his name coming out as uneasy breaths as his rhythm picks up. Your hands thread through his hair, pulling him down for another kiss, and so his veiny hand settles beside your head, balancing himself on top of you. You claw at his back when his tongue slips into your mouth, his thrusts growing faster.
“J-Jake,” you whimper, just as he pins your thighs down the bed. Your legs spreading wider pretty much heightens the feeling in your pussy, letting you feel his cock as he begins to pound into you. He shifts slightly, grinding on that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back and whine his name again.
“Y-you’re clenching — shit, you’re clenching too hard, baby —” he moans, sweat dripping down his neck to his chest. His hips snap forward harder and faster, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Your brain is short-circuiting and your skin is on fire, hot coil tightening in your abdomen. He continues rutting into you, bodies warm and sweaty, while your nails dig deep into his back. “I-I’m coming, Jake — fuck, I’m — “
He steals your mouth for another kiss when you finish, your orgasm striking through you, pussy clenching tight around his dick as you feel white ropes spill into you, full and so fucking hot. “S-shit…” he breathes against your mouth, riding out the last few seconds of your pleasure.
Jake rests his forehead against yours, catching his breath while his hand caresses your waist so firmly, soothing the skin up and down like a lover. His panting slow down, breathing matching yours as the height of your drives lower, his twitching cock coming to a stop inside you. He pulls out, drawing a wince from him, his cum oozing from your hole as he does.
“Fuck,” he curses, licking the inside of his cheek. You can only laugh tiredly, wiping the sweat from your forehead.
“I did not fucking mean to,” he clears his throat before looking back up at you, “cum in you.”
You hit his arm without any real force, a tired smile etching on your face as you pull him back down. He kisses you, and you try not to melt at how slow he does it, at how much deeper it is compared to the others. When he pulls away, he presses a softer one on your forehead. He straightens on his knees, sharp yet weary eyes looking over your naked body, enjoying every dip and curve, hand somehow never separating from your thighs and hips. You get sheepish, despite it all, giving a quiet groan when he admires you shamelessly. “Stop staring,”
He can only smile, his hand reaching for yours in which you give. His thumb moving slowly over your knuckles, then he lifts it to his mouth and presses a quiet kiss to your fingers before leaning over to kiss your forehead. He kisses near your temple after, voice low when he speaks again. “I’m gonna go to the store.”
Your brows draw slightly, “Now?”
“Yeah,” he gives you a sly smile, “For Plan B.”
You give him a look, but it barely has any strength behind it. Then you laugh, shaking your head at how ridiculous it sounds. Jake gives you a look back, brows lifting slightly. “What?”
Before you can give a proper answer, you sit up and place your palms against his shoulders, pushing him down the bed. He follows obediently, eyes on yours as you find yourself climbing on top of him, legs bracketing either side of his hips once he’s laid down. His cock twitches against your pussy, slowly growing again.
“I’m trying to be a good boyfriend,” he says under his breath, uneven and clearly strained.
Your lips twitch before you can stop them. “Boyfriend, hm?” you hum as your hands feel his abs underneath your palms, taut at your touch.
Jake throws his head back, Adam's apple bobbing before he mutters a quiet curse. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, almost laughing under his breath. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Your face heats, not being able to stop the smile that creeps to you. Your hands slide to his chest, and your ass rubs against his hardened length, a soft moan coming out of you when it slides against your wet folds.
“Later, okay?” is all you say before you manage to slide his cock back inside you, stealing a startled gasp from his throat.
The next few days have been… a turn.
Not an immediate one, because you are not the kind of person who wakes up one morning and becomes soft just because a boy fucked you to make your thoughts trip over themselves. It starts with stupid things, like letting Jake carry the heavier paper bag when you leave the convenience store instead of wrestling it back from him on principle, or handing him your empty cup before you can think too hard about why your fingers already moved toward him, or looking up from your phone in a parking lot and realizing he has already stepped to the side closest to the road.
The first few times, you still fight it, naturally, and there are moments when you hear your own voice sharpen before you can stop it, asking him whether he thinks you are incapable of holding a bag, opening a door, ordering your own drink, or to even function as a person, but Jake never flinches when your tone gets mean. He never waits for you to become easier. He only looks at you with that patience of his, and says, “I know you can,” like your competence was never in question, and the entire point is not that you cannot do it yourself, but that someone else can do it for you too.
You are used to being needed, to people looking at you when something breaks, when Riki disappears, when your father needs something handled, and you are used to stepping in so quickly. Needing someone has always felt too close to failing, and depending on someone has always felt like handing them a knife and hoping they do not use it on you, but Jake does not treat your reliance like victory, does not look smug when you finally stop arguing, does not make a monument out of every time you let him help. He just helps, and it gives you nothing to push against.
The hot stuff hasn’t ended either. At first, you both did try to be normal for the sake of your upheld pride of refusing to be easy, even to your own boyfriend, and his respect for your decision. It does come to an end right after 4 days it happened, when he comes over again and your father’s never home and Riki’s somewhere you don’t know, having a hot boyfriend in your room would always mean he’d end up pounding into you. Or that you graciously ride him so well that he has to run to the store for Plan B again.
Jake never ever made you feel like you have to do things for him, nor did he ever urge you to have sex with him. There were a few occasions though, when you two might have went against your own moral code when he fucked you in his car in the school parking lot — did you regret it? No. Would it happen again? You hope not.
You might have had a hidden trait that’s been opened after a few nights together. There were a lot of moments when Jake had to take a pause because he genuinely gets scared at how you look at his cock, all excited and famished (sorry for the lack of better term). And his nose, just before he lies down on your bed and lets you sit his face.
You never have prioritized sex, nor did you think there was anything good about having a wet pussy 24/7 other than it was pure lust. You did, however, also find out that you really liked being pushed against Jake’s desk and fucked at the back.
After that, things get a little more cliche, of course. You start expecting his hand at the small of your back when a hallway gets crowded, start assuming he will keep track of where you left your phone, when you start sending him photos of readings with a single question mark and receive back highlighted screenshots, voice notes, and brief explanations. You start asking him to pick you up without building a whole argument on why it’s practical. You start trusting him with the ugly middle parts of your day, not only the polished version you usually hand people.
Then, because you are still princess-y, petty you, you also start getting annoyed when he does not anticipate things fast enough.
One evening he sits beside you at a café and does not immediately take the extra books from your arms because he is answering Sunghoon’s text, and you feel offended — makes no sense, of course. Now you stand there with your books pressing into your chest, glaring at the side of his head until he finally looks up and pauses. “What?”
“Nothing.”
His gaze drops to the books, then returns to your face, and the slow realization that crosses his expression is so unbearable. Jake reaches for them anyway, careful enough to give you time to refuse, smug enough that you want to kick him, and when you let him take the stack from your arms, he murmurs, “My bad, baby. I’ll be faster next time.”
With Riki, the change makes him jump quietly (of course) in glee. You do not stop worrying, because that would require medical intervention, but you stop overthinking every hour. Sometimes you don’t ask where he is until he tells you first. Riki starts texting more because the texts no longer feel like constant interrogation, and you start responding less as you remember that seventeen is not the same as helpless.
Then one day passes without you talking to him at all. You do not realize it until you are brushing your teeth and your phone lights up with a message from Riki that only says, alive btw. You stare at it for a long second, toothpaste foaming at your mouth, and the first thing you feel is panic because how did you go an entire day without checking — someone will kill you, for sure, right? Then the panic fades into the shape of relief. He is fine, he told you, comfortably at that too.
When you tell Jake later, expecting him to make some joke, he only nods and says, “That’s good.” then reaches for your hand like it is the easiest thing in the world. “You did good.”
You don’t have to be soft all at once, nor do you have to surrender your sharpness just to wake up as some easier version of yourself because someone decided to stay. Embarrassingly, it makes your brain turn off when your boyfriend takes the problem from your hands and solves it before you can turn it into another reason to hate yourself. You can still be competent, still be difficult, still be the girl who knows what to do in a crisis, while also being the girl who lets Jake highlight her readings, carry her books, order her coffee, pull her away, and hold her against his chest when she finally remembers it’s okay to be tired.
He does not make you less capable, he just makes you less alone with it. Most importantly, he does not act like the softer version of you is the only one worth liking.
Jake and Riki manage to convince you to go to a house party on a Friday night, which doesn’t take much, weirdly enough.
Riki starts first, of course, he says you never do anything fun, which makes you refuse again. Jake, unfairly, does not argue the same way, who only leans against your kitchen counter with one hand curled around a glass of water, watching you over the rim with that calm expression he gets when he knows you are already halfway annoyed. He tells you “it does not have to be a big thing, we can leave whenever you want. I’ll stay with you the whole time if you want me to”, and if you hate how kind he is. Which makes you say yes.
The house is already full by the time you get there, music pressing through the walls before Jake even parks. Cars line both sides of the street, voices spilling through the open windows, laughter breaking over the bass in uneven bursts — you’re not exactly uncomfortable, only uneasy in a way that this is not something you’re used to, not like how Riki and Jake soothes right in.
Then Jake’s hand settles at the small of your back. “You okay?” he asks, voice low enough when he leans down to you.
You look at the room in front of you, then at Riki, who is already greeting someone. “This is loud.”
“Because that’s how parties usually work,” Jake’s mouth curves when you give him a look, before his hand rubs the small of your back up and down. “But we can leave.”
That is annoying, mostly because it is thoughtful, and you have learned there is very little to do with Jake’s thoughtfulness except either accept it or be a bitch about it and watch him keep being thoughtful anyway. You glance away before he can catch whatever your face is doing and mutter, “We’ll stay.”
He gets you a drink from the kitchen, not from one of the abandoned cups on the counter but from an unopened bottle in the cooler, twisting the cap and you take it without arguing.
His friends find you almost immediately. Jungwon lifts his brows when he sees you beside Jake, then smiles. Sunoo says your name with delighted surprise, Jay gives you an exaggeratedly respectful nod that makes you narrow your eyes, and Sunghoon and Heeseung offers you a small, careful smile. They are nicer than you expected them to be, or maybe they have always been nice and you were too busy seeing them as Riki’s friends (with connotation, at that).
Jake does not leave your side at first, and tries to make sure not to make you feel tense. He notices when the kitchen gets too crowded and nudges you toward the living room without making you feel like he is moving you. He notices when someone you barely know tries to pull you into a conversation you clearly do not want and cuts in so smoothly that they don’t even realize.
For a while, you stay like that, your back against his front, his mouth near your ear every now and then as he leans down to murmur things meant only for you. His eyes flick toward Jay guarding the snack table like a personal estate, toward some boy near the speakers dancing with more confidence than rhythm. You laugh quietly at first, then more openly later on, your head tipping back slightly against his shoulder for half a second as you both judge people’s tipsy decisions.
Someone nearby starts setting up beer pong on a long table, cups arranged into triangles, people crowding around with immediate excitement. You take one look at the cups, the ball bouncing once against the floor, the wet ring marks on the table, and the enthusiasm dies on your face so visibly that Jake folds forward against your shoulder with silent laughter.
You stop paying attention to the shape of the night, and your guard lowers enough for the party to become just a party, not a list of potential disasters. With his hand on your hip, even when Riki’s off your field of view, you’re less anxious.
He brushes his fingers lightly against your wrist, making you turn to him slightly. “I’ll be quick,” he says. “I’ll just get another drink.”
For a minute, you stand alone near the edge of the living room, watching him disappear through the crowd. You decide to find his friends, partly because they are people you know now, partly because you are not yet the kind of girl who can stand alone in a house full of strangers.
The hallway is too crowded, so you head for the front door instead, slipping past two people arguing over someone’s car keys and stepping out into the night air. The music dulls behind the walls as you walk down the porch steps and follow the narrow side path around the house. You only remember seeing Jungwon and the others near the backyard earlier, and going through the side seems easier than forcing yourself through the crowd. The side of the house is dim except for the spill of light coming from the backyard, and voices grow clearer the closer you get.
A voice says something you do not catch, followed by a louder laugh, and you stop before fully turning the corner, half-hidden behind the hedge lining the side yard. You do not mean to listen, but you hear Riki first. “Dude, I’m just saying,” he says, laughing carelessly. “I should’ve done this months ago.”
Someone snorts, Jay, probably. “You mean hiring Jake?”
Your steps slow before you fully reach them, deciding to still behind a stupid bush.
Riki laughs again. “I mean, clearly the money worked.”
“He really put those hundreds to use, huh?”
There is laughter, easy, stupid, and thoughtless laughter from boys who have no idea that the joke is standing right there, turning rigid again.
“Taming the lion,” someone says.
Your throat goes dry as the laughter grows again, freezing completely when someone says your name next.
The scary sister, the impossible girl, the controlling bitch with a curfew and a brother who apparently thought your entire life could be negotiated down to a payment and one patient boy you thought saw you differently — yet each memory with him reaches backward for a new shape, forming into one joke shared by teenage schemes.
Someone inside says, “Nah, but seriously, Jake deserves a raise. She actually smiles now.”
Riki says something you cannot fully make out, but it does not matter because your mind has already started blurring.
Then Jake’s voice cuts through, appearing through the patio door. “Hey, have you guys seen her?”
“There he is,” Jay says, too loud, too cheerful. “Man of the hour.”
“What?” Jake asks, distracted.
Then there is the sound of palms meeting, boys greeting him the way boys do, easy and stupid and physical. Someone daps him up, someone else claps his shoulder, someone mentions how great he did for convincing you to go to a party.
“Congrats, bro,” one of them says, laughing. “Hundreds well spent.”
Jake does not speak. Maybe he is processing, maybe his face has changed in some way you cannot see yet. Maybe, he would push the hand off his shoulder and tell them to shut up. But you do not get that far, because you turn a little to see him, and his eyes finally lift past them and land on you.
He sees you standing there, one hand around the bottle he opened for you, your face completely still. For one impossible second, you look at him and he looks back.
And it is awful, how quickly his expression breaks, because it isn’t confusion nor innocence, just the face of someone who knows. His eyes widen, his mouth parts slightly, and panic moves across his face so plainly that it feels like another admission you’re not supposed to hear.
Behind him, Riki turns and the color drains from his face when he sees you. Your name leaves Jake’s mouth once, low and ruined but you’re already stepping away.
You turn and walk.
Someone laughs from the inside, someone trying to go to the back bumps your shoulder and apologizes, but you do not answer. It’s a little shitty how your whole body feels strangely calm now, the way it does in emergencies, when adrenaline doesn’t need you moving your feet to handle something first.
You can hear Jake behind you, cursing under his breath, sharp and panicked, nothing like the careful voice he used when he told you to let him take care of you.
“Wait,” he calls, closer now. “Please, just wait.”
The front yard is crowded, so you shove through them and into the night air with your lungs burning and your hands cold around the bottle you forgot to leave behind. The street outside is quieter, only then do you realize how badly you needed it, how trapped you had been inside that house with all those walls and all that laughter and every memory of Jake rearranging itself into something ugly.
You make it halfway down the front path before his hand catches your wrist, not hard but you pull away like it burns.
He stops in front of you, breathing unevenly, hair messier than before, eyes wide in a way you used to love, but now it only makes something sharp twist in your chest. Behind him, Riki stumbles out onto the porch, face pale, panic written all over him like a child finally realizing the stove is hot after touching it, even after you told him no.
Jake takes half a step forward, then thinks better of it. “I can explain.” His jaw tightens. “It’s not what they made it sound like.”
“Really?” Your voice stays calm. “Because it sounded like my brother paid you to distract me, and your friends think you deserve congratulations for doing it well.”
Jake’s face goes white. Riki moves down one step. “It was my idea.”
You look at him then, not with the sharp little look you usually give him when he says something stupid, but actually look at him. For one strange second, he looks like the nine-year-old boy who used to stand in your doorway, the one who would deny crying even while his eyes were swollen, the one you learned how to comfort while you comforted yourself because mom is gone and dad is never home.
That is what does it, your eyes water before you can stop them. “You paid someone to get me out of the way?”
He shakes his head too quickly. “No. I just wanted you to have something else,” he says, and the words come out in a rush now, messy and panicked. “I thought if you were busy, if you were happy, maybe you’d stop worrying about me all the time. I didn’t know how else to get you to stop. You never listen to me. You never believe me.”
Your eyes return to Jake, and the worst thing is that part of you still wants him to fix it. Some pathetic, exhausted, newly softened part of you wants him to say the exact right thing, wants him to reach for the memory of every night you trusted him and pull it back from the edge.
You hate that part of yourself instantly. You hate that it exists because of him.
“Is that true?” you ask.
His eyes flick down, then back to your face, desperate now. “At first,” he says, voice rough. “At first, yes, but it stopped being that.”
You stare at him.
“But I gave the money back,” he continues, voice rough. “I told him I was done. I told him I didn’t want any part of it anymore.”
Your throat tightens. “After I slept with you?”
He goes still.
That is the answer.
You stare at him, waiting for him to save it anyway, because some stupid part of you still wants him to. You wait for him to say no, to say you got it wrong, to say there was some other version of the story where he did not let you give him that much of yourself before telling you the truth. But Jake only looks at you with his mouth parted slightly, eyes wide and ruined, and every second he does not speak feels like another hand closing around your throat.
You shake your head once. “You let me think,” your voice is low and calm, “that for once, someone just wanted to be there. You let me trust you with the parts of myself I don’t even like,” you say. “And you knew. You knew what they didn’t.”
The gala. You see the memory land in him, the garden lights, the fountain, your stupid dress, the way you sat on the far end of a bench and told him things you barely knew how to tell yourself. Your mother being gone, your father being absent, Riki being more yours than he should have been. You remember how carefully he listened, how he stayed far enough not to scare you off, how safe his silence felt then, how you laughed with him because he saw you and didn’t think you were cruel at all.
He takes a step toward you. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice breaking around it. “I should have told you that night. I know I should have.”
“I thought you chose me,” you say.
“I did.” His eyes go red. “I did choose you.”
Your mouth trembles once, then stills. “For a hundred bucks?”
He looks like the words hit him somewhere physical.
“No,” he says, too quickly, too desperately. “No, not like that.”
You nod once, not because you believe him, but because your body needs to do something other than fall apart in front of them. “I want to go home.”
Jake straightens immediately. “Okay. I’ll take you home.”
You turn away from him and reach for your phone with shaking fingers. “No.”
His breath catches. “Please.”
You unlock your screen and open the app, feeling stupid because you can’t see through the blur as you type it in.
“I can drive you,” he says, voice quieter now.
You keep your eyes on the street until the headlights appear at the end of the road, the car pulling toward the curb. You get inside and do not look back.
You hate men.
Enough that you can prepare a presentation on the subject with credible sources, historical examples, and a conclusion about betrayal as a gendered epidemic. Evidence would be your absent father, your fraudulent ex-boyfriend, your seventeen year old brother, and his demonic friends.
Hating your brother is inconvenient because he lives in your house, eats your food, leaves his stuff everywhere, and now lives without you telling him what to do. For the first time in years, you do not ask what the hell he’s up to anymore. You simply sit at the kitchen island with your laptop open, spoon in hand, eating directly out of a tub of ice cream at seven in the morning.
Historically, you have always cracked first when it comes to him. Historically, you cannot help yourself. Historically, your entire body starts to prepare for anything if it concerns Riki.
But history is dead. Men killed it.
Jake is hard to ignore only because he is not physically in the house, which means he tries to get creative. He texts first, of course, just once in the morning, once at night, and sometimes in the middle of the day — because he knows exactly how to overwhelm you. Then he leaves an iced latte with your name on top of your desk in one of your classes. You stare at it on your desk for a full minute, before you give it to your seatmate.
By the fourth day, you have finished the second tub of ice cream — not your proudest moment, but it is also not your worst, which says more about your week than your character. You have attended classes with perfect notes, no late submission, reorganized your planner, ignored messages from Jake, and pretended not to notice that Riki has started texting you when he arrives places without being asked.
On Friday night, Riki finds you on the couch in your oldest pajamas, hair tied messily back, third tub of ice cream open on the coffee table, watching a documentary about deep-sea creatures with the blank focus.
“Jake’s been driving me from and to school,” he says carefully.
Your spoon pauses in the ice cream, before you resume. Onscreen, a glowing fish drifts through the dark, hideous and peaceful, which feels aspirational. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then sets his bag down properly.
“I’m sorry,” he says but does not step closer. “I know sorry doesn’t fix it. I just wanted to say it.”
You keep staring at the television, where the ugly little fish continues glowing alone in the dark, refusing to pay him any mind.
By Saturday morning, Riki had started acting like a ghost. He moves quietly around the house, closes cabinets softly, and pe picks up his shoes before you can even see them. At one point, you find him wiping the kitchen counter after making toast, which is very disturbing.
At school, Jake looks worse than he ever did. He waits by your classroom once, but you walk past him without slowing down, your expression polished into something calm. He says your name but you keep walking, because you refuse to give pieces of yourself to men, more than you already have.
Riki has also learned that you are not going to pack his lunch, remind him about assignments, ask whether he has practice, or save him from his own time management. This would be liberating for him if freedom did not apparently require the ability to know where his own socks are.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and your eyes slide toward the screen, just long enough to see Jake’s name there before the notification fades and the room goes dim again. A few seconds later, there is a knock on your door. It does not open but Riki’s voice breaks through. “Jake’s here,” he says. “He has food. He said he’ll wait ten minutes, and if you don’t come down, he’ll leave.”
Riki stays there for another second, clearly wanting to say something else, but maybe he has learned enough to know that pushing right now would only make you worse. For a while, you do not move and only tell yourself you are not thinking about it, that you do not care what food Jake brought, whether it is something you like, whether it’s because he’s making sure you ate.
At eight minutes, you sit up.
At nine, your feet touch the floor.
At ten, you stay where you are.
Then outside, his car starts. You sit at the edge of your bed with your hands curled into the blanket, listening until the sound disappears completely down the street.
The week passes, and you remain committed to silence. You do not speak to Jake. You do not speak to Riki unless it is absolutely necessary.
That night, Riki knocks on your door. You do not answer, but unfortunately, he opens the door anyway and stops at the sight of you buried in bed, laptop balanced near your knees, looking at him like you have been for the past weeks: exasperated.
“What?”
He stays by the doorway, one hand still on the knob. “I’m hungry.”
You stare at him for a second, then look back at your screen. “Then order something.”
“I don’t want delivery.”
“Then make something.”
“I want to go out.”
You pause, because that is exactly the kind of sentence he used to say before you started the lectures about curfew, rides, locations, and whether he had enough sense to come home alive. This time, you only shrug against your pillows. “Then go out.”
Riki shifts his weight. “No,” he says, quieter. “With you.”
You keep your eyes on your laptop, even though the movie has become impossible to follow, because looking at him would mean seeing guilt, probably; hope, maybe. Both would be extremely inconvenient because you learned to soften when he used it.
“It’s late,” you say.
“I know.”
“And you have Jake, apparently.”
He flinches a little, and the guilt on his face finally becomes too obvious to ignore. You hate that it still gets to you, how young he looks when he is sorry, like some part of him has folded back into the boy who used to stand outside your room when he was scared and he had no one else but his older sister.
He swallows. “I don’t want Jake.”
You hate men. You hate your brother. You hate that the sentence works.
With a long, irritated sigh, you close your laptop. “Get your shoes.”
The drive is quiet, Riki sits in the passenger seat with his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, looking out the window instead of at you. You keep both hands on the wheel and do not ask if he has eaten lunch, even though the question sits on your tongue the entire way there. The diner is still open when you pull up, its neon sign glowing red against the dark.
When the food comes, the table fills with baskets and paper-lined plates, greasy burgers, fries, and mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce in a plastic cup between you. Riki burns his fingers because he has never once believed in waiting, and you call him an idiot before you can stop yourself. The two of you eat in silence after that — not the awful one from the house, but not comfortable either. It sits between you, filling the space while both of you act invested in fries and melted cheese.
Then Riki clears his throat. “I have a girlfriend.” Your hand freezes halfway to the basket.
For a second, the entire diner seems to mute itself around that one sentence. You look up slowly, genuinely caught off guard, and Riki looks terrified in the way only someone who has been hiding something huge.
“What?”
He shifts in his seat. “I have a girlfriend.”
You lean back against the red vinyl booth, trying to process this new piece of information without immediately becoming the girl who asks for her full name, address, grades, family background, and emergency contact. The questions rise anyway: Who is she? How long? Does she treat you well? Does she know you are stupid? Does she have standards? Does she encourage you to drink blue things at parties? Does she know about dad?
Riki looks down at his plate. “When Jake started taking you out, I was also taking her out.” His fingers pick at the edge of the paper liner. “That’s why I wanted more time and freedom. I know that doesn’t make what I did okay.”
You look at him, face unreadable.
“It was bad,” he says, before you can say it for him. “I know it was bad. But something good came out of it too. You were happier. I know you hate hearing that, but you were. You weren’t always watching me like something bad was about to happen. You went out and laughed and you had someone.”
You look down at the untouched mozzarella stick in front of you. “Right,” you say quietly. “So much for a hundred bucks.”
Riki’s face falls. “No,” he says, then stops himself because even he knows he cannot deny the beginning. “I know I can’t decide which parts hurt for you, but I thought I was helping both of us. That doesn’t make me right, I know that. But please don’t think that I wasn’t considering you along the way — because I did, I really did.”
The answer is too ready, too practiced, and for a moment you think that maybe he’s being foolish again. But now that you’re looking at him, you realize that he’s old enough to make cruel decisions, young enough to look shattered when he finally understands.
“I know you wanted me to stop controlling you,” you say. “I know I was too much.”
He exhales, miserable. “Okay. Sometimes. But not because you were bad. You raised me,” he says, quieter now. “And I hated it because I wanted you to just be my sister, but I also knew you were the only one checking. That’s why it felt so messed up all the time.” He wipes his palms on his hoodie. “I’m sorry I made you feel like something I had to escape.”
The waitress passes by with a coffee pot, and both of you sit there pretending you can steal breathe without feeling hot wax at the back of your throat. You reach for a mozzarella stick because your hands need something to do, and Riki pushes the marinara closer without thinking.
You dip the mozzarella stick and take a bite. “I’m still mad,” you say. “But I’d like to meet your girlfriend.”
For a second, he just stares at you, like he is not sure he heard you correctly. Then his face shifts, slowly, carefully, into the smallest smile. “Okay.”
For the first time all week, your mouth almost curves. The rest of dinner is still quiet, but not as sharp. He tells you her name eventually, softly, and you do not ask for details yet, only nodding. Outside, the air is colder than when you arrived. You make it three steps toward the car before Riki stops behind you.
“I really am sorry,” he says.
When you turn around, his eyes are red, standing there with his shoulders tight and his face crumpling despite how hard he is trying to hold it together. The sight pulls at something old and exhausted inside you, the same place that has always answered him before pride can interrupt.
“Riki,” you say, but it comes out cracking.
He shakes his head, wiping his face too fast. “I’m sorry. I know I ruined it. I know. I’m sorry.”
You cross the space before either of you can think too hard about it and pull him into a hug.
For a second, he is taller than you and somehow still the little boy from your doorway, the one who had no one else, the one you loved badly because nobody taught you how to do it gently. His arms come around you tight, and the first sob he lets out breaks something open in your chest.
“I hate you,” you whisper.
“Fuck you too,” he says, crying harder.
“You’re so stupid.”
“A dumbass, I know.”
You hold him tighter anyway. Eventually, he pulls back first, wiping his face with his sleeve. His nose is running slightly, and he looks so devastated that you almost call him gross just to make the moment easier.
“I don’t get to tell you what to do,” he says.
You look at him, already tired. “Great start.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “Especially not about Jake.”
Your face changes before you can stop it. He sees it and immediately raises both hands a little, like he is approaching an animal with a history of biting. “I’m not defending what happened. I’m not. But,” he continues carefully, “he did give the money back.”
Your eyes narrow at him.
“I know that doesn’t fix it,” he says quickly. “I know it doesn’t make the beginning less awful. I just… I was there, and I saw when it changed.”
The words sit there, too quiet and too heavy for the sidewalk outside a diner. You do not answer, only staring past him toward the parking lot, where your car waits under the lamppost.
He swallows. “At first, he was doing it because I asked him to. Then he started asking me things about you. What books you liked, where you went after school, if you were always that tired.” His voice gets smaller. “And then he stopped asking me altogether.”
Your throat tightens, which is infuriating.
“He didn’t need me anymore,” he says. “Not for you.”
“Riki.”
“I know. I’ll stop.” He wipes his face again, then nods like he is trying to obey before you even say anything mean. “I just wanted you to know that part.”
You stare at him for a long second.
“And what am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Get mad — at me, at him, at dad too. Do nothing. Eat more ice cream. I just don’t want you to think every good part was fake. Because I know I messed it up, and he messed it up, but you were happy. And I don’t think that was fake.”
You hate him a little for saying it.
You hate him more because it makes you think.
The worst part has never been that Jake lied and everything after became nothing. The worst part is that it still feels real and they happened, regardless the truths and the lies, the half-truths and wrong intentions. All of it still sits somewhere inside you, refusing to rot properly no matter how badly the beginning wronged it.
You wipe under your eye with your knuckle. “You’re very annoying.”
“I know.”
You sniff, looking away before your face can crumple again. “I’m not forgiving him just because you feel guilty.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I’m not forgiving you either. Not yet.”
“I know.”
You look at him.
He looks back, eyes still wet, but this time he does not look like he expects you to fix it for him. He only stands there, accepting it, which feels new enough to hurt.
Then he says, quietly, “But can I still ride home with you?”
Your mouth almost curves.
“Unfortunately,” you say, walking toward the car.
That night, you cannot sleep.
It is annoying, because you are exhausted enough to sleep. Your body is tired, your eyes hurt, and your head has been heavy since you drove home from the diner. Still, you lie there staring at the ceiling, turning one thought over and over until it stops feeling like a thought and starts feeling like a pulse breathing beneath your weight — your brother’s words alive there.
You hate that Riki said it and that he might be right. You hate that all week, even through the anger, you still kept thinking about Jake when you made coffee, when you passed the hallway where he used to wait.
You are still in your sleep shorts, an old shirt, and house slippers when you grab your car keys. You do not bother changing, which should have been your first sign that you are not making a dignified decision at all. You only go downstairs without turning on too many lights, and leave before you can talk yourself into being a sensible woman.
The drive to Jake’s house feels longer than it should.
When you pull up near the curb, you keep your hands on the wheel for a second, staring at the front of his house like it might tell you what the hell you are doing here. Yet it only sits there, quiet and expensive and familiar.
The front door opens when you’re about to reverse. Jake steps out with his keys in one hand, dressed in sweats and a hoodie, his hair messy and soft around the mouth in the way you used to love. Still the boy who made you feel, for the first time in years. He locks the door behind him and turns toward his car, already halfway down the path when he sees you.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then, because apparently you have already abandoned all pride tonight, you get out of your car. The cold hits your legs immediately, so you hug your arms around yourself and stand there on the sidewalk in slippers, trying to look like a person who’ll stand on this and not someone whose feelings drove her here.
“Where are you going?” you ask.
His hand tightens slightly around his keys. “Store.”
You nod once. “Right.”
“I was just going to buy something,” he adds, quieter, like even he knows that does not matter.
You nod again, because now that you are here, you have no idea what comes after arriving — which is excessively dumb. The whole thing suddenly feels ridiculous; you in your sleep clothes and him standing by his car.
“Okay,” you say, then you turn back toward your car.
You barely make it one step before he says your name, not loud nor desperate, just in that Jake way that makes your knees buck and feet stop.
He takes one careful step forward. “What are you doing here?”
You keep your eyes on your car door. “I don’t know.” The answer is embarrassing because it is true, and you’re glad you can’t see his reaction.
“Okay.”
You almost laugh, but it gets stuck somewhere in your throat. You look back at him with enough courage. “Riki talked to me.”
He goes still.
“I’m not here because of that,” you say quickly.
“Okay.”
“I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
“And you still hurt me.”
His jaw tightens, but he nods. “I know.”
You look away, because his face is making this harder. “I don’t even know why I drove here.”
He’s quiet for a long second, still careful as to not step on a mine. Then he says, “I was hoping you would.” He looks almost embarrassed by the honesty, but he does not take it back, not even when you look back at him. “I just kept thinking maybe one day you’d show up, or text, or yell at me, or anything.” His mouth pulls faintly, but it is not really a smile.
“That’s pathetic,” you say, but your voice has no bite.
He lets out a breath. “Yeah. I know.”
You hate how gentle the night feels around the two of you, how gentle he still is, how easier it is to stand here than it was to stay in your room while your throbbing heart gnaws on your ribcage. You hate that even now, after everything, being near him makes some part of you calm.
Your fingers curl against your own arms, holding yourself tighter, because if you don’t, you might do something worse. Like forgive too fast or maybe even slap him or admit the thing sitting in your chest that looks a lot like a picture of you two.
Jake moves slowly, just before he stops in front of you, close enough that you can see the tiredness beneath his eyes, the way his mouth parts slightly like he wants to say something and knows better than to crowd you with it.
“I tried,” you say, barely above a whisper. You blink hard, still looking down. “Not thinking about you.”
He does not answer.
“I tried being angry enough that it would cancel everything else out,” you continue, and the words start coming before you can stop them. “I tried making all of it ugly. I tried telling myself that every good thing only happened because of a bad reason.”
Your voice shakes, and you hate it, but you keep going. “But it didn’t work.” You finally look up at him, and his eyes are already on you, wide and quiet and so full of hope because that’s just who he is. Your own mouth trembles once before you still it.
“I can’t not be in love with you, Jake.”
For one terrifying second, he says nothing, and your face burns so badly that you almost step back. But then his expression breaks, not with panic this time, not like the party after you find out — just something like relief and careful in one.
He says your name so quietly it barely reaches you. He lifts his hand slightly, then stops.
“Can I?” he asks.
You know what he means and you should say no — but instead, you nod once. His hand closes around your elbow softly, barely a grip at first, before he pulls you toward him.
You step forward before you can decide not to, and then you are close enough to feel the warmth of him through the cold night air. His hand slides from your elbow to your arm, then pauses there, carefully first. His eyes search your face, and you hate that he still looks at you like that, like all that matters to him is not to hurt you.
“You can still be mad,” he says quietly. He swallows, his thumb moving once against your sleeve. “I don’t want you to think I’m asking you to stop being hurt just because you still love me.”
You look down, because that is the exact kind of thing that makes your chest go weak in a way you cannot afford. “Then what are you asking?”
He is quiet for a second, and when he answers, his voice is lower, rougher. “For whatever part of you drove here.”
Your eyes lift to his, just to see he’s nervous after saying it, knowing it’s too honest and too close to wanting too much. But he does not take it back, his hand still on your arm, gentle enough that you could pull away, firm enough that you know he does not want you to.
“I hate you,” you whisper.
His mouth barely moves, not quite a smile. “Good.”
“You’re unfair because you hurt me, and then you still know how to hold me like this.” Your voice turns softer, more frustrated than sharp.
His face changes. “I don’t know how to hold you any other way.”
For a second, you just stare at him, feeling your anger and your want and your stupid, impossible love all sitting inside your chest together, refusing to separate into anything clean and correct. You reach for him first, your fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, but he goes still and his breath hitches.
Your fingers tighten. “I hate the way I don’t hate you.”
He lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, but it sounds too shaky to be amused. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “I’ll take that.”
You blink. “What?”
He looks down at your hand, then back at you, and his mouth does this stupid little almost-smile that makes your chest hurt. “I mean, it’s not ideal,” he says carefully. “But it’s better than you hating me normally.”
You glare at him, but it barely has any strength. “You’re not funny.”
“I know.” His eyes stay on you. “I’m nervous.”
He swallows, his hand hovering near your arm like he wants to touch you and is trying very hard to behave. The silence after that is small, not empty. You can hear the faint sound of a car passing somewhere down the street, the soft buzz of the porch light, the uneven way he breathes when you still do not let go of his hoodie.
Then Jake says, quieter, “I kept thinking about what I’d say if you ever looked at me again.”
The smallest, most traitorous shift at the corner of your mouth. His eyes drop to your mouth, lasting half a second before he looks back up, but it is enough to make your face warm. You swallow, “And what did you come up with?”
He stares at you like the answer should be easy, but now that you are standing in front of him, hand still curled in his hoodie, it looks like every version he practiced has abandoned him. His mouth parts once, then he lets out a quiet breath. He tilts his head down, close enough that his nose brushes yours first, and your breath catches anyway.
“I want you,” he says.
He swallows, eyes still on yours, voice lower now. “No deal, no money, no Riki asking me to.” His mouth moves like he wants to smile, but he looks too nervous to fully let it happen.
For a second, you forget how to be angry properly.
Even after everything, he says things too simply, too honestly, like he does not know that a few words can walk straight past every wall you spent weeks rebuilding. You stare at him, close enough to see the way his lashes lower when his eyes flick to your mouth againe
“You’re very annoying,” you whisper, because anything softer would ruin you completely.
His mouth twitches, but his eyes do not leave yours. “Then be annoyed at me,” he says quietly.
His hand finally settles against your arm. “Be mad at me. Yell at me if you want. Look at me like you hate me.” His voice drops a little, and something in it turns almost helpless. His face is close enough now that you can see how badly he is trying not to look at your mouth again. “To my face,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “So at least I know you’re still there.”
You forget your slippers, your car parked badly by the curb, the fact that you drove here with no plan and no dignity. All you can focus on is the boy in front of you, looking at you as he says your anger is better than your absence, and even the worst version of you would be easier to survive than no version at all.
For a second, you only stare at him, and then, because your body has apparently lost all sense of loyalty to your anger, you laugh. Just something that slips out because Jake Sim is standing in front of you looking genuinely wrecked over the possibility of you never glaring at him again, and somehow that is the stupidest, most unfairly sweet thing he could have said.
His eyes flicker, like the sound surprises him. “What?”
“You’re very stupid,” you whisper.
His mouth softens. “Yeah.”
You shake your head, but your fingers are still curled in his hoodie. You hate that your whole body seems to understand him before your brain can decide what to do, because all week you have been telling yourself to stay angry, stay away, stay untouched, and then he says one stupid honest thing and you are standing here in slippers, holding onto him like you were always going to come back.
His hand shifts at your arm, careful still. “I won’t ask for more than you want to give me.”
You tug him down and then your mouth is on his.
The kiss is soft at first because he makes it soft, because even now, even with your fingers pulling at his hoodie and your face tilted up to his, he still kisses you like he is waiting for you to change your mind. Then his hand slips from your arm to your waist, warm and steady, and he kisses you back like he has been trying not to think about doing this for weeks and failing every single day. He does not rush, does not take too much, but the relief in him is obvious in the way his breath leaves against your mouth, in the way his fingers tighten just slightly at your side like he cannot believe you are letting him hold you again.
Then he takes one step forward without thinking, and you take one back because he is close and warm and kissing him is already making your brain fuzzy. Your slipper catches the edge of the curb before either of you notices and you stumble. A small gasp slips into the kiss, immediately followed by a laugh you try and fail to swallow. His arm tightens around your waist at once, pulling you back against him before you can lose your balance properly, and he breaks the kiss only enough to look down between you.
“Careful,” he breathes, like he has any right to sound concerned when he is the entire reason you forgot how sidewalks work.
He kisses you again before you can complain further, and this time it is less careful, tugging at his hoodie until he has to bend closer. The cold air slips around your legs, and your car is still parked badly by the curb.
When you pull away, barely, Jake follows for half a second before stopping himself. His eyes open slowly, and the look on his face is so dazed and soft that your own face heats.
“Do you want to go somewhere?”
You blink. “Right now?”
“Yeah.” His thumb moves once at your waist. “I mean, not as a date if you don’t want it to be a date. Or it can be. Or it can be something else. I don’t know.” He winces slightly. “I’m doing badly again.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to smile. “Very badly.”
For a second, he only looks at you, still smiling a little, then he tilts his head like he has decided to be brave in the worst possible way. “I’m buying. I have cash.” he says. “Got it from some dumb seventeen-year-old who asked me to take his sister out.”
Your jaw drops. He starts laughing before you can even form a sentence, and that makes it worse. “Oh my God.” You immediately turn away from him, deeply offended, and manage half a step before his hand catches your wrist, enough to stop you before you can escape with what little dignity you have left.
“Okay, sorry,” he says, but he is still laughing.
Your back meets his chest, his arm slips around your waist again, and his laugh drops into something softer near your ear.
“I’m sorry,” he says, quieter now. “Bad joke.”
His hand slides down from your wrist to your fingers, and before you can say anything else, he lifts your hand. His lips press softly against your knuckles, and every insult waiting on your tongue disappears like it never had a chance.
You hate him. You hate him a lot.
You sigh, like this is a great sacrifice and not exactly what you want. “Fine.” His smile grows. “But if you mention the money again, I’m breaking up with you. Again.”
He nods seriously. “Okay. No more money jokes. I can’t afford to lose my girlfriend twice.”
summary — Sunghoon is good at exactly two things: gaming and being ridiculously, unbelievably hot. Nothing matters to him more than leading the school's esports team to victory at regionals this year, but a certain summer course is getting in the way of all his practice time. Luckily, he thinks he's found himself the cheat code to an easy A and a clear schedule: you, a project partner so easily flustered by his presence that you'll happily take on all the work.
18+ mdni ⚠︎ smut with plot, humour, very mild angst, college au, slowburn, sunghoon pov, in which his face card is the only thing saving him, valorant, e-sports, gaming terms used, toxic gaming culture, emotional manipulation, morally grey characters, misogynistic themes & language, extremely possessive!sunghoon, objectification, sex as an apology, corruption kink, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, dom!Hoon, verbal consent, size kink, big dick hoon (couldn't help myself sorry), big dick=big ego, begging, multiple smut scenes, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, handjobs, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (pull-out method), oral (f receiving), rough sex, hair pulling, light choking, scratching, slapping, spanking, heavy praise kink, light degradation, please guys do not lose your virginity like this
FEAT. hyung line as roomies
wc — 30.7k
a/n — ah, what a treat it was to return to my comp sci major sunghoon roots. i love writing about losers and uh... i kinda went insane with this one. this is inspired by a comment left by @m-hypen on my other fic ♡ takes place in the same au but this is entirely a standalone. i might make more for the rest of the hyung line eventually? but we’ll see. happy reading!
"Sunghoon!"
Headshot, headshot, assist—that's all that's being processed when the front door bursts open hard enough to rattle the empty energy drink cans on Sunghoon's desk. He doesn't blink, even as one of them falls over, rolling around on the floor. He doesn't even stop to think about the remaining drop left in the can that's probably leaking onto the carpet somewhere.
"Sunghoon, get your ass out here!"
He's in game mode, and nobody stops him when he's like that. Not even his roommates, whose approaching footsteps he fails to register. The only thing that matters is the screen in front of him as he lines up his next shot, just waiting for the remaining enemy teammate to peek around the corner. His prey is right there. Right behind that wall. All they have to do is walk into his trap.
Just peek already, you little pussy bitch—
"Sunghoon!"
He yelps when a hand clamps on his shoulder. His arm jerks, aim twitching, and the enemy peeks at that very moment, landing a clean headshot on him. His teammates start cursing at him in the voice chat. A lovely, overlapping chorus of "kill yourself" and "delete the game" as if he hadn't carried them for the past two rounds.
Sunghoon mutes the mic and pulls his headphones down around his neck, glaring behind him at Heeseung, who is practically dragging him up from his seat. He tries to yank his arm away, but then another pair of hands is hauling him out of his seat. He directs his glare back at Jay.
"What the f—"
"Don't act surprised. I literally told you we needed your help an hour ago. It's your fault for queueing a ranked game," Jay states, patting his shoulder. Sunghoon is now on his feet, blinking at him. Annoyed, but... ultimately unable to argue back, given he had ignored all his texts.
"Can't you just get Jake or something?" He mutters.
Jay is already leaving his bedroom, and Heeseung nudges him forward, forcing him to follow. Sunghoon rolls his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping him. He moves with begrudging footsteps out into the hallway.
"It's a four-man job. Turns out my grandma's coffee table is heavy as shit."
"Your grandma's coffee table...?"
He's not exaggerating. The thing is solid oak—masterfully crafted, intricately carved, and so extremely fucking heavy that by the time they've wrestled it through the front door, all four of them go down, collapsing to the couch. Jake, already muttering something about needing a drink, Heeseung describing his physical decline in real time, and Jay, heaving in silence.
Sunghoon sinks into the cushions, and his vision blurs, wondering which is more to blame for it: the summer heat or the fact that he's been skipping the gym to play ranked and living off microwave ramen for the past few weeks. His headset is still around his neck, and he can hear his teammates losing without him. He doesn't care. He can't feel his arms.
"Fuck, I'm gonna feel that in my back for weeks," Heeseung announces to the ceiling, then his head lifts, "but look at that—really ties the place together, right?"
He gestures to the room. Sunghoon's eyes glaze over the sight. Bare white walls, curtainless windows, a TV that sits directly on the floor, and a trash bag in the corner full of takeout containers and red solo cups—and of course, now, the beautiful table, sticking out like a sore thumb amid the room's college-boy barrenness.
"We've lived here a whole year now," Sunghoon starts between breaths, not enough energy in him to glare at his roommates. "Not once has any one of us said, 'Oh no, where will I put my cup of coffee?'"
"Who says we have to use it for coffee?"
He blinks. He doesn't know when Jake left the room, but he's now returning with a six-pack of beer, setting it down on the new table. He cracks one open immediately, settling next to him on the couch.
"My grandma's downsizing." Jay reaches forward, patting the table's surface with genuine affection. "She gave it to us for free. You don't say no to a free coffee table."
"Well, it looks stupid." Sunghoon folds his arms, "Really helps the whole we have nothing aesthetic."
"Come on. We're adults now." Heeseung perks up, "Adults have coffee tables. It's about presentation. Besides, I heard chicks dig it. Something about owning real furniture and bed frames just does it for them."
"None of us are bringing girls home," Sunghoon starts, looking at each of them. He sees Jake's mouth open to protest, "And no, your weird situationship does not count."
"Maybe that's 'cause we didn't have a coffee table before," Jay shrugs.
"Yeah, tell the ladies all about your grandma's furniture. I'm sure they'll start lining up the block."
Sunghoon feels a headache starting behind his left eye, and when he hears the game end through his headset at his shoulders, he rips the device from his neck, shoving it to the cushion at his side.
"Shitty ass game," He mutters.
A sweat had gathered at his brow, and he now moves to wipe it as he's reaching for a beer, cracking it open and taking a large gulp like it's water.
"Rough match?"
"Nah. Would've been an easy match," Sunghoon replies, groaning, "Just stressed. Coach has been pressuring me, plus there's that stupid course I have to retake this semester."
"Tough life being Captain of the E-sports team, huh?" Heeseung jokes, "Or what is it you were called that one time? The school's biggest virgin?"
Captain of the E-sports team. A title Heeseung delivers like a punchline. Most people do. Sunghoon, on the other hand, wears it with pride, and had long since stopped trying to explain himself—both the fact that being the best player in the whole school is a legitimate accomplishment, and the fact that he is not a virgin. Effectively explaining either of those things would require Heeseung to actually care, which he doesn't.
Sunghoon had spent his whole life refining his skills for that sort of recognition. He shoots with precision and wins. He reads his opponents to filth, predicting their every move, and annihilates them with ease. He plays Valorant at a level that makes his teammates worship him like a god, and the enemy team start inventing new slurs to type in the chat. That is to say, he was very, very good at it. And very serious about it.
It's precisely why he doesn't have time for moving coffee tables. Or sitting around like this. Or—
His phone buzzes.
His is summer course. Right.
The one he'd failed last semester, that his academic advisor had gently but firmly informed him he needed to retake if he wanted to graduate on time. He'd registered for it in a fog of dismissive irritation back in March, figuring it would be easy enough. And then the syllabus had dropped with the word group project, and he'd been assigned a project partner who had emailed him four times before the first week of classes had even ended, asking about meeting up weeks before the deliverable due dates.
He reaches for his phone, scrolling through the feed of missed notifications from you: One shared document link, more than a couple missed messages, and—he squints—a voice memo. Who the fuck sends voice memos about code?
"Is that the project partner you keep complaining about?" Heeseung leans over his shoulder, snatching the phone away, "She sends voice memos. How adorable. Don't tell me you're ignoring those?"
"Give it back."
He doesn't; instead, he hits play, raising the volume to the max so the whole room can hear it.
"Hey, Sunghoon. How are you? Um... I'm here at the library now. I know we agreed to meet at three o'clock, but I got here a little early," he hears you laugh a bit nervously through the speaker. You have one of those that's just a little too sweet, a little too apologetic for no reason in particular. "I booked a study room, so text me when you're here. And... that's all for now. Bye, Sunghoon."
The boys sit there in silence. Glaring in disbelief at their friend.
"Oh my god," Heeseung groans, "Sweet Jesus, your partner sounds like this, and you've been ignoring her?"
Jay snatched the phone, glaring at it, then glaring at Sunghoon, "She sounds like an angel. What the fuck is wrong with you? Like, medically. What kind of mental illness does a guy have to have to end up like this?"
"That's the long-term psychological damage of being a Valorant player," Jake scoffs, and Sunghoon rolls his eyes.
"Play it again," Heeseung demands, and Jay rewinds it a bit, just to hear the breathing and that nervous little laugh through the speaker, a smile forming on his lips, "Is she cute? She sounds cute. She's got the voice. You know the one that some girls have, that makes you think about what other noises they could—"
"I don't know. I haven't even met her—yet." Sunghoon snatches the device back, "She's annoying. She sends like twenty messages a day."
"Twenty messages a day," Heeseung looks at him, "From a girl who sounds like she whimpers when she's nervous. You know what I'd do with twenty messages a day? I'd be jacking off to the typing indicators."
"That's disgusting. Keep that shit to yourself."
"What's disgusting is you having a girl sending you personalized audio content, saying your name like that, and choosing to ignore it."
"Bet he's got it all in a folder somewhere," Jay snorts, "Keeps it hidden away, playing on loop while he queues ranked. Jacks off between rounds."
"I've never even listened to any of these," Sunghoon says flatly, "She sends so many. Seriously. She's like an organized freak. The kind who start projects early and shit."
"Oh, so she's one of those girls?" Jake grins, "super nervous, apologizes for nothing... You know the type?"
"I don't." Sunghoon deadpans, feeling like his friend is about to start describing a porno category rather than an actual person, given the smirk on his face.
"The type that acts all innocent and sweet on the surface," Heeseung nudges him, "you know what they say about them, right? That they're total freaks in bed. Shit, if a girl like that booked me a study room I'd—"
"Actually finish your degree and graduate?" Jake offers.
"I'd graduate with honours."
"She's probably been waiting in the library for how long, now?" Jay shakes his head, "She got there early. Early. She's probably sitting there with her little notes and highlighters and her 'bye Sunghoon' voice, checking her phone every thirty seconds, and you're here drinking beer and complaining."
Today. The meeting was today. He checks the time—forty minutes ago.
"Shit," Sunghoon's on his feet, sprinting towards his room, "Shit, shit, shit."
He starts digging around for his backpack in his room, under piles of laundry, and nearly trips on the can he forgot to pick up on his floor.
"Guys, the library!" he calls out in a panic, "I'm supposed to be at the library. I need a ride. Now. Jay?"
"Not my problem."
"Jake?"
"Nope."
Sunghoon grabs his bag and stumbles back to the living room, bracing himself against the doorframe. Heeseung is already looking at him with that slow, insufferable smile, sprawled on the couch like he's been waiting for this exact moment.
"I dunno," Heeseung says, stretching his arms over his head with a theatrical groan. "I'm feeling pretty tired. That table was heavy."
"I helped."
"You complained the whole time."
"I did not—"
"And you kept voice memos hidden from me. From all of us. That's a betrayal of household trust."
"I didn't hide anything. You're just a nosy degenerate." Sunghoon's grip tightens on the doorframe. "Are you driving me or not?"
"Hm." Heeseung taps his chin. "Maybe if you ask me nicely..."
Sunghoon takes a breath. Swallows his pride.
"Heeseung." He says through gritted teeth, "Can you please drive me?"
"Ah, I like the sound of that." Heeseung pushes off the couch and brushes past him with infuriating slowness. "Fine. But you owe me. I wanna hear more of cute-girl's voice notes, so be nice to her."
"Okay. Whatever, you fucking pervert." Sunghoon scoffs, watching him snag his keys off the hook by the door. "Just drive."
The library's fairly empty. It's expected, given it's the middle of summer on a weekend, but it's still jarring as ever to walk past empty tables where people would go to war to get a spot during finals season. And, for the first time in a while, he's thankful to be in an air-conditioned building.
"Hi Sunghoon!" you greet him as soon as he enters the room, seemingly startled by the suddenness of his arrival. He watches you for a moment, how your back straightens, and your immediate, almost rehearsed smile.
She's got the voice. Heeseung's words ring in his mind as he takes you in, you know the one that some girls have, that makes you think about what other noises they could—
"Hi," he answers, slipping into the seat next to you, "Sorry for making you wait. Roommate stuff. Had to move a coffee table. Very adult."
You laugh a little too quickly, and he notes the way your hands tremble in your lap. He also notes the way you refuse to meet his eyes.
"That's okay," you glance towards your phone, which was still face-up with its messages open. You fumble with it, tucking it away. "I was just worried maybe, like, you got lost or something."
Lost? He has to resist the urge to scoff. He's late, and instead of being upset, you decided to make up lousy excuses for him.
He looks you up and down again. You're cute, like you sounded over the phone. A nervous-looking mess. The type of thing his roommates would call endearing. Sunghoon, on the other hand, finds it frustratingly pathetic.
"So." You're already turning your laptop to face him, "I've been working on the backend structure. I commented everything, so it should be pretty straightforward. Here's the API setup, and the database schema..."
You click through files as you talk, your voice picking up speed, and he doesn't listen. He tries to. He swears, he does. But his eyes instead follow your posture, and how you sit uptight, spine straight. Your hands fumble around, twitching like you can't keep them still, and your knees bounce under the desk like a nervous habit.
Good god, you look like you'll crumble to pieces any moment. He can feel a headache creeping up on him already. It's exhausting just looking at you.
"...What do you think?"
"Huh?" He blinks, taking in whatever you're pointing to on your screen. You're looking at him all bright-eyed and earnest, as if his opinion would add any sort of valuable insight here. "I... think it looks good. You did well."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I mean," he shrugs, "Why do you sound so surprised?"
His question catches you off guard. He suspected it would, that's why he asked it. Not that he was trying to prod around in your anxious little head. Just that you seemed predictable. Now he knows you are.
"I just..." You're tapping the desk now. "I wanted it to be up to your standards. I didn't want to disappoint you."
"My standards?" He repeats. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs. Not at you—well, maybe a little at you. But mostly at the absurdity of the most competent person in the room, asking for his approval. "You're something else, you know that?"
You blink. "What does that—?"
"Here," He's still smiling. The headache from earlier has faded. He's not sure when. "Let me show you what you're working with."
He opens his laptop and spins it toward you. His frontend code sits there in all its tragic glory—bare bones, placeholder text, a CSS file with plenty of questionable styling decisions. Your take it all in, and for a split second, you forget to hide the horrified expression on your face.
"See? Trash. Actual garbage. I don't even show up to class. I'm not the guy whose 'standards' you should be worried about. Besides..." He leans back. "You're probably the best student in the whole class."
"I'm sure I'm not," you say, almost bashful, brushing it off as if it were a compliment. It wasn't. He was stating a fact. But you're too self-deprecating to know the difference, he supposes. "And your code isn't trash—"
"It is. We both know it's ass. You don't have to be polite."
"It's... disorganized. And a little rushed..." You hesitate, "Were you busy with something—?"
"Oh my god, you have no idea," he tilts his head back, a sigh of frustration leaving him almost immediately. "Regionals. Scrims every night. Coach breathing down my neck. I'm pretty sure I heard someone call for a flank in my dream last night, and I don't even think I was asleep. Or maybe that was just my roommates fucking with me again..."
You nod along as if you understand, though you definitely don't. You probably don't even know what half those words mean, but you're listening, and for some reason, that's less annoying than it was ten minutes ago.
"Anyway. I know it's rough. But like I said. Don't worry your head over anything else. I'll get to it, I swear."
"I'm not worried. I trust you. We still have another week, so it's not like it's last-minute. We just need to clean up some things here," You nod sweetly, then angle the screen toward him and lean in, your shoulder nearly brushing his. "The class labelling in the HTML is messing with the CSS styling. If you restructure the divs here, it should resolve most of the layout issues. And then here..."
You start explaining—specificity, nesting, the cascade. Your voice is steady now, in your element. You point at the screen with a capped highlighter like a tiny lecturer. He catches maybe sixty percent of it.
What he catches more of is your instinctive forgiveness. He shows up an hour late with half-done work that looks like a middle schooler's first project, and you're already pivoting to reassurance mode. It's okay. It's a good start. We can fix it.
It's spineless. A little sad, honestly.
It's also nice. You're a nice person. No bite, no sarcasm, no passive-aggressiveness, just pure, unearned kindness.
He sighs, leaning back in his chair, settling in as you continue. He makes himself comfortable as best he can in his plastic library chair, and subconsciously, his legs spread, his knee drifting outward until it presses against yours under the table.
It wasn't intentional, and he's about to mutter a quick apology and draw his leg back, but then you pause completely. Your mouth is still half-open around whatever you were about to say, but nothing comes out. Your eyes drop to the table. Your fingers freeze over the trackpad.
He notices. He absolutely notices all of it. The way you swallow, the way your lip trembles trying to find your next word, the way you glance at him from the side in a panic, checking to see his reaction.
She gets flustered when I touch her, he thinks, filing the thought away like data, interesting.
He doesn't move his knee. Doesn't say anything or make any sort of face. He just watches you scramble, suddenly feeling a lot less bored than he'd felt a few seconds ago.
"I—" You shake your head, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. "Sorry, what was I—the bullet points. Right. I'll email you."
You clear your throat. Find your place in your notes again, though your hands are fumbling slightly, your crisp efficiency gone. You're scrambling to recover, to be useful again, to reassert the order you're using as a crutch.
"Anyway," you manage, "That's everything from my end. We're in good shape."
You're already packing up. The laptop closed with a decisive click. Highlighters swept into your bag in a single motion. Notebook stacked on top. The organized girl, reassembling her armour. Trying to pretend the last thirty seconds didn't happen.
"You in a hurry?" He has to hold back a teasing grin as you scramble for your words.
"No! I mean—yeah. Just. Gotta go, so... yeah. See you next week. Or something."
"Yeah. Or something."
He doesn't move. He's thinking about the bus. The long, slow route across campus. The forty-minute wait. Maybe Jay will pick up if he calls. Maybe Heeseung will text him something unhelpful, like walk it builds character.
You're standing, bag over your shoulder, then you pause, noticing he hasn't gotten up. "You're staying?"
"Hm? Just deciding if I want to beg my roommates for a ride, or suck it up and take the bus."
"Oh..." you adjust the strap of your bag, watching him thoughtfully.
Your hand is already at the door, ready to go. But you don't. Your mouth hangs open slightly, hesitating on your next word.
"Do you maybe want a ride? I have my car. If you want."
He looks at you. Still shrinking yourself. Still avoiding direct eye contact. And you're offering him a ride he didn't ask for. You're offering favours for him—a stranger you don't know. He files that fact away, too.
"Yeah." He stands, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "A ride would be great, actually."
You smile like he's the one doing you a favour, and he smiles back. Not for the same reason. Just because he's feeling really fucking lucky that his project partner is this nice to him.
What a stupid, stupid idea. Really, what on earth were you thinking? Having him, of all people, in your car? In your passenger seat?
Park Sunghoon. You'd read the name about a hundred times in email threads and shared documents. Now that same man is here, in your car, looking out the window with his jawline catching the late afternoon light like it's trying to blind you. Your blood pressure is rising by the second, trying to keep your focus on the road, while your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.
Admittedly, you were annoyed at first. You'd spend an hour in the library, checking your phone, re-reading the room booking confirmation, composing and deleting increasingly pathetic messages. Hey, just checking in! No rush!
You even practiced in your head the polite-but-firm speech you'd planned to deliver. It's a new thing you've been trying to do where you don't let people walk all over you—where you set boundaries and explain that your time is valuable.
Then he'd walked in.
To call him hot would be an understatement. That man right there is not simply hot. Hot is a word for attractive people who still seem human. Sunghoon, on the other hand, looks like someone photoshopped a male model into your web programming course as a prank.
His hair is dark and slightly messy, like he just rolled out of bed and somehow falls perfectly into place. His jawline, so sharp it could kill you, and when he flashed that dimpled smile at you—that lazy, unbothered, gorgeous smile—your brain had performed a full system shutdown.
You don't offer people rides. You don't even like having your friends in your car. You get stressed by the thought of someone else in your space, watching you drive, listening to your playlist. And now he's in the passenger seat of your car, looking so gorgeous that you're wondering if he's even real, and you're freaking the fuck out.
His knee bounces idly as he stares out the window, and your eyes snag on the movement—the way his hand, large and sprawled out, rests loose on his knee. You snap your gaze back to the road.
Deep breaths, you tell yourself, sparing him another glance from the corner of your eye. Stop thinking about weird stuff. Stop being weird. Just make conversation or something.
"So," you manage, and the fact that you manage to say it while sounding almost normal is a small victory. "You said you were busy? With, like, a summer internship or something?"
"Nah." He's still looking out the window, nodding his head slowly to the music. You don't even know what song you have playing. The sound of your own thoughts is too loud for you to notice, but a warmth floods your cheeks at the mere idea that he's enjoying your music. "E-sports. I'm on the school team. We've got regionals coming up."
You blink.
E-sports. You suppose it makes sense. He is in computer science, like you. Most guys in your program are into the whole video gaming thing. It's just hard to imagine him as one of them.
You try to picture it in your head: The E-sports team. A group of socially awkward loners who sit in darkened rooms with headsets, shouting at each other. And then there’s Sunghoon who, beneath the old hoodie and messy hair, looks like he's one photoshoot away from a skincare campaign.
"That's—" You search for the right word. "Cool. I didn't realize the school had an E-sports team."
"Most people don't." He shrugs, glancing over at you. "It's not exactly a spectator sport. But we're good. Made regionals last season. Coach says if we podium this year, we might actually get real funding."
He says it less with arrogance, and more in that matter-of-fact tone he seems to always have. There's something about the way he doesn't perform humility or pride, how he states his truth and moves on. It seems easy. You admire that. You also find it deeply unfair that his voice is making you feel all sorts of things while he's just... talking.
"What game?" you ask.
"Valorant. The shooter. With the agents and the abilities?" He glances at you. "You've heard of it?"
"Oh! My younger cousin plays." You think back, laughing a little at the recollection of the time he made you download it to your laptop. "I'm terrible at it. Like, genuinely embarrassingly bad. I panic and shoot at the floor."
He laughs. It's a real laugh, short and surprised, and a heat creeps to your cheeks. "Everyone's bad at first. It's all just practice."
"Right. Practice." You're smiling now, "I'll add it to my schedule. Between the project and avoiding my parents' calls."
"Your parents?"
"Strict. They mean well, but..." You shake your head, letting your words trail off.
You feel the weight of his stare, a soft hum leaving his lips. The intersection ahead goes yellow. You slow to a stop, grateful for the excuse to look away from him.
"So." You pivot, "E-sports. You must be practicing a lot then, right?"
"It's a lot of pressure," he says, and his voice has shifted slightly. Less casual. His brows scrunch together, and he's looking out the window again, passing streetlights catching the angles of his sharp, beautiful profile. "Coach says if we don't podium, our funding might get cut. Again. So I've been practicing nonstop. Scrims every night. VOD reviews."
Scrims. VOD reviews. Words that do not exist in your vocabulary, but you nod your head along like you understand. You think you get the idea, anyway.
"And then there's this course." He gestures vaguely at you, at the car, at everything. "This bullshit that I have to retake it."
"You failed web programming?"
"I was carrying the team through the playoffs. Sacrificed my homework for practice." He rubs the back of his neck, and your eyes track the shift of his shoulder, the way his fingers press into the muscle there, the brief glimpse of his collarbone where his hoodie shifts. You look away before he catches you staring. "Didn't think I'd end up failing, but. Here we are."
You think about his half-finished frontend. The skeleton components. The CSS file, full of god knows what. He'd shown it to you with the sheepish shrug of someone who knew exactly how bad it was and hated it. He hadn't tried to convince you it was better than it looked.
"But it's okay. It's worth it to make it to regionals." He's smiling to himself, "I'll fucking destroy those losers. They won't know what hit them."
You laugh, but he doesn't. You realize it's not a joke very quickly, and so you clear your throat instead.
"And I'll get my work done, of course," he tips his head towards you, his posture shifting. "Can't guarantee my portion will be as good as yours. But you can blame it on me in the group review doc."
"I'm sure you'll do great," you hear yourself say. "Not just the project. The tournament, too."
He turns to look at you. The late afternoon light catches the side of his face, and you have to force your eyes back to the road.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You clear your throat. "I mean, I don't know anything about E-sports. But you're the captain, right?"
"Yeah."
"So you must be good. Like, actually good."
He doesn't answer right away. When you glance over, he's not looking at the road—he's looking at you, head tilted slightly, like he's trying to figure you out.
"I am. I'm the best player on the team." He says it with that matter-of-fact tone again.
You pull up to his place. It's a student housing unit—one of those rundown ones that nobody cares about enough to fix up. Someone inside is yelling, the way guys yell when they're playing video games. You shift into park.
"Thanks," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "For the ride. And for... You know. Not being pissed about the code. Or the being late thing."
"It's fine," you smile. "Really. Don't worry about it."
He pauses with his hand on the door. Looks at you. There's something in his expression you can't read, the hint of a smile that you think might be lazy amusement, though you're not sure what he's amused by.
He stops. Shakes his head slightly. "See you soon?"
"Yeah! I'll send the invite. And the notes."
He smiles. That damn smile. And then he's gone, walking up the path to his door, and you're sitting in your parked car with your heart doing something stupid in your chest.
You watch him disappear inside.
You're warm all over, and there's no good reason for it either. All he did was sit there and talk to you like a normal person, and yet you're here, feeling a deeply humiliating sort of heat forming in your lower stomach the more you think about it.
Through the front window, you can see movement—someone on a couch, the blue glow of a TV. His roommates, probably. You wonder if he'll tell them about you. You wonder if they even know you exist.
Then you realize you're still parked outside his apartment, staring at his front door like a creep, and you pull away from the curb.
You have to drive all the way back to campus. It's a route you know by heart, familiar enough that your brain has permission to drift. And drift it does—back to the study room, the way he'd leaned back in his chair, the way his knee had pressed against yours. You'd frozen. Completely, mortifyingly frozen. You'd forgotten your own sentence and stammered through the recovery.
And then he'd smiled at you in the car. And now you're smiling.
You're smiling at a red light with no one else in the car, like an idiot, and you can't stop.
It's late, past two in the morning, and the place has gone quiet—Heeseung retreated to his room hours ago, Jake's been dead to the world the moment he got home from his summer job, and Jay's probably doomscrolling, given the amount of Instagram reels he keeps sending to the roommates group chat. The only light is the fridge, a dull white glow illuminating Sunghoon’s tired gaze.
Sunghoon stands in front of it, scanning the contents inside, none of it looking particularly enticing, but he just lost a ranked game, and he needs to eat his feelings.
Leftover takeout. Someone's half-eaten burrito. A case of energy drinks. He grabs a container that looks decent enough—day-old noodles, probably Jay’s because nobody else in the house bothers to cook. Deciding that dealing with the aftermath of stealing his food is a problem for tomorrow, he shoves it in the microwave.
"Sup."
The floorboards creak behind him, and Sunghoon turns around to glare. Heeseung. Of course.
The microwave beeps, and Sunghoon grabs the container, shoving his chopsticks around. It’s still cold in the center.
"Why do you always choose to enter the kitchen when I'm here?"
"Because we run on the same sleepless schedule," Heeseung moves to the sink, waterbottle held under the faucet and turns on the tap. His hair is a disaster, his shirt inside-out, and he watches Sunghoon eat Jay’s leftover noodles straight from the container, too lazy to comment on it. "And 'cause I wanna hear about your little library date. Was she cute?"
"Not a date."
"She drove you home. So it clearly went well." He turns off the tap and fastens the cap back on the plastic bottle. "Were you nice to her?"
"I was nice."
"You better have been. Most women would've called you a loser for being a grown ass man with no driver's license."
"Whatever."
"No, not whatever. I can't believe you." Heeseung points the water bottle at him, frowning, "I can't believe what I'm hearing. She waited an hour for you. Then she gave you a ride home.”
"I know. Real nice of her, right?"
"Too nice of her." Heeseung stares at him, watching him shove noodles into his mouth. "Jay's right. We really should do a scan of your brain. Admit you to a psych ward or some shit."
He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to think about it. But his brain, unhelpfully, is already thinking about it.
The project. He should really start working on the project. That's the thought he keeps trying to hold onto. Not because he actually wants to do it, but because of you.
You'd been kind. Genuinely kind. You'd asked about regionals like you gave a single shit. You'd nodded along while he talked about Valorant, even though you don't understand any of it.
Then there was his code—his shitty ass code that he knew was trash, that you knew was trash, too. There was no lecture. No guilt trip. Not even a hint of disdain. You just showed him how to fix it. Carefully explained it, even sent him an email after with an organized bullet-point list of all the steps he needed to implement.
An angel. That's what you are. Or a doormat. It’s the same thing, in his mind.
A worse person would take advantage of that, wouldn't they?
His phone buzzes on the counter: One new email. An attachment. Then a second notification—a voice memo.
Heeseung's eyes immediately drop to the screen.
"Is that her?"
"Can you not—?"
Heeseung snatches the phone. Again. Sunghoon is too tired to fight him.
"She sent you another voice memo. At 2am." Heeseung's thumb hovers over the play button. "You know what girls send voice memos at 2am for, right?"
He's grinning as he presses play, and Sunghoon digs his chopsticks further into his noodles, ignoring his crude commentary.
"Hi, Sunghoon. Um. Okay, so I was thinking about earlier—about the whole esports thing, and how stressed you seemed about the tournament? And I just... I had some extra time, so I finished up the code. It wasn’t a big deal, really. Only took a few hours.” There’s a nervous laugh, then a pause like you’d forgotten your next words, “Hopefully, this helps? So you can focus on practice and not have to worry about the project on top of everything else… yeah. Just. Let me know if you have questions. I'm always happy to help. Okay. This is getting long. Sorry. Bye, Sunghoon.”
Heeseung sets the phone down on the counter, the movement slow and careful, like he’d just handled a sacred artifact.
"Dude."
"I know."
"This is insane."
"I know."
"You've got a girl doing all your work for you. At two in the morning. Because you mentioned you were stressed about a Valorant tournament. Said she’s always happy to help."
"I said I know. She's nice. Now leave me alone."
"No, I don't think you understand. Do you even realize what this is?" Heeseung is pacing now, the kitchen too small for his indignation. "This is the literal definition of pretty privilege. You literally just sit there, and she’s doing things for you—Holy shit, it's like when Jake was doing some hot chick's homework for an entire semester 'cause he was begging for a crumb of pussy—"
"Jake was manipulated." Sunghoon sets his leftovers down. "I'm not manipulating anyone. I didn't even—I never asked for this."
"Yeah." Heeseung stops pacing and looks at him. "But you could've. That's the fucked up part. You could ask her to come over right now and do your dirty laundry, and she'd say yes. She'd probably bring her own detergent."
Sunghoon wants to retort that, but... You would, wouldn't you? He drags two hands down his face, sighing as his roommate's mouth continues to run.
"Life's so unfair." Heeseung throws his hands up. "I send a girl one message. One. And she leaves me on read for three days. You ignore a girl for a week, and she's doing your homework, giving you rides home, and sending you audio porn. What is wrong with the world?"
Sunghoon's looking at his phone.
He should type something. Thanks, maybe. Or sorry—sorry you’re doing his work at 2am, sorry he didn't do it himself, sorry he's probably going to keep disappointing you. His thumb hovers over the keyboard.
thanks. you didn't have to do that.
Deletes it.
seriously thank you. i owe you.
Deletes it.
He pockets his phone and walks past Heeseung, leaving the leftovers container behind.
"Where are you going?"
"Bed."
"You're not going to respond? You're just going to leave her on read?" He half-calls out, "You're really gonna act like you're not interested at all?"
He shuts his door. Sits on the edge of his bed, the room dark except for the blue glow of his monitor in sleep mode and with a heavy sigh, he opens the voice recorder. A hand runs through his hair, and he clears his throat, feeling like an idiot. Then he presses record.
"Hey. Got your email. Thanks. You seriously didn't have to do that." A pause. He doesn't know how to end these things. Your voice memos always ended with ‘bye Sunghoon,’ all soft and hesitant-sounding, but he thinks something like that would just sound awkward in his own voice. He then realizes he’s still recording and stammers, "I'll—yeah. I'll make it up to you. Goodnight."
He hits send before he can delete it and stares at it for longer than he should.
Girls like that shit, right? The whole voice memo thing. He's not sure. He just felt like you deserve a little more than a thank-you text for doing his work for him.
He tosses his phone onto his nightstand and lies back on his bed, long limbs stretched out from a long day of doing mostly nothing (apart from moving that damn coffee table).
His brain, unhelpfully, drifts back to the library. The way you'd frozen when his knee touched yours. The way you'd stammered through the rest of your sentence and then offered him a ride anyway. The way you'd looked at him in the car, wide-eyed and nervous. It's been a while since he'd seen anyone look at him like that.
Not that he's inexperienced with women—unlike what his roommates' constant teasing would imply. It's a lack of interest, something he had discovered about himself in high school with his first whopping three-month-long relationship. He'd gotten bored of her in the first month, and when she asked him to choose “me, or your stupid game,” it really wasn’t a difficult choice to make.
Then there was the odd fling here and there in his first year of college. Again, never lasted long. He didn't have the time or energy to commit. In his defence, he was upfront about his intentions. It's not his fault they never listened.
He stopped bothering after that. Girls are drama. They get clingy and weird. They pout and whine over not getting enough attention, trying to drag him away from his game. That shit is annoying. And he doesn't put up with annoying shit.
A part of him wonders if you'd be the same. You're cute, but insecure. The type to get attached too quickly, he'd assume. But you also listened when he talked about his game. You did his code so he could practice more and asked for nothing in return. That's maybe the most supportive any woman has ever been of his future E-sports career.
You could probably ask her to come over right now and do your dirty laundry, and she'd say yes.
He scoffs at Heeseung's voice in his head. Then, a much crueller thought enters his mind:
I could probably get her to do the whole project, too.
It's sharp and invasive—so much so that he's rolling over with a groan, burying his face into the pillows.
Sunghoon's a lot of things. A shitty project partner being somewhere near the top of that list, but he is not a freeloading whore.
He'll be grateful and move on. He'll do his work, he'll win regionals, and when the semester is done, he'll never see your face again.
Sunghoon did not, in fact, do his work.
He tried to—if opening up an empty file and staring at it for five minutes before queuing another ranked Valorant game counts as trying.
Bless your heart, you even sent him reminders. Texts of encouragement with little smiley faces, offers to help, to which he replied with empty promises. Don't worry, I'm working on it tomorrow. I've got it. All good.
All of that, until he woke up the next week with a calendar notification:
deliverable 2 meeting today
It's a weekday, which means Jay took his car to work. Which means he has to take the bus to the library. Which means he won't have time to string something together at the last minute for when he's supposed to meet you.
Sunghoon: can we meet at my place?
Sunghoon: got no ride today
You: sure :)
He grins at the text. Perfect. That's perfect. All he has to do is sit down, write some bullshit, and hope that you offer to fix it—which he's sure you will. You're nice like that. You're understanding.
But then he's at his computer, and he's looking at the Valorant icon in the corner of his home screen. And then he's queuing another game. Then another. And another... and—
The doorbell rings.
Hours. He'd just spent hours playing instead of doing his work like a fucking idiot. And now he's in the middle of a ranked game, clutching up another round.
"Heeseung!" He yells, "Get the door!"
No response. Of course, there's no response.
Luckily, the last remaining enemy peeks, and he finishes the round with another win. With that, he's sprinting to the door. Swings it wide open. A wave of muggy outdoor air hits him, the summer sun beaming down, and you're there smiling slightly, hands gripping the strap of your bag. He doesn't have time to process you.
"Come in," he gestures, sprinting back towards his room. He calls out over his shoulder, "Sorry, I'm in a game. Ranked. Can't leave. Make yourself at home."
He's sliding back into his seat, and your footsteps follow tentatively behind him.
“Ranked?”
“Like, if I leave, I’ll be penalized and lose ranked points.”
“Ah.”
You stand behind him, a polite distance away, still gripping your bag. You shift your weight where you stand, squinting at the screen.
"I'll be done soon, don't worry. These guys are easy."
"Okay..." You sound a little confused, leaning over his shoulder, watching him move through the map.
Somehow, the feeling of your eyes on him as he plays feels like a power boost. And something in him feels the urge to show off just a little bit. You watch him easily take out two enemies with precision, and he smiles, cockily.
"Told you. Easy."
A voice perks up in the lobby chat. The enemy team. "Reported for aimbotting. This is fucking bullshit."
Sunghoon presses the button on his mic to talk, "Nah. I'm just better."
The voice on the other end proceeds to start cussing him out, mouth close enough to the mic that it cuts out every few words, calling him every slur and cuss word under the sun and from the corner of his eye, he sees your face drop in horror. He mutes himself for a second.
"It's just trash talk. Don't worry. Happens all the time."
"All the time?"
“Gaming culture. It’s not for the weak.”
He gets another headshot, and another voice joins in, "Yo, asshole, how does it feel being a basement-dwelling, virgin?"
