After a brutal breakup, you don’t expect the campus playboy to be the one who steps in to help you put yourself back together. Jake Sim has rules. No feelings. No jealousy. No getting attached. As your self-appointed wingman, he teaches you how to flirt, how to have fun again, and how to make your ex regret everything, never expecting that every lesson would pull him closer to you instead. What starts as a joke turns into late nights, blurred lines, and a deal neither of you is equipped to keep. But when misunderstandings, old wounds, and fear collide, walking away is easier than staying, until it isn’t.
𝓖enre: romcom AU, friends with benefits, smut, angst, fluff, FWB to lovers, mutual pining, emotional slow burn, happy ending
𝓟airing: Playboy!Jake x fratgirl!reader
𝓦arnings: excessive drinking, smoking, flirting, banter, yearning, angst (a lot of it), Jake is stupid asf, blonde Jake Sim (this alone should be illegal), weaponized eye contact, hookups, mentions of sex, swearing, strong language, self-doubt, insecurity, hurt, no comfort, they're so in love in hurts, emotional angst, arguments, a red-flag ex, messy breakups in public places, extreme toxic behavior, jealousy, denial, avoidance, and men who run from feelings, campus-wide teasing and wolf whistles, friends who see everything and say nothing (until it’s funny), Jake being a cocky bastard who smirks at the worst times, accidental emotional intimacy, fake rules that absolutely do not work, one (1) grand romantic gesture, speed driving, (probably) underage drinking,
𝓦arnings (SMUT!): 18+ MDNI. Multiple rounds of sex. Make-up sex. Angry sex. Blowjob. Handjob. P in V. Unprotected sex (no!). Creampie. Orgasm. Fingering. Cunnilingus. Marking. Licking. Sucking. Biting. Riding. Missionary. Degradation. Praise. Friends with Benefits. Yearning. Nipple play. Tit job. Hate sex. Oral sex (both m and f recieving), FWB, Grinding. Dry Humping. Spanking. Possesiveness. Dirty talk. Flirting. Teasing. Aftercare. Lots of kisses.
𝓒ameos: Heeseung from Enhypen (as your new bf, for a very short time LMAO), Jay and Sunghoon from Enhypen (As Jake's friends), Giselle from Aespa
𝓘nspired 𝓑y: Crazy, Stupid, Love
𝓦ord 𝓒ount: 31.6k
Sam: Ty ml @si3rren for reading this, and no, @yvampyr, Jake does not die of heartbreak.... (sadly)
[Better Than The Movies] [Masterlist]
DELTA PHI GAMMA.
DPG, for short. You had always thought it was an explicitly obnoxious name. The kind of name that sounded like a bad tattoo decision or a frat guy’s idea of “branding.” Three Greek letters slapped onto a house where something went wrong about 99.9% of the time. The remaining 0.1% was reserved for moments people later referred to as “character development.”
Tonight, apparently, was yours. The music at Delta Phi Gamma is loud enough to make the drywall sweat. Bass thumps through the floor, cups spill on every staircase, someone’s already passed out in a doorway and the night isn’t even halfway over. The living room smells like sweat, vape clouds, and spilled Jungle Juice. Basically: romance’s natural habitat. And you’re getting dumped in the middle of it. Not gently. Not privately. Not even with the decency of a lowered voice. You push your way through the crowd, throat tight, mascara clumping at the corners of your eyes as you replay the last thirty seconds of the conversation that just detonated your night.
Your ex, now officially, gloriously, miserably your ex, didn’t even bother lowering his voice when he said it. “I just don’t think we want the same things.”He’d said it like he was commenting on the weather. Like you hadn’t just spent two years learning the exact way he liked his eggs or pretending you didn’t hate his friends or memorizing the shape of his back in the dark. Which was bullshit, because the thing he apparently wanted was your roommate’s cousin. Emma, you mimicked, mouth turning upwards unpleasantly. At a frat party. During midterms week.
A laugh bubbles up in your chest, hysterical and painful, and you choke on it as you shove into the bathroom. You sob as you burst into the stall, slamming the stall door behind you. The lock barely holds. The music bleeds through the walls in a rhythmic, mocking pulse. You slide onto the toilet seat fully clothed, one hand pressed to your mouth to stifle the sound, the other gripping your phone like you could strangle the memories out of it. The first tear falls. Then another. Then the flood sits you down and wrecks your life.
“Fuck him,” you whisper to yourself, but your voice cracks so hard it sounds like a bad karaoke mic. You open your photo gallery. There he is, smiling in the sun, arms around you on the beach, the stupid fake-candid he forced you to take because he loved the lighting. Delete. Delete. Delete, your thumb hovers over the last one: you wearing matching hoodies, kissing your cheek. Your vision blurs. “God, I hate him,” you choke, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve you don’t realize has mascara stains already smeared on it.
A knock rattles the stall. “Babe? You good? You’ve been in there forever,” your friend calls. “I’m FINE!” you lie, voice cracking like a broken violin. You are absolutely not fine. You hit delete. A pop-up appears: Delete 247 photos? This action cannot be undone. You choke. “Two hundred and—? Ugh, I have no life.” You press confirm. The screen goes blank. Another sob. You grab a half-empty tequila bottle someone left on the counter and take a swig so aggressive it burns all the way down.
The night air out on the balcony isn’t much better, cold, smoky, buzzing with drunken laughter and cigarette glow. You lean against the railing, gulping in breaths like you could rewind your brain. Your friend hands you a drink. “Honey, it’s okay—”
“It’s NOT okay,” you snap, then immediately burst into tears again. “I wasted TWO YEARS of my life on a man who wears socks during sex.”
“Oh no.” “Oh YES,” you say dramatically, waving the bottle. “Guess who’s single and insane and probably going to die alone with seventeen cats?” “Babe—”
“He dumped me during a beer-pong tournament, Alyssa! Who DOES that?!” “Uh—” “And his stupid face, ugh, I hope he trips into a puddle. Of acid. Actually, I hope someone steals his favorite hoodie. And his Spotify playlist.”
Your friend pats your hair. “Okay, you’re spiraling.” “I am FLOURISHING.” You are absolutely spiraling. She takes the bottle before you drown yourself in it and disappears inside to get water, leaving you alone on the balcony with your misery (and the rest of the lot). Someone snorts behind you. You whirl around, ready to fight, and come face-to-face with Jake Sim, leaning against the balcony doorframe like he’s posing for a frat-boy-magazine cover. Backlit by neon lights, jaw sharp, eyes amused, blonde hair slightly messy from the crowd. He’s wearing a black tee that fits like sin, jeans that should be illegal, and a smile that’s gotten at least fifteen people in trouble this semester alone.
DPG’s worst decision. DPG’s biggest problem. DPG’s prettiest manwhore. Everyone knows exactly who he is. Everyone has heard the stories. Half the campus claims to have hooked up with him. The other half wants to. Jake lifts his brow slowly, cigarette resting between two fingers, his smirk lazy and unfairly beautiful. “Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he says, clearly lying. “I just wasn’t prepared for the… socks comment.” You sniff, flipping him off with wet lashes and a quivering lip. He grins wider. Your friends abandon you with a pat to your back, not wanting to be caught in whatever cosmic embarrassment cloud is forming above you. Now it’s just you and Jake. And your humiliation. And your tequila bottle. “You uh…” Jake gestures vaguely toward your face. “You’ve got, like—” He traces under his eye. “Mascara. Everywhere.”
You glare. “You don’t say.” He steps closer, plucks the tequila bottle from your hand, and inspects the label. “Top-tier coping mechanism,” he muses. “Very classy. Very ‘my life is falling apart but I’m committed to the bit.’”
You grab the bottle back. “Mind your business, Sim.”
He places a hand over his heart. “Ouch. Using my last name? Cold.”
Someone walks past him and smacks his ass. Someone else waves and shouts, “Jake, last night was INSANE! Call me!” He finger-guns at her without looking away from you. You roll your eyes. “Wow. Delta Phi’s favorite prostitute.” “Harsh,” he says, amused. “But not incorrect.” You sniff hard, wiping your face. “What do you want, Jake?” “Me?” He shrugs, taking a drag from his cigarette before flicking it aside. “I want to help.”
You stare. He cannot be serious. Jake gestures around. “Breakup at DPG? That’s… brutal. You’re one tequila shot away from crying into someone’s protein shake.” You let out a pathetic half-laugh half-sob. “And,” he continues, stepping closer until he’s uncomfortably, comfortably, warm, “I’m great at fixing people’s lives. Or ruining them. Depends how you use me.” Before you can retort, a girl in a tight red dress walks by behind him and taps his shoulder. “Hey, Jake,” she purrs, giving him a wink so practiced it should be copyrighted.
Jake lifts a hand in greeting. “Hey, Emily.” Emily? Evelyn? Eliza? You can’t keep his roster straight. As soon as she’s out of earshot, you give him a look. He shrugs. “We’re… friendly.” “Friendly,” you repeat flatly. “Right. And I’m the Pope.”
His smile widens, dimples appearing like tiny weapons. “Want me to pray for you?” “Actually, yes,” you say, wiping your face again. “Pray I forget I ever dated that walking red flag.”
You blink at him through thick, salty lashes. Jake softens, just barely. “Come on,” he says gently. “Let me help you forget that loser.” You deadpan. “How?” His grin returns, slow, wicked, lethal. “I’ll be your wingman.” You choke. “You?” “Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “I’m good at this.” “I bet you are.” “I can teach you everything you need,” he says, lowering his voice slightly. “Confidence. Flirting. Getting over someone. Getting under someone. Whatever works.”
Your heart stutters. Your mascara is a disaster. Your night is ruined. Your ex sucks. And the campus playboy, Delta Phi Gamma’s crowned prince of bad decisions, is offering to rebuild your sanity. You stare at him. Jake smirks. “So what do you say? Want the Jake Sim Experience?” You take a shaky breath. “God help me,” you whisper. “Fine.” Jake beams like he just won something. And maybe he did. You don’t remember agreeing to leave the party. One second, Delta Phi Gamma is vibrating under your feet, the balcony lights buzzing, Jake Sim smirking like the devil with a solution, and the next, you’re sitting on the front steps of the frat house with cold concrete seeping through your skirt and a paper towel pressed under your nose. Jake crouches in front of you, elbows on his knees, assessing you like a particularly dramatic puzzle. “Okay,” he says carefully. “Good news is, you’re alive.”
You sniff. “That’s debatable.” He snorts, reaching into his pocket and producing a packet of tissues like this is not his first emotional emergency rodeo. “You cry like someone who hasn’t slept and definitely hasn’t eaten.”
“I had half a pretzel,” you mutter. “Tragic.” You take the tissues, blotting your face. Mascara comes away in thick black streaks. You groan when you see it. “I look insane.” Jake tilts his head, studying you with a seriousness that makes your stomach flip. “Nah. You look like someone who cared. That’s not the same thing.” You stare at him. He freezes, like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. Then, instantly, Jake Sim Mode snaps back on.
“But,” he adds lightly, “you are smearing eyeliner onto your chin, so let’s manage expectations.” You huff out a weak laugh despite yourself. From inside the house, someone screams along to a song that hasn’t been relevant since high school. A group stumbles out the front door, one of them pausing when she sees Jake.
“Jake!” she slurs happily. “You coming back inside?” He doesn’t even look at her. “In a bit.” She blinks, clearly unused to that response, then shrugs and wanders off. You notice. Of course you do. “So,” Jake says, rocking back on his heels. “Walk me through it. What did the idiot do?”
You hesitate. Then everything spills out in one ugly rush. “He said he felt ‘stuck,’” you ramble, voice wobbling. “That I was too serious. That I didn’t know how to have fun. And then I find out he’s been flirting with someone else all night like I’m not even standing there—” Your throat closes. Jake’s expression shifts, something sharper flashing behind his eyes. “He’s an idiot,” Jake says flatly.
“That’s not helpful.” “It is,” he counters. “It’s just not comforting.” You drag a hand through your hair. “I feel stupid. Like… how did I not see this coming?” Jake leans back against the railing, crossing his arms. “Because you trusted him. That’s not stupidity. That’s optimism.” You squint at him. “Are you always like this?” “Like what?” “Emotionally competent when it’s inconvenient.”
He grins. “I contain multitudes.” A beat passes. The noise from the party feels farther away now, like it belongs to another world. Jake glances at your phone, still clutched in your hand. The screen lights up with another memory, your ex’s stupid grin. “You wanna do something cathartic?” he asks.
You look at him suspiciously. “That depends.” “Hand me your phone.” “No.” “Come on,” he coaxes. “I won’t text anyone. Promise.” You hesitate, then reluctantly hand it over. Jake scrolls with lightning speed, thumbs flying. “Okay, first of all, why do you have this many photos of him?” “Because we were together for two years!” “And in none of them is he outshined by you,” Jake mutters. “Tragic.” He starts deleting.
You gasp. “Hey! That one—”
“Gone.”
“That was from our anniversary!”
“Double gone.” You laugh despite yourself, trying to grab the phone back. He holds it out of reach easily, standing to his full height.
“Oh my god, Jake, give it back!”
“Only if you admit this feels a little good.” You freeze. He stops too.
Then you sigh. “…Okay. It does.”
Jake softens. Hands the phone back. “There we go.” You look at the empty gallery, chest aching and lighter all at once.
“I don’t know how to be alone,” you admit quietly.
Jake studies you for a moment. Then he says, casual but certain, “You won’t be.”