"Wouldn't know.” Sunghoon quickly unmutes again, firing back, “Why don't you tell me about it?"
A third voice, "Don't bother with him. This guy probably jerks off to his own highlight clips. I guarantee he's never felt the touch of a woman."
Sunghoon's about to respond, but then you're leaning forward in one confident stride.
"Oh? You guarantee that?"
The mic picks up your voice loud and clear, and the lobby explodes. Both the enemy team and his own.
"NO WAY."
“WHO IS THAT?"
"Bro has a whole woman in his room, and he's playing Valorant right now."
"She sounds hot as fuck."
"Dude, I'll forfeit if you get her to moan in the mic."
"Can we get a whimper if we win the next round?" His teammate says.
“Fuck off,” He says immediately, glancing over at you. You’re shifting your weight, your arms around yourself, looking incredibly embarrassed, but you’re grinning proudly. He grins right back, unable to resist the urge to rub this moment in on every other loser in the lobby. “She’s a little busy under the desk right now.”
Your eyes go wide at the implication, and the voice chat explodes.
“WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE MEAN BY—”
The whole lobby talks over each other, and when he gets his final shot, VICTORY printed across his screen, he leans back in his chair.
"Anyway, she’s waiting for me," He glances over at you, his voice terribly smug, and you visibly embarrassed. "Later incels."
The post-game stats load, and finally, there is silence in his headset. He lets it fall to his neck, still grinning.
"Sorry." You start, "I didn't mean to—"
"Sorry?" He raises a brow, "Sorry for what? That was badass. You just destroyed them. Now those guys have to cope with losing and being bitchless. They're gonna be crying over it for the next year, at least."
"Well... good. They deserve it." You say a little proudly, watching him report the guy who called him slurs for bullying. "I don't understand. How can people get so mad over a game?"
"Sore losers," he says simply, "they're mad because they're bad."
"Or they're mad because you're really good," you offer a smile, "I didn't see you miss a single shot. How is that possible?"
He opens his mouth to answer, but the words don't come. Instead, he’s blinking, really taking you in for a moment, because if his eyes don’t deceive him, you actually seem… impressed. Genuine admiration. The kind he only gets from his teammates and other losers in game.
"Practice," he starts, letting his gaze drop, taking you in. The skirt that rides up your thighs, your hands clasped in your lap, and those wide, attentive eyes of yours. "Years of aim training. Game sense. Good instincts."
Something stirs in him, and suddenly he’s thinking about how good you’d look underneath him, making that same wide-eyed expression for an entirely different reason. How nervous that little voice of yours would sound making other kinds of noises for him, what you’d actually look like if you were under his desk on your knees.
You'd give in so easy.
“Anyone can learn it.” He finally says, the intensity of his gaze half-wiped, replaced with something more polite. “It just takes dedication."
"I'm a lost cause with this stuff. Trust me," you laugh, "Anyway. We should probably get to the project."
Ah. The project.
The thing he has nothing to show for on his end because he didn't do anything.
“There's a lot more ground we have to cover this time. There are a lot more features that need to be implemented this time and..."
You ramble on as you seat yourself at the edge of his bed, opening up your bag, and Sunghoon gulps.
He could rip off the band-aid and admit it right now. "Sorry, I'm an idiot, and I played ranked instead of doing my work, but I'll get it done in the next week, I swear."
But you already did his work last week. Already spent a whole week sending him reminders and sending sweet little voice notes—all of which he'd responded to with empty promises. He swears he never meant for those promises to become empty. He planned on doing his work. He just... didn't.
Instinctively, he stands, and mid-sentence, he's placing his headset on your head, adjusting it. You freeze up like last time, and look up at him with the most helpless gaze, all train of thought just gone. His train of thought is rather lost, too, if he's being honest.
"Better idea," he says, "What if I teach you how to play?"
"But—"
"You defended my honour in a Valorant lobby. That kind of bravery deserves a reward.” He pulls out his chair for you, "Sit."
You hesitate. He can see the war happening behind your eyes—the good, responsible side of you trying to fight the flustered one that wishes to give in.
"Just one game. For me?" He reaches out and nudges your shoulder. He lets the touch linger a second longer than it needs to, and he watches your breath hitch.
"Just one.”
The gaming chair swallows your frame, and he pushes it in, hovering just a little too close as he leans over you. He puts you in practice mode to start.
"Alright. Basics first. This is how you move." He guides your hand to the keyboard, his fingers deliberately brushing yours. "WASD. Forward, left, back, right. You know that already?"
You nod weakly, moving around, not quite with ease, but at least you know how to do it. He laughs a little at the jerky movements, and your flustered demeanour from him being this close. He's enjoying this.
"Good. Now shooting." His hand covers yours on the mouse. "Left click. Aim for the head."
The bot appears. You click. Miss entirely. Click again. Hit the shoulder.
"See? You're already better than half my ranked teammates."
"Don't make fun of me."
"I'm not, I swear."
He lets you get comfortable with the practice range. You're clumsy but getting the hang of it, your movements less awkward, your aim less panicked. By the time he queues you into a real match—comms and text chat both disabled, he's not having a repeat of earlier—you're at least facing the right direction.
He drags a chair from the kitchen and sits next to you.
"Real game now. Real players. They're going to be better than the bots."
The first few rounds are rough. You die early in the first. Then the second. By the fourth round, you've done exactly zero damage, and the enemy team is up 3-1. Your teammates are probably flaming you. He's glad he muted them before the round started.
"See? I told you I'm terrible."
"No talking. Just play."
Round five. Your teammates are dropping around you. It's a disaster—your teammates rushed in too soon, leaving you behind. And then it's just you. One versus two.
"Stay behind the corner," Sunghoon says, his voice low near your ear. "Wait for them to come to you."
"But our team is supposed to be attacking, right?"
"Yeah, but these players are stupid. They're playing too aggressively. They'll come to you."
His hand lands on your shoulder, and your hands are trembling slightly on the keyboard.
"Keep your crosshair at head level. Right there."
He adjusts your mouse, and you nod. In your ears, you hear footsteps. Then, the enemy peeks. You click. The headshot sound is unmistakable—a clean, crisp dink that echoes through the headphones. One enemy down. Pings explode from your dead teammates.
"Holy shit!" Sunghoon leans forward, grinning. "Look at that! You got a headshot!"
"I—I did?"
"You did. One tap. Clean as hell," he's beaming, "Now, don't lose focus yet. One more to go."
You're staring at the screen like you can't quite believe it. Your hands are still trembling, but you're smiling now—a real smile, wide and bright and unguarded.
Though you don’t have time to celebrate, because a body shot hits from behind you, not enough to kill you, but enough that you scream. You move behind the wall, frantically moving the mouse around.
"Don't panic. They're coming to you. Just wait—"
The enemy appears, and you click, your bullets spraying clumsily, and by some miracle, you outlive them with barely any health left—but you won. You won the 1v2.
"That's my girl!" He's grinning wide, "You're a natural, you see that?"
You play terribly the rest of the game, but your team locks in, their hope reignited by your clutch up, and carries you to a win. VICTORY. It appears in big letters across your screen.
You take off the headset, your smile unwavering, your cheeks warm. "That was... actually kind of fun."
"See? Told you."
"I still mostly did nothing."
"You won. Stop being humble." He nudges your shoulder, allowing the touch to linger. "Most people don't win their first game. Bet I can help you win your second, too."
"Sunghoon." You laugh, gently moving his arm away as he tries to queue another game. "We have to do the project."
"We can do that another time."
"We can do this another time. We need to work."
"Do we really need to?"
"Yes."
He pauses a moment. A beat of silence passes, and your gaze lingers on him.
"Sunghoon," you say again, gently, carefully. Like you already understand where this is going, "If your work is a little messy like last time, I don't mind. I just want to make sure we're on the same page."
"I just..."
He looks at you. Still in his chair, still wearing his headset around your neck now, and the way you're looking at him—half-flustered, half-stubborn, trying so hard to be responsible and even going so far as to push back—makes him realize he'll have to try harder than he thought to distract you.
"I just think with you, it's always: Project this. Project that. You work so hard. You know it's okay to relax sometimes, right?"
"I—"
"You know what your problem is? You worry too much. Whenever I see you, you're always worrying. What's up with that?"
He leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. Your eyes follow them, how his biceps strain in his shirt, and his knee bumps yours. He stays watchful, analyzing the way your breathing picks up. The way your eyes go wide again.
"I don't know... I've always been..." you manage, shaking your head, "My parents were strict growing up, so..."
"I don't see your parents anywhere."
"Right. I know it's silly, but sometimes it's like I still hear them in my head," you laugh nervously, avoiding his gaze, "it was always study, study, study. No fun, no friends, no boys—"
"No boys?"
All of a sudden, it clicks for him. The shyness. The stuttering. The way you'd frozen in the library when his knee touched yours—not just flustered, but genuinely short-circuited, like your brain had no protocol for what to do. The way you'd offered him a ride, even though you could barely look at him. The way you'd defended him in voice chat, fierce and uncalculated, with no idea of the attention it would bring.
It all makes sense now. Every single thing.
You're not just anxious or sheltered. You're completely, profoundly inexperienced. He's likely the first guy who's ever been this close to you—and you’re here, in his room, wearing his headset. Every reaction you've had, every flush and stammer and nervous laugh, it's all because you've never done this before.
He smiles, enjoying the thought more than he should. A lot more.
"No boys," he repeats, and his voice comes out slow and deliberate. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means no boys. Like." You're flustered already, and he hasn't even moved. "No dating. My parents were really strict about it, and I just—I never really—"
"Never really what?"
He knows exactly what you're trying to say. He just wants to hear you try to say it.
"Never really... dated?" he offers, tilting his head. "Never really had a boyfriend?"
You shake your head, barely a movement.
"Never really..." He lets the pause stretch. Watches you squirm. "...anything?"
You can't manage another word, so you don't speak. You don't have to. The silence speaks for itself.
"You've never done anything?"
The question hangs in the air. He watches you process it—the implication, and how you can’t hide from it.
"Never even been kissed?"
"No." There it is. The confession, small and brave. "It's embarrassing. I know. I never really—"
"It's cute, actually."
You look at him, wordless. Maybe he should feel bad. He should feel guilty for prying this out of you, for enjoying how uncomfortable you are and filing all of this away as useful information. Some distant, rational part of his brain knows that. Instead, he's thinking about how nobody has ever touched you. How he’s the first one now to have been close enough to see you all flustered and vulnerable and completely unguarded.
His hand finds your knee. It's innocent enough, not drifting any higher than above it, his thumb moving in slow circles, and he watches in real time as your mind goes completely blank.
He's going to kiss you. Honestly, he knew he was going to kiss you the moment he understood what "no boys" meant, and while part of him is still trying to distract you from the project by getting you all hot and bothered like this, another part of him wants to do it just because he can. Just because you're there, in his chair, looking at him like that, reacting to his touch like this. That kind of power is a drug. It only makes him want to see just how far he can push you.
"Sunghoon," Your voice comes out thin, breathless. Your hand flutters up, not pushing him away, just hovering, like you're not sure what to do with it. "The project. We really need to—"
"The project." He says it flat, like the word itself is a chore. "The project will be fine. It'll get done. Right?"
He tilts his head, lets the implication hang there: You did the last one. You'll do this one, too.
Your mouth opens, but whatever argument you'd prepared dissolves the second his hand moves. It slides up from your knee to the edge of your skirt, his fingers tracing the hem where it brushes your thigh, and you go absolutely still beneath his touch.
"You look cute today, by the way." His voice is low, and his eyes look you up and down. "I like this."
He toys with the hem of the fabric, his knuckle grazing bare skin. Your thighs press together involuntarily, and he catches it. The movement. The sharp little inhale. The way your hands grip the armrests, fingers curling into them.
A sound escapes your throat, something small and embarrassing. A whimper you clearly didn't mean to make. His eyes flick up to your face. Your lips are parted, and you're looking at him like you've forgotten how words work.
"That's it," he murmurs, "You'll be good for me, right?"
Your eyes drop to his lips. You nod. It's a tiny, helpless movement, and the last of your resistance crumbles.
His free hand comes up to cup your chin, tilting your face toward his. He's close enough now to feel your breath, shallow and uneven. Close enough to know that no one has ever touched you like this before, and you're terrified, but you're not pulling away.
He leans in, slowly inching forward, closer and closer and—
"Sunghoon!" The door bursts open, "Have you seen my charger? I think..."
Heeseung's voice trails off as he takes in the sight. You. Sunghoon. The proximity between you. His hand on your thigh. Valorant open on his PC.
"Well, well, well..." he grins, leaning against the doorframe, "do my eyes deceive me, or is that a girl? In your bedroom? Sitting on your throne?"
"Leave."
"And you're making the poor thing play your stupid game. That's no way to treat a lady," he gestures around, then looks to you, "You. Don't tell me you're pretending to be impressed by his KDA ratio?"
You shrink under his gaze, looking like you wished to flee any second.
"Listen, I get it.” He raises his hands in surrender, “He's a good-looking guy. But his personality?" He shakes his head, "He’s a walking red flag. And not in the hot bad boy way. In like, a discord-moderating, redditor way."
"Seriously, get out."
Sunghoon is on his feet now, jaw tight. But you're already up, already grabbing your bag, already not looking at anyone.
"Actually, I should go."
"You don't have to—"
"I'll see you soon." The words tumble out.
You duck past Heeseung, out of the bedroom, into the hall. Your footsteps go fast—past the living room where the coffee table sits in all its carved, solid-oak glory.
Heeseung follows you as far as the hallway, leaning against the wall with the lazy confidence of someone who knows he ruined something, but has no idea what.
"Wait!" he calls after you. "Before you leave, what do you think of the coffee table? Real craftsmanship, right?"
The front door slams. Hard enough to rattle the empty energy drink cans still scattered on Sunghoon's desk.
Heeseung turns back to the bedroom doorway, where Sunghoon is standing rigid, hands at his sides.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sunghoon spits.
"Me? What's wrong with you?" He strides on into his room, taking his lost phone charger from the port near his bedside. The one he took yesterday without asking, "You steal my shit, you get cockblocked. Sorry."
"You know that was my project partner, right?"
"I know who it was." Heeseung wraps the cord around his hand, watching Sunghoon with an expression that's sharper than before. "The one with the voice. The one who did your work at two in the morning. I guess now she comes over to stroke your ego too, huh?"
"I was this close to—"
"This close to what?" Heeseung quips, raising a brow. "Finish the sentence."
"This close to... to taking her mind off of worrying. She's a chronic worrier. It's annoying. It's..." his voice trails off.
Silence. Sunghoon notices the look in his roommate’s eyes: disapproving, doubtful.
"You know what I think?" Heeseung says slowly, "I think you're getting a little too comfortable with the amount of kindness she gives you."
"I don't know what you mean."
“The walls are thin, and I’m nosy. I know what I heard,” he scoffs, heading toward the door. "You’re pushing your luck. And trying to tongue your project partner so she can do your work for you is a new low. Even for you."
Sunghoon then gapes at the offensive, downright defamatory implications his roommate is making towards him.
"I didn't—" Heeseung leaves before he can defend himself. And Sunghoon stumbles to the hallway, calling out after him. "I didn't do anything wrong!"
Sunghoon slams the door shut on him, taking a second to breathe. There's a ping on his phone. A new voice note. He clicks it immediately, your voice rushed, the sound of your car running in the background.
"Hey Sunghoon. Sorry for leaving like that. I got kinda nervous when your roommate walked in. But I had a really good time with the game! And with you. And... oh, and about deliverable 2." You pause, then a sigh escapes you—heavy, but hesitant. "I've thought about it, and I know your tournament is coming up really soon, so I don't mind taking it off your hands. Anyway, goodbye for now, Sunghoon."
Sunghoon sinks into his gaming chair. Relief morphs into glee, a short laugh escaping him. He can’t believe it. He can’t believe you.
Whatever guilt Heeseung was trying to make him feel fades instantly—easily. Too easily.
He queues another game.
The basement is quiet. Still. Peaceful. Just Sunghoon, the ironing board, and his team jersey, steam hissing in the silence.
His gamer tag stares up at him from the back of the jersey, crisp and clean. Tomorrow he'll be wearing it on stage. Tomorrow it's game time. Tomorrow, he's locked the fuck in, with his team at his side and everyone there to watch him take that victory.
He's in the zone. Has been all night. Showered, prepped, head clear. No distractions. No thoughts about the final project deliverable due next week that he definitely hasn't started, or thoughts about Heeseung's accusations, or thoughts about you, and your wide eyes, and the way you looked at his lips right before—Nope. He’s not thinking about it.
The basement door groans open, followed by footsteps. Sunghoon doesn't bother turning around. He knows it’s Jay, judging by the heaviness of the tread, and because he’s the only one of them who regularly uses the washer instead of letting clothes pile up until they smell.
"Game's tomorrow?"
"Yep." Steam hisses. Sunghoon runs the iron along a sleeve. "You're still driving me, right?"
There’s a pause. Too long a pause. Sunghoon turns. Jay's standing by the washer, suddenly fascinated by the lint trap.
"Jay."
"Huh?"
"The tournament," Sunghoon says it slower this time, the iron forgotten in his hand. "The thing I gave you the date for a month ago. The thing you swore you'd drive me to. Ringing any bells?"
"Right, right." Jay shuts the washer door. Doesn't meet his eyes. "Well."
"Jay."
"Thing is," Jay scrubs the back of his neck, "my grandma's moving. Already told my mom I'd help tomorrow morning."
“Dude.” Sunghoon blinks, gaping at him, "You promised me first."
"Sorry, man. Grandma over you."
"I gave you a month's notice."
"And my grandma gave me twenty-two years of birthday money." Jay shrugs, already turning toward the stairs. "Can't put a price on that."
Sunghoon sets the iron down with a little more force than necessary. "You could've said something before tonight."
"It's not the end of the world. Just take the bus."
"It's an hour drive. Longer by bus. On a Sunday. That's—"
"Tough luck."
"Jay." Sunghoon's voice sharpens. "This is the biggest day of my—"
But Jay's already halfway up, and the basement door clicks shut behind him. The washing machine hums into the silence. Sunghoon stares at the empty staircase.
The bus is not an option. Absolutely not. He didn't grind all season to show up to regionals late, all sweaty from sprinting across a transit terminal because the Sunday schedule runs once every forty-five minutes if he's lucky.
And his teammates? He could squeeze into someone's car, knee to chest, listening to them argue about team comps and whose mom packed snacks. He'd rather walk.
But… there is another option.
Someone who's given him a ride before. Someone who is always happy to help. Someone who did his code, who defended him in a Valorant voice chat, who can't resist him, no matter how many times he's proven himself incompetent.
He pulls out his phone.
It seems like a shitty thing to do. He knows that. But, it's mutually beneficial, isn't it? He gets a favour, you get to see him. It's a win-win, really.
Besides, it's not like he's only calling for the ride. He genuinely does like the idea of you there, front row, cheering his name. Watching him destroy the enemy team live instead of from his bedroom. You'd get all confused, trying to follow the game, and then he'd win, and you'd be proud even though you don't really understand what you're proud of and—hell, maybe he'd finally get to give you that kiss. Maybe more.
It's been on his mind too much lately. Your eager, parted lips, your thigh tense beneath his touch, the way you leaned into it like a good little plaything. Always so desperate to please—you'd make him feel like a real champion, wouldn't you? All nervous and untouched and entirely his. His prize, his to guide, his to take.
It's a perverse fantasy. It's also not entirely impossible. Though, he shakes his head at himself, not erasing the thought, but putting it back on the shelf.
The ride. That's the priority now. Having a pretty girl at his arm is just a bonus.
You press submit.
Deliverable two, done. Your portion, pristine, commented, tested, and complete. His portion—the portion you told yourself you wouldn't do—also complete. Also entirely yours.
You close the laptop and sit there in the dark of your dorm room.
This is getting out of hand. You know it is. It's been out of hand, actually, ever since the library and the first deliverable that you fixed—the thing you should’ve never done in the first place but did anyway.
He didn't do his work again, and this time he didn't even try to pretend otherwise. He just looked at you with those eyes, said ‘It will be fine,’ and you let the subject drop because his hand was on your thigh, your brain had stopped working, and the only thing on your mind was not wanting to let him down.
But what about him letting you down? It’s happened twice now. Not enough times to call it a pattern of behaviour yet, but enough to imply something about his character and where his priorities lie. He's unreliable. Lazy. Probably manipulative, if your best friend's theories are true. That's not the kind of guy you want. That's not the kind of guy anyone should want. You should be furious, actually. You should send him a firm email. You should stand your ground.
He’s hot, though, your brain unhelpfully reminds you. Stupidly, impossibly hot, and he almost kissed you—you think. Sometimes you replay it in your head, and you're certain of it. Other times, you wonder if you imagined the leaning in, the pause, and the way his voice dropped when he said you'll be good for me, right?
You sigh, hand twitching against your thigh. When you close your eyes, it's like you can still feel him touching you there. Every time you think about it, your whole body goes hot, and you think about it a lot—not just about what happened but what could've happened if his roommate hadn't walked in. You can't even keep track of the amount of times you've lied awake, drenched in your own sweat, thighs pressed together, just thinking about his hand slipping further up your skirt and relieving you of the torturous, wound-up feeling that's had you in a chokehold all summer.
Your phone buzzes.
Incoming video call: Sunghoon
You stare at the screen, still recovering from your fantasy. It takes you a minute to actually process that it is, in fact, him calling you and not a figment of your imagination. He's never called you before. Not once. All summer, it's been voice memos and texts and the occasional thumbs-up emoji.
It rings again, and you fumble reaching for it, nearly dropping it on the floor. You pick up, and as soon as you see the FaceTime video loading, you click to turn off your camera.
Your eyes are glued to the screen as you take in the sight of him. He's lying in bed, his hoodie pulled up over his head, shadows cutting across his jaw, and his hair falls over his eyes. You're almost pissed at the fact that someone can look that good so casually.
"Hey." His voice comes through your earbuds low and rough, and it travels down your spine. Your whole body shivers.
"Hi," you manage, small and a little breathless.
"How's my girl doing?"
My girl. That's the second time he's called you that. The first was during the game, when you landed the headshot. You'd assumed it was adrenaline, or a reflex. Something guys said to their duo partners, like "my man" or "my guy". But he's not gaming now. He's in bed. Talking to you.
"I'm good—fine." You swallow. "What about—?"
"Can I see you?"
"See me?" You glance down at yourself. Old t-shirt. Not a trace of makeup. Yeah. That's not happening. "I'm in bed. It's dark. There's nothing to see, so..."
"Hm," he sighs, and you hear the rustling of fabric as he adjusts himself. "Too bad."
"What's up?" You're trying to sound normal, clearing your throat, "Why'd you call?"
"Just wanted to chat."
His free hand finds the drawstring of his hoodie, twisting it idly around one finger. Your eyes follow the movement, staring at the veins, the size of his hand, the length of his fingers and—you drag your eyes back to his face.
"About?"
"You free tomorrow?"
He shifts again, and the camera jostles, this time a light groan escaping him.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow you have—nothing. You have absolutely nothing. And even if you did have something, you'd still say you have nothing because it's him who's asking. Your heart skips a beat, a stupid smile breaking on your face.
"Yes," you say, immediately trying to downplay the eagerness in your voice. "Yeah, I'm free. Why?"
"And you can drive?"
"Sure. Why—?"
"Good." He ignores the question again. "Then I'm taking you out."
Your heart does a full stop. "Where?"
"Surprise.” He smiles. “Just wear something cute, m'kay?"
Wear something cute.
What does that mean exactly? Cute how? Cute like a dress? Or is a dress too much? Maybe a skirt. He said he liked your skirt last week. He toyed with the hem and said I like this and you made a sound you're still embarrassed to remember.
"Sleep well," he then says, breaking the long, silent pause with a slight chuckle, "See ya."
And before you can get another word in, he's gone. The reflection of yourself stares back at you in the darkened screen.
Maybe you should call him back and ask what 'cute' means. What kind of 'cute'? Dinner cute? Coffee cute? Hanging out at his house, cute? But after a long time of staring at his contact, debating how to even ask, you decide it's too late.
You shower, scrubbing every inch of yourself. Exfoliate. Shave—you shave everything—carefully, methodically, in places you don't normally bother with because usually you're thinking "who's going to see?" But if his hand travels further than it did last time, you do not want to be stuck in your own head worrying about it, so you do it just in case. Just to be prepared.
Then you stand in front of your closet for forty minutes trying on everything you own, trying to decide what feels like too much, and what feels like not enough. You don't know.
Eventually, you settle. A skirt you usually avoid because it rides up your thighs too much. A top that's nice without trying too hard. You look at yourself in the mirror. You feel pretty. Normally, you feel clean, or presentable, or fine. But today, you feel pretty.
It's a dangerous feeling. You're getting dressed up for a boy who hasn't done a single assignment all summer. You're shaving your legs for him when technically you're still not sure what "taking you out" implies. But your heart is racing, and your cheeks are warm, and you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror like an idiot, anyway.
So what if you dressed up for him? You're allowed to feel pretty. You're allowed to want him. You're allowed to hope.
You're shaking when you pull up to his place. Not visibly, at least, as you’re gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hide it.
You’ve been talking to yourself under your breath for the last three blocks. Be normal. Be cool. Which would be a lot easier to do if this weren't the first time a boy had asked to "take you out" and you’ve been alone with your own anxious thoughts for so long now that you're starting to dwell on what that might mean again.
Dinner, maybe? The thought simultaneously makes your heart flutter and your stomach churn. You're so nervous, you're not sure you could hold down any food. What if he asks why you're not eating—?
You're getting ahead of yourself. Maybe he's right. You do worry too much. You don't even know where you're going yet, and you're already jumping to conclusions.
Predictably, you're early. Of course you are. You'd left your dorm with an extra twenty minutes because you couldn't stand to pace around your room anymore, and now you're pulling up at the curb feeling like an idiot. But, to your surprise, he's already waiting on the porch.
He spots your car before you even have time to honk, jogging down the steps, and you roll down the window, smiling bright and stupid and probably too eager. Then...
Then your eyes drop to his chest.
The jersey. The school's E-sports team jersey, to be precise. You know what it looks like because you've stalked the team's Instagram page about a hundred times just to stare at the photos of him on there until they were permanently burned into your retinas forever.
"Hey," he says, pulling open the passenger door. "Right on time."
"Hi," you swallow, smiling politely. "What are you wearing?"
"Team gear." He slides into the seat, dropping his bag at his feet. "Regionals are today. Didn't I tell you?"
Your blood runs cold.
No. No, he did not. He said I'm taking you out. He said to wear something cute. He said it was a surprise.
"Regionals," you repeat. "Right. The tournament."
"Yeah. It's at the convention centre. About an hour drive." He's buckling his seatbelt, "Coach said we could bring anyone we want. Figured I should bring my number one supporter, right?"
So it's not a date. Not at all what you were thinking when he called you late at night with his voice all low and asking if you were available—asking if you could drive.
Still, you smile. You smile because even if your heart has sunk into your stomach, you know it's your own fault for thinking this would be anything more than it was.
And, well, this matters to him. This is the thing he's been neglecting the project for. The thing he told you he’d been practicing for, talking about it in the car that first day you met him. He’s choosing to bring you to his thing. That alone must mean something... right?
"That sounds fun," you say, and the words feel like they belong to someone else. "I've never been to an E-sports thing before."
"You'll love it. You'll finally see me play for real. Not just some ranked lobby."
"Yeah." Your smile starts to hurt your cheeks. It strains and fails to reach your eyes. "Can't wait."
The drive is an hour. You spend most of it listening. He talks about the bracket, the teams they're facing, and some enemy team player who's been trash-talking him online. He talks about comps and strats and something called a meta. You nod, you smile. You ask questions. You try to seem engaged.
In a way, you are a little. Not because you care about the game, but because it's hard not to feel warm in the face when you see him like this. He's barely able to sit still in the passenger seat, gesturing with his hands, more animated than you've ever seen him, smirking with the kind of confidence you'd expect a star player to have. This is his thing. This is what he's good at. He invited you.
That has to mean something—you're certain of it now. Even if it's not what you thought. Even if you spent an hour getting ready, shaving everywhere and trying on countless different outfits just to sit in a convention centre folding chair.
You glance down at your skirt and your pretty top. All that effort you put into looking like you hadn't put in effort now feels wasted.
Maybe people dress up nice for these things, you tell yourself. You've never been to an E-sports tournament, so you wouldn't know.
At least, that's what you tell yourself, refusing to believe that he chose those words on purpose, knowing how they'd come across, knowing how they'd affect you.
"You look pretty, by the way."
Your head snaps toward him. He's looking out the window, and the words slipped out of him so casually that you almost don't catch it. Your heart furiously pounds in your chest, all doubt in your mind momentarily forgotten.
"You too." The words tumble out before your brain can catch up, and immediately you want to grab them and shove them back in your mouth. You too? "I mean—you look good. The jersey. It suits you."
There's a hint of a smile on his lips, and yours tug into one too—something small and hopeful.
You keep driving, trying to focus less on the quiet ache in your chest and more on the fact that he is here right now, in your car, bringing you into his world.
The convention center is freezing, the kind of cold that seeps through your thin top and settles into your bones. The air conditioning is blasting, likely to prepare for the body heat of the crowd that'll pack this place in a few hours. But right now, it's just you and a handful of other early arrivals and staff members scattered across folding chairs, listening to the distant sound of someone testing a microphone.
He didn't introduce you to his team. Didn't even glance back. Just pointed at the front row and said, "Sit there," and then he was gone—swallowed by a cluster of matching jerseys and equipment bags. You'd stood there for a moment, awkward, watching him disappear, arms wrapped around yourself against the cold.
That was hours ago. Hours in a hard plastic chair, scrolling through every app on your phone until you'd seen every post, every story, every notification that wasn't there. You got up once to buy an iced coffee from the convention center cafe—watery, gone in ten minutes. It did nothing to quiet the growling in your stomach.
You're cold. You're hungry. You're bored. You're wearing a skirt and a cute top in a convention centre full of strangers who smell like they don't shower, and you feel stupid. So, so stupid. But when he jogs over to you, twenty minutes before the tournament starts, everything brightens. Like you're not freezing to death where you sit. Like it all makes sense now, why, against your better judgment, you decided to stay.
He's got his headset looped around his neck, and his eyes have that focused, sharp kind of intensity you witnessed the first time you saw him play in his bedroom. He carries himself like he’s already won. It’s the kind of easy confidence—or arrogance, rather—that others would call obnoxious. To you, however, it’s captivating.
"Hey!" He squeezes your shoulder, just once. The warmth of his hand cuts through the chill. "Still awake?"
You blink up at him, smiling before you can stop yourself. Your head is foggy from too much fluorescent light and not enough food, but suddenly none of that registers.
"Barely.” You laugh, “But still alive. What about you?"
"I’m ready." He grins, that cocky, unbothered grin. "More than ready, knowing that you're here."
Your breath catches. Stupid. It's such a small thing yet the warmth that blooms in your chest catches you off guard, and for a moment you forget about the miserable afternoon you've just had. You just smile back at him, helplessly.
"Don't get too sleepy. I want to hear you cheer. Loud."
"I will." You say without hesitation.
"Good."
He flashes you one last smile, and then he's gone, slipping back toward the stage. You call after him, "Good luck!" He doesn't turn around. Just raises a hand in acknowledgment.
You sink back into your chair, still smiling, still warm from the brief press of his fingers on your shoulder. It's pathetic, honestly. You know it's pathetic. One touch, one sentence, and suddenly the hours of waiting and the overpriced coffee and the cold that's still seeping through your clothes don't feel like such a big deal anymore.
When the tournament starts, you come to realize you know a lot less about this game than you thought. There's a lot of terminology that flies past your head. Strategies you don’t understand. Names you don’t recognize. But you know enough that you understand when his team is winning, and when he's the last one alive on his team, wiping out the enemy team like they're nothing, and you definitely understand why the crowd cheers loudly when he clutches a 1v5.
They win. Easily. It’s not even close, and when the final round ends and the casters are screaming, and his teammates are out of their chairs—you're on your feet too. Clapping until your hands sting. Cheering, though you're certain you'll lose your voice for it.
He finds you the moment his team filters off the stage. One second you're standing alone, scanning the crowd of jerseys; the next, his hand is at your waist, fingers curling against the fabric of your top, pulling you into his side like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he's done it a hundred times. His palm is warm through the thin material, his thumb pressed just above your hip, and he's wearing the world's biggest grin.
The hall is chaos—people talking in every direction, the music playing too loudly, a coach yelling something across the room. You can't really hear what he's saying, just the rumble of his voice near your ear, the occasional word breaking through: ...killed it... ...see that clutch?... You nod, smiling, hyperaware of the heat of his hand and the way his fingers tighten whenever someone jostles past. He steers you toward his teammates with that grip on your waist, guiding you through the crowd like you're an extension of his victory.
The other boys are clapping him on the back, shouting over each other. Every time someone congratulates him, his hand flexes against your hip—not quite pulling you closer, but not letting you drift either.
"...You good with sushi?"
"Hm?" You furrow your brows, not quite catching his words still.
"Post-game celebration. Coach is treating us," he leans in right next to your ear this time, his words a little clearer. He grabs your arm. "Let's go."
The sushi place is in a strip mall across the parking lot from the convention centre. Laminated menus, lighting that's too bright for a celebration, and employees who look like they're regretting every life choice that led them to this shift. The sheer amount of noise coming from the table doesn't help.
The team has been going around making speeches—thanking the coach, thanking their friends, thanking Sunghoon, their number one captain and player. He soaks it up like a sponge, leaning back in his chair with the ease of a star player who knows he killed it. The table goes a little quieter when it’s finally his turn.
"I'd like to thank my team, of course, for putting their best foot forward. Coach, for keeping us in line. But most importantly..." He turns to you. His arm slides from the back of your chair to your shoulders. "I'd like to thank this one right here. For the support. For cheering me on louder than anyone." He squeezes your shoulder. "You made my life a hell of a lot easier this semester."
Easier.
You're not sure why that choice of words doesn't sit right. Maybe because it felt too cold, or detached. He could've said you made his life better, brighter, happier… and maybe you're reading too much into it. You’re probably overthinking it and jumping to conclusions that aren’t there, like you always do. But easier implies convenience, nothing else, and you don’t really like the way that makes you feel.
He's being nice, you tell yourself. He’s thanking you in front of everyone. It's a good thing.
"Oh, and I got you something." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a jersey. Identical to his own. "My spare jersey. Since you know. I couldn't have done it without you."
You take it, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar in your hands. You open your mouth to say something—thank you, maybe, or you didn't have to—but nothing comes out.
"Put it on."
You do, and the shirt swallows your frame, the hem only a few centimetres above where your skirt ends. His gamertag is printed in bold letters on the back, and on you, it feels like a brand—a mark of his claim. You hold your breath, too overwhelmed by the scent of him, and your stomach does that flipping thing it always seems to when he gives you crumbs of affection like this, except this time with a newfound heaviness resting uncomfortably somewhere within you.
"Looks good," He hums, pleased, nodding to the rest of his team, "Right guys?"
The team cheers, someone whistling while the guy sitting next to him claps his back, and he takes it all in with pride, while you look down at your lap.
"Hey. Don't be shy." He leans in, voice dropping just for you. His knee bumps yours under the table. "I meant it. You do look pretty today."
The heaviness lifts. Just a little. Just enough to put on your brave face again, and the wait staff starts serving up whatever platters they ordered earlier. The boys descend like hawks, piling their dishes high, chopsticks clacking. Two of them fight over the remaining spicy salmon rolls, and someone orders another round of sake; meanwhile, Sunghoon is already talking about the next tournament.
You stare at your plate.
You were hungry earlier. Starving, actually—your stomach had been growling through the final matches, but now you just poke at a piece of nigiri with your chopsticks, turning it over and over, watching the rice fall apart.
This isn't exactly what you had in mind when he said he was taking you out… but he thanked you in front of the team. Gave you a jersey. Called you pretty. And his knee keeps bumping yours under the table, making an embarrassing flush creep to your cheeks every time.
He wants you here. That should be enough. That should make you happy. So why do you still feel so hollow?
"Excuse me," a voice appears behind you both. You and Sunghoon turn to face him. "I'm with the school paper. Mind if I grab a few quotes?"
A guy with a press badge and a notebook is standing beside the table. You'd seen him earlier, sitting in the same section near the front as you. Reserved seating. It makes sense. Regionals are a big deal for your school; this is probably the most interesting story they've had in years.
"Yeah, sure."
"Just a few questions about the match. The clutch in finals—what was going through your head?"
"Oh. Easy. I locked the fuck in," he breaks into a smug grin.
Sunghoon talks about game sense. Instincts. Reading the enemy. The reporter scribbles notes, asks a few more questions. Asks about his training schedule, the responsibilities of being the team captain, and the pressure.
You continue to poke at your food, assuming none of it involves you, until he glances at you.
"And I see your girlfriend is here. How does it feel to have that kind of support showing up for you?"
Your heart skips. Sunghoon glances at you, but his gaze isn't nearly as panicked as your own
"Oh. She's not my girlfriend." He says it casually. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like the idea had never even occurred to him.
Suddenly, the table is a little quieter, like everyone had hushed their conversations just to overhear. Feeling the weight of everyone's eyes, your fingers tremble around your chopsticks.
"Ah." The reporter looks at you—the jersey, the arm around your shoulder—then offers an apologetic smile, "Sorry, I just assumed—"
"She's more like..." He tilts his head, considering. "My lucky charm."
Lucky charm. Not a girlfriend. Not a friend. Not even my project partner, who gave me a ride here and did all my work for me. A lucky charm. Something you carry around for good fortune and toss in a drawer when you no longer need it.
"Or maybe," he starts again, "She's like my prize. You know, you win the tournament, you get the trophy. She's kind of both. Good luck and a good reward. You know what I mean?"
You hear a snicker from across the table, and he laughs too. He laughs. His arm is still around your shoulder, heavy and warm, and his thumb is tracing idle circles against your sleeve like nothing is wrong. Like he didn't just reduce you to an object in front of a reporter and his whole team.
"I'm just teasing. But, really, the closer I keep her, the easier my life becomes. So, you asked how it feels, right? I'd say it feels pretty damn good," he pulls you closer for a second, giving your shoulder another squeeze, "I was telling the whole team earlier. It's all thanks to her."
"Wait, so she's single?" One of his teammates leans over, "Dude, you've been gatekeeping her all night—"
"Fuck off." He snaps, turning back to the reporter, "Next question."
The interview fades to background noise.
Lucky charm. You want to laugh. Or maybe cry.
As if luck had anything to do with it. The only reason he's here, celebrating, getting interviewed, is because of the labour, time and energy that you freely offered him like a fool. And now he's calling it luck.
You sit there in your seat, his arm heavy around you like he owns you. You realize only then that it means nothing. Absolutely nothing.
You slide out from under it. "Bathroom," you murmur, already on your feet.
He doesn't look up. His hand drops to the back of the empty chair without pause, and the reporter is already asking the next question.
You walk toward the door, and the bell chimes as you leave.
The parking lot is hot. The heat, humid and suffocating, rises off the asphalt, and the air feels thick in your lungs. Your car is at the far end. Too far away, you think, as you make your way. You walk fast, the jersey still hanging off your shoulders, and it feels like the weight of it is slowing you down. You hate that you're still wearing it.
Behind you, the restaurant door opens, and heavy footsteps follow. "Hey! Hey, wait up—"
You don't wait. Obviously. But he catches up very easily, hand on your shoulder to halt your frantic steps.
"What's going on?" He catches up, slightly out of breath. "You just left. What gives?"
You spin around. "I'm a lucky charm? A prize?"
"What?" His expression shifts—not guilty, but confused. Like he genuinely doesn't understand. He takes a moment to gather himself. "Yeah. Like, it's a compliment. Like, I'm lucky to have you here with me. I mean, what did you want me to say? Project partner? Female friend?"
"Listen." Your voice is shaking. "I'm happy for you. You won. Congratulations. But I want to go home now."
"But why? We were having fun, right? And the team loves you—"
"No." You cut him off. "Your team loves you."
"Yeah, and you're with me."
"I'm with you?" The words catch in your throat. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Your heart thuds, watching him carefully. You hold your breath, hoping—desperately, pathetically—to hear something other than a lucky charm this time. Something meaningful. Something more.
"It means..." his voice is careful, processing every word in his head before he decides to say it, "You're wearing a shirt with my name on it, and I'll be the one taking you home after—"
A laugh escapes you. Not because any of this is entertaining, but because you truly cannot fathom how that is the best response he could come up with.
"You're taking me home?"
"You know what I mean."
"Sunghoon." Your voice drops. The frustration is bleeding out, leaving something softer behind. Something that hurts more. Your hands are trembling. "You told me to wear something cute. You said you were taking me out."
"So that's it?" He asks. You don’t know when he moved closer, or how you allowed him to, but suddenly his hand is at your shoulder again. He rubs it as if to comfort you, and his words tumble out, a little more frantic than he usually sounds, "You wanna go out? We can go out. We can go out right now. Just tell me where you want to go. I'll take you—”
"We aren't going anywhere." You say a little firmer this time, brushing his hand away. "I'm leaving."
You walk toward your car, but he doesn't relent. He came here with you, and his ride is standing in front of him, keys in hand, about to disappear. He can't let that happen.
"Wait."
He grabs your arm, his hand warm and familiar. You hate that it still makes your breath catch.
"Please." His voice is different now. Lower. The arrogance is gone—or maybe just hidden. "Don't go. I'm sorry. Okay?"
"Sorry for what?"
"For..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Calling you a lucky charm? And not taking you on a date? Whatever I did. Just… don't leave me here. Please."
"You don't even know what you're apologizing for," You hiss, your hand curling tighter around your car keys.
"Yeah. Because I'm confused." He tries, "I was being nice all night. I gave you the jersey. I don't know what I did wrong, so tell me. I'll do whatever you want. I'll fix it."
"Sunghoon," you frown, taking in a breath. You're going to do it. This is the moment where you stand your ground. "I am not some doll that exists to give you free rides whenever you want. Or do all your work. Or sit through your gaming tournaments and make you look good in front of your teammates."
"You're not—" his brows furrow, "That's not what you are."
"Then what am I?"
You try to step back, but your back meets your car door.
Now you're cornered, and he still hasn't answered. Instead, his hand comes up. Hesitant, not quite sure if he's allowed, or if it's the right choice to make currently in the heat of the moment, but he does it regardless. His fingers brush your jaw, featherlight, just tracing it and his thumb settles under your chin. Everything else around you ceases to exist.
"Tell me what you want me to say." His voice is rough, and he tilts your face up, "What do you want from me? I don't understand what you want."
"Sunghoon—"
"I keep thinking about last week," He exhales, something between a laugh and a breath. His other hand finds your hip, fingers curling into the fabric of the jersey. "What we never got to finish. I know you think about it too."
His forehead nearly touches yours. His thumb still rests under your chin, holding you in place, and his eyes drop to your lips.
"One last time," he asks, "What do you want?"
You realize he's doing it again. The thing where you try to talk about something serious—the project, the way he's been treating you—and weaponizes his irresistibility against you. You wonder if he even realizes that he's doing it.
Regardless, you can’t help how you stare. He's just so... beautiful. So incredibly irresistible. The warm press of his body, caging yours to the car. The intense look in his eyes. His height, and how he towers over you. It's too much.
"You know what I want,” your voice comes out smaller than you intended.
There it is. The part where you give in. You always do. How could you not? You’re just a girl, caged between the hottest man you've ever seen and your car door.
Your eyes drop to his lips.
"That's all you had to say," he murmurs.
He kisses you. Your first kiss. It's not gentle. It's hungry, desperate, his hand sliding into your hair, his body pressing against yours. Your brain shuts off entirely. Your hands come up to his chest, and instead of pushing him away like you should, you're gripping his jersey, pulling him closer. You have no idea what you're doing, but the feeling of his tongue in your mouth and his hands all over you has you whimpering under his touch, melting into his arms.
"You're with me." He says against your lips, rough and unrelenting. "Stay here with me."
His hand slides from your hip to the car door behind you.
"Let me make it up to you. I'll treat you so well. I promise."
Your whole body is trembling. He's so close and so warm, and you've wanted this for weeks and—fuck, who are you kidding?
The back seat of your car is cramped, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's above you, his body a warm weight, kissing you, worshipping you with his tongue and his mouth, kissing along your neck. He takes his time, letting you get familiar with the shape of him atop you, his hard cock pressed against your thigh through his pants.
You're embarrassed with the amount of slick between your legs and how your skirt has ridden up all the way at your hips to reveal it all. If you thought you could ever try to hide what he does to you before, you certainly can’t do it now.
"Look at you," he murmurs against your mouth. His fingers find the hem of the jersey—his jersey. "You look so good in this. So fucking good."
You can't speak. Your voice is gone. His hand slides up your thigh, pushing the jersey higher. Then he pauses. Looks down. A slow grin spreads across his face. His hand traces over your underwear, smooth skin separated by thin fabric.
"You prepped for this?" Your face burns. "All this?" His fingers thumb the lace edge of your panties, "For me?"
"I didn't—I wasn't—"
"You were expecting something." His voice is teasing. "Weren't you? All dressed up. All smooth." He kisses your throat. "Fuck, that's so cute."
A sound escapes you—a whimper you didn't mean to make—and he chuckles, the vibration of it travelling down your neck. His hand is still on your thigh, thumb tracing idle circles against bare skin just above the hem of your skirt. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers splay wide like he's claiming territory. Your hips shift without permission, angling toward him, chasing the pressure he isn't giving you.
Then his hand retreats. Slides back to your waist. His lips capture yours in another open-mouthed kiss, and you make a frustrated little sound against his mouth—half protest, half plea. Your fingers wrap around his wrist and guide it back down, pressing his palm right where you need it, your thighs parting in invitation.
“Hm?” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyebrows raised, lips still slick. There's genuine surprise underneath his evident amusement. "You want—?"
“More.”
The word comes out sounding more certain than you expected. His expression flickers, both taken aback and deeply, thoroughly pleased, then his hand resumes its position, palm pressing flat against the lace of your underwear. He doesn't slip beneath the fabric, rubbing only slow, deliberate circles over it, letting the friction build until your hips are rolling into his touch.
It's a lot. The pressure, the heat, the way he watches your face the whole time like he's studying you. You're so sensitive that even just his hand over fabric has your breath catching in your throat.
"Like that?" he murmurs.
You nod, not trusting your voice. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve, holding on.
"I've never—"
"I know." There's a teasing lilt to his voice, his lips curving against your throat. He likes this. Likes the way you're coming apart beneath him, all trembling and flushed and brand-new. His fingers don't slow. "You want to stop?"
It's a dare. He already knows the answer. His thumb presses down just a little harder, drawing another broken sound from your lips.
"No." The word is torn from your throat too fast.
Stopping is actually the opposite of what you want. You've been dreaming of his touch all summer. Even if he's a complete asshole, he's a beautiful asshole, and the ache between your thighs knows where its priorities lie.
"Yeah?" His voice drops, words brushing against your ear, "Then tell me what you want."
"Sunghoon..." you trail off, his thumb still circling your clit over your underwear, "I don't know. Just touch me more, please."
“Begging already?” He smiles against your mouth, and then his hand slides back down, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. His fingers are warm as they brush through your slick folds, gathering the wetness that's been building since he first kissed you. He doesn't push in yet—he circles your entrance lazily, teasing, letting you feel the pressure without the invasion. "You're too good to me."
It's been a while since he's done any of this, but he's always been good with his hands. It’s like facing an opponent: The technique is muscle memory, and the strategy is played by ear. He just has to watch you, learn your weaknesses, and exploit them until he wins. Though when it comes to you, he's learning that you're weak to pretty much everything he does, watching your lips part and your brows scrunch together without his fingers even inside you yet.
“So wet. So worked up. You really wanted this, didn't you?" he whispers, "Don't worry. I've got you."
He pushes one finger inside you—slow, deliberate, sinking deep until his knuckle presses against your entrance. Your back arches, a sharp gasp escaping your throat, and he watches your face as he curls that finger, searching, finding the spot that makes your eyes flutter shut.
"That's it," he breathes. "That's my girl."
He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the wet, slick sound of your body accepting him fills the foggy car. He pumps them in and out, his thumb pressing circles against your clit, and you feel yourself clenching around him, your hips rolling to meet his rhythm. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
"Feels good?" His voice is in your ear, low and rough. You nod, unable to respond. Breath catching in your throat because you can barely breathe, think or do anything coherent. "Is this all you wanted? Needy girl just wanted my attention?"
In the midst of the fog, it catches your eye again. His cock, hard and untouched in his pants. You want to see him. All of him. And you reach out for the waistband, desperate to feel the weight of him in your hands.
"Wanna touch you, too," you manage, and his fingers slow inside you for a moment.
"Yeah?" He grins, watching you pull the waistband down and palm him through his boxers. He just watches you fumble around, looking up with that awestruck, wide-eyed gaze. "You sure?"
You pull him free anyway. And then you stop, staring for what you're sure is way too long. Because he's—well. He's big. Not that you have any real-life experience to compare him to, but still. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he's impossibly, unfairly big. So much that it makes you wonder if the universe just decided to give him everything: the face, the hands, the voice, and now this. Maybe you should've expected that the literal embodiment of the genetic lottery would have a pornstar cock.
"What's the matter?" He laughs, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better view of your face. "Nervous?"
“No.” You swallow, still staring. "You're just really—"
"Big?" He says it for you, clearly enjoying himself. "Yeah. I know."
The bigger the dick, the bigger the ego, huh?
You watch him grin down at you, and you really do want to pretend like you're not affected by it, but it's actually kind of terrifying and a lot more than you bargained for.
“Don’t think about that right now,” He takes his free hand and encloses it around yours, around him, not showing you how to do it. Just guiding you. “I’m enjoying this.”
Your fingers are gentle and trembling and completely unsure, but he doesn't mind. He takes in the sight, watching you try to please him with your hand while you fall apart on his fingers. You clench around him as he presses inside, finding the right spot that makes your eyes roll back, and you can't help the cry that leaves your parted lips.
"That’s it," he murmurs. "Good girl. Just let go."
You unravel around his fingers, back arching off the leather seat, and he has to press his free hand flat across your hipbones to keep you from bucking against his palm. Your thighs clamp around his wrist, trembling, and his name, broken and breathless, catches in your throat. It’s the most beautiful sound he's ever heard you make. He watches it happen, watches your mouth fall open, and your lashes flutter, watches the tension seize through your body and then release, all at once, around his fingers.
When you come back to yourself, you're still gripping him. Your fingers are wrapped around his cock, loose now, your palm slick with the precome that's gathered at the tip. He's still hard and aching. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving, and for a long moment, he doesn't move—just stares down at the way your hand looks wrapped around him, your delicate fingers against the flushed, heavy weight of his length. Then his jaw tightens, and his hand closes over yours, repositioning your grip.
"Like this," he guides you, pumping your hand up and down his shaft. He tries to show you the rhythm, the pressure, the speed. And to your credit, you're trying. You are. And if he were in the mood to be a little more patient, he'd let you play with him. But currently, he doesn't have it in himself to torture himself any longer.
He closes his fist around yours, harder. Then he's moving, fucking into your hand with short, desperate thrusts. The sound of it fills the cramped car, skin on skin, his hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's too fast, too ragged to be anything but pure need. You watch him, still dazed from your own release, still sprawled across the back seat with your skirt bunched at your waist and his jersey twisted around your torso. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, and your eyes—wide, glassy, utterly fixed on where his cock slides through your palm—are the only thing he can look at.
"Fuck, look at you," he groans. His head drops forward, hair falling into his eyes, but he forces himself to keep watching his length disappear and reappear through your grip. "All spread out for me. My cute little reward. My prize. All mine."
His rhythm breaks. His hips stutter, and then he's spilling across the jersey with a low, broken groan, something primal and possessive curling in his gut at the sight. You lie there, still catching your breath, wearing his name and his release.
He braces himself above you, breathing hard. His forehead nearly touches yours. The windows are fogged opaque, sealing you both inside this cramped, humid quiet.
Your skirt is bunched at your hips. The jersey is twisted around your torso, damp and clinging to your sweat. You don't move. Don't speak. Just lie there beneath him, wearing the evidence of what just happened, still recovering.
He exhales, long and slow, and his eyes trace over you.
"Shit," he breathes, sounding almost in awe. "You're really something, you know that?"
You don't answer. You're still catching your breath, floating somewhere between the high and the slow, creeping return of reality.
He doesn't notice. He's too busy looking at you and the jersey he's made a mess of—at the way you're sprawled beneath him with something between satisfaction and wonder. All of his doing.
"So," he murmurs, propping himself up on one elbow. His free hand traces a lazy line down your arm. "You forgive me?"
"Hm?" Your eyes finally meet his, blinking up.
"The tournament. The project. The stuff I said. Or did." He presses his lips to your jaw, peppering kisses until he meets the shell of your ear. His thumb draws a slow circle on your hip. "You're not still mad, right?"
Your chest rises and falls, not quite finding the words just yet.
"Because I meant what I said. You're with me. This—" he gestures between you, "—this thing we have. I like this."
His eyes are on you—his unfairly beautiful eyes.
It would be so easy to forget the whole night ever happened. Your hands twitch where you hold onto him, warm and solid, and the part of you that's still deeply infatuated with the sight of him like this wants so badly to pull him back down and discover all the other ways he could take you to heaven and back.
But then you look down at the jersey. His jersey. At the stain already drying on the fabric. He'd marked his territory and tried to present it to you as a gift, and you think the worst part of it all is that he really, truly does believe it's something to be grateful for.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes. Your throat tightens. For a moment, you almost let it go. You almost fall back in.
"Also, like... you’ll still drive me back, right?"
Your eyes snap open.
You glare up at him. At his perfect, oblivious face. At the faint smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. He's still braced above you, still warm, still inside the afterglow you were both supposed to be sharing. And for a moment, you wonder who’s more stupid: him or you.
"Get out."
He lifts his head, "Huh?"
"Get out of my car."
"We just—hold on," He pushes himself up, still dazed. "I made you—you literally just—"
"You made me cum. Great job." You shove at his chest until his back hits the door, and he fumbles with his pants. "You’re still an asshole. Now get out of my face."
"You're kicking me out?" He gapes, "You can’t do that to me.”
"There's a bus stop nearby."
Your hand reaches for the door behind him, shoving him out, and he stumbles onto the asphalt. His brows furrow.
"I'm not taking the fucking bus."
"Not my problem." You yank the jersey over your head. Ball it up. Throw it at his chest, and he catches it on reflex—his own name, crumpled, damp, ruined. "Find your own way home."
You slam the door and climb into the driver's seat, ignoring the way he pleads outside the window, knocking on the glass. He's frantic, still recovering from the whiplash, but you don't stop.
You start the engine and back out of the parking spot, speeding away and in the rearview mirror, he's still standing there. Jersey in one hand, watching you disappear.
The ride back to your dorm is quiet. Radio off. Just you and your thoughts, the sun bleeding orange across the horizon.
People always say your first kiss is supposed to be special or that your first time is supposed to mean something. Meanwhile, your first kiss was followed by getting fingered in the backseat of your car in a strip mall parking lot with a boy who treats you like trash, wearing his cum-stained E-sports jersey.
It's a tale as old as time: a girl who doesn't know any better gives everything to a boy who couldn't care less. Maybe you should feel used or ashamed. Maybe it should feel wrong, or cheap, or degrading. Yet, it doesn't really. Because honestly? You'd wanted it all summer. His hands on you, his voice in your ear, touching you in places you've never been touched before. It wasn't special. It wasn't romantic. But it was yours, and you took it.
There is a heaviness in your chest. You can't deny that. But there is something else that shines brighter, that courses through your veins, head to toe.
Satisfied. You feel satisfied. A little giddy, even.
Park Sunghoon. Brilliant esports player. Terrible project partner—and terrible person, really. But fuck, if he wasn't good with his hands. And body. And words. And face.
You grin to yourself at the memory of it all, free of the anxiety that used to cripple you every time you thought of him. All those hours you'd spent wondering what he thought of you, if he liked you back. You don't give a shit what he thinks anymore.
He debated for a while who to call. Not Jay, obviously. Jay would take one look at the crumpled fabric in his hand and drive in the opposite direction. He could've called Jake—Jake wouldn't judge him for his sexual failures, given his pathetic history with women, but Jake would certainly judge everything else about the situation. Also, there’s no way he would drive an hour out on a whim just to pick him up.
That left Heeseung. The one most likely to actually pick up, only because he’s a nosy little shit and he'll absolutely never let Sunghoon live it down.
Sunghoon finds himself sitting in the passenger seat, jersey crumpled in his lap, staring out the window, and Heeseung takes a loud, dramatic sniff.
"You smell like jizz." He glances at the jersey. "The fuck did you do with that?"
"None of your business."
"None of my business, my ass." Heeseung pulls out of the lot. "I'm doing you a big favour. Think I deserve to know."
"I don't get it. I mean, I don't get her. I was doing everything right. I gave her the jersey. I told the team I couldn't have won without her. I made her feel good. Really good. Like, screaming-my-name kind of good." He pauses. "Not to brag. But I blew her fucking mind. And then suddenly it's 'get out of my car,' and she throws the jersey at my chest and drives off."
He turns to Heeseung, genuinely bewildered. "What am I missing?"
"Let me get this straight," Heeseung changes lanes. Checks his blind spot. "She drove you to your game? On top of all the project shit she did for you?"
"She wanted to."
"Did she?"
"...Well, she wanted to see me." He folds his arms, "She had a good time. So I don't get the problem—"
"Sunghoon. Dude." Heeseung sighs, "The whole seduction manipulation thing you're trying to do? It only works if you're hot and smart enough to pull it off. You're just hot."
"I'm not manipulating her."
"Sure you're not."
"I'm not. I'm just trying to keep her happy. Which, judging by how hard she came, I thought I was doing my job right."
Heeseung snorts. "Your job?"
"What?"
"You're treating her like a resource. Like a side quest. Keep her happy, get the rewards. She's a human being, not an NPC, dumbass."
"That's not—" The denial dies halfway out of his mouth. Sunghoon stops, brows furrowing at his roommate's words. "That's not what she is. No, she's nice to me. Like, genuinely nice." The corner of his lip tugs, almost involuntary. "She's fun to be around. Laughs at my jokes. She listens when I talk about Valorant. She has this look, like she's all impressed, even though she probably doesn't understand any of it. And man, you should've seen the way she cheered for me. It was like... the best feeling in the world."
He stops a moment, sighing, the memory of you beneath him in the car resurfacing itself. You, falling apart for him.
"She's cute," he says, and the words feels a little too innocent for what he actually means, but he probably shouldn't say anything more in front of Heeseung anyways. "She's really cute."
He stops. Blinks. His own words catch up to him, and suddenly the inside of the car feels very small.
Suddenly, he feels warm. These days, he always seems to feel that way when he thinks about you. It's annoying. It's distracting. It's—
"Hold the fuck on." The car comes to a screeching halt at a red light, and Heeseung turns. "You like her."
"What?" It comes out too fast. "Yeah, right. You know I don't do dating. Or any of that bullshit. It's a waste of—"
"I didn't ask if you wanted to marry her. I asked if you liked her."
Sunghoon looks out the window, streetlights passing.
He thinks about you. Your laugh, your smile, the voice notes you always leave and how he sometimes finds himself listening to them late at night when he has nothing better to do. He thinks about the way you looked in the crowd, sitting there for him. The way you always show up when he needs you and let him treat you like trash.
For a while, he told himself he was only getting close to you for convenience. Though there’s nothing convenient about the jittery feeling in his stomach right now, is there? He shoves it back down.
"No," he folds his arms. "Obviously no."
Heeseung gives him a long look. A very long look. Then he turns back to the road.
"Then stop bothering the poor girl and do your damn project."
Heeseung turns up the radio. The highway hums beneath them.
Sunghoon stays silent. The jitteriness in his stomach fades into something new. Something that aches. A terrible feeling—an awful one. He wonders how you might feel right now. Worse than him, he's sure.
"I will," he suddenly says. "I'll stop."
He'll do his work. He'll make things right. And next time, when you inevitably come back around, he'll apologize properly.
Sunghoon opens the project folder. Stares at the empty files, the frontend he never built. The CSS that's still mostly placeholder comments.
This should be easy. He'd always told himself I could pass this class in my sleep if I actually tried. But now he's trying, and his brain is a blank wall.
He types a line, deletes it, types again. Wrong syntax. The error at the bottom of the screen glares red and refuses to explain itself. He opens google, checks Stack Overflow, which presents and answer he doesn't understand. He copies the code anyway, slots it in, and five more errors bloom where one used to be.
This is bad. Severely bad. If he fails this course again, his GPA risks dropping below the minimum threshold for athletic eligibility. No GPA, no team. No team, no playing next season. And if Sunghoon can’t play next season, the team loses the tournament, and they lose funding. No funding means the program folds, which means he can kiss his E-sports career goodbye.
His hand twitches toward his phone. It's become a reflex now—reach for you the moment something goes wrong, except now you won’t help him. Because he fucked that up and asked for too much too quickly and made you feel used. And now he’s stuck, watching the errors keep piling up, knowing the deadline is three days away.
Leave the poor girl alone.
He grabs his phone anyway.
He can't do it without you. He doesn't know the syntax, doesn't know the structure. You were always there, filling the gaps, smoothing the edges, making it look easy. And he let you. He counted on it. He counted on you, and he didn't even realize it until you were gone.
He needs you. He opens your chat and looks at his messages. Still unanswered. Still unread.
Sunghoon: hey. i'm sorry.
Sunghoon: i know you're mad but
Sunghoon: idk how to do this without you
sent three days ago
Sunghoon: hey
Sunghoon: i don’t wanna bother you again
Sunghoon: but i really am trying
Sunghoon: and im stuck
Sunghoon: please
sent two days ago
"Hey. It's me. I don't know if you're listening to these anymore." He clears his throat, eyes on the timer of the voice recording. He’s sent a lot of these over the past few days, and he’s long since stopped hoping you’ll respond. He treats it almost like a confessional instead. "I'm sorry. For everything. I really am. I tried to do the project. Like, actually tried. And I can't. I don't know how. I never went to class, and I never—I know it's all my fault. And that I've dug my own grave. Just... I hope you know I'm trying. And..."
A long silence. The recording meter ticks.
"...I miss you—fuck. Sorry. Just. Yeah. Sorry"
He hits send, immediately shoving the device aside and burying his face in his hands. He keeps telling himself he doesn't want to bother you. That he can figure this out on his own. That he should leave you alone. But the cursor's still blinking on an empty file, and his phone's still dark, and the lie is getting harder to hold onto every time he reaches for it. He needs you.
Sunghoon waits outside the lecture hall.
He's never even been to this building before, even had to look up the room number, the time, and the building itself. But now he’s there, leaning against the wall, hood pulled over his head, arms crossed, watching the doors like he's holding an angle. Students trickle out in pairs and clusters. He scans every face.
Then he sees you.
You're near the back of the crowd, and you're not alone. Some guy is walking beside you—boring and forgettable. He's leaning in as you talk, nodding at whatever you're saying, and smiling at you, and Sunghoon wants to call him pathetic, but you're smiling back at the guy. His jaw tightens.
You haven't noticed him yet. You're still talking, gesturing with one hand, your bag slung over your shoulder, looking strangely relaxed. You never looked like that with him. He only knows you as the flustered girl who froze in the library when he knee touched yours. You, who melted into his touch in the backseat of his car. Not... this.
The guy says something, and you laugh, making Sunghoon's fingers dig into his own arm.
Then your eyes sweep the hall, landing on him. You hold for half a second before immediately looking away, starting to walk faster. You brush past him like he doesn’t exist, but Sunghoon’s already pushing himself off the wall, falling into step beside you.
"Hey." His hood falls back over his shoulders. "Can we talk?"
"I have somewhere to be."
"Five minutes. Please."
"Pretty sure she said no," The other guy frowns, then looks at you. "Everything okay? You know him?"
"She's my project partner," Sunghoon practically seethes, not looking at him. His eyes are on you. "Now leave us alone."
"Think that's up to her to decide—"
"She's with me." Sunghoon's voice is flat and final. "Right?"
You stop walking. Your shoulders square and you turn to face him, chin lifting, and for a split second, there's something almost amused flickering at the corner of your mouth. Like you'd been expecting this. Still, your eyes are cold, your jaw set. You’re pissed. He’s never seen you truly, completely pissed. You always hid it beneath a smile.
"It's fine," you say to the guy, your voice calm. "I'll catch up with you later."
The guy hesitates. Looks at Sunghoon, then back at you. He's probably weighing his options, and Sunghoon watches him do the math in real time.
"Yeah. Okay." He scoffs, walking off, "Later."
Sunghoon turns back to you immediately, his jaw still tight from watching that guy disappear around the corner.
"Who was that?"
"Classmate." You say it flat. You’re already walking again, your pace hurried.
"Yeah, right." He scoffs, falling into step beside you. "Does he know that? That he's just a classmate?"
"Why does it matter to you?"
"You're ignoring my messages." He avoids the question.
"Okay." You don't slow down. Don't even glance at him. "And?"
"And I'm kind of desperate here," His voice is rising now, frustration bleeding through the cracks. "I've been trying to reach you for days. I need your help."
You stop at the stairwell door, hand on the push bar, and finally, you look at him. Your expression is unreadable, but there's something almost pitying in the tilt of your head.
"You always need things, don't you?"
He blinks, and you're already pushing through the door, your footsteps echoing up the concrete stairwell. He hesitates for half a second, one hand braced against the doorframe, watching you climb, and then he's following, the door slamming shut behind him.
"You're greedy, Sunghoon. I've already given you so much."
"I know." His own footsteps fall heavy behind yours. "I know I don't deserve anything."
"Then stop wasting my time." You snap back.
You shove through the fire door at the top of the stairs, and suddenly you're both outside—the heat hitting him like a wall after the stale cool of the lecture hall, sunlight glaring off the sidewalk. You cut across the quad, weaving between clusters of students without slowing, and he stays on your heels like a shadow. You know he’s there, but you keep walking. Past the fountain. Past the library.
By the time you reach your dorm building, you're both breathing harder from the pace, and when you push through the glass doors into the air-conditioned lobby, he slips through behind you. Slowly, you turn.
"Why are you still following me?" Your frown cuts deep, brows furrowed. "Seriously, this is stalker behaviour."
Sunghoon doesn't flinch. Doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed.
"I won't leave until you help me."
"I dare you to tell that to campus security." You retort, chin tilted up, eyes locked on his.
Then you exhale through your nose, sharp and dismissive, and turn on your heel toward the elevator. You jab the call button with your thumb, harder than necessary.
"I dare you to call campus security." Suddenly, he stands beside you, hands in his pockets, shoulder nearly brushing yours, a ghost of that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You won't."
The elevator dings, soft and cheerful, utterly indifferent to the tension coiled in the tiny space between your bodies. He steps in and stands close enough that you catch the familiar scent of him, and the doors slide shut, sealing you both inside.
"Because you don't scare me," you say, prodding a finger at his chest. He glances down at it, then back up at you, eyebrow raised. "You're like a whiny little toddler. Throwing a tantrum just because I won't give you what you want this time."
He doesn't step back. If anything, he leans into the prod, just slightly, letting your finger press into the fabric of his hoodie.
"Please," he says, and his voice has shifted—lower, stripped of the smirk. "The project is due in three days. None of my code works. I tried. I actually tried. I wanted to do better. But I don't know how to do this. I never learned, because you were always—"
"Always doing it for you." You stare at the elevator doors. "Yeah. I know."
"I'm sorry, okay? I know I fucked up. The tournament. The jersey. The lucky charm thing. All of it." He huffs, a short, humourless laugh at his own expense. "It wasn't very feminist of me. I shouldn't have treated you like an object, or something."
"No." Your voice is flat. "You shouldn't have."
The elevator dings, and you step out fast, keys already in your hand. Still, he's right behind you. His footsteps fall heavy on the carpet, matching your pace, refusing to give you even a stride of distance.
"Stop following me." You say again, firmer this time.
"I told you I won't."
"Well, you can cry in the hallway, then. I'm not dealing with this." You reach your door, and the keys jingle sharply as you slot them into the lock, missing the first time because your hands are not quite steady. You twist the knob and slip inside, already rolling your eyes, already swinging the door shut. "Bye—"
His hand catches it. Palm flat against the wood, fingers curling around the edge, arm braced. The door stops dead, half-open, and you're left gripping the handle on your side.
You stare at his hand. Then at him.
He pushes, though not very hard, and he steps through the gap, his body filling the frame and then clearing it. The door clicks shut behind him, and he leans back against it, his chest rising and falling with breaths that are just a little too fast to hide, like he’s equally as shocked as you are that he just forced himself inside your dorm room.
Your keys are still in your hand. Your knuckles are white around them, and you back up a few steps. Your chest is rising and falling to match his now, and the room feels suddenly very, very small.
“Listen, I just want to—”
"Get the fuck out of my room, or I swear to god I will actually call security."
"What do you want from me?" His voice comes out raw, louder than he meant. He pushes off the door, one step forward, then stops himself. "I apologized. I've tried to do my work. I'm trying to make things right. You want me to get on my knees and beg? 'Cause I will. I'll fucking do it."
"Sunghoon—"
He drops.
The movement is sudden and unceremonious. His knees hit the carpet with a dull thud, and for a second, he just stays there, head bowed, hair falling forward into his eyes, probably in need of a haircut. Then he looks up at you from the floor, hands clasped together.
"Please." His voice cracks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
You stare down at him, distraught. A little horrified. Kind of cringing to yourself, honestly. And for a moment, you just watch him apologize over and over again. He mutters the same things he texted you about already. Missing you. Wanting to be better. Wanting to fix things. Needing to pass the class.
You drop your keys on your bedside table. The clatter breaks the rhythm of his apologies, and he goes silent. His head lifts, tracking the sound, tracking you as you take a step toward him. Then another. He doesn't move. Doesn't breathe, it seems like.
Stopping just in front of him, his clasped hands loosen, fingers uncurling, and then he's reaching for yours instead—slow, uncertain, like he's not sure he's allowed. His palms are warm, a little clammy. His fingers wrap around your knuckles and squeeze, and you can feel the tremor in his grasp. You think this is the first time you've ever seen this man experience any sort of real fear.
You lift his chin with your free hand, fingers pressing into his jaw, tilting his face up. The movement isn’t gentle or kind, as if the frown on your lips wasn't indicative enough of your displeasure with whatever this display is.
"You're pathetic."
"I know."
"You're an entitled, egotistical, manipulative loser."
"I know."
"Get up."
He does, and now you're the one craning your neck to look at him.
"For the last time." You say it slowly, "Leave me alone."
He doesn't move. His eyes trace your face. Your throat. The line of your collarbone. Your lips, still pulled into a tight frown.
"I can't do that." A silence follows. "You don't want me to do that either."
"I do."
"Maybe you do," he clarifies, hand finally reaching out until his fingers meet your throat, grazing your skin until they meet your chin. You lean into the touch. It’s your weakness. Your fatal flaw. You can say whatever you want, but when he has his hands on you, you crumble in his grasp. "But your body wants something else."
His thumb brushes your lower lip. Your mouth parts without permission.
You hold his gaze. Your breathing is shallow, your pulse hammering at the base of your throat where his fingers just were. You hate the way you can't pull yourself away.
“Tell me what you want,” He rests leans in closer, his voice rough. "I can make it up to you. I'll make you forget what you were even upset about. You just have to—"
You kiss him. Hard enough to shut him up. Hard enough that he makes a small, surprised sound against your mouth before his hand tightens in your hair and he kisses you back.
It's different from the parking lot. Slower, a little hesitant because you're still learning how this all works. Desperate still, but less immediately urgent. His hand cradles the back of your head, and his lips work yours like they have something to prove. Your hands come up to his chest, and this time you don't push him away.
When you break apart, you're both breathing hard. His forehead presses to yours, his eyes dark and a little dazed. The look of someone who knows they're about to get exactly what they wanted. You despise it.
"Are you really whoring yourself out for grades?" Your voice comes out breathless, undermining the bite you'd intended.
He laughs, low and warm against your mouth.
"If I'm whoring myself out for anything, it's forgiveness." His hand drops to your waist, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip. "I meant it when I said I missed you."
"Oh, I'm sure you do." You laugh bitterly, but his lips are already trailing down your jaw. "I'm sure you miss the way I did all your work and drove you around and—"
"I miss when you were mine." He says it against your throat, the words vibrating against your skin. His hand tightens on your hip. "And not laughing at some other asshole's jokes."
You can feel the shift in him, his possessiveness bleeding through the charm.
"Seriously, who was that guy?"
"Told you. Nobody." Your head tips back as his mouth finds the hollow beneath your ear. "Just a classmate."
"Did you do anything with—?"
"No. Obviously, no." The sigh that escapes you is half-frustration, half-surrender. "Just you. You know it's just you."
"That's right." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and there's satisfaction in his eyes—warm and smug and entirely undeserved. "Just me."
His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.
"What we did in the parking lot was just the start." His lips brush your ear, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. "I can do so much more for you. You know I can."
Your back suddenly hits the mattress. You didn't feel him walking you there—didn't register the steps, the turn, the careful way he lowered you down. But now he's above you, braced on his forearms, looking at you with a kind of hunger and hope.
"Let me apologize properly." He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing your knuckles. "Will you?"
You look up at him. At his jaw. His mouth. His dark, beautiful eyes. You nod without questioning it.
His lips find your throat first. Soft. Slow. He traces the line of your pulse with his mouth, feeling it flutter beneath his attention. Then lower—your collarbone, the hollow at the base of your throat, the warm skin just above the neckline of your shirt. He pushes the fabric aside, just enough, and presses a kiss there. Then another. Then lower.
His hands move with the same precision he brings to his game, but slower. Like he's memorizing the landscape of you as he strips you of your clothes. His mouth traces a slow path down your stomach. You’re near-bare when his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, and he pauses, looking up at you through his lashes.
"Just lay back."
You nod again, not trusting your voice.
He pulls the fabric down. His breath is warm against the inside of your thigh. Then his mouth is there—gentle at first, testing, learning what makes you gasp and what makes you go still. His hands hold your hips, thumbs tracing circles into your skin, steadying you.
"Too much?" He murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver up your spine.
"No," You swallow. "Don't stop."
With that, he's grinning, lowering himself between your thighs.
He takes you apart slowly. Thoroughly. His tongue works in patterns you can't track, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, his voice a low murmur of praise against your skin. So good for me. So pretty. Just like that.
When he feels you getting close, he doesn't speed up. He holds the rhythm steady, deliberate, drawing it out until your hands are fisted in his hair and your back is arching off the mattress and his name is the only word left in your vocabulary.
"Who's making you feel this good?" His voice is rough, muffled against your skin. "Tell me."
"Sunghoon."
"Say it again."
"Sunghoon—please—!"
You shatter. The wave crashes through you, and he works you through every second of it—his mouth never stopping, his hands grounding you, holding you together even as you fall apart. When the last tremor leaves your body, you're gasping, your fingers still twisted in his hair.
He kisses his way back up. Your hip. Your ribs. The curve of your shoulder.
"All mine," he murmurs against your skin, pressing the words into you like a claim.
Finally, his lips find yours. Still slow, none of that frantic hunger that had him pressed against you before you could think in the back of your car. His hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and his mouth moves against yours like an apology he doesn't know how to put into words.
But you're not done with him yet. Not even close.
Your hands drop from his chest to his waistband, fingers finding the drawstring and tugging. You fumble—too eager, too impatient—and the knot catches, your knuckles pressing into the hard plane of his stomach as you work at it. His abs tense under your touch. He pulls back, eyes wide, lips still swollen.
"What are you doing?" His voice is rough, caught between surprise and something else. His hand hovers over yours, but doesn't stop you.
"Want you." You meet his eyes and hold them, your chin tilting up. "Inside me."
He nearly groans at the sound of that, dick twitching in his pants. But, for the first time, he hesitates. Even now—even with you laid out beneath him, even with the taste of you still on his lips—there's a flicker of concern in his expression. "You sure?"
"You want forgiveness." Your voice is steadier than you feel. "Show me how sorry you are."
He stares at you for a beat. Something in his expression shifts—surprise giving way to something darker, more amused, thoroughly impressed. A low chuckle escapes him, warm and rough, and he shakes his head like he can't quite believe you.
"You want it that bad, huh?"
You push his hoodie up over his shoulders, suddenly self-conscious of how much skin you’re showing compared to him. He finishes the job for you, peeling off the hoodie and shirt beneath it in one motion, and then he’s reaching for the waistband.
You barely notice how his sweatpants are gone in a single impatient shove, too focused on him; the broad sweep of his chest, the tight lines of his stomach, the way his arms flex as he braces himself above you. Your hands flatten against his chest without second thought.
"How the hell are you so..." You trail off, too stunned to finish.
"Gym. Sometimes." He shrugs, "What? I'm not a complete loser."
"You're worse than a loser." You retort, but your words betray your actions as you find the waistband of his boxers.
"I am?" He's grinning now, watching your hands fumble, "You don't seem to mind."
He shifts his weight as you pull them down, and then you have him—hard, bare and intimidating, grinding against the inside of your thigh. Your breath catches.
"I'm serious, though." His voice drops. His forehead presses to yours, and his hips still. "You sure you want this? It feels sort of wrong. Like..."
"Like what?"
He doesn't answer right away. His thumb traces a slow line along your hip, grounding himself, grounding you. Like you should save it for someone else, he thinks. Someone more deserving. The thought makes him shudder. He can't stand it—the image of someone else's hands on you. Someone else seeing you like this, all flushed and open and unguarded. He's too obsessed with the way you react to his touch. Too greedy to give it up.
"Sunghoon," you sigh, "I literally don't care. Just put it in."
He sucks in a breath.
"Well, I care." He presses closer, and you feel him at your entrance. He doesn’t push in yet, just rests there, heavy and warm. His eyes find yours. "So tell me if it hurts. Tell me—" He pushes in just barely, just the head of him, and your mouth falls open. "—fuck, you're gorgeous."
He's not fully in yet—just working his way inside, pausing to let you adjust to each inch. His thumb strokes the back of your hand in slow, soothing circles. And yet still—
"So big," you whimper, glancing down between your bodies, almost disbelieving. You already feel so impossibly full of him. Your fingers squeeze around his, your other hand gripping the back of his neck. "So much..."
"I know." He whispers it, and you catch the corner of his mouth twitching—trying not to smile too smugly, trying not to let it get to his head. But he's still just a guy, and the way you're looking at him, all wide-eyed and overwhelmed, is doing things to his ego he can't quite suppress. "Too much for you?"
You shake your head in denial, your nails pressing little crescents into his shoulder blade as he sinks in deeper. The stretch is intense, almost too much, but the thought of him stopping is worse.
"I know it's a lot." There's a trace of that smugness in his voice now, but it's tempered by something softer. Something almost tender. "But it feels good when you get used to it, angel. I swear."
He's fully in now. You feel him everywhere—a deep, satisfying fullness that borders on overwhelming. His palm presses flat against your lower belly, and you watch his jaw go slack as he feels himself there, buried inside you, just beneath his hand.
"Fuck," he breathes, almost to himself. "Feel that? That's me. Right there."
You can't speak. You can only nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your body still adjusting to the size of him.
You feel him in your guts, an almost unbearable fullness that borders on pain before it tips into something else. When he starts moving, shallow and careful, it's like your whole body shakes with the sensation. Want. Need. Anticipation. You've wanted him so badly. All summer, every night, every time his knee brushed yours or his voice dropped low. And now here he is inside you, above you, finally, and you're barely able to handle it. The frustration prickles at the edges of your bliss.
A strained sound escapes you with each shallow thrust. Your face is still tight, your body still struggling to accommodate him, but you are so, so determined.
"More," you manage, the word half-demand, half-plea. "You can go harder. Faster. I won't break."
He just laughs, Low and warm.
"Not yet." He purrs. "Not this time. You'll take it like this."
He fucks you slow and deep. His thumb finds your clit and circles it in a lazy rhythm, matching the roll of his hips. The discomfort lingers at the edges from the stretch of him that still borders on too much, but then he shifts, angling your leg slightly higher, and something inside you ignites.
A raw, involuntary noise escapes you, and he catches it immediately.
"Right there, huh?" He does it again, same angle, same depth. You bite back a cry. "Feels good?"
"So good." Your nails rake down his back. "Fuck, it’s so—"
You don't finish the sentence. You cum around him, rather abruptly, a broken cry on your lips, your back arching. He groans, low and strained, and rocks you through every pulse of it, his hips rolling gently, letting you ride out your high.
When your eyes blink open, hazy and unfocused, you stare up at him. At the sharp cut of his jaw. His mouth, still slightly parted. The dark hair falling over his gorgeous eyes. He looks like a fucking pornstar—it's actually unbelievable. Every inch of him is perfect, and it just makes you even more pissed.
And he hasn't finished yet. Still hard. Still inside you. Still watching you with that smug, knowing look, like he's got all the time in the world.
That also makes you pissed.
With a single-minded focus, you’re pushing him to his back, mounting him, your legs still shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm.
“What are you—” His voice is genuinely startled. His hands come up to your hips on instinct, not guiding, just holding, like he's bracing for impact. His eyes are wide, fixed on your face.
You lower yourself onto him, slowly. Sinking down until you’re fully seated there. It’s a lot. A lot more than it was trying to take him from just lying down. You feel all of him, even deeper than before, filling you to the brim, and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to swallow the slight discomfort that still lingers.
“I don’t know if you should—” His voice is strained. He's trying to be decent. Trying to hold still. You can feel the tension in his thighs beneath you, the effort it's taking him not to thrust up into the heat of you.
You start to move. Mostly to shut him up. There’s no rhyme or rhythm. No technique. Only directionless desire. Your hips rock in a shallow, uneven pace because you can't really handle what you're trying to take—the angle is different, and every downward stroke punches a gasp from your lungs. Your thighs burn with the effort. Your balance wavers. But you don't stop.
"Fuck." The word tears out of him, strangled and reverent. He's leaning back against your pillows now, propped on his elbows, watching you with helpless awe. "Just take it. Take what you want. It's yours."
Your nails drag down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake. The sting makes him hiss, but he doesn't stop you—doesn't grab your wrists, doesn't flip you over. He just watches, enthralled, as you claw at him like you're trying to leave a mark he'll feel for days.
You're cursing at him under your breath. Asshole. Entitled. Selfish. Using me. Words he can't quite catch but definitely deserves. Your rhythm stutters and breaks, your hips faltering as the pleasure builds too fast, too intense, and you can't keep the pace steady when every nerve in your body is screaming.
Maybe he should feel terrified that you're clawing at him like an animal, cursing his name with the same breath you use to moan it. But he's captivated. He's never been more attracted to anyone in his life. Your lips are parted, your chest bare and heaving, and you're riding him with zero grace and a summer’s worth of pent-up fury and sexual frustration.
"Shit," he breathes, his hands sliding up from your hips to your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your hipbones. "Look at you. So fucking hot when you're mad. Maybe I should—"
You slap him across the face.
As hard as you can.
It shocks you, even.
It’s not very hard—he's basically a wall of muscle—but the sting is real, and the crack of it echoes in the room.
For one suspended second, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. His head is still turned from the impact, a faint pink bloom already rising on his cheek. Still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you—the girl who stutters over her words and whimpers from a single touch—just slapped him across the face while riding him.
His eyes find yours.
"Shut the fuck up." You hiss.
He should probably feel pissed, right? Offended, maybe? He's never been slapped in his life—not by a girlfriend, not even by his roommates, though he’s sure sometimes they want to. And yet the sting on his cheek is radiating down his neck, into his chest, settling low in his gut where it twists into something insatiable.
His dick twitches, and a sound he's never made escapes him—which he does not have the time to unpack currently. He'll think about it later, probably, when he's alone and confused and trying to figure out what the hell just happened to him.
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"Make me."
You slap him again, and his smile only widens.
His cheek is definitely pink now. He can feel the heat of it, the slight throb, and it's doing something to him. His hands tighten on your hips, not to restrain you, just to keep you there, like this. Steadying your hips.
You're breathing hard, staring down at him, the stretch of him wearing you thin. He splits you open in a way that borders on too much, your body still struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him even now, even after everything. Every inch is a presence you can't ignore, and for a dizzying second, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be completely consumed. Still, you take him. You take what you want.
You finish with a broken cry, your rhythm shattering completely. Your hips stutter, lose their pace, and then you're collapsing forward, forehead pressed to his chest, your whole body seizing and releasing around him in waves that don't seem to stop. His hands find your hips and hold you steady through it, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your hipbones, grounding you while you shudder apart on top of him.
For a moment, he lets you rest there. His hand cradles the back of your head. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek. He's still hard—achingly, painfully hard—and the feeling of you fluttering around him, spent and trembling, is almost enough to finish him right there.
But not quite.
He flips you onto your back.
It's fast. One arm wraps around your waist, and then the world tilts, and suddenly you're beneath him again, your back sinking into the mattress, your legs falling open around his hips. He doesn't give you time to adjust—doesn't give himself time to think. He just drives back into you, burying himself to the hilt in one desperate thrust.
"Hoon—!”
"Take it," he chokes out, hand reaching for your neck, "Don't tap out on me, now. Fucking take it like a good girl."
The pace is different now, a lot less considerate. He's been holding back all night—letting you adjust, letting you set the rhythm, letting you take what you wanted. But now he's wound too tight, every thrust driven by a pure, animalistic need.
His breath goes ragged. His jaw clenches so tight it aches. The hand around your neck tightens, not enough to choke you, but enough to keep you in place, and he fucks into you like he's trying to outrun something—the guilt, the fear, the dawning realization that this isn't just about getting off anymore and that it probably hasn't been for a while.
"I'm—" His rhythm breaks, stutters, and then he's pulling out at the last possible second. His hand wraps around himself. He finishes on your stomach with a low, broken groan that sounds like it's been dragged out of him against his will, and he stares at the image of it all: You, covered in his cum. Finally his again.
He stays there for a moment, braced above you, his arms trembling. His head hangs low, breath coming in ragged gasps. The mess between you is warm and slick, pooling on your skin, and neither of you moves to clean it up. Not yet, anyway.
The room goes quiet, the two of you only breathing.
He blinks down at you. At the mess. The way you're still catching your breath, still flushed, still looking up at him with those wide, unreadable eyes. Something flickers across his face—something almost tender, almost frightened—and then it's gone, replaced by the ghost of that infuriating grin.
"Shit," he breathes, and it comes out half-laugh, half-apology. "Come here."
He kisses you. Soft. Gentle. Nothing like the desperate, driving intensity of a few minutes ago. This kiss says something different—something he can't quite put into words and isn't sure he's ready to. His lips linger on yours for a beat longer than necessary before he pulls back.
"You got anything to clean up with?"
You point him to the drawer at your bedside, and he reaches over. A pack of wet wipes. He cleans you up with careful, methodical hands, wiping the mess from your stomach, between your thighs, his touch efficient but gentle. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he's done it a hundred times.
He tosses the wipes toward the garbage bin in the corner. It lands short. He doesn't pick it up. Instead, he climbs back onto the bed and lies down beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours.
"Does it hurt anywhere?" He turns his head on the pillow to look at you. His hair is a disaster, still damp with sweat at the temples. "I was trying to be careful, but you were kind of intense. You were a virgin, like, two hours ago."
"A little sore." Your voice comes out hoarse. "I'll survive."
"You sure? I can get you Advil." He's already half-propped up on one elbow, ready to go searching through your bathroom cabinets. "I don't know where you keep your Advil."
"I'm sure."
He nods, settling back down. His arm finds its way around your waist, pulling you closer until your head rests against his shoulder. His hand traces idle patterns on your hip—slow, absent shapes, like he's not even aware he's doing it.
"You're staying?"
He looks down at you. The question catches him off guard—not the words, but the way they sound to him. Soft and Uncertain, like you're bracing for him to leave. Clingy already, he thinks, but the thought makes him smile, rather than feel annoyed.
"Come on." He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm not a complete asshole."
"You're not?"
"I'm staying." Another kiss, softer this time. "I'm not going anywhere."
You hum, a sigh leaving your body, head settled against his chest. His heart does something inconvenient in his ribcage—a flutter, a stutter, something he refuses to name. He pulls you a little closer anyway.
"I mean it," he says, and the words start coming faster now, tumbling out in a ramble he hadn't planned. The afterglow loosened something in his chest. "I'm gonna make it up to you. For real this time. Not like the parking lot. I know I said that then, but I mean it now. I'm gonna take you out. An actual date. No tournaments. No sushi—unless you want sushi? But a nicer place than that one. Just you and me. A real restaurant. Not some strip mall junk."
You're quiet, your thumb drawing lazy circles against his chest. It's a soothing, steady rhythm that has his eyes growing heavy.
"And I'll stop calling you a lucky charm or prize or whatever. That was stupid. I shouldn't have said that. I don't even know why I said it. I was just—the reporter was there, and I was still hyped from the match, and my teammates were all listening." He presses another kiss to your hair. "You're not any of that. You're good to me. Really good to me."
Still no response. Your thumb keeps tracing those slow circles, but you haven't looked up at him. You must be tired. Poor thing.
"Oh, and I'll teach you," he adds, a chuckle escaping him. "How to ride me. Properly. Not that I'm complaining. It was cute watching you struggle up there."
A yawn cracks his jaw. He tries to smother it, but it's too late. His body reminds him that he got zero sleep trying to work on the project, and that he just made you finish three times. The adrenaline is gone. What's left is heavy, dragging exhaustion. Almost peaceful.
"Anyway," he mumbles, eyes closing. "I'll be better. I swear. Actual date. No name-calling. Riding lessons. Sunghoon 2.0. The redeem—" Another yawn. "The redemption arc."
You turn your head on his chest. Your voice cuts through the haze of his exhaustion.
"Sunghoon."
"Mm?"
"What did I say about shutting up?"
He blinks. The question catches him off guard, and then a laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest—genuine, surprised, a little bit giddy. A laugh only you seem to be able to pull out of him.
"Yes, ma'am," he says, grinning. "Shutting up now."
You settle back against his chest. Your hand resumes its position over his ribs, but the circles have stopped. He doesn't notice. He's already sinking, the warmth of you pulling him under.
He closes his eyes. The weight of you against his chest is warm and solid and real. His, some quiet, possessive part of him whispers. And the taste of you still lingers on his lips, tasting a lot like victory.
It's been two weeks. Sunghoon has learned a few things about you.
He's learned that you're insatiable—and that Heeseung was right when he said something about the innocent ones being the freakiest in bed. He's learned that you like it when he pulls your hair—not hard, just enough. He's learned that you like to pull his hair and dig your nails into him and cuss him out, while begging him to go harder and faster.
He's also learned that you still won't let him take you on an actual date. And trust him, he's tried.
"Let me take you out," he'll say, and you're cutting him off with your sweet, irresistible lips.
"I'm serious," he'll insist, and your hand is down his pants, teasing him for being hard already.
"I'll buy you dinner. Anything you want," he'll try, and you're sinking to your knees, taking his dick down your throat like it’s nothing.
Then he forgets whatever he's arguing about.
It bothers him. Not the sex part, obviously—he enjoys that more than he's ever enjoyed anything—but he doesn't want you to think that's all he wants. He's been trying to prove otherwise. Trying to show you that he actually gives a shit. That he's not an asshole. That he's changed.
You don't seem to believe him—that's the only reason he can think of why you keep avoiding his advances, anyway. Every time he brings up a real date, you dodge, distract and deflect with your hands and your mouth and the warm press of your body.
He's determined to prove you wrong.
Today is no different. You're in his bed, head pressed into the pillows as he fucks you from behind, and he's covered in a layer of sweat.
"Shit," he seethes, watching himself disappear inside you, your greedy cunt taking all of him. "So fucking gorgeous."
"Faster," you whine, predictably. He almost laughs.
"Let me take you out." He slows deliberately, his cock dragging along your walls at an agonizing pace—so slow you can feel every inch of him, the thick ridge of his head catching on just the right spot before he pulls back again. "Tomorrow. Dinner. Real restaurant."
"Sunghoon." His name is muffled against the pillow, half-moan, half-protest. Your fingers twist in the sheets.
"Somewhere nice." He rolls his hips, just barely, just enough to make you gasp. "No sex. Not before. Not after. Not even a little. Just talking."
"You're already talking right now." You push back against him, trying to take him deeper, but his hands tighten on your hips, holding you still. "And it's very annoying."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Now faster."
"No."
A squeal escapes you as his palm connects with your ass—not hard, just a sharp little crack that makes you jolt forward. The sting blooms warm across your skin. He rubs the spot immediately, his palm soothing over the heat he left behind, and the contrast makes you shudder.
"Just say yes." He leans over you, his chest brushing your spine, and you can feel the heat of him, the slick slide of his skin against yours. His lips find the shell of your ear. "Lemme hear it, and I'll fuck you right."
His hips rock forward—barely an inch—and you moan at the shallow stretch. Then he pulls back again, leaving you empty and aching.
"Fine," you huff, "Maybe."
He stops moving entirely. You wait for the next thrust, the next tease, but nothing comes. Then he's pulling out completely, his hands leaving your hips, and the sudden absence of him is so jarring you actually whimper.
"What are you—?"
"No date, no dick."
You crane your neck to glare at him over your shoulder. He's kneeling behind you, cock slick and ready, one hand wrapped lazily around himself. He strokes himself, just watching you squirm.
"That's not fair."
"It's completely fair." Trying not to grin, seeing the look of frustration on your face, "Seriously, what am I, a piece of meat to you?"
"Yes," you don't even hesitate, "So put your dick back inside me and stop talking."
"So demanding," he raises a brow, hands leaving his cock to return to your hips. You whine when you feel the tip of him tease along your slick heat, absolutely dripping for him.
You huff, dropping your forehead to the pillow. Your body is aching. Empty. You can feel how wet you are, how ready, and he's just kneeling there, smug and gorgeous and utterly infuriating.
"Please." Your voice drops, softening. "Please give it to me."
He bites his lip, hands gripping your hips tighter as he grinds against you. The begging. You know he can't resist the begging. He sucks in a breath. Don’t give in, don’t give in, don’t—
"Want it so bad." You push back onto your elbows, arching your back, presenting yourself to him. "Need you inside me. Need you to fill me up. Please, Sunghoon. Please."
"Fuck." He stutters and lines himself up, the head of him pressing against your entrance—just barely, just enough to make you gasp and push back—and then he sheathes himself in one brutal, devastating thrust. "So fucking needy."
You cry out, face buried in the pillow, your whole body jerking forward as he sheathes himself to the hilt. He doesn't give you time to adjust, nor does he give himself time to be careful. His hand presses flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the mattress, and his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise.
The headboard slams against the wall in a frantic rhythm, his pace punishing. Your fingers curl into the sheets, twisting the fabric, trying to anchor yourself against the force of him. Every thrust punches a broken sound from your throat—half gasp, half moan, muffled by the pillow. He watches himself disappear into you, the slick glide of his length, the way your body stretches to accommodate him, the way you push back against him even now, even pinned, even helpless.
"That's it," he grits out, his voice wrecked. "Take it. Take all of it."
You're babbling something into the pillow—his name, maybe, or just incoherent pleading. He can feel you tightening around him, your walls fluttering, the telltale tremble in your thighs. He reaches around, finds your clit, and the sound you make when he touches you there is almost enough to finish him on the spot.
"Come for me," he breathes, his rhythm stuttering as his own control starts to fray. "Let go. I've got you."
You shatter. He feels it—the clench, the pulse, the way your whole body seizes and releases. Your cry is muffled by the pillow, but he hears it anyway, feels it in the way you grip him, in the way you shudder beneath him. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release now, and when it hits him, a low, broken groan is torn from his chest as he spills inside you.
He collapses forward, bracing himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. His forehead presses to the space between your shoulder blades, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your damp skin. Beneath him, you're still trembling—small aftershocks rippling through you. The room is quiet now, just the sound of breathing and the distant hum of his PC.
He stays there for a long moment, letting his heart rate settle, letting the sweat cool on his back. Then he shifts, pressing a kiss to the center of your spine. Then another, higher. Then another, at the nape of your neck. He works his way up slowly, reverently, like he's memorizing the landscape of you.
"Come here." His voice is wrecked, barely more than a rasp. He eases out of you gently and tugs you down onto the pillows with him, pulling your back against his chest. His arm drapes across your waist, heavy and warm. His nose brushes the curve of your ear. But then he’s watching you slip from the bed, and he can’t help but frown. The sheets pool around his waist as he sits up, reaching for you. His fingers catch your arm before you can stand.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to my place?”
“Why?”
“Because.” You break from his grasp, “I’m busy.”
"With?"
"Studying. Work. Social life." You're pulling on your clothes with that efficient, no-nonsense energy he's come to recognize—underwear, shirt, the quick twist of your hair into something presentable. "Some of us care about our lives."
He ignores the jab, tugging you back toward him. You stumble, one knee landing on the mattress, and he takes the opening—his mouth finding the curve of your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along your throat.
"Sunghoon..." Your voice wavers, a warning and a surrender all at once.
"I want to take you out." He murmurs it against your skin, his hand sliding up your arm. "Wanna do more than just this. Wanna do this right."
You pull back just enough to look at him. Your expression is hard to read—something between exasperation and something softer you won't name. "This is fine. I like this."
"I know. I like it too." His thumb traces your jaw. "But—"
"I have to go." You lean down and kiss him. Brief. Almost dismissive. Then you're pulling away, grabbing your bag, and he's left in the bed, still warm from your body, still tasting you on his lips.
He groans, dragging himself upright. Hastily, he’s tugging his sweatpants on, and throwing a hoodie over his head, and he follows you down the hallway, catching up just as you reach the living room.
The usual suspects are in position—Heeseung on the couch, Jake in the armchair, Jay sprawled on the floor doing something on his phone that's making him smirk. Three heads lift in unison as you pass.
"Leaving so soon?" Heeseung calls, not looking up from his phone. "Not even cuddling? Sunghoon, man, don't tell me you fumbled that bad?"
"I have places I need to be," you reply simply, not breaking your stride, "Bye, guys—"
He catches you at the door. His hand finds your waist, spinning you back toward him, and then he's kissing you—not the brief, dismissive peck you tried to give him in the bedroom, but something a lot more intentional.
He ignores the wolf whistle from the couch and the “get a room!” comment, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt at the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, and when they part on a surprised breath, he deepens the kiss without hesitation.
You make a sound against his mouth—half embarrassment, half something else—and he grins into the kiss, pleased with himself.
"Sunghoon—" You pull back, hand pressed to his chest.
"Next time." His voice is low, meant only for you, his forehead nearly touching yours. "I'm taking you out. Even if I have to keep my hands to myself the whole night."
"Sure," Your smile is unreadable, but you don't pull away. "Next time."
Then you're gone. The door clicks shut, and Sunghoon turns to face the room. Three stares bore into him.
"Bro," Jake says, "That was disgusting."
"Downright pornographic," Jay agrees from the floor.
Heeseung just shakes his head slowly, "You're down bad. Like, down bad, down bad."
"Catastrophically down bad."
"You guys don't get it." Sunghoon flops onto the couch. "She's perfect. Like, actually perfect. She's smart, and she's funny, and she puts up with my shit. And..." he cracks a smile as he gestures to his bedroom, "You know."
"We know," the three of them say in unison, flatly.
His head falls back, and he sighs, the scent of your perfume still lingering on him. The one trace of you that stays behind whenever you leave too soon.
"But," He pauses, his brows scrunched, "I don't think she believes me when I say I want more. I think that she thinks that I'm just trying to get in her pants."
"To be fair," Jake says, "you have been in her pants. Multiple times."
"And you literally spent the first half of the summer ignoring her while she did your coursework," Jay adds.
"And you made her take you to your E-sports tournament, then came on her—" Heeseung starts.
"I know. I did a lot of shitty things I regret." He stares at the ceiling. "It’s different now. I want to show her I actually care. That I'm not using her for her body or something. But every time I try, she changes the subject. Or distracts me. Or—"
"Distracts you with sex?" Heeseung raises an eyebrow. "That must be terrible for you. Imagine that? Trying to take a girl out for dinner, and she just wants one order of your load down her throat instead. How awful."
"I’m serious."
"Sunghoon." Heeseung puts a hand on his shoulder. "You're complaining that a girl who's hot and smart and good in bed won't let you take her to Olive Garden. Do you hear yourself right now?"
"She's got you whipped," Jay says, not looking up from his phone. "Never thought I'd see the day. The guy who once said 'relationships are a debuff' is now begging for a dinner reservation."
"I'm not whipped." He retorts. "I just want her to know that I care. That's all."
"Simp," Jake coughs.
Sunghoon's head snaps toward him. "Oh, you did not just say that—"
"Right message, wrong messenger," Heeseung interrupts him, "You are objectively a simp now. You, the guy who famously chose video games over his last relationship, who once said 'dating is a distraction from the grind'—"
"The grind is still important."
"—is now begging a woman to let him buy her overpriced appetizers."
Sunghoon would normally fire back with some well-aimed jab about Heeseung and Jay's own nonexistent love life or Jake's shit show of a dating history. But he's distracted. Thinking about you. About next time. About how he's finally going to convince you that he means it.
"I am," he says simply, a smile on his face, "I'd buy her everything on the menu if she asked me to."
A beat of horrified silence passes, the three boys sharing glances with each other.
"Seriously, what happened to him?" Jay whispers to Jake, who shrugs in response, matching his look, "This is terrifying."
"I'd almost rather hear him screaming at his ranked teammates."
"Or cry over a broken Nintendo Switch controller."
"Or talking to himself in the mirror before games. 'You got this, Sunghoon. You're him. You're cracked.'"
"It's hard to believe," Heeseung says, lowering his head between them and pulling them into an impromptu huddle, their voices dropping to stage whispers, "but maybe love really did change him."
"He's not in love," Jake rolls his eyes. "He's in heat or something."
"Yeah, well, it's the closest he's gotten to love in like, what, years?" Heeseung replies, "Look at what he's wearing. That's a brand new hoodie. Clean, pristine condition, not a single stain or wrinkle. When's the last time you saw him in something that didn't come out of the laundry pile?"
"It’s like when male birds start doing those weird dances to impress the females," Jay shudders, "Puffing up their chests. Spinning in circles. Except it's Sunghoon doing it. Which just feels—"
"Gross?" Jake offers.
"Unnatural.”
"Wrong.”
"A crime against nature."
"You know I can hear you guys, right?" Sunghoon deadpans. "Literally everything."
"We know," Heeseung says without turning around. "We don’t care. Go back to daydreaming."
Sunghoon opens his mouth to fire back, but his phone buzzes on the cushion beside him. A notification. He glances down, expecting your name on the screen—a text, maybe, or one of those voice notes he's learned to listen to the moment they arrive. His lips quirk up. Then he reads it.
Transcript Updated:
Summer Semester — Web Programming
Final Grade: F
The smile freezes on his face like a video paused on a single frame.
"What?" Heeseung leans over, trying to see the screen. "What's that face? You look like you just watched your favourite vandal skin get vaulted."
Sunghoon doesn't answer. He opens the grade portal. Opens the project submission page. There it is: The final project. Submitted. Your name, alone. His? Nowhere to be seen.
"I failed." His voice is small, hollow. "The class. She took my name off the project." Silence.
Then Jay starts laughing. A sharp, incredulous bark. Heeseung joins in, his shoulders shaking. Jake sets down his controller with the slow deliberation of a man who wants to fully savour what's about to happen.
"No way," Heeseung manages between breaths. "She didn't."
"She did."
"Oh, this is beautiful." Jay wipes his eyes. "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed."
“So dicking her down didn’t get you anywhere after all,” Heeseung is grinning widely, “Tried to use her for grades, then caught feelings.”
"That's not—”
"You thought you had it all, huh? The A, the tournament win, the girl—" He wheezes, "You thought you were out here playing her, and she played you."
"I told you it wasn't like that—"
"Bro." Jake sets down his controller. "It was exactly like that."
Sunghoon stares at the screen. At the F. At your name, alone on the submission page. His chest feels strange. Hollow. Like someone reached in and scooped something out and left a Sunghoon-shaped shell on the couch. He doesn't even have the energy to fight his roommates anymore.
He stands up from the couch, words dying on his lips. One moment he’s there, staring at his phone, and the next he’s walking—feet carrying him down the hallway toward his room. The laughter of his roommates fades behind him, muffled by the closing door.
His room is dark except for the blue glow of his monitor. The Valorant home screen stares back at him, waiting for a queue that won’t come. He sits at the edge of his bed and stares at the transcript notification again, as if looking at it long enough might change the grade.
His thumb hovers over your contact. The last message from you—a short, simple text from earlier that day. On my way. He'd smiled when he read it then.
He presses the call button.
"Sunghoon." You pick up after a few rings, "What's up?"
"What's up?" His voice comes out strangled. "You failed me. You took my name off the project. I thought—I thought we were—"
There’s a laugh on the other line.
"You thought what?" You ask, clearly amused. "You really thought that because you fucked me, suddenly I'd decide to let you keep your name on a project you didn't contribute to?"
"No, I—" He's stammering. "Not like that. But you made me think—"
"I didn't make you do anything."
"You let me believe—" He runs his hand through his hair, pacing. "Had me under the impression we were good. With each other. That things were fixed. That I apologized and you forgave me."
"Oh? Do you feel misled?" You tease, a content sigh, then leaving you, "I never promised you anything, Sunghoon. It's not my fault you assumed things."
His stomach drops. He sits there, in the middle of his dark room, phone pressed to his ear, and the silence stretches long enough that he's not sure why you haven’t hung up on him yet.
"I like you." The words tumble out before he can stop them, earnest and vulnerable and nothing like how he usually is. "I wasn't just trying to get in your pants. I want to take you out. I've been trying to take you out for weeks. I wanted to show you—"
"Oh, I know. You made that very clear."
"Then why—"
"But I'm sorry to break it to you," you continue, "I don't date guys who can't fix their own broken code."
He swallows, phone trembling in his grasp.
"Call me when you want to fuck again, 'kay? That's all you're really good for." You say. It’s not smug or cruel. It’s just honest. "Bye, Sunghoon."
note ✰.ᐟ this work exists in the same au as this fic here
Please help me find this au I’ve been searching for.
It’s from a couple years ago but it’s a Heeseung brothers best friend smut trope. From what I remember he comes back from his first year of college and they had liked each other. He gets her an anklet cuz I distinctly remember Sunoo saying something abt her legs dangling from his shoulder iykyk. I remember there was also a lot of jealousy trope. There was also flashback of them at the beach house watching the sunrise together. Idk why but it’s been on my mind recently and I can’t find it. I desperately want to reread it so if you know pls send me the link 🙏🏻
Your boyfriend Ni-ki pretends to judge you for spending so much money in makeup, telling you that you need to save or spend it in something that really worths it, but at the end of the day, he sits through every one of your Sephora unboxings like he’s your assistant. He’ll lay on your pink sheets, black hoodie cap over his messy hair, watching you with a half-lidded gaze as you peel the bubble wrap off your sixth gloss of the week like it’s a treasure. He’ll say things like, “Another one?” or “25 dollars for a gloss is insane” with the driest voice, eyes lazy as he’s sooo bored, but when you flute your eyelashes at him, small smile on your plumped lips, he’s the first to hold out his arm when you start testing swatches.
He lets you paint his entire forearm with shimmer eyeshadows and bronzers and cherry red blushes, grumbling under his breath warning you to not tell the boys later. He even holds still while you paint his thick lips with a shiny, sheer pink gloss, and even smacks his lips together like he’s on a get ready with me video.
“It’s sweet” he shrugs “Suits you better” and then he kisses you, soft and messy at the same time, the gloss falls from your hand as you kiss him back and fall on your back on the mattress.
Then a few days later, when you’re stressed because you can’t find your new strawberry lip balm and ask him if he’s seen it, he doesn’t even blink. “What? You have like ten of those”
“You literally stole it. It’s mine!” he just looks at you, so nonchalant, and goes, “Yeah, but it makes my lips soft. Plus… it smells like you.”
You ended up finding it on his desk. Not tucked away or hidden, just lying there like it belongs next to his wallet and keys. Like he didn’t swiped it from your vanity and started using it like it was his all along.
Ni-ki used to groan every time you said “Just ten more minutes” before a date. He would lean against your bedroom doorframe with his arms crossed and a dramatic sigh, saying things like “How are you not done yet?” Or “It looks good, I’m hungry” But instead of actually getting mad, he started watching you. Watching how your hands moved when you did your eyeliner. How your lip combo needed to be layered just right. How you curled your hair in sections and flipped the ends out naturally.
And one day, he just… asked. “Which one makes it wavy?” You paused, mascara wand mid-air, staring at him. “You wanna help me get ready?” “I wanna help you get faster,” he said flatly. But you saw the little spark in his eyes.
So you handed him your curling iron.
Your boyfriend Ni-ki watched one tutorial on YouTube from a beauty blogger, and then practiced on a doll head you had from your childhood “just for fun,” but secretly he wanted to get it perfect for you. He learned to section your hair, to twist and hold, to use the glove so he wouldn’t burn his fingers, though he totally did once and blamed you for distracting him by being “too pretty.”
He now stands behind you while you sit on your vanity and do your makeup, tongue between his teeth in concentration as he wraps a strand of your hair around the barrel. You’ll be focusing on your eyeliner and hear the soft click of the iron turning off, then his voice: “Next section.” Sometimes he clips your hair back with one of your frilly pink claw clips, totally unfazed by how cute and domestic he looks doing it. Other times, he hums Enhypen songs under his breath while working, casually asking, “Big curls or soft waves today?”
To be fair, he still says, “You take forever to get ready,” but now it’s while he's smoothing a section of your hair down and checking the back with his phone camera to make sure it’s even.
Ni-ki is one of the most dry texters in the world, but you don’t care that much, because when he’s on tour, he doesn’t say “I miss you” too much, but always comes back with something for you tucked in his bag.
Not big things. Not the kind of gifts meant to impress or flex. But cute things. Thoughtful things. Things that say “I saw this and thought of you” in the quietest way. Like the time he was in Japan, and you sent him a half-joking, half-serious message at 2 a.m. that just said, “Bring me back something My Melody or I’m breaking up with you.” But forgot about it immediately, he didn’t.
He came home with a little box wrapped in pink tissue paper, handed it to you without a word, and inside were three keychains—Hello Kitty, My Melody, and Kuromi—each one in a tiny outfit matching the city he’d been in. There was also a fluffy pouch with sparkly zippers and a note in his handwriting with pink pen that just said, “Don’t break up with me.”
Or the time that he went to Milan for the fashion week and rolled his eyes when you told him to buy you something expensive. But when he came back, he handed you a pink Prada purse and a silk scarf with little hearts woven into the trim.
“This reminded me of you. The memory was prettier tho” You punched his arm and he kissed your cheek.
He’s too cool to gush but always notices. Always remembers. He never forgets that you love sparkly keychains and girly pouches and lip balms shaped like desserts. And even when he’s thousands of miles away, he walks through each airport, each city street, each backstage area wondering what tiny, soft thing he can bring back to make you smile. And when you tease him, “You miss me that bad, huh?” He’ll just click his tongue, toss a plushie onto your lap, and mutter, “Shut up. It was cute. And you like cute things.”
Your boyfriend Ni-ki pretends to be soo bored when you push him into your bedroom to try on new clothes. He flops onto your bed like he’s been inconvenienced for the millionth time, phone in hand, legs crossed at the ankle, but the truth is? He lives for this. For the way you light up when you’re in front of your closet. For the way you model outfits for him like you’re on a runway made of pink carpet and perfume mist. He barely looks up when you walk out in the first dress, just gives a quick glance and hums, “Cute.”
But by the third outfit, when the top dips a little lower and your shorts hug a little tighter, he suddenly forgets how to breathe normally. You know what you’re doing. You twirl slowly, hands on your hips, acting innocent. “Too short?” you ask, lifting the hem just slightly to adjust it. He sits up straighter. “You’re trying to start something.” You just flutter you eyelashes. “I’m just trying on clothes.”
Ni-ki is so whipped for you that he starts biting his lip by the fourth outfit. You come out in a little skirt with bows on the sides and a cropped cardigan that’s one button away from scandal, and he’s already shoving his phone into the sheets and leaning back like he’s trying to stay calm.“Babe,” he warns, voice low, “what is this, a fashion show or a test of my self-control?” You smirk. “Depends. How am I doing?” He drags a hand down his face. “Terribly.”
He breaks the second you spin around in front of the mirror and bend a little too far while adjusting the neckline, the skirt showing the perfect curve of your ass. He’s behind you before you even realize he moved, hands sliding around your waist, lips brushing your ear.
“You know I’m not gonna sit there like a good boy when you parade around looking like that.” Your outfit ends up on the floor. He never gives his opinion. You both forget you were even getting ready.
Your boyfriend Ni-ki doesn’t just say “You’re pretty” when you’re writhing under him, he says it like a prayer, like it hurts him how pretty you are.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.”
“Look at you… look how perfect you are for me.”
“Made just for me, huh? That’s it, baby—show me.”
His voice never raises. It stays soft, reverent, like he’s telling you a secret that only the two of you should know. Even when he’s breathless. Even when he’s deep inside you, thumb brushing your bottom lip while he watches your eyes flutter and roll.
“Such a good girl for me… always take me so well.”
“You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”
“You make me lose my mind, princess. Fuck—look at the mess you’re making.”
He says the filthiest things while holding your jaw so gently, like he’s cradling something delicate and priceless.
“You’re dripping just from my voice, aren’t you? You like when I talk to you like this.”
“You want me to make it worse? Want me to ruin this little body while I tell you how much I love it?”
Because he does love it. Every inch of you. And he says it, over and over, between kisses and thrusts and choked moans.
“I love you so much, baby. So fucking much.”
“No one’s ever gonna touch you like this. No one’s ever gonna talk to you like this.”
“You’re mine. Say it. Say it again.”
He gets off on your pleasure more than anything. The sound of your voice, the way your fingers curl in his hair, the little gasps you make when he presses deeper.
“That’s it, my pretty girl… you gonna come for me?”
“I want you to fall apart, yeah? Be good and make a mess for me.”
And when you do, when your voice breaks and your body trembles and you cling to him like he’s the only thing anchoring you to this earth, he kisses you everywhere he can reach. Your cheek. Your shoulder. Your chest. The side of your neck.
“You’re okay, baby. I got you.”
“You’re my princess. My everything.”
And when he finishes, he doesn’t just roll over and catch his breath after, t’s like the second you fall apart, he pulls himself back together just to take care of you. Because he knows.
He knows that after you finish, your voice goes quiet. Your fingers reach for him, searching without words. You blink slower, lips parted, too overwhelmed to speak. And he knows that’s when you need softness the most. So he gathers you up. Instantly.
Ni-ki wraps his arms around your trembling frame and pulls you into his chest, skin to skin, his hand cradling the back of your head like he’s shielding you from the world. “Hey,” he murmurs, lips brushing your forehead. “You’re okay.” He kisses your temple, your eyelids, your damp hair, even the tip of your nose, like he needs to cover every part of you in warmth. In reassurance. He speaks softly, over and over, even when you’re too tired to respond.
“I’ve got you.”
“You’re so perfect for me.”
“Still with me, pretty girl?”
“I love you. You’re my everything.”
His fingers draw lazy shapes on your back, his legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets. When he feels you start to drift, he kisses your shoulder and tightens his hold. “Don’t disappear yet,” he whispers, teasing but gentle.
And when you finally look up at him with hazy, fluttering eyes and a sleepy pout, he smiles like it physically hurts how much he loves you. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and presses his forehead to yours. “Still my princess,” he murmurs, voice low, “even when you’re all messy and dazed like this.”
Boyfriend Ni-ki, who gets up just to grab a warm cloth and clean you softly, slowly, never rushing, like he’s touching something sacred. Then helps you into his hoodie, kisses your cheek, and pulls you back into bed with a quiet “Come here, need you close.”
Because he knows you go small after. And there’s nowhere safer to be small than wrapped in him.
GENRE: college!au, smut, paranormal!au, strangers to lovers
SUMMARY: Best friends would do anything for each other, right? So when you tell a little lie to save your friend Minju’s ass, a punishment falls on your doorstep from the Witches' Council: do not lie for an entire lunar cycle. What you thought was simple starts to get complicated when you can't keep your mouth shut and honesty oozes out of your pores in the most uncomfortable and awkward situations. Add Riki Nishimura to the mix, the sharp-eyed boy who starts to take an interest in your sincerity.
WORDS: 21k+.
WARNINGS AND CONTENT: strangers to lovers, reader is a magnet to chaos, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, spanking, praise, overstimulation, Niki big cock agenda, just Niki being a menace in general.
The Witch's Council chambers was an old place outside town that smelled like wood, incense and power. You could easily sense the magic and power like it was engraved in the air, strong and ancient. But the old-fashioned look was interrupted by modern touches: new chairs, a wall projector and council members with iPads, some others playing with their phones. Not the entire council was present; only the president, Na Seorin, and the vice president, Kim Junseo, Minju's father. Off to one side stood the council secretary, Lee Sunjae, who seemed more engrossed in his phone than in what was happening around him, wearing a deep, concentrated frown. He was very, very focused on his phone and at some point he even leaned towards Seorin, asking her if she could send him lives on Candy Crush. She silenced him with an unimpressed look.
There was a small jury of witches and warlocks that you obviously knew, uncles and aunts and even parents of some friends, people who you grew up around. You were sitting with Minju on a wooden bench at the front, being judged in a very dramatic fashion in your opinion. Your back was straight and your knees touching and Minju wore the same position, you could feel the nervousness radiating from her. You didn’t quite know why you'd been summoned there with her, but hell, you wouldn't open your mouth to incriminate yourself until someone else started the whole thing. What was worse, you and Minju didn't have time to talk and organize a lie together.
‘’We are here to clarify the events of last Friday that have caught our attention,’’ Minju’s dad started, voice calm. He turned to face the jury. ‘’We have sufficient reasons to believe that both witches are involved.’’
You raised both eyebrows and tilted your head, wondering what on earth was going on. You weren’t involved in shit. Beside you, Minju whimpered under her breath, probably knowing where this whole thing was heading. Junseo turned his attention towards you and it took everything in you not to shrink under his steel gaze. He looked like a very offended father.
‘’You are a well-known associate of Kim Minju. You grew up together and are very close, as we all know. Responsible, respectful, talented with magic, and disciplined.’’
‘’Thank you, sir,’’ you muttered, lowering your head humbly and nodding. You heard one juror behind you cooing and telling another how polite you were.
‘’Did Minju attend a fraternity party Friday night?’’ He asked.
Oh, so that's what this was all about. You lied without even thinking, in a steady voice, even frowning slightly as if you were confused that he even asked you that. ‘’Um, of course not. She spent the night with me; we were catching up on some reading. It was a quiet night, and we went to bed early.’’
You knew perfectly well that was a damn lie. The last thing Minju would do is spend a Friday cooped up inside studying instead of following Jungwon, her campus crush, to parties. You knew Minju was pretty easygoing and a lightweight, so alcohol wasn't exactly the wisest thing to give her, since chaos usually followed her wherever she went. When you asked her the next day how the party was, Minju only remembered maybe a quarter of it, not even a half. You weren't entirely sure what Minju had done to warrant a damn jury of witches, but you were going to defend your best friend no matter what anyway. Minju was... prone to getting into strange situations. You were used to it.
You turned your face and smiled innocently at the jury trying to sell your act; some thoughtful murmurs reached you while others simply nodded in agreement. You looked at Junseo as if nothing was wrong, with an open and friendly expression, nothing challenging or mocking. His eyes studied your expression and Minju's in a very familiar way, like when you were little and he wanted to find out which of you had eaten the whole drawer of chocolates.
‘’I don't know exactly what this is about, but I guess the only thing I can assure Minju did was snore very loudly,’’ you joked with a chuckle. ‘’We had a super quiet Friday, sir.’’
Minju gave you a playful nudge and you both giggled adorably, the very picture of good, innocent girls that the jury was totally buying into. For a beautiful moment you believed it had worked and that would be all, except that Mr. Kim had an ace up his sleeve.
He just nodded thoughtfully and, without saying a word, simply raised his hand holding a small remote control. The projector sprang to life and displayed a slightly blurry image filmed from a porch security camera. The room filled with sound: loud, silly laughter, someone yelling "aim well!" and "do it again!" A group of clearly drunk college kids came into view, eggs in their hands. Someone threw one and completely missed the house; another projectile did hit the door and splattered a little on the camera.
Minju gasped next to you. ‘’Oh my God. No way.’’
Then Minju's face appeared, her eyes wide and dilated, her mascara slightly smudged, and smiling as if she had just summoned a vortex of pure chaos. You frowned, believing your sight was deceiving you, but no, Minju was throwing or at least trying to throw eggs. She looked absolutely ridiculous, drunk as a sailor and staggering, unable to contain her drunk giggles, hands full of eggs, some failing into the floor. You covered your mouth, trying to control your laugh from spilling.
‘’Oh no,’’ Minju blurted with worry. ‘’My hair looked like that?!’’
You closed your eyes with a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. The video continued playing, showing Minju teetering on the sidewalk and trying to aim the eggs, some landing on her shoes while others cheered on her failed attempts. No eggs actually hit the house. Now you understood why the two of them were there. The house that Minju and her friends had vandalized was one of the oldest in town, now a museum, and what not many people knew was that it had actually been a house belonging to the witch settlers. In fact, nobody knew, except for those of their kind. Minju egged a historic house to your community, a very important one.
The screen went dark and a heavy silence fell over the room. The president spoke for the first time, clearing her voice. ‘’Girls, this is not exemplary behavior for witches.’’
‘’I know and I’m sorry,’’ Minju panicked, moving her hands desperately. ‘’I’ve grown since then! I swear!’’
‘’This happened three days ago,’’ her father said flatly.
The president moved her attention to you and you shrank a little in your seat under her stare. ‘’And you have lied to this council and the jury, covering up for the accused.’’
You deflated like a balloon, looking at the floor. ‘’Yes,’’ you admitted with a sigh, there was no point in denying it. ‘’I did. I’m sorry.’’
Seorin sighed loudly. ‘’You’re two young witches still forging their path, but at your age you should already understand certain rules. This room isn't a place for lies, girls. Magic doesn't just respond to power, but to truth,’’ she scolded you two gently but firmly; her eyes were not unkind. ‘’I'm a little disappointed in both of you. I was expecting better.’’
Being scolded by an older, more experienced witch felt just as embarrassing as when you were a little girl. Thank goodness your familiar, Soomin, had taken a short vacation, otherwise you would have been doubly scolded, though you suspected she probably already knew. Some jurors nodded, others agreed, and some looked at you two more suspiciously, as if they thought Minju had more eggs in her pockets and was about to attack them. Perhaps with better aim.
‘’This is obviously not a criminal matter, but every action has its consequences,’’ the president continued. ‘’And this is no exception.’’
Minju held your sleeve while looking at you alarmed. ‘’They're going to burn us at the stake!’’ she whispered urgently.
You rolled your eyes and pushed her softly, scoffing. ‘’Of course not!’’
‘’For you,’’ the president said, looking directly into your eyes, ‘’one lunar cycle without lies. No falsehood or trickery, your tongue will always speak the truth. May sincerity teach you an important lesson, young witch.’’
Your stomach dropped, but you maintained your neutral expression, even as you could feel the faint presence of a spell reaching your body and settling there. Your tongue felt heavy for a second and you touched your lips with a frown, noticing that the sensation appeared as quickly as it vanished, as if something had been tied up and then melted on your tongue like candy. Well, fuck.
‘’And for you,’’ she turned to Minju, ‘’you will be in charge of three hens. You will feed them, care for them, clean their coop and collect their eggs. It goes without saying that not a single one should be broken in the entire month.’’
‘’Oh. These hens,’’ Minju continued, ‘’are they… alive?’’
‘’They’re chickens, Minju,’’ her father sighed tiredly. ‘’That is usually how they work.’’
Seorin struck the gavel once. ‘’With this, we conclude the council meeting. Thank you all for your presence today.’’
Minju fell dramatically to your side, staring at the ceiling with a pout. ‘’Next time I’ll tell the truth.’’
You looked at her sideways. ‘’You don't say.’’
She pouted even more, regretting filling her cute features. ’‘I'm sorry I dragged you into this! But it was kind of worth it, if we think about the grand scheme of things. Like, I kissed Jungwon at the party and I got his number!’’
You looked at her in disbelief and wondered if they would increase the punishment if you hanged her right there. ‘’Minju, we're under a spell for a whole month! I can't lie, and you've become the babysitter for three chickens. Aren't you forgetting something?’’
She stared at you blankly, head empty, just waiting for you to say more after she shook his head no.
‘’You're afraid of chickens.’’
By morning you had already begun to encourage yourself. Honesty was easy, wasn't it? You could do this. It's not like you're constantly lying, you weren't a pathological liar. One month. One lunar cycle. Thirty days. It would be easy. You could do this. People liked honest people, after all.
It's not like the most powerful witch of the coven casted a spell on your tongue forever. There was no chance that a careless word could send you back to the Council chambers with judgmental candles and Minju’s chickens clucking in the distance… right? Right. You could do this. Being honest was a good thing! Maybe this whole mess could turn into something positive.
But one thought wouldn't leave your mind. How did this spell exactly work? Did silence count as an answer? Perhaps it was a good idea to fake pharyngitis and take a few days off. If you could keep your mouth shut and stay quiet, maybe take a lower profile… Huh. That could maybe do the trick.
You were so caught up in mental damage control and possible ways to cheat (or maybe not cheating as such, you would call it... walking the spell's edge), that you barely noticed someone started walking beside you.
Too close, close enough that you could smell his cologne. You glanced sideways and there was Park Jongseong in all his glory and blinding smile, gracing you with his presence. Jay was one of those guys who had a high place among campus royalty, definitely a party prince. Everybody knew him. Everybody wanted him. Always smiling like he knew something most people didn't, confident with a track record to back it up: friendly, athletic, way too good with the girls, as you’ve heard the rumors. Trouble.
Your alarm bells were starting to quietly go off because Jay was smiling at you as if you two were lifelong friends (you weren’t), looking at you as if he didn't notice your expression, which was somewhere between disinterest and slight concern (like saying please think twice what you’re about to say).
Jay wasn't a conceited idiot per se, but hey, you weren't going to give all your trust to one of the campus's favorite heartthrob just like that. You knew his kind (frat, attractive boy) and well, his group of friends had a certain reputation on campus. You weren't particularly interested in getting involved in their games like Minju, who had her sights set on Jungwon and apparently it was working well, without any illegal love potion included. You hoped.
“Hey,” he said easily. “You’re in Professor Park class, right?”
You looked at him and then at the empty halls.
“I am,” you replied flatly.
He chuckled, unbothered by your tone. “Cool, cool. Listen— quick favor. I’ve been kinda… busy lately,’’ Jay made a vague gesture that probably meant parties, games, existing attractively, fucking around, more parties. “Missed a few lectures. You take good notes, right?”
You felt a strange sensation in your chest, like a tickling inside. Your eye twitched a little, too early to deal with whatever that was. ‘’My notes are good, yes,’’ you said.
“Perfect,” Jay said enthusiastically, as if you had come up with the idea and not him. “Think you could send them to me? Or maybe help me catch up sometime? Maybe you could tutor me from time to time.”
You inhaled slowly, ready to say that you hadn't been taking notes lately, or that maybe he wouldn't understand your handwriting, that you didn’t have the time to tutor someone or even just a clear yes so he would leave you alone.
None of that came out of your mouth.
‘’No,’’ you said instead. Your eyes widened, realizing you couldn't have lied. It wasn't what you meant to say, it was just automatically spat it out.
Jay blinked at you. ‘’Oh. Okay.’’
‘’You should be more responsible, Jay,’’ you said, the words spilling out before you could stop it or control it. ‘’This isn't such a difficult class. If you came regularly, you'd definitely do better and be able to keep up instead of relying on people who actually are responsible, instead of being so unprepared, you know.’’
An awkward, confusing silence fell between you, and you quickly covered your mouth, wishing the floor would swallow you whole. If that wasn't guaranteed social death... some passing girls turned their heads, intrigued by the exchange.
Jay continued to stare at you for a few seconds and then let out a small laugh, more surprised than angry. ‘’Wow,’’ he said. ‘’Okay. Fair. Harsh, but fair,’’ he chuckled. ‘’I get it.’’
You shrugged mortified and helpless and bit your tongue hard, trying to hold back the words, but the spell was stronger. ‘’Also, I’m not interested in tutoring someone who prioritizes parties over academic responsibility. You'll just waste my time.’’
Jesus Christ.
Jay raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘’Damn. Alright. Message received.’’
He stopped in the hallway, still smiling, but there was something more thoughtful in his expression, his gaze lingering on you, as if he had miscalculated what he expected from you. Jay was placing you in some drawer of his mind with a new label.
‘’I didn’t know you thought like that,’’ he added. ‘’You don’t take shit from anyone, do you? I respect that.’’
Before you could make things worse by replying, thankfully Jay just gave you one of his boyish smiles and walked away. As you watched him go, your heart calmed and you sank into the nearest wall. Well, that turned out just fine. So much for walking on the edge of the spell, huh?
Not very far, someone was watching you and Jay intently, observing the entire conversation without moving with a growing interest.
Fortunately, you didn't scare away anyone else for the rest of the morning with your big mouth. Perhaps honesty wasn't as simple as you thought if it wasn't filtered, you could only hope that no one else asked you something as direct as Jay did. The spell definitely was out of control. So that was a damn problem. Not only could you not stay quiet, but your tongue was moving uncontrollably with thoughts that hadn't even formed yet. It was as if the truth was being ripped from your soul before your brain was even aware of it.
Minju was halfway through describing chicken’s politics when she realized you weren’t really paying attention to her. Your brows were furrowed, your mind racing, analyzing the damned spell. It was both strong and subtle, binding your tongue to the truth in a way that made it impossible to shut your damn mouth once you started speaking. There had to be some way to stop it. Of course, you weren't crazy enough to cast a counter-spell and actually end up in the Witches’ Council basement. But the chances of getting through the month without any trouble weren't looking so high anymore.
“I swear,” Minju said, poking at her salad, “at first they screamed every time they saw me, but now they only scream a little. And one of them lets me hold her for, like, five seconds. Her name is Buttercup. I don’t know why I was scared of them, they’re kinda cute. It’s not so bad.’’
‘’That’s good,’’ you murmured, barely nodding, eyes unfocused. ‘’Chickens are nice.’’
‘’It really is,’’ Minju agreed proudly. ‘’Also, I don’t scream as much anymore either. I think we’re warming up to each other, you know?’’
You hummed softly, taking a sip of your soda. ‘’It's great that you're building a relationship with your chickens. Bonding is important.’’
Of course Minju noticed your thoughtful and cloudy mood and stroked your shoulder with a frown. She also noticed the faint whisper of magic. ‘’How was your day? Is it the spell? Is your soda not fizzy enou— oh my God. Oh. My. God— okay, don’t look.’’
‘’What?’’ You asked, blinking out of your haze and looking all around. ‘’What’s going on?’’
‘’I said don’t look! Listen carefully,’’ she whispered urgently, going back to her salad and keeping her eyes down. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. ‘’Niki is looking at you.’’
You frowned at her, not quite understanding the urgency of the situation, but you assumed Minju would have some reason. You snorted, keeping your eyes down anyway and trying not to laugh. ‘’Okay, I won’t. So?’’
Minju looked at you in the most offended way possible, pointing her fork at you, eyes full of incredulity. ‘’You must be kidding. Seriously? Niki? Basketball player, very cute, very tall, friend of Jungwon.’’
A face flashed into your mind and you nodded, remembering him too well. The boy with the perpetual look of disinterest. ‘’I wouldn't call him cute but okay. What about it?’’
Your best friend is practically vibrating with happiness. ‘’What do you mean, what about it? He’s looking at you! This is so good! This mean we could have a double date!’’
‘’Okay,’’ you murmured under your breath, ‘’I don’t wanna know how that occurred to you. Besides, I don't think he's looking at me for that reason. He’s probably planning my social death right now. Don’t mind him, Min.’’
Minju fell from his cloud of excitement. ‘’What? Why? Why would he?’’
‘’I refused to help Jay this morning; the stupid spell made me say a bunch of crap. Basically that he was a party animal with little interest in academics and something about not wasting my time in him.’’
Minju made a face, measuring the damage in her head. The bond between the boys was no joke. Jungwon, Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Niki were like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse if they were five of them and in a frat— incredibly attractive, magnetic, with the kind of presence that simply drew attention. Whether it was their looks, their grades, the trophies they won with the basketball team, the gossip or their fraternity parties, someone was always talking about them. Loyal as hell, crossing one of them meant crossing the whole group of friends. And it wasn't a good idea to do that with the guys who basically controlled the narrative on campus.
Minju tried to smile again. ‘’Oh. Uhm, it doesn't sound very polite but he doesn't look murderous to me. He looks… in love,’’ she sighed cutely.
You looked at her, not entirely convinced and then subtly moved your head, until your eyes did find Riki Nishimura not far away, staring at you as if he could burn you with his mind. Or trying to.
He looked murderous.
Or maybe that was his everyday face. To you, he looked as always, as if he were bored and at the same time thinking about how he could start some chaos and blame others for it. Niki was leaning back in his chair across the courtyard, one arm lazily slung over the backrest, long fingers slowly swirling his ice americano coffee cup in circles. His posture screamed indifference, but his eyes betrayed him completely. They were fixed on you— not in passing, not accidentally. Intentionally. Burning. There was nothing shy about it, but you guessed that someone like Niki didn't know what shyness was in the first place.
It was a little creepy how his eyes had an almost predatory gleam in broad daylight. They weren't flirtatious as such, more like... analytical. Observant. Curious. As if he'd seen something and wanted to figure out exactly how it worked before getting close. He had a sharp, intense gaze, a feline spark that felt more like a panther than a cat. You couldn't deny it, he was one of the most attractive men you had ever seen, no truth spell needed to admit that. His cheekbones alone deserved a separate analysis for sure.
Niki didn’t look away when you caught him. Instead, he held your gaze for too long as if he was challenging you to not look away. His chin tilted and a hint of mockery appeared in his dark eyes, or perhaps it was an effect of the sun, as if he was saying Yes. I am looking. Problem?
You lose on the spot because your stomach did a strange flip under his piercing stare and you looked away, refusing to let him make you blush like a schoolgirl. You turned to Minju again. ‘’Right. I mean, it could be, who knows? That guy only has one expression for everything,’’ you shrugged.
She gasped. ‘’Of course not! He’s actually nice.’’
You arched a brow. ‘’Have you ever saw him smile?’’
‘’Maybe he’s one of those people who has a neutral face. You’re not the smiling type either,’’ she reminded you, mimicking your expression.
‘’You’re trying to say resting bitch face,’’ you offered, taking another sip of your soda. ‘’Or maybe he's just constantly constipated.’’
It was impossible for Minju not to laugh a little at that, and the two of them shared a few giggles that quickly died away when a shadow appeared over the two of you.
‘’What’s so funny?’’
A deep, definitely masculine voice sounded behind you. Minju jolted, eyes wide, while you turned far too slowly in your seat— straight into Niki standing there like he belonged in your space. Relaxed. Unbothered. Looking down at you from his full height, and fuck he was actually tall. Jungwon was at his side, smiling like it was a completely normal social interaction and not a potential social nightmare to you. You bit your tongue in advance.
Before anyone could speak, Jungwon's gaze flicked to Minju and he gently reached out, removing something of her shiny hair with a hint of hesitation, as if reality were playing a trick on him. It was a white feather.
Minju froze as Jungwon studied her and then the feather held in his fingers, his lips trembling as if he wanted to laugh but he was a little confused anyway.
‘’What’s this?’’ He asked her, amused.
You and Minju looked at each other speechlessly as the silence stretched long enough into awkwardness, not knowing what to say or how to explain. But of course, the spell didn't hesitate.
‘’It is from one of the chickens Minju is currently responsible for caring as a disciplinary punishment from the Witches' Council,’’ you quickly said.
Minju let out a strangled noise, horrified at your outburst. A second later you realized what you said and covered your mouth, frowning and looking panicked at Minju, shaking your head in a way best friends communicate meaning help me the fuck out.
Jungwon blinked between you both. ‘’Oh.’’
Niki’s eyebrows lifted slightly. ‘’Is that so?’’
‘’Yes,’’ you continued helplessly, ‘’Minju was actually telling me how her relationship with them is progressing and she's not so afraid of them anymore.’’
Minju buried her face in her hands and took a calming deep breath instead of screaming before looking at Jungwon, trying to smile and pretend that everything was normal.
‘’She’s right! I got some new pets,’’ she laughed with forced enthusiasm. ‘’Three chickens!’’
“That explains the feather,” Jungwon said, nodding solemnly as if this makes perfect sense. He placed it on the table. “Chickens are cute. Good luck with… that.”
‘’Thank you,’’ she mumbled, smiling too wide.
You wished with all your heart that no one else would speak to you, that perhaps the boys would just keep walking and think you were a couple of weird girls. But fate couldn't be that kind to you. Instead, Niki's attention never left you, searching for your eyes even while you were picking up your things, ready to bolt. You weren’t about to spill all your secrets and actually earn a worse punishment.
‘’Where are you going? Class?’’
You froze, feeling the spell regain its power and refusing to let you lie. ‘’I do not have class right now,’’ you explained, defeated.
Niki let out a quiet laugh, eyes gleaming. “Ah. Then why are you leaving?”
‘’I really don't want to continue this conversation in case I say something terrible or incriminating,’’ you admitted and made a face, grabbing your purse ready to bolt from there. God, just shut up!
Niki smiled slowly. Dangerous. Too handsome. The way something malignant finds out a new soul to torment. “Relax,” he taunted you. “We’re just talking. Do I make you so nervous that you want to run away?’’
You stood up abruptly, almost colliding with him. ‘’Yes. That is precisely the issue.’’
Niki stepped aside without argument, gesturing with exaggerated courtesy. “After you, princess.”
With what little dignity you had left and afraid of revealing some witch secret that would end with you being burned at the town bonfire (or having to move to another town), you left almost running. Niki's eyes watched as you disappeared among students coming and going, a slight smile raising the corners of his mouth.
Minju, bless her soul, tried to fill the heavy silence in your favor. ‘’Uh… she’s been pretty tired these days, you know, exams and stuff. She's usually more... quiet. But she’s super nice!’’
Jungwon nodded buying the explanation but Niki simply saw the bottle of soda you left; it was his favorite flavor. ‘’Is she?’’
The last thing you expected when you entered your home was a very, very angry owl staring at you from the stairs. You groaned under your breath as you approached, knowing you were about to get the scolding of a lifetime. You forced a smile onto your face and circled the scowling bird, slowly beginning to climb the stairs under her stare.
‘’Oh, Soomin, hi! You’re back already? How was your vacation? God, how the time flies. Anyway, I have so much work to do so—’’
‘’Don’t,’’ she warned, staring at you with huge, unblinking eyes. You gulped. ‘’Don’t even think to leave this conversation.’’
‘’But Soomin—’’
The owl hissed at you, feathers puffing. ‘’How is it possible that I'm only gone for a week and you've been punished with a spell?! And I'm only finding out about this today?’’
You froze mid-step and slowly turned to face her. Her small, feathered face was somehow the same one your mother used when you broke something expensive as a child. Pure maternal disappointment that could be read as: how have I ever had to put up with you.
‘’A week,’’ she repeated, flipping her wings in stress, ‘’just a week! I left you here trusting you’re a functional adult now and you got yourself in a trial and a punishment?!’’
‘’It wasn’t kinda an official trial—’’
‘’Of course it was official! There was a jury! The president and— I think I’m about to faint,’’ the owl wheezed, wobbling a little enough to worry you.
You quickly approached the bird trying to hold it, but as soon as you got close, Soomin began hitting you with its wing while hissing with renewed strength.
You yelped, cornered to the wall. ‘’Ow! Stop!’’
‘’You lied to the Council! You didn’t call me!’’ She growled, flapping at you with tiny, furious little hits. ‘’You lied in front of the entire Witches’ Council! Do you have any idea of how serious this is?’’
‘’Soomin, please, you’re being so dramatic,’’ you said, running a few steps up. ‘’It wasn't that deep! It's just for one lunar cycle.’’
The owl tilted its head and, of course, followed you, still giving you short, scandalized taps with its wings that weren't painful but ridiculously humiliating. You wondered how many people in the world could be scolded by a bird.
‘’Just a lunar cycle? This is a disaster,’’ Soomin continued, pacing back and forth on the stairs like a furious professor or a stressed lawyer. Probably both. ‘’A complete catastrophe. One week. I leave for one week and you ruin your life. You’re gonna tell me exactly what happened and oh, look at that, you can’t lie to me,’’ she mocked you. ‘’Because you’re cursed!’’
You scoffed and lifted your hands up in a calming gesture, staring down at her tiny form. ‘’Listen. It was just... a very confusing chain of events that somehow ended with me under a spell. I clearly didn’t expect that. How could I have known that was going to happen?’’
‘’Why did you lie in the first place while being interrogated?’’
You hesitated for a second, enough to make Soomin narrow her eyes. ‘’Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That face means it was a stupid reason.’’
You sighed, leaning against the wall, the spell working too well. ‘’I was trying to cover up for Minju. She got drunk and egged the histori—’’ you noticed how Soomin’s feathers started puffing again and you made a face, taking a step up. ‘’Historical house— she went to a party and I told the jury she was with me the entire night.’’
Soomin narrowed her eyes. If owls could facepalm… ‘’So it was a stupid reason.’’
You rubbed your temples. ‘’Hey, I’m actually struggling here. Today was my first day and already made some fucks ups,’’ you groaned, covering your face. ‘’I don’t think I’m surviving three full weeks. This is hard!’’
‘’You’ll find the way to do it because it’s what you deserve,’’ Soomin scolded you. ‘’That’s what you get for lying.’’
‘’It was just a small lie! All of this is so dramatic! You have any idea what this means to my social life?’’
‘’You don’t have one,’’ the owl responded, blinking at you.
‘’That’s not the point,’’ you replied, crossing your arms defensively with a frown. ‘’Now I definitely won’t.’’
Soomin perched on the railing and gave you another motherly look of pure disappointment. ‘’From now on, you won’t be unsupervised anymore,’’ she said firmly. ‘’I’m not leaving you for extended periods of time ever again.’’
You pouted and leaned your head on the wall. ‘’A month,’’ you muttered in pure misery and sadness. ‘’Twenty nine days to go.’’
Soomin shook her head. ‘’Unbelievable,’’ she scoffed. ‘’I raise you for years and this is what happens the moment I take a break.’’
You blinked. ‘’You’re appeared like three years ago, you didn’t raise me.’’
‘’Emotionally, I did.’’
You and Minju looked incredible. There was no other way to describe it, to be honest and full objective. Shorts that showed off your legs, zip-up jackets that clung to all the right places and accentuated your waist, your hair in a high ponytail that could have been in a sports-themed fashion editorial.
You had both made a deal, before the whole punishment mess happened, that both would enter their athletic era; meaning no more sedentary life and naps. It was time to get healthier, enjoy the nice weather and all that shit that was supposed to be good to your body.
You were dying.
Literally. Lungs gone.
You didn't know when you thought it was a good idea to suggest to Minju that you both take an open hockey class as a form of exercise, but it was definitely you trusting too much that your back would hold up. And your knees. And practically your entire body. It wasn’t the case. Who knew running while holding a stick could be so difficult?
By the end of the class you had moved parts of your body that you weren't sure you could coordinate at the same time in the first place, bent over your knees and gasping for air. Sweat trickled down your back as if you'd run a marathon from continent to continent, not just an hour-long class. Minju wasn't in the best shape either, dragging her hockey stick towards the benches while groaning, like she was leaving a battlefield.
‘’I think I saw angels,’’ Minju panted beside you, ‘’when they made us sprint the second time.’’
‘’I saw God,’’ you wheezed. ‘’She suggest me to sit down.’’
On the other side of the field, the men's team was finishing their practice too. From afar you could hear their shouts, grunts, and jeers. These classes were supposed to be the Student Council's idea to provide free, open sports spaces for everyone, but the men definitely treated it like the National Championship. Fast, competitive, sticks and shoulders clashing. You recognized some of the guys and wondered who in their right mind would do two different sports in the same week and survive. Apparently, Niki was one of them.
The way he moved was ruthless, efficient, controlled. You couldn't help but watch him from afar while you drank water because, well, why not? A girl could enjoy the view. His hair was slightly damp, pushed back from his forehead. His t-shirt clung a little to his torso, and it was impossible not to notice the trace of his abs and the muscle in his arms. His body moved with force and speed. And although he seemed incredibly focused, his eyes still occasionally wandered. Towards you. Searching.
Again. Again. One more time, until Jungwon noticed and it made him snort with a knowing smile.
After practice, while your lungs were slowly coming back to life and Minju was showing you videos of her chickens, on the other side of the field a group of boys were making a straight line towards you. It was too late to run when you looked up and Jungwon was approaching with an easy smile, Jay by his side and Niki just a step behind, hands in their pockets and a serious expression.
‘’Hey,’’ Jungwon greeted warmly, eyes drifting to Minju. ‘’How’d it go?’’
‘’We survived,’’ she smiled at him, proud. ‘’Barely. But it was fun. I can’t still feel my legs.’’
Jay arched a brow, chucking. ‘’That intense?’’
‘’You have no idea,’’ you whispered to no one, positioning yourself behind Minju as naturally as possible while you put away your water bottle and grabbed your bag. So, a new game plan was set. If no one specifically spoke to you, you couldn't say anything catastrophic, right?
All you needed to do was make yourself a little invisible.
For a moment you thought you were actually succeeding. Jungwon was clearly only interested in Minju, with whom he was animatedly discussing hockey (or so you thought, because you had no idea about the terminology they were using). That was the moment: back away slowly, as if you'd decided in the moment and hadn't overanalyzed it for several minutes. Slowly, imperceptibly, so no one would smell your fear. Just a few steps toward freedom, just a bye under your shoulder and no one would get hurt.
Jay noticed right away, calling your name.
‘’Hey,’’ he said casually, glancing at you and your outfit, taking in your legs. ‘’You look good today.’’
You froze. Oh no. No. Please, no. The spell didn’t wasted a fucking second.
‘’I know,’’ you said confidently. ‘’These shorts gave me an incredible ass.’’
Silence. Minju choked, eyes huge. Jungwon’s brows shoot up. Jay bursted out laughing, full delight, not at all bothered.
‘’You’re so sincere,’’ he said with a grin. ‘’Confidence. I like that.’’
Niki didn't laugh or say anything. He was simply watching you, studying the way you spoke without hesitation and the subsequent panic that followed, as if you had no filter.
Jay playfully nudged Niki with his elbow and kept the conversation going. ‘’You guys watched us play?’’
You prayed that no one else would say anything to you directly, taking another step back.
Of course, Niki’s voice interrupted your attempts. He looked straight at you. Calm, low, direct. ‘’Did you?’’
You swallowed, as if that could stop the truth from rising like bile up your throat. ‘’Uh, y-yes.’’
‘’And?’’
“You looked very attractive,” you admitted helplessly, eyes flicking to him for half a second before staring at the grass, accepting your destiny. “With your hair all sweaty and pushed back.”
Minju made a tiny distress sound, Jungwon tried to look neutral watching the exchange and failed, and Jay grinned knowing he found free entertainment and material to taunt his maknae. But Niki didn't mock you, or smiled, nor did he seem embarrassed or smug. He tilted his head and continued looking at you with heavy, but not cold, eyes. Just… attentive. Listening. Like he never heard that sort of answer before.
‘’Did I?’’ He asked, mildly.
‘’Yes,’’ you said immediately, planning your own death. ‘’It was distracting.’’
Jay looked at Niki, considering your words. He was enjoying it too much. ‘’Distracting, huh?’’
Niki ignored him and moved a little closer to you, just enough to make the air shift. ‘’Then maybe,’’ he said quietly, eyes steady on you, ‘’you should stop watching.’’
‘’I would, but you’re hard to ignore,’’ you murmured automatically, slamming your eyes shut. ‘’Okay. I’m leaving now.’’
‘’We need water!’’ Minju intervened, taking your arm and leading you away with an apologetic smile. ‘’Bye, guys!’’
Jungwon was smiling and waving, Jay was saying something about Niki's sweaty hair being gross and Niki... his eyes followed you the whole way. Smiling a little.
Already deciding.
Avoidance is power, you told yourself.
Clearly you couldn't control the spell. Okay. Nor could you control who spoke to you. Obviously. But you could control the exposure. Limited interactions, minimal risks, avoid potential red flags that could lead to humiliation. You were going to finally walk the line of the spell or die trying.
It didn't matter that Minju was officially dating Jungwon and that somehow included his friends who orbited him and, due to their proximity, your best friend, like damn satellites. You wouldn't be rude. Just... brief and efficient. Simply as that. In the middle of a night where you were staring at the ceiling wondering how you ended up in this problem while you were in a chocolate ice cream coma, that's when it occurred to you.
You couldn't lie, but you could control how you told the truth. You wouldn't be lying per se... you'd simply be revealing the answers in long, technical sentences. Careful words, a controlled tone, crafted and directed honesty. That wasn't lying. You were simply adapting to the rules of the game. Expanding your vocabulary. Making things complicated wasn't lying. The spell didn't imply that people had to understand you.
In the dating world, some friends canceled plans because of their boyfriends. Minju did it for her chickens. She bailed on hockey practice before it even started when her security app sent a notification.
“One of the girls laid an egg and she looks emotionally overwhelmed,” she had said seriously, already packing her bag. “I need to supervise.”
‘’She’s just a chicken,’’ you stared at her.
‘’She’s sensitive.’’
That's how you ended up alone, suffering, exhausted but not as dramatically as last time. Or maybe you just didn't have anyone to complain to. Either way, once practice was over, you actually enjoyed it a little. Other girls were stretching and chatting, laughing and drinking water, while you sat on the benches. You breathed a sigh of relief when you took down your ponytail and let your hair fall, enjoying the fresh air.
Perhaps doing outdoor sports wasn't so bad, you supposed. The sunset and the breeze caressed your damp skin, and for a second you relaxed, enjoying the silence. You tilted your head slightly toward the sky, toward the last rays of the sun, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You even smiled a little, not ruining your social interactions for a whole day felt like a huge victory.
You weren’t aware of it, but at the other side of the field the boy’s team were finishing warm-up drills. Niki’s focus shifted, as he had done all week, to you. Finally alone. Illuminated by a halo of sunlight, looking so pretty and relaxed, not like the times he had approached you and you looked ready to flee.
By the time you sensed someone’s presence it was too late, opening your eyes to Niki standing close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly to meet his gaze. You got startled with a small yelp and your heart rate went crazy while Niki was completely and clearly unashamed of staring at you like that in the open.
He broke the silence first. ‘’Minju abandoned you?’’
You were ready for this. You cleared your throat and sat straighter. ‘’She had a chicken-related emergency.’’
Niki blinked once, nodding like that made all the sense in the world. ‘’I thought you were avoiding us,’’ he said plainly. ‘’Avoiding me.’’
You inhaled, choosing the words carefully in your head. ‘’I’m being selective with my interactions at this particular moment.’’
His mouth twitched slightly. ‘’Selective? And I didn't make the cut?’’
Panic spread across your brain, that was dangerous territory!
‘’I'm trying to minimize situations where I have to interact verbally because… because I'm avoiding saying things that can amplify the exposure of my personal, reserved thoughts and put me in complicated circumstances.’’
Niki’s eyes sharpened. ‘’So I complicate your life?’’
This fucker. You froze for a second, feeling the spell around your tongue, ready to pounce head first into the truth. ‘’I believe you increase the odds a little,’’ you admitted, maintaining your calm tone.
He took a step closer, his knees almost touching you. ‘’And why is that?’’
Because I can't decipher the way you look at me.
Because you don't react like everyone else.
You didn’t say any of it. ‘’You ask direct questions,’’ you said instead, finding the right words. ‘’And I struggle with filtering in those interactions.’’
His eyes fell on the curve of your shoulders, the way your hair waved in the breeze, your cheeks a little pink from exercise. ‘’You look better like this,’’ Niki said casually.
You frowned. ‘’Like what?’’
‘’Less guarded.’’
Your brain short-circuited, and thankfully, not even a powerful witch's spell could fix that. But before you could die crushed by Niki's dark eyes, he was the first to look away towards the other side of the field, where his team resumed training.
‘’We’re not done,’’ he started, and you suspected he wasn’t just talking about hockey. ‘’Stay.’’
You blinked. ‘’Stay? Why?’’
He gestured subtly with his head towards the bleachers and you followed his line of sight. Oh. A few girls were there, watching the boy’s practice. Some talking, others taking photos. Waiting for boyfriends. Watching situationships or prospects.
You looked at Niki again, not fully understanding the situation. Actually, more in denial. The implication was too obvious to ignore, but it still confused you a little. Why the hell Riki Nishimura wanted you there of all people?
‘’You can sit there,’’ he said, like it was the most normal outcome. ‘’Watch.’’
You kept staring at him, blinking slowly. ‘’You’re recruiting spectators, Nishimura?’’
His mouth twitched again, trying not to crack a smile. ‘’I’m inviting you.’’
Your stomach lurched catastrophically. ‘’You want me… to sit there and openly watch you?’’
‘’Yes.’’
‘’No.’’
He didn't react badly to your refusal, he simply studied you. ‘’Why not?’’
You swallowed and searched your brain for an answer that made sense. ‘’Because that could create some assumptions.’’
He tilted his head, a spark of mischief in his eyes. ‘’What kind of assumptions?’’
You narrowed your eyes a little, knowing that now he was playing with you. He knew what kind of assumptions, the cocky bastard.
‘’I would prefer not to fuel potential situations that could lead to rumors that are not substantiated… based on our interactions. Misinterpretations could arise.’’
He searched your eyes while lowering his voice a little. ‘’What if I want them substantiated?”
Fuck this frat boy. You let out a loud sigh and thought about your next move. There was no chance you would let Niki throw you into the stands full of girlfriends, when the possibility of the spell going out of control due to the pressure and the crowd was so high. You were barely taking baby steps into the edge of the spell, not doing fucking somersaults on it.
So you took the next best route: evade. ‘’You’re very confident,’’ you managed to say, trying to smile.
‘’Yes.’’
‘’That's very... threatening to my… filtering,’’ you groaned, feeling the spell tightening.
He kept his eyes on you, pleased by it. ‘’Then stay,’’ he muttered, almost soft. ‘’Face the danger.’’
‘’That’d end with me saying something incriminating,” you warned him with a sigh.
“I’m counting on it.”
Alright.
You stood abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “This is exactly the kind of scenario I am strategically eliminating.”
He didn’t move out of your space immediately. “You’re running again.”
“I am exercising discernment.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Same thing.”
You looked at him once more, trying to appear composed and with a serene face, even though your heart was beating strangely inside your chest. ‘’I'm not equipped to deal with you right now. Bye.’’
That made him stop for a second. And then: ‘’Good.’’
‘’What? Why’s that’s good?’’
‘’Because when you are, I'll be here. I want to see it.’’
Niki walked back onto the playing field, leaving you behind as if he hadn't desestabilized your nervous system.