You glance up. “What?”
He shrugs. “Not like—” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “But I’ll help you. Get your groove back.”
Your eyebrow arches. “My groove?”
“Yes. Your post-breakup glow-up montage,” he says, dead serious. “Everyone deserves one.”
“And you’re… volunteering?”
He smirks. “You kidding? I live for reinvention arcs.”
You snort. “You’re the worst person to ask for help.”
“And yet,” he says lightly, “here I am.” A pause settles between you, comfortable, unfamiliar. Jake stands, holding a hand out. “Come on. I’m getting you water and greasy food before you pass out dramatically on these steps.” You take his hand without thinking. It’s warm. Steady. He pulls you up easily, doesn’t let go right away. Inside, the party feels louder, messier. Jake guides you through the chaos with a hand on your lower back, protective without being possessive.
Someone yells his name. Someone laughs. Someone whistles. Jake ignores all of it. He plops you onto a couch in the living room, presses a cup of water into your hands, and dumps a plate of fries in your lap. “Eat,” he orders. You obey.
After a minute, you glance up at him. “Why are you doing this?”
He shrugs, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Because I hate seeing people think they’re unlovable when they’re not.”
Your heart stutters. Before you can respond, someone plops down next to Jake and grins at you. “Oh my god, are you the girl from earlier?”
You blink. “Probably.”
She grins wider. “You’re cute. Jake never brings cute girls out of parties.”
Jake groans. “Please don’t psychoanalyze me in front of her.”
She winks at you and disappears back into the crowd. You stare at Jake. He rubs the back of his neck. “Ignore her.”
You smirk faintly. “So. The Jake Sim Experience comes with emotional support now?”
He meets your gaze, something unreadable flickering there.
“Only for you,” he says, then immediately clears his throat. “Temporarily. As a favor.” You smile into your fries. Outside, the night keeps going. And somewhere between the music and the mess and the man sitting too close beside you, you realize, this might be the beginning of something incredibly crazy, stupid. And maybe… something kind of amazing.
You wake up with the distinct feeling that your skull has been hollowed out and refilled with static. Your phone vibrates somewhere beneath your pillow. You groan, roll onto your back, and squint at the ceiling of your dorm room like it personally betrayed you. The light feels too bright. Your mouth tastes like regret and cheap tequila. Your hoodie smells faintly like smoke and, you freeze. It’s not your hoodie. You sit up too fast and immediately regret it. The fabric hanging off your shoulders is thicker than yours, darker, worn soft in a way that suggests it’s been stolen before. You stare down at the sleeve like it might explain itself. Your phone buzzes again.
Jake Sim: You alive?
You blink at the screen.
You: Unfortunately.
Three dots appear instantly.
Jake Sim: Good. Meet me for coffee. You owe me for emotional labor.
You groan and collapse back onto your bed. The café off campus is too quiet for the kind of hangover you’re nursing. The smell of espresso makes your stomach twist, but you order anyway, because you’re trying to be a functional adult. Jake is already there when you arrive, sprawled in a chair like he owns the place. Sunglasses on indoors. Baseball cap pulled low. Hoodie that looks suspiciously familiar. You stop short. “That’s my hoodie,” you say flatly.
Jake grins without looking up. “Correction. That’s my hoodie now. You left it in my car.”
“I did not get in your car.”
He finally lifts his sunglasses, eyes bright and far too awake for someone who was at Delta Phi Gamma until two in the morning. “You absolutely did. You cried about fries and declared them your emotional support food.”
You close your eyes. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” he says easily. “Sit down before you fall over.”
You sit. There’s a beat of silence while you both sip your drinks. The normalcy of it is strange, sunlight through windows, students typing away, no bass rattling your bones.
Jake watches you over the rim of his cup. “How you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a bus. Reversed over. Then hit again.”
He hums. “Progress. You didn’t cry when you saw me.”
“Give it time.” He smiles. It’s quieter than last night. Softer. And it makes your chest do something uncomfortable. “So,” you say, wrapping both hands around your cup. “About… whatever that was.” “The breakdown?” he offers.
“The… you offering to fix my life,” you clarify. Jake leans back, chair creaking. “Ah. The Wingman Initiative.” You narrow your eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“For tax purposes, yes.” You snort despite yourself. “Jake, I don’t need a project.” “Good,” he says immediately. “Because I don’t do projects. I do collaborations.”
You study him. He looks relaxed, joking, but there’s something deliberate in the way he’s paying attention to you, like he actually means this. “Okay,” you say slowly. “Say I agree. What does this… collaboration involve?” Jake straightens, suddenly all business. He pulls a napkin toward him and grabs a pen from his pocket. Step one: ominous.
“Ground rules,” he says. “Very important.” He writes THE WINGMAN PACT at the top of the napkin, underlining it twice. You laugh. “You’re insane.” “Focused,” he corrects. “Now. Objectives.”
He starts listing them off, tapping the pen with each point. “I help fix your confidence. Remind you who you were before your ex convinced you you were boring.” You flinch slightly. He notices. “I help you flirt,” he continues, gentler now. “Like, properly. Not apologizing for taking up space.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t do that.” “You literally apologized to the barista yesterday for ordering coffee.”
“Okay, I do that a little.” He smirks. “I take you out. Get you seen. Get you having fun again.” A pause. “And,” he adds, almost casually, “we make your ex painfully aware of what he lost.” Your lips part before you can stop yourself. “You’re serious.” Jake’s gaze locks onto yours. “Dead serious.” Something flutters in your chest. Dangerous. Hopeful.
“And what do you get out of this?” you ask quietly. He hesitates. Just for a second, but you catch it. “Entertainment,” he says finally. “And maybe a chance to do something that isn’t… meaningless.” That’s the crack. It’s small, but it’s there. You don’t comment on it. You don’t push. You just nod. “Okay,” you say. “What are the rules?” Jake exhales, relieved, and flips the napkin over.
“Rule one,” he says, writing as he speaks. “No feelings.” You snort. “That’s vague.” “Exactly,” he says. “Keeps us safe.” “Rule two,” he continues. “No jealousy.” You raise a brow. “You’re a literal campus legend.”
“And you’re freshly single,” he counters. “Trust me. It’s necessary.” “Rule three,” he says, slower now. “No kissing each other.” Your stomach drops. “Too intimate,” he adds quickly. “Messes with people’s heads.” “Right,” you say, nodding too fast. “Rule four,” he says, and this time his mouth twitches. “No sex.”
You laugh outright. “That should’ve been rule one.” “Hey, I’m trying to be respectful.” You look at him, really look at him. At the easy charm, the confidence, the danger wrapped up in a pretty smile. This is a terrible idea. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you murmur. “But… okay. I agree.” Jake’s grin is immediate and bright. “Excellent. Welcome to your hot-girl era.”
“Do not call it that.” “Oh, I absolutely will.” He folds the napkin and slides it toward you like a contract. “Now,” he says, standing and tossing some cash on the table, “your first assignment.” You blink. “Already?” “Always,” he says. “There’s a mixer tonight. Sigma house. You’re coming with me.” Your nerves spike instantly. “Jake—”
“You’re walking in like you own the place,” he says firmly. “Head up. Shoulders back. No shrinking.” “And if I panic?” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Then you look at me.” Your heart skips. “I’ve got you,” he says.
That night, you stand at the edge of the Sigma house living room, music thumping, people everywhere. Your palms are sweaty. Your heart is racing. Jake stands beside you, hands in his pockets. “Ready?” he asks. You nod, even though you’re not. You take a breath, and walk in. Jake watches you move through the room. The way you straighten. The way people look at you. The way you laugh when someone says something stupid. Something sharp twists in his chest. His pupils blow wide. He hates it. And he definitely doesn’t know why. The Sigma house smells like cologne, beer, and bad decisions.
Not the fun kind of bad decisions, either. The kind that end up as blurry Snapchat stories and half-remembered regrets. The air is warm, humid with bodies and sweat, every breath tasting faintly of hops and cheap perfume. Music pulses through the living room, too loud, too bass-heavy, vibrating in your ribs like a second heartbeat. Someone shouts your name from across the room, even though you’re not sure you know them. Red cups everywhere. Neon lights flickering against walls covered in banners, photos, and inside jokes you don’t understand but feel vaguely judged by. A couple is already arguing near the stairs. Someone spills a drink and laughs like it’s the best moment of their life. You take three steps in and immediately want to turn around. Your instinct is to shrink. To fold in on yourself. To make yourself smaller, quieter. To look for a corner, a wall, something solid to press your back against so nothing can sneak up on you. Your foot slows. Jake’s hand lands on the small of your back. Not gripping. Not pushing. Just there.
“Hey,” he murmurs, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath through your hair. “Don’t retreat.” Your spine straightens on reflex.
“I didn’t—” you start. “You did,” he says gently. “Shoulders back.” You do it. Your posture shifts. It feels unnatural at first, like you’re pretending to be someone braver than you are. “Good. Chin up. You walk like you’re apologizing for existing.”
“I am not.”
“You literally are.” You glare over your shoulder. He’s smirking, but his eyes are focused, sharp, locked on you like this matters. Jake leans in closer, voice dropping. “Rule one of flirting: you don’t chase attention. You allow it.”
Your pulse spikes. “Okay, Yoda.”
“Trust me.” He positions himself just behind you, not touching, but close enough that when someone bumps into you from the side, your back brushes his chest. The contact is brief, accidental, but it sends a jolt through you anyway. It feels… dangerous. Anchoring. A guy approaches, tall, loud, already tipsy.
“Hey,” he slurs, eyes flicking over you. “You—uh—you go here?” You open your mouth. Jake’s voice slips in first, low and smooth, meant only for you. “Pause. Don’t answer right away.” You hesitate.
The guy blinks. “…Hello?”
Jake continues, murmuring near your ear. “Smile first. Slow.”
You do. The guy grins like he’s just won something. “Now,” Jake says, “say something unnecessary.”
You swallow. “Depends,” you say lightly. “Is that your opening line?”
The guy laughs. “I mean—”
Jake hums approval behind you. “Good. Tease him a little.”
You tilt your head. “You ask that to everyone, or am I special?”
The guy chuckles again, clearly flustered. “I—maybe special?”
Jake’s breath ghosts your ear. “Eye contact. Hold it.”
Your gaze stays steady. The guy’s ears turn red. Jake exhales slowly, like he’s steadying himself now. “See? You’ve got him.” The guy leans closer. “So what’s your name?”
Before you can answer, Jake murmurs, “Now disengage.” You blink. “What?” “Politely,” he adds. “You don’t give them everything.” You smile at the guy. “I’m grabbing a drink. Nice meeting you.” You turn away before he can respond. Your heart is racing. “What was that?” you whisper as Jake steers you toward the kitchen. “That,” he says, voice amused, “was flirting.”
You stare at him. “I didn’t even do anything.” “Exactly.” Someone brushes past you, and Jake automatically shifts closer, hand hovering at your waist without touching. “You see how easy that was?” he says. “You don’t need lines. You need presence.” You scoff. “Easy for you to say. You flirt by existing.”
He smiles faintly. “That’s a learned skill.” You snort. “No it’s not.” Jake opens his mouth to argue, then stops. Something flickers across his face. Gone before you can name it. “Okay,” he says instead. “Round two.” He guides you toward the couch area, where a group is playing some chaotic drinking game. “This time,” he says quietly, “you approach.” “I will die.”
“You’ll live.” A guy with dark curls looks up as you approach. “Hey.” You glance back at Jake. He gives you a tiny nod. You take a breath. “Is this game actually fun or are you all pretending?” The group laughs. Curly-Hair Guy grins. “Depends who’s losing.” Jake’s voice murmurs behind you. “Lean in. Not too close.”
You perch on the arm of the couch, relaxed. Curly-Hair Guy’s attention stays on you. “You wanna play?” Jake’s jaw tightens. “Ask a question,” he whispers. “Make him talk.” You tilt your head. “Only if you tell me your worst drunk decision.”
Curly-Hair Guy laughs. “Oh god—” Jake cuts in softly, almost involuntarily. “Careful.” You glance back. “What?” He clears his throat. “Nothing.” The game continues for a minute. You laugh. You joke. You’re… actually having fun. And Jake? Jake watches. Watches the way you smile easier now. The way you don’t fidget with your hands. The way people lean toward you like gravity shifted. He hates how good you look. You step away from the couch, cheeks warm, adrenaline buzzing. “I think I’m getting it,” you say quietly.
Jake nods. “Yeah. You are.”
A girl walks past and bumps into him. “Jake, where’ve you been hiding?”
“Busy,” he replies curtly.
She blinks. Looks between the two of you. Smirks. You don’t miss it. “So,” you say lightly, “do I get a grade?” Jake looks down at you. Really looks.
“An A,” he says, voice rougher than before. “Easy.”
Something tightens in your chest. You glance around the room, then back at him. “Okay. Your turn.” “My turn for what?”
“You flirt,” you say. “I watch.”
Jake chuckles. “That’s not part of the curriculum.”
“I need to learn what not to do.” He hesitates. Then shrugs. “Fine.” He steps away, smooth as ever, strikes up a conversation with someone near the bar. You watch. It’s effortless. Too effortless. But you notice something strange. He keeps glancing back at you. And when he does, his smile falters just a little. When he returns, you raise a brow. “You were distracted.” He scoffs. “No I wasn’t.”
“You were,” you insist. “You didn’t even get her number.” Jake shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it.” You study him. “You okay?” He meets your gaze. “Yeah,” he says. “I just… wasn’t having as much fun.” Your heart stutters. Before you can respond, Jake straightens. “Alright. Lesson one complete.” “What’s lesson two?” He leans in, voice low, dangerously close. “Learning when to walk away.” You swallow. He offers his arm. “Ready?” You take it. And as you leave the room, head high, confidence humming, Jake knows something is very, very wrong.
Because teaching you how to flirt with strangers? Easy. Teaching himself how not to fall for you? Impossible. Jake steers you toward a quieter corner near the staircase, where the music dulls just enough that you can hear your own thoughts again. The wall vibrates faintly with bass, but it’s no longer rattling your bones. Just… background chaos. “Okay,” he says, folding his arms like he’s about to deliver a TED Talk. “Lesson two.” You take a sip of your drink. “I survived lesson one. I deserve a juice break. Or a medal.”
He snorts. “You’re doing great. Which means it’s time to teach you how not to immediately ruin it.” You squint at him. “Rude.” “Accurate,” he counters smoothly. “Listen. Not everyone who gives you attention deserves access to you.” You scoff. “You say that like you’re not emotionally accessible to exactly no one.” He ignores that with the grace of a man who absolutely heard it and chose self-preservation. He scans the room, nodding subtly toward a cluster of guys near the beer pong table.
“See them?” he asks. You follow his gaze. “Yeah. They look like they’ve been arguing about the rules for twenty minutes.” “Exactly,” Jake says. “Red flag already.” “Green flags versus red flags,” he says. “You need to know who’s worth taking home, and who’s worth avoiding like expired milk.” You choke on a laugh. “Okay, Professor Playboy.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m serious.” He points discreetly with his chin. “Guy one,” he says. “Too drunk. Slurring. Thinks volume equals personality.” The guy in question shouts something unintelligible and spills half his drink on the table. You nod solemnly. “Avoid.” “Guy two,” Jake continues. “Won’t stop checking his phone. Either has a girlfriend or a fantasy football problem.”
You wince. “Both are crimes.” “Exactly.” “Guy three,” he says more slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. “Standing off to the side. Watching you, but not staring. Waiting to see if you notice him.”
Your chest tightens just a bit. “Take home?” Jake hesitates. Just a beat too long. “…Potentially,” he says. “If you want.” You study the guy. He really does look different. Calm. Not desperate. “And how can you tell?” you ask. Jake looks back at you. “Because the right kind of attention doesn’t feel like pressure. It feels like curiosity.” Something about that lands deeper than it should. You blink. “Wow. That was… kind of deep.”
He grimaces. “Don’t spread that around.” You smile. “Too late. I’m tweeting it.” He straightens. “Rule of thumb: if you feel like you have to perform, walk away. If you feel like you can just exist? That’s the one you keep.” You hum thoughtfully. “So… no juggling. No personality auditions.” “Exactly. You’re not on America’s Got Talent.” You glance at him. “You talk like you’ve thought about this.” His jaw tightens. “I have.”
You open your mouth to ask why, before you can, he clears his throat and shifts gears. “Lesson three,” he says abruptly. “Eye contact.” You groan loudly. “Oh my god. I make eye contact.” “No,” Jake says instantly. “You flee eye contact.” “I do not flee.” “You look at people like you’re afraid they’ll invoice you for attention.”
“That is not, okay maybe once.” He steps closer. Too close. Close enough that your back nearly brushes the railing, close enough that you’re suddenly very aware of how tall he is. And how his cologne lingers with the faint smell of wood.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Stand still.” You freeze. “Don’t move,” he adds. “Just look at me.” You lift your gaze to his. His expression changes. The teasing fades, replaced by something intent, focused. Serious. “Now,” he murmurs, “don’t blink. Don’t smile. Don’t apologize with your eyes.”
Your pulse starts to race. “Think of eye contact like a promise,” Jake continues softly. “You’re not asking. You’re offering.” The room feels smaller. Quieter. He holds your gaze steadily, unflinching. “Count to three in your head,” he says. “Then look away first. Slow.”
You do. One. Two. Three. You turn your head slightly, heart pounding. Jake exhales sharply. “Jesus,” he mutters.
You blink. “What?” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing. That—” He clears his throat. “That’s what I mean.”
“Like that?” you ask.
“Yes,” he says too quickly. “Exactly like that.”
“Then,” he says quietly, “you make people forget what they were saying.”
“Oh,” you say, voice light. “That seems… powerful.”
“Don’t abuse it.”
“Absolutely abusing it.”
A guy nearby glances over mid-conversation, then visibly stumbles when you meet his eyes. You hold it. Calm. Steady. Just like Jake taught you. The guy loses his train of thought completely. You look away first. Jake watches the entire thing, something sharp and conflicted twisting in his chest.
“Holy shit,” you whisper. “That worked.”
Jake forces a smile. “Told you.”
But his hands are clenched at his sides.
You turn back to him, glowing now, confidence buzzing under your skin. “Okay. What else, Sensei?”
He looks at you for a long moment. Too long. “Careful,” he says quietly. “You’re picking this up fast.”
You tilt your head. “That’s good, right?”
He nods. “Yeah.” Then, softer. Almost to himself. “Too good.”
You grin. “What? Afraid I’ll steal your brand?”
He scoffs. “Please. I’m irreplaceable.”
“Oh yeah?” you tease. “Because I just watched you short-circuit over eye contact.”
“That was—” He cuts himself off. “Irrelevant.”
You laugh, the sound light and easy. “Relax. You’re safe.”
Jake watches you, really watches you, and thinks, That’s exactly what I’m not. The music swells again. Someone yells. Someone drops a cup. Life barrels forward. But Jake stays rooted where he is, watching you like he just handed someone a loaded weapon and realized, far too late, that it’s pointed directly at his heart.
And the worst part? You’re smiling while you aim. You get home buzzing. Not drunk, just… lit from the inside out.
You kick your heels off by the door, toeing them aside without caring where they land, and drop your keys on the counter with a satisfied little sigh. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your chest feels light. Electric. You catch your reflection in the mirror by accident and freeze. You’re smiling. Like, really smiling.
The kind that creeps up on you without permission. You groan softly and press your palms to the counter. Get it together. It was just a party. Just flirting. Just lessons. You peel off your jacket, toss it over a chair, and flop back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. Your phone buzzes in your hand as if summoned by the thought.
Jake: You survive?
Your lips twitch. You kick one leg lazily, then type back:
You: Barely. I might never emotionally recover.
Three dots appear almost instantly.
Jake: Liar. You were glowing.
Your stomach flips. You frown at the screen, then roll onto your side, hugging a pillow to your chest.
You: Don’t flatter yourself.
A pause. Longer this time.
Jake: Didn’t say it was because of me.
You scoff out loud, biting your lip.
You: Sure, Sim.
You stare at the screen for a second too long, then lock your phone and toss it aside. Rules. No feelings. No jealousy. No kissing.No sex. You nod to yourself like this is a pep talk. Then your phone buzzes again. You grab it before you can stop yourself.
Jake: wyd
Your heart does a stupid little hop. You kick your heels off completely, toeing them farther away, and glance down at yourself, dress half unzipped, hair messy, cheeks still warm from the night. A devilish thought sparks. You hesitate. Smile. Type.
You: Changing ;) wanna see?
The three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear. You laugh quietly into your pillow, heart racing, already knowing this is a terrible idea. A beat later, your phone buzzes.
Jake: Absolutely not.
You blink. Then:
Jake:…unless you’re joking.
Your grin turns downright wicked.
You: Guess you’ll never know.
You drop your phone onto the bed and roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling again, pulse loud in your ears, smile impossible to wipe away. Across campus, Jake Sim stares at his phone like it personally betrayed him. He locks it. Unlocks it. Throws it onto his bed.
“Rule four,” he mutters to himself. “No sex.” Then, quieter: “Fuck.”
You wake up late. Sunlight filters through your curtains in thin, accusatory lines, your phone warm beneath your palm like it’s been waiting. You squint at the screen. No new notifications. Which is, annoying. You roll onto your side and groan into your pillow. Last night replays in your head in humiliating HD: the party, the confidence, the way Jake watched you like he was trying to memorize something he wasn’t allowed to keep.
The text.
Changing ;) wanna see?
You bury your face in the pillow. Idiot. Rules were rules. You knew that. You’d agreed to them over lukewarm coffee and a stupid napkin contract. You weren’t supposed to be smiling like this the next morning, stomach fluttering every time your phone buzzed with nothing.
You drag yourself out of bed, shower, change into something comfortable, oversized tee, shorts, and make a half-hearted attempt at being productive.
You fail. Your phone buzzes on the counter while you’re pouring cereal. You jump.
Jake: I’m coming over.
You stare at the message.
You: Excuse me?
Three dots. Gone. Back again.
Jake: Relax. Daytime. Educational.
You snort.
You: You don’t just announce that.
Your phone buzzes again, immediate.
Jake: I do.
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.
You: Why?
A pause. Longer than usual. Then:
Jake: Lesson four.
Your pulse picks up. You’re still staring at the screen when there’s a knock on your door. You glance at the clock. There is absolutely no way, another knock. Firmer this time. You pad to the door, heart thudding, and open it.
Jake stands there like he belongs, sunglasses perched on his head, hair slightly messy, hoodie slung over one shoulder. He looks unfairly good for someone who definitely did not sleep properly. He grins when he sees you.
“Morning,” he says. “You look… awake.”
You scoff. “You’re early.”
“I’m punctual,” he replies, stepping past you without waiting for permission. “And motivated.”
You close the door behind him, watching as he glances around your place like it’s familiar already. “Nice space,” he says. “Very you.”
“What does that mean?”
“That you pretend you’re low-maintenance but own seventeen throw pillows.”
“Get out of my house.”
He laughs and drops onto your bed like it’s second nature, sprawling out, one arm tucked under his head as he props himself up on his elbow. Your heart does something stupid. He looks at you. Really looks. Jake is absolutely too comfortable in your room. He’s sprawled across your bed like it belongs to him, shoes kicked off, hoodie abandoned on your chair, one arm tucked under his head as he props himself up on his elbow. His phone rests loosely in his other hand, screen dark, attention fully on you.
Which is unsettling. Because Jake Sim does not stare. “…What?” you ask, breaking first.
He sits up instantly, like he’s been caught doing something illegal. “Lesson four.” You blink. “We’re still doing lessons?”
“Absolutely,” he says, nodding like this is very serious academic business. “This one’s important.”
You cross your arms. “Okay. Hit me.” Jake’s lips twitch. He glances at your phone on the desk, then back at you.
“Dirty texting.”
You choke. “Excuse me?” He grins, slow, cocky, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Relax. Words only. No pictures. No… extracurricular activities.”
“Jake.”
“You said you wanted to learn how to flirt,” he reminds you. “This is modern flirting.”
You hesitate. “I don’t sext.”
“Texting,” he corrects. “With intention.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
He scoots back against your headboard and pats the bed. “Sit.”
You do, reluctantly, legs crossed, heart already thudding for reasons you refuse to examine.
Jake unlocks his phone. “Rule one,” he says. “Dirty texting is about implication. You don’t spell everything out.”
“Thank god.”
“Rule two,” he continues, eyes flicking up to you, “confidence. You don’t ask permission.”
You snort. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
He smirks. “That’s the point.”
He types something quickly, then nods at your phone.
“Read it.”
Your phone buzzes.
You pick it up.
Jake: You left your window open last night. Bet you slept cold.
Your brow furrows. “That’s not dirty.”
“Patience,” he says. “Now respond.”
“Respond with what?”
“Anything. But don’t apologize.”
You think for a second, then type:
You: I sleep fine.
Jake hums. “Too defensive.” He takes your phone without asking and types.
Jake: Didn’t say you didn’t. Just wondered if you thought about me noticing.
Your stomach flips. You look up at him. He’s watching you, really watching you, eyes bright, smug, pleased. “You’re evil,” you say weakly.
“Effective,” he counters. “Your turn.” Your cheeks warm. You bite your lip, then type:
You: You notice a lot of things.
Jake’s grin widens. “Good,” he murmurs. “Now add intention.” You hesitate, then:
You: Be honest, how many times have you thought about me today? Because I'm losing count over here.
Jake inhales, closing his eyes as he runs his hand through his hair. You try to ignore how good he looks. Your phone buzzes immediately.
Jake: Maybe I like seeing you flustered.
You let out a soft, breathy laugh before you can stop yourself. Jake freezes. “What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.
He clears his throat, shifting slightly. “Nothing. Keep going.”
You smile now, emboldened by the way his ears are faintly pink. You type:
You: You’re doing a terrible job hiding it.
Jake exhales, slow and controlled. He types back, eyes never leaving your face.
Jake: Careful. You’re assuming I want to hide it.
Your breath catches. You look up at him again, and this time you don’t look away. He swallows. For half a second, the room feels charged. Quiet. Too aware. Then he smirks, breaking it deliberately.
“See?” he says lightly. “Dirty texting isn’t about being graphic. It’s about making someone imagine things they shouldn’t.”
You laugh again, softer this time. Jake’s gaze drops to your mouth before he can stop himself. You notice. Your smile turns mischievous. “So… am I passing?”
He leans back, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”
Then, quieter: “Unfortunately.”
You tilt your head. “Unfortunately?”
He catches himself and scoffs. “I mean, you’re learning fast.”