From that day on, things got progressively worse, little by little, as if the loose ends were starting to tie themselves up. And by loose ends, you meant Niki's friends. The strangest part was the stares you got from other girls. Some were curious and interested, others hateful. The campus had eyes everywhere, that was obvious to anyone. The five horsemen and their lost bachelorhood were the talk of the town. First Jungwon, then Jake, who would be next?
The initial plan to avoid social interactions wasn't working too well. Maybe it was because you were just one soldier, and well, Niki's army was bigger, not to mention the whole campus. Little things started happening. Like Jay sitting next to you in class, much to your alarm, and you even considered pretending not to know him. But if there was one thing impossible in the world, it was getting Jay to shut up. He talked about everything. Your head was completely empty by the time he launched into his anecdote about the basketball team's mascot falling into the pool last week.
The party invitations came in a more personal way. It wasn't like fraternity parties required it, but maybe it was something about the social hierarchy you weren’t aware of…? You had no idea and weren’t about to ask Minju about it. You assumed people just showed up, like you had done a few times before. But then Lee Heeseung basically blocked the library entry and asked you (more or less threatening you) if you would like to come to one of their parties. It took you too much by surprise to put together a coherent sentence, so you basically scuttled out the side with a yelp and a hurried ‘’no!’’.
That’s how you ended like this. Looking insane.
A scarf wrapped around your head as if you were a Hollywood actress from the 40s hiding from the paparazzi (you weren't), oversized black glasses that definitely weren't your style and didn't serve much purpose on a cloudy day, shoulders hunched as you slid along the edges of buildings like a cartoon thief, trying to blend into the shadows. Head down, quick steps, incognito mode activated.
The problem was that the Silverveil’s campus was a curse in itself, starting with its architecture: lots of open spaces, glass walls, and lots of people who liked to talk. And of course, him.
Nishimura Riki.
You had acquired a new knack for finding Niki in a crowd, though it wasn't too difficult. Tall, existing effortlessly, hands in his pockets with a semi-bored expression. You saw him at the other end of the courtyard, laughing at something Jake said, his laugh short and sharp, and just that sound made your stomach clench.
Abort. Abort. Abort.
You spun around instantly, nearly colliding with a group of students, muttering a quick apology before making a beeline run towards the nearest column. You leaned your back against it and took a breath, waiting a few seconds before poking your head out and inspecting the area.
No five horsemen of the apocalypse. No teachers. No curious girls asking if you can introduce them to Jay or Heeseung— or asking if it's true they're in a polyamorous relationship. No hockey coach asking why you didn't go to the last class and you not answering that you'd rather sleep for ten hours than drag your ass through that torture again.
Good.
You adjusted your scarf, lowered your glasses further, and leaned again— only to freeze. Niki was definitely close. Too close. So close you could see the lazy way he walked, unhurried, making his way along without even asking, as if he weren't chasing after anything. As if he knew exactly where he was going.
You pulled back fast, heart slamming against your ribs. Shit.
‘’Who are you spying on?’’
His voice came from behind you, low and amused, close enough that you felt it more than hear it. Slowly, too slowly, you turned around and there he was, devastating so. Niki’s eyes scanned you from head to toe, taking in the handkerchief, the glasses, and your expression somewhere between guilt and panic, as if you were assessing your chances of running away.
For a second he just looked at you, until one corner of his mouth lifted.
‘’No one in particular. I’m just… examining the perimeter and human elements near me.’’
Niki arched a brow, somewhat amused and slightly judgmental. ‘’Is this a disguise or a styling choice?’’
Panic surged through your mind, flooding your entire brain, barely remembering the plan and survival mode before the spell revived. ‘’I’m avoiding being recognized to prevent unnecessary social interactions that could result in irreversible harm to me.’’
Niki let out a short laugh, surprised and real, eyes bright with something dangerously close to interest. “Wow,” he said. “That’s… specific.’’
You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, heart trembling. “I would appreciate it if you did not interpret my current behavior as an invitation for conversation.”
“And yet,” he replied lightly, stepping closer instead of away, “you’re still talking to me. You are hard to go unnoticed, too.”
You swallowed. “This is an unfortunate consequence of your proximity.”
He studied you like you were a puzzle he didn’t know how he wanted to solve, which piece picked up first, gaze lingering just a beat too long. “You know,” he started, voice dropping a little, “I’ve been looking for you all morning.”
Your heart stuttered. “Did you? That information is… distressing.”
Niki smiled fully now, slow and unreadable. “Good,” he responded.
And suddenly, hiding felt impossible and dumb. You were pressed against the column when Niki moved closer, cornering you enough so that you couldn't leave without brushing against his body. Niki lifted a hand, slow enough that you saw it coming but not slow enough to stop it. His fingers brushed your cheek for half a second before hooking under the arm of your sunglasses.
‘’Hey!—’’
He slid them off your face with infuriating ease. The world suddenly felt too bright. Too exposed. His gaze settled on your eyes immediately, intent and unreadable, like he was cataloguing something important. Up close, you noticed details you really shouldn’t be noticing: the curve of his lashes, the way his expression softened when you weren’t hiding behind dark lenses, a faded scar on one of his eyebrows. The smell of his cologne.
“Hm,” he hummed, studying you. “So that’s what you were hiding.”
You stopped yourself, jaw tightening. “…That statement is inaccurate since you don’t know my intentions and motives.”
Without breaking eye contact, Niki casually slipped the sunglasses onto his own face. They looked ridiculous on him. He also looked unfairly good as well.
‘’There’s a party tonight,’’ he said, like it was the most normal conversation he ever had. ‘’Our frat. You coming?’’
There’s no way in hell I’m going, you thought. Instead, you said: ‘’Attending an event of that magnitude is not in my immediate plans.’’
He stepped back, finally giving you air. “That’s a shame,’’ he smirked, then tilted his head, lowering his voice just enough to feel intimate. “If you want these back,” he added, tapping the edge of the sunglasses, “you should come.”
You opened your mouth to renegotiate the deal or tell him it was ridiculous, but Niki turned around and left without looking back, just like that. Hands in his pockets, wearing YOUR big glasses, carefree, as if he hadn't left you there with the words on your lips and your heart racing, or with people nearby pretending not to have seen everything.
By the end of the day, it was everywhere.
People saw Niki.
People definitely saw the sunglasses.
People definitely saw Nishimura Riki wearing your sunglasses like they were his in the first place and didn't steal it from you in plain sight. The bastard had the audacity to actually wear them throughout the day, even with his friends, completely unbothered by the small chaos he caused.
You even heard some whispers throughout the day that made you stare at nothing while some people gossiped about your life in real time. You sat in class, notebook opened, half-hearing your professor, doing doodles and making an effort to write something even if you barely care. That’s when you heard the whispers.
‘’...Is that her?
‘’Mmmh. I think so.’’
‘’Ya, she’s pretty. No wonder Niki’s dating her.’’
You stopped doodling and paid more attention, your eyes were on your professor as you grip tightening around your pen. Waiting for more gossip to spill.
‘’They look like an idols couple or something.’’
‘’My friend saw them flirting in front of everybody. Is that serious.’’
‘’Really?’’
‘’I know, right? He’s wearing her glasses. She’s friends with Jay too, I think.’’
By the end of the day, it was everywhere, and Minju was proof of that, because at some point during the day your best friend dragged you to the nearest cafe and interrogated you in a very similar way to the Witches' Council. With two lattes and two muffins and Minju unsuccessfully trying to contain her excitement, you sighed in defeat.
‘’Okay,’’ she started, resting her hands on the table, trying to calm down as if that would make her hear better. ‘’I’m ready. Tell me everything! What’s is going on with you and Niki?’’
You shrugged. ‘’There’s nothing going on,’’ you murmured, taking a sip of the latte. ‘’I think? I can categorize it for sure. Try be more specific.’’
Minju narrowed her eyes. ‘’Someone from my Economics class saw you and Niki earlier,’’ she paused. ‘’She said he took your glasses, like, he took them.’’
‘’That’s true. I was robbed in broad daylight and slightly criticized by my fashion choices, I think,’’ you frowned.
Minju blinked and deflated a little. ‘’That’s not… how she described it.’’
You stared at your best friend, unimpressed. ‘’I’m literally incapable of lying, remember?’’
‘’So? What you’re gonna do?’’
‘’Honestly, I don’t know,’’ you sighed, massaging your temples. ‘’He told me I can get them back if I go to their party. He can keep them, I guess.’’
Minju gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. ‘’Oh my God. You’re being courted!’’
‘’More like terrorized. He stole from me!’’
‘’He’s flirting, you dumbass!’’
‘’He committed a crime,’’ you stated.
‘’You’re brushing!’’
You groaned and covered your face with a whine. ‘’Leave me alone.’’
‘’Listen,’’ Minju said, in a softer tone. ‘’I’ve never seen Niki doing something like that, he’s very reserved. He’s always looking at you like… like he wants to eat you alive. And to be honest, you don’t look at him very differently.’’
You pressed your lips together and watched your coffee as it had the answers of the world. Somewhere on campus Niki was probably smiling to himself, that you were sure of, perfectly aware that he did exactly what he wanted.
Stressed you out, checked.
Provoked you, checked.
Left you with an invitation you could’t stop thinking about, checked.
The worst part? You didn’t care about getting your sunglasses back.
The sky has been gray and cloudy lately, but you hardly care. It was another hockey practice and only half your body was there, your functional neurons checking out a long time ago. Physically you existed there, but your mind? That was a thing with a life of its own. Your body moved when it should, your stick hit the ball when it was your turn, even your legs seemed more coordinated than before. The reality was that your mind was deep in a daydream about the thing you wanted most: your warm bed.
You were planning it in detail, too distracted and entertained.
Hot shower, giant pajamas, a greasy double hamburger— eating cross-legged under your blankets while something mindless played on your laptop. The beginning of your weekend. No campus. No accidental honesty. No dodging dangerously perceptive boys. Just a pause in time to exist without stress.
You jogged half-heartedly across the grass, barely registering the shouts of your teammates playing. The cloudy weather made everything feel slower, heavier. Your eyelids even drooped for a second. And then— a memory flashing too fast, your brain betraying you.
Niki. Uninvited.
How close he stood the other day, the way he said face the danger. His low, deep voice, the way he looked at you like— no. You shook your head slightly, refusing to let yourself do that. But the images, his face, it kept flickering in your head. His smile, his smirk, his intense eyes. Him watching you like—
‘’Watch out!’’
Too late.
A body collided with you, hard, from the side. One of the girls tripped mid run to hit the ball, and suddenly the world turned upside down without warning. Grass. The grey sky. Impact. Your head hitting the ground hard enough to make you stay still with a low groan. There were some black points in your vision and for a second everything sounded muffed, until a sharp whistle pierced the air.
The girl approached immediately, kneeling beside you in alarm. ‘’Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn't see you— are you okay? Don’t move.’’
You blinked a few times, staring at the sky. ‘’I’m fine,’’ you mumbled, pressing your hand on your head, making sure it was still there. ‘’It’s my fault. I was… geographically misplaced.’’
She looked confused but relieved. ‘’Oh…? Okay. Don’t stand up anyway, just take your time.’’
The coach jogged over, calling your name. ‘’Are you okay?’’
‘’Yeah,’’ you muttered, sitting slowly. ‘’It was just grass, it’s okay. Nature softened the hit, I guess.’’
And then, a shadow fell over you, but it wasn’t your coach or a teammate. You didn’t need to look up to know, a sense in your body recognizing the presence before your mind did. But you did look anyway and you suck a breath, cursing in your mind.
Niki dropped beside you, crouching immediately, his expression serious. Shifting into something you never saw before, sharp and alert in a way that made your stomach flip for entirely different reasons than falling into the ground.
Before you could process what was happening or even talk, his hands found you— sliding under your head, cradling carefully like you were struck with a metal baseball bat and not softly bonked by grass.
Your brain short-circuited and you let out a startled squeak, trying to push his hands.
‘’I’m fine!’’ you blurted, trying to push yourself up.
His hands didn’t move, still holding your skull. ‘’Don’t,’’ Niki said gently.
Your heart was beating too fast for someone who just wanted a nap and a burger.
‘’I literally fell on grass,’’ you insisted, noticing more people staring. ‘’This is not a serious injury, really.’’
Niki ignored you completely and looked up at your coach. ‘’She should go to the infirmary,’’ he suggested, voice steady and persuasive. ‘’Just in case.’’
Your head snapped towards him, confused. ‘’Just in case of what?’’
‘’Concussion.’’
You blinked, then laughed. ‘’No way. It was a gentle meeting between my head and nature. I’m perfectly fine.’’
Niki looked down at you. ‘’Do you know how concussions work?’’
The spell was faster than you. ‘’More or less.’’
‘’More or less,’’ he repeated, a small glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘’So you don’t actually know.’’
You clenched your teeth. ‘’I’m clearly conscious. I’m not dizzy. I can form intelligent sentences.’’
‘’Barely,’’ he said under his breath.
You gasped in outrage.
Your coach softened visibly by his tone. ‘’It’s very sweet that you’re worried about your girlfriend.’’
There was a split second of silence. And then:
‘’I am not his girlfriend,’’ you yelped at the same time Niki said smoothly, ‘’Thank you. I’ll take her.’’
You stared at him with both betrayal and alarm. ‘’Excuse me?’’
But Niki was already moving, and before you could react or scream his arm slided under your knees, other behind your back and the ground suddenly disappeared.
You grabbed onto him reflexively, noticing that you were quite far from the ground. ‘’What are you doing?!’’
Carrying you apparently cost him zero effort, holding you like it was nothing. A small part of your brain noticed his arms flexing and his hard chest, but you pushed those thoughts down.
‘’You might faint,’’ he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘’I’m not taking risks.’’
You covered your face while Niki carried you bridal-style out of the field, leaving behind teammates whispering, gasping, other laughing, definitely rumours taking a new shape. You swore you saw Jay snapping a pic, but for your mental health you told yourself that was a hallucination induced by mortification.
You squirmed in his arms, refusing to give up. ‘’Right, I will faint from humiliation!’’
‘’You’re so dramatic,’’ he chuckled. ‘’Just stay still.’’
‘’This is completely unnecessary,’’ you hissed, kicking the air. ‘’I can walk. Put me down!’’
‘’No. Stop overreacting.’’
You gasped in pure incredulity at his nerve. ‘’Me? I’m the one overreacting? You engineered this!’’
He glanced down, amused. ‘’How? You were the one so distracted in the middle of a game that you hit your head. What were you thinking of, anyway?’’
The spell enveloped your tongue. ‘’I was thinking about my plans for tonight when I fell. On. Grass.’’
‘’You. Hit. Your. Head.’’
‘’On grass,’’ you groaned, resuming your kicks in the air. ‘’It’s not serious!’’
‘’You don’t know how hard you hit yourself,’’ Niki tried to reason with you. He adjusted his grip on you, too comfortable to care about your protests.
‘’I do? I was literally there?’’
‘’So was I. Saw the whole thing.’’
‘’Put me down, Nishimura.’’
‘’No.’’
‘’I don’t particularly enjoy being paraded like this. People are looking!’’
‘’You’re being cared for.’’
‘’Against my wishes!’’
His expression, despite the teasing and the smirk, is sharp. Watchul. With something deeper, until you realize what it was. Protective. You hated the way your pulse reacted to it, and at some point along the way you relaxed enough to rest your cheek against his chest. You were giving him the silent treatment anyway, all pouty and clinging to what little dignity you had left.
The infirmary smelled like lemon scented cleaner. It was bright and quiet, a small place with a desk and a few simple beds to lay. Niki set you down on one of them, his hands lingering on your body enough for your heart to do a backflip before he stepped back in a very professional way and not suspicious at all.
‘’Sit,’’ he said, unnecessary. You did.
The nurse came up with a clipboard under her arm, looking between you and Niki. ‘’What happened?’’
Before you could open your mouth, Niki started speaking. ‘’She fell, hit her head hard. Black spots, disorientation. She tried to stand up immediately,’’ he accused you.
Your eyes widened. ‘’That’s not—’’
‘’I feared she might have a concussion,’’ Niki continued, crossing his arms and looking at you like you were a very bad behaving kid, ‘’she insisted she was fine and that’s a sign that someone is not fine.’’
You stared at him in disbelief. ‘’I fell on grass.’’
‘’She collapsed after the hit,’’ Niki told the nurse.
The nurse hummed, clearly entertained and nodding to the story, writing something on the clipboard. ‘’Mmm-mm, I see. And you carried her all the way here?’’
‘’Yes,’’ Niki replied like it was the most obvious thing to do. ‘’For her safety. She needs a check-up.’’
You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.
‘’Well,’’ the nurse smiled, turning to you, ‘’you seem pretty alert and you didn’t lose consciousness. Let’s have you rest here for a bit just to be safe,’’ she handed you a small box of juice from her desk. ‘’Drink this, sugar helps.’’
You took it obediently, giving Niki a bitter side eye.
The nurse stepped back to her desk and then paused, taking the paper from the clipboard. ‘’I’ll be back with some paperwork,’’ she sent you a knowing look. ‘’Behave, you two.’’
The door closed behind her and then silence followed.
You snorted softly. ‘’Don’t worry,’’ you said while stabbing with too much force the straw into the juice box, ‘’we’re not having a making-out session here.’’
The words hit your ears a second later and you froze, remembering the fucking spell. You immediately shoved the straw in your mouth like it might save you.
Niki tilted his head, looking at you. ‘’We won’t?’’
You choked when the juice went the wrong way and you coughed until your eyes watered. ‘’—What!?’’
Niki patted your back softly, too entertained for someone who was playing hero. ‘’You heard me. That was a question.’’
You glared at him over the juice box, cheeks burning, spell threatening you. ‘’I'm not going to do anything that doesn't involve the nurse's medical advice, Nishimura.’’
Niki stepped close and you felt it— his fingers brushing the hem of your shorts, idly tracing the edge like it was the most natural thing to do.
‘’I like it when you call me that,’’ he muttered in that deep voice of his.
Your suspicions and alarms went off at the same time and you gave him another warning look, moving your thigh away from his fingers.
His touch followed you, but now it was his giant palm covering your thigh and gently squeezing it.
‘’Don't,’’ you scolded him.
He stooped, mostly. His hand still hovered there, but didn’t move further.
‘’You got me worried out there,’’ he said, quietly.
You studied his face— the crease between his brows, the lack of amusement or teasing. ‘’You didn’t have to carry me all the way here,’’ you mumbled.
‘’I wanted to and I’d do it again.’’
That landed harder than it should, straighter to your chest and even lower. A pause fell but it was soft, quiet, not quite awkward. It felt more like something seeking place and settling down.
‘’Why do you run away all the time?’’ He asked, curious, searching your eyes.
You swallowed and put the empty juice box to the side with a sigh. Your shoulder slumped a little, tiredness waving in your voice. ‘’Sometimes I feel…’’ you explained quietly. ‘’Like… there’s something in me that doesn’t let me lie, even if I wanted to,’’ you chuckled softly.
Niki leaned in, eyes sharpening with interest.
‘’And I don’t know how people would take that,’’ you continued, staring at the floor. ‘’What if I said too much and I hurt somebody? Or I show too much of myself? I don’t like that exposure. I don’t have any… shield or control. So I just wanna avoid those things from happening.’’
Niki didn’t interrupt you, listening attentively. He was silent for a long moment. ‘’You want to protect yourself,’’ he explained easily, making you tense a little. ‘’I know you think running makes you invisible, but it doesn't. It just makes people look harder.’’
You looked up and glanced at Niki, noticing that his face had gotten too close to yours, his eyes focussed on your lips. But before you could respond, the infirmary door opened and the nurse came back. Niki straightened up immediately as if nothing had happened and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, the other still resting warmly on your thigh.
You didn’t scold him again or move away.
Growing up as a witch was a series of completely out-of-context situations thrown right in your face for you to deal with. Like the time everything inside your house floated constantly for a month before you could get that power under control. Or the time you saw a rabbit, thought it was cute, and overnight your yard was overrun with rabbits from all sizes and colors until the town newspaper reported a rabbit overpopulation in your neighborhood. You hadn't realized you were controlling their energies and, unintentionally, summoning them.
So yes, you were somewhat used to surprising situations, but you still almost had a heart attack when you opened your backpack in the middle of class and two huge, deep, yellow eyes stared back at you from the darkness inside the bag.
You nearly screamed. But the sound somehow got muffled in your throat as you quickly zipped up your backpack and cradled it against your chest like a contained bomb. Slowly, very, very slowly, you leaned forward over your desk and opened the zipper again, enough for Soomin to hear you.
‘’What are you doing here!?’’ You whispered.
‘’I’m doing a surprise check in,’’ the owl whispered back. Inside the backpack, Soomin shifted with the quiet rustle of feathers. ‘’Supervising.’’
You squeezed your eyes shut and slowly pulled up the zipper again. You spent the entire class sitting stiffly in your chair, your backpack resting on your lap like the most suspicious object in the world while you pretended to take notes and that everything was normal and you didn’t had a fucking talking owl with you. Every small movement from inside the bag made your spine lock up and discreetly observe your surroundings, in case anyone noticed anything.
You felt the presence of the spell like a fucking dagger waiting to pierce your heart. Your mind kept cycling through every possible disaster scenario: the owl popping her head out, someone hearing her talk, someone asking you what was inside the bag. You had never been so aware of every single person in the room. When class finally ended you were one of the firsts to get the hell out of there, relief hitting you like oxygen after drowning.
You fled the lecture hall still holding onto your backpack.
‘’Don’t run! I’m getting dizzy,’’ Soomin whispered from inside the bag.
‘’You snuck there! Now enjoy the ride,’’ you hissed quietly. ‘’What are you even doing here!?’’
‘’I’m monitoring and supervising, I told you I wasn't leaving you out of my sight and you been acting weird lately.’’
You pushed through the hallway doors, scanning the corridor for a quiet corner where you could finally unzip the bag and properly scold the feathered menace inside. Unfortunately, fate had other plans, of course it did, because you walked straight into Nishimura Riki.
You stopped in your tracks.
He had one hand in the pocket of his jacket, leaning lazily against the wall like he had nowhere urgent to be. When he noticed you approaching at suspicious speed with your backpack clutched like a hostage, his brows lifted slightly. Then his gaze drifted downward and slowly pointed. You followed the direction of his fingers, to the round owl head sticking out of your backpack.
Soomin blinked at him. You froze. Soomin froze as well. For a long moment the three of you just stared at each other in a very tense and confusing silence. Niki muttered your name, a little doubtful.
‘’... Is that an owl?’’
Your brain ran through every possible lie in the world that you could think of, but obviously they all ran into the magic brick wall of the spell. ‘’Uh… uh… this is an animal that can be found in the forest.’’
You stopped talking immediately after that. Niki stared at you, then at the owl, and again at you. He didn't seem alarmed or confused, more like he wanted to understand why you would have an owl with you in the middle of the day instead of questioning how strange it was.
‘’Right,’’ he said slowly. Niki leaned a little closer, examining the bird with curiosity. ‘’And what is it doing in your backpack?’’
The truth tightened in your throat. ‘’It just… climbed in there.’’
Silence fell again, looks were exchanged and Soomin even tilted her head, taking in the boy in front of her, examining him in the same way Niki was doing. Then, he glanced at you and let out a quiet, amused breath through his nose, like he just decided not to question the situation too deeply. Niki was late to class, anyway.
‘’You’re kind of weird,’’ he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. He looked at the owl again. ‘’What are you going to do with an owl?’’
You tightened your hold on the backpack, feeling Soomin shifting inside. You sighed. ‘’I’m… going to have a talk with her.’’
Ni-ki glanced down at the owl head still poking out of the zipper. The owl stared back with wide, unrepentant eyes. He nodded slowly, like that explanation made complete sense. Then he reached out without warning and casually pinched your chin in a gesture too gentle and familiar that made your brain short-circuit for a second.
‘’Okay. We’ll talk later, yeah?’’
You just blinked at him, eyes huge and nodded. ‘’Uh-uh. Sure.’’
‘’Good luck with your…’’ he frowned and gestured vaguely at Soomin. ‘’Your forest animal.’’
And with that, he pushed away from the wall and walked down the hallway, disappearing into the flow of students like the entire interaction had been perfectly normal.
You stood there for exactly two seconds. Then you spun around into a more hidden corner and put the backpack down with a groan.
“Soomin—!”
The owl immediately hopped out of the bag. ‘’Oh my God, who was that?’’
‘’What?’’
‘’That tall, intense dude. The handsome one with dark eyes,’’ she commented conspiratorially.
‘’You snuck into my backpack, infiltrated in the university, caused me the most stressful class of my life, and you want to talk about a boy?’’
‘’Yes. Spill.’’
You rubbed your face, asking for patience from above. ‘’That’s Niki.’’
The owl studied the hallway where Niki had disappeared with a thoughtful expression. ‘’He’s very attractive.’’
‘’He is,’’ you conceded.
‘’He touched you very confidently,’’ she observed.
‘’Uh— I mean— he kinda does that—’’
‘’And it didn’t bother you,’’ Soomin furthered her observations, blinking slowly. ‘’Are you dating him?’’
‘’No!’’
‘’You’re secretly seeing him? This is some of prohibited romance?’’
‘’What? Of course not.’’
‘’He’s your boyfriend and didn’t tell me?’’ Soomin asked with a squeak, entertained by the gossip.
‘’I already told you no,’’ you tried to reason with her.
‘’... Why are you blushing?’’
‘’Because... because... it's hot and I feel strange, now shut up,’’ you groaned, picking up the bird and putting her into the backpack again like you could trap the conversation inside it.
She gasped. ‘’You like that tall boy!’’
The spell crackled throughout your body, your mind and tongue couldn't agree on what to say, but the truth did its job. ‘’I— I— I think— yes— but—’’
‘’I like that boy too. He didn’t scream when he saw me.’’
‘’You’re a bird, not a monster.’’
‘’That’s not the point,’’ Soomin scoffed. ‘’He was very gentle with you. I approve that.’’
Soomin watched you very carefully and you felt a little nudge in the heart of your magic. Her eyes softened.
‘’Oh,’’ she said. ‘’You’re so doomed.’’
You grabbed the zipper and slammed the backpack closed.
Later that day, after you took Soomin home and she promised you there would be no more surprise inspections, the library greeted you with silence and concentration. The setting sun reached some tables, the soft sound of pens writing relaxed you somehow, and the distant hum from the air conditioner in the distance served as white noise.
You were exactly where you liked to be, seated by the window, notes spread neatly. Pretty and colorful highlighters. Life under control, for once.
That didn’t last long.
You were finishing a paragraph about an idea you had written when a chair scraped against the floor across from you. You didn’t look up immediately, which was a big mistake.
‘’Okay,’’ a low, masculine voice said. ‘’Serious question.’’
Your pen froze mid word and you lifted your gaze, finding Niki sitting across from you like he belonged there. Elbows resting on the table, dark eyes locked on you with immovable focus.
You stared at him, putting down your pen slowly. ‘’Oh, no,’’ you doubted, straightening up as if a bomb were about to drop on you at any second.
‘’Would you date me?’’
You stared at him completely blanky, certain you mishearded. There was no question in his tone. No hesitation. Just calm certainty, like he had already considered the options and selected the obvious one. You blinked again and looked around you, wondering if that was in fact a daydream and not reality. Maybe you casted a spell of illusion without realizing it?
The spell stirred to life. ‘’I don't know,’’ you finally muttered. ‘’You just can’t ask me that out of nowhere!’’
His eyes sharpened, resting his chin on his hand. ‘’I just did. Let’s date.’’
‘’Niki,’’ you sighed, sending him a warning glance when he smirked at your tone. ‘’I don’t think that’s a good idea.’’
‘’Why not?’’
The spell tugged your tongue begging for honesty, warm and insistent, and the silence prolonged until you found how to stretch the truth. You inhaled softly, trying to collect the right words.
‘’You look like the kind of problem I'm not really qualified for or sure I will be able to manage. Like… advanced detached emotional skills I don’t possess or want to entertain.’’
He didn’t flinch, or left, or smirked anymore. He considered your words leaning back into the chair, arms crossed, studying you like he was deciding how to make sense of what you said.
Niki leaned forward then, forearms on the table like he was about to touch you in any second. The distance between you and him was slowly shrinking, but you felt like the walls were falling down onto your head.
‘’How can you know that? We don’t know each other that well,’’ he explained patiently.
That was fair and he had a point. You hated that. You nodded and exhaled, unable to lie. ‘’That’s true.’’
He waited, sensing how you were trying to expand your answer into something that made sense but it wasn't sharp and cruel. Niki’s focus didn’t waver.
‘’I don’t know you that well,’’ you recognized, ‘’I am simply overlaying the information I have based on observational data in social interactions to form an opinion of you.’’
One corner of his mouth twitched. ‘’Observational data. Meaning you’ve been observing me.’’
‘’I mean, not on purpose or significance,’’ you explained further. ‘’And that’s not the main takeaway.’’
‘’Tell me,’’ he encouraged you, leaning even closer. ‘’What kind of problem do I look like to you? Use your data to enlighten me.’’
“You look,” you said carefully, stretching the sentence as far as it would go, “like someone who is used to getting attention without asking for it. And who doesn’t have to work very hard to keep it.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “And?”
“And,” you continued, because the spell would not let you escape halfway, “I don’t enjoy competing with other females. Especially not recreationally and emotionally. I like stable sentimental involvements.”
Niki snorted, entertained by you, clearly. ‘’I’d be an excellent boyfriend.’’
You laughed, between surprise and incredulity, it slipped so naturally out of you that you couldn't stop it. ‘’How would you know? You’ve never had a girlfriend.’’
He arched his brow. ‘’How would you know that?’’
You narrowed your eyes, taking in his challenging tone. ‘’There’s usually a different girl every weekend,” you said, far too matter-of-factly. “Statistically speaking, long-term attachment does not appear to be your preferred pattern. It’s very notable that you’re rarely alone and there's no fixed tendency on your type either.’’
But Niki didn’t look offended or insulted, or even caught, he was intrigued. ‘’Have you been keeping track?’’
Your spine straightened. ‘’Not actively. It’s more a knowledge from a passive environmental awareness situation, like… occasionally overhearing comments in the women's restroom from time to time.’’
“Environmental awareness,” he repeated. ‘’So, gossip in the women’s bathroom. That formed your opinion of me?’’
“Well, it's like noticing changes in the weather or bird migration patterns, I guess. I’m just exposing the data I gathered.’’
Niki slowly reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. ‘’You’re comparing me to migratory bird patterns? That’s your angle here?’’
“I compare your social habits to recurring seasonal behavior,” you corrected quickly. ‘’Don’t spin this on me.’’
‘’So you think I’d be a bad boyfriend.’’
“I think,” you corrected, choosing each word with painful care, “that you give the impression of someone who enjoys options,’’ you said, honestly falling with surprising weight. And maybe a touch of vulnerability. ‘’Not the type of male to do stable emotional interactions.’’
For a moment, he didn’t deny it. “And that bothers you?”
“It doesn’t bother me in a personal capacity right now,” you responded, then sighed when the curse nudged you again. “But it would complicate things if we get hypothetically involved together.’’
The corner of Niki’s mouth curved upward, slower this time. “So you’re considering being hypothetically involved with me.”
“I am considering the hypothetical scenario in which I evaluate the feasibility of such involvement,” you clarified, aware of how ridiculous you sounded.
His knee brushed yours under the table and neither of you moved. ‘’Mmm, I see. But you didn’t say you won’t date me, you say you didn’t know. Explain that, then.’’
You stared at him, blinking slowly, pretending you didn’t move your fingers away from his.
‘’I said exactly that I wouldn't know how to handle the problem you represent, theoretically.’’
‘’I’d let you,’’ he simply answered. ‘’Just say yes.’’
The tension between you shifted—less teasing now, more charged.
‘’Let’s test your theory.’’
‘’My theory?’’
Niki played with one of your rings. ‘’Date me,’’ he proposed, ‘’find out if I’m actually a problem. Get to know me, do your research with your own data. What do you think?’’
Your heart flipped, lost connection with your brain and poured with automatic honesty. “I am… not opposed to gathering additional data under controlled circumstances to reassess my preliminary assumptions.”
‘’I like you,’’ Niki simplified, caressing your knuckles. ‘’And I wanna know you more.’’
That simple declaration sent your heart into failure, and your cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I find you objectively unfair,” you said, forcing steadiness into your tone. “Your face structure combined with your confidence level creates unnecessary distractions.’’
His eyes darkened slightly at that, satisfaction flickering across his features. “So that’s a yes.”
‘’It’s not a no,’’ you sighed, a little lost in the conversation. Keeping track of the truth was already hard, but doing it under Niki’s eyes and intentions was too hard.
‘’Saturday at the frat,’’ he straightened, victory settling over him like a final move in a game only he knew they were playing. ‘’Come to the party. We’ll be alone and nobody will bother us.’’
‘’But—’’
But before you could say anything else, Niki stood up and walked around the table until she was standing in front of you, leaning in until your breaths mingled and you closed your mouth. He stroked your cheek and lifted your face, holding your chin, studying you closely with a knowing look.
‘’I know you're going to try to run away,’’ he said, eyes flickering to your lips. ‘’I know you talk the way you do because you're trying to prolong the truth. I know you want this because you're not really pushing me away,’’ he murmured, his thumb rubbing your lower lip absently. ‘’You look at me the way I look at you, and it's driving me crazy, baby.’’
You were out of words. Niki’s gaze returned to your eyes, satisfied at the effect he had on you. He stood up, full of triumph and smiled at you, he actually fully smiled, and you just stared at Niki like you were seeing the sun for the first time.
‘’We’re dating now,’’ he mumbled, giving you one last look. ‘’And if I don't see you there, I'll come looking for you. Choose wisely,’’ he advised, already stepping back.
And that's how Niki left, leaving you stunned and recalculating in a corner of the library, your heart pounding and your cheeks flushed.
And somehow, in a way you didn't quite understand, the day ended with you officially dating Nishimura Riki.
The fraternity house was already shaking by the time you went through the door. It wasn't surprising, because everyone wanted to be there. Nobody in their right mind would miss the chance to get close to one of the guys, to mingle with them, to get their attention. The chances of fun and craziness were too high; everyone knew about the reputation of that frat's parties.
The air was thick with the sweet and sour aroma of alcohol, juice mixed with vodka and beer, bottles and glasses piling up everywhere. The music was so loud it pounded in your chest, the flashing lights made your footsteps blurry, and people were everywhere talking, laughing, kissing, dancing. It was the kind of party everyone would tear apart piece by piece the next day and gossip about everything that happened, because it was the kind of party where something was always happening.
You knew that your best friend was probably entangled with Jungwon in some corner of the party. You avoided touching any drop of alcohol, because adding that to a spell powered by truth was the worst idea in the world, even though that what you wanted most at that moment was a drink.
You felt as if you had willingly walked into the lion's den, and well, you had. There didn't seem to be any safe zone; your eyes were constantly scanning for Niki to appear. This was because of the collection of accurate data, you lied to yourself. That's why you dressed so daringly. A short skirt that showed off your legs, loose hair, overly glossy lips, a long-sleeved top with a neckline that dropped just enough to show your collarbones.
It was absolutely not because of him. And then, you felt it.
It was a shift in the air, a tiny recognition of something about to happen. The weight of somebody’s attention, the feeling of being watched. You turned your face over your shoulder and locked eyes with Niki across the room, near the stairs, where he was watching you intently.
He was surrounded by friends and other people you didn't know. When his eyes noticed you, it was as if his expression changed completely, fading into something focused and determined, satisfied. His eyes traveled over you slowly, unhurriedly, like a caress; taking in your skirt, your legs, your bare shoulders, the soft, exposed skin. You breath caught under his intense gaze, instinct kicking in from feeling like a prey.
You turned around and blended into the crowd with ease, trying to control the mild panic and excitement coursing through your veins. You knew he was still there, keeping a close eye on you, and that running was a terrible idea. Because Niki loved a chase. You knew you were delaying the inevitable, buying more time than you had, testing limits just because you could.
You wondered if he was still following you. Wouldn't he get distracted? Wouldn't he get bored and rather pick another girl? Would he get annoyed?
At some point you gave up and your fingers circled a plastic cup with something sweet and strong that warmed your throat and made you immediately regret it because of how good it tasted, how easy it was to drink it. You didn't know exactly where in the house you were, but it wasn't the heart of the party, it wasn't packed with people, and the music wasn't as loud.
A hand wrapped around your wrist, and you didn't need to turn around to know who it was. His thumb caressed the spot where your pulse quickened, his chest pressed against your back just enough for his breath to brush against your hair.
His mouth brushed against your ear, sending hundreds of shivers down your neck. ‘’Still running from me?’’
You barely turned your face, as his grip loosened from your wrist to your waist, where both hands squeezed it tightly, as if he feared you might escape. ‘’I was strategically relocating.’’
Niki laughed shortly, the sound against your ear. ‘’You saw me and tried to escape.’’
The spell cursed through your mouth before you could register it. ‘’Yes.’’
His body pressed closer to yours, making you hold your breath. ‘’Why?’’
You swallowed, searching for the right words, absentmindedly licking your lips. ‘’I wanted to know if you would follow me,’’ you admitted.
He shifted, turning your body carefully so you could face him fully. Niki’s hands were still on your waist, his touch more relaxed, but not less possessive. Up close, his eyes seemed darker, wilder, dilated under the flickering lights.
“You wore this on purpose,” he said, gaze dipping briefly to your collarbones before returning to her face. ‘’For me.’’
‘’I wore it because it's socially required to wear clothes at public events.’’
His thumbs caressed and pressed the skin of your hip, shaking his head. ‘’Not good enough. Try again and be honest.’’
The spell pushed you, taking control. ‘’I wore it because I knew you’d be here,’’ you responded before you could wrap the thought into something safer and confusing. ‘’And I wanted you to look.’’
His jaw tightened, not in anger but in restraint. ‘’You’re starting a dangerous game,’’ he warned you, voice warm and husky. ‘’Careful.’’
You shook your head, staring at him. ‘’I’m not playing,’’ you frowned, spilling truthfully.
One of Niki’s hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you flush against him, deliberated. The air shifted around you, your hands resting on his chest and not moving him away, too blinded by his eyes to care if anyone in the crowd saw you.
“You’re driving me insane,” he admitted, barely audible.
“You like it,” you replied, and the tremor beneath the honesty was too evident.
His gaze flicked to your mouth. “For the record,” Niki said, “I’m about to kiss you.”
Your heart bounced, melted, reformed, and continued bouncing against your ribs. Maybe it was the spell, the drink you had, or maybe you just didn't want to fight against honesty anymore, but you smiled a little.
‘’If you don't I might, Nishimura,’’ you lightly threaten him.
The small distance that existed vanished like a whisper, slowly, the tension that had been built up for a long time slowly letting go, something bigger entered. He kissed you as if he had waited too long to do so and didn't want to waste another second.
It wasn't desperate or clumsy, but decisive, as if he knew exactly where and how to strike. You melted into a kiss almost immediately, letting him do as he pleased with you. He made his way into your mouth and explored it slowly, savoring the strawberry and vodka from before and your own taste. Both of your breaths caught in your throats as neither of you let go, too immersed in the kiss for breathing to be a priority.
Your hands tangled in the honey-blonde hair at the nape of his neck, your nails slowly sliding down his skin to his neck, making him hiss into the kiss, his hands touching you more freely, exploring, daring to slip inside your skirt.
You had no idea how, but between a kiss and a breath, more kisses and muffled moans against each other's mouths, at some point your back hit a door. Niki opened it, pulled you both into a room, and cornered you against the door again, closing it with a click you barely registered. His mouth went down to yours again, one hand on your throat and the other on your jaw, as if that way he could hold you down to devour your soul in peace.
When both had to separate again because their lungs couldn't take any more, you two were a bit of a mess. Niki's full lips were swollen from kisses, barely colored by your gloss, his hair a little disheveled, eyes shining with barely contained desire. You weren't looking much better either, your skirt twisted and wrinkled from how many times Niki had grabbed and crumpled it, your cheeks flushed, and your lip marked by Niki's bite.
Niki kissed you again, but this time more gently, first your lips, then the corner of your mouth, your throat, the line of your exposed collarbones. He turned you both gently, walking into the room while continuing to kiss and gently suck on your skin, making you sigh and hold onto him, until you laid on a bed and a little bit of sense got to your fuzzy brain.
Only then you fully looked at your surroundings.
The light was dim, with a lamp in the corner casting a warm glow. Sneakers were arranged against the wall, some everyday shoes and some basketball shoes. Hanging from a hook near the closet was a jacket with a number and Niki's last name embroidered on the back.
You tilted your neck to get a better look and Niki interpreted it as you were giving him more space, smiling against your neck and continuing the trail of slow, wet kisses, making himself room between your legs.
You blinked, still finding details to look at. ‘’This is your room,’’ you said.
Niki stopped briefly, looked at you and then placed a kiss on your lips. ‘’Welcome.’’
‘’This feels like important information,’’ you arched a brow, curious.
‘’We’re busy,’’ he replied simply, leaning again to press another kiss to your mouth. Your pulse quickened, and you let him distract you with his mouth, wrapping your legs not so timidly around his waist. His lips trailed down the spine of your throat, biting the sensitive spots that made you dig your fingers into his shoulders, breathless.
Your eyes opened for a second, but it was enough to notice something at the other end of the room. It was a medium-sized cabinet hanging against the wall, made of wood and glass, a display case. Inside, carefully arranged under warm strip lighting were small collectible figures— you knew them too well. Cute, round-headed, soft features, expressive.
Hirono.
Not one. Not two. Several. Arranged too neatly to be random, they were all different, but aligned according to the collection they belonged to. It was a curated exhibition.
The stunned gasp you let out was too loud and made Niki froze for a second, looking up from your neck. ‘’What?’’
You couldn't control the little laugh that bubbled up from you, a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and delight. ‘’You have Hirono figures!’’
Something too interesting happened. Niki blinked, as if that was the last thing he expected to hear from you. For the first time he seemed hesitant, as if he had been caught up in a confusing crime, but at the same time, something else flashed across his face... a touch of shyness.
He cleared his throat. ‘’What?’’
You twisted slightly in his hold to point at the display case, smiling. ‘’They’re in a diorama, aren’t they? You arranged them by series. The right ones are from the Mime set and the middle ones are,’’ you squinting your eyes, leaning in, ‘’Little Mischief. Right?’’
Niki stared at you, eyes glowing. ‘’You know them?’’ He asked slowly.
‘’Of course,’’ you looked at him incredulously. ‘’I collect them too.’’
He stepped back a little to get a better look at you, holding himself above you. ‘’You’re lying.’’
‘’I can’t lie,’’ you replied automatically, too focused on the figures to notice the slip. ‘’They even look like you, Nishimura.’’
His eyebrows shot up and he snorted. ‘’They do not.’’
‘’They do,’’ you insisted with a laugh. ‘’Look at them! Their eyes and little nose. Moody, slightly frowning, probably judging everyone internally.’’
He stared at you for a moment, as if debating whether he should be offended or not. ‘’I do not look like a Hirono figure.’’
‘’The resemblance it’s very accurate,’’ you defended your theory.
He looked back at the figures and then at you, something unreadable flickering across his expression. No one noticed those figures when they entered his room. Not the guys on the team or his friends; maybe Jungwon took a picture of them once but didn't ask any further questions about it. Definitely not the girls who came and went and whose names he didn't bother to remember afterward.
But you did, without a second thought, without trying to impress him. “You’re the first person who’s ever said anything about them,” he blurted, before he could stop himself.
The confession floated between the two of you, as soft as the muffled music that could be heard from below. You felt your face slowly lose its smile, your expression becoming gentler.
‘’They're arranged as if you cared about them, as if you'd thought it carefully. Of course I noticed.’’
He closed the small space and kissed you once again, while his fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. ‘’What am I gonna do with you?’’
‘’You’re the one who dragged me here.’’
‘’You talking about my collection distracted me more than necessary.’’
You smiled a little. ‘’They’re cute.’’
He shook his head, stealing another kiss. ‘’You’re cuter.’’
The spell sparkled but this time you didn’t feel it like a threat or a trap, just letting it take its course. ‘’You look unfairly attractive when you’re flustered,” you observed.
‘’I’m not flustered.’’
‘’Liar,’’ you scoffed.
Niki huffed a quiet laugh and kissed you again, slowly. His hands slipped back under your skirt, and you didn't stop him, letting his palms cover and caress your thighs as he devoured your mouth like someone who had all the time in the world. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let each kiss melt you more and more, until the migratory patterns of birds no longer mattered to you, nor did the spell, letting Niki convince you with every touch that he wasn't a problem you could easily run away from.
Maybe it was because your lungs had their daily dose of suffering when they made you run ten laps around the field, or maybe the concussion from days ago was a delayed effect, but you were just too dizzy.
Niki's body pushed you further against the wall, as if the way you were pressed together wasn't enough and he needed more. It wasn't a soft kiss, but the kind of kisses Niki gave where you were convinced he wanted to steal the air from your lungs and replace it with him.
The bastard knew exactly which buttons to push, his warm hand cradling your jaw while the other one was inside your shorts, long fingers buried deeply in your dripping cunt. His thumb gently stroked your cheek, in that way he knew it would melt you too quickly. It did.
When he pulled back you were too disoriented to remember where you were; hidden from stares under the stands in broad daylight, feeling like two highschoolers furiously making out before getting caught. Your heart was pounding as if you had made ten more laps, moans stuck in your throat trying to keep them at bay, but the way Niki was fingering you was merciless.
‘’Come watch my training,’’ he murmured against your ear, lips kissing the sport under it. His fingers found the spot inside you that made you whimper, stroking it over and over. ‘’I want to see you there, sitting all pretty and mine. Where I can look at you.’’
He had tried to convince you for several days, and you had to admit the man had a certain charm that made you hesitate. Maybe it was the amazing orgasms. Once you had almost agreed, but when a girl you didn't know greeted you and asked what you did to get Niki and if it was true that he had a huge cock like his friends, you panicked a little and abandoned the idea. The spell was coming to an end and you weren't going to give in.
‘’If you don’t,’’ he added, voice dripping into something dangerous and playful at the same time, ‘’I won’t kiss you again. Or worse.’’
You blinked at him, cunt clenching around his fingers, cheeks flushed. ‘’O-or worse?’’
Niki hummed and nodded, fucking you faster until you gasped against his lips and he swallowed every moan of yours while you cum, holding you as your thighs trembled and crushed his hand between your legs.
He deliberately brushed his fingers against your clit one last time as he withdrew his hand and brought them to his mouth, sucking your juices while continuing to look at you. Niki didn’t say anything else, just kissed you, so fondly and threatening at the same time, and walked away towards the field like nothing had happened. Wearing an eating-shit smirk, whistling softly to himself.
You stared at him, recalculating your entire existence, just as you had from the moment Niki decided to be a part of your life weeks ago.
You told yourself that maybe it was the afterglow of a good orgasm, or maybe you just had nothing better to do, or perhaps a part of you really wanted to watch Niki training, all sweaty and focused. The day felt like it was about to explode into a storm at any moment, the sky gray and covered with thick, threatening clouds waiting for the perfect opportunity. There was hardly anyone watching the boys, just a few girls a few steps up in the stands— Minju was there.
Buttercup as well.
Minju had grown fond of her chickens and had bought accessories to take them everywhere. Her most recent purchase was a backpack with a hard, clear plastic cover that was actually for walking cats, but the label didn't specify that it couldn't be used for chickens.
She was leaning forward, with lovestruck eyes and a silly, dreamy expression, watching Jungwon run. Inside the plaster carrier Buttercup was dozing off, relaxed and round. Your best friend noticed your hesitation and smiled at you, tapping the spot next to her with an expression that said, "you better sit down or I'm capable of tackling you to the ground if you take one step back."
You sat.
The world didn’t combust instantly. Minju beamed and turned her attention back to the field. You gradually relaxed and leaned forward as well, resting your chin on your hand as you openly watched Niki. He had just finished a drill and was talking to Heeseung (who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but running there, clearly struggling) (he was the last victim to be convinced to join the open class), when his eyes flickered up to the stands and landed on you.
You swore you saw his pupils dilating. Something in his expression changed and his smile was slow. Darker, satisfied, making your stomach flip and your pussy throb. But it didn't stop there. Niki was focused on training, of course, but every now and then he'd glance at you, as if making sure you were still there. You met his gaze each time, even smiling slightly and enjoying the way it seemed to affect him.
You'd discovered that this was a two-way street, and that Niki, the unattainable and serious Niki, was capable of getting flustered. Like when he asked you which Hironos you collected and if he could see them, and which one was your favorite. Or the time you just kissed his neck and brushed his hair back without thinking about it too much, and Niki blinked and then melted against you.
The training session ended and the boys scattered everywhere, some going for water, others lying on the ground to stretch, but not Niki. He walked straight to you, determined eyes that held you still in your place, your pulse spiking with anticipation.
He kissed you in front of everybody, hands cradling your face.
Minju gasped, you swore Buttercup made a similar sound, other peoples gasps reached your ears as well, but honestly it could have been a trick of your mind. Nothing existed around you but you and Niki.
He pulled back enough to grin at you, eyes soft and bright with a touch of mischief. ‘’Hi, baby.’’
You blinked, trying to gather your thoughts. ‘’Uh… Hi.’’
‘’Ready to go?’’
You nodded, still a little hazy and flustered. He took your hand, pulled you up, grabbed his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and got you out of there in less than two minutes. He also ignored Jay throwing kisses at him while leaving.
Niki decided to break the silence first, your hand in his gently swaying, intertwined. ‘’There’s a party tonight at Jake’s,’’ he started, stealing a glance at you. ‘’Jay’s pretending we don't notice, but he wants to get a girl's attention.’’
You arched a brow, interested. ‘’Is he trying to set a trap there or what?’’
‘’That’s what I thought,’’ he huffed a laugh, drawing you closer to him. ‘’He’s been weird lately. Restless. Anyway, Jake wants us to keep an eye on the party. He know how things can get.’’
You gently bumped your shoulder against his, trying not to smile and failing. ‘’Is this your way of asking me to come with you?’’
‘’This is an opportunity for you to continue collecting new data to establish your patterns. Or have I already convinced you that I'm not a problem?’’
‘’Hmm. You are... doing an acceptable job in proving your case considering my prior judgment based on social environmental observation. Maybe you'll give me back my sunglasses too, Nishimura?’’
‘’They will remain my hostage until you accept that I was right and that I can be a good boyfriend.’’
You didn't correct him and Niki noticed.
Jake's house was exactly the chaos you imagined it to be, maybe a little smaller and more contained than the frat parties, but no less alive and vibrant for it. Before you could go inside and find Niki, something small and black, furry, jumped out from the side and meowed at you. The cat blinked slowly at you, and you tilted your head, studying it, feeling an energy emanating from it that stopped you before you could pet its head. You chuckled softly in disbelief, glancing at the cat and then back at Jake's house as if you were mentally running through the odds.
‘’I can’t believe it,’’ you mumbled, staring at the knowing eyes of the cat.
‘’Welcome, dear,’’ the cat purred. ‘’I’m Minhyung and you're the one with the truth spell, aren't you?’’
‘’Unfortunately.’’
The cat meowed and laughed, shaking his head. You had to admit, it was too cute and fluffy to even care that it was probably an ancient soul, so of course you petted his ears softly.
‘’Aish, that punishment was too much. Anyway, your boy’s inside. It’s a house full of witches tonight,’’ Minhyung observed, tilting his head so he could get more pets to his ears and neck.
You entered the house, greeted by loud pulsing music and drunken laughter. You recognized some faces among the dancing crowd, the dim light and the smell of liquor, like Jake taking a girl upstairs and Jungwon and Minju huddled in a corner devouring each other's faces. You slowly made your way through the party, not quite knowing where you were going or where to find Niki, your body trembling with anticipation. It was impossible not to.
In the short time you and he had spent together, Niki had done an incredibly good job training your body. Maybe it was the slow making out sessions in bed, or the way he buried his face between your legs like an starved man, or the intense way he looked at you sometimes, as if he were thinking about throwing you to the ground and fucking you until you couldn't take any more.
You just wanted to find him, sit him down on the nearest surface you could find, and ride him while you kissed him. And maybe then watch something while spooning.
Your steps led you to the almost deserted backyard and you pursed your lips, examining your surroundings without much success, when a hand encircled your wrist and you were cornered against the wall.
Niki placed one hand beside your head and the other settled comfortably on your waist. His eyes drifted to your lips, slowly and deliberately, as if he were thinking about how to kiss you.
‘’You took your sweet time,’’ he said, tilting your chin up. ‘’I was wondering if maybe you backed out.’’
You rolled your eyes. ‘’I said I would come. Why, Nishimura? Would you have missed me?’’
‘’Yes.’’
His thumb brushed your hip and you felt it everywhere, staring at his full lips while he was closing the distance and—
Your phone started ringing with the most annoying alarm ever.
‘’Wait—wait— let me turn it off—’’
Niki exhaled though his nose, amused. ‘’Seriously?’’
You frowned a little. ‘’I don't even remember setting an ala—’’
You glanced at the screen, blinking completely shocked like you quite didn’t understand what was written on it.
FULL LUNAR CYCLE COMPLETED!!!
You gasped loud, dramatic, so loud that startled Niki.
He looked at you urgently. ‘’What?’’
You stared at the words like it was some divine intervention. You let out a shriek and jumped on your place, laughing.
‘’Oh my God!— OH MY GOD!’’
You threw your arms around Niki’s neck so suddenly that he catched you firmly to stop both of you from falling over. You were screaming and laughing and Niki laughed too, more startled and confused than anything, automatically wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you.
‘’It’s over! I can't believe it! I did it!’’ You laughed again, a little hysterical. ‘’It’s over, it’s over!’’
He blinked down at you, the pure face of confusion. ‘’What is?’’
‘’I survived the whole lunar cycle! It’s over! I’m free!’’
You were practically bouncing in his arms, pulling back only to grab his face and grin at him like you just won millions.
‘’A month,’’ you started, smiling too wide. ‘’An entire lunar cycle! made it!’’
Niki stared at you, arching a brow. ‘’Lunar cycle?’’ He repeated slowly. ‘’...Is this about your period or something?’’
You didn’t even hear him, skipping away from him and spinning around the yard with your arms in the air. ‘’I can shut up! I can lie! I have options!’’
He watched you like you officially lost your mind.
You approached him again and took his hands, jumping with a smile. ‘’Do you have any idea how hard is to live without lying even once?’’
Niki’s eyebrow shoots up. ‘’You haven’t been lying this whole time?’’
You beamed at him. ‘’I haven’t!’’
He squinted at you, nodding. ‘’That… explains a lot.’’
‘’I’m free,’’ you whispered dramatically. ‘’It’s over.’’
Niki stared at you for a whole moment and then, very slowly, he smiled. Not a smug smirk or his teasing grin. A soft, pretty, full smile. Warm and completely smitten by you.
You were still dancing in tiny, excited circles close to him when Niki reached out, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush against his body in one smooth motion.
‘’I have no idea what’s happening,’’ he admitted quietly, brushing his nose with yours. ‘’But you look too adorable to care.’’
He kissed you, deeply, sighing into the kiss like he just found the place where he belonged. Niki held you against him, hands firm and possessive, like he was anchoring you to him. The party noises blurred into something in the back of your mind and you melted against him, fingers curling into his shirt.
When he finally separated from your lips, a thread of saliva joined them both, which he slowly licked from your mouth. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands wandering further down until he grabbed your ass.
‘’So,’’ he murmured, staring at your eyes, ‘’does this mean you’re going to start lying to me now?’’
You smiled, slow and seductive, stealing a short kiss from him. ‘’That,’’ you whispered sweetly, ‘’depends.’’
His eyes darkened. ‘’On what?’’
You tilted your head, pretending to think about it while biting your lip. Niki’s gaze followed the movement.
‘’On how good you’re gonna fuck me tonight.’’
Niki promised himself that Jake would never find out, despite all their years of friendship, that he used his parents' empty room to have sex with you in the middle of a party. But it was so fucking worth it.
Maybe you had bitten off more than you could swallow because Niki took your challenge too seriously and you were paying for it with orgasms that didn't let you string a single thought together, your body simply reacting to his will. His mouth was closed over your nipples, alternating between sucking one and then the other until they were red and tender as you moaned and your vision blurred with a second orgasm incoming, his fingers pushed inside your soaked wet pussy.
‘’That’s it,’’ he mumbled quietly around your nipple, sucking it again while you arched and moaned. ‘’Just take it, baby. Cum again for me, let me stretch this pretty pussy for my cock.’’
You gasped from overstimulation, listening to the wet noises your pussy made each time Niki thrusted his fingers inside fast and hard, clinging to his hair and pushing it towards your tits, Niki growled and sucked your nipples roughly, swirling his tongue. You came with a muffled scream and whimpered when Niki didn’t stop, your pussy tightening around his fingers as if you didn't want to let them go.
He chuckled darkly, staring at you completely fascinated at the state you were. Panting, teary, marked everywhere by his mouth; red hickeys blooming all over your neck down your chest, to the pretty and soft skin of your breasts, nipples swollen from having sucked them for so long. So prettily destroyed by him, and it was just the beginning.
‘’Fuck,’’ you whispered, a trembling mess, tears failing from pleasure. You sobbed a short laugh. ‘’You’re such a menace, Nishimura.’’
Niki straightened with a proud smirk and began working his belt, your eyes immediately fixed on the tent in his pants. You licked your lips and replaced his hands, opening his pants and pulling down his boxers until his hard cock sprang out, hard and veiny. Too big.
‘’No way.’’
‘’What?’’
‘’It’s… so big,’’ you breathed in short gasps, encircling his cock with both hands and pumping it slowly, making him moan. You looked at it from under your eyelashes, rubbing the tip with your thumb, spreading the precum leaking. You were a girl open to accepting challenges, but this worried you a little. ‘’I don’t think it’ll fit, Niki.’’
Niki simply smiled smugly, his dark eyes filled with desire. He flipped you onto the bed, making you yelp because of how sudden and abrupt it was. Your pussy fluttered and a new gush of wetness soaked you, feeling his hands wandering through your body, gripping and squeezing your waist, your thighs, the curve of your ass.
‘’It won’t fit,’’ you repeated shakily, even as you let Niki position you however he wanted. Face pushed down, ass up, your back arched so prettily that made him grunt and spank you. You whimpered and you turned your head, trying to look at him. ‘’Are you listening to me?’’
‘’Of course I’m listening,’’ he said, positioning himself behind you and caressing your ass with his cock, gently rubbing against your skin. He slipped his cock between your folds and began to rub it lazily back and forth making you feel how hard it was, how big it was. You dripped all over him with a moan each time the head of his cock grazed your throbbing clit. ‘’Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make it fit just fine. You’re ready for me, you trust me, right?’’
‘’Y-yeah,’’ you moaned, feeling the tip of his cock lining up to your hole, barely pushing. Niki grabbed your hips, held you down onto the bed and slowly guided his cock inside you. ‘’I do.’’
The head of his cock pushed against your entrance, forcing its way in little by little and stretching you completely. You gasped and opened your legs wider as he pushed his cock inch by inch, making you whimper at its thickness. Fuck. You had never felt so full, so stretched out and open, a loud moan leaving without you could control yourself.
‘’Relax for me, pretty girl,’’ he said quietly, still keeping the slow but unforgiving pace. You tried not to tense up, but everything was both too much and too little, gently sniffing against the bed as your pussy tightened around Niki's cock. ‘’Just like that, taking me so well.’’
Niki hissed softly, feeling your cunt wrapping so tight his cock was the hottest thing he ever saw; how your pretty, wet hole creamed his length.
‘’You’re doing so well, baby,’’ he whispered, hands holding you in place, big hands caressing your waist, your ass. ‘’Opening your pretty pussy for me, letting me fill you. You can feel it, don’t you? How deep it goes?’’
You nodded, drool dripping into the pillow as coherent thoughts left your head and all you could feel was his cock inside you, making you clench so hard around him it made him moan. Niki's thrusts were slow and deep, and you swore it made you feel him all the way to your stomach. He was buried too deep inside you, each push of his thick cock stretching you further until the pleasure was too much.
His pace quickened, his cock sliding in more easily because of how wet you were and how he had opened you up. ‘’Look at you,’’ he sneered, giving your ass a firm squeeze. ‘’Taking my cock so well, greedy pussy’s sucking me in,’’ he moaned, low and dirty. ‘’Fucking take it like a good girl.’’
Your moans grew louder and your eyes rolled back in your head as he began to fuck you faster, pounding you hard from behind. You cried from pleasure into the mattress, your pussy tightened and dripped around him, milking him with each thrust that went so far you were sure his tip was grazing your cervix. Niki was fucking you so hard that the bed moved, hitting the wall softly and you could’t do anything but to take it, a moaning mess.
‘’Not so mouthy now, right?’’ He scoffed, giving you another spank, making you whimper and squeeze his cock harder. ‘’That’s what I fucking thought,’’ he chuckled, burying himself into your cunt faster, with a low groan.
‘’Niki,’’ you moaned, barely able to form a sentence, not feeling anything but his thick cock and his ruthless pace, the way he was filling you. ‘’Please— I’m gonn—’’
‘’Ah, ah, not until I say so,’’ he warned you, laughing when you whined and sobbed when another spank landed on your ass. ‘’Not until you fucking say this pussy is mine. C’mon, baby, don’t keep me waiting. Say it.’’
‘’I-it’s—,’’ you moaned again, cunt stretched out and throbbing around him, every thrust sending you over the edge. He hit your g-spot over and over, making you tremble. ‘’It’s yours—’’
‘’That’s right,’’ he mumbled, slamming into your harder, deeper and desesperate; sweat dripping from his temple. ‘’Say I’m not a fucking problem.’’
‘’Niki!’’ You sobbed softly, hardly holding back from shattering. He just hummed darkly, almost amused. You shook your head quickly and moaned again, too gone to even care to lie, your pussy throbbing around his cock, needy and desperate. ‘’You’re not a problem—’’
‘’Cum for me, baby, milk my fucking cock,’’ he ordered, voice rough and husky going straight to your core. The pleasure was so intense that once you reached the peak, it simply destroyed you, leaving you trembling and broken. You were too full, overstimulated, squeezing his cock as your climax coursed through you, leaving you a whimpering mess. ‘’I’m filling this pretty hole until it overflows,’’ he promised, voice used and hoarse. ‘’Beg for it.’’
You looked at Niki from the pillow, eyelashes with unshed tears and a completely spaced out expression from being fucked too good, cheeks flushed and makeup smudged. You blinked slowly and licked your lips, milking his cock with the spasms of your cunt.
‘’Don’t pull out,’’ you gasped softly, reaching for him. Niki didn’t doubt it for a second, holding your hand while slamming into your pussy almost brutally. ‘’I want it inside—please—fill me up,’’ you begged with a broken moan. ‘’Mark my pussy with you cum—’’
Niki cursed under his breath, railing you almost at a punishing pace, using your hole until you were both moaning with raw desperation. You never felt anything so intense before and your body couldn't handle it, making you come for the fourth time with a scream as Niki buried himself deep inside you, coming with a hoarse moan.
You collapse onto the bed, your knees giving away, your whole body trembling and sensitive. Every part of you was throbbing, used and spent. Niki spilled his load inside your cunt and you moaned softly at the feeling, flooding your womb with hot ropes of cum, making you feel so full. His body covered yours and you could feel his racing heart in your back, staying inside you as you both tried to catch your breath.
You laid there, enjoying his weight against you, the sensation of his cock filling you, and his hot cum slowly escaping from your hole. Niki moved a little and you moaned, tensing up a little, but he gently silenced you, slowly kissing your neck until you relaxed again.
‘’Shhh, it’s fine,’’ he said quietly, coaxing you with more soft kisses. ‘’You’re okay?’’
You nodded and sobbed a little, still holding onto his hand. Your mind felt… flying somewhere. A wave of need filling you that you didn't understand, only knowing that you wanted his warmth surrounding you. ‘’Don’t leave.’’
‘’I won’t,’’ he reassured you, slipping out of your cunt carefully. You hissed because of the sensitivity and Niki kissed your shoulder, silently apologizing. ‘’C’mere.’’
Niki settled on his side and pulled you close to his chest, studying your face while drying the wetness from your cheeks with his thumb unhurriedly, fondly. You snuggled into his chest and sighed, too drunk on orgasms to even think, just needing him closer. Niki kissed your forehead, lips lingering there, arms wrapping securely around you, making you completely content and warm. Heart fluttering happily, but that was another thing.
‘’So? You’re gonna start lying to me?’’
You chuckled tiredly, smiling to yourself with your eyes closed. ‘’No if you keep the good work, Nishimura.’’
GENRE: college!au, smut, paranormal!au, childhood enemies to lovers
SUMMARY: Your rivalry with Sim Jaeyun went back years: who got the best grades, who finished the exam first, who got compliments from the teachers, and even who had the best Halloween costume. But there was one thing Jake couldn't compete with you on, a little secret that gave you too much satisfaction... until it wasn't.
WORDS: 18k+.
WARNINGS AND CONTENT: childhood rivals to lovers with a twist, he fell first and harder x reader is bad a feelings, things about witchcraft and bad ideas, explicit smut, unprotected sex, forced creampie, fingering, squirting, pussy eating, dirty talk, spanking, praise, mention of dp.
Your little calico cat stared at you from his throne, more known as your comfy bed full of pillows. Jisoo flicked his tail lazily as he watched completely uninterested how you were losing your mind over a wrinkled sheet of paper.
‘’I don’t understand! I studied for days,’’ you grunted, teeth clenched. Your exam laid on the floor, forgotten in the middle of a fury attack. ‘’I can’t believe that idiot got a higher grade! This is so unfair.’’
‘’Language!’’ Jisoo hissed, stretching with a big yawn after. He closed his eyes and pretended you weren’t there, ignoring the glare you sent his way. ‘’You got a good grade, stop complaining before you give me a headache. You’re interrupting my nap time, by the way.’’
‘’This is a disaster, Jisoo. He beat me by half a point, can you believe that?’’
‘’Darling, you don’t know what a real disaster is’’, the cat gave you a dramatic sigh. ‘’I’m supposed to guide you through challenges in magic, not Math exams. Sorry,’’ Jisoo shrugged, at least the way cats do. He didn’t seem sorry at all. ‘’This is under my payment range.’’
You rolled your eyes. ‘’You don’t get paid, you’re my familiar! And you’re not helpful right now,’’ you snapped.
‘’Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe familiars should have a union,’’ he muttered thoughtfully, turning his back on you to end the conversation. ‘’And get payments agreements.’’
‘’You’re supposed to listen to me and give me advice,’’ you pouted, landing next to him and digging your fingers in his soft fur, petting him. ‘’This is a crisis.’’
Jisoo tilted his head when you started petting his ears, purring a little with his eyes closed. ‘’I was the best warlock in the century, now I’m a cat condemned to listen to boy’s problems. It’s insulting. Now that’s a crisis. I didn't know the afterlife was this bad.’’
You returned to pacing into your small bedroom, frowning.
‘’It’s not a boy's problem, we’re talking about enemies here. I need to get back at Jake, you should see how happy he was. He looked at me like he didn’t care that he got first place. Ugh. I swear, his head got even bigger.’’
Jisoo opened one eye. ‘’These violent tendencies are worrisome. I suggest therapy.’’
‘’He already beat me in Literature, and now in Math. Mr Lee already chose him as his favorite,’’ you groaned. ‘’He even got the position of captain of the basketball team! I couldn't land the cheer captain position. He’s got ahead of me, the cocky bastard.’’
The cat judged you from his position. ‘’Oh my God,’’ Jisoo said under his breath. ‘’This has been going on since forever, aren’t you tired? You two are adults still acting like petty kids.’’
Truth is, Sim Jaeyun has been an annoying presence in your life since both were little. He was the new kid in class, all confidence and arrogance even at such a young age, all hidden in that stupid puppy face he had. Jake was the kind of boy who would pull your hair and somehow convince everybody he was innocent with his pretty eyes, like the time he threw his pink chewing gum on your hair when nobody was looking and you ended with a horrible bowl cut for the rest of the year.
Or maybe the time he filled your lunchbox with worms, or when he added without your knowledge too much baking soda in your volcano project in fifth grade. You smelled like vinegar and baking soda for a few days after the small explosion.
By the time high school started, you named him as your biggest enemy. Things stopped being physical and turned more into psychological terror and competitiveness. You both were intelligent and talented in their own ways, Jake was pretty easygoing and truly the golden boy, and you were smart and gentle but more quiet so maybe there was hope that none of you would cross the other. After all, you two weren’t kids anymore, right?
That didn’t happen.
When Jake played basketball you were there as the prettiest, flexible cheerleader, stealing the attention and winning competitions with your team as well. You didn’t even love being one, but adored the way Jake’s face would fall every time he saw you around. He reclaimed his reign beating you in various subjects but most of the time you were head to head, truly losing by half a point most of the time. Classmates would hold their breath every time the exam results were published because they knew a storm was coming.
You were cold wind and Jake strong rain, your arguments were as entertaining as watching a tornado hit the ground, unpredictable and destroying everything in its path. People didn’t want to be in the debate team because of you two. Both of your teammates pretended to be interested in the grass when you and Jake bumped into each other and argued about basketball and cheerleading practice schedules overlapping.
Everyone knew that no one should get in the tornado's way. Once, a classmate, Yongmin, tried to join Jake and criticize one of your History presentations, and he basically got burned under the icy, unimpressed stare that silenced him quickly.
You and Jake had been banned from the winter musicals after getting the lead roles and ruining it by sabotaging each other's performances. It was a miracle that Jake's hair survived the glue on his wig and that you didn't break anything after the curtain fell on you in the middle of a high note.
Maybe when you two go into college things will be different, your mom said one time, now you’re both adults!
That didn’t happen. Again.
You and Jake went to the same college but thank God not the same major. He was a Sports Science kind of guy and you were an Engineering and Physics kind of girl. Destiny was a fucked up thing, because you two ended up sharing some classes anyway and competing like you were eleven years olds again instead of grown up adults. Jake still had the same magnetism that pulled people into his orbit and somehow entered a frat with his group of friends, so his social life was just a tiny bit better than yours. He won the popularity award, because after a wrist injury you lost the possibility of being the captain of the cheerleading squad.
Girls loved him and that was the weirdest thing to witness. To you, Jake was that annoying gremlin with a head too big and a worse mouth, the same mischievous, loud kid from your childhood. It turned out he grew up handsome and tall, as one of your friends, Sakura, said one time. Even weirder was when she asked if she could have a chance with him since you seemed to like him too.
Jisoo didn’t say anything when you told him how you see them kissing at a party one night with a horrified scowl, knowing that there was something else buried in your mocking tone. But the calico cat kept quiet.
You ignored his jab, rolling your eyes. ‘’Turn into a panther or something and eat him. I don’t care. Just take him out.’’
The calico cat left out something like a laugh and a meow combined. ‘’You think I take orders from you? Leave me to have my afternoon nap in peace, peasant.’’
You glared at the cat, who dismissed you with one look like you were an annoying lady in court. Even in a tiny cat form he still held onto his aristocratic ways, that was for sure.
With a thoughtful murmur, you approached the bookshelf, which was steadily filling up with more and more books on witchcraft. A wicked idea made you smile slightly as you searched for the right book, Jisoo's snores echoing in the room.
Jake may win over you in some things, but he didn’t have your powers nor your acknowledgement in magic. He was just a normal, human dude with nothing out of the ordinary and that thought made you smile even more.
Even if it was your secret, you had something he didn’t have.
‘’This is not a good idea,’’ Jisoo started, perched on your desk like a gargoyle, a knowing glint in his eyes.
You hummed while adding bat’s wings into the potion that fumed red smoke into your room. ‘’Now you wanna give advice?’’
‘’Making magic to hurt humans is prohibited,’’ the calico cat reminded you. ‘’You’re gonna get us in trouble.’’
‘’Stop worrying, I don’t wanna hurt him. I just wanna mess with him,’’ you smiled, adding more headless fairy dust into the cauldron. ‘’Ruin his day a little, you know?’’
‘’Define little.’’
You pursed your lips thinking of examples, but you couldn't control the happiness that glowed your face just imagining it. ‘’Like… his shower turning cold out of nowhere. His chair breaks in the middle of class. His alarm clock runs late. Maybe he can’t find a good position to sleep or his pillow isn't cold on the other side.’’
Jisoo stared at you completely unimpressed. ‘’Damn, if this isn’t the height of dark magic I ever witnessed,’’ he sighed. ‘’You’re hexing furniture.’’
‘’It’s harmless magic,’’ you protested with a huff, pouring a little of green ogre pee into the potion. ‘’It's not illegal, just annoying things to ruin his day. That’s how you play and break someone’s mind, trust me.’’
The cat snorted in complete astonishment. ‘’You’re using time, energy and magic for a petty revenge. Do you realize this is tremendously dramatic, right?’’
‘’Gee, I wonder whom I get that from,’’ you wondered with a small chuckle. You started the incantation, something really simple that you mastered time ago. Truly, it was something that little kids do to test their magic and do mischief.
Your fingers sparkled a little and blue light spiraled from them, making forms in the air before sinking into the cauldron. The materials inside mixed with each other and the spell took form, bubbling and boiling. A sweet smell filled your room.
You squealed with excitement. ‘’Done. I present you a spell of daily inconvenience!’’
Jisoo said nothing when you looked at him expectantly, his ears flicked back as he seemed concentrated in the cauldron. ‘’What’s the real goal here? You’re a well trained witch, not usually dedicated to pranks.’’
You froze for a second, stirring your potion in the cauldron more slowly. ‘’What do you mean, Jisoo?’’
The calico cat gave you that look again— the one that felt like he could see right through your bullshit and into your soul. Sometimes you forgot that this little cat was indeed a powerful and ancient warlock who knew you like the palm of his… paw. Jisoo tilted his head and kept his eyes on you, reading you easily.
‘’You’ve spent the whole afternoon on this. Thinking about him, channeling energy onto his name, getting the ingredients and also you talk about him everyday…’’
‘’I don’t talk about him, I complain,’’ you clarified. ‘’There’s a difference.’’
‘’Hm. This doesn’t feel like hatred or revenge. This is… misplaced affection. Heartbreak, maybe.’’
You rolled your eyes with a chuckle, a little confused by the warmness on your cheeks. Maybe you were too close to the cauldron. ‘’Please, Jisoo. I told you, I just wanna mess a little with him. Making him lose some of his control. It’s not heartbreak, it’s simply rivalry.’’
Jisoo meowed thoughtfully. ‘’Or maybe you want him to notice that you have control.’’
You closed your spell book with more force than necessary. ‘’That doesn’t ring any bells, no.’’
‘’Here’s some advice you wanted so much,’’ Jisoo's tone softened a little, making you tense. ‘’Careful, my darling girl. Magic born from emotions tends to misbehave. Even if it comes from a talented witch like you.’’
You stared at your fingers, now with a faint light glow, leftover energy from before. ‘’It’s a harmless spell. It will break in a week, is not that serious.’’
‘’I hope so. If you keep tying your energy to him like this, maybe something might start tying back.’’
You whined and throwed a bat wing at him. ‘’What does that even mean? Why you’re being so ominous and sinister?’’
‘’Let’s see what happens when that boy starts showing up late and falls onto his ass. Every decision has a reaction, don’t act surprised when the universe decides to have a laugh too.’’
You smiled, imagining Jake’s face when the cold water hits. ‘’Noted.’’
Jisoo grunted adorably, his paw resting on your hand. ‘’If this goes wrong, tell me. I’m the only one who can fix your messes. I’m like, literally and legally obligated to.’’
‘’Deal,’’ you muttered, petting his soft fur. He rested his chin on your other hand, a small gesture of loyalty and comfort. ‘’But don’t worry, nothing will happen.’’
‘’When the Familiar Union finally exists, romantic entanglements and magical sabotage are going to be my priorities,’’ the cat added.
You ignored the first part. ‘’For being a Duke from the eighteen hundreds you’re pretty into labor rights, you know?’’
‘’Just be careful what you wish for, darling,’’ Jisoo purred. ‘’Magic’s very sentimental. Sometimes it can give you what your heart asks for, not what you spell wants.’’
You sat in your room in silence for a while, until the only sound was Jisoo’s soft snoring and purrs. At some point the blue glow from your fingers faded. Outside, a soft storm took place, thundering in the distance.
And in another part of the town, a certain boy’s alarm quietly lost twenty minutes.
It started small.
Your spell of daily inconveniences proved as effective as it was subtle. Things began to happen here and there just as you planned; Jake arrived late to class one Monday, his hair a tangled mess, muttering to his friend Heeseung about his alarm not working. On Wednesday, one of his chair legs snapped like a Pepero in the middle of class but he was quicker and managed to catch himself before he fell. Well, maybe the spell needed a few tweaks.
By Friday, the locker room showers had turned ice cold, and you had to cover your face to keep from laughing when you heard Jake yelp while you were spying on him. The best part was when he tried another shower and the hot water seemed to disappear for him.
Everything was perfect, until it wasn't.
The following Monday you woke up with the sun on your face and Jisoo snoring beside you— a peaceful, cozy morning. Only until your sleepy eyes noticed your phone blinking with a silent alarm and the awful time marking noon mocking you. You had fallen asleep. You practically sent Jisoo flying with how quickly you threw off the blankets and ran to the bathroom; you had missed all your morning classes!
When you turned on the tap to wash your face, it was as if the sink had exploded and ice-cold water started gushing out like a fountain. Your screams and the sound of the water woke Jisoo up, who couldn't stop laughing from the top of the bed while you tried to turn off the water, completely soaked from head to toe while your small bathroom was flooding.
After checking your alarm about eighty times to make sure it was working for the next day, you arrived at class on time, but your favorite seat was already taken. You went a few rows back, put your bag down and sat down. As you listened to the lecture a little bored, you started to notice something else, a very weird sound: a small crack. You barely had time to react before the chair came crashing down, taking you to the floor with it.