You grin. “You’re just mad I’m good at it.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”
You stretch out on the bed beside him, phone resting on your stomach. “Any other tips, Professor?” He considers you for a moment. The flush in your cheeks. The spark in your eyes. That damn giggle.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “One last thing.”
“What?” He leans closer, not touching, but close enough that your breath mingles.
“Never dirty text someone you wouldn’t be okay with accidentally thinking about you at three in the morning.”
Your heart stumbles. You swallow. “Noted.” Jake straightens abruptly, claps his hands once. “Lesson over.” You blink. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he says too quickly. “We’ll, uh—continue next time.” He grabs his jacket, suddenly very interested in leaving. You watch him go, phone still warm in your hand. Outside your door, Jake pauses, presses his forehead briefly against the wall, and mutters under his breath, “Fucking hell.”
After Lesson Four, everything changes. Not in a big, dramatic way. No lines are crossed. No rules are broken. But suddenly, Jake is everywhere. Your phone lights up constantly, while you’re brushing your teeth, walking to class, lying in bed at 2 a.m. staring at the ceiling. It’s always him.
Jake: You flirted with your TA today didn’t you.
You: He’s married and forty.
Jake: Didn’t answer the question.
You smile every time. You hate that. Sometimes the texts are instructional.
Jake: Eye contact. Three seconds longer than comfortable. Then smile like you know something they don’t.
You: You’re evil.
Jake: And effective.
Sometimes they’re not instructional at all.
You: I hate group projects.
Jake: I hate when you use periods. It sounds aggressive.
You: I am aggressive.
You fall asleep with your phone in your hand more than once. You start measuring time in notifications. And that’s when it gets dangerous. Because you notice things. Like how every guy on campus suddenly feels… dull.
Too eager. Too awkward. Too obvious. You’ll be mid-conversation with someone cute, someone objectively hot, and catch yourself thinking:
Jake would’ve told him to slow down. Jake wouldn’t laugh like that. Jake would know when to shut up. You hate that thought.
You shove it down and remind yourself this is literally his thing. He’s done this before. With dozens of girls. Probably hundreds. He’s a playboy. A manwhore. You picture him sprawled across someone else’s bed, head propped on his palm, saying the same lines. Watching another girl flush. Smirking the same way.
Your chest tightens unexpectedly. You set your phone face down and stare at the wall. Get over it. That night, he texts you.
Jake: You okay?
You hesitate. Then:
You: Yeah. Just tired.
Three dots appear. Disappear.
Jake: You don’t lie well.
Your heart drops. Before you can respond, another message comes through.
Jake: Come with me.
You: Where?
Jake: I’ll pick you up.
You: Tell me why I’m concerned-
Your phone buzzes again.
Jake:Trust me.
You do. That’s the problem. His car smells like his woody cologne and something fried when you slide into the passenger seat. He hands you a paper bag without looking at you.
“McDonald’s,” he says. “Emergency therapy.”
You peek inside.
“Two cheeseburgers?”
“You strike me as a two-cheeseburger person.”
You snort. “Rude.”
He pulls out of the parking lot, one hand on the wheel, the other already unwrapping his burger. You sit in comfortable silence, the kind that sneaks up on you when you’re too used to someone. Grease drips onto his fingers. He licks it off without thinking. Your eyes flick away quickly.
“So,” he says casually. “What’s wrong?” You swallow. “Nothing.”
He hums, unconvinced, and parks somewhere quiet. The campus lights glow faintly in the distance. “You’ve been distant,” he says. “And before you deny it, yes, I notice.”
You pick at the wrapper. “You probably notice everything.”
He glances at you then. Really looks. “Only you,” he says, like it slips out.
The silence that follows is heavier. You force a laugh. “Bullshit.”
“Okay,” he says. “Mostly you.”
That makes your heart do something stupid. You take a bite of your burger, chew too fast, and finally say it. “Do you… do this a lot?”
He frowns. “Do what?”
“This,” you gesture vaguely between you, the car, the food, the late hour. “Helping girls.”
His jaw tightens just a fraction. “Used to.”
Your stomach sinks. “Oh.”
He sighs and leans back in his seat. “Not like this.” You look at him. “What does that mean?”
He meets your gaze. His usual cocky grin is gone. “It means I don’t usually care if they text back,” he says quietly. “Or if they’re smiling at someone else.”
Your breath catches. “I don’t usually replay conversations in my head like an idiot.”
The air shifts. You stare at him, heart pounding, every rule screaming in your ears. No feelings. No jealousy. You swallow hard.
“Well,” you say lightly, forcing a smile. “Guess I’m special.” He laughs softly. “Unfortunately.”
You both eat the rest of your burgers in silence, knees almost touching, radio low, something warm and terrifying settling in your chest. When he drops you off, he doesn’t come in. He just looks at you, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. You’re halfway out of his car when he speaks.
“Wait.”
Something in his voice, low, rough, stops you cold. You turn back, one hand still on the door. “What?”
Jake’s jaw tightens like he’s made a decision he hates. He kills the engine, the sudden quiet loud between you. “I’m not done,” he says.
Before you can process that, he’s out of the car, keys abandoned, following you up the steps. You fumble with your door, heart racing, and the second it clicks open, he’s inside.
The door shuts behind him with a soft, final sound. “Jake,” you start, laughing nervously, “you said—”
“I know what I said.” He moves closer. Not rushed. Not aggressive. Just inevitable. He doesn’t touch you at first. Just stands too close. Close enough that you can smell him, soap, something warm and familiar, a hint of fries still clinging to his hoodie. Close enough that when he exhales, you feel it brush your cheek.
You back up without realizing it until your shoulders brush the wall. Cool paint. Warm body. His hands come up, not touching you, not yet, but caging you in, palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. Your breath stutters.
“Jake,” you murmur, unsure whether you’re warning him or yourself. His jaw tightens. His pupils are blown wide, dark and unreadable, like he’s staring at something he shouldn’t want as badly as he does.
“You trust me?” he asks quietly.
The question shouldn’t feel dangerous. It does anyway. You nod. “Yeah.”
“This is lesson five,” he murmurs.
You swallow. “Fake moans?”
“Yeah.”
He’s close enough now that you can see it, the way his pupils have blown wide, dark swallowing the brown. His chest rises and falls faster than before. “This is about control,” he says, voice rougher. “About sound. About knowing what you’re doing to someone without touching them.”
Your pulse is a drumbeat in your ears. “And you’re going to practice on me?” you whisper. A corner of his mouth lifts. Not smug. Strained.
“I trust you,” he says, like that’s the most dangerous thing he could’ve said.
Your breaths mingle. You can feel the warmth of him, the heat rolling off his body, the way he leans in just enough that your noses almost brush. You wet your lips, suddenly too aware of everything, how close he is, how the wall presses into your back, how his gaze flicks to your mouth and lingers a second too long.
“Go on,” he murmurs. “Give me something believable.”
You laugh softly, nerves bubbling. “This is ridiculous.”
“Is it?” he asks, eyes never leaving your mouth. “Because you’re blushing.”
You hate that he’s right. The sound that leaves you is awkward, too loud, too forced, wrong in every way. It echoes faintly in the quiet apartment. He winces. “No.”
“Hey!”
“That sounded like you were mocking me.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, expert. You try not being weird about it.”
His laugh is short, breathless. “Trust me. I’m being very normal.”
He doesn’t move away. Instead, he exhales, long, slow, and the expression on his face changes. Like someone bracing for impact.
“This is a terrible idea,” he mutters.
Then he does something neither of you planned. Jake leans down. Not fast. Not rough. Deliberate. His hand slides up, not to your waist, not anywhere scandalous, but to the wall above your head, fingers curling slightly as he dips his face toward your neck. You feel the brush of his breath first, warm and teasing. Your pulse explodes.
“Jake—”
“Don’t,” he murmurs. “Just, listen.”
His mouth ghosts along your skin. Not a kiss. Not really. Just the faintest press of lips near your collarbone, a gentle nip that makes you gasp despite yourself. Your hands curl instinctively in the fabric of his hoodie. He does it again, lighter this time, then drags his lips slowly upward, a soft tickle that sends a shiver racing down your spine.
Your body betrays you. A sound slips out. Not loud. Not practiced. Not fake. A soft, breathy sigh that you didn’t mean to make. The room goes still. Jake freezes. His breath turns ragged, shallow. You feel the tension snap through him like a wire pulled too tight. Your fingers slide into his hair before you can stop yourself, just for a second, just enough to feel how warm he is, how real.
His eyes meet yours. Dark. Shaken. Ruined. “Fuck,” he breathes, then catches himself. “Okay. That, yeah. That’s dangerous.”
Your heart flips. You look up at him. “Jake?”
He swallows hard. His gaze drops to your lips, then snaps back to your eyes like it burns. “You don’t understand,” he says quietly. “If you do that to the wrong guy, they won’t stand a chance.”
Something twists in your chest. “What about the right guy?”
The question hangs there, reckless and unguarded. For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then he leans in, close enough that his forehead nearly touches yours, and says, barely audible:
“The right guy would lose his mind.”
His breath ghosts your cheek. His control is fraying, you can feel it in the way he shifts, the way his jaw clenches like he’s holding himself back by sheer will. You shouldn’t notice that. You definitely shouldn’t love it.
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once like a caged animal. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he says. “I knew better.”
You hug yourself, heart aching in a way you weren’t prepared for. “Jake…”
He looks at you then, really looks, and for a split second, the playboy mask is gone entirely. What’s underneath is raw and dangerous and far too honest. He pulls away suddenly, stepping back like he’s been burned.
“Lesson over,” he says too quickly.
Your lungs ache when you finally breathe. “Jake—”
“Rules,” he cuts in, not looking at you. “We said rules.”
He heads for the door, hand already on the knob. Before he leaves, he glances back once. His eyes are dark. Honest. Wrecked.
“Don’t practice that on anyone tonight,” he says. Then he’s gone. And you slide down the wall, heart racing, knowing, deep down, that something just broke. And it’s not going to be fixable.
You tell yourself it’s casual. You repeat it like a mantra as you walk beside Jake down the street, hands stuffed into your sleeves, the late afternoon sun warming your skin.
Casual. Educational. Very normal. “Coffee doesn’t count,” Jake says, like he’s reading your thoughts. “It’s a neutral setting.”
You snort. “You’re the one who suggested it.”
“For strategic reasons.”
“Sure.”
The café is small and warm, the kind with mismatched chairs and soft music playing just loud enough to fill the silence. Jake holds the door open for you without thinking. His hand lingers at the small of your back as you step inside.
You pretend not to notice. You order first. He remembers how you like your coffee without asking.
That should not make your chest tighten. You sit across from each other by the window. Sunlight catches in his hair. He’s wearing a simple black tee and a jacket, nothing flashy, no frat boy bravado, no playboy armor.
Just Jake. You wrap your hands around your cup. “So,” you say. “What’s today’s lesson?”
He leans back in his chair, studying you. “Observation.”
“Of what?”
“Of you,” he says easily.
Your stomach flips. “That’s not a lesson.”
“It is when you’re pretending you don’t notice things.”
You kick his foot under the table. “You’re insufferable.”
He grins. “You like it.”
You hate that you don’t deny it. A couple at the table next to you laughs softly. Someone reaches for someone else’s hand. You look away too quickly.
Jake notices. “You okay?” he asks.
You hesitate. Then shrug. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
You roll your eyes, but your smile falters. “This doesn’t feel like training,” you say quietly.
His gaze sharpens. “What does it feel like?”
The truth sits heavy on your tongue. Like comfort. Like safety. Like something you don’t want to label because labeling makes it real. You stir your coffee instead. “Like we’re cheating.”
He blinks. “On who?”
You shrug again. “The rules.”
He laughs softly, but it dies too fast. “Yeah,” he admits. “A little.”
You both fall quiet, watching people pass by the window. Your knees bump beneath the table and neither of you moves away. Jake breaks the silence first. “You know,” he says, casual but careful, “I don’t usually do this.”
You look at him. “Coffee?”
“Daytime,” he clarifies. “Talking. Listening.”
Your heart stutters. “Why me?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers trace the rim of his cup. “Because you don’t want me to impress you,” he says finally. “You just want me to be… here.”
Your throat tightens. “Don’t,” you whisper.
“Don’t what?”
“Say things like that.”
He watches you for a long moment, eyes soft, almost vulnerable. “Okay,” he says. “Then don’t smile like that.”
You realize you are. You both laugh quietly, the tension easing just enough to be survivable.
Jake notices before you do. You’re mid-sentence, something stupid about how the foam art on your latte looks like a heart, when his posture changes. He goes still, eyes locking onto something over your shoulder.
His jaw tightens. “Hey,” you say. “You okay?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s already standing, already reaching for you. “Jake?”
“We’re leaving,” he says, calm but firm. Not a question.
Your stomach drops. “Why—?”
Then you see it. Your ex. Across the café. Laughing. His hand wrapped around someone else’s wrist like it belongs there. Someone pretty. Someone new.
Your breath stutters. Jake’s hand closes around yours instantly. “Don’t,” he murmurs, already pulling you up. “Don’t look.”
“I—I can’t—”
He steps closer, blocking your line of sight with his body. You’re pressed briefly into his chest, the scent of coffee and him filling your lungs.
“I’ve got you,” he says, low and certain. “Come on.”
He doesn’t rush you, but he doesn’t give you time to spiral either. One hand stays firmly linked with yours as he steers you through the café, past the door, into daylight.
Only when you’re outside does your breath come apart. You shake. You didn’t even realize you were shaking until he notices.
“Hey,” Jake says softly. He guides you toward his car, opens the passenger door, and waits until you’re seated before closing it gently, like you’re something fragile. He circles to the driver’s side, gets in, but doesn’t start the engine right away. The silence is loud. Your hands are in your lap, fingers curled tight. You stare straight ahead, chest aching.
“I didn’t know he’d be here,” you whisper, embarrassed by how small your voice sounds.
Jake exhales slowly. Then he reaches over. His hand finds yours. Warm. Steady. No hesitation. Your breath catches. He laces his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says quietly.
You swallow. “It just, caught me off guard.”
“I know.”
His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and grounding. “He doesn’t get to ruin your day,” Jake continues. “Or your coffee. Or you.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “That latte was expensive.”
“Exactly,” he says, lips quirking. “Criminal behavior.” You glance at him, expecting his usual teasing grin.
It’s not there. Instead, he’s watching you, really watching. Concern etched into his features, brows pulled together, jaw tight with something that looks dangerously close to anger. “He’s an idiot,” Jake says, suddenly sharp. “And I’m not saying that because I hate him.”
You blink. “You don’t?”
He scoffs. “Oh, I do. But that’s not why.”
He lifts his free hand and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering for half a second too long. “Anyone who lets you walk away,” he says softly, “doesn’t deserve a second of your doubt.”
Your chest tightens painfully. Jake seems to realize what he’s doing a beat too late. He pulls his hand back, loosens his grip, but doesn’t let go completely.
The engine hums to life. As he drives, your joined hands rest on the console between you, undeniable. You don’t pull away. You watch him from the corner of your eye, the set of his shoulders, the way he checks on you at every red light, thumb brushing your skin like a reassurance he doesn’t even know he’s giving.
And it hits you. This isn’t a lesson. This isn’t wingman behavior. This isn’t casual. Jake Sim has feelings. And the way his hand tightens around yours tells you he knows it too, even if he’s terrified to say it out loud.
The car slows to a stop outside your place. Neither of you moves. The engine hums softly, a low vibration beneath the silence. Your hands are still tangled together on the console. You can feel his pulse through his thumb. It’s fast.
Too fast.
“Hey,” you murmur, finally. “You okay?”
Jake exhales like he’s been holding it in for miles. He turns toward you, and stops.
You’re close. Too close. Close enough that you can see the faint freckle near his jaw. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath when he swallows. Neither of you lets go.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says quietly.
“Done what?”
His eyes flick to your mouth. Back to your eyes. “Touched you like that.”
Your heart thunders. “Jake—”
“I mean it,” he interrupts, voice strained. “I crossed a line.”
You shift without thinking, drawn in by gravity, by comfort, by him. Your knee brushes his. “I didn’t mind,” you whisper.
That’s when it happens. He leans in. Slow. Careful. Like he’s giving you time to pull away.
You don’t. Your breaths tangle, soft and uneven. His forehead nearly touches yours. Your lips are a whisper apart, close enough that the moment feels suspended, fragile, electric, inevitable.
His thumb strokes your knuckle once. Your eyes flutter shut.
And for half a heartbeat, you’re certain—
He freezes.
His breath stutters. His hand tightens abruptly before dropping away like he’s been burned. He pulls back. Fast. Too fast. “Fuck,” he breathes.
You open your eyes. Panic flashes across his face, raw and unguarded. His pupils are blown wide, chest rising sharply like he can’t quite get enough air.
“I can’t,” he says, shaking his head. “I—I can’t do this.”
Your heart sinks. “Jake?”
“This is how it starts,” he continues, words tumbling now. “This is how I mess things up. And I promised, I promised I wouldn’t be that guy.”
“That guy?” you whisper.
“The one who ruins you,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “The one who pretends it’s nothing when it’s clearly not.”
Silence crashes down between you. You stare at him, chest aching. “I don’t think you’re ruining me,” you say softly.
He looks at you like that’s the most dangerous thing you could’ve said. “That’s the problem,” he murmurs.
He opens the door, stepping out into the night air like he needs it to breathe. You sit there, stunned, watching him rake a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back. “I’m sorry,” he says, eyes sincere, wrecked. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
You swallow hard. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He hesitates. “I did.” He closes the door gently, like earlier, like you’re still something precious.
“Text me,” he says, voice low. “Please.”
Then he walks away before you can answer. Inside, you lean against your door, heart racing, lips tingling with something that never happened.
Across the street, Jake stands beside his car for a long moment, head bowed, fists clenched. Because he knows now. There’s no lesson left that can save him from this.
And there’s no rule strong enough to stop what’s coming next. You don’t move for a long time after he leaves.
You stand there with your back against the door, fingers pressed to your lips like you might still feel him there if you try hard enough. Your heart won’t slow down. Your skin feels too tight, like it knows something before you’re ready to admit it.
You slide down until you’re sitting on the floor. And that’s when it hits you. Not all at once, no. It’s quieter than that. Heavier.
You like him. Not liked. Not maybe. You like Jake Sim like it scares you.
You like the way he remembers how you take your coffee. The way he notices when you’re lying. The way he got angry, not jealous, not possessive, just furious, on your behalf.
You like the way he touched your hand like it mattered. Like it was something to be careful with. You laugh weakly to yourself, dragging a hand down your face. “Oh, I’m fucked,” you whisper.
Because it isn’t a crush. It isn’t a rebound. It’s the kind of liking that settles deep and makes a home where it shouldn’t.
And somewhere across campus, Jake doesn’t even make it to his bed properly.
He kicks his shoes off, shrugs out of his jacket, and collapses face-first into his mattress like gravity finally won. He groans into his pillow, muffled and frustrated, then flips onto his back and stares at the ceiling.
Your face flashes behind his eyelids. Your mouth. Your breath hitching. How close he got, how close he almost went.
“Idiot,” he mutters to himself.
He grabs his blanket and drags it over his head like it might save him, like it might smother the heat pooling low in his stomach and the ache sitting heavier in his chest. This isn’t just want.
That’s the terrifying part. He wants to text you. Wants to hear your laugh again. Wants to go back and do it differently,or not pull away at all.
He presses his forearm over his eyes, breathing hard. “I’m in love,” he says quietly, like a confession he never planned to make.
And the realization hits him just as cruelly as it hit you: There are no rules left that can protect either of you now. Not from this.
It happens when you least expect it. You’re walking with Jake across campus, too close, shoulders brushing, pretending this is normal, when someone calls his name.
“Sim.” She’s pretty. Effortlessly so. Cropped top, glossy lips, confidence dripping off her like she knows exactly where she stands in his life.
She doesn’t even look at you. She just steps in, cups his face, and kisses his cheek like it’s muscle memory. “Call me,” she says, low and sweet.
Then she walks away. Just like that. Your chest goes tight. Sharp. Ugly. You don’t realize you’ve stopped walking until Jake does too.
He looks at you, eyes flicking over your face with far too much interest. There it is. The crack. His mouth curves into a slow, knowing smirk.
“You jealous,” he asks lightly, “of something that’s not yours?” That does it.
You turn on him, fire flashing through you. “I’m not jealous of leftovers.” The smirk drops. The air between you crackles.
“Leftovers?” he repeats, incredulous. “That’s what you think?”
“Oh, please,” you scoff. “You act like I don’t know your reputation.”
“And you act like you don’t care,” he snaps back, stepping closer. “Which is it?”
Your heart is pounding now. “I don’t care.”
“Bullshit.”
You’re nose to nose before you realize it, breaths colliding, words spilling out sharper than you mean them to.
“You don’t get to touch me like that,” you say, voice shaking, “and then pretend it means nothing.”
“I never said it meant nothing,” he shoots back.
“Then what does it mean, Jake?” you demand. “Because you can’t keep doing this, looking at me like that, acting like I’m different, and then going back to them.”
His jaw clenches. “You think I want this?” he asks quietly. “You think I don’t notice every time you stiffen when someone looks at me?”
You laugh bitterly. “God, you love this.”
“No,” he says, low. “I hate it.”
That stops you.
His hand comes up, bracing against the wall beside you, not touching, not quite, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him.
“You want honesty?” he murmurs. “Fine. I don’t want to stop wanting you. But I also don’t know how to be anything else.”
Your pulse roars in your ears. “You’re such an asshole,” you snap, but your voice betrays you, too thin, too close to cracking.
Jake laughs under his breath, sharp and humorless. “Wow. Creative. Took you weeks to come up with that?”
“Don’t,” you warn. “Don’t do that thing where you joke like this isn’t exactly what you want.”
He tilts his head, eyes raking over your face like he’s cataloguing damage. “And what is it you think I want?”
You step closer, refusing to be the one who blinks. “You love this,” you say. “You love knowing you can have anyone. That you can flirt, disappear, come back, act like nothing sticks to you.”
“Careful,” he says quietly. “You’re projecting.”
“Oh, please,” you scoff. “I get jealous once and suddenly I’m crazy? One of your hookups kisses your cheek in front of me and I’m supposed to smile like it doesn’t feel deliberate?”
His jaw tightens. He steps closer instead of backing away, voice dropping. “I’m pissed you keep dangling yourself in front of me like it’s a game.”
Silence. Thick. Charged.
Jake exhales through his nose, eyes dark now, something volatile flickering there. “And you love pretending you don’t care,” he shoots back. “You roll your eyes, you make jokes, you act like you’re above it—”
“So don’t what?” you interrupt, heat crawling up your spine. “Don’t feel something? Don’t want you?”
That stops him. The words hang between you, reckless, naked, irreversible. For once, Jake has nothing ready. No smirk. No deflection.
Your chest rises sharply. Your hands curl into fists, nails biting into your palms like you need the pain to keep you grounded.
“You don’t get to look at me like that,” you say, voice breaking despite yourself. “You don’t get to touch me, protect me, almost kiss me, and then act like I’m insane for reacting.”
“I’m trying not to hurt you,” he says too fast, like the line’s rehearsed.
You laugh, soft, bitter. “Congratulations. You’re failing.”
Something in his face fractures. The mask slips. Just for a second. And before you can overthink it, before fear can catch up, you grab the front of his jacket and kiss him.
It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. Messy. Too much and not enough all at once. Every unsaid thing crashing into one breathless second. His lips are warm, familiar in a way that feels unfair, and for half a heartbeat, he kisses you back.
Hard.
Like he’s been starving. Then he freezes.You feel it instantly, the way his body locks up, the way his hands hover at your waist like he doesn’t trust himself to touch you. He pulls away like contact burns. “No,” he says, shaking his head, breath uneven. “We can’t.”
Your heart stutters. “Jake—”
“This is—” he drags a hand through his hair, panic and want tangled in his eyes, “—too messy. Too fucked up.”
He looks at you like he wants to say more. Like he wants to stay. Like walking away is the hardest thing he’s done all day. But instead, he turns.
“Jake,” you whisper, uselessly. He doesn’t stop. He leaves too fast, shoulders tense, like if he slows down even a little he’ll break.
He doesn’t see your eyes burn. Doesn’t see your lip tremble. Doesn’t see the tears spill the second he’s gone.
You stand there alone, chest aching with the weight of it. Because now you know the worst truth of all: You didn’t imagine it. He felt it too. And somehow, that hurts more than if he hadn’t felt anything at all.
You don’t remember how you get home. Your feet move on autopilot, vision blurred, chest aching like something has been scooped out and left hollow. The door clicks shut behind you and that’s all it takes.
You slide down the wall. Your breath comes apart immediately, broken, sharp inhales that don’t go anywhere. Your hands come up to your face like you can hold yourself together if you try hard enough.
You can’t. The sob that tears out of you is loud and humiliating and raw. It hurts your throat. Your shoulders shake violently as you curl in on yourself, knees to your chest, crying like you’ve lost something you never even got to have.
“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper to no one. “I didn’t mean to—”
Your phone is in your pocket. You don’t take it out. You already know there’s nothing there. You drag yourself to your bed, still crying, still gasping like the air is too thick to breathe. Your pillow is soaked in minutes. You clutch the blanket like it can anchor you, like it can replace the warmth that’s suddenly gone.
Your chest aches with every sob. You cry until your eyes burn. Until your head throbs. Until exhaustion finally drags you under, tears still slipping down your temples as sleep claims you.
Jake doesn’t drive far. He pulls over the second his hands start shaking too badly to grip the wheel. The car idles uselessly as he leans forward, forearms braced against the steering wheel, head dropping hard onto it.
And then he breaks. A sharp, broken sound rips out of his chest, half laugh, half sob. His shoulders cave inward like he’s folding in on himself, breath hitching violently.
“Fuck,” he chokes. Tears spill over fast, hot and relentless, dripping onto the wheel, onto his hands. He squeezes his eyes shut like that might stop it. It doesn’t.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “So fucking stupid.” He says it again. And again. Each time softer. Meaner. Like punishment. “You had her,” he mutters. “You had her and you ran.”
His chest heaves as he sucks in air that won’t settle. His jaw trembles. He presses his forehead harder against the wheel like he deserves the pain. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispers into the empty car. “I didn’t.” But it doesn’t matter.
Because he did. He stays there far too long, crying until his eyes burn, until the tears slow and leave him hollowed out and shaking. Two people, a few blocks apart. Both wrecked. Both awake in the dark. Both thinking the same unbearable thing: I love you. And believing, wrongly,that it’s already too late.
The next day, the campus feels like a minefield.