You told Jisoo everything while rubbing your sore butt with a pout.
‘’Well, well, aren’t these the consequences of your own acts,’’ Jisoo laughed. ‘’Karma’s on time this week.’’
‘’Shut up. These are just coincidences, I can have bad luck from time to time. This is totally normal.’’
‘’An intelligent girl like you should know these are counterspells,’’ Jisoo rolled his eyes. ‘’The math isn’t mathing, like you young people say.’’
‘’Stop talking in riddles.’’
He jumped off the windowsill and walked towards you. ‘’This young man is a warlock. Maybe if you didn’t entertain your petty ways you could have noticed the trace of his magic.’’
A scoff left you. ‘’What? No way, Jake’s human as a human can get!’’
‘’How are you so sure? Does anybody know you’re a witch? Mind I remind you this is something to keep secret? Jake is a warlock, I can smell the magic,’’ the cat wrinkled his nose.
‘’If Jake was a warlock, he would have already cast a spell on me years ago. I've known him since we were kids. He wouldn't be able to resist showing off his powers, trust me.’’
‘’You honestly can't believe that a copy of your spell is just a coincidence,’’ Jisoo snorted in disbelief.
‘’The pipes are old and could burst, and the chairs in my classroom sometimes wobble a little,’’ you sighed. ‘’This is normal, Jisoo.’’
‘’And I’m a fucking racoon.’’
The following week, more strange things started happening. For example, you'd feel someone's heavy gaze on you, and when you looked up, you'd find Jake staring. The corners of his lips would twitch slightly, as if he couldn't contain the mocking smile he offered as a greeting. Weird.
By Friday, Jake couldn't hide how amused he was when something went wrong for you and of course you noticed. Like when your blue pen exploded, sending ink flying everywhere, but mostly onto your face. You spent the morning looking like a blackberry. Or like when you wanted to eat your apple, which magically disappeared from your bag. The one you'd had with you all day vanished like nothing, replaced by a bar of your favorite chocolate and a note that said: you missed a spot.
That same night you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by different spell books with Jisoo by your side, the pages pulsing with residual magic. You were determined to get to the bottom of all this.
‘’Something’s off,’’ you muttered. ‘’My spell shouldn't be rebounding but if it has, it should have ended by now. There’s something else happening and I need to know what it is.’’
Jisoo hummed. ‘’Maybe Jake has some kind of protection spell, or you used too much ogre pee. Or maybe... you've been caught.’’
You frowned. ‘’Caught?’’
‘’Sometimes the magic of two people recognizes each other. Your spell might have reacted to that, or perhaps something collided with it, amplifying its power. It can happen to destined souls,’’ Jisoo finished giving you a curious look, clearly measuring your reaction.
You blinked, feeling your heart race and your stomach drop. ‘’I’m telling you, Jake is just a human, a very normal one. Nothing more than a frat boy with good grades and soft hair.’’
Jisoo tilted his head, amused. ‘’Don’t forget pretty face too.’’
You groaned and throwed a pillow at him. ‘’Please be professional! This is a serious matter.’’
The calico cat dodged the pillow and headed to his favorite spot, the windowsill. ‘’If your magic keeps bouncing back, it’s not failing. It’s redirecting. Something is answering you— maybe even playing along.”
You chewed your lip considering his words, looking behind Jisoo into the night where a thunderstorm was forming. ‘’Mmmh. Maybe I should check it out to see if this is a counter-spell. Maybe I’ll find something…’’
You turned your attention back to Jisoo and for a few seconds you didn't say anything, until a smile began to form on your lips. The cat bristled slightly and shook its head, taking a step back.
‘’Oh, no. Don’t start. Don’t even think about it! I don’t know what you’re thinking but I know it is a bad idea,’’ Jisoo warned you, wary.
You and Jisoo moved through the night completely camouflaged.
You were dressed in full in black, and so was Jisoo, with a small knitted hat covering his ears from the cold and a matching mini sweater. You were also wearing a hat, anything to make sure nothing about you was noticeable, neither your hair nor your face. You walked through the darkest streets as if you were carrying a secret in your arms and not Jisoo, who was tucked inside your backpack against your chest, grumbling under his breath.
‘’I just wanna take a look from outside. Just a harmless little glimpse to see if I find anything,’’ you assured him. ‘’It’s legal.’’
‘’You went from casting hexing spells on a chair to trespassing private property. Make a deal with the devil, they said. He’s cool and eternal life is amazing, they said. You could pass all of your knowledge as a familiar, they said,’’ Jisoo sighed loudly.
‘’Shhh! Keep quiet, I don’t want anybody hearing us.’’
Jisoo hissed quietly. ‘’We are literally on an empty street dressed as if we were going to rob a house.’’
You slowed your pace, ignoring Jisoo's further complaints. Just a few meters away was Jake's house, the same one you'd always known. You knew Jake’s parents had left a few months ago to go on a cruise after both retired, so the house had been left to him until then. You thought it would probably be a hotspot for parties and mayhem, but it actually looked quite well-kept, with a well-maintained garden and perfectly manicured lawn, which caught your attention. It didn't look like the home of a frat boy living alone.
You glanced both ways before jogging gently across the distance, making sure you were quick and wouldn't attract the attention of any neighbors who might be awake at that hour. The house lights were off, and there was no sound, no music or voices. Maybe Jake wasn't even there; it being a Saturday, he was probably at a party. You crouched between two bushes on the side of the house and carefully placed your backpack on the ground. Jisoo climbed out, stretching lazily.
‘’This is the plan,’’ you whispered to Jisoo, ‘’I'm going to take a look around his room and see if there's anything suspicious. I need to make sure there's nothing strange going on with my magic.’’
‘’I just want you to know that if the police come here, I'm leaving your ass behind,’’ Jisoo snorted but stayed, even walking a little way around the perimeter of the house.
You ignored it and rolled your eyes. The air around you grew colder as you focused on the small incantation you were performing, your fingers tracing tiny runes that vanished and reappeared like fireflies in the darkness. Your hair lifted slightly with static, but anyone watching could easily mistake it for a gentle breeze.
Your power vibrated gently as if welcoming you, and Jisoo watched as your feet slowly but steadily rose from the ground, lifting you higher and higher into the air as if on an invisible thread.
‘’You witches are so dramatic,’’ Jisoo meowed, still watching how you levitated on the air. ‘’Make it quick, before the neighbors call the exorcist.’’
You sighed and got to work, hovering just outside the first-floor window. There were some band posters, a made bed, and a desk piled with books—normal ones. You recognized some you'd read yourself the previous term. It was Jake's damn room. Nothing unusual. You clenched your jaw at the sight, still observing even though it was a bit difficult in the darkness, with only the moonlight illuminating the room.
But suddenly, you felt a strange sensation at the back of your neck, like when you know a jump scare is about to happen in a horror movie. And then your eyes meet what you were afraid to find.
In a corner, there was a wood cabinet with items you also recognized because you had used them before: ingredients, a cauldron smaller than yours. Books, some older than others, but their contents were undeniable: symbols, spells, drawings. No fucking way.
You stifled the gasp that wanted to escape you and placed your hands on the windowpane just to check that everything was real and you weren't having a hallucination induced by magic. You weren't losing control of your magic, nor was the spell going wrong; Jake was the one sending it back to you.
‘’This asshole,’’ you whispered with clenched teeth. You couldn't believe it, he was hexing you back!
‘’Enjoying the view, little witch?’’
You tensed up when you heard the soft, amused voice literally behind you. Jake’s voice.
Some things should never happen in a girl’s life. Like falling into your ass while spying on your enemy, right in front of him. You yelped and then landed on the bushes with a gasp, but nothing could have taken your attention away from Jake floating on the first floor, arms crossed. His eyes gleamed maliciously, and you could clearly see his mocking expression.
For a moment you forgot how to breathe, or perhaps it was the fall from several meters, but your mouth and brain lost connection. Jake was there, floating as if nothing had happened, as if gravity didn't apply to him. The moonlight reflected off his hair, turning it almost silver. You remembered what Jisoo had said earlier and paid closer attention, noticing that yes, there was something magical lingering in the air. A faint energy that vibrated and felt alive, not like yours, which usually felt charged.
It was different but similar, and that scared you more than knowing your rival was a warlock.
‘’Cat got your tongue?’’ Jake asked, voice all velvety and low, as if it were curling around you.
You tried to get up in a panic, knowing how ridiculous you looked. ‘’I— I wasn’t— I was just—”
“Spying?” he offered helpfully, tilting his head with a grin. “Bold move. When I was wondering what you would do I never imagined you would visit me in the middle of the night.’’
Well, now that the cat was out of the bag, there was no need to be so subtle.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snapped, trying to get up with your dignity intact. “I was checking something. My spell has been acting weird.”
“Oh, that spell,” he pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “The one that made my chair break? Fuck up my alarm? Very considerate of you, by the way. Nothing says ‘I’m thinking about you’ quite like minor property damage.”
You glared. ‘’How— wait, you... knew? How did you know it was me?’’
He laughed, low and delighted. “Of course I knew. You left a signature. Cute one, too— all lightning and impatience. It tickled.”
The air crackled faintly between you. You could feel his magic brushing against yours —warm, playful, curious. What the fuck. The feeling was so surreal that you simply couldn't fully grasp the situation; you felt like laughing hysterically at any second. You felt overwhelmed too fast, like the world just hit the gas and was spinning out of control.
‘’Wait, just… wait. You’re telling me that all this time you were a warlock? You knew I was a witch?!
Jake smiled a little and then it began to descend slowly, until it landed next to the bush. His smile softened into something more intimate, as if it were abandoning its mocking facade. “You know, you really shouldn’t play with someone unless you’re ready for them to play back. You had it coming, pretty.’’
You ignored the nickname, refusing to blush at your idiot enemy. You rolled your eyes and proceeded to remove leaves and twigs from your clothes. “I wasn’t playing—”
“Sure you were,” his voice dropped, almost fond. “You’ve been dancing around me for years, trying to win every little battle. Grades, awards, games... It’s cute.”
You simply blinked at him, feeling a little alarmed at his proximity. ‘’What are you doing?’’
The wind picked up, swirling around the two of you. Your magic hummed wildly, as if reacting to his proximity— alive, eager, unrestrained.
“I can feel it,” Jake murmured, eyes half-lidded. “Your power’s stronger when you’re angry… or nervous.”
You swallowed hard. “Then maybe you should back off. I could strike your smug face with lightning if I wanted to.’’
He only grinned, whispering near your ear. “Maybe I should get closer.”
A spark jumped between you —literal lightning, bright and sharp. Jake laughed, the sound light and boyish, almost giddy. “See? That’s what happens when you stop pretending. It was about time.’’
You could barely think. He looked utterly at ease, glowing faintly with magic and confidence, while you were trying to remember which way was up. Your hands rested on your chest, as if that way you could contain the leaps your magic was making and your heart was racing, feeling like the pieces would fall off your body at any second.
“Don’t worry,” he added, going upwards again toward his now open window. “I won’t tell anyone your little secret. I think it’s more fun if it’s just between us, like always.’’
“Fun?” you echoed, still breathless.
He flashed that mischievous smile —the one that made it impossible to tell if he was challenging you or confessing something. “Of course. A proper competition always needs stakes, doesn’t it?”
And with that, he slipped back inside his room, leaving the window open— and the air between you still buzzing, like the world had just shifted a little closer to something dangerous and thrilling.
What the fuck just happened.
The next day, nothing happened.
Your alarm went off, the water was hot, your lunch didn't explode, and you weren't chased by a giant worm the moment you stepped outside. Jisoo was in stitches when you told him about your encounter with Jake and basically reveled in the fact that he’d been right all along.
He basically told you that you deserved the scare for going around casting spells on people, and you reminded him that he was hanged for the same thing. He ignored you for the rest of the day and threatened to report you to his future union.
Back at university, you did your best to avoid running into Jake. It wasn't that hard because, at the end of the day, you had different majors and schedules, except for the couple of classes you shared. So everything would be fine, right? So why were you hiding like a guilty, paranoid thief?
There was no way you were going to confront him without first sorting out your thoughts. You'd spent the vast majority of your life locked in a rivalry with him, and what you thought was solely yours now... wasn't. Part of you was curious to know what kind of power Jake possessed. What had his years of training been like? What was his familiar like? What spells he got wrong, what weaknesses did he have?
It was foolish to think this could turn into a competition. Magic and sorcery were different from ordinary things like competing in an exam, and what was one person's strength could be another's specialty. It wasn't something to make fun of, either; at least, it was something Jisoo had taught you from the start.
So why were you so curious, if you weren't going to let it affect your mind any further? Another part of you just didn't want to go there and think about Jake's voice, or what he looked like, or how he was getting close to you, or how handsome he looked floating around. Oh, no. That ship wasn't going to sail.
Just because you didn't get the captain's position didn't mean you didn't get a spot on the team. At first, you thought maybe you could still compete with Jake and annoy him, but now standing in the middle of practice with your pom-poms just felt silly. You felt silly. What were you even doing?
The gym smelled of freshly waxed wood and sweat, the squeak of sneakers filled the air, and the bouncing balls had the same rhythm as your heart: unsteady and fast. You refused to believe it was because of him. Jake was near the end of the court, chatting with his friend Jay while watching the team practice intently, looking for mistakes or adjustments. His hair was a little sweaty and stuck to his forehead, and his jersey fit snugly around his shoulders—
Jake glanced up for a second, but it was enough to catch you staring. You immediately looked away, pretending to fix your pom-poms and that the ceiling was really interesting.
Mina, one of your teammates, approached you and playfully bumped her hip against yours, whispering to you. ‘’Why are you flirting with Jake in the middle of practice?’’
You looked at her as if she had grown two talking heads. ‘’What? I’m not doing that.’’
‘’Girl,’’ Mina chuckled, ‘’you're practically devouring him with your eyes.’’
‘’How long do you think it will take for someone to suffocate with pom-poms?’’
Mina laughed and bumped into you again, smiling. ‘’Okay, I'll leave you to it. I'm just saying you two make a cute couple!’’
Her words left you more unsettled than you expected. Thank God your practice had also begun and you could think about something else and ignore other things happening around you, like Jake's gaze on you or the way your magic had begun to stir under your skin like an annoying buzzing.
Every time you moved you could feel him, as if his presence vibrated along with your magic even though he was meters away. You caught his eyes and gave him a warning look, not quite knowing what was happening but certain that he was somehow to blame. The corner of his mouth lifted, a half-smile that was totally annoying, as if he were challenging you.
Then, it happened.
A draft swept through the gym, which was enclosed and had no open windows or doors, so it was strange enough to turn some confused heads. It brushed against your legs like a gentle caress and even lifted your cheerleader skirt slightly. You trembled a little, but you didn't know why, caging that feeling deep into your mind with the ‘’no open’’ sing.
Your first thought was don’t react. Your second was he wouldn’t. When you turned to look at him, Jake was spinning a ball on his finger, staring at you with a small, evil smile.
Stop it, you mouthed.
Make me, he mouthed back.
You gritted your teeth, eager to see how long it would actually take someone to be suffocated with pom-poms. The worst part of it all was your heart, which gave a strange jump, and you looked away from Jake so you could catch your breath. Damn arrogant idiot.
You didn’t catch the way his eyes sparkled or how his wrist flicked subtly, not until it was too late. The pom-poms you held in your hands sparkled, literally. Tiny blue sparks flew everywhere until they became fire, burning the tips. You gasped and dropped them, the small crackling sound echoing against the floor. Others cheerleaders turned, confused and startled by you, but Jake only shrugged innocently, still spinning the ball.
When you looked at them closely on the floor, they were extinguished, as if you had only imagined the blue fire. They looked perfectly fine, like nothing happened to them. As if it had only been an illusion spell.
“Problem, sweetheart?” Jake called across the court, voice dripping with false concern. ‘’Do you need me to come all the way there to help you?’’
The rest of his team laughed, assuming it was another one of your petty rival moments, but Jake’s gaze lingered, sharp, soft, dangerous. You knew that look. It meant he was still playing. Oh, but two could do that.
So you waited. You knew Jake and you knew he probably thought you'd make a scene, but not this time. You simply relaxed your expression and continued practicing as if nothing was wrong, even though inside you were seething. You still kept stealing glances, but now you were focused on how his game was progressing, how he moved around the court like he owned it. The moment you were waiting came when Jake was near the basket, waiting for Jay to pass him the ball. It was the final seconds before practice ended, the last shot that would win Jake the game. When Jay threw the ball you watched as it flew through the air, almost in slow motion, toward Jake's outstretched hands.
Your wrist flicked and you sent a harmless electric current to Jake's hands, which startled him and made him lose the ball. The ball continued bouncing until it reached your feet and you picked it up with a mocking smile. ‘’Problem, sweetheart?’’
Jake blinked and smiled slowly, taking you by surprise. It wasn't what you expected. You definitely didn't expect the way his eyes scanned your body or the way he bit his lip, his eyes shining not with anger but more with warmth.
Your cheeks turned a little red, your mocking smile faltering just enough for Jake to notice.
The gym was slowly emptying, the voices and bouncing balls fading away, a few laughs echoing. You lagged behind, making the effort to gather your things at a slower pace to kill time; the truth was, you didn't want to run into Jake on the way out.
So you drank some water, tidied your pom-poms, stretched more than usual, drank some more water and checked your phone fifteen times. You thought you were safe until you heard it, that low, lazy, familiar voice you knew all too well.
‘’What are you doing here all alone? Thinking up more spells to ruin my game?’’
You turned around and jumped at Jake's proximity. The first thing you noticed was his cologne and how good he smelled. He had a towel over his shoulder and his hair was slightly damp, with the ends curling a little, his grin all trouble.
You scoffed as you finished closing your bag. ‘’Maybe I should, that way I can erase your smug smile for once and for all.’’
‘’You’re so mean to me,’’ Jake chuckled, but there was no bite to it. He sat right next to your bag, looking at your things and then at you. ‘’I should be the one offended, after all, I was electrocuted. And don't forget that you put a curse on me too.’’
You rolled your eyes. ‘’It wasn’t a curse. And it's over now, so there's no need to keep crying about it.’’
‘’Since you hexed me,’’ Jake started, ‘’I haven’t been the same.’’
‘’It was a harmless spell,’’ you said, running out of patience fast.
‘’Harmless? I suffered a lot.’’
A sigh left you. ‘’What do you want, Jake?’’
‘’Payback,’’ he said immediately. Jake tilted his head and studied your face, a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘’I’m mentally scarred. Emotionally vulnerable. I don’t even sleep well anymore and it’s because of you.’’
‘’All of this just because of a cold shower?’’ You snorted, unconvinced. ‘’You’re weaker than I thought, Jakey.’’
You tried to grab your purse, but Jake's hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to react before Jake pulled you down hard and settled you between his legs, almost falling onto his lap. Your hands landed on his chest, and when you tried to get up, Jake caught you in his arms. You froze in disbelief, ignoring how your breath caught in your throat and how Jake's face was too close.
‘’You owe me,’’ he continued, voice still playful but with an edge to it. His eyes drifted down to your lips. ‘’That spell? It messed with my focus.’’
‘’You also hexed me, Jake,’’ you murmured, squinting your eyes. ‘’You had your little stupid revenge already. Let me go.’’
His attention shifted to your hands on his chest, to the tiny sparks dancing from your fingers, a sign of how annoyed you were getting. When he looked back up, there was something different in his eyes— less teasing, but more intense.
‘’I want compensation. And if you don't accept my terms, well... I'll have to pay a visit to the Witches' Council. One of them attacked me, after all,’’ Jake shrugged, not sorry at all, the threat hovering between you two for a moment.
You looked at him for a few seconds, but Jake's expression remained the same. ‘’Are you serious? That’s not fair,’’ you said with a scoff, shaking your head. ‘’It was just a joke, Jake, you’re being so ridiculous right now.’’
Jake smiled, slow and dangerous. “Since when have we ever played fair?”
For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt charged, your magic humming beneath your skin, reactive and restless. You sighed and glanced to the side, knowing you were screwed. Among so many possibilities, it was possible the Council would take the complaint seriously; after all, it was a spell directed at another warlock. It was well known that the council sought peace among all, especially the young people of a new generation who needed to be more united. But above all, you knew the council president had some very strange ways of teaching a lesson. You didn't want to find out.
You sighed tiredly. ‘’What do you want?’’
Jake's eyes lit up like a fireplace and his hands settled on your waist, lazily stroking it and laughing when you squirmed. ‘’Don’t shock me again without warning.’’
You cheered up a little, straightening up. That didn’t sound so hard. ‘’You deserved it, but okay. That’s it?’’
Jake shook his head. ‘’I want one of those lucky charms you make. Don't put a plague spell on it or anything like that, though.’’
That took you by surprise. ‘’How do you know I make those?’’
Jake ignored you while moving a lock of hair away from your face, playing with it for a few seconds before tucking it behind your ear. ‘’And third, I want a date with you.’’
The shriek you let out was probably heard all over campus. You tried to climb down from Jake's lap hastily and clumsily, one of his legs getting tangled up with yours and almost sending you tumbling to the ground if it weren't for Jake's hands that caught you firm, secure, gripping your waist and pulling you back against him.
“Careful,” he laughed, breath warm against your cheek. “Don’t get nervous, pretty. You might get hurt.’’
‘’A date?!’’ you exclaimed, voice cracking. ‘’With you?! Uh-uh, pick something else,” you blurted out, palms pressing flat against his chest in a weak attempt to put distance between you. “Absolutely not. No. We don’t do dates. We compete. We—”
“We flirt,” Jake cut in smoothly.
“We do not—”
“You shocked me,” he said calmly. “On purpose.”
You gasped in offense. ‘’Because you lifted my skirt with the wind, you pervert!’’
‘’So you admit it was a tactical attack,’’ Jake teased you.
You were losing territory, fast. You calmed down and tried another tactic, more calm. ‘’What's your angle here, Jake? Public humiliation? What would we even do on a date, just the two of us?’’
‘’Several things come to mind,’’ Jake murmured in his hoarsest voice. His thumbs traced slow, absent circles at your waist, not moving away, not tightening either. Just… there. It sent shivers down your spine, and it was irritating to admit that maybe it didn't bother you at all.
‘’Maybe I just wanna date you,’’ Jake said quietly, staring at you. ‘’Even though seeing you freak out over it is almost payback enough.’’
You looked to the side with a mocking laugh. “I am not freaking out. I’m perfectly normal,’’ you snapped.
“You’re vibrating,” he pointed out. ‘’Your magic is charging, I can feel it.’’
You clenched your fists immediately. “That’s unrelated. Are you an electrician or something like that?’’
Jake smiled slowly, devastatingly attractive. Now you understand why everyone fell for that innocent puppy face, damn it.
‘’It’s just a date, we’re not marrying each other. Or is that what you're thinking, and that's why you're nervous?’’
You stared at him, at the way his eyes softened just a little when you met his gaze, like he wasn’t mocking you anymore— like he was actually waiting. It scared the fuck out of you.
“I don’t like you,” you muttered, sounding like a petulant child.
“Liar,” he said gently.
You exhaled sharply, completely exhausted and cornered. ‘’Fine. You’re gonna get your stupid date and your stupid lucky charm. Do you want anything else, Mr Sim? Can I go now, or are you going to ask for something even stupier, like tucking you in for bed?’’
It was the wrong thing to say, because Jake's eyes sharpened with an interest you definitely didn't know how to handle. His eyelids drooped and he sighed heavily.
‘’That depends. I don't think I'll sleep if you're in bed with me.’’
Your disgusted screams were as loud as Jake's laughter that filled the empty gym, now finally letting you go to prevent you from actually electrocuting him with deadly intent.
You were never afraid of Jake and his temper; you were always up for any challenge or encounter. It was common to huff in his face and mock him. But now you were a little ball of nerves, or something like that. The idea of avoiding Jake at all costs was too good to pass up. Before, you would have been munching popcorn while watching your spell complicate his days, and now... well, let's just say that constantly making sure he wasn't around, hiding behind a pillar, wasn't exactly good for your sanity.
This had to be some kind of master plan by Jake, you were sure of it. Some kind of psychological torture, something he'd come up with to corner you. Hmm. It was suspicious. Maybe you were misreading everything and not understanding what he was really playing at. Jake asking you out? Good grief, you weren't even his type. Maybe that was the whole point, simply to get you into a situation you couldn't control. But what would happen if you took control and changed the narrative?
That same afternoon you told Jisoo your plan, who looked at you as if you had finally lost your mind.
‘’Reverse psychology. I'm going to catch Jake in his own game.’’
‘’Don't you think you're reading too much into this? I mean, the guy just asked you out,’’ Jisoo offered. ‘’Just go, maybe you can relieve all this sexual tension you're carrying around.’’
‘’First of all, ew. Second, more ew. And third, I know what I'm talking about. You'll see.’’
Jisoo simply sighed wearily and muttered something about needing a vacation.
Jake thought he had the winning hand, but you weren't going to let him get away with it. If he wanted your attention, then you were going to give him it until he repented and things returned to normal. You looked at your reflection in the full-length mirror and smiled with satisfaction. You resembled that hideous cliché of a sexy cheerleader, wearing a top tighter than usual that was crushing your ribs and breasts in the process, and a skirt short enough to be distracting. Your lips glistened with a pretty reddish gloss that made your mouth stand out. You usually wore your hair up or in a bun for practice, but now you had let it flow naturally, loose.
You looked like trouble. Perfect.
You arrived at practice as if you were entering a battlefield, confident and with your target in sight. Jake was in the middle of stretching on the floor when he heard footsteps approaching, and when he looked up, he froze. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he shot a venomous glare at a teammate next to him who had also been staring at your legs.
You smiled openly at Jake, without any mockery or sarcasm, and for a second he seemed a little bewildered by the vision. ‘’Hi, Jake,’’ you greeted him sweetly, too sweetly.
Jake really just blinked as if he didn't understand what you just said when you moved closer and stroked his hair back, ending with a caress under his chin.
‘’Hi, pretty,’’ he said, leaning back a little to look at you with a bit of suspicion instead of confusion. ‘’You seem to be in a good mood today,’’ Jake said carefully. ‘’Are you okay?’’
You could see the wheels on Jake's head spinning at a thousand miles an hour.
You rolled your eyes playfully. ‘’Of course, dummy,’’ you said as you knelt in front of him and stood face to face. ‘’Can you help me stretch, please? My body feels a little... stiff.’’
A cough echoed somewhere behind Jake.
You began to stretch your arms, your face relaxed as if everything were normal, though inside you wanted to laugh at how red Jake's ears had turned. Oh wow, this was turning out to be fun very quickly, why hadn't you tried this before? You folded one arm behind your head and arched your back slightly, pushing your breasts forward.
‘’I'm quite flexible, but sometimes I can’t reach that point, you know? I need help and a little pressure. Can you give it to me?’’
One of his teammates choked, perhaps Jay. Jake sighed heavily and didn't hide the way he was looking at you, first your thighs barely covered by your skirt and then your pretty tits. A spark of something reflected in his eyes and he seemed to relax a little, even smiling slightly. You could practically see him recalculating, and that set off red flags in your mind.
‘’I’ll help you,’’ he hummed happily as he got up anyway.
He stood behind you and took your bent arm, actually pushing it too further back until your side burned a little. You clenched your teeth. ‘’I just wanted to spend more time with you, since we couldn't finish yesterday what you started. I just wanted to tell you that it's okay; it happens to everyone sometimes, I guess.’’
Some of his teammates overheard the exchange and shared glances and a few murmurs. Even one of them, Ni-ki, was openly watching like his favorite drama just started. Jake's expression shifted to something calmer but also sharper, and that comforted you a little; it was the Jake you were used to. You could handle that. You were succeeding in irritating him.
His thumb rubbed right over your pulse slowly. ‘’Mmmm. Is that so?’’
‘’All men have a bad day now and then, I don't hold it against you. I heard there’s a pill for it.’’
Some male laughter reached you, enjoying the gossip. Jay's eyebrows shot up to the sky before he turned his head and started drinking water while pretending not to hear. Jake's voice suddenly sounded too close and you tried to move away, but he had you pinned against him.
‘’I know what you’re trying to do.’’
You looked up with a smile. “Isn’t it humiliating?”
Jake’s lips curved slowly. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”
Your stomach dropped. He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, making you gasp in surprise. You looked around but no one seemed to notice that he was holding you tightly, appearing to simply help you stretch.
“If this is your attempt to scare me off,” he added softly near your ear, “you’re going to have to try harder.”
Heat crept up your neck and you pulled back just enough to glare at him with a sneer.
“You’re supposed to be embarrassed!”
He laughed briefly and looked down at you, giving a condescending pat on your head. ‘’Why should I be? I've got the hottest cheerleader kneeling for me. Still need help stretching, baby? I'm sure I can stretch you just fine. Just relax and let me do the work.’’
You shrieked and got up pretty quickly, knowing you were losing the psychological war. ‘’Ew, pervert!’’
‘’You think I mind? I asked you out because I want you.”
You looked at him, offended and unable to say anything, so you simply turned to leave with an annoyed scoff. Jake gave you that full, goofy smile as he watched you until you went to the other side of the gym. You turned to look at him, frowning, as you nervously pulled down your skirt, cursing your stupid idea and Jake too. You stood there for a moment trying to gather your troops and think about the next move.
Your plan had backfired. Spectacularly.
You were sitting in your room, the music playing softly and relaxingly, lost in your own world and concentration. The ingredients were spread out before you: some fresh herbs, salt, horsehair, and honey, as you tried to cast a spell that Jisoo had given you as homework, pretty simple and medicinal, but it required just the right amounts.
A buzzing sound makes you look up from your spellbook, and for a moment you hesitate, but laziness wins out and you don't get up. A few seconds later, another buzz. You ignore it. Another buzz. You sighed irritated and set the book aside to reach for your phone on the bed.
‘’Now what?’’ You murmured, opening your messages.
unknown number: hey pretty
unknown number: what are you doing?
unknown number: are you working on it?
You blinked, feeling a little lost. Huh?
you: who is this?
unknown number: [photo attached]
You frowned as the photo loaded, and of course you opened it. Your breath caught in your throat before you knew it. It was him, Jake. He was lying on his bed, his hair a little messy, his lips full, his skin glowing and pink as if he'd just stepped out of a hot shower. Maybe he had, because he wasn't wearing a damn shirt. It was too embarrassing to admit how you were looking at the photo and analyzing every pixel of his face. Your stomach flipped annoyingly.
unknown number: now you know
you: where did you get my number?
jake king of the idiots: are you making my lucky charm?
You glanced down at your ingredients and book, scoffing.
you: yeah sure. the vudu doll looks good.
jake king of the idiots: cute. does it look like me?
you: the face is there, it has your ugly hair.
jake king of the idiots: how about the body?
Jake sent you a new photo and you opened it with your heart in your mouth. This time the angle was closer, more intimate, giving you a glimpse into his room as well. The photo captured the waistband of his grey sweatpants, the soft line of muscle disappearing beneath it. His hand rested lazily against his stomach. Your eyes were damn traitors and immediately noticed the imprint of his cock on his pants.
You weren't going to zoom in. You refused to zoom in. There was no way you were going to zoom in.
You zoomed in.
Your pulse jumped in your ears as you studied the photo, and when the phone rang with a new message you almost dropped it.
jake king of the idiots: you’re staring
jake king of the idiots: it was just for reference you pervert
you: im not staring! weirdo.
jake king of the idiots: why did you take so long to reply then?
you: i was debating on where to stink the pins.
jake king of the idiots: so you’re thinking about me when you're alone in your room
jake king of the idiots: what do you look like right now?
you: im surrounded by plants and horsehair.
jake king of the idiots: going to sleep with that sexy image in my head
jake king of the idiots: send me a photo of the doll when its finished
You were surprised by the small smile that came out of you.
The photos Jake sent you kept replaying in your head all night while you stared at your ceiling. He looked so soft, comfortable, and so attractive. Your mind kept going back to that picture, to those damn gray pants that fit him way too well, to his abs disappearing beneath the waistband…
Jisoo noticed how distracted you were that morning, a little flushed and definitely thoughtful. He didn't say anything, but tried to comfort you a little by patting your hand with his paw while you ate breakfast.
You jumped when someone sat down next to you, interrupting your daily daydream. Jay smiled at you amicably and settled into his seat with an exaggerated sigh, as if he'd had a long day. You blinked, suddenly your mind snapped back to reality, realizing you were in one of your classes about to start.
‘’It kinda sucks,’’ he said casually.
You glanced at him, a little puzzled and sleepy as well. Why was Jay talking to you? You ignored it for a few seconds going back to your notes, but it's rude not to answer, you guessed. ‘’Uh… what does?’’
‘’Oh, didn't you hear? The team’s practice has been suspended,’’ he tilted his head and inhaled through his teeth. ‘’Captain’s is in the infirmary. Jake’s losing a practice day, he must be fuming right now.’’
Your head snapped up too fast before you could stop yourself. ‘’What? What happened?’’
Jay paused for a moment as if he were waiting for exactly this to happen and was squeezing every second of your interest. He waved a hand dismissively, and you didn't notice how he was studying your reaction. ‘’Oh, nothing serious,” he said lightly. “Didn’t see Ni-ki coming and collided. Landed on his ass. Twisted his ankle. Maybe tweaked his knee too.”
Your stomach tightened. “He fell?” you asked, trying for neutral. You cleared your throat.
“Yeah,” Jay watched you from the corner of his eye. “Coach said he needs a few days off.”
You nodded once. Casual. Indifferent. ‘’Oh. That’s bad, I guess.’’
Jay hummed casually. He didn't move right away and you could feel his eyes lingering on you, waiting. You kept your expression blank, paying attention to the class that had just started.
After a moment, he shrugged. “Mmm. He’s sulking in the infirmary. Anyway, I’m heading back.”
You nodded and kept your attention straight ahead, a thoughtful, lost expression filling your features. You didn't even notice when Jay left, nor did you remember that you didn't share any classes with him.
After class ended, you found yourself standing in front of a door. The infirmary door. You studied it with a frown, as if the underworld lay behind it. It kinda did. You sighed and turned around to leave, but you didn't move any further, rooted to the spot. You hesitated, faced it again, and turned to leave once more. You sighed and wondered why you were having an internal conflict in the middle of the day because of Jay. You turned back to the door again and straightened your shoulders, determined to open it as if you hadn't spent ten minutes deciding about it. Luckily, no one was watching and witnessing how silly you looked.
The place didn't look like a hospital, more like a place for quick treatment. There were a few cots with curtains for privacy, the nurse's desk, and a cabinet with some things, like a blood pressure monitor. Fortunately, it didn't smell of disinfectant. You could hear some voices in the distance, which you followed cautiously.
Just a few more steps brought you to Jake on one of the stretchers, propped up against several pillows and chatting animatedly with the coach. He looked good, too good, as if the bandage around his ankle and the ice on his knee were just decoration for a photoshoot. A strange relief filled you and the small sigh you made interrupted the conversation.
The coach noticed you first.
“Well,” he said with a knowing smile, grabbing his clipboard. “Looks like you’ve got company, son.’’
Jake smiled, not in a foolish, boastful, or provocative way, just a very sweet and slightly tired smile. His face softened, too, and he said nothing, simply looking into your eyes as if he could see every thought in your mind, or at least trying to.
The coach patted Jake’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you two. Take care of my star player, maybe spoil him a little.”
You almost spinned around and run away from there. Jake chuckled softly as the door closed, relaxing against the pillows. He raised a hand toward you, inviting you to come closer.
“If you came all this way,” he said lazily, “come say hi.”
You crossed your arms. ‘’I was just passing by.’’
‘’Mmm.’’
You took a step forward. ‘’The door was open and it was impossible not to see your big head.’’
‘’Of course.’’
Your eyes focused again on her bandage and the ice, studying them with a frown, as if their presence made no sense. A new feeling of unease filled you, making its way into the emptiness of your stomach.
Jake studied your face with an uncharacteristic seriousness and tried to reach you. ‘’Before you ask, it's not serious, I'll be fine in a few days.’’
You huffed under your breath, but even you thought it was weak and fake. ‘’I wasn't going to ask.’’
Jake smirked a little. ‘’You were going to. Come here.’’
You studied his hand as if it were the gelatinous hand of a monster trying to grab you, but you moved closer anyway. Jake shifted slightly to the side, making room for you to sit next to his hip. You did it carefully, for several reasons, first because you didn't want to make a move that would hurt him and second because being so close to him set off all sorts of alarms in your body.
“What exactly happened?”
‘’I crashed into someone while shooting and landed badly on the ground. Trip to the infirmary,’’ Jake explained, resting his hand on your thigh. ‘’But it was worth it.’’
You assumed that since he was an injured patient, you could let him be. As a favor.
‘’Worth it?’’ you repeated, taking a look at the ice on his knee. ‘’Enlighten me how, please.’’
‘’Well, you came to see me all nervous and worried. This happened an hour ago, so... you must have walked fast to get here.’’
You froze for a second and shook your head. ‘’Not really.’’
“Jay said you asked what happened.”
You rolled your eyes. “Jay gossips too much.”
Jake simply chuckled and began stroking your thigh, sending warmth and shivers through you. Silence fell between you, but strangely, it wasn't awkward. It was charged, yes, but it was one of the most comfortable silences you'd ever experienced, as if Jake was content simply with your presence. You abruptly climbed off and Jake grunted a little before trying to grab you, but you had already reached for your bag and were rummaging inside.
Jake was about to open his mouth when something landed on his chest, small and light. The first thing he noticed was a faint scent of eucalyptus. He picked up the small woven amulet and studied it closely, noticing at once that it was a dog with long, cute yellow ears. He blinked, realizing what he held in his hands, and raised his head, looking at you with a look so intense it rooted you to the ground.
You bit your lip feeling how his silence stretched and nodded at his ankle. ‘’Bad timing, isn't it? I should have given it to you earlier, maybe... it would have done its job.’’
Gravity ceased to exist for you, and suddenly you weren't standing, but on top of Jake. You screamed in complaint and surprise, trying to get up without hitting Jake's injuries in the process, but Jake was stronger than you and firmly positioned you on top of him, looking at you with dilated pupils and short, ragged breaths.
“Jake!” you hissed. “What are you doing— your ankle!—”
Up close, you could see it clearly. The way his jaw was tense, the way his eyes kept flicking between your face and the lucky charm like he was afraid one of you might vanish. His usual teasing smile was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded.
“You made this,” he said softly, lifting the amulet slightly between your bodies. “For me.”
‘’You literally asked for one, Jake.’’
‘’Bullshit,’’ he said, letting out a shaky laugh. ‘’Do you really think I'm an idiot? I know you. I know nobody can force you to do anything, not even my stupid blackmail. You wouldn't cast a spell for me if you didn't really want to.’’
You didn't know what to say or what to admit, because he was right. What was worse was trying to think, because the intensity, his cologne, and Jake's presence were enveloping you in a cloud that made it difficult to speak. You shifted unintentionally in his lap thinking about how to get out of that overly vulnerable conversation, but it was a bad idea, because Jake tensed up beneath you and then growled, grabbing your hips to hold you still.
Something hard pressed against you and you stayed still, staring wide-eyed at Jake, cheeks warm. Jake exhaled and closed his eyes for half a second, pressing the charm flat against his chest like he needed it there to breathe.
“Okay,” he said suddenly. “I’m going to say something, and I need you to not freak out.”
“I think it's too late for that,” you muttered.
He smiled faintly at that, then grew serious again.
“Forget the stupid spell,” he said. “Forget the rivalry. Forget all of it.”
You straightened up and tilted your head to the side. ‘’What?’’
“I don’t care about winning anymore,” he continued, voice firm now, like he’d finally decided something after years of hesitation. “I don’t care about getting under your skin just to prove a point. I don’t even care if you put a hex on me. I care about you. I… I like you.’’
Silence. Pure, shocked, stunned silence. You opened and closed your mouth, feeling too nervous out of the sudden, like a wave trying to drown you. ‘’Please tell me you're high on painkillers,’’ you whispered.
‘’I want us to date for real.’’
‘’Jake—,’’ you attempted to silence him.
‘’I want to be your boyfriend.’’
“No,” you said, panicked. “No, no, no— this is not happening.”
Jake frowned slightly. “Is that a rejection or—”
“You can’t just say that,” you interrupted, hands flying up. “You can’t just— spring that on me! What do you mean ‘boyfriend’? We antagonize each other. We compete. I hexed you because you got a better grade than me!’’
‘’And I think it’s cute,’’ Jake shrugged.
You scrambled to sit up straighter on his lap, accidentally putting more weight on him and immediately squeaking again, him grunting and clenching his jaw when you rubbed on his cock again. “Sorry— why are you smiling like that?”
Jake was watching you intently, soft, fond. Completely gone.
‘’God, it's just that... you never noticed, did you? I only competed with you all these years because I always liked you,’’ Jake bit his lip, smiling. ‘’I didn't know what to do to get your attention, until the first time I made you angry. Your eyes lit up and it was the most exhilarating feeling in the world.’’
It took you a few seconds to find your voice. ‘’A—always?’’
Jake reached up and brushed his thumb along your jaw carefully.
‘’Well, maybe not so much in elementary school. Or maybe I was too young to understand what a crush felt like. And when we were teenagers you had already decided that you hated me, so…’’
Your heart betrayed you completely, pounding like it had already decided. You watched the man below you with eyes too big and glassy, waiting for your reaction as he clung to the amulet you made for him. He looked so… needy. So open and honest.
You let out a helpless half-groan and finally rested your forehead against his shoulder.
“I need a minute,” you said. Staying. And Jake noticed.
‘’Take all the time you want,” he replied softly, arms tightening just enough to keep you there. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Jisoo watched, amused, as you wandered around your room looking for an outfit for practice. His paw turned a page in a book and pretended to be focused so you wouldn't drag him into another boy problem or ask what short or skirt made you a better ass.
Things had changed, and you were losing your mind. Oh, how they had changed. It was as if you couldn't trust the memories you'd accumulated in your head over the years. Jake flirting with you? Jake liking you? It had to be a glitch in the Matrix. It couldn't be. But the more you thought about it, the more you had to admit it made a little bit of sense. Maybe just a little.
But at the same time it was ridiculous. Your brain tried to reject the idea on principle alone. For years Jake had been your personal headache, your academic nemesis, your walking ego with perfect teeth and a cute smile. That was the narrative. That was safe.
But the more you thought about it and overanalyzed it, the more you realized there were some things buried beneath the surface of the rivalry. Like whenever you received a grade, he would look at you before even looking at his own. As he only ever challenged you, seeking out stupid competitions that, of course, you took as a duel.
Or the times you turned down guys who wanted to be your lab partners because you had already chosen Jake and you were going to prove to him that you could run the project better than him. The way he’d leaned closer during those projects, pretending to argue when he was really just inches from your face. At the time you didn't even realize it, so used to the heated arguments you had. You mistook passion for the subject for what it really was.
You groaned softly.
Or the time you ditched your dates for the spring dance and started playing Sudoku under the table after Jake said the one in that day's newspaper was too difficult and you replied that he was just dumb. Jake had literally brought the Sudoku cutout to the dance.
And what about the way he’d get oddly quiet whenever someone else stood too close to you? The way he’d interrupt conversations with some flimsy excuse. The way he always, always inserted himself into your orbit like gravity had personally assigned him to you.
You thought he was doing it to annoy you, to embarrass you in front of other guys, or even to ruin your chances with them. Well, he probably wanted to. But not for the reasons you thought back then. All of his sarcastic comments have been bait? Had every smirk been camouflage? You pressed your palms to your cheeks, feeling heat rise.
“That idiot,” you whispered. Or maybe the idiot had been you.
Because if you were honest—truly honest—there had been moments. Moments where his teasing lingered a second too long. Where his hand brushed yours and neither of you pulled away immediately. Where his eyes softened in a way that didn’t match the joke he was making.
You were supposed to be stretching with your squad, but your eyes kept wandering toward the court, towards the empty space where Jake should be. There were orders from the coach to rest, but you knew Jake would probably have some kind of healing spell in mind, so you were surprised that he wasn't actually at practice.
“Are you looking for someone?”
You blinked, startled, and turned to find Jaemin standing nearby, holding a basketball under his arm. His smile was charming— that kind of easy, practiced grin that made half the campus girls swoon. Too many sharp teeth.
You shrugged trying to play it cool. ‘’Oh, hey. Just spacing out, I guess,’’ you smiled politely.
“Sure,” he said with a chuckle, tilting his head. “Spacing out in the direction of the locker hallway?”
You felt your cheeks warm. “I wasn’t—”
He laughed softly. “Relax, I’m not judging. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not cheering extra hard today. Thought you and Captain hated each other.”
Yeah, me too. You made a non commitment humm.
Jaemin bounced the ball once, eyeing you. “You know, I heard Jake and Jay talking about you making him a good luck charm. That's sweet. I could use some good luck before the game,” he gave you a playful wink.
You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You wouldn’t know what to do with one of my charms.”
“Oh, I’d learn fast,” he teased, stepping closer.
Before you could respond, a sudden whoosh of air swept through the gym— that telltale hum of static prickling over your skin. You didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.
Jake appeared behind Jaemin, freshly changed into his team uniform, hair damp and slightly tousled. His grin didn’t reach his eyes.
“Hey, Jaemin,” he said smoothly, clapping a hand on his teammate’s shoulder. “Warming up?”
“Uh— yeah,” Jaemin said, glancing between the two of you. “Just talking to—”
‘’Maybe four laps around the court will take away your desire to slack off. I need you focused, man,’’ Jake said, voice silky and too calm. His gaze flicked to you, and that faint, electric pulse sparked again between you.
Jaemin smiled doubtfully, feeling the sudden tension and deciding that the smartest decision was to leave. He jogged off toward the court, leaving you standing there, heart thundering.
‘’What are you doing? He was just being nice,’’ you hissed.
He leaned closer. “Stopping him from stealing what’s mine.”
You froze, pulse racing. “Yours?”
“Jaemin’s got a big mouth,” he said, stepping closer. “But I like what I heard.”
You scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.”
He tilted his head, studying you. “You didn’t deny it.”
“Deny what?”
“That you were looking for me,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “That you won’t make any idiot a lucky charm, but me.’’
You opened your mouth to argue— but nothing came out. The gym lights flickered, your magic sparking involuntarily under his gaze. Jake noticed. He always did.
“You know,” he said softly, taking another step until you could feel the heat radiating from his body, “if you wanted to wish me luck, you could’ve just kissed me.”
You stared at him, speechless. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love that about me.”
His hand brushed against yours, fingers tracing slow circles. Your breath hitched. The coach's whistle blew and your captain called everyone over, practice starting. Jake chuckled at your silence and gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then he turned and trotted toward the court.
“Don’t go running off,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll come collect my kiss!’’
Several heads turned with curiosity and you grunted under your breath at the attention, pretending that nothing had happened and picking up your pom-poms from the floor, secretly wishing that it would open up and swallow you.
You tried to keep your mind focused, but it was impossible with Jake just a few feet away. Maybe you should have cast a spell to make the ceiling collapse or something and stop practice. Your eyes kept drifting to him, watching the way his muscles tensed, his speed, the way he controlled the game and the sweat glistening on his forehead.
At one point, he swept his hair back and his eyes scanned each player, scrutinizing their movements and yelling adjustments in such a commanding way that it made your thighs clench. His jaw was tense, his eyes alert, his breathing rapid. Damn, you could finally see it. You understood how some of your teammates and even girls in your class sometimes talked about Jake, whispering and giggling conspiratorially about him, about his muscles and stamina.
To say that your energy was bouncing around in your body would be to minimize how you felt; it was more like an electric ball had found its place in your stomach and decided to play with your anxiety and create internal chaos just for fun. Jake's team headed towards the showers and lockers, and you stayed behind, talking to some girls, but your attention wasn't really there, it was on the last thing Jake had mentioned about the goddamn kiss. The girls said something about a party, free alcohol, and the guys from the team there, and you just mumbled something about being busy without really listening and watched the girls drift away one by one, their laughter fading down the hallway.
The gym slowly emptied, the echo of sneakers and voices dissolving into a heavy, almost unnatural quiet.
The moment you turned to leave, you felt it. You recognized it, rather. The air took on a strange change as you walked toward the front door, quickening your pace, and you paused before reaching for the doorknob, noticing that it was... vibrating. As if it had suddenly become charged with heat, and blue sparks were flitting through the air.
You jumped when Jake's palm landed next to your head, cornering you against the door, his heat immediately surrounding you. His other hand lifted lazily, fingers flicking once, and the lights dimmed just a fraction— enough to turn the room into something intimate, dangerous.
You looked at him then— really looked. The playful arrogance was gone. What remained was sharper. Focused. The look he got right before winning and that he knew he was going to.
“I’m done chasing you in circles,” Jake said quietly. “You’re always one step away from running, and I’m tired of pretending I don't want to kiss you until you forget everything.’’
Your pulse thundered in your ears. “This is not how you prove a point,” you said, even as your body betrayed you by not moving away.
“I know,” Jake replied. “This is how I make you stop lying to yourself.”
His gaze dropped to your lips and stayed there. Lingered, slowly igniting with a wilder glow.
“You think I flirt because I wanna annoy you?” he continued. “Because I want to humiliate you? Compete with you?” A humorless smile tugged at his mouth. “I compete because it’s the only language you don’t run from.”
Your breath came shallow when Jake leaned closer— not enough to kiss you, but enough that you could feel the brush of his breath against your own lips. You didn’t pull apart.
“If I let you walk out that door,” he murmured, “you’ll convince yourself this was nothing. That I’m just playing another game. And I’m not.”
Jake exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding himself together by sheer force of will. His hand finally moved —gentle, deliberate— cupping your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, looking a little tortured and fascinated at the same time.
That was unfair, how could he disarm you and squeeze your heart simply by looking like that? You tilted your chin up, defiant and trembling all at once. And for the first time, you didn't see your old enemy, nor the boy who put worms in your lunch. Nor the boy who competed against you all through high school and won best Halloween costume instead of you. You saw a man touching you as if he couldn't believe he was doing it, as if he wanted to devour you and give you life at the same time. His usual puppy face was a mask of pure desire, his eyes wild, and you could feel his magic vibrating, on the verge of spiraling out of control.
“Jake—”
You kissed him.
It felt like something you didn't know you were carrying just fell into place. It wasn't strange or uncomfortable, but it was an explosion of things held in for too long. Jake's hands immediately gripped you and he pushed you against the wall with a force that made you gasp, using it to deepen the kiss. It wasn't a soft, loving kiss; it was more like a jolt that coursed through your entire body, igniting every part of you, and you needed more. You claimed Jake's mouth until your lungs screamed for air, gripping his shirt tightly so he wouldn't move an inch away from you.
He was no better than you, completely lost in the kiss. His tongue conquered every corner of your mouth, savoring you as if you were the juiciest fruit he had ever tasted. It was desperate, dirty, intense, real. Jake used his knee to push through and settle between your legs and you sighed at the contact, letting your body act on pure instinct and you whimpered into his mouth when his thigh pressed against your pussy, making you grind against him slowly.
Jake’s body pressed against yours, his mouth taking over with hot kisses that left you breathless. You had been kissed before, but hell, not like this. It felt like your body was charging a bomb, every second adding more power to it, until the force couldn't be contained anymore. It was electric and powerful, the magic sparkling so alive and strong, too much to handle.
The bulbs in the gym flickered before bursting with sparks, just like the giant scoreboard, but neither of you cared. A pulse of energy ran through the air like a lightning strike. You hold onto Jake ignoring what was happening, too drunk on his kisses to care or pay attention. His hands gripped your ass and he grunted onto the kiss, dragging his mouth down your jaw and neck, biting and tracing the marks with his tongue while you kept grinding on his tight with a shaky moan. That’s when you noticed how he looked and gasped, unable to believe what you were seeing.
Jake’s brown hair was lifted everywhere, like he just did some science experiment and was the conduct of static. You could swear the tips of his hair were slightly burned at the end and his skin was adorned with strange pink marks, his neck covered in them and making a trace until it disappeared onto his basketball shirt.
The lighting-shape across his throat glowed faintly like it was alive, fading but returning with every heartbeat.
‘’Oh my God.’’
He noted the way you weren’t responding to his touch anymore, too mesmericed, surprised and guilty at the same time to do something. Jake had the audacity to laugh like it was nothing, breathless and grinning.
‘’Looks like I really got under your skin,’’ he left out another laugh, looking at you. ‘’My little firefly.’’
You flushed, too stunned to speak. The nickname sent a wave of warmth though you, enough to make the end of your strands of hair levitate slightly around your face, your magic making you look like a goddamn rookie.
Your magic didn’t behave like that in years, not since you were a kid in training with your coven. You spent years controlling every spark, every lighting, every word, anything that could trigger you. And yet, every piece of perfect control that you spent years curating was gone just like that. Your heart fluttered and your magic hummed happily, free, playful, dangerous. But your human part felt vulnerable, like all your walls were destroyed and what was worse, you hurt him with some of the debris falling.
You had hurt him.
Of course he noted, caressing your cheek with a touch so tender it made your cheeks redden more. You caressed the lighting-shaped marks on his neck, your fingertips barely touching his skin, too scared and doubtful, fearing that you might make it worse. Jake didn’t flinch or took a step back, instead, his brown eyes softened a little.
‘’I’m so sorry, Jake,’’ you whispered, regretfully filling your small voice. You could still feel the energy with every heartbeat, a storm glowing faintly inside you, enough to make the air around both of you hum. ‘’I didn't mean to, I swear. I— you look—’’
‘’Hey, don’t look at me like that,’’ Jake said quietly. He hugged you closely, anchoring you. One hand cupping your cheek, the other stroking your back. ‘’I’m fine, you didn’t hurt me.’’
‘’But I—’’
‘’Shhh. Just look.’’
He smiled, soft and almost reverent, and he wouldn't be Jake if there wasn't some cockiness in there too. But what irritated you before now seemed so charming and boyish, and another rush of static jumped from your skin. Jake didn’t flinch. Instead, a faint shimmer spread from him, a low vibration filling the air, like an echo of music. You stared completely mesmericed, not ever seeing a power like that. It was calm and fluid, moving through the air like nothing and engulfing the traces of your powers like a warm blanket. It didn’t feel crushing or overpowering you, more like it was holding you. Keeping your head above water. The sparks and static softened into little lights, floating like delicate bubbles that danced around you both.
Jake tilted your head towards him, claiming your attention back with a pretty smile that did nothing to calm your heart. It bumped faster.
‘’Your magic just needs the right frequency.’’
You wanted to deny it, to scream he was wrong and you were perfectly powerful on your own and that managing your magic and energy was as easy as breathing. But that would be a lie. Your heart was beating at the rhythm his magic created.
You blinked as your mind caught on and uncovered something that surfaced, impossible to ignore. Too big, too bright, but above all, too real. And somehow, despite the chaos in your head, one thought stood out with terrifying clarity: you didn’t want him to go.
You liked Jake.
Hours later, your pulse hadn't calmed down. Hours later, the night had settled thick and warm around campus, and you were still replaying everything in your head. Hours later, you could still feel Jake’s lips on yours.
And Jisoo watched with slight horror how you sighed, lovestruck and spiraling. The little cat had spied/observed with too much interest through the window as Jake had accompanied you home and was too tempted to transform himself into a fly just to listen to the conversation. Jisoo wasn't going to admit to anyone that maybe he rested his ear against the mailbox by the door.
“So,” Jake said, leaning against the frame. “There’s a party on Saturday. My place.”
You squinted at him. “Mmm, the girls said something about it. I'm busy. I have to finish your vudu doll, remember?”
He smiled, slow and knowing. “Yeah. You also weren’t listening, too focused in my arms.’’
Before you could reply and defend yourself and your honor, he stepped closer, one hand settling at your waist, the other brushing your jaw. He kissed you like it was already a habit— easy, familiar, devastating. You melted embarrassingly fast into his arms.
“Come with me,” he murmured against your lips. “You can enter through the door this time. No need to float in through the window.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, surprising you, softer and without any heat to it.
Jake’s eyebrows lifted in victory. “See? I’m charming. I can’t believe it took you years to notice, though.”
“You’re insufferable,” you said, smiling despite yourself.
“And you’re coming,” he countered, kissing you again— slower, coaxing. “Just for a bit. We show our faces, dance a little and make sure no one dies early. Jay’s in charge, anyway.”
“That’s… not reassuring.”
“It should be,” Jake hummed. “He’s very responsible. Relatively.”
You hesitated— right until his mouth drifted to your neck. His teeth caught a spot that made your thoughts scatter entirely, and your protest dissolved into a sharp inhale.
“…Fine,” you breathed.
Jake grinned against your skin. “Good witch.”
Jake's house wasn't like that dark and silent night when you spied through the window, it had come to life: music thumping through the walls, lights spilling into the yard, laughter everywhere. The moment you stepped inside, your eyes searched for him instinctively.
Something furry brushed against your ankles, and you looked down to find a black cat staring at you, tilting its head as if greeting you. Its eyes shone in a way that was too human and knowing for just a cuddly kitten. You felt a small touch, as if its gaze reached the core where you kept your magic, like Jisoo sometimes did just to let you know he was there with you. The cat slipped between your feet and went outside, meowing what sounded like laughter.
When you looked up you didn't see Jake, but what you didn’t know was that he had seen you the second you walked in. From across the room, cup in hand, his gaze tracked you with something dangerous and fond all at once. Pride curled in his chest. Desire too. He didn’t move until you turned— until your eyes finally found him.
His expression changed instantly when he noticed what you were wearing. You'd somehow elevated the outfit you wore to practice that time to annoy him, only this time it was definitely meant to give him a heart attack. You'd chosen an equally short but dark leather skirt that hugged your hips and accentuated your ass. Jake never thought witch boots could be sexy, but you were wearing a pair that laced up to your knees, making your legs look endless. The worst part was the top you were wearing, which barely contained your tits, bouncing gently with every step you took. He felt a drop of sweat slide down the back of his neck.
You didn’t get to react before he was in front of you, pressing a red plastic cup into your hand.
“Drink,” he said.
You glanced inside, confused. “This is water.”
“Exactly. You’ll need it.’’
Before you could question him, his fingers laced through yours, firm and unapologetic, and he tugged you toward the staircase.
“Jake— wait,” you protested, half-laughing as you followed. “I thought we were supposed to socialize first? Make sure Jay doesn’t burn the house?’’
He didn’t slow down.
“Fuck Jay,’’ he scoffed. ‘’That stopped mattering the second you walked through the door,” he replied over his shoulder. “I’ve been patient for too long.”
Your heart hammered as he pulled you up the stairs, away from the noise, the music fading into something distant and irrelevant. Jake walked down a hallway to his bedroom door, opened it, pushed you inside unceremoniously, and locked it behind him. The door barely had time to close before Jake had you gently backed against it, or at least, that had clearly been his intention. Because the second you stepped into his room, your focus shifted entirely and you gasped low. Jake’s room was dimly lit by warm lamps and a faint blue glow from a charm hanging near the window. But what stole your attention wasn’t the bed, or the comfy couch, or the fact that you were very aware you were alone in his room.
It was the cabinet against the far wall. A raw, pure curiosity filled you, and you headed straight toward the cabinet you had been spying that night. Glass doors. Shelves lined with jars. Books stacked both neatly and chaotically. Small bundles of dried herbs hanging upside down from hooks. Everything looked so... Jake. Organized but not at the same time, a methodical mini chaos.
You slipped away from him without even realizing, eyes big and shinning with interest.
“Are those—” you stepped closer, fingers hovering over the glass, “—original texts?”
“You are in my bedroom,” he said slowly.
“Mmh? Yes, I noticed,” you murmured, already opening the cabinet.
Inside were books in worn leather bindings, titles etched in gold and silver. Some in Latin. Some symbols you didn’t immediately recognize. Small labeled jars sat beside them— powders, seeds, preserved petals. They were the materials of a seasoned and advanced sorcerer, that was for sure. There were definitely relics there, ancient and delicate, with too much power within their pages. Your eyes sparkled when you saw some of the carefully dried herbs up close and you gasped excitedly.
Jake, meanwhile, looked personally betrayed.
“Babe,” he groaned softly.
You pulled one of the books free and flipped it open carefully, reverently. “This one is hand-made. Jake, this is old. How did you get it?”
He walked up behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chest pressing against your back.
“Baby,” he repeated, voice lower now, almost a warning. “You can see all of that later. I’ll give you a tour and some herbs if you want,’’ he pressed his face into your shoulder dramatically. “Now pay attention to me. Fuck, you smell so good.’’
You barely reacted, too busy scanning a page and reading attentively. A leaf of something dry slipped across the page and you gasped a little. “Wait— this plant doesn’t grow anywhere near here. How did you get moonvine in this climate? I tried, but it never grew.”
Jake made a wounded sound, a literal, offended little whine.
You arched a brow. “…Did you just—”
He tightened his hold and nuzzled into your neck like a sulking puppy. “We’re in my room. Alone. At night. And you’re flirting with my spell cabinet wearing the tiniest skirt in the world.”
“Oh my God,” you said, turning your head slightly, closing the book carefully. “Are you jealous of your own books?”
“Yes.”
You smiled and reached one hand back, fingers sliding into his hair. He stilled instantly at the touch and relaxed just as fast. “There,” you murmured, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Much better.”
He made another low, needy sound and suddenly spun you around, lifting you just enough to set you away from the cabinet. You barely had time to protest before he gently pushed the glass doors shut with his foot. He began to kiss your neck slowly but wetly, testing your skin with small hickeys that took your breath away.
“You’re here, with me. Focus on me, not a 14th-century curse index.”
You pretended to consider it. “…that curse index did look interesting.”
He groaned and buried his face in your neck again while sliding his hands over your ass and giving you a possessive squeeze, using his grip to lift you up completely and drag you towards his bed.
‘’Fuck, you dressed up so prettily just for me, don't you? Did you want to drive me crazy?’’
‘’Maybe’’ you teased him, laughing softly when he threw you there. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at him thoughtfully and seductively, letting your eyes roam over his body. You carefully lifted your leg and placed your foot on his crotch, slowly brushing it against his hard length. ‘’What would you do if I told you I would suck your cock for some of that moonvine?’’
The reaction was too quick and desperate, Jake's body covering yours and taking your mouth in a fervent, hard, almost punishing kiss. His hands roamed all over your body as you cradled his face, never ceasing to kiss him while Jake opened your legs and made room for himself between your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist and sighed breathlessly as you felt his hard cock pressing against your pussy, rubbing torturously slowly against you. Jake devoured your mouth before deciding that was enough and began a trail of kisses down your neck to your breasts, biting, licking, and sucking every inch of uncovered skin.
Jake was determined to mark you as you had marked him.
He exhaled a shaky breath, groaning into your skin. ‘’You know how many times I thought about you here, after practice? Jerking like a loser teenager.’’
You shook your head as Jake pulled down your top, moaning at the sight of your naked tits. He cupped your breasts, burying his face between them, inhaling your scent like a man driven mad. He caught one of your nipples and played with it, sucking and licking it until it slipped out of his mouth. You moaned and arched at his touch, gently tugging at his hair while he possessively sucked your nipples, sighing contentedly.
‘’Jake—’’ you tried to say, moaning when he rubbed harder against your pussy, making your clit throb.
Jake untangled your legs from him and knelt on the floor, pulling you down until he left you over the edge of the bed with your legs on either side of his head. Heat pooled in your belly and your breath catched when you felt his mouth on you leaving kisses and drags of his tongue on your thighs possessively, gripping hard the cheeks of your ass with his hands. It was too much and too good, and you felt a twinge of shyness as you got wet, moaning behind covering your face. Jake chuckled a little, pushing your skirt up.
‘’All I could think about was you in your pretty skirts, so fucking short it barely covers anything. Your tits bouncing every time you jumped,’’ he groaned, burying his face into your cunt and inhaling, making you squeal. ‘’How sweaty your body was after cheering the whole game. Fuck, I could’ve lick you clean.’’
‘’You’re so nasty,’’ you gasped, trembling from the way Jake used his nose to rub up and down against your covered pussy, bending your knees and holding them there, exposing you. Your pussy was practically dripping, swollen lips spilling out of the fabric. Jake groaned and licked your pussy through your panties, making you jump a little, just enough to make him chuckle again, so fucking smug.
He gently sucked your clit and you moaned a little, your hips rising and Jake slapping your ass to make you stay still.
‘’Jake!’’ you hissed.
‘’You could've had this before, but no. You decided to act like a brat and test me everyday,’’ Jake scolded you with another spank landing on your ass, making you moan again from the sting. ‘’And then you fucking hexed me. You actually believe you deserve to get this pussy fucked?’’
You nodded, making Jake chuckle deep. He pulled your panties aside and caressed your pussy with his fingers in a V-shape, his touch light as a feather. You stirred needing more, and gasped as Jake slapped your pussy playfully once, twice, three times. He rubbed your clit slowly, letting his saliva drip there and trickle down your folds, staring at it. It was so... filthy and so dominant, the way he was touching you. You love it.
‘’Jake, fuck,’’ you whimpered, needy and restless. ‘’Please!’’
‘’Please what, baby?’’
You grunted. ‘’You know what. Do something!’’
‘’Beg for it,’’ Jake muttered, moving the tip of his tongue in circles over your clit, barely touching it, a ghost touch. ‘’Beg me to eat your wet, needy pussy.’’
You closed your eyes, feeling your cheeks flush slightly, and pushed your hips upward, needing to feel your mouth on you with a whine.
‘’That’s not good enough. Use your words.’’
You almost pouted. ‘’Jake, I... I want you to eat my pussy, please.’’
Jake's mouth was on you right away, closing over your clit and rubbing it with his tongue, sucking and sipping your juices and his saliva all together. His tongue roamed up and down, licking and sucking, making a mess and loving the way your thighs trembled slightly.
If someone had ever told you that you'd be lying open in your rival's bed with his face buried in your cunt, you would have laughed. But there you were, entering a fog of pleasure that altered your senses, and you couldn't think of anything but more, more, more. Your body tingled, and the pleasure began to raise your body temperature, making its way into you. Your hands left your face and began to move down until you started to play with your breasts slowly, rubbing and pinching your nipples between your fingers.
You gasped as one of his fingers slid easily into your hole, and then another, stretching you with an almost too delicious ardor, pumping them in and out. Jake began to move them firmly, pushing them inside you until his knuckles touched you. He curled them inside and caressed your soft, wet, gummy walls, making you whimper at how deep his long fingers felt. You had never reached so deep, but Jake's long fingers had no problem making you see stars and moan his name desperately.
Jake's mouth lazily sucked on your clit, making shapes with his tongue and distracting you from how added a third finger, making you hiss. ‘’Jake! Fuck— so good,’’ you whined, trying to close your legs, simply to trap him and drown him against your cunt. ‘’Don't stop!’’
He shook his head and continued assaulting your cunt with more speed, pushing his fingers inside you faster, opening you up. Your body responded on its own, and more slick flowed from your throbbing, stretched cunt into his greedy mouth. You gasped and grabbed his hair, pushing Jake’s face against your cunt and grinding against him, desperate for the pleasure building in your lower stomach.
‘’Come on baby, take it, let me open that tight pussy,’’ he groaned against your tight, smiling wickedly. ‘’You're milking my fingers and soaking my hand, this pussy really loves me, mmh? So fucking needy.’’
You felt like you were about to combust. Jake fucked your pussy until the wet smacking filled the room and your pussy tightened around his fingers, you continued moaning and gripped the blankets biting your lip as he slapped your clit again. Your vision went white for a few seconds and your body arched, your legs opening even wider and you let out a muffled moan when you cummed, crashing down hard.
Pleasure coursed through your veins and you whimpered when it didn't end right away, spreading throughout your body and awakening every inch to life, vibrating. Jake was still pumping his fingers in and out of you fast and deep, watching you intently with hungry eyes. The overstimulation made you moan and writhe, trying to escape him, but Jake pushed your hips down onto the bed and stood up, his body hovering above you.
‘’Don’t run from it,’’ Jake muttered kissing your throat. You clutched his shoulders and sobbed, feeling your hole open, wet, used, tightening around his fingers again. You shook your head and Jake silenced you with a deep kiss, swallowing your moans. ‘’Cum again for me, baby. You’re gonna make a fucking mess in my bed, yeah? Mmm, you look so pretty when you cum. Give me one more, I know you can.’’
You looked at Jake with disbelief and a little panic. ‘’What? Jake— I never —’’
‘’Shh, relax, baby. You can feel how much your body wants it, don’t you? You're so wet and stretched out for me, I bet I could slip my cock in along with my fingers,’’ Jake moaned huskily. ‘’I bet I could even fit two cocks in. Do you think there's a spell for that or should I just use a dildo? Maybe call Jay over?’’
You moaned at the dirty, hot thought, your breathing quickening. You trembled at the way you didn't hate the idea, even though you didn't know if it was Jake talking in the heat of the moment or his actual ideas. Your hand wrapped around Jake's arm for support, feeling the pleasure about to overwhelm you at any moment. You gasped his name while your body felt like it was splitting, convulsing slightly. Jets began to spurt from your pussy, falling onto the floor and sheets, and even then Jake didn't stop his fingers. You gasped, completely overwhelmed and trembling with pleasure, closing your wet thighs.
‘’That’s it, pretty, you did so well,’’ Jake’s voice praised you, kissing you softly. Your body feels like it's floating on clouds, a light layer of sweat covering your body and your panties completely soaked, sticking to your pussy. ‘’Squirting like a good girl for me.’’
Jake studied your dilated, glassy eyes, the way your body softened and sought his, how you moaned from the loss when he finally withdrew his fingers from your slippery pussy. More slick gushed out of your hole and he moaned, studying your pretty cunt, so soft and shiny. He quickly kicked his pants aside and your eyes widened slightly when you noticed his cock. You'd seen it outlined in a photo and felt it when you sat on top of him, but seeing it hard was something else entirely. It was long and quite thick, with some veins popping out. It was big,a size you definitely didn’t have experience with. The tip was dark pink, already leaking.
Jake's eyes were darkly deep as he watched you stare at his cock, his hand circling its width and slowly masturbating in front of your eyes. ‘’I'm going raw, baby. I need to feel your sweet pussy squeezing me,’’ he groaned. He pushed your knees up and pressed them against the bed until he replaced his hands with yours. He began to rub the head of his cock between your wet, slippery lips, tapping it against your clit. ‘’You’re dripping for me.’’
Your head was nestled in cotton wool, and you bit your lip, timidly taking his cock in your hand and rubbing it against your pussy, caring about nothing but having him inside you. You positioned it against your hole slowly and looked at Jake with droopy eyelids, slowly licking your lower lip. ‘’Just fuck me, Jake.’’
Your eyes closed with a moan as Jake began to push, your tight little hole opening under the pressure of his tip forcing its way in. He was entering slowly, inch by inch, turning the slight burning sensation into pleasure. You watched as he hadn't even gone in halfway and yet you felt so full, so stretched; it was maddening, and you moaned desperately.
You were restless and too hot and wet; everything was too much and yet not enough. Jake noticed how overwhelmed you were becoming and kissed you slowly, his tongue caressing yours almost gently while his cock was wrecking you. ‘’That’s it, baby, let me in. I’m gonna make you feel so good,’’ he promised, coaxing you. ‘’You look so pretty like this, so full of me.’’
He pinned you to the bed and began thrusting slowly, almost pulling out of you, then burying his cock completely inside your hot, wet pussy. You gasped against his mouth and clung to him, unable to believe that Jake was the one making you moan and beg, the one buried up to his balls inside you. Jake found the spot that made you see stars while he watched your reaction and smiled smugly when you gasped his name breathlessly, starting to move faster and pounding your pussy nonstop.
You were just spouting nonsense, unable to form a sentence or any thought; all you could feel was Jake's cock thrusting into you until its tip grazed your cervix, leaving you a trembling mess. Completely possessed by the sensations that burned your body. ‘’Jake— oh my God, you’re— so deep — please.’’
Jake was totally possessed too, with shadows dancing across his face giving him a dangerous look, he was a conquering beast, watching you with such a pure and perverse obsession knowing that you were right where you belonged, open and letting him use your pussy however he wanted. ‘’You're soaking my cock, baby. You're squeezing me like you don’t want me to let go,’’ Jake panted against your lips, kissing you sloppy. You moaned into his mouth kissing him just as messy, holding onto his shoulders. ‘’This pretty pussy is made for my cock, so fucking tight, it's begging me to fill her with my cum.’’
You squeezed around him, making him moan, as your fingers found your clit and slowly encircled it. Jake took your wrist and brought it next to your head, shaking his head. He laughed mockingly, tilting his face and giving you an especially deep thrust that made you gasp. ‘’Touching what’s mine, mmh? I don’t think you deserve to cum yet, not until you apologize for fucking cursing me.’’
‘’I’m sorry,’’ you begged, eyes rolling into the back of your head when his fingers found your clit and pressed in circles with the right amount of pressure. ‘’Jake, please, I’m sorry!’’
‘’Mmm, that doesn’t sound sincere, baby. Try again.’’
You sobbed a little, feeling your climax about to explode, making your pussy throb and your hole get wetter, taking Jake's cock more easily. Your body responded to his every move, every word and thrust, driving you wild. You didn't care about anything but cumming.
You looked into his eyes, tears welling in your own, and moaned softly, pleading with your gaze. "I'm sorry I bewitched you, Jake."
Jake fake cooed at you, taunting you with a mocking grin. He kissed you again, deeply and demandingly, licking your mouth while continuing to rub your clit until you whimpered again.
‘’You better be, my pretty witch,’’ he warned you, tangling his hand in your hair and tugging roughly. ‘’You’re gonna pay for it, anyway. Day by day I’m gonna cum so deep into your tight pussy and you’re gonna take it, every drop. And fucking thank me for it.’’
Jake’s eyes sparkled evilly, charged with a heat so intense it left you breathless. Your mind cleared a little when you realized that he didn’t have any intentions to stop or pull out, pounding into you mercilessly. A little common sense penetrated the fog of your mind and you started shaking your head, trying to push him.
‘’I’m not on the pill,’’ you whined, a spark of alarm amidst the pleasure that clouded your mind. ‘’Pull out!’’
‘’Nah,’’ Jake chuckled into your lips, ramming into you harder in a mating press, making you just take his cock deeper. His breathing was more labored, his touch more possessive as he fucked you so hard that you couldn't hold back and came with a scream, panting and creaming his cock. ‘’I'm gonna breed you real good, fill this tiny pussy up over and over,’’ he grunted, jaw clenching. ‘’Fuck, and you’re gonna let me. You owe me, baby. Time to payback, my pretty slut.’’
You were half-listening while spamming around him, your heart and breathing out of control, while Jake used your hole as he pleased. You watched with shining eyes as Jake's face transformed when he came inside you with a gasp, his brow furrowed, and a wild look in his eyes. He buried himself deep inside your cunt and lay still there as his load filled your womb, giving a few empty thrusts to push his semen in.
You hissed from overstimulation, collapsing onto the bed completely exhausted with Jake on top of you, breathing heavily. He held your jaw and kissed you slowly, more calmly, coming down from the cloud of pleasure along with you. You felt his cum begin to trickle down from your hole and whimpered, punching him in the shoulder.
Jake laughed briefly and kissed your cheek, making you look at him. ‘’You're not going to run away from me ever again. You belong right here, with me buried up to my balls inside you, filled with my cum. You're going to wear my jacket after my games, and then you're going to come back home with me and let me take care of you. Is that clear, little witch?’’
You rolled your eyes and sighed without denying anything he said. In fact, you didn't hate the idea, and incredibly, you didn't feel like running away either, imagining it in your head, your mind still turbulent from the number of orgasms Jake had given you in such a short time.
You considered it while caressing Jake's cheek, your thumb slowly rubbing his lips. "Okay," you murmured softly after a pause, your body betraying you and your cunt tightening around his cock, squeezing out every last drop he had to give you, heart fluttering. You sighed heavily. '’You'd better know how to cast a contraception spell or I’m hexing you again.’’
Then Jake let out a short, disbelieving laugh. He pushed himself up on one elbow, looking at you like you were the most fascinating creature in existence before kissing you again, soft and loving.
“You’re spiraling, firefly.”
“I am evaluating risks, since you don't.”
Jake slowly withdrew from you, making you whimper from how sensitive you were. He lay down beside you and gently tugged you against his chest, where you snuggled in, not caring that you were dripping with his cum.
“Relax,” he murmured, brushing hair away from your face. “I know the spell.”
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “You know it, or you think you know it?”
“Baby,” he said, smiling lazily, “I am not reckless.”
You gave him a look. He paused, looking somewhere between entertained and guilty.
“Mmm, okay. I’m selectively reckless, maybe.”
‘’That will definitely make me sleep soundly tonight.’’
Jake laughed softly and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“I’ve got it handled,” he said. “I promise. Don’t worry, yeah?”
You studied his face carefully, searching for even a hint of teasing, but you found none. Only warmth. And a very obvious fondness at the way your brain always jumped to worst-case scenarios, your buttons in the "freak out" mode. Jake sat down and began removing the rest of your clothes, slowly untying your boots as he massaged the areas he uncovered. Little by little, he had you naked, and you felt his hot gaze upon you, looking at you with satisfaction at the way you had simply accepted that you belonged to him.
Jake moved closer to you, maneuvering to spoon you and wrap his arms around you after covering you both with the blankets. His touch was still possessive but more protective, comfortable, familiar. You relaxed in his arms and snuggled closer.
“You don’t have to panic every time we cross a line,” he murmured. “We’re figuring this out. Together.”
His words softened something in you, and you caressed his hand that had rested on your chest, holding you. You sighed dramatically and playfully pushed him with your butt, closing your eyes with a smile.
“If I wake up glowing tomorrow I’m killing you, Sim Jaeyun.''