You move like a ghost, head down, earbuds in, shoulders hunched. Every laugh, every shout, every passing glance makes your skin crawl. Even the familiar chatter of your friends sounds distant, muffled, like it’s happening underwater. You avoid everyone. Everyone except the one person whose presence is a damn knife to your chest.
Jake Sim.
You see him first in the lecture hall, half a dozen seats away, leaning against the back wall, shoulders slumped, gaze following you like a predator who doesn’t want to be seen. There’s no playfulness there today. No teasing smirk. His eyes are rimmed red, heavy, weary, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you realize he’s hurting too. You drop into your seat, pretending to bury yourself in notes. Pretending you don’t feel the weight of his stare, burning holes through your skull. Pretending you’re fine.
But you aren’t. The lecture drones on, a dull, lifeless hum under the storm building in your chest. Every movement from the back of the room, every slight shift in his posture makes your heart stutter. You catch glimpses of him in the corner of your eye, he doesn’t take notes. He doesn’t fidget. He just watches. And somewhere deep down, it terrifies you.
The hallway between classes is worse. You move fast, backpack tight against your chest, pretending not to notice him pacing nearby, pretending not to feel the pull like a magnet you don’t want to obey. Then you brush shoulders, brief contact, and your chest jumps, heart stuttering like a faulty engine. You don’t look at him. You can’t. You know if you do, you’ll melt entirely.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t stop. Not a word. Not a glance. Just the faintest brush of his presence, like a whisper in the back of your mind, dragging everything you thought you were over into sharp, aching clarity. The air around him hums, charged, dangerous, and you can’t breathe properly, can’t think properly, can’t even walk properly.
By the end of the day, you feel hollow. Exhausted. Your chest aches as if it knows exactly what’s coming. Every step home, every turn, every creak of the floorboards in your apartment makes you tense like a spring. And then the universe decides you cannot escape him. A knock at your door. You freeze. One hand gripping the doorknob, the other trembling at your side. You open it.
Jake stands there. Hair plastered to his forehead, clothes soaked through, rain streaming down in dark rivulets. His jacket hangs heavy and useless, dripping water across your threshold, and his eyes are wild, fevered, impossible to read.
“Jake—”
He doesn’t answer. He steps inside. Barely waits for a word. “You,” he growls, low and ragged, voice full of the kind of heat that makes your knees weak, “fuck the rules.”
Your stomach lurches. Your chest tightens. Every rational thought deserts you. “Excuse me?” you whisper, because what the hell else do you say to this?
He doesn’t explain. He doesn’t need to. There’s a predator’s confidence in the way he moves, a heat that doesn’t ask permission. In two long strides, he’s closing the distance between you. The air between you is electric, heavy with tension and rain and words unsaid.
His hands brush against yours as he grips your arms, lightly, teasing, but with enough pressure to make it clear he means it. Fingers dig in just enough to leave sparks along your skin. He leans closer, eyes dark, lips dangerously close, breath ragged. Every nerve in your body screams: he’s not supposed to be here like this. “I don’t care,” he mutters, low, almost a growl, the words scraping over your skin. “I don’t care about rules. I don’t care about anyone else. You. Me. Now.”
And just like that, the fragile, tentative walls you’ve built around your heart crumble. Something wild twists inside your chest. You’re trembling, your knees weak, your thoughts scattered like broken glass. The world narrows until there’s nothing left but him, the rain dripping down his jawline, the heat radiating off him, the pull that feels like gravity.
You realize, with a thud in your chest, that this is how it begins.
The FWB deal. The rules-free, messy, undeniably Jake-and-you dynamic. It doesn’t start with negotiation. Doesn’t start with words. Doesn’t start with agreements.
It starts with heat. Rain. Reckless, uncontainable desire.
And you know, deep down, that neither of you will survive pretending this is casual for long.
Not when his lips are so close you can feel the moisture of the storm. Not when his hands linger too long. Not when the ache in your chest is no longer just yours, it’s his too.
And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
The door slams shut behind him, rain dripping from his hair onto the hardwood floor as Jake crowds you against the entryway wall. His mouth crashes into yours before you can catch your breath, no hesitation, no gentle prelude. Just hunger. His tongue slides against yours, hot and demanding, tasting like storm and want. Your hands fist in his soaked shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest.
His lips break away only to trail down your jaw, open-mouthed and messy, teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp. When he reaches your neck, he doesn’t hold back. He sucks hard at the sensitive spot below your ear, tongue soothing the sting before he bites down gently, then harder. You arch into him, a broken moan spilling out as heat floods your veins. Another mark, his mouth moving lower, branding your throat with wet, deliberate pulls that leave blooming bruises in their wake. Each one draws another helpless sound from you, louder, needier.
“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, voice rough and wrecked. His hands grip your hips tighter, fingers digging in like he’s trying to anchor himself. “You’re killing me.”
You can feel how far gone he is, the tremor in his shoulders, the way his breath stutters every time you moan his name. He’s unraveling, and it’s because of you. Suddenly his hands slide under your thighs, and he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. You cling to his shoulders as he carries you up the stairs, mouth never leaving your neck, adding another hickey just above your collarbone that makes your head fall back with a whimper. Every step jostles you against him, friction sparking white-hot where your bodies press together.
He kicks open your bedroom door, shoulders heaving, eyes dark and wild as he lowers you onto the bed without breaking the kiss. The mattress dips under your weight, and he follows immediately, covering you, caging you in. His knee nudges your thighs apart as he settles between them, and you both groan at the contact.
Jake pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen, hair dripping, chest rising fast. His thumb brushes over one of the fresh marks on your neck, possessive and reverent all at once. “Tell me you want this,” he says, voice low, almost pleading. “Tell me this isn’t just the rain talking.”
Your answer is to drag his mouth back to yours, legs tightening around him, letting him feel exactly how much you mean it. His hands, still icy from the rain, slip under the hem of your shirt, palms gliding over the warm skin of your stomach. You shiver hard, a full-body tremor that has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the way he’s touching you, deliberate and slow, like he’s memorizing every inch.
Jake pulls back just enough to look at you, a crooked, wicked grin tugging at his lips. “Nervous?” he murmurs, voice low and rough, thumb tracing lazy circles just below your ribs. “You’re shaking, baby.”
You try to scoff, but it comes out breathless. “I’m not—”
“Yeah, you are.” He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “It’s cute. Been driving me fucking insane imagining you like this.”
The confession hits you low in the belly, heat surging through you. He’s thought about this. Not just tonight, not just in passing, too much, he said. The words hang heavy between you, raw and real.
Before you can respond, his hands slide higher, gathering the fabric of your shirt as they go. He peels it up and off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside without looking. Cool air hits your bare skin, and you instinctively move to cover yourself, but he catches your wrists gently, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your head.
“Don’t,” he says, eyes dropping to your chest. They darken instantly, pupils blown wide. “Fuck. Look at you.”
Any trace of teasing vanishes. He descends like he’s starving, mouth hot and eager as it closes over one breast. You arch off the bed with a sharp gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets as his tongue swirls around your nipple, teasing it into a tight peak before he sucks, hard. The pull shoots straight between your legs, and you moan his name without meaning to.
He groans against your skin, the vibration making you shudder again. Switching to the other side, he lavishes the same attention, wet, open-mouthed kisses, gentle scrapes of teeth, relentless suction that leaves you writhing beneath him. His hand cups the breast his mouth just left, thumb rolling the sensitive bud until you’re panting, hips rolling up against his thigh in silent plea.
Jake lifts his head just long enough to look at you, lips slick and swollen, eyes feral. “Been thinking about this for months,” he rasps. “How you’d sound. How you’d taste.” He lowers his mouth again, grazing his teeth over your nipple just hard enough to make you cry out. “Not even close to how good the real thing is.”
Jake’s hands move to the waistband of your shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric along with your panties. He tugs them down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time, watching for any hesitation. There’s none. You lift your hips to help him, and he slides them off your legs, dropping them somewhere on the floor.
He eases you back against the pillows, the cool sheets a shock against your heated skin. Then he’s over you again, mouth finding yours in a deep, slow kiss before he starts moving lower, kissing along your jaw, your throat, between your breasts, down the center of your stomach. Every press of his lips is deliberate, reverent, like he’s mapping you with his mouth. You’re trembling again, not from nerves this time, but from the building ache he’s stoking with every touch.
He settles between your thighs, hands gentle as they part your legs wider. His breath ghosts over your skin, warm and teasing. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, then another a little higher, lips brushing so close to where you need him that your hips twitch involuntarily. Jake looks up at you, hair messy from your fingers, eyes dark but steady. His voice is low, rough with want but careful.
“Hey,” he murmurs, thumb stroking soothing circles on your hip. “Is this okay? Do you trust me?”
The question hangs in the air, simple and huge all at once. You can see it in his face—he needs to hear it. Needs to know you’re right here with him. You reach down, threading your fingers through his damp hair, and nod. “Yeah,” you breathe, voice shaky but sure. “I trust you, Jake. Please.”
The relief and hunger that flash across his expression undo you. He turns his head, pressing one more open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, a silent thank you, before his hands slide under your hips and he finally, finally lowers his mouth to you.
His mouth is on you the second the words leave your lips, hot, wet, devastating. Jake groans against you at the first taste, the sound rumbling through your core as his tongue parts you, slow and deliberate. He licks a long, flat stripe up your center, then circles your clit with maddening precision. Your hips buck, and he pins them down gently, holding you open for him.
You’re already soaked, trembling, and when he slides two fingers inside you, curling just right, your head falls back with a broken moan. The sounds you make, high, desperate, unrestrained, seem to unravel him completely. He growls against you, sucking your clit into his mouth harder, fingers pumping faster as your moans turn into breathless pleas of his name.
“Fuck, listen to you,” he rasps between licks, voice thick with awe and hunger. “These sounds… you’re gonna ruin me.”
It doesn’t take long. The pressure builds fast and fierce, your thighs shaking around his head as you clutch at his hair. When you come, it’s with a sharp cry, back arching off the bed, waves of pleasure crashing through you so hard your vision blurs. He doesn’t stop, gentle licks through your orgasm, drawing it out until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and boneless. Finally, he pulls back, lips slick, eyes glazed as he crawls up your body. There’s a smug, wicked tilt to his mouth as he hovers over you.
“Sensitive now?” he teases, voice low and rough, brushing a thumb across your lower lip. “Can’t handle a little more, huh?”
You’re still catching your breath, but the glint in his eye sparks something competitive in you. Before he can react, you surge up, hands on his chest, and flip him onto his back. He lands with a surprised huff, eyes wide as you straddle his hips, pinning him beneath you.
“My turn,” you murmur, grinding down just enough to feel how hard he is, straining against his soaked jeans, the outline thick and obvious.
Jake groans, head tipping back, hands flying to your thighs. “Jesus, fuck, okay.”
You lean down, kissing him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue, before sitting back. Your fingers make quick work of his belt and zipper, and he lifts his hips to help you drag his jeans and boxers down. His cock springs free, hard, flushed, a bead of precome at the tip, and you wrap your hand around him, feeling him twitch in your grip.
He hisses through his teeth, watching you with dark, half-lidded eyes as you spit into your palm and slide it down his length, slow and firm. Once, twice, twisting at the head just to watch his abs clench and his breath stutter.
“Shit,” he breathes, hips jerking into your hand. “You’re trying to kill me.”
You don’t answer with words. Instead, you rise up on your knees, positioning yourself over him. His hands settle on your hips, steadying but not guiding, letting you take control. You meet his eyes as you sink down slowly, inch by inch, taking him in.
The stretch is perfect, overwhelming. You both moan at the same time, yours soft and shaky, his low and guttural. When you’re fully seated, hips flush against his, you pause, savoring the way he fills you, the way his fingers dig into your skin like he’s fighting not to thrust up.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel… so fucking good.”
You roll your hips once, slow and deliberate, and his head falls back against the pillow with a strangled groan.
You start to move, slow at first, rolling your hips in deep, deliberate circles that drag a ragged groan from Jake’s throat. His hands grip your waist tighter, fingers flexing like he’s fighting to let you set the pace. But the way his eyes are locked on you, hungry, reverent, completely undone, gives you all the power you need.
You rise up slightly and sink back down, harder this time, and your breasts bounce with the motion. His gaze drops instantly, darkening as he watches them move. Another roll of your hips, faster now, and they bounce again, fuller, heavier with each thrust. The sight seems to snap something in him.
“God, fuck,” he rasps, voice breaking. He surges up, one arm banding around your lower back to pull you closer, mouth latching onto one breast without warning. His lips close hot and wet around your nipple, sucking hard as you ride him, the rhythm of your hips driving you both toward the edge.
Every bounce sends you down onto him deeper, and he meets it with a shallow thrust upward, groaning against your skin. The vibration shoots straight through you, making you gasp his name. He switches to your other breast, tongue swirling, teeth grazing, worshipping like he’s been starving for this exact moment.
Your name falls from his lips over and over, muffled against your skin at first, then louder when he pulls back just enough to breathe. “Baby… fuck… your name… been wanting to say it like this for so long…” It’s not a moan. It’s a confession.
Each time he says it, it cracks open a little more, like he’s been holding it behind his teeth for months, years maybe, waiting for the second he could let it spill out while buried inside you. There’s nothing casual in the way he says it. Nothing friends-with-benefits about the tremor in his voice or the way his free hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheek like you’re something precious. You lean down, forehead pressing to his, riding him faster now, the slap of skin and the creak of the bed filling the room. Your breasts brush his chest with every bounce, and he chases them with his mouth whenever he can, moaning your name like a prayer, like a plea, like he’s finally allowed to admit what this has always been.
This isn’t fucking a friend. This is Jake unraveling beneath you, giving you everything he’s been holding back, and taking everything you’re finally ready to give.
You pick up the pace, grinding down harder, faster, chasing the building heat between you. Jake’s hands slide up your sides, gripping, guiding, urging you on as his hips snap up to meet every roll of yours. Your breasts bounce wildly with the rhythm, and he can’t resist, he surges forward again, mouth latching onto one, sucking and groaning around it like he’s lost all control.
Your name tears from his throat in broken, reverent moans, raw, desperate, nothing hidden anymore. It spills out of him like it’s been caged for months, every syllable laced with something deeper than lust. You feel it in your chest, sharp and undeniable, mirroring the ache in his eyes when he finally releases your breast and crashes his mouth to yours.
The kiss is different this time. Not hungry or frantic, it’s deep, slow, consuming. His tongue slides against yours like he’s trying to say everything he hasn’t dared to. One hand cups the back of your neck, holding you there, while the other tightens on your hip as you ride him through it. You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers tangled in his hair, bodies locked together, moving as one.
You’re both close, breath ragged, moans muffled against each other’s lips. When you come, it’s with his name on your tongue and his mouth still on yours, swallowing the sound. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep with a guttural groan into the kiss, arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go.
For a long moment, you stay like that, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard, hearts hammering in sync. He’s still inside you, softening slowly, but neither of you move to separate.
Then it hits him. His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of panic cutting through the haze. He pulls back just enough to look at you, voice rough and quiet.
“I didn’t mean to—” he starts, swallowing hard, like he’s trying to stuff the moment back into the casual box you both pretended to build. “The kissing thing. I wasn’t thinking.”
You’re still catching your breath, thighs trembling around his hips, but you don’t let him retreat. Not this time. You brush your thumb across his bottom lip, the one you just devoured, and meet his gaze steadily.
“Yes,” you say softly, “you did.” The words hang there, simple and devastating. His breath stutters. Something shifts in his expression, defenses crumbling, vulnerability flooding in. He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t laugh it off or make a joke. He just looks at you, really looks, like he’s seeing the truth you’ve both been dodging for way too long.
And the silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s electric. Feelings? Fully, irrevocably unlocked. Uh-oh doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’re still tangled together, limbs heavy, skin damp and cooling in the quiet aftermath. The storm outside has softened to a steady patter against the window, the only sound besides your slowing breaths.
Jake shifts first, easing out of you gently and rolling to the side so he doesn’t crush you. But he doesn’t go far, just enough to grab the sheet and pull it up over both of you. Then he settles back in, one arm sliding under your neck, the other draping across your waist, pulling you into the curve of his body like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You’re lying face-to-face now, noses almost touching. His eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them, the earlier wildness replaced by something careful and unguarded. With the hand tucked under your neck, he reaches up, fingers brushing lightly at your cheek. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, slow and deliberate, thumb lingering on your skin a second longer than necessary. The touch is so tender it makes your chest tighten.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, voice low and rough from everything you just did. It’s not a casual check-in. There’s real worry threaded through it, like he needs to hear you say it out loud.
You nod, swallowing. “Yeah. More than okay.”
He searches your face for a moment, like he’s making sure you mean it. Then he leans in, not to kiss your mouth, but to press his lips to the column of your neck, right over one of the marks he left earlier. The kiss is feather-light, barely there, nothing like the hungry bites from before. It’s soft, lingering, almost reverent. Affection slips out unbidden, raw and unmistakable.
You feel him freeze the second he realizes what he’s done. He pulls back slowly, eyes flickering with something like panic again. Clears his throat. “That… meant nothing,” he says, too quickly, voice flat like he’s trying to force it back into the safe zone. “Just… habit. Whatever.”
You almost laugh at how badly he’s lying, the way his hand is still stroking your hair, the way he hasn’t moved an inch away from you. “Yeah,” you answer, voice just as unconvincing. “Totally. Meant nothing.”
You both hold the lie for about three seconds. Then his forehead drops to yours, a quiet exhale shaking out of him. Your fingers find his, lacing together under the sheet. Neither of you says anything else. But you both know. And for tonight, pretending is easier than admitting it out loud.
The morning after feels wrong. Not bad, just off. Like the world didn’t get the memo that something seismic cracked open between you and Jake Sim, shifted gravity, rewired the rules. Campus looks the same. The sun is too bright. People laugh too loud. Someone kisses their girlfriend outside the café like nothing in the universe has ever been fragile. You don’t feel like that person anymore.
You sit in lecture with your coffee untouched, fingers wrapped around the cup long after it’s gone lukewarm. Your pulse keeps jumping, too fast, too sharp, every time your brain betrays you and replays him. His hands. His voice in the rain. The way he looked at you like he’d finally stopped running and didn’t know what to do with the momentum. You don’t look for him. That doesn’t stop you from feeling him.
When someone leans too close to you in class, a guy from your discussion section who smells like cologne and confidence, you laugh politely at something he says. It’s automatic. Harmless. You don’t notice Jake until the air shifts. It’s subtle. A pressure change. Like the room inhales. He’s standing near the door. Watching. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t pretend. His jaw tightens, muscle ticking once, twice. His shoulders square like he’s bracing for impact. When the guy says something else, something that makes you smile again, just a little, Jake moves before he thinks.
He appears beside you like he belongs there.
“Hey,” he says easily, like this is normal, like he hasn’t crossed half the room on instinct alone. His hand lands on the back of your chair, casual, sure, but unmistakable. A claim without words. “You ready?”
The guy blinks, thrown. “For…?”
Jake’s smile is polite and empty. “She’s late.” You aren’t. But your body betrays you anyway. You stand, heart hammering, because something in the way Jake says it makes it feel true. Makes it feel inevitable. Jake doesn’t touch you as you walk out, but his presence crowds you, close enough to block anyone else, close enough that you’re aware of him with every step. It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud.
It’s protective in a way that makes your stomach flip. Once you’re alone in the hallway, you finally exhale. “What was that?”
He keeps walking for a beat too long before answering. “Nothing.”
“Jake.” He stops. Turns. Finally meets your eyes.
“I don’t like people hitting on you.”
Your heart stutters, trips over itself. “You don’t get to—”
“I know,” he cuts in quickly, almost too quickly. “I know. I’m not saying I do. I’m just—”
He stops himself. His jaw flexes like the rest of the sentence is dangerous. Like if he finishes it, something permanent happens. You don’t wait for him to figure it out. You walk away before the conversation can pull you both apart at the seams. The rest of the day becomes a study in absence.
Jake doesn’t linger. Doesn’t lean in doorways. Doesn’t flirt in the halls. Doesn’t smirk back when people try to catch his attention. It’s like someone flipped a switch and stripped him down to something quieter. Sharper. You see it when a girl from his past finally corners him, someone familiar, comfortable, smiling like she knows him. “You never called,” she says lightly.
Jake barely hesitates. “Yeah. I’m not going to.”
She laughs, expecting charm. Expecting a joke. He doesn’t give her one. “Oh,” she says after a beat, confusion settling in. “Okay.” She walks away. You’re close enough to see it all. Your chest tightens. Because suddenly, painfully, it’s clear. He isn’t just spinning. He isn’t just reacting.
He’s choosing. The day drags after that. Every interaction feels loaded. Every glance lasts a second too long. You keep catching each other’s eyes across rooms, across crowds, quick, unspoken checks, like you’re both making sure the other still exists.
By the time evening rolls around, you’re exhausted. Your phone buzzes.
Jake: You done for the day?
You stare at the screen longer than necessary.
You: Yeah.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
Jake: My place today?
Your breath catches. Not come over. Not want to hang out. My place today. Like it’s already a rhythm. Like this is something that continues. Like he’s done pretending it was just one night that got out of hand. You type back before doubt can talk you out of it.
You: Okay.
Across campus, Jake exhales for the first time all day. Because whatever this is, messy, dangerous, impossible, he doesn’t want it to end. And neither do you.
Jake’s place is quiet. Not frat-house loud, not chaotic, no blaring music, no half-empty bottles, no careless mess. Just low lights glowing warm against clean walls, counters wiped down, shoes neatly lined by the door. It smells faintly like laundry detergent and something warmer beneath it, coffee, maybe, or vanilla, or just him.
It disarms you immediately. “Hey,” he says softly, like he’s approaching a skittish animal instead of someone he’s already held in the dark.
“Hey.”
He toes his shoes off and gestures you inside with an easy tilt of his head. “You want a drink? Water? Something stronger?”
“Water’s fine,” you say, suddenly hyperaware of how calm he sounds. How gentle. How normal this feels, like this is just another evening and not a turning point you’re pretending not to see.
He disappears into the kitchen, and you drift farther in, taking in the space. A couch with a blanket folded over one arm. A couple of books stacked neatly on the coffee table. A hoodie tossed over the back of a chair, one you recognize.
When he comes back, he doesn’t just hand you the glass. He pulls you into a hug first. It’s instinctive. Natural. Like neither of you even thought about it. His arms wrap around you, firm but careful, like he’s testing how much he’s allowed to hold you. Your body responds before your brain can interfere. You melt into him, cheek resting against his chest, his warmth seeping into you like it’s always belonged there. His heartbeat is steady, grounding, loud enough that you can feel it beneath your ear.
For a second, just one, everything goes quiet. You feel safe. You feel held. You feel… happy. The realization hits like cold water. You pull back slightly, breath catching, panic flaring sharp and sudden. You remind yourself of everything this isn’t. Everything it’s not supposed to be. The lines you promised not to cross. The way this ends if you stop being careful.
Jake doesn’t seem to notice the shift. He hands you the glass, fingers brushing yours in passing. “Careful,” he murmurs. “It’s cold.”
He moves back to shuffle into the kitchen. And you follow him, curious to see how the campus manwhore’s kitchen looks like. Surprisingly, it’s tidy, tidier than you would have expected it. Jake stood near the stove, his back to you. The glass is cold against your fingertips.
You nod, take a sip, and then something reckless takes over. Impulse. Need. A truth you haven’t learned how to swallow yet. Before you can talk yourself out of it, before you can analyze or overthink, you step forward and wrap your arms around him from behind.
A back hug. Your forehead presses into the soft fabric of his hoodie. It smells like him, clean, familiar, comfortingly Jake. Without thinking, you nuzzle closer, clinging like this is the only solid thing in the room. Like if you let go, something vital might slip through your fingers.
Jake freezes. Every muscle under your arms goes taut. His breath stutters, just once. You almost pull away. Almost apologize. Almost make a joke to defuse the moment, but then he exhales. Slow. Long. Like he’s been holding that breath all day. His shoulders relax. His hands come up to rest over your forearms, warm and steady, not pulling you closer but not letting you go either. A quiet laugh rumbles out of his chest, low, surprised, and you feel it vibrate through him.
“Touchy now, are we?” he says lightly, but his voice is softer than usual, stripped of its edge. You smile against his back, heart fluttering despite yourself.
“Maybe,” you mumble.
He tilts his head back just slightly, like he’s savoring the moment without daring to turn around. Like if he looks at you, something fragile might break.
“Good to know,” he murmurs. You stay like that longer than you should. No rush. No rules. Just the quiet hum of his apartment, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the dangerous ease of being wrapped around him like this is normal.
And that’s when it hits you. This isn’t just chemistry anymore. It isn’t just want, or tension, or heat you can explain away. It’s comfort. It’s the way your body relaxes without permission. The way his hands stay even when they don’t have to. The way neither of you says a word, because you both know, if you do, this moment might dissolve.
And that realization terrifies you more than anything else. Because comfort is where things stop being casual. And you’re not sure either of you knows how to walk away from that. He stays still for another heartbeat, just breathing with you pressed against his back, your cheek between his shoulder blades, arms looped loosely around his waist. The quiet stretches, thick and warm, until finally he moves.
Slowly, deliberately, Jake turns in the circle of your arms. His hands find your hips, guiding you backward until your lower back meets the cool edge of the kitchen counter. The movement is gentle but firm, no hesitation, no asking permission this time. He’s done pretending he doesn’t want this.
His eyes lock on yours for a second, dark, searching, a little reckless, and then he dips his head. The first kiss lands just below your jaw, soft, testing. You tilt your head back on instinct, giving him more, and he takes it. His mouth drags down the column of your throat, open and warm, lips parting to taste your skin. When he reaches the spot that made you fall apart last time, he pauses, breath ghosting over it, before he closes his lips and sucks, slow, deliberate, possessive.
A quiet moan slips out of you before you can stop it. He hums against your skin, pleased, the sound vibrating straight through you. Another pull, deeper this time, teeth grazing just enough to sting in the best way. Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he answers by pressing his body fully into yours, pinning you gently between him and the counter.
He works his way across your neck, marking a slow path, each hickey placed like he’s memorizing the spots that make you shiver, make you sigh, make you arch into him. Every time you moan, softer ones turning sharper as he lingers, he growls low in his throat, like the sound alone undoes him.
One of his hands slides up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your shirt, while the other stays firm on your hip, holding you exactly where he wants you. His mouth finds that sensitive place just above your collarbone and stays there, sucking steadily until your knees buckle a little and you have to grip his shoulders to stay upright.