Jake snorted behind you and kissed your neck, his nose brushing against it. ‘’If you wake up glowing tomorrow,” he murmured, “I’m taking full credit.”
It was one of those weekends where you ended up at Niki’s apartment. Too lazy to drive all the way back to your dorm (an extra 2 minutes from Niki’s apartment) and too touch deprived from a long week. After a night of messy makeouts and a long movie marathon it was morning. You fell asleep in Niki’s shirt hugging him tightly. There you were minding your own business siting on the stool next to the kitchen counter. It was morning and you were deciding what recipe to cook on your phone. Niki exits the restroom toothbrush still in his mouth walking towards you. You can already tell he’s in a clingy mood by the way he’s squinting his eyes and his slow paced walking.
He stands in front of you, one hand used to brush his teeth. The other placed on your thigh, “Sup.” He says hardly audible with his toothbrush still intact. You reached your hand up to push his bangs out of his face, “Morning” you reply. His shoulders soften and he leans his face down. Close enough that you can smell the minty taste on his tongue. “Not any closer mister.” You say trying to avoid the foam in his mouth. “Plus I still have to go back to my dorm to brush my teeth too.” He sighs and places his toothbrush on the counter to then walk away to wash his mouth out in the kitchen sink. “Gross” you comment with a scrunched up smile. “You better go put your toothbrush away where it belongs.” You cross your arms staring at him. Niki tilts his head up, water dripping down his chin. “And if I don’t?”
He cocks his eyebrow. He then makes his way back to you leaning close. He places a hand on your waist and squeezes it slightly. His lips ghost over yours as he reaches his other hand to pick up the abandoned toothbrush. “You know I always listen to my babydoll” He walks away with the toothbrush in hand back into the bathroom. Your left flustered, heart pounding, thighs pressed together. You don’t notice but he peaks from the bathroom doorway smirking loving the way he left you.
You settle yourself and starts scrolling again for a pancake recipe. Since your stomach feels ticklish from the butterflies Niki left. The pancakes are heavy enough to fill up the void of your stomach. Niki walks back in all freshened up with a smile on his face. You try to ignore him but the sound of his heavy footsteps towards you gets on your nerves. Soon you feel Niki reach his hand to lift up your chin. There he notices your glassy eyes, harden nipples, and thighs so cutely pressed together. He leans down to kiss you jaw and you slightly flinch from his touch.
He hushes you and placed his other hand back on your thigh where it belongs. His kisses reach all the way down to the back of your ears. You whine and grip onto his shirt. “Stop messing around” you say sounding defeated. Niki kisses the area of skin where your face and ear meets and he whispers, “I wanna finger you so bad baby” He leans down to kiss you but you cover his mouth. “I still got morning breath” saddens dripping from your tone. “Like I care” he says through your hand. “But I care, I don’t want you to kiss me and then think I’m gross then the next time you kiss me you just think about that time I didn’t brush my teeth and you throw up on me and break up with me and I won’t know how to get over you and eventually stop breathing and die. Do you want me to die?” you say dramatically while pouting up at him. “Shut up” he says as he locks hands with yours and kisses the back of your hand. “Fine I won’t let you die but next time you could bring a toothbrush at my place.” You sigh and nod pushing yourself off the stool.
Niki corners you with your back hitting the counter. “Did u forget what I said?” His face sharpens. Your stomach and face twist at the same time. “Just because I can’t kiss you doesn’t mean I can’t touch you in other areas.” His hands slide down to grip your plump ass and he swiftly lifts you onto the counter. He uses his hands to part your thighs. He places his hands under your thighs and pulls you to enclose himself in between you. You refuse to look him in the eye and instead bury your face into his neck. “Stop acting shy, you’re practically dripping on my counter.” His fingers now placed in the inside of your his shirt. Circling his thumb in a soothing yet teasing manner. “Shut up” you reply mumbling into his neck.
“I’m being serious, you made my counters dirty now you have to make it up to me.” His fingers land on the top of your shorts and panties. “Up” he demands calmly and you oblige. Niki slips them right off and throws them across the room onto the couch. “Wouldn’t this just make your counters even more dirty?” You say in a defensive and annoyed tone. He grips your face, “Oh you wanna be smart now. Weren’t you just playing a needy dumb whore.” He tilts his head at you, his eyes turned dark.
You couldn’t do or say anything, not because you didn’t have anything to say but because you knew not to talk back. You instead averted your eyes to look anywhere behind him. Which he also didn’t take a liking to. “Eyes on me” You slowly brought him back into focus trying your best to look normal. If normal was you half naked while your boyfriend fucked you with his eyes. “Good girl” that made you slightly unbalanced but he was already holding you still. Niki brought his fingers up towards your face. You opened your mouth ready to devour his fingers but he instead licked his fingers all around as he eyed you. “Wouldn’t want your nasty mouth dirtying my breakfast.” His now wet fingers dip down to tease your already extremely wet folds. “Good morning indeed” In situations like these guys would look at what they were doing to make sure they were doing it right. But is Niki a normal guy, no.
He is instead staring into your pleading eyes not blinking incase he misses anything. He loves this view, especially when your eyes are fluttering, threatening to close shut. Your mouth gaping open not being able to close due to all the moans and whines you can’t control. Niki uses his thumb to circle your clit. Slow at first then fast and slow again. “Please Ki..” you whine unsatisfied with his teasing. “Please what?” Niki asks in a way that annoys you. “I don’t know what you mean when you don’t state it out correctly babydoll.” You let out a cry, not sure whether it’s due to his verbal or physical teasing.
“Please.. put it in.” You said with the most sincere sex eyes you could pull. He just smirks, “Put what into what?” Your tears are threatening to fall out as his fingers circle your entrance. You burry your face back into the crevice of his neck. “Aww is my baby feeling emotional.” You know he gets off on situations like these. Degrading you making you feel small. Him having control, and you get annoyed at it but you can’t control how turned on you get too by it. Niki leans down and kisses the side of your head. “Since you’re so cute I won’t make you beg today.” He enters both his fingers into you. You jolt, straightening your back just to arch it gripping his shirt once again. His fingers curve up slightly to reach the spot he knows makes you crazy. He sets a steady pace that you can’t even handle. Your moans get muffled into his skin as you bite onto his neck. “Fuck baby, feels that good?” You’re too dizzy from the pleasure to reply and your eyes start to roll back.
Niki uses his free hand to grip your hair pulling your face back. “Answer me.” He notices the drool going down your chin and the way your eyes can’t open. “Y-yes… feels so f-fuckin good.” You finally have the conscience to obtain words. You clench down onto his fingers feeling that knot in your stomach. Niki smiles to himself proud, “It’s time for you to move in so I can have you like this every morning.” The room if filled with the sound of squelching from his fingers constantly shoving your juices in and out. Niki removes his fingers and you clench feeling nothing but empty again. “Lay down” Niki says using his eyes to point to the counter. Your shirt is bunched up over your chest so when you lay down your back touches the cold counter making you wince. “Such a mess.. and just for me” Niki leans his face down and licks a strip up your clit. Your hand lands on his hair gripping it tight. He groans and his tongue vibrates into you. He uses his tongue to curl into your entrance before devouring you. Your toes start to curl and your thighs close around him.
It makes him groan more from how tight you’re gripping his hair. Niki taps you thigh warning you to open them or he’ll stop. You struggle but you pushed through and pulled your thighs apart. His tongue starts lapping over and over your cunt. He sucks on your clit before pulling back and smirking at you. His chin is covered with your juices. He uses his tongue to lick the juices off his lips and chin. “So gross” you cry out frustrated with the loss of contact. Niki arches his brow “Says the one who swallows my cum” You can only stare at him as you turn red. He dips his head back down to kiss your inner thigh. His hand claws at your thigh. “Sit up” you groan but sit up. “My fingers cold” Niki shoves his fingers back into your entrance. Niki grips your chin to look at him as he brings his close so he can feel every time you breathe out hot air.
“I’m cl-close… Ki” you grip his shoulders. Niki fastens the pace of his fingers. He leans down towards your ear and whispers “Cum for me.” The overwhelming pleasure plus his voice vibrating in your ear gets to you and you squirt all over his fingers, shirt, and counter. His fingers fucks you through it. “Y/n, baby. That was so fuking hot.” You rolled your eyes out of annoyance and pleasure. “You really made a mess on my counter.” Niki says in his groggy morning voice. “Whose fault is that?” You glare up at him. “So I make you squirt and your mad at me?” Niki teases as he brings his fingers up to his mouth licking your juices off. You’re left there embarrassed chasing the ecstasy you just lost. Niki closes the space between you again and kisses you open mouthed. His hand is gripping your hair making sure you can’t resist. He sucks onto your tongue as you try to pull away, hitting his chest. Niki finally pulls away, “like I said I don’t care but if you do so much bring a toothbrush next time to my place.” He pecks your lips and walks away before you get the chance to notice the wet stained mess he made in his sweat pants.
Authors note:
Hiya I’m sad yuh so I write. Hope you enjoyed, l had to get my mind off of the recent events
synopsis: in which jake sim finally stops letting you run the show—only to prove he’s always known how to handle you.
genre: childhood best friends au
pairing: childhood best friend!jake x bratty!reader
warnings: softdom!jake, bratty!reader, reader is so annoying but jake loves it, cornering, bantering, jake scolds reader often, jake is in loveeee, manhandling, spanking ass + pussy, oral (f.rec), spit play, tit play, unprotected p in v, clit play, biting..i think that’s it??
wc: 16.5k+
a/n: ayeee guess who’s back! this fic won on the poll so here i am delivering. this is also my 3k followers thank you post hehe!! thanks to each and every one of you guys that have been reading and supporting my work 😘 keep an eye out i’ll be putting out another pole soon. as always comments, notes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy reading :3
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you and jake sim grew up three houses apart on a street where everybody's moms knew everything and everybody's dads pretended they didn't. you were the loud one—the kid who rang doorbells like you were collecting taxes, who demanded attention with the confidence of someone who'd never been told no.
which you hadn't.
meanwhile jake... poor jake. he was the sweet, soft-spoken boy who trailed after you like a golden retriever with a bowl cut and velcro spiderman sneakers. he always had crumbs on his face, always carried your backpack without being asked, and always—always—laughed at your jokes, even when they weren't funny.
they were rarely funny.
you'd yell his name across the street, and he'd come running. you'd shove the glittery lip gloss you stole from your cousin into his hand and say "hold this," and he would. you'd call him "my assistant" during your bossy childhood games, and he accepted the demotion.
once, you made him cry because he didn't run fast enough during tag. you didn't apologize—instead you loudly declared, "omg, relax, you got tagged ONCE. big deal."
jake sniffled, you stomped away. and five minutes later he followed you again, because that's just how he was.
but somewhere around the end of high school, the world started pulling you in different directions. you were busy being dramatic, discovering tinted lip oils, complaining about your parents rules, and posting instagram stories from the passenger seat of other people's cars.
jake was busy doing things like... assignments. group projects. extracurriculars. things you mockingly called "nerd behavior."
he didn't go out much. he didn't chase chaos. he didn't orbit your life the way he did when you were younger. and you—in a classic act of emotional immaturity—pretended not to care.
at eighteen, you chose a college far away purely because the campus looked "aesthetic in fall," packed up your entire personality into two suitcases, and left without saying a proper goodbye. you waved at jake from the car window as your mom pulled out of the driveway and yelled something ridiculous like:
"don't let anyone bully you except me!"
he laughed. that soft, warm, dimpled laugh that used to follow you everywhere.
and then you were gone.
𓂃
college turned you into an even worse version of yourself—aggressively iced-coffee-dependent, chronically late, allergic to responsibility, and thriving in an environment where chaos was practically currency.
your life became a rotation of parties, spontaneous shopping, soft-launching people you weren't even dating, and pretending every bad decision was "character development."
you went through roommates like seasonal flavors. every semester someone new moved in, and every semester someone new moved out with a complaint that you were "a lot" or "messy" or "kind of terrifying when woken up."
you didn't disagree.
jake became a distant memory, the boy who sometimes liked your posts from an account with a profile picture you swear was five years old. you'd smile for half a second when his username popped up, then go right back to ignoring three overdue essays and online shopping for shoes you absolutely didn't need.
your worlds didn't touch anymore.
until life, rude as always, decided to intervene
it started with your roommate announcing she was "basically moving in" her new boyfriend. you thought she meant he'd be around more. no, he was actually moving in. toothbrush, clothes, gaming chair, ugly LED lights—the whole infestation.
he hogged the bathroom. he cooked shirtless at inappropriate hours. he once ate your leftover pasta and shrugged, "it was mid anyway."
you saw red. you didn't commit a crime, but it was close.
you decided to move out.
your landlord, a man whose personality could best be described as "human expired raisin," decided this was the perfect time to raise your rent by five hundred dollars.
you stared at the email. then you screamed. not a cute scream—a guttural, operatic wail that made the downstairs neighbor bang on their ceiling.
you called your mom, pacing through the disaster zone that was your half-packed room.
"i'm going to die," you said dramatically. "i'm literally going to die. you're going to have to identify my body by my lash extensions."
your mom sighed the sigh of someone who'd raised you for twenty-three years. "sweetheart, calm down—"
"don't tell me to calm down, my life is in ruins. ruins, mother."
"you're not in ruins."
"i'm going to be homeless."
"you're not going to be homeless."
"i'm going to have to live in my car—"
"oh honey," she cut in, "why don't you stay with jake?"
you froze mid-rant. "...jake?" his name unfamiliar on your tongue.
"yes! jake sim! he's back from finishing his degree. he bought a nice apartment downtown. he told his mother he has a spare room."
you stared into space, horrified. "jake sim? bowl-cut jake? used-to-cry-when-i-yelled jake?"
"he didn't cry," she corrected. "he teared up. once."
"mom. be serious."
"i am. you two were inseparable."
"when we were twelve!"
"well, he's always liked you."
"as a person?" you asked skeptically. you seriously doubted that anyone who was sane liked you as a person. yes, you're a lot of things but one thing you definitely are is self aware.
she made a vague noise, you didn't like the noise.
"i'll text his mother," she decided, and you instantly regretted calling her.
two minutes later, your phone buzzed.
mom: jake says you're welcome to stay anytime.
you stared at the text. it felt unreal. absurd. borderline comedic.
but you were desperate. and dramatic. and the universe clearly hated you.
so you said yes. because of course you did.
you packed your things with the confidence of someone who absolutely believed jake sim was still the same soft, shy, easily-managed boy who used to trail after you in elementary school.
you were so, so sure.
and you were so, so wrong.
𓂃
you hype yourself up in the elevator.
it's just jake.you think to yourself, the image of 12-year old him fresh in your mind.
you've known him your whole life. he once cried because you told him clouds were solid and he fell off the playground trying to "sit on one."
you are not nervous. you are annoyed.
annoyed that your lease fell apart. annoyed that your mother thinks you're still friends. annoyed that jake, sweet, soft, bowl-cut jake, is your only housing option unless you want to sleep in your car.
the elevator dings.
you're ready to see scented-candle bachelor hell. dirty laundry. possibly raccoons.
you knock and the door swings open. and your soul leaves your body.
because the man standing there is definitely jake—but upgraded. taller, broader, stupidly handsome, and sporting a smile that used to be pure golden retriever sunshine. except now it's... toned down. slower. like he knows exactly what it does to people.
"hey," he says, his eyes dropping down to take in your form and your hot pink suitcases. "come in."
come in? come in? no shocked gasp? no "wow you're back"? no nervous babbling?
you narrow your eyes suspiciously. "wow. no bowl cut." you admit, not the best choice of first words to say to your childhood best friend who you hadn't seen in years. but it was fitting.
he laughs—actually laughs—and steps aside. and you walk into the biggest personal betrayal of your adult life.
his apartment is spotless.
not "i cleaned because company is coming" clean.
"i am a fully functioning adult who alphabetizes spices" clean.
the air smells like sandalwood and laundry detergent. plants sit by the window like they've never known suffering. there are no pizza boxes, no dirty plates, no gamer chair.
this is not jake's apartment.
"is this staged?" you demand. "did someone professionally sanitize this because you knew i was coming?"
"nope," he says, grabbing one of your suitcases. "i live like this."
you blink owlishly. "on purpose?"
he snorts, looking at you with an unidentifiable expression on his face. "on purpose."
you want to throw something, no, you want to throw up.
but instead, you drop your bag on the couch like an entitled raccoon and flop dramatically across it. "i'm making myself at home."
he glances at your shoes on the carpet. "i can see that."
he takes a seat in the armchair across from you— calm, collected, not even a little frazzled— which is insane, because you're very clearly being a handful on purpose. you call that, asserting dominance. like the old days.
you clear your throat. "so. rules. house agreements. i assume you're gonna ask me to clean something? or, like... wash a dish? or close a cabinet? if so, i'll need written notice."
jake smiles. not the "aww she's being annoying again" smile you expect. no, this one is deeper. amused. knowing.
"sure," he says easily. "we can talk rules."
that throws you off. he's supposed to be flustered, scrambling to keep up. not leading the conversation like he owns the apartment—which, annoying fact, he does.
he leans back, forearms resting casually on his knees. your eyes almost pop out of their sockets when you notice how veiny his hands and arms were.
"okay," he starts, "rent is six-fifty a month. i already talked to your mom about it—she said she'd help out until you get settled again."
you cough on pure embarrassment. "she did what?"
he suppresses a grin. "it was cute, actually. she kept saying, 'jake honey, please don't let her be homeless, she can be... a lot.'"
you sit up. "i will literally burn my house down before i let you repeat anything my mother said about me."
"her words, not mine," he says, holding up his hands. his beautiful, god crafted, veiny hands. "anyway—utilities included. chores are pretty simple. i cook, so you can take trash and recycling. laundry we do separately. shared spaces stay clean."
"define clean."
"not a biohazard."
"rude."
"accurate."
you throw a pillow at his head. he catches it one-handed without breaking eye contact.
you actually stop breathing for a second.
since when can jake do that? since when is he coordinated? since when does he have forearms like that?
you scowl to cover the fact that your brain just short-circuited. "fine. anything else?"
he tilts his head. "yeah. don't steal my hoodies." you blink innocently. "why would i steal your hoodies?"
his gaze drops to your suitcase—where three of his old ones that you had 'borrowed' back in highschool are hanging out the side. proof that you struggled to pack all your belongings in two measly suitcases.
traitors.
"uh-huh," he says. "point is, don't steal them."
"i don't steal," you lie.
"you do."
"i borrow."
"indefinitely." you cross your arms. "well, maybe if you didn't buy hoodies that look good on me—"
"they look good on me," he corrects smoothly. "you're just annoying enough to steal them."
you're going to scream.
you stand, stalking toward the kitchen just to regain power. "i'm eating your snacks as payment for emotional damages."
he follows at a leisurely pace, because apparently he's immune to your chaos now. you yank open the fridge. it's organized. color-coded. there are vegetables.
"who are you?" you whisper, horrified. "where is the boy who ate a fruit roll-up off the sidewalk?"
"buried him," jake answers, grabbing a bottle of water and handing it to you. "grew up. got a job. graduated. learned to mop."
you squint at him. "did you join a cult?"
he laughs again—warm and low. "no. i just stopped being twelve."
"you were twelve for like ten years."
"and you're still twelve," he shoots back calmly. "so at least one of us stayed consistent."
you gape. "you're so— so—"
"accurate?"
"i was gonna say insufferable."
he leans on the counter across from you, arms folded, gaze steady.
"you were expecting me to be exactly the same, weren't you?"
you freeze. he's right. he knows he's right and you hate that he knows he's right.
before you can respond, he adds—lightly, but with something underneath, "don't worry. i still remember everything."
your heartbeat trips.
"everything?" you repeat.
he smiles. slow. devastating. "everything."
you look away first. you hate that too.
you grab chips from the pantry—loudly, aggressively—and announce, "i'm gonna walk around in tiny shorts and leave my stuff everywhere."
"go for it," jake says, opening a cabinet above your head to grab a mug. "i don't scare that easily."
"i wasn't trying to scare you!"
"sure."
"i wasn't—!"
he takes a sip of water like he didn't just psychologically annihilate you.
you feel your face heat. you hate him. you hate that he's changed. you hate that he hasn't changed in the ways that matter. you hate that he's taller and calm and unbothered and smells like pine and laundry and maybe a little bit like heartbreak.
and you really hate the traitorous thought sneaking into your brain: you might be in trouble.
after the unexpected back forth between you and jake, jake kindly showed you to your room which was much nicer than the one at your old apartment.
"i'll let you settle in, i'll be back in a few. gym." and with that he slips through the door and out of your sight.
since when did he go to the gym? since those veiny arms blessed your sight.
you huff while unpacking, taking in the clean space as a foreign feeling takes place in your chest.
what the fuck are you going to do?
𓂃
you hear the door before you see him.
a heavy, warm thud of sneakers hitting the entry rug. the quiet clink of keys. then the low, tired exhale of a man who just returned from the gym and doesn't realize he's about to emotionally ruin someone.
you peek over the couch. and yeah, he's sweaty.
like—sweat running down his neck, shirt stuck to his chest, hair pushed back with a damp curl kind of sweaty.
your brain forgets basic motor functions. he looks up and catches you staring, a unrecognizable glint in his soft eyes.
"hey," he says, voice rougher than usual. "you're still awake?" awake? you're clinically deceased, but sure.
you sit up, flipping your hair like you didn't just get jump-scared by his forearms. "yeah. couldn't sleep. your... stomping woke me up."
"i didn't stomp," he says, amused. "i walked in."
"well it was loud."
"you were watching tiktoks on full volume."
you glare, chucking your phone on the other couch. "stop knowing things."
he smirks and heads to the kitchen for water, pulling his shirt up to wipe his face.
you get a full view of toned stomach. abs. v-line. you stop breathing somewhere around ab #3.
okay. enough. you're not going to let him win tonight. this morning he made you flustered. tonight? you're fighting back.
you hop off the couch and follow him to the kitchen, wearing the tiniest sleep shorts you own and his hoodie—you know, for psychological warfare.
"so," you announce, hopping onto the counter, crossing your legs slowly. "long workout? you look... tired."
he opens the fridge. "yeah. leg day."
you hum. "maybe you should let me massage them. you know. as a housewarming gift."
he doesn't choke. he doesn't blush. he just closes the fridge, sets down the water bottle, and looks at you with that infuriating, slow-lingering gaze that makes your stomach flip like a dying fish.
"you wanna massage my legs?" he asks softly, his brow quirking up before his gaze drops down to your bare legs and your small frame which was swallowed by his hoodie.
your throat closes. "i— i mean— maybe— if you—"
he takes a step closer. then another. until he's right in front of you, standing between your knees, but not touching you. not even a brush of skin. just close enough that you swear you can feel the heat rolling off him.
your brain: DEAD. ABSOLUTELY GONE.
he places his hands on the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in—without touching you once.
your breath catches. everything in you goes still.
"you offering charity massages now?" he murmurs, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth. "that doesn't sound like you."
your voice cracks. "why not?"
"you don't do things out of kindness." his tone is teasing, warm. "you do things because you want attention."
your entire nervous system sets on fire.
"i— excuse— i don't—"
"it's okay," he continues, leaning just an inch closer, his nose almost brushing yours. "i don't mind giving you the attention."
you swallow hard. "move."
"you sure?" he asks quietly. "you seem pretty comfortable."
you are not comfortable. you are a molecule vibrating out of your own skin.
you shove a hand at his chest—bad idea, he's solid—and babble stupidly, "i'm fine. you're weird. stop being tall at me."
jake laughs under his breath. it's warm. dangerous. affectionate in a way that makes your stomach curl.
he leans in like he might actually touch your cheek, lips, something and you freeze. but he doesn't. at the last second, he dips his head past yours and reaches behind you to grab a mug from the cabinet above.
you nearly scream. he pulls back slowly, the corner of his mouth tilted in a knowing smirk.
"relax," he says softly. "if i actually cornered you, you'd combust."
you glare at him, cheeks on fire. "i hate you."
"no you don't." he taps your knee with a finger, the only touch, light, teasing, devastating. "but you can keep pretending."
you nearly fall off the counter trying to escape.
he watches, amused, taking a sip of water like he didn't just send you through all five stages of grief.
"goodnight," he says casually, heading to his room.
you stare after him, emotionally damaged.
"i'm not massaging your stupid legs!" you call out.
his voice drifts back, "you offered."
you bury your face in your hands. you are so, so screwed.
𓂃
you wake up to the smell of something heavenly.
warm. buttery. slightly sweet.
you blink at the ceiling.
no way. no way jake is up early being...competent.
you stomp down the hall dramatically, ready to insult him for being a functional adult at 8:12 a.m.
and you freeze. because jake is shirtless. shirtless. in his kitchen. your now shared kitchen.
his back muscles shift as he flips pancakes. his sweatpants hang low. his hair is messy in the exact way that suggests he just rolled out of bed and looked inhumanly good by accident.
you forget why you entered the kitchen. or how to inhale.
he glances over his shoulder. "morning."
the audacity. “you—" your voice cracks. "you're— you're not wearing clothes."
he looks down, confused. "i'm wearing pants."
"that's not the point!"
"sounds like it is."
you hate him. you hate him so much your eye twitches. he plates a pancake and nods toward the stove. "there's extra batter if you want to make your own."
you puff up, offended. "i CAN cook."
jake raises an eyebrow. "do you want to say that again? slowly?"
you march to the fridge, grab random ingredients you probably won't need, and announce, "watch and learn."
"i'm watching." his voice is annoyingly amused.
"not sure i'll be learning."
you ignore him, crank the stove on too high, and pour way too much batter in the pan. it spreads like a sad, beige puddle.
jake strolls over, sipping coffee, watching like he's observing wildlife.
"that's... thick," he comments.
"it's called fluffy," you snap back, your eyes finding his before dropping down to his chest and stomach. oh god why did you do that? jake catches your vision, a smirk playing on his lips.
fuck you.
"oh. okay. it's very... fluffy."
"shut up."
the pancake starts smoking aggressively. you start panicking aggressively.
"um— is it supposed to—"
WHOOSH.
flame kisses the edge of the pan. you shriek. "OH MY GOD—" jake moves instantly, reaching past you to turn down the burner.
and suddenly—he's right behind you. his chest against your back. his arms braced around you as he grabs the pan. his voice low, right by your ear,
"hey. relax. i got it."
your brain vacates the premises.
his hands move with confidence, fixing your disaster pancake. his breath brushes your neck. he's close—too close—and yet he's acting like this is normal.
"you're gonna start a fire," he says softly, almost teasing.
"i— i didn't— the burner— your stove is— i— shut up," you whisper, mortified.
he laughs quietly, the sound warm against your skin.
"you're cute when you panic," he murmurs, not moving away. you seize up when you feel his warm breath brush against the shell of your ear, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
you clutch the counter for emotional support. "can you—can you back up?"
"why?" his tone is innocent. way too innocent.
"you seemed fine last night when i was close."
you almost combust like the pancake.
"that was different!"
"how?" he asks, dipping his head just enough that you feel the brush of his hair against your cheek.
you have no good answer. because the truth is humiliating, last night you were flustered. now you're flustered and underprepared and wearing pajama shorts shaped like licorice strings.
you grab a spatula and use it like a weapon to push him away.
"move," you hiss, your face burning red.
he steps back, hands up, grinning like a menace. "yes, chef."
"don't call me chef."
"okay. fire hazard."
"JAKE."
he laughs a full, bright laugh that makes your stomach twist and heads back to his own plate.
you plate your uneven, charred pancake with defeated silence.
and jake, the infuriating man, sets another golden, perfectly round pancake onto your plate.
you blink. "what's this?"
"a real breakfast," he says, pouring syrup for you like you're a child. "because you nearly burned the apartment down trying to prove a point."
you glare at him. "i was doing FINE."
"sure," he hums. "and i'm a ballerina."
you stab your pancake.
he watches you with that soft, amused smile again—the one with something deeper behind it.
then he adds, "you know... it's kind of nice having you here."
your fork slips out of your hand. "...what?" like you had said earlier, you're a lot of things but one thing you definitely are is self aware. you are not nice to have around, and you know it.
he shrugs, easy. "just saying."
you stare at him, face warming in a way you refuse to acknowledge. you mumble into your syrup, "i hate you."
he smiles, slow and knowing. "no you don't."
and the worst part? he's right.
the first week in jake's apartment goes... fine.
dangerously fine.
it should've been easy to fall back into the old dynamic: you, the bossy menace; him, the soft puppy trailing after you with a shy smile and an unlimited tolerance for your nonsense.
except—he doesn't trail. he doesn't melt. he doesn't fold. and that pisses you off more than you'd ever admit.
the chaos starts small.
your makeup begins multiplying across the bathroom counter like it's staging a coup. lip glosses in a neat little line beside his toothbrush; your setting spray sitting directly in front of his razor; your glitter eyeshadow palette open—because closing it would've taken effort, obviously.
jake doesn't complain. he doesn't even sigh.
he just walks in one morning, towels slung over his shoulder, hair damp from the gym, and pauses at the counter.
"is this all yours?" he asks.
you don't look up from your phone. "hm? oh. yeah. i need space. don't be selfish."
jake nods slowly, like he's taking notes on you for a research study. "right. selfish. of course."
you ignore the way that makes your stomach twist.
you up the ante. you start asking—no, demanding—rides.
"jake," you call from your bedroom one morning, "can you take me to get coffee?"
"there's a café two blocks away," he says, leaning on your doorframe, wet hair dripping onto his hoodie.
you gasp like he's suggested you walk barefoot through snow. "that's uphill."
"slightly."
"jake. it's morning. i'm fragile."
he snorts and tosses you his car keys. "fine. you drive."
you blink at him like he had grown a second head. "i was... i was asking you to take me."
"yeah," he says, already walking away, "and i'm telling you to take yourself."
you stare at the keys like they've personally insulted you.
then there's the pizza incident. you take the last slice. obviously. you don't even feel bad. you're sitting on the couch when he walks in, box in hand, looking for the missing piece.
he lifts an eyebrow—that stupid, infuriatingly calm eyebrow—and glances at the empty plate on your lap.
"you didn't eat the last slice, did you?"
"no," you say immediately, even though the evidence is literally smeared on your mouth.
he looks at you. really looks. slowly. knowingly. lips tugging upward. "right," he says softly. "of course you didn't."
then he reaches forward, thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth—not touching, but close enough that the heat of him brushes your skin.
your body locks up.
his voice drops, warm and amused, "you've got sauce right here."
you nearly stop breathing. and then he pulls back, smiling like nothing happened.
you want to strangle him. or kiss him. or both.
but it's the blanket situation that finally pushes you over the edge.
his blankets are better. obviously they are. he's responsible and orderly and uses fabric softener. you're a tired disaster with a credit card.
so you drag his nicest throw blanket into your room one night without asking.
in the morning, he finds you on the couch wrapped in it like a human burrito, scrolling through your phone.
he laughs—this low, warm sound that makes something traitorous flutter in your chest.
"you know," he says, "you have blankets."
"yeah but yours are... softer."
he tilts his head, walking behind the couch. "so your solution was theft?"
"i don't see you complaining."
"i'm not complaining." he leans down behind you, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath by your ear. "i'm just observing."
you freeze. again. you're starting to hate how often that happens.
"why're you so jumpy?" he murmurs, voice like honey.
"shut up," you whisper.
he only chuckles, watching your face turn a pretty shade of pink.
and then comes the night you push too far.
you're irritated for no real reason—maybe because he didn't react the way you wanted, maybe because he's not the boy you expected, maybe because his quiet confidence does something to you you can't explain.
you snap at him. something stupid. something about the air conditioner and his "stupid, organized, obsessive thermostat rules."
he's standing in the kitchen drying dishes when you say it. you expect him to fold, apologize, let you roll over him like you always have.
instead—he sets the plate down. slowly. carefully.
like he's placing a piece in a chess game he's already winning.
then he turns and walks toward you. the air changes, it thickens, until you swear you can feel it press against your skin.
you retreat one step, he follows. you bump lightly into the counter. he doesn't touch you. he doesn't need to.
he braces one hand on the counter beside your hip, leaning in just enough that your heart slams painfully against your ribs.
his voice is warm, but the firmness beneath it is unmistakable. "don't talk to me like that."
heat crawls up your neck, "i wasn't— i didn't—"
"no," he says, soft and steady, "you did."
his eyes flick down to your lips for half a second—half a heartbeat—before meeting your eyes again.
"i let you get away with that stuff when we were kids," he continues. "but i'm not that guy anymore."
your pulse stutters. his face is close enough that you see the gold flecks in his eyes. "you don't get to talk to me like that," he says.
a beat.
"not anymore."
you swallow so hard it hurts. you open your mouth—to apologize, to argue, you're not sure—but nothing comes out.
jake watches you, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. not cruel. not mocking. just... knowing. then, gently, he pushes off the counter and steps back.
"good," he murmurs, turning away to finish the dishes. "i'm glad we understand each other."
you stand there, dizzy, cheeks burning, knees genuinely weak. you've never shut up so fast in your entire life.
and you hate—absolutely hate—how much you liked it.
𓂃
you don't realize when it starts.
or maybe you do, and you're just pretending you don't, because acknowledging it would mean admitting something absolutely unacceptable: that jake sim—golden retriever, former bowl-cut disaster, childhood doormat—is becoming the gravitational pull of your entire stupid life.
and you hate that.
you REALLY hate that.
it happens on a friday night.
you're out with a few friends—the fun, chaotic ones who think your bratty personality is "endearing" and "so girlboss of you." you're half-done a drink, leaning over the bar to talk to some tall, kind-of-cute guy who'd been eyeing you for the last ten minutes.
he's laughing at your jokes. you're flipping your hair and pretending you're not checking your reflection in the chrome beer tap.
it's going great.
until you hear the voice that's been in your dreams for the last few months, "hey."
you don't even have to turn around. your stomach recognizes his voice before your brain does.
jake.
you freeze, hand still hovering mid-gesture, and the guy in front of you lifts a curious eyebrow.
the asshole actually smiles at jake when he approaches, like they're suddenly in a friendly competition he's about to lose without knowing why.
jake leans against the bar beside you like he's been invited, like he belongs there—tall, warm, annoyingly good-smelling. his hand is on the small of your back, not touching, but close enough that you feel heat radiating through your shirt.
you hate that your heart triple-flips.
"hey," you say, pretending not to care, though your voice is a little too high. "what are you doing here?"
jake shrugs lightly. his eyes flick once—just once —to the guy you were flirting with. "came to pick you up."
"i didn't ask you to."
"your phone's dead."
you blink. you check your phone...your phone is, in fact, dead.
god, that's so annoying.
the cute guy clears his throat. "you two... know each other?"
before you can answer, jake does, with the most harmless, friendly voice you've ever heard, "yeah. she lives with me."
the guy's smile collapses.
your jaw drops. "jake—that's not—"
"roommates," he adds, finally throwing you a look that says better? but it's too late. the guy is already pulling back, suddenly very uninterested in continuing the conversation with a girl who apparently has a six-foot wall of muscle as a roommate.
"he's just—he's exaggerating," you say desperately, but the guy is already lifting his drink in a goodbye gesture. "nice meeting you," he says—to jake. not you.
he leaves. just like that.
you whirl on jake. "what the hell was that?"
jake looks genuinely confused. "what was what?"
"you—you scared him off!"
"i didn't do anything." his voice is maddeningly calm.
you shove his arm. it does nothing except hurt your hand a little. "you know what you did."
jake tilts his head, pretending to think, then steps closer, way closer, bending slightly so his face is level with yours. "if he got scared because i exist, maybe he wasn't that interested."
"you're insufferable."
"you're welcome for the ride home," he says, smiling like the world's sweetest problem.
you want to push him again.
you also want to grab him by the stupid lapel of his stupid jacket and kiss him until he can't talk like that anymore.
it's infuriating.
and it keeps happening.
you're out for brunch with friends and jake drops by to hand you the cardigan you "accidentally" stole again and suddenly the guy who'd been trying to get your number excuses himself.
you're buying ice cream at a street vendor, jake appears behind you because he was "in the neighborhood," and the guy working the cart instantly stops flirting with you mid-sentence.
you're at the bookstore, a cute grad student is recommending a title, and the moment jake walks up beside you to say, "hey, thought you wanted that coffee?" the grad student's smile just... dies.
every time, jake acts like he has no idea why.
every time, you want to scream.
one evening, you're sitting on the couch scrolling, pretending not to watch the clock, wondering when he's going to get home.
you hate that you miss him. you hate that his absence feels like silence filling the apartment too heavily.
the door unlocks. your heart jumps. you immediately scowl at yourself.
he steps in—hair messy from the wind, gym bag slung over his shoulder, wearing a fitted hoodie that absolutely shouldn't fit him that well.
"you're late," you snap, even though he isn't.
jake lifts a brow. "didn't know i had a curfew."
you huff. "whatever."
but he's already walking past you, and your eyes, traitors, follow him. the way his shoulders move. the way he reaches up to put his keys on the hook. the way his shirt lifts just slightly as he stretches.
you look away too fast and nearly drop your phone.
he notices. of course he notices. jake always notices.
he walks back toward the couch, slow, amused, hands in his pockets. you're about to make up some snarky comment when he stands directly in front of you, blocking the TV, blocking everything, and says gently:
"hey."
you blink up at him. you didn't even realize you'd been frowning.
"rough night?" he asks, voice warm, soft, impossibly soothing.
"none of your business," you mutter, crossing your arms.
but you don't move away when he leans down a little, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside your head—not touching you, just close enough that you feel caged in.
"you know..." he says slowly, eyes dropping to your lips for one devastating second, "you don't have to act tough with me."
your throat closes. your brain refuses to function.
then—as if that wasn't enough torture—he adds, quieter, "you know i'm not the kid you used to boss around. you see that now, right?"
you hate how hot your face gets. you hate how your pulse spikes. you hate that your breath catches in your chest like you've been punched.
and you really hate how much you want him to say it again.
before you can fire back, before you can regain control, jake pushes off the couch and steps away, giving you space again.
like he didn't just ruin your entire week.
"i'm gonna shower," he says simply, like he didn't just mentally dismantle you. "order dinner if you're hungry."
you stare at him. you stare through him. then you finally breathe.
your voice comes out small. "jake?"
he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. his eyes soften in that way that makes your stomach flip inside out.
you swallow. "why do people keep assuming we're... y'know... together?"
he smiles—slow, deep, knowing.
"maybe," he says, "they're seeing something you're not ready to see yet."
your heart stops. you want to scream. you want to hit him. you want to kiss him until your knees give out. but you can't say any of that. so instead you throw a pillow at him. "shut up."
he laughs—warm, gentle, absolutely insane-making and disappears into the hallway. leaving you on the couch, heart sprinting, stomach twisted, entire world tilted sideways...
and realizing, for the first time, that you might be in very, very dangerous territory.
𓂃
you don't plan on getting jealous. you really don't. it just kind of... ambushes you, like a flying brick to the head.
the whole thing starts because your friend group decides to have a little saturday picnic in the park—very "we're adults now," very "bring something homemade," very "let's pretend our lives aren't falling apart."
you drag jake along because obviously. he has a car and you don't feel like ubering. plus, he always carries things for you without complaining, and you plan to bring at least four bags despite it being a two-hour outing.
he agrees without hesitation, because of course he does.
the morning of, he comes out of his room wearing a white t-shirt, grey sweats, a backward baseball cap, and that infuriating golden retriever smile that makes your stomach do embarrassing gymnastics.
you pretend not to notice. you absolutely notice.
"you ready?" he asks, grabbing the cooler like it weighs nothing.
you squint at him. "you're wearing that?"
he glances down at himself. "...yes?"
"to a picnic?"
"is this not... picnic attire?"
"you look like a catalogue model for 'athletic boyfriend who loves you.'"
he grins. "so i look good? i fit the part?" you blush furiously at his words, choosing to roll your eyes so dramatically it should win an award. "i didn't say that."
"but you didn't deny it."
"jake."
"yes?"
"shut up."
he just laughs and ushers you out the door with a hand on your lower back—casual, familiar, too natural.
you hate how your heart stutters. you want to be annoying on purpose, just to punish him. you succeed by making him carry every single one of your bags.
he still keeps that stupid gentle smile.
you hate it. you love it. you hate that you love it.
the picnic starts fine. your friends adore him—which annoys you for reasons you refuse to examine.
"jake's so sweet," one of them says while he helps set up the blanket.
"jake's so tall," another sighs dreamily.
"jake's so—"
"okay!" you cut in, a little too loudly. "we get it. he's perfect. shut up." everyone stares. you pretend you didn't say anything weird.
jake just throws you an amused little look like he knows exactly what's happening in your brain and is choosing to spare you.
which somehow makes it worse. then she arrives.
the problem. the villain. the enemy.
your friend's coworker—invited last minute—named mia, with perfect hair and a perfect smile and an offensively cute sundress. she spots jake instantly, like a moth to a glow-in-the-dark lantern.
"oh my god, hi," she chirps, stepping right into his space. "we haven't met yet. i'm mia."
you watch from your corner of the blanket, chewing a strawberry like you're trying to murder it with your teeth.
mia laughs at everything he says. she touches his arm at least twice. she calls him funny—funny, jake, the man who laughs at his own dad jokes and says "oopsies" when he drops things.
your eye twitches. and jake... doesn't pull away.
worse, he's being his usual self—easygoing, kind, listening fully, that soft focused attention he gives people when he genuinely likes them.
you have never hated being conscious more. your friends keep giving you meaningful looks.
you keep ignoring them. except then mia leans in closer, tiny sundress fluttering, and says, "so, are you seeing anyone?"
you nearly choke on air. jake doesn't seem fazed. "uh... i—"
"jake!" you snap, way too quickly, way too loud.
everyone stops. jake turns toward you with slow amusement raising his eyebrows. "yeah?"
"you— uh..." your brain abandons you. it packs its bags and literally leaves the continent. "you forgot to... um... help me with something."
he looks at the fully assembled picnic. "help you with what?"
"something," you repeat, sweating. "very important."
mia blinks. "oh, we can finish our conversa—"
"NOPE," you say, grabbing jake's wrist and yanking him off the blanket so fast he practically trips. "no need. bye. go touch grass or something."
you drag him behind a tree like a deranged cartoon burglar. he follows, mostly because he's trying not to laugh.
"you good?" he asks softly.
"i'm fine," you snap, glaring at him.
"you sure? because you look—" "if you say 'jealous' i'm going to drown you in the lake."
he smirks. "i was going to say 'cute,' but okay."
your brain fries like an egg on asphalt. "shut up," you whisper, but it comes out breathless.
he steps closer—not touching, but close enough that the tree is behind you and he's in front of you, warm and solid and taller than you remember.
"you dragged me away from someone mid-flirt," he murmurs, voice dropping into that low warm register that goes straight to your knees. "so i'm gonna need you to explain."
you glare up at him. "i did not. she wasn't flirting."
"she asked if i was seeing anyone."
"she was just being friendly."
"she touched my arm."
"maybe she's friendly with arms." god, you want to be friendly with his arms. "you pulled me across the park."
"i felt like walking."
"you growled." your face burns. "i did not!"
he grins—slow, devastating. "you definitely did." you shove his shoulder, which does absolutely nothing because he's built like a wall now. "you're imagining things."
"am i?"
"yes."
he leans in, inches from your face, eyes ridiculously soft and warm and knowing. "then tell me why you're mad."
you open your mouth. nothing comes out. your throat works around a sound that isn't a word.
jake watches all of it with that maddening patience—like he's been waiting years for this exact moment and can give you all the time in the world.
then, barely above a whisper, "you know i'd drop anyone the second you wanted me to... right?"
your heart stops. actually stops. you physically forget what breathing is.
and he smiles—that deeper, slower version he only gives you now—before stepping back, giving you space like he didn't just vaporize your entire soul.
"come on," he says, gentle. "before your friends think you murdered me." he starts walking back. you stare after him, stunned, furious, flustered, painfully alive.
you hate him. you really, really like him. you hate that you really, really like him.
and when mia tries to talk to him again later, he doesn't even notice—because he's too busy watching you out of the corner of his eye, like you're the only person in the park.
and that's when you know, you're doomed.
𓂃
the day starts stupidly normal, which should've been your first warning.
it's saturday. the sun is too bright. jake's already up—as always—making breakfast like some domestic prince charming he has no right to be. you stumble into the kitchen in one of his hoodies, hair a mess, mascara from last night smudged like war paint.
he glances over his shoulder, amused. "morning, trouble."
you roll your eyes because your heart does a weird little tap-dance. "you're loud."
"i haven't even said anything."
"you existing is loud."
he laughs—soft, warm, like he thinks you're hilarious even when you're being awful and goes back to cooking.
you sit at the counter, chin in your palm, watching him move around like he owns every inch of this kitchen. he does, technically, but you hate how good he looks doing it. the rolled sleeves that expose his delicious looking forearms. the concentration. the way he pushes his hair back when it falls over his forehead.
you look away before he catches you staring. he sets a plate in front of you a moment later, eggs, toast, fruit. stupidly wholesome.
you poke at it. "jake..."
"mm?"
"i need your car today." your car had been in the shop for the last few days, leaving you stranded at home majority of the day.
he pauses. not dramatically. not in a way meant to provoke you. just... pauses. "for what?"
"i need to run errands," you shrug. "grocery store, nail appointment, whatever."
he leans his hip against the counter, arms crossing. "you can take the bus. i need the car."
you blink. blink again. "...the bus?"you say it like he suggested you swim across the pacific ocean.
"yeah," he says simply. "the 14 stops right outside the building. it's not hard."
you stare at him and he stares back. somewhere deep inside your spoiled, bratty, slightly feral soul, a fuse lights.
"you're being dramatic," you declare.
"i'm being practical."
"you're supposed to help me."
"i do help you."
"not right now!" he exhales, patient but firm. "my car isn't your personal uber."
your pride twists sharply. you feel it—that hot, impulsive, immature spark that always gets you in trouble.
"wow," you snap, standing from the stool. "you get a couple muscles, a salary, and suddenly you're too good for me?" his brows lift, surprised—not offended, not angry—just surprised that you'd go for that. "i didn't say that."
"you're acting like it!"
you don't mean the words. not really. they spill out because you're flustered and embarrassed and you hate how stable he is when you're wobbling all over the emotional place. you fold your arms, chin lifted in that signature i'm-right-even-when-i'm-wrong posture.
"i'm asking for one tiny thing, jake. one. and you're giving me attitude? seriously?"
he doesn't flinch. "you're not asking," he says quietly. "you're demanding."
your pulse kicks up—defensive, stubborn. "because you're supposed to say yes!"
"why?" you hate that he says it without raising his voice. hate how calm he is while you're practically vibrating.
"because you always have!" you blurt. "you always listened to me! you always—"
"i was a kid," he says, tone low but steady. "you treated me like i didn't know how to have my own life. and back then? maybe i didn't."
you freeze. his expression softens—not pitying, not mocking —soft in the way someone looks when they finally decide to stop letting you run from something. "but i'm not that kid anymore," he says. "and you can't talk to me like i am."
your throat tightens—sharp, sudden. it's stupid how much it hits you, how fast your anger collapses into something hot and guilty.
he steps closer. not threatening. just... present.
closer than you expected. closer than your heart can handle without short-circuiting.
your voice shrinks. "i wasn't— i didn't mean—"
"yeah," he murmurs, eyes steady on yours. "i know. but you said it anyway."
you swallow. hard. jake looks down at you like he's seeing every version of you at once, bossy eight-year-old you, dramatic teenager you, chaotic adult you, and none of them scare him. none of them push him away.
"i'm not the one who needs to grow up," he says, softer now. "and i'm not trying to fight you. but i'm not here to be ordered around." the room feels too quiet suddenly. the only sound is the faint sizzle of the pan cooling on the stove and your own uneven breathing.
"i... didn't know i was doing that," you whisper.
"yeah," he says again, but gently. "that's the problem."
you look away, frustrated with yourself more than with him. and then he reaches out—slow, careful—and hooks a finger under your chin to tilt your face back up. not forceful but impossible to ignore. his voice drops just a little. warm. real. a little too intimate.
"i'm not going anywhere," he says. "i never have. but you can't keep pretending i belong to you just because i used to follow you around."
the words hit you dead center. because the truth—the horrible, humiliating, painfully raw truth—is that you didn't treat him like he was below you.
you treated him like he was yours. and somewhere along the way, he learned to walk without trailing behind you. you blink fast, trying not to let your eyes shine too much. "i... i just thought..."
"i know," he murmurs. "but that's why we're having this conversation."
you nod, small. awkward. vulnerable in a way you hate being. jake steps back slowly, giving you space without breaking eye contact.
"you can still take the bus," he says lightly. "i'll even google the schedule for you." you glare. but it's weak. he smiles, that stupid warm smile that ruins you every time. and for the first time, your bratty instinct doesn't flare up. instead, something quieter settles in your chest.
you're not sure you like it. you're very sure it has everything to do with him.
𓂃
it starts on a lazy sunday afternoon—the fake kind of lazy where you're doing nothing but somehow jake is doing everything.
he's folding laundry, humming, looking offensively good in a plain white tee, while you lie on the couch upside down, legs over the backrest, scrolling on your phone like a disgruntled cat.
you're bored. dangerous.
"jake," you call, voice dramatic, "i'm craving entertainment. entertain me." he doesn't even glance over. "i'm folding your shirts. that's entertaining."
"no, that's domestic," you correct. "you're like a husband in a detergent commercial."
"at least i smell nice?" he shrugs. you pause. he does. annoyingly so. you ignore the flutter in your stomach and point your toes at him from the upside-down position.
"tell me a story," you demand. "like bedtime story vibes. something juicy. something chaotic. something where i'm the main character—" "—which you always are," he finishes for you, snorting. "okay. fine. let's do memory lane."
you lift your head just enough to squint at him. "that sounds suspiciously sentimental."
"you're the one who asked." you flop your head back. "proceed, peasant."
he finally looks at you—that slow, amused, golden-retriever-who-knows-your-game look. "alright. remember grade four?"
"i choose not to."
"too bad," he says, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, folding the last shirt. "you announced to the whole class that we were getting married."
your phone drops onto your face. "i what—?"
he laughs, warm and full, like it's a memory he's kept safe. "yeah. you stood on a chair during recess and yelled, 'jake is gonna be my husband because he listens!'" you bury your face in your hands. "oh my god."
"you even made me a ring out of twist ties."
"stop talking."
"and then you made me swear an oath—"
"NO YOU DID NOT JUST SAY OATH—"
"—that i'd carry your backpack forever because i was 'stronger' and 'built for it'." you groan so loudly that he laughs again.
"you loved bossing me around," he says, softer now. "i still do," you shoot back, kicking his shoulder lightly with your foot. he catches your ankle. not tight, but just enough for your breath to hitch.
"i know." his voice is lower. "you were kind of terrifying."
"i was adorable," you argue, rolling his eyes.
"you were a tiny tyrant with pigtails."
"and you followed me everywhere," you retort, letting your foot rest in his hold because pulling away feels too much like losing.
"yeah," he says quietly, thumb brushing just once over your ankle before he realizes and lets go. "i did." you freeze. he doesn't look flustered, but the way he moves—slow, controlled, pretending nothing happened—tells you he definitely felt something too.
so you clear your throat and switch the subject recklessly. "well, remember when you glued your hand to a desk?" the corner of his mouth twitches. "you told me it would make me smarter."
"and you believed me!" you cackle.
"you said the glue had 'knowledge properties,'" he defends, pointing an accusing finger at you. "you said einstein invented it!"
you're laughing so hard you almost fall off the couch. he tries to stay serious, but your laugh is contagious and he ends up leaning back against the couch, head tipped against your knee as he laughs too.
you go still. his head. on your leg. like it's natural. like it's always been that way. your laugh fades into a stubborn little silence you can't name.
he notices. he always notices. "hey," he murmurs, chin tilting up just a little so he can see your upside-down face. "what's with that look?"
"what look?" you whisper, too fast.
"the one where you pretend you're annoyed but you're actually... i don't know." he searches your expression. "thinking."
you scoff. "i don't think."
"yes you do."
"nope."
"you definitely do."
"stop accusing me of intelligence!" he laughs again, but this time something softer lingers under it — something warm, something knowing. the air shifts. you hate it. or maybe you don't, maybe that's the problem.
"okay, next memory," you say quickly, tapping his forehead with your foot to break the moment. "tell me something where i look cool."
he smirks. "that never happened."
"JAKE—"
"kidding, kidding." he nudges your leg. "there was that time you punched a boy in the nose because he called me 'jakey-wakey.'"
you blink. "oh yeah. classic me."
"classic you," he echoes, smiling to himself in a way that makes your chest feel tight. and then, quietly, "you always had my back." the room goes still. your heart stutters—because he means it. because he remembers it. because he says it like it mattered.
"don't get sentimental on me, golden boy," you mumble.
"too late," he says, voice warm, teasing, but edged with something real. "you brought up memory lane. i'm just walking it."
you swallow. the dynamic tilts again—just slightly, just enough to make you feel like you're standing on the edge of something big.
so you do what you do best. you kick him lightly in the shoulder. "get up. i'm bored again." he stands, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt.
"fine," he says. "let's go get ice cream."
"you're paying, right?" he sighs. "i always do."
you grin. and he does too, like he wouldn't have it any other way.
𓂃
it starts stupidly. you're not even fighting.
you're tipsy—not blackout, not sloppy, just warm and giggly after a night out with friends. you called jake because your uber bailed and your phone was dying, and he showed up in ten minutes flat, hair messy from sleep, hoodie half-zipped, looking unfairly good for someone dragged out of bed at 1 a.m.
you slid into the passenger seat, all smug. "aww, jakey. did i wake you?"
he didn't even look at you. "put your seatbelt on."
ugh. infuriating. for the entire drive, you tried to poke at him— literally and figuratively—but he kept dodging with that maddening calm.
by the time you walk into the apartment, and by walk you mean jake carrying your flailing body—you're buzzing with irritation that isn't... really irritation.
not exactly. you kick your shoes off dramatically. "you didn't have to come get me, y'know."
he locks the door behind you. "you called," he says simply, shrugging off his hoodie. "i wasn't gonna leave you outside alone."
"i can take care of myself." he gives you a slow, deliberate once-over—the skirt, the smudged makeup, the slightly-wobbly stance.
"sure you can." you make an offended noise, fully ready to start something stupid—but he walks past you toward the kitchen.
which pisses you off more. so you follow him. obviously. he's pulling a water bottle out of the fridge when you step right into his space, eyebrows raised, chin tilted up like a challenge.
"you're ignoring me," you accuse.
"no," he says calmly. "i'm choosing not to indulge you." your stomach actually drops. oh, that tone. that new tone you still haven't learned how to handle.
you scoff. "wow. someone got confident."
"someone had to," he says. and then—god help you—he steps closer. not touching you, just closer.
your back meets the counter, cold through your shirt. he sets the water bottle beside you but doesn't move away. he's right there—warm, solid, taller, broader than he ever was as a kid—and he's looking at you like he can see every thought you're trying to hide.
"you good?" he asks softly. that should be a normal question. but it isn't.your throat goes tight. "i'm fine." he inhales once, slow, like he's counting to five because of you. "you're doing that thing again."
"what thing," you snap too quickly.
"pretending you don't want something," he murmurs, "just because you don't wanna admit i'm the one you want it from."
your breath actually stops. you hate how your hands grip the counter; you hate how your pulse stutters; you hate that he can hear it, probably feel it, with how close he is.
"you think i want something from you?" you manage, trying to sound bored. he leans in, not touching. but close enough that his breath brushes your cheek.
"i think," he says quietly, "you wouldn't have called me tonight if you didn't." your voice comes out small. "i called because my uber bailed."
he smiles. slow. knowing. devastating. "sure," he says. "if that's the lie you wanna stick to."
you actually shove him. well—you try. your hands hit his chest, but he doesn't budge an inch. he just looks down at you with that infuriating calm, like you're cute for even attempting it.
"don't—" your voice breaks, and you hate that too. "don't talk like you know everything."
he corners you fully now, one hand resting on the counter beside your hip, the other lifting—slowly, giving you time—until his fingers hover under your jaw. not touching. just waiting.
"i'm not the one pretending here," he says softly. "i'm not pretending anything."
"yeah?" he whispers. "then look at me." you do. you shouldn't have.
his eyes are warm and dark and unbearably sure of you—like he's known this moment was coming since you were both twelve and you bossed him into giving you the last popsicle on the block. like he's been waiting for you to catch up.
"you can be a brat to everyone else," he says, barely above a murmur. "but you don't get to lie to me." your chest pulls tight, breath shaking, and you don't realize you've gone still until he tilts his head, studying you.
"there it is," he whispers. "finally." finally what? finally you stop running? finally you stop pretending you don't want him? finally you admit you're not the one with the power anymore?
you don't know. you just know your voice is barely a whisper, "...jake." something changes in his face. not anger. not triumph. just... relief. warm and deep and terrifying.
he leans closer, his forehead almost touching yours and his voice drops, low and steady, "i'm not gonna kiss you tonight," he says. "you're drunk."
you swallow hard, embarrassed and grateful and furious all at once. "but tomorrow?" he adds, eyes flicking to your mouth for half a second.
your knees actually go weak, tomorrow? "tomorrow," he says, "you don't get to run." and he steps back. leaving you breathless, cornered by nothing but your own heartbeat.
you wake up with your skull splitting in two, your mouth dry, and the horrifying, slow–motion realization that you remember every single thing that happened last night.
the way jake lifted you off that sidewalk like you weighed nothing. the way he held you steady while you tried to unlock the door and failed miserably.
the way he said it—low, warm, devastating, "you can be a brat to everyone else. but you don't get to lie to me." and worst of all, the way he looked at you afterward. like he was two seconds away from kissing you senseless against your own doorway.
you roll onto your back, throw an arm over your face, and groan.
"oh my god i hate it here," you mutter into your pillow. "i should move out. i should join a monastery. i should fake my death."
a soft knock hits your door. your entire soul leaves your body. "hey," jake's voice calls, maddeningly gentle. "i made breakfast." you consider leaping out the window. instead you croak, "i'm... busy."
"you're hungover."
"busy being hungover." he laughs—that warm, breathy laugh that you hear way too clearly through the door.
"come eat. i won't bite." liar, you think, dragging yourself out of bed. you almost did. you trudge down the hall in an oversized hoodie and socks, praying he looks terrible so you can at least feel morally superior.
he does not look terrible. he's standing at the stove in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, hair damp, shoulders broad, forearms flexing as he plates food. the apartment is stupidly bright, the sun hits him like it's personally in love.
you want to die. you try to sneak to the fridge for water and pretend he doesn't exist. he turns just in time to catch you.
"morning," he says. you nearly drop the bottle. "...hi."
he raises an eyebrow. "that's it? no yelling? no demands?" you glare at him weakly. "i'm on sick leave."
"mhm." he sets a plate in front of you. "how's the headache?"
"big."
"water's on the table."
"i know."
"you didn't drink it."
"...i was getting emotionally prepared," you mumble. he smiles—soft, amused, slightly pitying—and sits across from you.mthe silence is unbearable. you poke at your eggs like they personally offended you. "so. about last night."
"yeah," he says calmly, sipping his coffee. "about last night." you brace yourself. you don't know what you're expecting—a lecture? a joke? him pretending it didn't happen?
what you don't expect is him leaning back in his chair, eyes flicking over your face like he can see every thought you're trying to drown.
"you were pretty honest," he says softly. you choke on air. "i— what— honest how?" he tilts his head. "you kept grabbing me."
"NO I DID NOT—"
"you did," he says, annoyingly unbothered. "kept saying i 'smelled stupidly good' and that i 'ruined guys' for you." you want the earth to open up and swallow you. "i was drunk," you whisper.
"i know." he nods. "that's why you didn't lie." your heart stutters. his voice drops, the same tone he used last night—warm, steady, too real.
"you don't have to freak out," he murmurs. "i'm not asking for anything." you stare at him. "you're being... weirdly nice."
"i'm always nice to you."
"you're being extra nice." his lips twitch. "you're hungover."
"i don't trust it."
"that says more about you than me," he says, and you actually consider throwing your fork at him. but then... he pushes his chair back. stands. walks around the table. you freeze as he stops right beside you. not touching you, he never touches first, but close enough that your entire body tenses.
"look at me," he says quietly. you do, because what other choice do you have. his eyes hold yours, steady and dark and impossibly sure.
"what i said last night wasn't because you were drunk." a beat. "i meant it." your breath catches. your fingers curl around the edge of your chair. "jake..."
he leans down just a little—not enough to cross the line, but enough that you feel him, warm and solid at your side. "you can avoid me all you want today," he murmurs. "hide in your room. glare at me. pretend you don't remember."
your heart is hammering so loudly you're scared he can hear it. "but we're not going back," he finishes. "not after last night." you can't speak. you can't move. you can't breathe. he straightens slowly, like he knows exactly what he just did to you, and steps back.
"eat your breakfast," he says lightly, already turning toward the sink. "you need your strength." you stare at his back, absolutely feral with confusion and panic and want.
because he's right. everything has changed and you're the one who feels ruined.
the rest of the day is... hell. you hide in your room because you're a coward with a hangover and a heart that won't stop doing gymnastics. you scroll on your phone. you pretend to nap. you dramatically throw yourself on your bed like a victorian widow.
unfortunately, your bedroom shares a wall with the living room.
which means you hear everything. you hear jake laughing softly at his phone. you hear him moving around, cleaning, humming, doing dishes. you hear him existing like the universe didn't tilt on its axis last night.
and every time he shifts, every time the floor creaks, your stomach flips like it's auditioning for a reality show.
around 5 p.m., you crack. you storm out of your room under the noble excuse of "checking if he replaced the Brita filter," which is a lie, but you're committed to the bit.
jake is on the couch. hair damp again from the gym. black t-shirt stretched over his shoulders. sweatpants hanging too low for god's favorites, let alone you, god's forgotten middle child.
he looks up the second you appear.
"hey." so casual. so normal. so illegal.
you fold your arms. "why are you acting weird?"
he blinks. "...i'm literally sitting."
"you're sitting weird." he bites back a smile. "okay. how does one sit weird?"
"like that!" you snap, gesturing vaguely at his whole body. "all... confident."
"i'm sorry?" he laughs, leaning back. "you want me to slouch more?"
"i want you to stop—" you choke on your own words. "—being like... this."he tilts his head. "like what?" you should walk away. run. escape. join witness protection. instead you stomp closer. "stop being smug about last night." his eyebrows lift. "i'm not smug."
"you are," you fire back. "you're doing the eyes."
"...the eyes?"
"yes! the—" you wildly point at his face "—'i know something you're not admitting' eyes." his lips twitch. "maybe because you are avoiding something."
you freeze. he didn't say it sharply. or cruelly. just... plainly. softly. like he's stating the weather.
"i'm not avoiding anything," you lie.
"okay." he pats the couch. "come sit, then." you scoff. "no."
"why not?"
"because." because you don't know what will happen. because you don't trust your own body around him. because his voice last night is still echoing in your bones. "because?" he repeats gently.
you glare. you hate him. you hate that he's winning. you hate that he's not even trying to win. "fine," you snap, and drop onto the couch beside him.
the space between you is legal... but barely. jake doesn't move. doesn't lean in. doesn't touch. he simply turns his head and looks at you.
slowly. openly. like he's reading a book he's already memorized. your pulse stutters. "what?" you demand.
his voice is quiet. "you still look upset."
"i'm not upset."
"you're doing the eyebrows."
you gasp. "I DO NOT—"
"you do," he murmurs, and the tone—god, that tone—almost makes you shake. "you always do when you're overwhelmed." you hate how he knows that. you hate how he knows anything. you hate how safe he makes it feel to be known.
"jake," you say, trying to sound sharp. "stop... looking at me like that."
"like what?"
"like you're—" you swallow "—waiting for me to break." he's quiet for a beat. then, "i'm not waiting," he says softly. "you already are."
your breath catches. he doesn't smirk. he doesn't tease. he just watches you—steady, patient, unbearably gentle. and something in you snaps. "you think you know everything," you whisper.
"no." he shakes his head once. "i just know you."
your throat tightens. you push up from the couch —too fast, too dramatic, too you—but before you can escape, his hand closes around your wrist.
not hard. not forceful. just enough, enough to stop you. enough to pull a tiny gasp from your mouth. enough to make your knees weaken embarrassingly fast.
you stare at him and he stares right back.
"don't run," he murmurs.
"i'm not—"
"you are." his hand slides down, fingers brushing yours. "why are you scared of me?"
"i'm not scared of you," you whisper.
"then look at me." you do and that's your mistake. because he stands and steps into your space. not touching, but close enough that your breath stumbles. your legs buckle beneath you and you find yourself sitting on the sofa again.
your back presses into the sofa without you thinking, his body following, not pinning you, but caging you all the same—one arm braced above your head, the other still holding your wrist like he's reminding you he could've touched more, but chose restraint instead.
his breath ghosts your cheek. "this is what you wanted last night," he says quietly.
your stomach flips so violently you almost fold.
"i— you— i was drunk," you manage.
"you're sober now."
you hate him. you want him. you hate that you want him. his forehead drops to yours—barely touching, barely there, but it feels like a strike of lightning.
"say it," he murmurs, voice dropping to that devastating low. "just once. stop lying to me." you swallow so hard it hurts. "jake..."
his thumb skims the back of your hand—the first real touch—slow and devastating and enough to make heat coiling in your stomach spike.
"say it," he repeats, even softer now. "and i won't make you wait anymore." you gasp. you could feel your chest press in and your thigh clench together, an action that doenst go unnoticed by jake's sharp eyes.
your whole body trembles under his breath, his closeness, his voice and he feels it, oh he absolutely feels it. he smirks, barely. and then, in a tone that is not patient anymore, not gentle anymore—a tone that is pure control, "don't make me ask again."
your mouth parts. your pulse jumps. the line is right there—the moment before the moment—and you know if you speak, if you admit one more thing, everything you've been holding back is going to break wide open.
and he's waiting. breathing with you. holding you still. letting you fall on your own.
your mouth opens, but the only sound is a shaky, pathetic little gasp. your brain is screaming at you to shove him, to run, to do something—anything—but your body is a traitor. it's melting. sinking into the wall of the couch, arching just the tiniest bit toward him, like a flower leaning into the sun.
his thumb presses into the soft skin of your inner wrist, a slow, deliberate circle that feels like a brand. "i'm waiting," he murmurs, and his voice isn't gentle anymore. it's low. rough. it's the voice of someone who's done waiting.
"i—" you try, but the word dissolves. your pride is a flimsy shield against the sheer force of him. he's not just jake anymore. he's the boy who memorized your every whim, who learned your tells, who grew up and sharpened all that quiet observation into a weapon aimed directly at your defenses.
"look at me," he says again, and you do. you have to. his eyes are dark, pinned on yours, and there's no escape in them. there's only the truth. "say it."
"i hate you," you whisper, and it's the most honest thing you've ever said. a slow, vicious smile spreads across his face. it's not triumphant. it's relieved. "no you don't," he breathes, and then he closes the last inch of space.
the first kiss is a collision. it's not soft. it's not hesitant. it's a punishment. his mouth is firm on yours, bruising, and before you can even process it, his teeth are sinking into your bottom lip, a sharp, stinging bite that makes you cry out.
he licks over the hurt immediately, a hot, possessive swipe, and then he's kissing you again, all teeth and tongue, a messy, hungry claim. he's devouring you, and you're letting him. you're arching into him, your free hand fisting the soft cotton of his t-shirt, pulling him closer.
he breaks the kiss, leaving you panting, your lip tingling. his forehead rests on yours, his breathing just as ragged. "see?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. "not so hard, was it?"
you want to snap back, but all you can manage is a weak, breathless glare.
he chuckles, a dark, warm sound. "still got that look in your eye," he says, his thumb stroking the side of your neck. "like you're planning my murder."
"maybe i am," you whisper, dazed out of your mind.
"good luck with that," he says, and then he's manhandling you. his hands grip your waist, and he's spinning you, pushing you forward until your knees hit the edge of the couch. he bends you over the arm, one hand flat between your shoulder blades, holding you down. the position is obscene, your ass in the air, face pressed into the couch cushions.
"these," he says, his voice low and rough as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts, "have been driving me crazy for a week."
he tugs them down, slowly, deliberately, and you lift your hips to help him, a silent surrender that feels more powerful than any argument you've ever won. he tosses them aside, his gaze dropping to the thin lace of your panties.
"so much for being subtle," he murmurs, and you flush, because he knows. he knows you wore them for him. you always do.
then his hand is gone from your back for a second, and you hear the sharp sound of it cutting through the air before it connects with your ass. a sharp, stinging slap that makes you yelp into the cushions.
"that's for being a fucking tease," he growls, his hand rubbing the sting into your skin. another slap, this one on the other cheek. "and that's for making me wait."
he yanks your panties down, and the cool air hits your dripping pussy. you're so wet it's embarrassing. "look at this," he breathes, and then you feel it—a sharp, stinging slap right against your folds. you jolt, a choked moan tearing from your throat. it's a different kind of pain, sharper, more intimate.
"so fucking wet for me. you wanted this just as bad as i did, didn't you?"
he doesn't wait for an answer. he's on his knees behind you, his hands gripping your ass cheeks and spreading you open. you feel his hot breath a second before his mouth is on you. he doesn't start slow. he licks a broad, flat stripe from your clit to your entrance, a messy, hungry taste before his lips close around your clit and he sucks. hard.
your knees buckle, but his grip on you is iron. he's a man possessed. he eats you out like he's starving, his tongue fucking into you, his nose pressing against your ass, his teeth scraping your inner thighs. he bites down on the sensitive skin there, hard enough to leave a mark, and you sob, pushing back against his face. he's obsessed. he's consuming you.
he groans at the taste of you, his tongue messy yet precise as he slide down your folds making your squirm. "jake, please," you gasp, your hands fisting the couch cushions.
he pulls back just enough to speak, his voice muffled by your cunt. "please what? beg for it."
"please, i need—"
"need what?" he demands, landing another sharp slap to your pussy. the sting mixes with the pleasure, a dizzying cocktail. you feel his fingers tease your clenching hole, not quite pushing in but instead dip in slightly before running over to rub at your swollen clit.
"your cock," you sob, completely broken. "please, jake, i need your cock."
he groans, a deep, guttural sound of victory. he stands up, and you hear the rustle of his jeans. then he's grabbing you, flipping you over onto your back on the couch like you weigh nothing. he looms over you, his shirt gone, his chest heaving. his eyes are wild, feral.
"open your mouth," he commands, his hand reaching between your legs to rub tight circles around your clit while you struggle to keep your legs open.
you do, without thinking. he leans down, spits directly onto your tongue. it's filthy, degrading, and it sends a bolt of pure lust straight through you. "swallow it," he orders, and you do, your eyes locked on his.
his expression morphs into one of pure bliss, his hand wrapped around his thick aching cock as he jerks himself slightly. he watches your needy mouth pull into a whine when his fingers press harder on your clit, pleading for him to fuck you.
originally, he was going to tease you. have you begging and crying for his cock, but he overestimated his ability to hold back when he realized how good you looked fucked out.
"good girl," he murmurs, and then he's lining himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance. he doesn't wait. he pushes into you in one hard, deep stroke, and you both groan. he's big, stretching you, filling you completely, and it's overwhelming in the best possible way.
he starts to move, his hips slamming into yours, a brutal, punishing rhythm. each thrust is deep, deliberate, designed to break you apart. he leans down, sinking his teeth into the soft skin where your neck meets your shoulder, a hard, possessive bite that you know will leave a dark bruise.
"mine," he growls against your skin, his pace quickening. "you've always been mine." his hands fumble to pull up your shirt, eyes bright when he realizes that you weren't wearing a bra. his greedy hands grab at you tits, pinching and squeezing as he watched your face scrunch in pleasure.
"so fucking pretty." he mummers, his cock pounding into you strong before his mouth reach's down to take in one of your nipples—sucking hard.
you whine in response, hands clawing at his shoulders as you arch unnaturally against the couch.
"been waiting for this day for years." he confesses, between kisses that he's leaving on your chest. your heart beats faster at his sudden confession, moaning louder when his cock brushes against that all get area that many of your ex's had trouble finding.
the coil in your stomach tightens, impossibly fast. he can feel it too, can feel the way you're clenching around him, and he reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight, merciless circles.
"cum for me," he commands, his voice a low growl. "now."
you shatter. a blinding, all-consuming orgasm rips through you. you scream his name, your body arching off the couch as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. he follows you over the edge a moment later, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep inside you with a guttural groan, spilling himself into you.
you shudder at the feeling of his warm cum in you, feeling him twitch inside you as he helped you ride out your high.
he collapses on top of you, his body heavy and warm, his face buried in the crook of your neck. you're both panting, your bodies slick with sweat, the room filled with the sound of your ragged breathing.
for a long moment, neither of you speaks. you just lie there, tangled together, the aftermath of the storm settling around you.
finally, he pushes himself up, his arms braced on either side of your head. he looks down at you, his expression soft, his eyes filled with a terrifying amount of adoration. he leans down and presses a soft, gentle kiss to the bite mark on your neck.
"still hate me?" he murmurs, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
you look up at him, at the boy you've spent a lifetime fighting, and feel something inside you crack open. "no," you whisper, and it's the truest thing you've ever said.
the room is still warm.not from the heater, not from the blankets—from him. from the way he touched you. from the way you touched him back.
you're lying on your back, hair messy, chest still rising too fast, your skin flushed in a way you hope isn't obvious... but you know it is. jake's spread out beside you, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily resting across your stomach like he claimed the space there without even thinking about it.
you don't speak at first. neither does he.
your breathing gradually falls back into something human, and eventually something soft and unbearably embarrassing curls into your voice.
"so," you mumble, staring at the ceiling because looking at him might actually kill you. "um. that happened."
jake turns his head toward you slowly—so slowly your pulse skips like it's trying to escape your body.
he doesn't tease. he doesn't joke. he doesn't even smirk. he just looks at you, eyes dark and soft and deeply certain in a way that makes your stomach twist.
"yeah," he says quietly. "it did."
you swallow. his fingers move—not leaving your stomach, just tracing lazy, slow circles like he's memorizing the shape of you now that he's allowed to.
"are you..." his voice dips, warm and low, "okay?"
you shut your eyes for one humiliating second before answering.
"i'm fine."
"you sure?"
"yes."
"positive?"
"jake, please," you groan, dragging your hands over your face. "i'm fine, you're fine, everything's—whatever."
he laughs, soft and breathy, and his hand slides higher on your torso—warm palm resting just beneath your ribs without pushing, without restraining, just there.
and the worst part? you lean into it without thinking.
he notices—of course he notices—because his thumb presses lightly, intentionally, like he's acknowledging the way you reacted.
your voice comes out embarrassingly small. "stop acting like you know everything."
"i don't," he murmurs. "i just know you."
you turn your head sharply, finally meeting his eyes—which was a mistake, because he's already looking at you like he's been waiting for you to do it.
and he holds your gaze. fully. openly. no hesitation left whatsoever.
god, he's bold now. not arrogant. not smug. just... sure.
sure of you. sure of himself. sure of what he wants.
"i meant what i said," he says, the slightest rasp in his voice. "you don't get to lie to me anymore."
you swallow, throat tight. "i wasn't—"
he cuts you off with nothing but a look. a look that tells you exactly what he heard in your voice earlier, in your breathing, in the way you clung to him.
"you don't have to pretend," he adds quietly. "not here. not with me."
your chest squeezes.
no one has ever said that to you before—not like that, not with that kind of certainty, not with that kind of gentleness that feels like he's handing you permission you didn't even know you craved.
so you whisper—barely audible, "i'm not pretending."
his breath catches. barely, but you hear it. then he shifts—not climbing over you, not pulling you in —just rolling onto his side, facing you fully, his leg brushing yours under the blanket that he has pulled over you two.
his voice drops to something dangerously soft.
"good," he murmurs. "because I'm not pretending anymore either."
you blink. "pretending what?"
he leans in, just enough that you feel his breath against your cheek, his nose brushing the corner of yours.
"that I don't want you," he says simply.
your stomach drops straight through the mattress. he keeps going, voice steady, tone low but honest in a way that shakes you more than anything else tonight.
"i'm done acting like I don't think about you all the time," he whispers. "i'm done holding back because I thought it was what you wanted."
your lips part, but nothing comes out.
his thumb grazes your hip under the blanket— slow, barely there, but intentional. grounding. claiming. reassuring.
"i'm done pretending you're just my friend."
your pulse jumps so hard you swear it echoes.
you stare at him—dazed, breathless, overwhelmed.
"jake..."
he just watches you, eyes soft, voice steady.
"you don't have to say anything tonight," he murmurs. "you don't owe me anything. i just need you to know."
you whisper, "know what?"
he holds your gaze like he's anchoring you in place.
"that I want you."
your breath stops.
"that I'm not scared of it."
his fingers tighten just slightly on your hip. "that I'm not scared of you."
you tremble.
"and that I'm not going anywhere."
the room feels too small. too warm. too full of everything you've been running from.
you look at him, really look, and something cracks open in your chest. you don't know what to do with it. you don't know how to breathe around it.
but he does. he reaches up, cups the back of your neck with a gentleness that ruins you more than anything else tonight, and he tugs you in just a little—not kissing you, just touching foreheads, sharing breath.
"we'll talk tomorrow," he murmurs. "when you're less in your head."
you want to argue. you want to push him away.
you want to pull him closer.
you end up doing none of those things—instead you melt, slowly, helplessly, into the space he holds open for you.
he pulls the blanket up. shifts closer. lets your head rest on his chest when you finally, silently, give in.
his hand stays on your back.
steady. warm. sure.
and for the first time, it hits you—painfully, beautifully, terrifyingly, you're not the only one who fell.
𓂃
you wake up before him.
which is unfair, honestly, because you absolutely deserve to sleep in after what he did to you.
your legs ache in that humiliating, delicious way. your throat is dry. your body is warm, too warm, because jake's arm is still around your waist, lazy and heavy and possessive even in sleep.
his breath ghosts the back of your neck. your, his, hoodie that he had helped you slip on last night was now halfway off your shoulder because of him. your pulse is still not normal.
you lie there, staring at the ceiling of the divining room, trying not to combust.
you should be embarrassed. you're not. you should be panicking. you are.
but underneath all of that—buried under the adrenaline and the dizzy aftershocks—there's this new, terrifyingly soft awareness sitting in your chest.
you want him.
in a way that isn't just physical. in a way that isn't just bratty competition. in a way that makes your stomach twist because you know it didn't start last night.
it started way, way before that.
your brain drifts—uninvited, unstoppable—right back to the beginning.
flashback — age 9, the playground
you're wearing a sparkly t-shirt and a crooked ponytail because you cut your own hair with safety scissors. jake is sitting in the sandbox, building something horrifyingly ugly but he swears it's a castle.
you stomp up to him, hands on hips, full attitude, even back then.
"you're doing it wrong," you announce.
he doesn't even look up. "hi to you too."
"jake. that's not a castle. that's a blob."
"it's abstract."
"it's ugly."
he sighs—that tiny, patient sigh that would become his trademark. "okay. what do you want me to do?"
"move over."
you don't wait. you physically shove him two scoots to the left and plop down beside him like you own the sandbox.
he moves. he always moves.
you grab his bucket. "we need more water."
he blinks at you, confused. "um... then go get some?"
you fix him with the most dramatic stare your nine-year-old face can manage.
"...i don't want to."
he laughs—that same soft little huff he still does —and stands up, brushing sand off his shorts.
"fine. i'll go."
"thank you," you say, like you're the queen of england.
when he comes back carrying a wobbly, half-filled bucket, you beam. you don't say thank you again, but he sees it in your face.
he hands you the bucket. but you don't take it.
you tilt your head and say, completely serious, "you pour it."
he should argue. he should tell you to do it yourself. he should tell you you're bossy. instead, without hesitation, he kneels and does exactly what you want.
and you lean closer—too close—watching him work, feeling weirdly fluttery and warm because jake listens to you in a way no one else does.
you don't know what it means at that age.
you just know it feels special.
later, when a group of older kids tries to take over your half-finished castle, you puff up, ready to argue—but jake steps in first.
"this is ours," he says firmly.
the kids back off and you stare at him like he's a superhero.
you don't understand your feelings, not then. but years later, lying in his bed with his arm around you, remembering the way nine-year-old jake defended your ugly sandcastle like it mattered?
you finally get it. it started there. it always started there.
back to present
you wake fully with a heavy breath and a heavier realization, you want to tell him. you want to admit it. you want to say something terrifyingly real like i think i've liked you since we were kids or i don't want last night to be a one-time thing or i want you.
and that's the problem.
because wanting is easy. saying it out loud is not.
so when jake shifts behind you, murmuring softly into your hair, "morning..." in that gravelly, post-sleep voice.
you panic. full feral panic.
you slip out of his arms, ignore his sleepy protest and practically flee the room.
you don't make eye contact during breakfast.
you don't sit near him. you don't let him touch you, even though he tries—a hand on your waist, a brush of his fingers, small things that make your breath hitch.
he notices. of course he notices. he doesn't push, though. he just watches you with that calm, frustrating, evolved-from-childhood patience.
"everything okay?" he asks at one point.
you say, "yep!" like an idiot and then walk away before you faint.
cowardice: 1
you: 0
you're on the couch later, pretending to scroll your phone, doing a terrible job of acting normal. jake is in the kitchen, on speakerphone, fixing something near the sink.
you're not listening. until you are.
because a girl's voice floats through the speaker—bright, flirty, familiar.
"so you're free this weekend?"
you freeze. jake hums. "yeah, probably."
the girl laughs. "good. i was hoping we could go out again."
again? AGAIN??
your vision goes sharp. hot. you sit up so fast your neck cracks.
jake notices the sound and glances over his shoulder—but you're already looking at him with an expression that could kill crops.
he mouths, 'what?' you don't answer.
the girl keeps talking. "my friends keep asking about you," she giggles. "they think you're cute."
you go still. silent. dangerously silent.
jake's eyes flick to your face and something about your expression makes him stand up straighter, makes his brow pull slightly together.
"uh—" he clears his throat. "can i call you back?"
"sure! text me later."
he hangs up and the kitchen goes too quiet. he wipes his hands on a towel and steps toward you slowly, cautiously, the way someone approaches a wild animal that might bite.
"hey," he says softly.
you don't respond. you just stare at him, jaw tight, heat ticking under your skin in a way that feels feral.
"that was... a friend," he offers.
you blink once. just once. but your eyes are sharp and possessive and nothing like the bratty irritation he's used to handling.
he stops walking. "what's going on?" he asks gently.
and that's when it hits him—the realization flickers across his face.
your posture. your eyes. the way you're holding your phone like you want to throw it at the wall.
you're jealous. not playful jealous. not the type of jealousy you showed at the park when mina, mona, mia whatever the fuck her name is was hitting on him. not petty jealous. real, territorial, chest-tightening jealous.
and jake has never seen you like that. his breath changes. his shoulders straighten. his whole energy shifts—calm, sure, controlled, like something in him clicks perfectly into place.
"come here," he says quietly.
you don't move. your throat is tight. your stomach is hot. everything in you is wound too tight to speak.
"come here," he repeats, firmer this time but still soft.
you finally stand. slow. tight. bristling with emotion you don't know how to name yet.
you walk toward him until you're only a foot away, eyes burning into his. he looks down at you—and there's something in his gaze you've never seen before.
and then—you can feel him watching you. that stupid half-smirk, that stupid relaxed posture like he didn't just back you against the counter a few days ago, hands on your waist, voice warm enough to melt your spine. like he didn't murmur things that have been replaying in your head nonstop.
and what makes it worse? he looks so unbothered. like he knows something you don't. he always does.
"you're awfully quiet," he says from the couch, leaning his head back like he's bored. "you only shut up when something's bothering you."
you glare at him. "nothing's bothering me."
"mm." his eyes drag lazily up your legs, slow enough to make you want to throw something at him. "so it's just your attitude that's loud today."
"jake."
"what?" he grins. "you get weird whenever someone gets too close to the truth. you always have."
you cross your arms, heat rushing to your cheeks. "don't start."
he sits up like he's been waiting for that.
"start what? pushing you?" a shrug. "you like when i do that."
you hate how your pulse jumps. you hate how he hears it. "you're so full of yourself."
"no," he says softly, "i just know you."
and the way he says it—warm, sure, familiar—makes your stomach twist in that embarrassing way you can never hide from him.
you turn away, but he laughs under his breath.
"see? there it is." he shuffles and steps in front of you, tilting his head. "that little flinch. the one you get when you're about to run your mouth but you don't know how to without admitting something."
"i don't have anything to admit," you snap—too fast, too sharp, too obvious. he raises a brow.
"okay," he murmurs, stepping closer, "then tell me why you've been avoiding looking at me since i had you pinned against that sofa with my cock deep inside of you."
you almost choke at his vulgarity.
"i— that— that was—"
"yeah," he says, eyes dropping to your mouth, "exactly."
you push his shoulder, out of pure panic. "shut up."
he laughs, catching your wrist midway, gentle but firm. "that's what i mean."
your breath stutters. "you've always been like this," he says, voice low. "bratty, loud, impossible. acting like you're the one in charge. you'd push me around, yell at me, boss me around—" his thumb brushes your pulse. "—and i loved every second of it."
your heart stops. you meet his eyes, stunned, and he smiles like he's been waiting years for that reaction.
"you liked that?" your voice cracks.
"of course i did." his tone warms, softens. "i loved that you treated me like i was yours without even realizing it."
your face burns and you whisper, "then why won't you let me do it anymore?" he steps in—close enough to feel his breath on your lips.
"because," he murmurs, "i finally realized something." your throat tightens. "what?" his eyes drop to your mouth, slow... deliberate.
"it's fun being pushed around by you," he says, "but it's even more fun watching you fall apart when i push back."
your knees go weak. he notices—of course he does—and his hand slides to steady your hip, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch.
"see?" he whispers. "this is why i don't mind waiting for you to confess." you swallow hard. "i'm not confessing."
"you already are."
"no i'm—"
"you are." he smirks. "and you'll say it any minute now." your eyes narrow. "you're impossible."
"mm. and you like me."
your face flames. "shut up." he leans in, lips brushing your cheek—not a kiss, but close enough to ruin you.
"say it," he murmurs. "c'mon. you've been holding it in for years." you shove him again—weakly this time. "god, jake, you're so—"
"annoying?" he offers.
"cocky."
"you like that too."
you groan in frustration. "fine! okay? i like you. i've liked you for a long time. happy now?"
his breath hitches—barely—but you feel it. then he smiles—slow, victorious, soft around the edges.
"very."
you try to look away but he catches your chin with two fingers. "hey," he whispers, "look at me."
you do and his voice drops—deeper, rougher. "you think i didn't know?" a slow shake of his head. "i've always known."
your pulse pounds. "and i didn't say anything," he admits, "because you... being like this? all flustered and mouthy and stubborn? it's the cutest thing in the world."
your knees actually wobble and his grip tightens.
"and now that i know you want me too..." he leans in, lips barely brushing yours—never quite touching. "...i'm gonna enjoy every second of this."
and then he kisses you. not careful. not patient. like he's been holding himself back for years and finally lets the dam break.
your back hits the counter, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head exactly the way he wants. he drinks in the little gasp you make, smirking against your mouth like he knew it'd happen.
you try to kiss him harder, try to take control, but he catches your wrists—pinning them lightly above your head, just enough pressure to make your stomach flip.
"see?" he murmurs against your lips. "told you. it's fun pushing you around." you whimper—quiet, involuntary. his lips curve. "there she is."
he kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, his mouth warm and sure and maddeningly steady. like he wants you to feel every second of it.
when he finally pulls back, your wrists are still caught in his hand, your chest rising and falling too fast.
he brushes his nose against yours, smiling softly—smug, but affectionate. "you can push me around later," he says, "but right now... let me have this."
you bite your lip, trying not to melt.
"jake?"
"yeah?"
"don't stop."
his smile is lethal. "wasn't planning to."
— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!
SUMMARY: Ever since your boyfriend Jake transformed from his nerdy high-school self into the university's star football player, you've become everything you thought you’d never be. Jealous. Anxious. Clingy. But Jake really doesn't mind your newfound possessiveness. He encourages it, even. So when he defies expectations again to star in a musical with a stunning costar, you spiral. Now, the “lowkey” relationship you once insisted on gets jeopardized under the weight of your own insecurities.
PAIRING: popular!jake x fem!reader
WORD COUNT: 26k+
GENRE: secret!relationship au, university!au, grumpy gf x sunshine bf (?), smut, angst, fluff, some toxic themes
WARNINGS: mdni, nsfw, porn with plot, tsundere!reader, lowkey crazy!reader, whipped!Jake, lowkey masochist!bf Jake, switch!Jake, emotional constipation, he want that cookie bad, jealousy, avoidancy, football = soccer, unsafe/unprotected sex, cursing, sweat, dacryphilia, storage closet sex, lots of biting/marking, 69, cumplay, jewelry play, begging, failed pull-out method, creampie, squirting, lmk if i missed anything
A/N: Not to pick a favorite child but… I loved writing this fic so much.
a year ago.
It’s the last year of high school, on a relatively normal walk back home. The same cracked sidewalks, the same autumn breeze, the same shy boy matching his steps beside you like he always did. Just like any other day.
Until he decided to ruin it.
“Do you wanna… like, date?” Jake asked suddenly, hands shoved deep into his uniform pants pockets, trying too hard to sound nonchalant. “You know… put a label on us. Or whatever.”
You remember almost running away out of pure instinct, soul escaping your body. But instead, you laughed. Because what the fuck was he on about?
You? Jake? Date?
The two of you were barely even supposed to be friends. He's a straight-A student teachers constantly compared you to, with those thick-rimmed black glasses glued to his face and unkempt bowl of hair. A striker on the football team who watched matches from the sidelines just as much as you did… and you weren't on the team.
And on the other hand, there’s you. Not-so-pleasant you. Considered a troublemaker because you always showed up late to class, talked back to ill-meaning adults, and picked fights with boys who catcalled too much. A rumor spread through school that your dad was a terrifying loan shark with gang ties. He’s a banker.
Assigned classroom cleaning duties was what brought you two together in the first place. It wasn’t fate. Nothing notable. You more or less picked him up on your shoulder and claimed him as a personal assistant. Someone who would fetch you water when you’re thirsty or give you answers to math problems when you were too lazy to solve them yourself.
So why in the world did he think you two should date?
“Who put you up to this?” you wheezed between bursts of cackling. “I’m gonna beat their ass.”
Jake scratched the back of his head, clearly not amused.
“I mean… You and me?” you continued, tears of laughter blurred your vision. “We would make the worst couple ever—”
“I don’t think so.”
You froze mid-step. Jake had slowed his strides down a long time ago, but now he was completely still. You turned to find him a few steps behind, face flushed and hands by his sides.
He’s holding something. A small, turquoise box. One that looked suspiciously like…
You felt like throwing up.
“I-I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he stammered. “What it’d be like if I were your boyfriend. If we… went on dates and stuff.”
Oh, hell no.
It’s like an immediate sense of panic overcame your body. And before your brain could process a single rational thought, you broke out into a sprint. Running down the street like a maniac. In hindsight, you probably should’ve known that you couldn’t outrun an athlete. But you weren’t really thinking, period.
You feel a tug on your waist. Jake had already caught up to you. He spun you around, like the male leads do in those stupid romcoms, and pulled you into him. His face was close. Too close. His glasses slipped halfway down his nose, and a bead of sweat clung to his temple. And it wasn’t from running.
It was from you.
He looked nervous. Ridiculously nervous.
The ring box pressed into your back, and you put your palms sternly against his chest, trying to create some distance between you two. It wasn’t helping.
“Jake,” you warned. “Let go of me or I scream.”
He shook his head, his arms only wrapped tighter around you. “Only if you promise you won’t run,” he replied, a sort of desperation laced in his voice. “And that you’ll listen to what I have to say.”
You bit your bottom lip, suddenly too aware of his intense gaze and how they searched yours through those big, fat lenses. You gave a small nod, not trusting your voice to come out right. The moment his grip loosened, you broke your agreement almost immediately. Your feet moved on their own, like fight-or-flight, as you tried to rush out of his arms. But he was one step ahead of you, grabbing your wrist to bring you back right where you were.
“Really?” he asked, exhausted. “That’s not gonna work a second time.”
You glared, but your eyes betrayed you. They slid down to the turquoise ring box, still in his hand. Jake's eyes flickered in the same direction, clearing his throat awkwardly.
“I can put it away if it’s freaking you out,” he muttered, slipping it back into his pocket. You almost let out a sigh of relief, but not when his large hand was still wrapped around your wrist.
“...Thank you,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on the ground. “Now make it quick.”
Jake's heart constricted. ‘The worst thing she could say is no!’ the internet had told him. This was a lot worse, actually!
“[Y/N],” he started sharply, and the sound of your name on his lips sent shivers down your spine. He released you, only to set both his hands on your shoulders, guiding your gaze up to meet his.
“I… I think—” He stopped, inhaling a deep breath. “No. I know. I… really… really… l-like you.”
His voice was as shaky as his hands, and for a brief second, almost every part of you wanted to knock him out with your backpack because your heart was beating too loud in your chest. It pissed you off. But you held back and just… stared.
Jake, ever the hopeless romantic, had fallen for you the moment you asked him to clean the entire classroom alone while you skipped duties to hang out with your friends. He said yes, only because he has a hard time saying no, especially to someone he found so pretty. But then you laughed and told him you were joking. Told him not to bend over backwards just to please other people. Spent time with him that day when usually, others paid him no attention.
He was enamored ever since.
But the silence between you two was suffocating, heavy enough to stall his breathing. Jake’s palms were growing damp against the fabric of your uniform blazer, and his heart felt like it was ready to fall to the floor. Maybe this was a bad time to do it. Or maybe the ring really freaked you out. Was it too big a gesture? The WikiHow tutorial he consulted had told him to bring a gift, after all.
“Hello?” Jake’s voice cut through your thoughts. He gave your shoulders a tiny shake, trying to pull you out of your entranced state.
“Hm? Sorry… say that again? I don’t think I heard you…”
Jake’s expression fell as he dropped his hands back to his sides in defeat.
“Okay,” he muttered, voice small. It wasn’t worth it. Everything went off script anyway. “Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”
He brushed past you, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep in his pockets again. He was fidgeting with the ring box, wishing he could throw it into the nearest bushes. God, he felt dumb. So fucking dumb.
Of course you’d say no! He was nobody. Just Jake. Just some guy you latched onto at the start of high school so you could poke fun at him for the next few years and make him pay for your boba addiction. And you, with your cool-ass friends with eyebrow slits and really underground music tastes. You’re way out of his league—
“Jake,” you called out, surprised at how loud your voice could get if you were desperate.
He turned around immediately, wearing such a pronounced pout even from a few meters away. Somehow, seeing his face again made your throat close up. He liked you. He really liked you.
“Say it again,” you demanded, arms crossed with doubt written all over your features. “I need to hear you say it one more time.”
You walked toward him until you stood close enough to see the nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth. Was this it? Would you actually give him a chance? Jake pressed his lips together and inhaled a deep breath to calm himself.
“I like you,” he said as softly as a whisper. “Would you… Be my girlfriend?”
You looked at the ground, feigning a calmness when your mind was racing with thoughts too insane to vocalize. When you finally looked up again, your heart betrayed you. It skipped a beat at the way his gaze fell on yours, wide and hopeful. It almost hurt. He was too bright, too cute.
(Okay, so what if you liked him back. He didn’t have to know that.)
“Sure,” you said, forcing your voice to sound casual. Jake froze.
Then his entire face lit up. Suddenly, he was grinning from ear to ear, jumping in place like a dog begging for a treat. “Really? Like really? You’ll go out with me?!”
He took your hands in his, tenderly. Like he wasn't entirely sure the moment was real. You felt the dampness of his palms first, then the tug of his fingers intertwining with yours, like he had already rehearsed this part of his confession a thousand times in his head. Your cheeks warmed.
‘What a weirdo,’ you thought to yourself. It’s not like he’d just won the lottery. What was he so happy about?
“Just don’t make it weird,” you grumbled. “Keep it on the down low.”
Jake’s smile faltered, brows knitting together so tightly you were sure it’d leave a wrinkle on his cute face.
“Like… you don’t want people to know?” he asked, voice quieter now. You nodded, confused by his confusion.
“Why would anyone need to know?” you asked genuinely. He frowned, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand, silently asking you to reconsider.
“Not even Sunghoon or Jay?”
You scoffed. “Especially Sunghoon and Jay.”
“Why not?” he groaned. You just shrugged.
“I don’t want our dynamic to change just ‘cause we’re dating,” you reassured him, letting go of his hands to ruffle his hair. Like you always do when you tease him. Like that would make it all better. “And all that coupley PDA stuff draws too much attention anyway.”
You’d spent years cultivating your intimidating persona, and in your mind, it was simple. No one else needed to know that you were vulnerable to something as cringe-inducing as dating. The other students would only use it against you. For what? Who knows.
But you could just imagine the teasing glances and whispers in the hallways. If Jake were really serious about dating you, surely he’d be understanding of your aversion towards embarrassment. Right?
He didn't seem entirely convinced. At all. “So… what would be the difference then? Between us now and before?”
You sighed and stepped past him.
“It's what we'd do in private, you know?” you muttered over your shoulder. “Kissing and all that…”
You didn’t see it, how Jake’s ears completely reddened or how his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His fingers twitched at his side, like he was already imagining what it’d be like to hold you properly. To touch you. To kiss you. Like real couples do.
“D-do you want to see the ring I got you?” he blurted out, catching up to you. “I swear it’s lowkey. It has a ‘J’ engraved inside the band. I got a matching one with your initial, too! No one would even notice if you wore it—”
And you feel your heart thunder in your chest, scaring you into another sudden sprint. “Get the hell away from me, weirdo!”
Your joined laughter echoed down the street as he chased after you. And even though he could catch up to you, he let you have your fun, staying just a little out of his reach.
–
Jake is very good at obeying orders, always has been. Especially after the first few times you glared at him for accidentally reaching for your hand in the cafeteria. He learned fast.
He tried his best not to show affection publicly, no matter how badly he wanted to wrap his blazer around your shivering frame when you would nap during class. He forced himself not to linger near you when you were loitering with your fellow delinquents by the school staircase, laughing at a joke he didn’t quite understand. He suppressed the urge to defend you from teachers who reprimanded you out in the hallways. Tried not to look behind at you for too long during football games he never played in anyway.
Once, someone asked him about his love life, and he instantly turned into a blushing, mumbling mess. And they laughed it off. It was Jake. No one thought twice. He was always like this. Awkward. Flustered.
The parasites he calls friends, Jay and Sunghoon, would probably go into cardiac arrest if they ever found out how he doted on you in private. How soft he was. How gentle.
You pretended not to notice. But ever the observer, Jake sees how your defenses weaken, ever so slightly, each day.
You let him put his arm around you in dark movie theaters instead of yanking it away. Let him stay for dinner with your parents when he comes over to help you study (because lord knows you need it). You stopped flinching when he called you ‘babe’ in private, sometimes responding without even questioning who he was speaking to. It was baby steps, but to Jake, it was everything.
Was it awkward? Yes. The way his glasses got in the way when he finally kissed you for the first time. Your noses bumped together. Too much tongue involved. It was a mess. Still life-changing, nevertheless.
He replays the memory often. The two of you on your bed, him holding your plushie hostage, you trying to rip it out of his arms. The way you fell on top of him with your lips accidentally crashing on his. He pretended like the make-out session that occurred immediately after didn't absolutely ruin him.
Jake edged past the warmer parts of you when no one was around to bear witness. And you both were so good at keeping secrets. No one would have believed it anyway. You’d made sure of that.
–
“You two are very strange,” Jay commented, maybe a couple of months into your secret relationship. Every senior was gearing up for graduation, choosing which universities to attend or which path to take in life.
And of course, Jay and Sunghoon found out that Jake and you would both be attending the same university. Not just any school. A top one. Yonsei.
Jake had earned a full-ride scholarship after finally getting off the damn bench and scoring four goals in a single match against the best high school team in the nation. Jake could've gone abroad to an Ivy League, but he chose not to. Because at Yonsei he could visit family more often, save a lot of money, and… well, keep you close, most of all.
And by the will of a higher being (Jake’s relentless tutoring), you somehow made it in as well.
“I thought you said you wanted to go straight into the workforce,” Jay questioned you. “Now you’re telling me you somehow, in some way, got into the same school as Jake? This fucking nerd?”
Sunghoon chimed in with a smile he always wore before teasing you. “I didn’t even think you could get into college, honestly.”
You wanted to hit him so bad, but you stopped yourself. Your resolution for the new school year was to turn over a new leaf. And that comes with not hitting annoying boys over the head with your fist. You could get arrested for that from now on... So instead, you used your words.
“You’re mad I got in, and you didn’t,” you snorted, sticking out your tongue as Jake snickered beside you. You sat close enough to feel the warmth of his shoulder, but far enough apart to keep Jay and Sunghoon from noticing.
“You guys have no faith in her,” Jake sighed earnestly. “She’s really smart when she applies herself. She just needed a push, that's all.”
You glared at him, not sure if his comment was entirely a compliment. Yes, he played a role in your achievements. No, he could not credit himself for the hard work you put in to get that high-ass score on the college entrance exam. Even your teachers apologized for doubting you.
“Should’ve put those hours of tutoring her into me instead,” Jay groaned. “Now you’re gonna be all alone with no friends.”
Jake’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? S-she’s my friend.”
He stumbled over the words, clearly thrown off by the ominous comment. You watched him, amused. God, he was so obvious.
Sunghoon just looked between you two, doubt etched all over his face. “Barely,” he scoffed. “Trust me, bro, you are getting left behind as soon as she finds another victim willing to pay for all her food.”
You can start your resolution next week. This time, you really smacked him, sharp on his bicep. Sunghoon yelped.
“Why are you always so aggressive?” he whined, rubbing the sore spot with his arm. You raised your hand threateningly again, but you stopped yourself short.
At the corner of your eye was Jake’s soured expression, a flash of worry obviously overcoming him. But you couldn’t comfort him. Not now. You wouldn’t hear the end of it from these two.
“You never know,” Jay chirped, faking thoughtfulness with a hand on his chin. “Jake might be too cool for us once school starts.”
Jay and Sunghoon exchanged a look and then burst into laughter.
“Ain’t gonna happen!” Sunghoon cackled, putting his whole gut into it. You joined in hesitantly, though your eyes kept drifting to your sullen boyfriend. And he wasn’t amused. Not at all.
Because he never found it funny, the idea of you leaving him behind.
–
“Do you think I’m weird?” Jake asked one evening, with you curled up beside him on your bed. Your knee draped over his stomach, his glasses pushed up just enough to rest comfortably against your pillow. On his late-night visits, your parents would come in to check if you two were truly studying as you claimed. After Jake gained their trust, they learned to leave the two of you alone (when they probably shouldn’t have).
Your eyes were shut tight to prepare yourself for an oncoming nap.
“Yes,” you said quickly, not even giving him time to process the response.
“Like… bad weird?” he asked after a second. He’d been thinking lately, after the conversation with his friends, how different the two of you really were.
How easy it was for you to stand up for yourself. Go against the grain. How you don’t automatically default to nods as he does or lose your train of thought mid-conversation. How you hated being touched by most people but would smack someone’s shoulder when you genuinely found something funny.
He wanted that, wanted to see the world the way you saw it. To move around without hesitation. Even when people called you a troublemaker. Even when teachers scolded you for wearing your uniform skirt shorter than the dress code. How was confidence so natural for you?
“Bad weird,” you teased, eyes still closed. “But it’s okay. I’m used to it by now.”
A small ache tugged at his heart. “You still like me though, right?”
You laughed. Jake loved to do this sometimes. Bait for reassurance. But you’re not that kind of fish.
“Who said I ever did?”
You said it jokingly, but a silence followed. You don’t quite catch it as you drift to sleep, the way Jake’s eyes dimmed.
“Oh,” he said disappointingly, staring at the ceiling.
Sometimes, he wondered if the reason you wanted your relationship to be private in the first place was because of him. If his inability to relate to your friends with secret tattoos and chains on their jeans made you embarrassed to be his girlfriend.
Because you got along well with his friends just fine, could tease Jay and Sunghoon like you’d known them your whole life. But it was so hard for him to do the same with yours. To look natural when he joined that one karaoke hangout, where they looked at him expectantly because you had bragged that he could sing well.
You said it so proudly too, and he wanted to prove himself to them. That he was worthy to be in their presence. And then his voice had to crack.
“Should we get your friend some water?” someone joked, and the whole group laughed. With his cheeks red with embarrassment, Jake sat back down next to you, silent for the rest of the night. It was lame of him. Even he knew that.
But even as he watched you defend him with all your heart, he couldn’t find himself to cheer up. Because in your world, he had always felt out of place.
–
And so Jake did what he’s known to do best. Research.
He avoided WikiHow tutorials on how to ask out a girl and headed straight to the most honest part of the internet: Reddit.
‘makeover tips for guys’
‘how to gain more confidence’
‘how to be attractive enough that your girlfriend isn’t ashamed of you (serious responses only pls)’
He frequented the self-help section of the school library, took notes on everything from fashion advice to fixing his posture. He practiced eye contact with himself through the mirror until they watered, joined Sunghoon in the gym, and copied his weirdly intense routine.
Jake kept this process all to himself, much like your relationship. He learned to be good at that. Keeping secrets.
He would reinvent himself for university. Become someone you’d be proud to show off because he didn’t want to feel like this anymore. Like he would fall behind. And knowing you… he wasn’t sure if you’d bother to look back and see if your loyal puppy was still there trailing behind you.
–
present.
So that’s how your relationship’s been going so far. While Jake was on this great journey to undergo metamorphosis, there were no real complaints on your side.
So why was it like this now?
Waiting for your very late boyfriend, who was making you miss the first minutes of the university’s freshman orientation ceremony. You almost text him a paragraph about how, usually, you're the unpunctual one in the relationship, but a stranger approaches you.
“BOO!”
You almost let out a scream when you notice who it is. Or who you think it is. Is it who you think it is?
Because instead of wild, unruly hair hiding his eyebrows and big black frames resting on his nose bridge, your boyfriend looked like someone else entirely. His hair was styled in a middle part, framing his handsome features perfectly. Instead of his usual oversized hoodie with holes on the sleeves masking his athletic body, he’s wearing a varsity jacket and a simple white shirt that clung way too well to his muscular frame. You could even see the faint outline of contact lenses in the whites of his eyes.
Your eyelashes flutter in confusion. You literally just saw him yesterday. When did he find the time to get a haircut and invest in a new closet?
Jake steps forward with a small, hopeful smile and holds out a box of egg tarts. Did it add to his already late ETA? Yes, but he always thinks about you and what you'd like to eat. Could you blame him for getting you a sweet treat?
But that wasn’t the part you were really focused on.
“Who are you and what did you do to Jake?” you ask, fists raised like a boxer. He chuckles nervously, bringing the pastry box back to his side.
“Do I look weird?” he asks quietly, shifting his feet. The vulnerability in his voice made you lower your hands instantly.
“So…” you start, eyes looking him up and down. “This is on purpose? Like, Sunghoon didn’t put you up to this? Or Jay?”
He pouts. His mom practically screamed, “So handsome!” when he showed her his new look over video call. So, why was your reaction like this?
“I just thought… new school year, new me! No?” he says, puffing up with pride.
You shake your head, moving your hand on instinct to ruffle his freshly styled hair. But he catches your wrist before you can touch him. You pull away, heart squeezing a bit, knowing that he dodged one of your rare bouts of affection. Or whatever you call it.
“It took me forever to get my hair to look like this,” he mutters, looking away. “Don’t want my hard work to go to waste.”
You click your tongue, trudging past him. Since when did he care about what his hair looked like? This was the same guy who showed up to graduation with a T-shirt and sneakers and got confused when the teachers asked him to go back home and change.
“Whatever,” you sigh. “No more standing around. We have to go—”
“Still not wearing the ring?” he asks, catching up to you. He noticed it earlier when he caught your arm.
When Jake gave it to you just a year before, he set no expectation for you to wear it. He really hadn’t… But it has been a year. Wasn’t it about time? He wears his everyday…
You suck in your teeth and glare at him. “Why would I?”
He flinches. And you start to feel guilt bubbling in your chest as his steps start slowing next to you.
“It’s just…” he mumbles. “It’s not like we’re in high school anymore. No one’s even gonna notice. And no one’s gonna care if we’re dating.”
You roll your eyes. You care. You still had a reputation to uphold. Maybe not as a troublemaker anymore. But still. Something about wearing your boyfriend’s ring for everyone to see and question seemed like your own personal hell. Who would want to be the center of attention as a university freshman?
“It’s the principle,” you say, not really knowing what you mean by it either. Because you are wearing it. Just not on your finger. It hangs around your neck, hidden underneath your blouse. But Jake didn’t have to know that.
You would rather die than give anyone the satisfaction of knowing you were smitten with this man. Soft, but only for him. Your biggest weakness.
“So are we always just gonna be a secret?” he sighs. You turn to face him, but you keep it pushing. It’s too much to explain right now. Or ever.
“Come on,” you insist. “We need to get to the orientation.”
–
Indeed, it wasn’t high school anymore. Because everywhere you turn, Jake’s name is being brought up.
“The hot guy on the football team—”
“He set the curve on the first exam and proved Professor Kim wrong on the board—”
“I saw him help a grandma cross the street. Soooo dreamy—”
It was enough to almost make you pull your hair out of your head. This was Jake they were talking about! The guy who was too shy to ask for no pickles in his damn burgers, who used to let Sunghoon copy off his homework and then rewrote his own just to make sure the teachers wouldn’t catch on. This was your Jake.
You take a moment to breathe.
You sound crazy. Deranged, even. It shouldn’t even matter. Jake was always good-looking! People just never noticed or took the time to appreciate him outside of his ability to decode the most difficult of physics equations.
“A couple of guys from the team think I’d look good with a sweatband,” he says, showing you a photo during a late-night walk. He’s shoving his phone screen to your face, and you pout at the sight. His hair pushed back, forehead glistening. A perfect view of his beautiful, dark eyes.
“Nah,” you say dismissively, trying to push down the fluttering in your heart. He tilts his head, staring at the photo once more.
“Really?” he mutters. “I thought it looked pretty good.”
“Do you really wanna look like Jay in junior year? He’s gonna tell you that you copied him.”
He gives a small sound of acknowledgement. You could tell he’s taking your comment seriously, like you said something truly eye-opening.
“You’re right,” he nods. “Then, how do you feel about a lip piercing?”
Your brows furrow at the thought of metal against his pouty lips. The way his teeth would tug on it. The effect he would have on all of his newfound admirers…
“Absolutely not!”
Yeah, you were losing it.
–
No, really, you might actually be going insane.
It was hard enough for you to create genuine friendships at Yonsei, full of stuck-up rich kids who only managed to get in through elite cram schools and expensive tutors. But after a few polite conversations, their masks fell to show their true intentions. You know now that you are being used as a shortcut to get on Jake’s radar.
Because why do people you’ve never met before suddenly feel comfortable enough to ask you to introduce them to him? Why do they request to follow you on Instagram only so they can find his account more easily? And what pisses you off most—the question they always ask, without fail: “Is he single?”
And you know there's a quick answer you can give. A very simple solution to your eye-twitching problem. Because every time someone high-fives him in the corridors or bats their eyelashes flirtatiously in his direction, you have the overwhelming urge to just pounce on him. To wrap your arms around his middle and never let him leave your sight.
But you can’t. Your pride is too big, your ego too fragile to admit that someone actually managed to slip past the cold exteriors of your heart. So instead, you're waiting impatiently for him to reply to your text.
He's not at practice. He's supposed to be on his way. So where the hell was he?
jake: sorry! study group went for a lil bit longer than I thought. everyone kept asking me for help haha. omw!
And then he sends a photo. It's a group selfie, with him in the middle. Three girls on his right and another two on his left, surrounding him like a piece of meat.
you: dont bother coming. im sick.
With envy, maybe. But you're perfectly healthy.
jake: im sorry babe :( you feeling okay? want me to get you anything from the store?
you: Nah.
You almost scream. There's so much you want to say and admit, but your fingers won’t type any of it. You really don't deserve him. He's so nice, and you're so… Fuck.
Why is it so hard to admit to your own boyfriend that you miss him?!
jake: ok :( I love you!
Your stomach flips.
Haha… You needed professional help. Really.
–
Jake was better at football than the bench in high school ever suggested. Senior hierarchy was everything at Yonsei. A starter as a freshman was practically unheard of before Jake. How he managed to level up from being a designated benchwarmer to being on the field at all times felt like whiplash.
Did he just have this in him this whole time?
I mean, you guess he looked kind of cool out there, all sweaty and serious-looking. Shouting call-outs to his team mid-game. Your legs squirm at the sight. He really needs to put on his damn glasses. (Though knowing you, that might only make things worse.)
You sit there, wearing the university colors of white and blue, holding onto a sign that says “Go Team!”
You would have made something with his name on it, but the thought alone sends shivers down your spine. You could not bear to give the stupid boys beside you the ammo of watching you scream Jake’s name and go crazy over his goals. So instead, you silently watch and admire as he steals the ball yet again.
Jay and Sunghoon, decked out in the rival school’s signature red for no reason whatsoever (they don’t even attend that university either), stood on either side of you with a level of passion you’ve never seen from them before.
“GET HIS ASS!” Jay screams. “Play the mental game! When Player 15 cries, he calls his mom first—”
Player 15 would happen to be Jake.
“The guy with ‘Sim’ in the back of his jersey loves to sing Celine Dion in the shower—”
You groan as heads turn, not enjoying the various glares and snide remarks from your surrounding schoolmates. You still haven't made any substantial friends yet at university. Being associated with these bozos would only make it that much harder. This would be the last time you sneak them into the student section.
“Can you two please sit down?” you mutter. “We’re ahead by like four goals. Psychological warfare is not enough for Jake to lose.”
Sunghoon drops back into his seat with a huff, cracking his neck.
“This won’t do,” he mutters. “Jake’s gonna surpass me in Instagram followers if he wins this.”
Jay chuckles on your left side, still standing and selfishly blocking the view of everyone behind him. “If he wins, you think he’ll invite us to their celebration party after?”
Your brows furrow. “What party?”
Jay finally sits down when the opposing team calls a time-out, one eyebrow raised at your confused expression. “Isn’t that like a thing every school does? First big game of the year, there’s bound to be something.”
Sunghoon nods in agreement. “Yeah, that’s like common knowledge.”
You almost pout before catching yourself. Jake never mentioned anything about a party.
So when the game ended and, of course, Yonsei won, the two boys could not help but ask.
“So there’s a party, right?”
“And you’re taking us?”
Jake looks between the two of them, forehead glistening and hair damp with sweat.
“What party?” he asks, and you smile gingerly. That’s right! You weren’t crazy. He would’ve told you if there was—
“You have to go to the party, Jakey!” a voice chirps from behind you.
You recognize her. The team manager of the football team. Short hair and a cute button nose. Very pretty. Your eyes cut between Jake and her. Wait.
Jakey? Who the hell calls him that?
Jay and Sunghoon give each other some shifty glances and step aside, letting the girl join the conversation. You feel this weird inclination to move closer to Jake, but you suppress the urge.
“Hm?” Jake finally replies, confused more than ever. “No one told me about a party.”
The girl giggles. What even was her name?
“Oh, Jakey! Since you’re a freshman, I’ll give you the rundown.”
She scooches in between you two, pushing you slightly to the side. The boys don’t seem to notice, and you have half your sense not to shove the girl right back.
“Whenever we win,” she starts, “the whole school goes to En Bar nearby and takes it over! Free drinks and everything. You’re our star player, so you definitely can’t miss it. Your friends are invited too, of course.”
She looks between Jay and Sunghoon, not even sparing you a glance.
Jake scratches the nape of his neck. “Sorry, I’m actually feeling pretty tired—”
“We’ll be there!” Jay and Sunghoon say instantly. You raise your eyebrow at them, and the two brush it off.
“We’ll make sure he comes,” Jay laughs, slapping Jake hard on the shoulder. Having gotten hit by the ball in that exact spot just an hour before, he winces.
“I’m not really—”
“Great!” the girl smiles, clapping her hands together. “I’ll see you all there then?”
Of course, her back is fully turned towards you. Dumb and dumber nod in unison, and as the girl walks off, they push at each other excitedly.
“First college party,” they cry out in joy.
“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You two are pathetic.”
Jake nods slowly in agreement. “Well… you guys have fun. I think I’m just gonna head back to my dorm and shower…”
“And get ready, right?” Sunghoon says dangerously, wagging a finger at him. “Because you are coming, right?”
Jake shivers under his friends’ threatening glares. But what really scares him is when his eyes find yours. You look pissed. Fuck. What did he do this time?
“I mean… I guess I could pop in…” Jake says reluctantly. He sneaks in another glance in your direction and sees that your frown grows even deeper. Was that the wrong thing to say?
“Babe?” Jake calls after you as you stride across campus, shivering in your t-shirt and mini skirt. “Why are you walking so fast?”
It’s dark now, save for the dim street lamps. You stop abruptly, and he almost bumps into you. When you turn, your jaw is already clenched.
“Am I crazy, or did that girl just completely ignore me?” you ask genuinely, voice at the seams of losing composure. Because what the fuck was her problem?
Jake laughs nervously. “Choa? I thought she seemed pretty friendly?”
Your expression sours. “Yeah, maybe a little too friendly,” you say under your breath. Jake catches it.
“Wait,” he says with a shit-eating grin, leaning in. “Babe… are you jealous? Hm?”
Your cheeks heat up, arms crossing like a toddler. “Fuck off.”
He laughs now, twisting you around and guiding you forward with an arm around your shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, babeeee…”
He notices how you don’t pull away from his touch, when normally you would hiss something like, “people are watching,” or something like that. Jake bites back an even bigger smile. You just let him hold you.
The walk to his dorm was peachy for him, save for the fact that his sweaty arm stank up your shirt.
You! Jealous. This has to be a dream. When you reach his room, shared with a sophomore named Heeseung who never seems to be around, you sit on Jake’s bed, still reeling from the earlier interaction.
“Am I overreacting?” you ask him, not at all bothered that he was taking his jersey off. You’re well past the stage of pretending his bare torso flusters you. “Like… did it not seem like she wanted you?”
Jake laughs, wiping his underarms with a nearby towel. “Me? Babe, no. That’s out of the question. She's like four years older than us—”
You roll your eyes. “So where the fuck did ‘Jakey’ come from?”
He shrugs, catching his reflection in the wall mirror hanging on his door. His muscles flex in a way that makes your eyes travel down his well-toned back…
You snap your gaze back to the wall. No. Focus. You’re supposed to be mad.
“New year, new nickname?” he offers, teasingly.
You throw a pillow at his head. Like the athlete he is, Jake dodges it. He turns to you, laughing, amused by how sulky and adorable you look on his bed. Brows furrowed in contemplation, tugging your legs close to your chest. Your plush thighs in your pretty little skirt that would have gotten you dress-coded back in high school with your knee-high socks and…
Fuck.
“It’s not like I care,” you mumble, unconvincingly.
Jake huffs out something that sounds like a chuckle, but his thoughts are elsewhere. His mind (and eyes) are on the edge of your skirt. He places a hand on your thigh and rubs it softly. To you, it felt like reassurance, and it was. But he was also incredibly horny.
“Babe,” his words drawl. “Look at me.”
Your eyes meet his for a split second before he plants a wet kiss on your cheek. “Hey—”
He chuckles as he plants another on your nose. Then your chin. And then your other cheek. And now you’re trying to push him away, but he holds your wrists to prevent you from stopping his incessant attacks.
“Jake—You stink—Freak!” You try to say as his lips find yours, while he’s giggling up a storm. So cute. You're so fucking cute.
His next kiss is deep, drawing out your breath sharply. Your back is on the bed now with Jake on top, his hands still wrapped around your wrists.
Jake’s lips move against yours, your eyes fluttering shut. His tongue prods and pushes in, his taste so sweet and heavy as you breathe in his weirdly intoxicating scent. Like fresh laundry doused in the salt of his sweat. You clench his biceps as he comes up from the kiss to catch some air.
He looks at you, face flushed and mouth parted.
“I’m hard,” he blurts out, and you smack him on his naked chest.
“What do you want me to do about that?” you mutter as you start to feel him press against your stomach. “Don’t you have a party to go to?”
He shakes his head, burying his face in your hair. He lets out a groan, grinding onto you just to feel any part of you against his football shorts. You let out a squeak, clenching at his toned muscles harder.
“You’re not coming with?” he asks, and you can hear the shakiness in his breath. You smirk, wrapping your legs around him and shifting up so that his tent could meet your core. Jake fit between you so snugly.
His head lifts to meet yours, pupils already so dilated.
“Why would I?” you say through hooded eyes, and you could visibly see him gulp. It almost makes you laugh. But instead, you tease him, moving your hips up to graze his bulge.
“I have time,” he groans quickly. “For this. Or whatever you want to do. Like I’m really down for any—”
You roll your eyes, gripping the back of his head to smash him back down to your lips. Your movements are messy, tongues clashing at a feverish pace. He’s still sore from earlier, but like hell he would let this opportunity go. Not when you looked this fucking good. And angry too. (For him, these things aren’t mutually exclusive...)
With trembling fingers, he lifts your shirt and almost moans at the sight of your bare skin. While he wants to thank you for saving him the trouble of not fiddling with a bra clasp, you pat yourself on the back for leaving your necklace at home.
Knowing how frisky Jake gets after the adrenaline of a good win runs through him, it was the right call. You don’t think you could handle Jake seeing you so jealous while having his ring resting on your chest. Yeah, you’d probably die right in front of him.
His hands grab your tits softly, massaging them between his fingers. Jake dips down, swallowing a nipple in his mouth as he watches you sigh out in pleasure.
He’s confident in one thing when it comes to you, and it was this right here. He could make your tough exterior melt just as long as you were under him. Or over him. He has no preference.
His tongue circles your bud, tugging with his teeth lightly.
“Jake—” When he hears you squeak, his dick twitches with anticipation. So pliant now. What happened to that dominance earlier? He’d like to see it come back…
He moves on to the other breast, licking and massaging so it doesn't feel too neglected. Jake loves your tits, could be buried between them for the rest of his life if you let him. But now isn't the time! He has a very mean and very jealous, but also very hot, girlfriend to please. And maybe some party to make it to, who knows.
Jake pulls his shorts down roughly, just enough so that he can take his dick out. Already so big, the bulbous tip weeps with desire for you. He’s palming himself, relishing in how your eyes shut tight, lips parted open as his wet, pink muscle traces circles over your sensitive skin.
He’s nipping the top of your breasts now, careful not to leave marks in visible areas. Jake knows how you get about that sort of thing.
His fingers drag your white, damp panties off your legs, but keeps your skirt on. And the knee-high socks for good measure. His hand meets your core, pushing down on your clit with a heavy pressure he knows you like.
You gasp, covering your eyes with your forearm. You’re so embarrassed. The noises you're making are unbecoming of you. All he does is laugh. Still so sensitive during sex after a whole year of dating. And he’s supposed to be the shy one.
His fingers drag slowly on your folds as he spreads your juices all over his digits. Jake might just cum in his pants with how soft your tits feel as he nestles his head in between them.
He pushes two fingers in right away, and you draw out a sharp breath. You almost hit him on the shoulder. He has no idea how big his hands are. How sometimes you would eye them whenever he helps you with homework. Veiny, like his cock.
He’s moving his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace, wet squelches echoing through the room.
“Ngh—Mmm—” you groan, arching your back to meet his movements. Impatient. You’re always so impatient.
“JAKE!” you cry out, when he rubs over a certain spot.
He looks up at you from his comfortable position between the valley of your chest, and with a teasing glint in his eyes, he says, “You mean Jakey?”
And it’s not an exaggeration in the least to say that you start seeing red. You grab his wrist, the pads of your fingers digging into his flesh. He stops his movements, looking at you with those puppy-dog eyes like he did something wrong. And he did. Something very. Very. Wrong.
“Sorry, I just wanted to tease—”
You pull his fingers out of you. With one swift movement, you grab him by his shoulders and push him down onto the bed. You’re hovering over him now, eyes dark.
Jake swallows nervously. Why’d you have to look so hot when provoked?
“Did I ruin the vibe or…”
“Shut up,” you growl, crashing your lips onto his. He tries to hold your waist to offer support, but you hold his wrists down onto the sheets. He could probably push you off very easily. But he doesn’t. Because he loves seeing you like this. Loves the urgency in your touch.
You want him! And you’re showing it! His heart is practically doing backflips in his chest.
Your tongue explores the inside of Jake’s mouth, licking the roof of it in a way that has him seeing stars. You’re so rough with it. Sucking on his, biting his lip, moving so desperately against him.
“Babe—” he tries to say in between your assaults on his mouth. But it comes out in a breathless whisper when he feels you grinding your slick pussy against him.
“I said,” you say through gritted teeth. “Shut. Up.”
He almost moans when his leaking tip hits your clit. Just the contact alone has the back of his head hitting the pillow roughly. But he forces himself to watch as you move against him as he offers no assistance. Your grip on his wrists moves to the sheets as you focus on grinding against his dick. Swiveling yourself on him back and forth. Rubbing and rubbing. But it’s not enough. He needs to be inside. Needs to feel you right now.
Your breath is on his neck now, riling yourself up at his stunt. Jakey? What grown woman calls someone that? Choa and her nice ass bob... Fuck her!
“Ngh—” he lets out as you suction an erogenous zone on his neck, sucking and biting him like a vampire. Your tongue lapping at his skin to soothe him from the brutal assaults of your teeth. You close your eyes to relish in his taste. So salty from sweat, but still so sweet. But you’re distracted now as Jake breaks free from your hold. He grips your ass with one hand, the other guiding his pulsing member to your slippery entrance.
“Wha—”
He’s looking at you with pleading eyes. “Can I, baby?” Jake begs, cheeks tinged pink. “Please?”
You bite back a smile. What a fucking loser.
You push down on him, just slightly, just enough for his bulbous tip to slip inside. His grip on your ass is now slack. He doesn't even want to fight back, really.
“Fuck—” Jake’s mouth parts open, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes when you come back up. No longer inside you, he groans.
“Whyyy,” he whines. “I said I’m sorry—”
He inhales a sharp breath when you engulf his tip again, tightening around him just a little harder.
“Do you like being called Jakey?” you question darkly. “Like it when other girls feel up on you?”
He shakes his head desperately. “No—Only you—” he says through pained groans.
And then you lift again, laughing at his pathetic form. “I don’t believe you.”
He’s practically writhing underneath you now, his mushroom tip pulsing against your folds. Your skirt hides it all from view, and he just wishes he could rip it off you. Give you a new one, much, much shorter, so he can see everything better.
But only if you let him.
“You’re literally torturing me,” he whimpers, hips jutting up messily. He keeps missing your entrance, the one he desperately needs to be buried in. “Need to feel you right now—”
“What’s it to me?” you ask meanly, your thumb prodding at his bottom lip. His tongue comes out to lick at the pad of your thumb, sucking it ever-so-slightly. You enjoy this view. Him underneath you. Pleading. Whining. Like he's starving.
“I’ll make you feel so good, baby,” Jake offers through the haziness of his lust. Not entirely conscious of how desperate he sounds. “You can use me however you want. I’ll literally do anything. Just please—”
And then you sink, so slowly that his eyes roll to the back of his head. The devil. His girlfriend is the devil.
“Babe—” You shut him up with another open-mouthed kiss. Messy, just how he likes it.
He grips his hands into yours as you suckle his tongue, intertwining your fingers together. You try not to wince as you sheath him fully, realizing now that you were overconfident in taking control before he could properly prep you.
Usually, sex was an hours-long ordeal with Jake. He likes to finger you, then eat you out, then repeat, until he can slip into your slick warmth with little issue. Sex is the only time you don’t deny him the pleasure of seeing you flustered over him. Over what he could do for you. What he could provide you if you let him tell everyone in the world that he’s yours.
Regardless, Jake will always be long and thick, and he still stretches you out so deliciously. Your mouths clash against each other, swallowing back both of your moans as saliva pools at the sides of his bruised lips.
Depraved. That’s all you could think of when Jake bottoms out inside you. He’s so sweaty now, the scent so musky that it drives you insane. Do other girls smell these pheromones when he’s around? Or is this just you and your hypersensitivity to everything that involves him?
You’re moving up and down now, with shallow thrusts that do little to satiate the flame in your stomach. You don’t do this enough—take control enough. Your knees are already weak, wobbling, as you grind down on him.
But you push through it as you continue to impale yourself on his cock, gummy walls clenching him tightly with each thrust. You want to get him off like this, even if your whole body is trembling above him.
And it’s not like Jake doesn’t notice. But like the little shit he is, he doesn’t feel like helping. Because he enjoys the feeling too much, of your breasts bouncing filthily against his chest. When you lift yourself from his lips so that you can focus on riding him, he finds it so endearing. How you put your hands on his abdomen to steady yourself, how you fuck yourself on his length. How much you struggle to take all of him in. Not sure what to do with yourself.
‘My poor baby,’ Jake thinks, chuckling at how tight your eyes shut just to feel him better.
“Need help?” he hums, his hand drawing circles on your hip. You shake your head, teeth gritted.
“N-no,” you try to muster out, but it’s unconvincing. Your movements are stuttering, moans slipping out of your mouth too easily. He smirks. His little pillow princess.
Jake, with his grip on your hips, pulls you down onto his cock. Hard. You gasp as his hips snap up with it.
“Ah—” you cry out, your nails now digging into his shoulder blades. He pounds into a spot that had you almost come undone at that very moment. How did he get so good at this?
Jake lifts you, all the way until his pink tip is the only thing in your wet pussy. Then, as harshly as he could, he pushes you down on him, his thickness grazing at your deepest parts. And he does this again and again until you collapse onto his chest from the roughness of his thrusts.
“I’m gonna—Ngh—Fuck—You—” you try to say through your moans, try to sound angry. But you love it. Love how tight he grabs your bum. Love the slight stretch of pain as he stuffs you full of him. Love that trickle of spit that falls out of his mouth as his back lifts off the bed to feel you better. Ugh, you hate him.
“JAKE—”
“Shhh, baby, ” he whispers, forcing your face into the crook of his neck. “Just take it.”
Jake plunges up into you, propelling your hips down with his harsh grip. He lifts a heavy hand, smacking your ass from behind as you try to match his timing. You scream. He does it again, massaging the tender spot. The pain mixes with the pleasure, as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You feel your climax building now as your lips find his neck again, sucking and biting. Marking him. Let everyone know that he’s yours. That you own him.
“Babe…” he whines, too lost in the suctioning of your tightness to really care. Because he’s close too. So fucking close.
Jake’s arms move up to your back, caging you into a bear-like embrace. His feet plant themselves on the bed, as his dick shoves into you with newfound energy. He’s going so fast, you could practically hear the speed. Feel it too. The wet squelches of his balls slapping against your ass. You move with him, trying to sync your rhythm to his.
“Mmm—Ahh—” your moans jumble into each other. Your legs are trembling, even more than they were before. A searing feeling within you continues to build and build. A single, full thrust from him has you biting into his neck brutally, stifling your moans as your orgasm crashes through you in waves.
“Shit—” he cries out, from both the pain of your teeth and the pleasure of your cunt's constricting grip. You grind down on him, whimpering into his skin, back arched to ease yourself through the sensitivity.
Jake’s dick twitches in you once, then twice. He pushes you off of him and onto the bed, harsher than he intended. But he doesn’t have a condom on, and... he likes the way you look in white.
He hovers over you now, his painfully hard length in his hand. He’s stroking himself with urgency, fist wrapped around himself with a panicked grip. He’s watching you intently as you splay out underneath him. So fucking pretty for him. Lips bruised and bitten so sensually. Legs opened with your juices glistening on the inside of your thighs. Maybe he should stuff his cock into your—
“Fuck—” he groans, mouth parting at the sight of his thick ropes of cum spurting out of him, coating your stomach and tits. He strokes slowly, pumping all that he’s worth onto your body. You welcome it, eyes drinking in his flushed demeanor.
“I love you,” Jake mutters as he comes down from his high. And you don’t say anything back, distracted as your fingers coat themselves on the sticky fluids on your skin. Such a mess, both of you.
You hear it then. Intense vibrations on his nightstand. Jake’s phone, very much neglected, is blowing up with texts and calls. Was it going off like that the whole time? Then his eyes go wide like saucers.
“Shit! The party—”
Your eyes narrow. Before he can pick it up, you grab the nape of his neck to pull him down into another sloppy kiss. Your legs wrap around Jake once more, smirking as you feel him melt into you with little resistance.
“What party?”
morning after.
“You’re a bitchhhh,” Sunghoon cries out, over a FaceTime call that Jake was forced to pick up at nine in the morning. You were already gone by then, running late to your morning lecture.
Heeseung, thankfully, still hadn’t returned to the dorm. Or else you wouldn’t have been able to stay over and let Jake devour you a few more times, but that’s besides the point. He starts humming happily to himself with the memories of last night still fresh in his mind.
“They wouldn’t even let me into the bar because I was wearing the wrong colors,” his friend continues to complain.
“I get it, I get it,” Jake replies, only half-listening. He’s fixing his outfit in the mirror, admiring how well a polo shirt fits him. It’s weird. He’s getting used to not looking like a dweeb all the time, just a few weeks into his big transformation, even with his glasses on right now.
“Yo, do you think these pants look better with a belt or nah?” he asks, not really sparing Sunghoon a glance. He adjusts his shirt’s collar slightly until—
“WHAT THE FUCK—”
Jake jumps, phone nearly dropping from the desk he sat it on.
“WHAT IS THAT?!”
“What? What?!” Jake snaps his head to look behind himself, like Sunghoon might have seen a ghost.
“Did you get eaten by a fucking lion?!” Sunghoon gawks. Jake’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red.
Damn, he forgot.
“W-what are you talking about?” he mutters unconvincingly, slowly coming out of frame. He strips the polo off in a panic, digging through his closet until he finds a turtleneck. It’s autumn anyway. This is fine, right?
“Our friendship is done,” Sunghoon deadpans at the camera. “You got fucking laid and didn’t tell me?! I mean, I understand Jay, he’d make it weird. BUT NOT EVEN ME?!”
Jake shakes his head, tugging the turtleneck on. He tries to roll up his sleeves to look more casual, but now he looks like Steve Jobs. Shit. He should put his contacts on.
“So who is it?!” Sunghoon presses. “Who’s the unlucky girl?”
When Jake doesn’t reply, Sunghoon gasps.
“Unlucky guy?!”
“Man, shut up!” Jake cries, snatching his phone off the desk and coming back into frame. “Please don’t tell Jay.”
–
“Okay, so he told Jay,” he blurts, shielding himself with his arm like you’re about to hit him. “Please don’t get mad at me.”
You almost asked why he was wearing a turtleneck in relatively warm weather when he tugged the collar down to show his neck. Absolutely purple and bruised. And yes. Maybe a dark, suppressed part of you jumped with glee. But the more rational part started cursing yourself out.
“I can’t believe you’d video call him the morning after,” you groan, massaging your temple with your fingers. “Ugh, I’m so stupid. What was I even thinking?!”
Jake gives you a sly smile. “I mean, I’m not complaining—”
You shoot him another icy stare, and he stops.
“W-well, it’s not like they know that it’s you! They probably think it’s someone else…”
You inhale a sharp breath at the thought. Was he gonna tell them the hickeys on his neck were from someone else? Who? Choa?
“Whatever,” you mutter, whipping around as your bag purposely smacked his bicep. You walk off, fists clenched, ignoring Jake’s calls out to you.
Fucking Choa.
–
A full week has passed since the disaster that was Sunghoon seeing Jake’s bruised neck. Your boyfriend only felt safe enough to see the two idiots once the marks faded, and even then, he was a little disappointed to wake up and see them all gone.
“So run it through with me again,” Jay requests, leaning over the boiling hot pot broth. The boys sit in a dimly lit restaurant with a stage in the back.
“Like, you were just walking back to your dorm and boom—you found a rando to hook up with out of nowhere?!” Jay questions, dropping tofu into the soup so aggressively that it splashes Jake’s wrist.
“Why are you making up fantasies in your head about my sex life?” Jake mutters, pushing his glasses up his face. He was too lazy to put his contacts on just to hang out with these two. “I plead the fifth.”
“Bro, I thought you were a virgin this whole time!” Sunghoon adds unhelpfully. “Excuse us for trying to be supportive.”
Jake rolls his eyes, struggling to grab an udon noodle with his chopsticks.
“Wait,” Jay says through the hot pot steam. “Weren’t you walking with [Y/N] that night?”
Jake gulps, throat bobbing as he fiddles with the noodle more to avoid suspicion.
“Right!” Sunghoon snaps his fingers, and for a second, Jake’s life flashes before his eyes. They know. They have to! Fuck, you’re gonna be so mad at him—
“Why don’t we just ask her who it was?”
Jake stares at them and breaks out into a nervous laugh. Never in his life was he happier to have a more idiotic set of childhood friends.
“Please do,” Jake smiles, wondering how you would weasel out of that conversation with them. “She knows her very well…”
A piercing sound of microphone feedback ricochets through the restaurant. The three cover their ears as everyone’s attention turns to the neglected stage.
“Who wants to sing?! It's open mic night!” the restaurant owner booms. When a deafening silence fills the air, Jay lifts Jake’s hand straight into the air without hesitation.
“This guy loves Celine Dion!” he cries out as Jake tries to yank his arm back down. He curses at his friend, but to no avail.
“Okay!” the owner shouts excitedly. “Come on right up, sir!”
Jay and Sunghoon practically drag Jake up the stage, laughing themselves all the way back to their seats in the far back of the restaurant. Jake stands frozen as dozens of strangers stare at him, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He takes off his glasses, shoving them in his pocket, and brushes his hair back. He couldn't bear to look at all these blank faces staring at him. Confidence. This is all about confidence.
When ‘My Heart Will Go On' starts echoing through the restaurant walls, Jake’s face flushes all the way red. This is exposure therapy; he tries to cope with himself. If he could do this, he could probably build up the courage to ask you about going public. So that his friends stop thinking he’s a loser. Maybe for you to stop thinking it, too.
He sucks in a deep breath. What’s the difference between this and a showerhead? Nothing. Absolutely nothing!
“Every night in my dreams, I see youuuu… I feel youuu…” he starts slowly, welcomed with a soft gasp from an audience member. Jay and Sunghoon’s laughter dies as Jake sings. Shit. He was actually doing it. And he sounded good, too. Like an angel. Was Jay crying?
Jake loses himself in the slow melody of the song, singing his heart out as he does in every postgame shower. ‘This one’s for you, babe,’ he thinks. Wherever you are…
When the song ends and Jake’s eyes open, he’s met with a standing ovation. At a damn hot pot restaurant. Jay and Sunghoon are cheering the loudest, holding their hearts like their once-nerdy best friend was their child at a talent show. The owner comes up to the stage, sniffling.
“Give it up for this random kid!”
As Jake makes his way back to the table, he holds his head up high. He couldn’t have imagined doing this a year before, let alone ordering food at a kiosk without stuttering. It’s like taking off his glasses gave him super powers.
“Excuse me—” Jake turns around. A girl with long flowing hair stops him.
“Are you Jake Sim? The freshman on the football team?” she asks, eyes bright. He nods. Does he know her?
“I’m Suji from the Dance department.” She bows slightly. “Your performance was incredible, by the way!”
He nods, giving a small “thanks,” before he turns back around.
“Actually!” She calls after him. He stops again. “I just wanted to ask if you were interested in auditioning to be the male lead of our upcoming musical! It’s about a football player who finds passion in singing and dancing. I just thought it would fit you so well!”
Jake turns back to face the stranger. He ponders deeply. A musical? Him? He’d never thought about it before, but what the hell! He guesses he’s the type to try new things now. The power of a good haircut, maybe.
“I’ll think about it,” he says with a polite smile.
Suji grins back. “Auditions start tomorrow. We’d love to have you.”
By the time Jake finds his way back to his seat, his friends are already geeking.
“You pulled another?!” Jay cries in anguish, biting his fist. “I should have gone up there. That should have been me! Damn it!”
“It’s not fair,” Sunghoon wails, leaning his head dramatically against the wall. “You had no play in high school. Like absolutely zero bitches—”
Jake snorts, scrounging for his glasses once more to slip them back on. “She was just asking me to audition for some musical.”
“I’m sure she was,” Jay says with a smirk. “I’m sure she’s staring straight at your back right now because she wants you in that musical soooo bad.”
Jake shifts in his chair uncomfortably, and sure enough, Suji is watching him. She shoots up her arm to wave. He looks back at his friends with a confused glance.
“Maybe they’re desperate?”
Sunghoon groans. “I’m gonna call [Y/N]. Let’s get her expertise on this.”
“Don’t!” Jake lunges, trying to grab Sunghoon’s phone as he takes it out of his pocket. But then flashes from that night start playing in his head. You above him. Riding him. Gripping his shoulders. Your lips on his neck, marking him until he whined and begged. All at the mere mention of Choa’s weird pet name for him. Jake clears his throat and sits back, not even trying to hide the shit-eating grin spreading across his face.
“...Yeah,” he says more casually. “Ask her.”
–
ma baby: Come over. Now.
Jake receives your text after Sunghoon’s impromptu call, bringing his hands together in a prayer position to the sky. Thank you to whatever higher being was watching over him.
When he reaches your residence hall, you’re waiting outside your door in pajamas, foot tapping impatiently against the carpet. You start glaring at his silhouette even before he comes into view.
“So,” you start slowly, “you just let anyone talk to you these days?”
Jake’s already giddy. Yes… Be angry with him… Let him in your dorm room and reprimand him, while you’re at it…
“Babeeee,” he teases, his arms already reaching for yours. You dodge him. “Are you mad at me?”
“No,” you reply flatly. “I’m just wondering when you started serenading restaurants and accepting invitations from random girls?”
“Just thought I could finally get some appreciation for my many talents,” he says teasingly, raising an eyebrow at you.
“Are you saying I don’t appreciate you?” you ask, not at all amused by his playful gaze. “I tell you all the time that you’re smart!”
He chuckles. “Everyone and your mom knows that by now, babe.”
You narrow your eyes. ‘He’s learning how to fight back,’ you think sourly.
“So you enjoyed that girl's appreciation, then?” you counter, knowing that you were riling yourself up by asking such a loaded question. Jake bites his lip to stifle a smile. There it is.
He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, pushing his glasses up. “I think I might actually consider auditioning!”
And this part is genuine. He’s always enjoyed singing. It could be a cool new experience, especially since he shied away from doing theater back in high school. Maybe now was his moment to shine... But when he notices how your expression darkens, he’s suddenly excited to audition for the musical for a whole different reason.
You look around the hallway, checking to see if anyone's coming by. Then you pull him by the collar and into your dorm room. The door shuts behind you two as you push him to sit on the bed. Jake looks up, eyes bright with pure anticipation as you climb onto his lap.
“What’s up, babe?” he asks, feigning ignorance. And you fall for it. Because your cute, nerdy boyfriend couldn’t possibly have ulterior motives… Right?
“You have class tomorrow?” you ask as you adjust yourself on him, legs encasing both sides of his thighs. His hands find your hips, pulling you closer.
“It depends,” he says, knowing full well he has an 8 a.m. physics lab. “Is your roommate coming back anytime soon?”
Oh yeah. Her.
“Not tonight,” you mutter, already peppering his neck with small kisses. “She’s visiting her parents.”
Jake smirks, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip as the wheels are already turning in his head. He fakes a cough.
“You know… I think the musical is actually a romantic comedy.”
You’re on your knees, carpet harshly grazing your skin.
“Fuck,” Jake groans, head thrown back as his hand clutches your hair. He’s pushing you down onto his cock, relishing in the way your cheeks hollow around him. How you take his whole length into your mouth without your usual snappy commentary. Look at you. Underneath him. So eager to please, but so in need of control. He bites his bottom lip at the view. It's addictive.
“Just like that,” Jake encourages, stroking your cheek so lovingly. Your tongue licks the underside of his thickness, careful not to have your teeth graze his sensitive skin. He’s so flushed above you, a darkness blooming in your heart. The sight of his glasses pushed so low on his nose bridge. So focused, so desperate for release.
‘My Jake,’ you think to yourself. ‘All mine.’
You bob your head up and down, your mouth plunging down to the base of his member with the help of his tight grasp on your hair.
“Y-yes,” he sighs, his hips coming up to meet your lips. Jake’s gaze never leaves yours, unable to tear his eyes from the tears forming in your eyes from just how much he fills you up. You always had something to say. Always rolling your eyes at him. Now, your eyes were rolling back for a different reason.
His mouth falls open. “F-fuck—”
You smirk as his hips start to lose rhythm. You remember the first time you gave him head. Just like this, knees on the floor of his room back home, with his parents watching TV downstairs. Glasses perched and foggy. He came within seconds. You were proud, just a little, that he was able to last this long now.
“B-babe?” he tries to cry out. “I’m close—”
You pull away from him with a pop of your lips, teasing the slit of his tip with the flat of your tongue. He groans in frustration, but his hands don’t push you down to take him in again.
“Already?” you say, eyes batting up at him. “Why should I give you the satisfaction?”
He whines, his grip on your hair tightening just a little.
“Please?” he asks, not really sure what you want from him. It’s not like he asked you to just fuck him with your mouth! That was all your doing. Okay, yes, maybe he did provoke you. But did that mean he didn’t deserve to orgasm?!
You’re pumping him slowly with your right hand, gripping tightly and stroking enough so that he’s still edging close to his climax. But not close enough to actually reach it.
“I thought I was supposed to be showing you appreciation,” you say pointedly. “Take my time with you and all that.”
He shakes his head ferociously, his hips snapping up into your fist.
“Babe—Please—I’m so—” he groans when he feels you slow your pace again.
“So what?” you ask, feigning naivety. You really are the devil.
He shakes his head. He can’t speak. Can’t even think. Just frustrated with how your lips aren’t wrapped around his fucking dick anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’ll do anything, baby. Please—Just stop teasing—Please—”
His sobs are music to your ears. Your wrist’s pace on him quickens, as your mouth engulfs his swollen tip. Your tongue circles the head, pumping him up and down with all your strength and might. Jake’s hands are clutching the sheets, hips pistoning up into your sticky fingers. He feels his load threatening to spill over.
“Fuck—Yes, baby—There—” He pulls your head back, hand encasing yours, pumping ferociously with you. Your mouth is wide open, tongue sticking out, eyes looking directly up at his. An invitation.
Spurts of his hot, white release coat your pink tongue. He unloads everything within him all over your features. Your cheeks. Your chin. Your cute ass nose. All covered in his milky cum. His mouth parts at the sight. So pretty. His girlfriend is so fucking pretty.
“I love you,” he whispers, as he wipes dribbles of his liquid off your chin with his thumb. “I love you so fucking much…”
You hum back in approval as he lifts you back up and onto his lap. Your face, still stained with his orgasm, comes up to kiss him. He grimaces slightly. You taste infinitely better than he does. He’s almost thankful you part ways with his lips so that you could pepper kisses down his neck.
And when you start sucking and nipping in the same way you did that game night, he smiles. His arms wrap around your waist as you suction his pulse point.
‘I could get used to this,’ Jake thinks.
The audition the next day went surprisingly easily. He truly was the only one trying out for the main role, while Suji was already pre-selected to play the female lead. Jake thinks it’s a bit unfair. What if other people wanted to audition too? But whatever. At least he got the part.
He finds you in between your lectures, holding out a boba for you in his hand. Jake’s not wearing a turtleneck this time, proudly wearing the battle scars of your teeth on his neck. No one’s brave enough to bring it up to him yet, to his dismay. Except you, who promptly smacks him in the arm for his shamelessness.
“You look like a pervert,” you grumble, still taking the drink from him.
He chuckles at your cute expression. You say that like it wasn’t your intention to have him show the bites off. To show that he is very much occupied with someone else. Not Choa. Or whoever this other girl was.
“I was wearing my jacket the whole day,” he reassures. “Just took it off when I came to see you.”
He flexes slightly. “You think I’ve bulked recently?”
You roll your eyes and ignore his obvious fish for compliments. “So how’d it go? The audition?”
He smiles. “You’re looking at the male lead of Singing Striker,” he says proudly, hand to chest. “And before you ask, the name was not my choice.”
You scoff at the cheesiness. “Congrats,” you say through small sips of your gifted drink. “Break a leg.”
“Babe… when you say it like that, I feel like you mean it the other way.”
You shake your head, speaking robotically. “So who’s the female lead? It’s a romcom, you said?”
“The girl,” he starts, snapping his fingers like he doesn’t already know who she is. “Suji. From the restaurant. The one who recruited me.”
Your eyes morph into a squint, like you’re glaring at him.
“...Interesting,” you say, willing yourself not to overreact. So Jake is hot now (always was). Girls just love to approach him with invitations to stuff. And he gets to act in a musical with someone that Jay described as “the baddest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.” Great! You love that, actually.
You bite down hard on the boba straw. “You know what… Are they casting for extras?"
And it's like a bad habit now. How you nip and scar his neck like you’re feeding off him every time a girl even so much looks in his direction. It’s easier than saying you’re jealous, easier than admitting that you have a sick sort of need to control who Jake interacts with.
You almost bent a metal spoon in the cafeteria when a girl asked for his number while you were sitting right in front of him. Granted, you did denounce being in a relationship with him pretty heavily the first few weeks at school. You knew she had every right to shoot her shot, but that didn't stop you from taking Jake right into a janitorial closet and making you eat him out as an apology.
“Fuck, baby,” he moans into the space between your thighs as your hands push him deeper into your wetness. “I've never even seen that girl in my life—”
You grit your teeth, angry that he even mentioned her. “Did I ask?” you growl through sharp breaths. “Just shut up.”
He smiles against your clit, sucking harshly to elicit more of your beautiful noises. He hums into you. Happy that you're mad at him. Happy that he gets to do dirty things with you without having to practically be on his knees and begging. Well, really, he already was.
His tongue laps at your folds, thrusting in and out to prolong his stay in between your thighs. Maybe he is teasing, but really, he’s just taking it all in. Your addictive noises. Your sweet taste. The feeling of his fingers digging into your ass just to hold you up. The way you clench around his tongue when he arches it inside, real deep. Yeah, he needs you bad.
Jake is lapping at you, your legs constricting around him even tighter when he finds his way back to your clit. When he tugs on it with his teeth, you jolt.
“Jake—” He does not care. He nips again, flattening his tongue to soothe the slight pinch. You arch your back into him, riding his face until you stop yourself. You look desperate. Pathetic even. But Jake groans.
“Keep going,” he huffs. “Use me, babe. Use me like I’m your fucking toy.”
You tsk, wondering where he learned to talk like that.
“Fucking pervert,” you mutter through harsh breaths. But your grip on him does tighten, and he whimpers at the feeling of you tugging on his locks.
“You like it when I'm like this, don't you?” You grit your teeth, pushing him in further. His nose is practically buried into your clit as he fucks his pink muscle into you at a merciless pace.
“Like when you get attention. Like when everyone fucking wants you.”
You're seething, practically riling yourself up. He tries to speak, but you clench around his tongue, trapping his voice. He hums into your folds instead, licking the roof of your warm hole as he finds the exact spot he's been searching for. You mewl.
“Fuck! T-there!”
You're grinding onto his face now, smothering him with your scent. Yes, he thinks to himself, please suffocate him. Tremors go through your body as you feel something intense build in the lower pit of your stomach. So close. So fucking close.
Jake’s grip on your ass loosens as he lets you do all the work. Your legs over his shoulder pump furiously into his face. Like, Jake is just a mere vessel for your climax. And he wouldn't have it any other way. He doesn't even nurse his own hard-on, one that's painfully stretching his jeans.
You're fucking his tongue, whining with each thrust, eyes starting to roll back, fingers almost pulling Jake’s hair from his scalp. Your hips stutter and then—
“Fuuuck…” Your orgasm pulses through you in ways that have you screaming silently. Your legs are trembling as his mouth vibrates with his hums against your core. Jake’s lapping up all your juices with an urgency.
Everything. He wants to taste everything. When you gently push him off from the oversensitivity, he resists at first. He holds you in place until he gets his fill, until tears are threatening to spill over. But your legs finally find the ground as he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes.
“I love you,” he whispers, out of breath.
‘Whore’ you want to say out loud, but you know that would only make him hornier. He’s weirdly into stuff like that. But you smile as you comb through his hair. He doesn’t have complaints about you messing it all up as long as you’re fucking him, huh?
Jake, still on his knees, looks up at you with a lick of his lips, savoring the remaining taste of you on it. You wish he could see how he looked. Flushed. Damp. Yours. You almost lift him up to kiss him when—Ding.
The loving gaze you two share is cut off by the sound of his phone. He finally gets up from his knees, checking the notification.
“Oh shit,” he mutters. “Suji says I missed the costume fitting. I think I need to head out soon—”
You smash your lips against his, interrupting his train of thought. You moan at the taste of yourself on his devious tongue. Jake smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. Maybe you could add a few more hickeys to his collection before he heads out... Just for good measure.
jake: let’s go to jay’s together?
For one of your weekly hangouts. The nights you try to avoid because they always end with you ignoring the pile of assignments you’ve already been putting off.
you: sure. wya rn?
You smack your forehead the second you realize how quickly you sent that text. You swear you weren’t waiting. It wasn’t like you were staring at the last message he sent five hours ago, ruminating over whether it was appropriate to tell him how much you missed him.
jake: meet me by the bleachers :D practice is ending soon.
The speed at which you change outfits is impressive, already heading to the damn field before you realize it. He’s there, dribbling with a couple of his teammates. You sit at the top of the stands, a bit out of his sight. He catches a glimpse of you anyway and waves. You shoot him a simple smile of acknowledgement that dampens almost immediately.
Because you also see Choa, handing him a water bottle. When Jake reaches for it, trying to avoid brushing her hand, she purposefully finds his fingers anyway. It’s enough for your stomach to sink.
Even though he’s just smiling politely. Even when it looks like their conversation lasts for two seconds. It doesn’t feel any less bad. Choa notices you staring, and she scoffs. “This is a closed practice—”
“She’s with me,” Jake corrects her immediately. “I told her to come. That’s okay, right?”
You lift an eyebrow, challenging her. Jake said it the nice way. If she had to hear you speak, you would have probably been escorted off the field by now. She coughs awkwardly and nods, instantly folding under Jake’s attention. Your boyfriend, by the way.
“O-of course,” she stammers. “Just make sure she doesn’t see the playbook.”
The guys continue playing, and you move down a few rows, keeping Choa in your line of sight. It’s like she feels the daggers you send her way because she whips around to glare at you.
“It’s kind of pathetic,” she starts. “How you cling onto him.” You squint at her, not sure if you heard her correctly. You turn around, too, to check if she really had the audacity to speak to a stranger like you in that way.
“You talking to me?” you ask, pointing at yourself mockingly. She clicks her tongue.
“Who else?” she bites back. “Do you even have a name, or do you usually just go by Jake’s guard dog?”
Your cheeks burn in anger. Oh, if you were in high school… She’d have been on the ground by now, makeup stained with turf and pebbles. But unfortunately, you’re trying to stick to your resolution. A reformed delinquent girl at a prestigious university—
“You mute too?” Choa adds in for good measure. You stand, and it’s like Jake’s Spidey senses tingle because he stops to watch, monitoring if he needs to step in.
“You know,” you say, voice cool and devoid of emotion, “you’ve got a lot to say for someone who has to talk like a baby to get a man’s attention.”
She snarls. “Excuse me?”
“Jake’s not gonna let you hit,” you mock, scanning her up and down with a disgusted face. You only say the next part just to piss her off. “You’re not really his type.”
“And you are?” She steps in closer. “You’re stuck in the fucking friendzone, acting like hot shit—”
Oh, if only she knew. The truth is sitting on your tongue, burning, begging to be spoken just so you can wipe that stupid smirk off her face. But you’re not that angry yet. Not enough to expose yourself.
“You seem like such a loser,” she continues, voice laced with malice. “Everyone already thinks you look like some stray puppy following Jake everywhere he goes. Don’t you have a life of your own? Any hobbies? Isn’t it sad showing up where you’re not wanted?”
Ouch. Jake was your puppy. He follows you around everywhere.
She digs right into that ugly little fear in the back of your mind. That you look as pitiful as you feel. That you truly were just biding your time in this dumb university until Jake showers you with attention. Is this what a relationship’s supposed to feel like? Like you’re waiting for him, all the damn time?
You inhale a deep breath. You’re better than this. Better than catfights over someone that’s already yours. A man who sleeps on your chest almost every night... But you’re not above being petty.
“And did he tell you all that,” you ask with fake sweetness, “or are your delusions that Jake’s gonna fuck you starting to get to your brain?”
She opens her mouth, but you cut her off. “I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you,” you continue, sarcasm dripping in your voice. “Make sure Jakey knows exactly the kind of girl you are.”
Choa bites the inside of her cheek. “Not like I said anything wrong.”
“Oh, right.” You pitch your voice up to that grating baby tone she uses with Jake. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate you calling me a ‘fucking loser,’ since you care so much about what he thinks.”
You could laugh at her suddenly hunched shoulders, but you just drop back down onto your seat, fake scrolling through your phone. “Don’t you have a team to manage?”
Choa whips her bob around, stomping back toward the group and desperately hoping that no one heard. But Jake is already staring. He doesn’t look mad. Just resigned.
“Choa?” he calls out, voice low and almost inaudible. He’s not smiling like usual.
“Yes?” she answers immediately, with that lilted tone that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You don’t hear the conversation that takes place, so curious as to why Choa’s expression suddenly drops.
“Don’t ever talk to her like that again,” he says, and the entire team stiffens around them.
“And next time,” he adds, walking past her, “Just mind your fucking business.”
–
You never, in all your years of living, thought you’d be sitting in an auditorium seat watching your boyfriend act like he was in love with another girl on stage. But here you are, leg bouncing and forearms itching from the irritation bubbling in your chest.
“But don't you get it?!” Jake rehearses, script in hand. His hands flail in fake exasperation. You cover your mouth to hide the wince forming on your lips. “How can I choose between the stage and football?!”
“You don't have to choose,” Suji steps in, acting much better than Jake, at least. “You can do both.”
Jake sighs, throwing his hands up in the air. He's facing her now.
She's pretty, you think. Really pretty. Probably one of the most gorgeous girls you've ever seen in your life. And Jake is staring right into her eyes. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks the same. You grit your teeth at the thought.
“But what would people think of me?” he sighs. Suji shakes her head, moving closer. Your brows knit. That's not part of the script.
“Who cares what other people think?” she says softly, resting her hand on his chest. Your expression darkens immediately. “If it feels like you're alone… Then I can be there to support you.”
Maybe Jake's character should care what other people think, especially if he’s gonna prioritize singing on stage with some pretty girl over his football career—
You slap your own cheek lightly. Relax.
“Cut,” the musical director calls out. “Great job, you two! After this is the dance scene. We can rehearse that tomorrow. I think that's all for the day.”
When the actors and stage crew finally funnel out, you watch Jake stay behind, chatting with his costars onstage. So radiant, smiling at them with his toothy grin and cracking jokes as he says goodbye. He never used to be like that. Used to be so painfully shy that Jay had to accept his academic awards for him in high school.
And yeah, you feel like shit when he's standing there, surrounded by people who have stars in their eyes when he talks, while you're grumpily waiting in a faraway seat with no real excuse to interrupt. You're just part of the stage crew, after all. Just one of the invisible people who move props in between scenes while Jake and Suji’s characters fall deeply in love with each other. Yuck.
But you’re not gonna do the usual thing of dragging him to the nearest secluded area and fucking his brains out. No—you’re better than that. You’re not a loser! You’d let this pass.
“Bye, I’ll catch up with you guys soon! My friend’s waiting for me.”
The word ‘friend’ digs deep into your heart. But that’s your own fault.
Jake walks toward you, and the quick smile he throws your way is cut short the moment he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He stops in front of you, forehead still glistening from the stage lights, eyes glued to the screen even as he talks.
“I have practice in like thirty minutes,” he sighs, scrolling through his calendar. “And then the crew wants to have, like, a group dinner later tonight.”
He cranes his neck to release some tension, finally looking up at you. “Damn. My character is lowkey right. It really is hard balancing the two.”
You roll your eyes and stand up. “The crew? Like Jay and Sunghoon?”
He shakes his head as he walks beside you, still a bit occupied with his phone. He's sending text messages to some massive group chat, text bubble after text bubble popping up.
“The main acting crew,” he says, emphasizing the second word. “I think they wanna run the lines at En Bar and get a couple of drinks.”
You almost stop in your tracks, but you force yourself to continue walking with him, arms crossed. Good for him, you think. And you mean it. He's adjusted so well to university life, while yours feels like it revolves around him.
What's Jake up to? Is his practice done? Who's he talking to? Is it Choa? Is it Suji? Is it every girl that makes eye contact with your newly socially adept boyfriend, who just so happens to have the most gorgeous face known to mankind?
You want to punch yourself real bad.
“Do you wanna come?” he asks when he notices you've fallen silent. He thinks it's cute when you're jealous. Sulking and pouty—when it’s obvious why you’re upset. Not when you're quiet. Not when you're creating distance between you two as he walks beside you.
“I can ask them if we can reserve more chairs—”
“It's fine!” you interrupt, but even you don’t convince yourself. “I have work to catch up on anyway.”
His lips part as if recalling something important, something he promised you.
“I'm so sorry, babe!” he gasps. “I totally forgot that you needed help studying for your exam tomorrow!”
You shrug your shoulders. You’re a cool girlfriend. Super chill. Not crazy at all.
“No, it's okay,” you say, chain necklace feeling heavy on your chest. “I'll just go to the tutoring center. You're busy, I get it.”
His eyes are still laced with concern. You sound so disconnected, so not yourself. Did he do something wrong?
“I can come over tomorrow?” he suggests, but it almost comes out as a plea. “We can watch the new movie you wanted—”
“My roommate’s gonna be home.”
“Okay…” he says, voice fading. “What about my dorm?”
You shake your head. “I'm not really up for a movie, I guess.”
Jake’s expression sours. It feels like you’re shoving sheets of metal down his throat. He can take you angry. Can handle you screaming, kicking, crying, and calling him names. He can’t take whatever this is.
“I can just cancel,” he says quickly. “I’ll come over tonight!”
And Choa’s voice resounds in your ear.
“You seem like a fucking loser.”
You bite your bottom lip and stare at his wavering gaze. You wonder if he pities you.
Has he noticed? How quickly you reply to his texts? How often you show up to his extracurricular activities? How you can’t seem to admit that you’re hurting, even when he’s right here in front of you? God, you hate this feeling.
“It’s okay,” you say, and it’s small like a whisper. “Need some alone time anyway.”
“Alright,” he breathes, relenting to whatever boundary you’ve set with him. He reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, but when you flinch, he retracts his hand instantly.
“I love you?” he tests.
You give him a small smile and nod, pushing past him. He moves like he wants to catch your hand and stop you. But as always, he lets you walk just a little too out of his reach.
Because you still don’t say it back.
–
So this is what it feels like to twiddle your thumbs and try not to scream as Jake misses yet another hangout... He’s busy with his daily practices and rehearsals. You get that. But it’s still physically torturous to sit through Jay and Sunghoon stoking the fires of your insecurities.
“He’s gotta be seeing someone,” Sunghoon sighs, reclining into the beanbag in Jay’s apartment. “Dude just abandons his friends without any pussy involved? There’s no way.”
You smash a throw pillow from the couch and into his face, and Jay throws another one for good measure.
“Why do you always think with your dick?” Jay mutters. “Just let Jake be. This is his moment. Not like he had much to work with in high school.”
Sunghoon sighs. “Yeah,” he mumbles, almost apologetic. “He was pretty lame back then.”
You never thought so. Maybe you joked about it, but you never really meant it. He was kind. A little shy. So eager to please and follow you around. And now that the roles were reversed, you weren’t sure how to feel anymore. Fuck. Why couldn’t you just be happy for him?
He has this amazing life outside of you now. Cool friends (not Jay and Sunghoon). Great prospects for the future. It’s like a bird leaving the nest. Your carefully cultivated nest.
You felt like a cloud raining over his head when you’re around him now. After Choa, you started to notice the whispers around campus a little more. How people avoid him when you’re around because you can’t carry empty conversations about upcoming exam scores the same way Jake can.
It’s just different. He is. And it feels like you are too. But not a good different. It’s the kind that makes you feel like this isn’t how you should be. That you aren’t who you want to be… Maybe Choa was right.
And now a pillow is thrown in your direction. You shoot daggers at Sunghoon with your glare.
“What?!” you yell. He pounces in fear.
“I asked,” he coughs. “Is college treating you okay? You making friends?”
You roll your eyes. “Are you my dad?”
Jay sighs. “We always talk about Jake. Sue us for wanting to know how you’re doing for once.”
The words linger. What are you doing?
–
You’re stewing in it, marinating in how lonely it feels to stand in a corner with the stage crew while Jake, Suji, and the rest of the main cast laugh amongst themselves. Whatever.
“Those two are so cute,” a girl beside you says. Gaeul. So sweet, so bubbly. So oblivious to how tightly you clench your teeth. “They’d be like the it couple on campus, no?”
When you look between Jake and his toothy grin and Suji with her sweet laugh, you can’t help the way your heart constricts. “Yeah,” you mutter in disgruntled agreement. “I guess.”
Jake sends you sneaking glances, ones you don’t notice despite your eyes lingering on him.
You haven't been the most responsive lately. He texts you a lot in between practices and rehearsals. Whenever he has the chance. He asks to come over. Asks you to come over. And you’ve turned him down almost every time.
You didn’t attend his last two games, you’re skipping rehearsals that you used to sit through for hours, and Jay knows where you're holed up more than he does. He’s worried about you. Worried that you’re avoiding him. Were you avoiding him?
“I heard you two are really good friends,” Gaeul asks you with sparkling eyes. “He seems like such a catch. How’d you not fall in love?”
You shrug. What answer are you supposed to give? It’s not like you were resistant to his charm either. “He went through a transformation recently,” you admit. “We were both kind of outcasts in high school.”
“Me too!” she says excitedly. “I bleached my hair, and everything before uni started. What about you? Were you two like super shy?”
You shake your head. “Jake was. I was just a bad student. Got in trouble a lot. My parents literally laughed when I told them I wanted to go here.”
And your heart thuds in your chest from a memory. Because Jake believed in you. Sat through hours of studying, teaching you the difference between derivatives and whatever the fuck linearization was, just for the chance to attend the same university. So he could spend time with you, so he could be with you. And now you barely see him.
“Really? I’m not surprised, though. You seem like such a chill girl. Like you don’t care what other people think of you.”
“Trust me. I’m far from it.” You catch Jake’s longing gaze again, but you turn away.
“Starting to think it was a mistake joining this thing,” you mumble, “with how often everyone forgets their lines.”
She laughs. “I like how straightforward you are,” she says with a wide smile. “Don’t really mince your words, do you?”
You smile too, in what feels like forever. It felt free to talk about something—anything—outside of him.
“Unfortunately, I don’t know how to hold back what I say.” Which is a lie. Because you hold back a lot. More than you let on.
“Alright!” the stage manager yells. “Let’s get in position for the final scene.”
The kiss scene. The one you’ve dreaded for so long. You and Gaeul move across the stage, setting up the mics and instruments in their right place. You move past Jake with your head down. He frowns. So you are avoiding him.
“Places, people!”
You watch, from the wings, as Jake pours his heart out into the lyrics. A song about breaking free from stereotypes and whatever other inspirational stuff this whole musical’s about. He’s good. Really good. He moves like a natural on stage, throwing Suji these soft, tender glances that look so painfully real. She glows under the lights, stars in her eyes. And as the song comes to an end, he picks her up to spin her.
Just like the script says. And you clutch your forearm at the sight.
“I feel like I can really be myself with you,” he says to her. “Like I don’t have to hide or pretend.”
Whatever.
“And you make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.”
The two stare at each other. A pause. Jake leans in. And so does she. Fuck.
You can’t do this. Can’t watch. You turn and walk out the back exit. Your chest is heavy, constricted with that ugly pang of envy.
Fuck this feeling. It hurt. Why did it have to hurt? You hate the tears that well up in your eyes, hate the shivering of your shoulders as you hug yourself in the parking lot of the stupid auditorium. You need to go back in. Save face. Show how little that kiss scene affected you because you’re supposed to be his friend in the eyes of everyone else.
You clutch your necklace through your shirt, fingers twisting the ring. Jake, who loves you. Who desperately wants your relationship to be public, to show you off. The same Jake on stage kissing another girl for a stupid musical you didn’t even want to be a part of.
He doesn’t deserve this. This monstrous version of you, who cares too much but gives too little. Overbearing to the point of suffocation.
So you walk back in, face steeled and tears wiped. He’s talking to the director with Suji, like nothing happened. Like all semblance of your self-esteem wasn’t just ruined a few minutes ago. But you need to stop. Because it isn't his fault. It isn't even Suji’s.
It’s yours. You hurt your own feelings.
Jake sees you and immediately lights up, calling your name as he jogs over. You don’t smile back.
“I have some time after rehearsals,” he says lovingly, his hand tugging your arm. “Wait for me?”
This would be the last time you would.
–
He tries to hold your hand on the walk back home to steady his heart rate. Opening night creeps closer and closer, and preparation alone won’t save him from the nerves. But when you pull away before his fingers can intertwine with yours, he flinches.
Maybe there are too many people around, Jake tells himself. You’re probably worried about being seen. And so he continues his merry yapping. He doesn’t notice the defeated glint in your eyes or the slow steps you take next to his. He’s still riding the high from rehearsal, still proud he finally made it through every line without stuttering or needing the script.
Maybe he’ll do well enough on opening night that you’ll let him kiss you afterward. Maybe you’ll walk toward him with flowers while he wraps you in his arms. He’d spin you around, brag to the whole world that you’re his girlfriend. Say it loud and proud in front of annoying ass Jay and Sunghoon, who got front row seats.
The thought pulls a grin onto Jake’s face, making him skip ahead a little. And you both keep walking toward the dorms. Just like any other day.
Until you ruin it.
“I’m dropping out of the stage crew,” you say, casually. He stops in his tracks. All semblance of a smile wipes from his face. The show is sold out. It’s too late to get you tickets.
“You won’t be able to watch,” he says, panic laced in his voice. You’re at a standstill, in the middle of campus, surrounded by trees and concrete. “You should’ve told me! I can see if I can pull some strings—”
He’s already taking his phone out to text someone. Probably the director. He doesn’t even ask why. Just goes straight to problem-solving. Your Jake. Too good. Too kind. Too forgiving.
It’s too much.
“I’m not coming to watch,” you say, harsher this time, stopping him from sending the message. Guilt washes over you instantly. Because he looks at you with his brows knit together, eyes wavering.
“I don’t understand.” You don’t want to come? You don’t want to support him?
Your mouth opens to say something. Anything. But your throat feels hoarse, shoulders too heavy. Shit. Don’t cry. You don’t cry in front of anyone.
“Jake,” you start, clenching your quivering hands open and closed. “I can’t do this anymore.”
His heart drops.
“Do what anymore?” he swallows, his mouth dry. “I’m confused—”
“I think we need to break up.”
Numb. Everything is numb.
“W-what?” Tears sting Jake’s eyes before he can blink them back. “Don’t… don’t say that.”
You shake your head. “Jake,” you whisper, careful not to get too close. Careful so you don’t make the mistake of taking back your words. “I don’t think we’re good for each other.”
He inches forward. You take a step back.
“Do you think that? That I’m not good enough—”
“No,” you interrupt. But he isn’t listening. And he doesn’t want to. Because this feels like a fucked up joke, a prank on him that’s been taken too far. Won’t you stop?
“Because if it’s something I did, I can change,” he begs. And your heart breaks a little at how desperately he searches for a hint of emotion in your face. But you don’t relent. You can be the bad guy. You always are.
“Please. We can talk this through.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, an unusual softness in your voice. “I don’t want to change my mind—”
“Why not?!” he asks, voice louder. The quiet that falls between you two is masked by the rustle of surrounding trees, orange and red leaves falling around you two. The cool, autumn air brushes your face. His eyes sting with redness.
“Why don’t you tell me anything?” His voice cracks. The aching in your heart makes you want to give in, to take it all back. But you aren’t like Jake. You can’t adjust, can’t welcome change so openly.
So as you look at him with his slicked back hair and sharp features, so different from a year ago, it feels like you've already lost something. The version of yourself who had more to give than hollow excuses and marks left on his skin.
You couldn’t admit to it even now. That you hate who you’ve become. “I’m telling you right now,” you gulp, bracing your own words. “That I want to break up.”
And the first semblance of tears falls down Jake’s cheeks as he lets out a bitter laugh. He doesn’t believe it. Can’t accept it. He won’t let this be the end.
“If it’s because of what Choa said—”
Your brows furrow. “You heard what she said?”
His hands are in his hair, tugging at it with frustration. You seem angry, but he doesn’t know why. He never does.
“I told her to mind her business,” he explains quickly. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. So if you’re breaking up with me just because she called you clingy or whatever…”
And he doesn’t know it, but the words trigger something in you. Something you’ve been pushing down over and over again. The feeling of seeming weak, of needing him. The need to monopolize. It sickens you.
“It matters what I think Jake!” you finally burst out. Frustration etched in your voice, shaky from the cold air and your wavering emotions. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“All I ever do now is wonder who you’re with, why you’re with them, and I just… I just feel so fucking lonely.”
He reaches for you, but you push him away. Your grievances spill out of you before you can hold them back.
“I’m paranoid of anyone who talks to you. I couldn’t even fucking watch you do that stupid kiss scene,” you continue.
“We didn’t even kiss!”
“That’s not the fucking point!” you scream, before you can stop yourself. You inhale sharply when he flinches. Calm down. This is not his fault. Why are you getting angry with him?
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, taking one more step back. He holds your wrist gently to keep you in place.
Jake stares at you with his lips parted, stunned. “So why can’t we just go public?” he pleads. “You wouldn’t have to feel this way if—”
“That’s not the issue either,” you scoff, but you can’t even convince yourself. Because isn’t this how it all started? Your unwillingness to be embarrassed, to seem vulnerable in front of others. Was this not the root of it all?
“Then what is?!” he cries, his grip on your wrist tightens, not to hurt you, but so that you don’t run. Because you’re good at that. Running.
“I get insecure too,” he reassures, but you look past him now. “But I tell you. I tell you when I’m hurt, I tell you when I’m down. Because I… I want you to understand me. I want to understand you too…”
He swallows hard before continuing. “So I don’t get why you would even bring up breaking up before we even try to solve the problem together—”
“Because I don’t want to solve it, Jake.”
His hold on you loosens instantly, arm dropping to his side. You feel colder as he steps back. Jake stares at you, hurt laced in his gaze. Like you stabbed him in the heart and twisted the knife in to marinate.
“...You're always like this,” he mutters under his breath. “Always saying hurtful things without thinking about how they make me feel.”
He feels his throat close up as he draws in some baited breaths. The tears come in more heavily, his cheeks damp as they roll down his pained face.
“So you see what I mean?” you say, your own tears threatening to spill over without you even realizing. A part of him instinctively wants to wipe them away, to pull you close and make it stop. But all he feels is anger. Because you’re the one breaking up with him. You’re the one choosing to end things. What right do you have to cry? What right do you have to look shattered when he's the one in pieces?
“I’m horrible to you,” you let out with pained laughter. He shakes his head immediately.
“No, you’re not—”
“I always pick fights—”
“You don’t—”
“I act like a fucking bitch—”
“Don’t call yourself that—”
"I feel like I’m insane when I’m around you,” you let out, before you can stop yourself.
“I don’t think that at all—”
“But I do, Jake,” you cry. “I hate how jealous I get when you’re surrounded by other people. I hate feeling like I’m holding you back. I hate what I’ve become since…”
And you can’t finish because his tears have stopped. He’s looking at you with a new kind of anguish. The kind that you don’t necessarily expect. The kind that feels like disgust.
“Since you started dating me?” he says like he correctly finished your statement. But that’s not what you're going to say. Never that.
“Since you didn’t need me anymore,” you whimper. “I’m not a good girlfriend, Jake. You’d be so much happier without me. Everyone would think it if they knew.”
He stands in front of you, hollow. If they knew. He has to laugh. That’s the problem. No one does. You don’t want them to. It’s clear now.
“Fine,” he says, and the steadiness of his voice makes you shudder. Good. This is what you wanted.
He’s staring at you, jaded like he had come to terms with it. He used to love how insistent you were about your point of view on things, how firmly you stood by your opinions. Used to envy it. But now, he detests it. That stubbornness.
“Whatever you want,” he sighs, hands slipping in his pockets. “Let’s break up. Pretend we never happened.”
Your mouth parts. “Excuse me?”
Jake scoffs, hands tightening into a fist. They’re trembling, but he won’t let you see. He can do what you do. Act like he’s okay. Act like you didn’t just kill him. He’s gotten very good at that. Acting.
“I’m being honest, Jake—”
“You don’t love me,” he cuts in. And your heart sinks. “That’s all this is. You never show it. You never say it. And I’m tired of hearing you pretend like you’re doing me a favor when I’m practically begging you not to leave.”
His voice cracks, but he continues. “So fine,” he mutters. “Have it your way. You won’t ever have to admit that we dated, start a clean slate without me. Just like you want.”
He presses his lips together and gives you one last look before he takes his hands out of his pockets. He’s fiddling with the ring. His ring. The ring that matches yours.
“You know,” he starts, voice trembling and bitter, “when it was the other way around… when I felt like shit about myself…. I never once thought of leaving you.”
His gaze is on the ground. “Because I always thought I was better with you than without. Because you made me want to be better.”
His voice falters. He looks at you now, sniffling.
“I tried to be better.”
And in one swift motion, Jake takes off the ring. “...But you didn’t even want me enough to stay.”
“Jake, no—”
But it’s too late. You see him throw it, the bushes rustling nearby. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He shoves his hands back in his pockets and walks past you to the direction of the dorms.
“There,” he says quietly behind you. “Like we never happened.”
He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even spare you a glance. It’s only when he’s fully out of sight that you dig through the orange and red pile of leaves, through dirt and branches. Tears stream down your face as you sob, searching for it like a mad woman. Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.
But you can’t find it. No matter how hard you try to find a silver glint in the greenery, there is nothing. And you clutch onto yours like it’s your lifeline. He threw it away. How could he throw it away?
And you wonder then if you made the biggest mistake in your life.
–
You thought the pit in your stomach would fade once you ripped the bandage, but the hole in your heart opened wider. And it’s only been a week.
Jake used to dodge questions about his love life, but now he admits to anyone with ears who walks by that he’s single. You have ears. And you walk by often. You’re not sure if he’s taunting you or if you just want him to be.
When your eyes meet his at the one lecture you still share, he’s the first to turn away. Jake used to sit beside you, shoulder brushing yours, tilting his laptop so you could keep up when the professor switched the slides too quickly. When you pass the football field, you try not to wince when you see Choa latch onto his arm like she belongs there. He used to always pull away.
The worst part is that these stolen glances are all you have of him. He’s blocked you on everything, which feels weird to think about. Jake, who’s always gentle, always forgiving, always offering second chances—even to people who don’t deserve it. Maybe this time you’re one of them.
You have no right to be upset. Not anymore.
And so you wrap yourself in your studies, check out new extracurriculars, even try to make new friends on campus who know nothing about Jake. You try to rebuild, try to go back in time before that fateful day in high school when you met him. But it’s been far too long.
He was a part of you, so deeply ingrained in your daily life. How could you act like you two never happened? Like your relationship never existed? How could he do it so well?
And then, you have to remind yourself. You'd already been doing that anyway.
–
“So what did he do?” Jay questions, tuning his guitar while Sunghoon and you sit in his living room. “Did he tell you he was done paying for your stuff or…”
“Shut up,” you grumble, already agitated enough as you scroll through Suji’s Instagram. You couldn’t even muster the energy to be jealous over a photo of Jake and her holding up peace signs next to each other. You just feel empty. “Nothing happened.”
Jay rolls his eyes. “He’s usually texting one of us to get you to answer his messages by now. It’s been crickets from him for the last two weeks.”
You swallow hard. He used to do that?
Jay’s gaze flickers toward you and sighs as he fiddles with his guitar strings. “You know, I really don’t get the two of you,” he mumbles. “Like you already rejected him in high school, you’re practically just stringing him along at this point—”
You sit up. “Excuse me?”
He shakes his head, dropping the guitar onto his lap. “Jake told us,” he starts hesitantly. “That you ran away when he tried to confess last year.”
‘But that’s not the full story,’ you want to scream out loud.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon laughs as if recalling a memory. “Dude! Remember in the summer when he started going to the gym with me?”
Jay cringes. “Yeah, and he told us it was because he’d be starting this season, but we knew it was just because you said you liked macho guys.”
You shake your head, ears warming at the thought. That’s insane.
“Oh, and that stupid ass ring,” Sunghoon adds, clutching his stomach. Your hand instinctively clutches at your necklace, fingers brushing the chain. “His mom beat the shit out of him when she found out how much he spent on it.”
You twiddle with the ring through your shirt. You should've taken it off by now. He'd already thrown his away. So what use was it leaving him if all you were going to do was hold on?
“Why would he do all that for me?” you mutter, not realizing that you said your thoughts out loud.
Jay shrugs. “Love makes you do stupid things.” And then he sighs. “Go easy on him, okay? You know how he is. Jake’s a sensitive boy. Especially when it comes to you.”
You look down at the ground, shame bubbling up in your chest. Jake loved you. He really did.
–
You smile from your view of the auditorium, even from the back, feeling like a speck of dust in the full house. A bouquet is in your hand as you nervously find your seat. Jake’s right. Everyone’s here to watch.
You could see Jay and Sunghoon’s tiny heads toward the front, pushing down the bitterness of not being able to sit as close as they were. It's not fair, you think. You had to buy a last minute ticket off a student who could no longer make it while they don’t even like musicals. You shake your head.
This isn’t about you. It’s Jake’s big night.
The lights dim. Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—steps onto the stage in a football jersey that looks almost exactly like his real-life one. The audience quiets at his entrance. As he delivers his cheesy opening monologue, you mouth the words with him. He’d practiced it so much in front of you. Pride wells up in your chest. He doesn’t stutter once.
Even when Suji joins him on stage, even as they sing together during their characters’ first meeting, you couldn’t help but smile.
The scenes blur as you lose yourself in the show. You watch the characters as they are and not as your ex and the girl you desperately wanted to hate. It was actually fun. The cheeky glances, the perfectly rehearsed dance scenes. The way the main character so seriously thought that singing was going to affect his football career. It made you laugh, made you tear up, made you suck in a deep breath when Jake leaned into her.
And because you’re still you, and because the wounds still feel fresh, you close your eyes. You don’t have to know if he really did it or not. It doesn’t matter. It’s his moment.
‘If only I felt like this the whole time,’ you thought to yourself. Then maybe you wouldn’t have to psych yourself up to find him afterward and pour your heart out to him. You shiver at the thought.
But Jay had said it: love makes you do stupid things.
And you do. Love him.
Enough to buy him flowers. Enough to admit that you’re done hiding. Enough to risk asking him to love you again—even if there’s a chance that he already moved on.
–
“Bro,” Jay starts, with tear-stained cheeks. “Don’t ever do that again. I can’t be crying like that in front of everybody.”
“Quit football,” Sunghoon says, patting Jake on the back with unusually red eyes. “Just focus on this musical shit. I swear you could make it big time.”
Jake chuckles, watching as the auditorium empties of guests. “Thanks, guys. I’m glad you two liked it.”
God, he wishes you were here. He could imagine exactly what you’d say when you walk up to him, with a small smile you try to suppress. Saying good job while ruffling his hair. Trying to act like you didn’t cry like everyone else. Jake smiles, quietly, at his own thoughts. It’s ridiculous, coming up with hypotheticals when you’d already made it clear. You don't want to be with him anymore.
“Jake.”
His heart instinctively skips a beat.
When he turns, the air in his lungs escapes him. You’re holding a bouquet so big it hides most of your frame, looking at him expectantly as you push it towards him. His eyes widen, unable to speak or even take the flowers from you. Is he dreaming?
“You did a good job,” you say, trying to sound as genuine as possible, wanting him to feel your sincerity. “You killed it up there.”
“Thanks,” he says shortly, finally taking the flowers from your hands. He can’t help but stare.
“I—” you try to push out, but Suji rushes to the stage to tap Jake on the shoulder.
“Hey.” She smiles up at him. “We're heading out soon for the celebration. Did you still want a ride with me?”
“Damn, even musicals got afterparties?” Sunghoon mutters to Jay, who attempts to shush him.
Jake returns a smile. “Yeah, just give me a second.”
And when he turns around to look at you, to finally hear what you have to say, your eyes are glossed over. Maybe you’re too late. Maybe this is idiotic after all. It's been weeks. There's no guarantee he'll even listen.
“I just wanted to say congratulations,” you mutter, though you've changed the words you meant to say entirely. It's supposed to be: ‘I’m so proud of you. Will you take me back? I’ll stop being so mean. We can tell everyone we’re in love—yes, even Jay and Sunghoon.’
But old habits die hard. And Suji—beautiful fucking Suji—crushed every ounce of confidence you had to come up to him in the first place.
“That's all,” you say, shooting him a small grin. It doesn't quite reach your eyes. He notices. Jake always does. Just never knows the reason why.
Before you can step back, he grabs your wrist, spinning you into his arms. Like the male leads do in those stupid romcoms.
“Don't,” he whispers. “Please… don't run away this time.”
You stare up at him, searching his gaze.
“Man, what the fuck is going on…” Jay whispers behind the two of you.
Sunghoon shrugs. “You think they finally…?”
Jake turns his head to give a disgruntled look to his two idiotic friends, and they shrink, making their way down the stage to finally give the two of you more privacy. He turns his attention back to you, wrist still in his hand, and gently moves it down to take your hands in both of his.
“I thought you didn't want to come,” he starts, licking his lips through the nerves. “Why are you here?”
Your cheeks heat up. Fuck. Where do you even start?
He draws circles with his thumb on the back of your palms. “Why?” he asks again, more confident this time.
It would be easy to act like your old self and push out a half-assed excuse. That you just want to be supportive, even after you’ve broken up. That you don’t miss him at all. But you're too tired to pretend like Jake's absence in your life didn’t feel worse than when you were with him.
“Because…” you start, with a shaky breath. “Because I wanted to talk to you.”
His brows furrow. “About what?”
And you feel your heart pumping in your chest, your palms slick with sweat. This is harder than you thought.
“I wanted to—” You swallow, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “I wanted to apologize. With the ring. The one you threw away.”
You see Jake's ears turn a bright shade of crimson. “Actually—”
“But I couldn’t find it,” you cut in. “No matter how hard I looked. I tried. I really, really…”
You start to choke up. Because fuck. He'd gotten you that ring to confess to you. Spent all his pocket money so that he could get something he knew you'd love. Had it engraved with the letter J. Your Jake. Your handsome, talented, smart, and wonderful Jake.
“...really want to get back together,” you finally let out, eyes shining underneath the stage lights as tears threaten to spill over. “I'm sorry, Jake.”
His breath hitches, hands releasing yours so suddenly. Your heart clenches. “You broke up with me,” he mutters.
You nod. “I-I thought I needed to. To find myself. But… you were right. I was just running away from my problems.”
You swallow hard, correcting yourself. “Our problems.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “So is this the part where you expect me to forgive you?”
Your heart clenches. “I'm sorry,” you say again softly.
“You still haven’t even given me a reason,” he scoffs. “So tell me why. Why do you want to get back together when—”
It’s like slow motion, what you do next. You cup Jake’s face right into your hands, crashing your lips onto his. In front of Sunghoon. In front of Jay. In front of the whole cast and crew who were packing up to leave. The same people he’s had to make excuses to about why he suddenly looked so distraught these past few weeks. You pull back, breathless.
“Because I love you,” you say, loud enough to elicit gasps from your watchers. You don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed anymore. Because the words fall naturally from your lips, like breathing. And it's like music to his ears.
“I fucking love you,” you repeat, hands still on his cheeks. His mouth parts open, breathless. He blinks. Once. Twice. And then he smiles, tears forming in his eyes. Jake swoops in, his lips finding yours again. His mouth moves against yours in tandem, slow and passionate. Your eyes flutter shut, soaking in the taste of him. You missed him so much.
When he pulls away, a shit-eating grin lights up his face. “Finally,” he whispers, cheeks flushed. “You finally said it back.”
You lightly swat his shoulder. You should've known he was trying to egg you on. Jake and all his damn questions.
“I love you too,” he mutters against your temple, squeezing you against him. “I love you so much.”
He peppers kisses all over your face, and you hear gagging on the sidelines.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” he mutters into your hair. “That shit fucking hurt.”
You smile sadly. “I promise—”
“YOU TWO WERE DATING?!” a familiar voice cries out. Of course. Nosy-ass Sunghoon. You resist the urge to drop kick him right then.
“I have a better question,” Jay pipes in. “Are we invited to this afterparty too or…”
Jake furrows his brows, turning to the idiotic duo. “What afterparty?”
Sunghoon and Jay bombard you with questions about your secret relationship, but mainly just start arguing about who was gonna call the taxi for the party they still desperately wanted to go to, since Suji had already left.
Running far away from the auditorium, Jake and you giggle as the two idiots try to chase after you. When you both reach his dorm, he doesn't waste one second after you close the door to lift you over his shoulder. You yelp as your feet lift off the ground, squeaking when your back hits the mattress with a soft bounce.
He sets the bouquet softly on his nightstand before hovering over your frame, and his knees sink into the mattress as he traps you underneath him. Jake strokes your cheek lovingly, his hand trailing down and down until it reaches the edge of your skirt. Still as short as ever. Thighs so pretty underneath the thin fabric.
“I missed you,” he sighs, hands trailing to the edges of your panties. He strokes your plush skin, sending shivers down your spine. You want to roll your eyes, deflect the warm stirring in your core as he scans your figure, eyes clouded with lust. But you’re supposed to be turning over a new leaf. Honesty and all that.
“Imissedyoutoo…” you mutter lowly, rushing through your words.
He moves closer, ear practically touching your lips. “Hm?”
You lose patience, baring your teeth and nipping his helix. He flinches, glaring at you with a playful scoff.
“You said you weren't gonna be mean anymore…” Jake sighs, tone dripping in mockery as he pouts. And you want to say something more, but Jake’s hands land on your ass, giving you a subtle squeeze.
You know what. You'll humor him. Just this once.
You bring your lips to the ear you just bit, kissing it lightly. Steady hands trail down the fake football jersey he adorns, and to the painful bulge of his shorts. Jake sucks in a deep breath. You chuckle, amused at how suddenly it hardens. So easy to arouse.
“Sorry,” you whisper, licking his outer shell. He shudders against your touch, your breath on his neck triggering goosebumps all across his arms. You squeeze him through the fabric, his head falling to your shoulder. “I’ll stop…”
“Don’t,” he lets out through ragged breaths, as you stroke him languidly. You chuckle. He’s so cute. Cheeks tinged with pink. It makes you want to do worse things to him...
“Lie down,” you command, and he gladly takes your place on the bed. Your knees encase him now, tugging his stupid jersey over his head. “Let me make it up to you…”
His muscles are so well-defined, glistening under the light of your dorm room. You trail kisses down his chest, licking down his abs. Salty. Just how you like him. Jake squirms underneath you as you tug his shorts down, his dick slapping your chin on the way up as it springs free. Jake almost cums from the sight, tip flushed red and pulsing with need. To feel you. To be so buried deep inside you that he can feel the head poking through your stomach.
When you move your head down to kiss his hardness, he digs his fingers into your shoulder. “No, baby,” he mutters. “Come up here, hm?”
You furrow your brows. Why the fuck was he trying to interrupt you during your apology?
“Wha—”
Jake cuts you short, manhandling your waist as his fingers press into your hips. He positions your knees on both sides of his head, turning you around. He pushes your mini skirt all the way up to scrunch around your midsection. Yes, you might have an amazing view of his throbbing cock, but now you can't see his beautiful fucked out face. He breathes in the scent of your panties with hooded eyes, nose grazing your clothed folds.
You pout. “I thought I was the one making it up to you—”
“You are,” he chuckles, interrupting you instantly. He pushes your ass down to his face with one hand, using the other to press your chest flush against his body. Your face inches closer to his member. Oh. That's what he's doing.
“Pervert…” you mumble, coyly reaching out for him. So thick and large that you need to use both hands to engulf him, pre-cum dribbling out of him as if on command.
“I am,” he mumbles, pulling your panties low enough to give him access to your cunt, lying just below your knees. He licks a stripe up your drenched folds all the way to your puckered hole. You wither against him. “Call me whatever you want, baby. Just sit on my face when you do it.”
Your hips land down on him softly as your thumb spreads his liquid down his engorged length. This position was new to you, meaning it was also new to him. But Jake moves expertly like the quick learner he is. He plants open-mouthed kisses on your folds, pink muscle lapping at your labia like a man starved. Your tongue sticks out to offer kitten licks over his tip.
But Jake hasn’t had you in weeks. And he knows what he wants. And it’s not the weak jutting you do against his face, or the shallow sucking you offer his engorged cock. No. He wants all of you. The sick part of you that would degrade him, that would rile yourself up like all those nights before. And he doesn’t want to have to mention a stupid nickname some stupid girl said to bring it out of you.
There were more healthy methods, he’s sure, to guide you right where he wants to be. And so Jake’s hands grip your ass, pushing you down on him harder. Forcing your hips to grind back and forth against his face at the rabid pace he sets, nose sticking in between your folds slightly as his tongue laps at your clit. Like this. Dirty. Raunchy. Aggressive. He fucking loves it.
“Ngh—” you cry out, propelling him to push himself deeper in your mouth. You take a deep breath so his cock can slide through more easily, taking as much of him as you can to drown out your warbled moans. Your tongue finds the underside of his thickness, tapping him as you start to gag. And when Jake reaches the back of your throat, he gives you a second to calm yourself before he bucks his hips up into you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, remembering to hollow your cheeks as he shoots forward. But it’s hard to stay focused when his wet, pink muscle pushes into you.
“Fuck—Taste so good, baby—” The squelching sounds that mix with Jake’s moans against your bundle of nerves are obscene, sucking and flicking his tongue with a fervor you try to match now. Your tongue curls up to meet the underside of his girth, bobbing your head up and down with ferocity. Anything to please him.
“Mmmm—” you moan around him. Your mouth feels so fucking good, but your pussy on his lips was like actual heaven. He could eat you out all day. As a reward. As a punishment. Anything.
And he breathes your scent in again, groaning once more. He pushes his nose closer to your folds, the tip of it engulfed in your wetness. You almost gag around his dick at the intrusion, saliva pooling at the base of his cock. You wrap your thighs around him tighter, bouncing on his face like he was nothing but a sex toy. Erratic. Desperate. Yes. Just like that. Fuck him like you never want him out of your sights again.
He knows you're close, knows by the way you start scratching at his thighs like an agitated pet. But, no. Jake needs it. Needs you to cum all over his face. Make a mess on him. Of him. His tongue plunges into you now, index finger coming up to play with your clit.
His cock pops out of your mouth with little resistance as your body goes slack with pleasure. You're just licking at his dick with a loose hand at this point, eyes rolling back from ecstasy.
You whimper against the slickness of his sloppy mouth, drool continuing to fall out of the corners of your mouth through your slurred speech. “Ngh—No—Let me—Fuck—Jakeeee—” you try to say, but it all sounds nonsensical.
Jake understands, more than you know, as his heart constricts so deliciously. 'My poor baby,' he thinks. Just wants to make him feel good. Wants to make it up to him so bad. But you don’t know that the only thing that could make him happy right now is for you to choke him out with your sopping cunt.
“Mmm—Ngh—Ahh—” He’s too good down there. Too fucking messy. Why does he do this? Why does he love making you sound like a fucking animal? Your toes curl, the grip around his shaft tightening as your back arches even more into him.
You feel it. But it's different from usual. It feels like too much. Like an impending explosion. You claw at his thigh even more, all of a sudden panicked. “Jake—Let go—Jake—”
When he shakes his head, his tongue swipes your clit left and right. His grip on your ass pushes his nose more deeply into your soaked folds. You whimper, cheek nuzzling against his length in desperation.
“I'm serious….” you whine as you try to pull away. This is weird. You feel weird. You try to run away from it, that foreign feeling. But it's no use. Jake's too smart, too quick. He presses you down on him harder, hugging your waist, suctioning your clit, cheeks flushed from how quickly his mouth works against you.
“JAKE!” you scream as your thighs clamp around him, hips shuddering uncontrollably. Like a hose turning on for the first time, a spray of your juices lands onto Jake's chin and neck, coating him in your dampness. He welcomes it, tongue sticking out to taste as much of it as he can.
You cry above him, tears landing on his dick that still rubs against your heated face. He laps up every last remaining bit of your climax desperately, like they’d dry up too quickly if he didn’t. You whine, grinding yourself on him to steady your heart rate. When he’s fully satisfied, Jake frees you from his clutches, lying you down on the bed so your head can finally rest on a pillow.
His cock is still incredibly stiff. And you're still in tears.
“You… fucking… dick,” you say in between sniffles, not believing you could ever climax that hard in your life. “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?”
And he knows what’s going through your head. Because old habits do, in fact, die hard. And now you probably think he was out fucking anyone and everyone during the weeks-long hell that was your breakup. Jake chuckles, pulling your skirt down. He bites his bottom lip at the sight of your folds. Glistening with his saliva and your juices. He fists himself tightly.
“Still so jealous, baby?” He smirks. God, please let him indulge in his pouty girlfriend at least once more.
“No, but be honest,” you mumble. “Did you—”
“Fuck other girls?” he finishes your sentence, scoffing playfully at the ridiculousness. Your eyes narrow.
“Well, did you?”
Jake spent almost every day crying, unblocking and blocking your number over and over again just to see if you'd notice. But he can tell you all that later. Because right now, you're giving him a death glare that only makes his cock throb harder.
“No, babe,” he mutters, swiping his wet tip against your even more drenched folds. So puffy after all he's put it through. He peppers kisses on your shoulder. “You know I’d never.”
And you do. He’s only ever been with you. Will only ever be with you. You know that. But still. The wheels are already turning in your head. You know… you're usually the one worried about these things. Doesn't he deserve a taste of his own medicine?
“Imagine if I did—”
And he slams his dick into your plushness, eliciting a scream from you. He doesn’t even let you complete your evil plan.
“FUCK—”
“Don't finish that sentence,” Jake glowers, brows furrowed. You lick your lips deliciously. "That's not funny."
“See how it feels?” you whimper, as he delivers another harsh thrust, your shirt riding up your stomach from the impact. You arch your back off of the bed as Jake groans into your neck, licking a stripe up your jaw.
“All this just ‘cause I made you squirt,” he mumbles angrily, wincing as your pulsing walls squeeze his length into a tighter grip. “So fucking immature.”
You chuckle evilly. “Immature like who? Sungho—”
His childhood friend’s name doesn't even leave your lips when Jake clamps his teeth into your neck. Hard. “OW—”
A taste of your own medicine. But his skin grazes something then—a thin chain that he's seen before but never questioned. You never wore it when you fucked. A circular hardness underneath your shirt that weirdly looks like…
He tugs on it before you can protest, and there on the chain is a ring. With J engraved on the inside. His gaze softens. And you become a blumbering mess underneath him, shy with embarrassment. “I can—Explain—Just—”
Jake pulls out enough so his tip is the only thing suctioned in your folds before pistoning into you harshly once more. You whimper.
“Shut up and let me fuck you,” he mutters into your ear, before engulfing your lips in his. With a newfound energy, Jake pounds into you with urgency, pace brutal against your already sore pussy. His hand comes up to grab your tits, spilling over your bra from the impact of his movements. So rough. So mean. Damn, you were rubbing off on him.
You have this aching desire to flip him over and ride him back into submission, but the slapping of his hips into yours devolves your thoughts into unintelligible moans.
“Ngah—Fuck—Oh my god—”
Jake’s mouth leaves yours as his eyes travel downwards to the piece of jewelry. He likes how it looks on you. Sitting so nice between your bouncing breasts. Maybe, he’d buy you a necklace next. A pretty Tiffany necklace to go with the pretty Tiffany ring on his pretty girlfriend’s pretty finger. Fuck. You’re so fucking pretty.
He brings the ring up to his mouth, biting down on the metal, before he lowers himself onto your lips once more. With the ring in between his teeth, he grabs at your jaw to open for him. Jake transfers it over to your parted lips as you catch the ring with your tongue, coated in his saliva. He dives down into you, your tongues battling as the coolness of the metal moves between your mouths. His thrusts are slower now, but you moan just the same.
Drool drips down both of your lips, the ring getting passed between you two in the movements of your open-mouthed kisses. He lets up, the necklace falling wetly onto the pillow. He admires the red marks the chain leaves on your neck. Maybe a Tiffany choker instead?
And his thrusts deepen, until your cervix repeatedly kisses his mushroom tip. He wished you could see your expression right now. So needy. So perfect.
“Jake—Baby—” When the pet name leaves your lips, Jake lets out a deep, guttural groan. Like he'd been waiting his whole life for you to say it.
“Yes, baby?” He repeats after you, sweat beading down his forehead as he continues to split you open, pumping into your tightness with urgency. His hands are pushing your thighs open now, admiring how the ring sits sloppily on your neck as he jackhammers into you.
“I love you,” you moan out, your hands reaching for his face. “I love you so much.”
He looks at you with glassy eyes, soft and tender. He kissed you again, sweeter this time.
“I love you too.”
And he spreads you apart further, fucking you into the squeaking mattress with his pulsing dick, so big that it fills you everywhere you need him. He pushes in and out, evoking a new set of tears to stain your cheeks. “Baby,” you cry out. “I'm almost—”
“Wait for me,” he pleads, elbows falling to the sides of your head. He buries himself in the crook of your neck. “Can you, baby? Please—”
You try to nod as he's ramming into you as deep as he can go. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, about how good you are for him, how pretty, how perfect, how he loves the marks you leave him, how he wants you to control him, how you’re the only one he’d ever be with in any lifetime ever.
“Ngh—” His hips snap forward with everything he can give. He feels it now, too. That coil that threatens to spill inside you. But he can't. No condom. No birth control.
And when your hips rise, clenching around him, your orgasm hits you like a truck. You mewl out in pleasure, crying as Jake tries to pull out of you. But you suction him so well, too well, that it's a little too late. He twitches deep inside of your pussy. And his mouth falls open as the first spurts of cum spill, but nothing escapes his lips.
“Fuck, baby,” he whines. He needs to pull out. But your cunt feels so damn good… So warm… So wet… And so much of himself has already spilled inside you… It's okay, right? To fill you up with all of it? But he has self-control. He swears it.
“No…” You whimper when he actually pulls away, his seed dribbling everywhere.
“...’m sorry, babe,” he groans, as his hand wraps around himself, stroking languidly. “I’m so sorry.”
Jake’s cheeks are flushed as he pumps the remainder of his climax on your drenched folds, painting your clit a milky white. He sees the first of his juices push out of you, his fluids like cream all over your puffiness.
“Fuck,” he moans, his fingers coming up to spread it all across your folds. But when you look down, all you feel is empty. All you feel is the need to push down against his fingers and take him all over again.
Jake's eyes widen as he lets out a shaky breath. You look so desperate. For what? He's not sure. But he can't deny his baby anything. He can't deny himself either. He wants to see it just once. Seems like you do too.
“Can I?” he asks in a low whisper, fingers spreading your folds apart to watch more of his load seep out of you. And you nod, shyly, relieved you didn’t have to beg for it yourself, already going through too much exposure therapy for one day.
And so Jake gathers the cum that's gushed over his digits, and with a shaky breath, he pushes them back into you. You tighten your grip on his biceps.
“Fuuuuck—” You cry out when he starts pumping them in and out, slow but still so fucking deep. His veiny fingers always know which parts to knead.
Jake’s eyes are in a daze, obsessed with how his cum goes back in so easily—even when you’re still so tight and so sensitive. Everything feels so fucking drenched. And like this, he wants to see you come undone again.
“One more, baby…” he pleads in a low whisper, pressing butterfly kisses on your eyelids. He licks the tears that spill from your eyes. So pretty like this. “You want to make it up to me, right?”
You can only whine in response, hands shaking as they clutch onto him for dear life.
“Hm?” He asks for confirmation, curling his fingers up to the spongy spot inside you. He grinds his palm on your engorged clit. Whimpering out a pathetic ‘yes,’ you let the pleasure overtake you once again. Your body feels like it's on fire. Too hot. Too much. But still, your back arches up into him, whimpering.
“Come on,” he whispers into your ear. Low and steady. “Give it to me.”
And you can practically hear the mess that his three fingers are creating as they pump into your folds, can feel the stickiness of your mixed juices coat your inner walls. But you shut your eyes, letting the warm tingling overtake your core. Yes—Right there—Fuck—
“I'M—” you screech, but it's no use. Your head falls back against the pillow as you sob. And Jake curses underneath his breath as you spray all over him once again, massaging your clit as he pulls his fingers out to watch. Your hips rise to meet nothing, just your body spraying so beautifully against his torso. His dick could harden once more any second now from the sight. He relishes in it, admiring his work as his cum pushes out of you again. Thick and creamy.
You look down too, seeing the fucked-out state he's put your body into. Maybe you would've been right to flick his forehead and call him every insult in the book for filling you up like that. But fuck. Could you ever have him cum outside of you again if it felt that good to have his cum inside you? No, you'd definitely need to get on the pill ASAP.
Jake’s gaze falls onto your face now, at your bruised lips and your dried tears. But the ring catches his eye once more, the one he hadn’t seen in a year. And his heart flutters.
“Babe?” he starts, lying softly next to you. He wraps you in his arms, not minding the dampness of the sheets below. He’ll clean you up later.
“Mmm?” You respond, on the brink of unconsciousness. Satiated. He touches your chain, the other hand wrapped around your stomach, giving a reassuring squeeze.
“How long have you been wearing our ring like this?” Your breath catches. You'd hoped that he'd forgotten, that the conversation could wait for the morning when your heart wasn't thumping so loud. It takes you a second before you respond.
“Since you gave it to me,” you admit, slowly. Jake can feel the warmth creep up to your ears. And he wonders how he's never seen it, how you seem to hide it so well after all the times he's undressed you before. But then again, you’ve always been good at keeping secrets.
Still, he smiles. Because even after you walked away, even when you said you were done, you still kept this piece of him. Wore it so beautifully around your neck, too.
Fuck—he’s never letting you walk out on him like that again. If you even hint at breaking up, he might actually end up begging on his knees and—
“Not like it matters anyway,” you cut through the silence grumpily. “You threw yours away.”
He lets out a surprised laugh and pulls you closer, squeezing you tight. You pout. What’s he so jolly for?
“What do you mean?” he asks cheekily. “That never happened.”
You turn around abruptly, facing him with furrowed brows. “I literally saw you—”
Your words are cut short when his mouth finds yours, one hand steadies your jaw as the other reaches blindly into his nightstand. A drawer opens. He pulls back just enough to show you the turquoise box, one eerily similar to the one you have in your closet, as he flips it open.
His ring. Silver and engraved with your initial. But how…?
“I guess I'm really good at pretending to throw things,” he answers before you can even ask. Thought I’d be a little dramatic that day…”
You smack his shoulder, but your hand massages the spot soon after, swallowed by the wave of relief that crashes over you. He didn't really let go like he made it seem. He was still yours, even when you thought you lost him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you grumble, pinching his cheek. All he does is chuckle.
In one smooth motion, Jake lifts your necklace and unclasps it, letting the ring unfurl out and into his palm. You don’t stop him.
He looks at you for a second, as if asking for permission. You offer Jake your hand instead of speaking. He slips the piece of jewelry onto your ring finger, kissing your knuckles. Then he slides his own ring back where it belongs, to where he’s always kept it. Jake smiles up at you, planting another sweet kiss on your lips.
And you know you’ll wear it proudly this time. Without him having to ask.
“I love you?” he says, gently, like he needs to hear you say it back just one more time. Just to make sure. And you kiss him again, warmth coating your features.
“I love you too.”
His heart clenches in the best way possible.
Damn, he could really get used to this.
epilogue
Jake runs to the benches, grabbing at his water bottle like it’s his last salvation. He gulps it all down in seconds, sweat seeping down his body. Practice was way too intense today.
“Oh my god, Jakey,” a lilting voice punctures through his ear. “You're literally dripping.”
His eye twitches as she enunciates the last word.
“Choa,” he starts, shooting daggers at her. He's too exhausted to put up with this today. Or ever. She was graduating in a few months anyway. He might as well say his piece. “First of all, my name is Jake. And second of all, it makes me really uncomfortable when you say things like that.”
Choa pouts, tugging his sleeve like a toddler. “Why?” she giggles. “Do I make you nervous?”
“No.” He pulls away, not even bothering to look at her. “I just don't appreciate how you talk to me.”
She glowers, thrown off by his disposition. He's usually so sweet, so polite. What happened?
“It's ‘cause of your friend isn't it? You know she was so fucking rude to me—”
“My girlfriend,” he corrects immediately. Choa’s hands drop down to her sides. Jake pays her no mind, packing his stuff into his duffle bag instead.
“W-what?” she stutters out. “Since when?”
He shrugs, finally slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Since forever.”
“What?!” she screeches. “How come you never told—”
“Oh Jakeyyyy,” you sing out in an octave higher than your regular speaking voice. He presses his lips together to prevent the laughter that almost seeps through his mouth.
“Yeah, babe?” He calls out, looking past Choa. You're standing with your arms crossed, eyeing her down from a few meters away. A bright new necklace shining above your shirt.
Your gaze flickers back to him, not bothering to waste your precious energy on the small, vicious girl. You tilt your head to the side, beckoning him over in a silent command. And he follows.
Your loyal little puppy.
Jake takes your hands into his just to really rub salt on Choa's wound, your matching rings clinking against each other.
“Do you remember Gaeul from the backstage crew?” you announce proudly, the bob-headed girl long-forgotten. “She wants to hang out with me tomorrow!”
Jake smiles, ruffling your hair. “That’s great!”
“She's throwing something at her apartment this weekend, too,” you slide in. “Maybe… we can go together?”
“Oh yeah, Suji told me—” And he stops himself. But it’s too late. You’re already frowning.
“Okay, so let me go ahead and take Jay instead…” And he pouts at your words.
“Not fair,” he mutters, but you see the smile he suppresses. 'What a freak,' you think to yourself.
You click your tongue, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “...I'm biting the shit out of you later.”
And if Jake had a tail, it most definitely would’ve started wagging.
You and Taesan have been dating for 2 years now. You’ve had your fair shared of arguments. However you both were adamant on how you felt. If he wasn’t going to apologize why should you? This particular situation was different though. You knew you were in the wrong. You apologized over and over but Taesan kept his cold demeanor. Taesan was know for being nonchalant In situations but now you were feeling pissed and honestly sadden by the situation. It started when you accidentally ignored him. You guys were attending a birthday party for your close friend Leehan, Taesans best friend. “Hey Y/N, did you get all dressed up just for me” Leehan smirked and chuckled while bringing you in for a hug. Leehan was know to be a flirt. Of course Taesan was bothered by it but he can’t help that the three of you were friends together before you two were a thing. Leehan flirting with you was normal.
You didn’t see but Taesan rolled his eyes. “Happy birthday Leehanie” you returned the hug and smiled at him. You also didn’t notice Taesan glaring at Leehan, being used to their cat and fish relationship. Leehan being the fish that teased Taesan over and over as Taesan getting frustrated. “Happy birthday” Taesan said to a grinning Leehan. “Thank you both for coming. I’m going to greet the other guests. I’ll comeback to hangout after.” Leehan said making you pout. “I haven’t seen you in so long and now you’re going to leave.” You joked making Leehan chuckle. “I’ll be back as soon as possible if you missed me that much.” He said before walking away with a pep in his step. Taesan was slightly aggravated you usually only showed your cute side to him but Leehan was always the exception. “You like him that much?” He said coldly, you looked up at him tilting your head. “Hm? Leehans been my friend since middle school why wouldn’t I like him.” You were too honest for your own good and sucked at social cues. Taesan rolled his eyes, he couldn’t be mad at the fact that you and Leehan were close. He just wished you guys toned it down now that you two have been dating. Why was Leehan included in everything you two did? Why couldn’t it just be you two?
After the party ended you and Leehan were drunk singing. Taesan being the designated driver meant he had to take care of you both. Luckily this night Leehan was already at his home. The whole night you and Leehan chatted on and on about aliens and what’s beyond Earth. With the mix of alcohol it lead to slurring of made up nonsense and stupid arguments that Taesan had to deal with. “ALIENS ARE GREEEN” “NO THEYRENOT ALIENS ARE IRIDESCENT AND RITTERY? NO GLITTERY” Taesan couldn’t even get you to glance at him once. “Babe you tired?” He asked knowing you were a drunken mess. “IM NOR TIRED BUT LEEHAN IS WROMG ABOUT ALIEN.” Soon enough you both passed out. Taesan laid a blanket over Leehans passed out body on the couch. He carried you out to the car and the next thing you know you woke up in bed alone with a headache. Usually Taesan would be cuddled up to you but he was missing.
You walked out into the kitchen after doing your morning routine. Looking everywhere for him but he was gone. Suddenly the front door opens to a sweaty Taesan. “Where did you go?” You looked as he took off his shoes. “Gym” he replied. “Oh.” You walked up expecting a hug from him. “Sweaty” he walked right past you into the bathroom. “Did I do something wrong?” You mumbled to yourself. Usually when he ignored you that meant he was mad. You waited patiently for him to finish his shower. As you waited you made breakfast. When the door opened you expected him to walk into the kitchen but instead he sat on the couch. “I made breakfast, want some?” You asked. “Already ate” he turned on a random show and ignored you. He didn’t notice the way you pouted as you ate your breakfast alone. Mopping around the kitchen wanting to know what you did wrong and why he was ignoring you. After you finished doing the dishes you sat next to him as close as possible. “Did I do something to make you mad? If I did I’m sorry.” You pouted at him and wrapped your arms around his. He simply nudge you away. “It’s hot.” He then moved to sit at the edge of the couch. Was it really necessary for him to move that far away? You were annoyed, why couldn’t he just say he was mad. You gave all your effort to show him you were sorry and he just plain out ignored you. You stomped into the bedroom and later returned with the most skimpy comfortable clothes you could find. “You’re right it is hot” you pretended to fan yourself then sat laid on the couch comfortably. With all that he ignored you. His eyes glued to the tv and still inches away from you.
After a while Taesan stood up abruptly. “Where you going?” You asked as you sat up. “Bed” he replied simply before leaving you dumbfounded. Now you were confused and annoyed as ever. You just wanted simple acknowledgement. You stomped into the room and straddled his sleeping stature. You grabbed his chin to look at you. “Why are you mad!?” You asked sternly. Taesan looked at you and scoffed. He pulled you off him and threw you onto the bed. He hovered over you and pinned your arms to the side. “You seriously don’t know?” He was pissed and you could tell. “n..no… did I do say something stupid when I was drunk?” He leaned in and bit your sensitive spot on your neck. “It’s not what you said but how you said it.” You were confused as ever. “Huh?” “All last night you flirted with Leehan as I watched. Are you two really that close? I understand you met him before me but I’m your boyfriend not him. He shouldn’t be able to flirt with you or hold you or even look at you. Just thinking about it now is pissing me off.” He looked you straight in eye, “Your mine you understand that right? So don’t go and show any guy your cute side. You completely ignored me last night.” His gaze softened then suddenly he heard you giggle. “You know how disgusting Leehan is to me. Remember in high school when all he talked about was the girls he screwed. That made me glad I never found him attractive. How could I when the whole time I was in love with you.” Taesan leaned down and kissed you. “Good to hear” he said shyly. “Sorry I ignored you. I just act like a kid with Leehan because I know you’ll be there to keep me safe.” You wrapped your arm around his neck and pulled him down for a warm embrace. “Sorry I ignored you today. It’s also cute to see you try so hard to gain my attention.” Taesan chuckles and you punched his biceps.
———————————————————————————
Author’s note:
I suck at writing smut so I decided not to ruin this and left it as fluff. Hope you enjoyed, see you when I get that random burst of energy to write.
Authors note: omg I’ve been getting into riize so imma start writing for them too. I’m literally married to Eunseok and Wonbin. They are so fine it makes me giggle kick my feet and bite my finger. 😫
DomWonbin X subreader oneshot
It was a weekend and like all weekends Wonbin was gaming with the guys. You never minded as long as he only play 2-3 hours then spend time with you. You woke up alone in the morning to Wonbin screaming at Sungchan. “Omg I said he was left. Sungchan look at the map. I got UAV for a reason.” You got up used the bathroom and went to make breakfast. “Babe are you making breakfast?” Wonbin yelled from the room. “Yea, just eggs want some?” You replied cracking two eggs. “Yes please.” He replied then went back to gaming. You finished cooking and brought him his plate and ate yours in the living room. After finishing you washed both of your guys dishes. You grabbed an orange and thought Wonbin would want one too. You took one to him and placed it in the desk. He looked up at you with puppy eyes saying nothing. “What? You want me to peel it?” You asked him. Wonbin nodded and smiled at you. You peeled it and even fed him as his hands were busy on the keyboard. “More please” he looked at you with that stare. You rolled your eyes but did as he said.
It was already night and he still hasn’t gone off. You’ve been waiting patiently just wanting to cuddle him. “Babe. Babe. Wonnie. Wonbin!” He didn’t hear you or chose to ignore you. You threw a pillow at the back of his head making his headphones fall off. “Ow babe what the hell was that for!” He turned around scratching the back of his head. “I was calling you and you chose to ignore me. So I threw a pillow.” He looked at you flabbergasted. “You could’ve tapped me on the shoulders?” You rolled your eyes. “I was too lazy to get up but anyways when are you getting off?” He turned back around. “With that attitude I don’t think I’d ever will. My woman abusing me when I’m just trying to relax.” He fakes wiping his tears. This honestly pissed you off. You weren’t asking for anything big. You treated him like a princess, queen even, the whole day. You just wanted time with your boyfriend and now he’s making jokes. You threw another pillow this time harder. “Asshole” you said before getting under the covers. Wonbin turned around seeing you mad knowing he fucked up. He decided it was time to hop off. “Alright guys I have to go it’s late.” He said to the guys. “Hyung at least finish this round we’re going to lose if you leave!” Anton pleaded. “Sorry no can do you’ll understand when you grow out of your “I’m a virgin and have no girlfriend” faze.” Wonbin joked before leaving the game and cutting Anton off. “Hyu-.”
Wonbin got on the bed and noticed you were facing away from him. “Babe, baby wanna cuddle?” He asked nudging his face into your neck. You nudged him with your elbow. “No I feel kinda hot.” You ignored him and payed more attention on the random video playing on your phone. “Y/n I know I played longer than expected so I’m sorry.” He said wrapping his arms around you. You scoffed. “Sorry my ass.” Wonbin stuck his tongue to the inside of his cheek and rolling his eyes from your attitude. “You wanna be a brat so be it. Your not fuckin hot. I can clearly see your hard nipples from the cold air.” He pinned you down on the bed getting in between your legs. His cold hand slips under your shirt going up lifting one side of your shirt to your breast. You shiver and look up at him. “Look at you all hot and bothered when you didn’t even want me touching you in the first place.” He smirked at you making you cover your face with your arm. “Cute” he leans down and blows cold air on your nipple making you whimper. “So sensitive princess.” Wonbin licks your nipple waiting for your reaction. Then sucks on it while his right hand plays with your right breast. “I fukin love your boobs.” He says making you arch your back and letting out quit moans. “Won-nie” you moan rubbing your thighs together. “If you told me earlier that all you wanted was my attention I would’ve got off a lot sooner. Maybe I wouldn’t tease you as much.” He leaves wet kisses up your neck to your jaw. He leans into your ears and whispers, “Now let me hear you beg for my touch.” You cover his mouth. “As if, you should be the one begging after ignoring me the whole day.” Wonbin scoff’s grabbing your wrists and pinning your arms. “You’re real brave today princess. I did make a mistake but you’re so unforgiving. Did I get mad when you hung out with Yunjin all last weekend at the mall, no. I was pissed but I didn’t say anything. Was I ever unforgiving when Jungwon clearly flirted with you and you laughed it off. Was I ever unforgiving when you threw that pillow at me, no. So I don’t understand why you’re giving me this attitude.” He leans down and whispers again. “So beg.”
“Plea Please touch me.” Wonbin smirks happily. “Where do you want me to touch you princess.” He tilts his head. “Everywhere I want you to touch me and use me however you want.” You said turning red from embarrassment. “Good girl.” Wonbin kisses you and slides off your short shorts. The kiss was needy and sloppy. He throws your shorts somewhere in the room then sits up to take off his shirt. “Since I was being a little mean earlier I’ll give you everything you asked for and more.” He pulls your shirt and his sweats. Going back for a kiss. Your tongue’s fighting for dominance ultimately Wonbin wins and stops the kiss with a bite to your lips. He kisses down your jawline to your neck. He finds your sweet spot and leaves a hicky. Then he goes over your fading hickys. Unable to control yourself you moan out loud wrapping your hand on his hair pulling. You rub your thighs even closer now and Wonbin notices. “Aren’t you needy princess?” He continues to kiss down to your breast then your stomach then finally your inner thighs. “Remind me princess who do you belong to.” He marks hickys in your inner thighs. “You Wonbin, only you.” You whimper at each of his kisses and bites. “That’s right. You’re mine princess.” He starts leave pecks on your cunt. Then finally licks your pussy slowly. This causes you to pull hard on his hair making Wonbin groan satisfied. He enters two fingers into your pussy. He thrust them in slowly making you whimper. He pulls them out and sucks on his fingers. “So sweet.” He smirks staring up at your defeated face.
Wonbin sits up and pulls off his boxers. He toys with his cock near your pussy. He rubs his tip to your cunt loving how you react to his teasing. “It’s so fun to tease you.” He barely enters you then pulls out. Giggling he finally gives in to your cry’s and enters you fully. He groans thrusting slowing back in and out of you. “Faster please.” You asked looking up at him with teary eyes. “Fuck, if only you can see yourself.” He starts to fasten his pace. The sounds of skin slapping and your moaning fills the room. You can feel him hitting just the right places every time he thrusts. He pulls one of your legs over his shoulders going even deeper. Feeling so full you start to clench. “Princess stop you’re gonna make me cum.” He groans and starts to thrust faster. “Fuck baby I think I’m gonna cum.” He closes his eyes and places his freehand on the side of your face. Wonbin leans down and kisses you intensely. You feel your stomach start to knot and you cum. Seconds later Wonbin fills you up with his cum. He thrusts his cum into you. “Fuck that was amazing.” He pulls out and flips you onto him. “You’re such a pillow princess making me do all the work.” He grins at you and you hit his side slightly. “Shut up jerk.” He kisses your shoulder with a giggle and you guys fall asleep.
I ’m new here, hopefully you enjoy my writing thanks for reading
Pairing: EnemySunghoon x reader/afab
Genre: smut, enemies to lovers
Summery: Sunghoon and you have been enemies since childhood. Sunghoon was always rude to all the girls, and you always defended them. Sunghoon can’t stand fake girls who look for his attention that’s why he bothers you so much. You don’t treat him like a piece of meat. He only has eyes for you but you only know how to talk his ears off so he has to stop it somehow.
Warning: sexual themes, fingering, unprotected sex (rap it before you tap it), making out.
Life since childhood has always been interesting. You always had good friends. You were well known and respected. You always did your best and acted accordingly. There is just one thing that has always bothered you. Park Sunghoon and his stupid face, stupid grades, and stupid attitude. You always came second place from him. He didn’t even try so why can’t you beat him. He just sleeps and you study your ass off day and night. He wasn’t even nice and everyone liked him while you had to suck up and fake it. Him and his stupid attitude towards everything. “Good job Sunghoon you got the highest graded essay.” “Thanks I guess”
It was a typical Friday evening 6:43PM to be exact. You just wanted to get your lecture over with and go home to sleep before the weekend. So why at this moment do you want to kick Park Sunghoon right in the balls. He is staring at you with that same old smirk he always had. It just so happens Sunghoon has to have the same class. Being the last person to leave due to taking extra notes. You pack your bag and head out. Standing there blocking the door not letting you leave. “Hey miss second place” he says while smirking. That stupid nickname he’d given you since elementary school all the way until now, college. “Go away idiot.” You reply glaring up at him. “Why do you try so hard when you know you can’t beat me darling?” You chose to ignore him and step on his feet. “Ouch” he bite his lip in pain. “Move or I’ll do way worse than that.” “So much attitude when I’m just trying to wish you luck on the exam. I Which you’ll need it.” Pissed you shove him away and speed walk to your car. Getting into your car driving away furious. “His Stupid, stupid, stupid smirk. Don’t let him in your head he just wants to get under your skin you’re way too old to fall for his stupid tricks.”
Saturday a night of studying in the library. Waking up then doing nothing the whole day made you feel lazy. Study was your only way of being productive. Sitting in the back studying for your upcoming exam. You feel someone sit next to you. “Miss second place studying on the weekend typical when you have no life.” Sunghoon sits grabbing onto the book you were reading. “Leave me alone or I swear I’ll mess that pretty face of yours up.” You tried to grab your book back. “You think I’m pretty thanks” he lifts the book out of your reach. You sit with your knees on the couch turning to him reaching for your book. “This is what happens when you never drink your milk in middle school.” Your face turns serious. Leaning back he toys with the book in front of your face. You harshly push him down to try and grab your book back. With that you fall in between his legs, your hands beside his head, face to face in shock. “S-sorry.” You say after what felt like hours which really was 4 seconds. He wraps his arm around your waist and lifts you both up. “Here” he looks up and sees your pout the kind of pout that makes Sunghoon flustered. He hands you your book and leaves. “Why is my heart beating so much and why did his stupid eyes look so so- shut up don’t think about that back to studying” you think to yourself before plugging your EarPods on playing your playlist and studying.
It was the day of the exam. You feel so tired from your late night study sech. Your handed your test looking at it and thinking it’s easy. “Thank god I studied” you thought to yourself. An hour passed your almost done just 14 questions left. From the corner of your eyes you see someone stand up handing in their test. Of course it was Sunghoon. Him and his idgaf face walking out of the class after handing in his paper. “How did he finish so fast. What a show off” you thought to yourself before rushing. “5 minutes left” your professor yelled warning everyone. Your focus gone over thinking every question you answered. “Fuck only 5 minutes and 3 questions left.” You muttered then bit your lips and answered with the best of your abilities. “Please hand in your exams placing them on my desk.” You stand up knowing you didn’t even get to do your best. Thinking “I did all that studying for nothing” feeling overwhelmed you packed your bags slowly. Tears threatening to spill out. Being last again in the class you didn’t care and tears started streaming out. “Stupid Sunghoon who only needs an hour when I can’t even finish within the time.” You muttered wiping your tears. You walked towards the door opening it just for somebody to block your way. Looking up it was of course Sunghoon. “We already know you got second plac-.” He looks down at you. You and your teary eyes, tear stained cheeks and that pout.
It’s always that stupid pout on your face that makes him dizzy and flustered. Ever since you guys were young one look at your face and he’d felt like the worst person in the world. He never told you of course. He was supposed to like being your #1 hated person, you guys are enemies. Why did he feel so guilty though why must he want to cheer you up.
Flashback: “hey can I play with you” Yunjin asked Sunghoon. “No” “Hey! you’re supposed to share” you yelled after seeing Yunjin cry. “I don’t want to” Sunghoon gave you a smug look. “My mom said sharing is caring!” Yunjin shouted. “I don’t care so I won’t share.” Sunghoon replied making Yunjin cry to you even more. “It’s okay Yunjin I’ll talk to him” you leave Yunjin and walk up to Sunghoon. “What do you want miss second place.” He stuck his tongue out looking at you. “Please let Yunjin play on the slide too.” You pout up at him. Sunghoon flushed in red “Fine but I’m not going to play with her.” Sunghoon walks away.
“That stupid, stupid, stupid pout. You know that was the first time I admitted I liked you to myself.” Looking up at him pouting even more so. “Liked” Sunghoon wipes the tear threatening to come out. “Yeah because right at this moment. I’ve decided I don’t want to hurt you anymore. All that enemies shit is stupid if it’s just going to hurt the girl I love.” He leans his face down so close you feel like you can’t breathe. “May I” he asks. “No you may not. How can I be the girl you love. All you do is bother me. You call me names like miss second place. You make me feel worse about myself. All I ever wanted was to be better than you so don’t act like this. Don’t make me act like this.” Sunghoon backs you up onto the door pinning your wrist above your head. “Act like what” he asks still inches away from your face. “Like a hopeless romantic. I don’t want to love you. You’ve only ever were rude to me. I can’t I won’t I will never accept thi-.” Sunghoon closes the gap and kisses you passionately. In shock you try to free your hands from his grasp. Sunghoon stops kissing you “That’s for making me hate you.” He kisses you again but rougher. “That’s for making me crazy over you.” He kisses you again gently. “That’s just because I wanted to.” He lets go of your wrists. You look up at him embarrassed and flustered. “You’re so annoying, how can you still win first at being a good kisser.” You hit him on the chest before wrapping your arms around his neck. You hide your face next to his neck. “I hate the way I’m in love with you when you make me so angry.” You move to look at him and pout. Sunghoon smiles at your cuteness. “Why don’t you take that anger out on me then.” He places his hands on your waist while you turn bright red. “Why so shy now. You always knew how to put your mouth into good use.” You hit him again but he caught your wrist. “You’re such a perv.” You walk out of the hallway Sunghoon following behind. “So are we a thing or what?” Sunghoon caught up interlocking your hands. “I guess we can be.” You answer not looking at him but already knowing he has his stupid smirk painted on his face.
A month has passed since all that hating nonsense. “I don’t wanna study I wanna shove my tongue down your throat.” Sunghoon sighs laying down onto the bed. “If you behave maybe I’ll let you.” You say then go back to reading. “Why do we need to study when we always place top anyways.” he looks at you playing with your hair still lying down. “You always place first I’m second.” “So, you’re first in my heart.” Sunghoon gets up giving you a goofy smile. “First off cringe and second shut up I really need to study.” “So mean” He grabs onto your book throwing it somewhere in his room. “Hey I told you I need to study for the anatomy tes-.” He grabbed you pulling you to straddle him. “You can study me. I’ll help. Touch me anywhere you want.” No longer serious but instead embarrassed you look away. “Fine you don’t want to study me I’ll study you.” He flips you both him now on top. He removes your his hoodie and your short shorts. “This part” he stops licking his fingers sliding them inside your shorts. “It’s the clitoris it contains more than 10,000 nerves. So when I do this.” He rubs your clit in circle making you slightly moan. “You turn into such a slut for me no matter how much you hate it.” He smirks looking at your expression. “This part is your vagina.” He shoves two fingers in without warning. “Sunghoon” you moan out gripping onto his biceps. “Yes baby” he looks down at you with his messy hair falling down. “This has nothing to do with the test.” You say whining. “Just for ruining the mood I’m gonna fuck you until you forget everything you to studied.” He leans down kissing you and shoving his fingers into you repeatedly. His tongue exploring every crevice of the inside of your mouth. You suck onto his tongue moaning. He adds a third finger fastening his pace. You arch your back subconsciously about to cum. “You gotta wait for me darling.” Sunghoon smirks at your annoyed face. Removing his fingers then sucking them. “You’re so gross.” You say looking at him in awe. He takes off your shorts along with your bra eyeing you the whole time. “Not fair I wanna see you too.” You pout at him knowing it’ll work. Sunghoon takes off all his clothing. “Better?” You replied by nodding yes. “We don’t need protection do we. Since I’m always first place I’ll get a good job you can stay home and take care of the kids, right? You wanna be stuffed to the brim with my cum don’t you. I wanna impregnate you so bad so everybody knows you’re all mine.” You groan rubbing your thighs together. “Just hurry and fuck me you’re so annoying.” “Since you asked me so nicely.” Sunghoon slides his dick between your folds. “Such a tea-.” Without warning he thrusts in making you gasp. His dick hitting all the right places made you clench. “Fu-fuck don’t do that I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep clenching.” Unable to control yourself you just moan. “So tight no matter how much I fuck you.” His right hand starts to pinch your nipple while his left rubs your clit. “Sungh- ahh too much.” He leans down sucking your sweet spot on your neck. Marking you with hickeys that’ll stay for days before replacing them again. You arch your back subconsciously too overwhelmed with pleasure you cum. Sunghoon cumming not too short later filling you up to the brim. Sunghoon fucks the mixture of both your cum that has been spilling out back into you. “Cumming first still makes you miss second place.” Sunghoon smirks.