When he finally pulls back, lips swollen and shiny, he doesn’t go far. Just enough to look at the fresh bloom of marks he’s left, eyes heavy-lidded and satisfied. His thumb traces one gently, reverently. Your breathing is uneven. So is his. He leans in again, but this time his kiss is softer, just a brush of lips against the newest mark, like an apology and a promise all at once.
You’re both still saying nothing. But the way he’s holding you, the way he’s tasting you like he’s got all the time in the world, says everything neither of you is ready to admit out loud. This isn’t casual. It never really was. His breath is hot and uneven against your neck, the words slipping out like they’ve been waiting there all along.
“Need you, pretty girl.” Low. Rough. Almost reverent. You feel the way his whole body tenses when you nod, small, certain, and then gently but firmly push at his chest. He lets you, confusion flickering across his face as he steps back half a pace, brows knitting together.
“What’re you—”
The question dies the second your knees hit the kitchen floor. His eyes go wide, pupils blown dark and stunned. Mouth parts on a silent exhale. He looks down at you like he can’t quite believe what’s happening, like this is something he’s imagined too many times and now it’s real, and he doesn’t know how to process it.
Your fingers find the drawstring of his sweatpants. One slow tug undoes the knot. You hook your thumbs into the waistband and drag them down together with his boxers, letting them pool around his ankles. His cock springs free, thick, flushed an angry red at the tip, already leaking. Hard and straining like it’s been aching for hours.
Jake hisses through his teeth when your hand wraps around him, skin hot against your palm. You give him a few slow, firm pumps, base to tip, twisting just a little at the head, and his hips jerk forward on instinct.
“Fuck—” The word is strangled, half-laugh, half-groan. One of his hands flies to the edge of the counter behind him, knuckles whitening as he grips it for balance. The other hovers uncertainly near your head, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch.
His chest rises and falls fast. Eyes locked on you, dark and glassy, like he’s already half gone just from the sight of you on your knees in front of him. You lean in, lips brushing the tip in the lightest tease, and he shudders hard enough that the counter creaks under his grip. “Baby…” It’s barely a whisper, wrecked and pleading. “You don’t have to—”
But the way his cock twitches in your hand says otherwise. You look up at him through your lashes, holding his gaze as you give him another slow stroke, thumb swiping over the bead of precome at the slit. His head tips back, throat working on a swallow. He’s trying so hard to keep some semblance of control. He’s failing beautifully.
You hold his gaze a second longer, letting him see exactly what you want, then lean forward and take him into your mouth. The first slide is slow, hot, wet, deliberate, your lips stretching around the head as your tongue presses flat against the underside. Jake’s breath catches sharp and loud, hips twitching like he’s fighting not to thrust. You sink lower, taking more of him, until the tip nudges the back of your throat. You pull back just enough to breathe, saliva already coating him, glistening, before you push forward again.
This time you don’t stop. You relax your throat and take him deeper, nose brushing his pelvis as you swallow around him. A choked gag escapes you, wet, messy, unavoidable, and the sound seems to snap something in him. His hand finally lands in your hair, fingers threading gently, not pushing, just anchoring himself as his head falls back with a broken groan.
“Fuck—baby—”
You pull off with a slick pop, gasping, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock before you dive back in. Faster now, sloppier, hollowing your cheeks, sucking hard, letting the wet sounds fill the kitchen. Every time you bob down, you take him to the hilt, gagging softly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the stretch. It’s messy on purpose, drool spilling down your chin, coating him, dripping onto the floor. You don’t care. You want him wrecked. And he is.
His thighs tremble under your free hand. His grip tightens in your hair, not guiding, just holding on like he’s about to lose it. Every gag, every wet slide of your mouth pulls another ragged sound from him, curses, your name, breathless pleas. “Look at you,” he rasps, voice shattered. “So fucking perfect, taking me like this—”
You hum around him, the vibration making his hips buck. You feel him swell thicker against your tongue, throbbing hard now. He’s close. You double down, faster, deeper, messier. One hand pumps the base you can’t quite reach, twisting in time with your mouth. The other cups him lower, gentle pressure that makes him curse loud and long.
“Shit—I’m gonna—”
You don’t pull off. You take him as deep as you can, throat fluttering around the head, and he comes with a choked groan, hot, thick pulses spilling straight down your throat. You swallow greedily, milking him through it, gag reflex twitching but holding, until he’s shuddering, spent, fingers loosening in your hair. Only then do you ease off slowly, lips dragging along his length, cleaning him with soft licks as he softens. A final string of spit and come connects you for a second before you break it with a swipe of your tongue.
You sit back on your heels, breathing hard, chin wet, lips swollen. Looking up at him. Jake stares down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Chest heaving, eyes glassy, completely undone. He reaches down with both hands, cupping your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that escaped and the mess at the corner of your mouth. His touch is so tender it almost hurts.
“Pretty girl,” he whispers again, voice hoarse and reverent. “Come here.”
He pulls you up into his arms before you can even catch your breath, crushing you against his chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. He cleans you up gently, warm washcloth from the bathroom, careful strokes across your chin and neck, thumbs brushing away the last traces of mess with a tenderness that makes your throat tight. No words, just quiet glances, soft smiles that linger too long. When he’s done, he presses a kiss to your forehead, quick and instinctive, then pretends it didn’t happen.
You both end up on the couch, some random movie flickering on the TV that neither of you is really watching. He tugs a throw blanket over your legs, pulls you into his side like it’s the most natural thing. You curl into him without thinking, head on his chest, one leg thrown over his, his arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm.
It’s breaking every unspoken rule you ever pretended to have. No kissing during sex? Broken. No staying over? About to be shattered. No feelings? Laughable at this point. His heartbeat is steady under your ear, his body warm and solid. The movie drones on, but you’re lulled by the rise and fall of his breathing, the faint scent of his skin, the way his hand keeps drifting up to play with your hair. Your eyes grow heavy.
At some point, you drift off. You don’t feel him carry you, but you stir just enough to register being lifted, cradled against his bare chest as he walks down the hall. He lays you down in his bed, his bed, not the guest room, not the couch, and pulls the covers up over you. The mattress dips as he slides in beside you, shirtless, skin still warm from earlier.
He hesitates for a second, then shifts closer. One arm slips under your neck, the other drapes over your waist, pulling you back against him. You’re half-asleep, but you feel him press a soft kiss to the back of your shoulder, just once, barely there, like he thinks you won’t notice.
You do. He settles in, breath evening out against your hair. The rules? Completely demolished. And neither of you minds even a little.
You wake up slowly. Not jolting. Not startled. Just drifting upward, consciousness heavy and warm and disoriented. The room smells like him, clean, familiar, faintly comforting, and for one blissful second, you don’t remember why that matters. Then you shift. Your arm brushes warm skin. Bare skin. Your eyes snap open.
Jake is right there. Shirtless. Asleep on his back, one arm thrown over his head, hair a mess, lashes resting against his cheeks like he has no idea he’s about to ruin your entire emotional stability before breakfast. Your heart drops straight into your stomach.
Oh. Oh no. You lie there, frozen, staring at the rise and fall of his chest. The memory of last night creeps in slowly, him pulling the blanket over you, murmuring something soft you were too hazy to respond to, the careful way he tucked you in like you mattered. Like this wasn’t just sex. Your pulse spikes.
Because the rules, they are absolutely, catastrophically gone.
You glance around the room like it might confirm this is a dream. His room is quiet, peaceful. Morning light spills across the bed, catching on his collarbones, the faint marks on his skin you absolutely should not be noticing. But you are. You definitely are. Your chest tightens. This isn’t panic because he’s hot. It’s panic because this feels… intimate. Because he stayed. Because he tucked you in. Because you woke up next to him like this is normal. Like this could be something. As if sensing your stare, Jake shifts. You freeze again.
He blinks awake slowly, eyes unfocused for a second, then they land on you. Recognition dawns. And instead of smugness, instead of cocky teasing, his expression softens.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep. Your heart absolutely betrays you. “Hi,” you reply, too fast. There’s a beat. Then another. Neither of you moves. You’re acutely aware of the silence. Of the space between you that feels too small and too large at the same time.
Jake exhales quietly and rubs a hand down his face. “You okay?” That simple question nearly ends you. You nod. Then immediately shake your head. “I—yeah. I mean. I don’t know.”
He pushes himself up on one elbow, sheet slipping lower without him noticing. “We can talk,” he says gently. “Or not. Whatever you need.”
You stare at him. That’s when it really hits. This isn’t a wingman. This isn’t a hookup. This isn’t rules and distance and pretending. This is Jake Sim, shirtless in the morning light, asking how you feel. And suddenly, the scariest thought of all settles into your chest: You don’t want the rules back.
You just don’t know what replaces them. You don’t talk about it. That’s the unspoken agreement as you both stumble around his apartment, half-awake and aggressively pretending last night didn’t fundamentally alter your brain chemistry. You borrow a hoodie. He pulls on the first jeans he finds. Someone nearly brushes teeth with the wrong toothbrush and pretends it didn’t happen. It’s fine. Totally fine.
You rush out together, hair still messy, fingers still a little too aware of each other’s presence as you speed-walk across campus like you’re late for a crime scene. The thing you don’t notice at first? You don’t look at anyone else. Not the guy by the café who usually makes you double-take. Not the flirty senior from psych. Not even out of habit.
Your attention stays glued forward, toward Jake’s shoulder, his stupid profile, the way he keeps matching his pace to yours without thinking. You only realize it when,“Oh my god.”
You both freeze. Your friends are already there. Sitting. Watching. Waiting. Their eyes flick from your borrowed hoodie… to Jake’s rumpled hair… to the way you walked in together like a matched set.
Then, a very loud, very unnecessary wolf whistle.
“WOOOO,” someone hollers. “LOOK AT YOU TWO.”
Another adds, “Messy hair? Together? In THIS economy?”
Your soul leaves your body. Jake, meanwhile, smirks like he’s been training for this moment his whole life. You glare at them. Hard. “If any of you make one more sound, I will commit violence before my first lecture.” That only makes it worse.
“So,” your friend grins, chin propped on her hand, “you guys are basically together now, right?”
Jake drops into the seat beside you, entirely too relaxed. “Basically?” he repeats, amused.
You elbow him. Hard. He only laughs. “Wow,” someone says. “Didn’t know campus housing allowed sleepovers with benefits.”
You choke. “We did NOT—”
Jake leans back, arms crossed, absolutely enjoying this. “Relax. Let them have their fun.”
You shoot him a look. “You are not helping.”
“I think I’m helping plenty,” he replies, eyes sparkling. “You’re very convincing when you’re angry.”
Your friends are eating this up. One of them fans herself dramatically. “The tension. The denial. The way you walked in like you just finished a third act reconciliation.”
Another wolf whistle. You bury your face in your hands. Jake nudges your knee under the table, voice low, teasing. “Hey. Could be worse.”
You peek at him. “How?”
“They could think we’re married.”
He flashes that grin again. Your heart does something deeply inconvenient. You straighten, glare around the table, and announce, “For the record, we are not together.”
Jake hums. “Didn’t say we were.” Your friends exchange looks. The oh-this-is-going-to-be-fun kind. You sigh, already exhausted. This is going to be a long semester. And judging by Jake’s smug expression, he’s going to enjoy every second of it.
By the end of the day, you’re exhausted. Not academically. Emotionally. Everywhere you go, someone looks at you. Whispers. Grins. One person actually has the audacity to say, “Morning-after glow looks good on you.”
You consider homicide. Jake, of course, is thriving. He doesn’t deny anything. Doesn’t confirm anything either. Just exists beside you like a smug little storm cloud, shoulders brushing yours in hallways, knee nudging yours under desks, voice dropping every time he talks to you like it’s a private joke.
At one point, during lecture, he leans over and murmurs, “Relax. You’re doing great.” You hiss back, “You are the reason I’m suffering.” He only smiles wider. By afternoon, you’re so tired you barely react when someone whistles again as you pass by.
Jake does, though. He glances at you, then deliberately, deliberately, winks. Slow. Lazy. Criminal. Your stomach flips. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. You know exactly what it means. Another… session.
You drop your head back against the wall and sigh, long and dramatic. “You are ruining my life.”
Jake laughs, low and warm, leaning in just enough for you to feel it. “Funny,” he says. “You didn’t seem that miserable last time.”
You glare at him. “You are unbearable.”
“Mm,” he hums, eyes dragging over your face like he’s memorizing it. “Yet here you are.”
You hate that he’s right. Hate that the idea of later tonight makes your pulse jump. Hate that you already know you won’t say no. Hate that when he walks ahead of you, he glances back just to make sure you’re following. You are. Every time. And the worst part? When he flashes that stupid, knowing grin again, you don’t even bother pretending you don’t like it. Time skips quietly.
Not abruptly. Not cleanly. It slips, soft and strange, like it doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that something has shifted. You’re on your bed now, sheets rumpled beneath you, the room still warm with the aftermath of him, of Jake, even though nothing explicit lingers. There’s no proof he was here except the way the air feels heavier, fuller, like it hasn’t caught up yet. Except for the faint crease in the pillow where his arm had been. Except for the way your body still feels tuned to his, like it forgot how to exist alone.
He had to leave for practice. He’d said it like it was no big deal, like it didn’t fracture something in your chest when he glanced at the clock and groaned under his breath.
“Shit,” he’d muttered, rubbing his face. “I’m late.” You’d tried to play it cool. Tried not to let it show.
“Rain check?” he’d asked, already leaning down to kiss you anyway, already smiling like he knew you wouldn’t say no.
One kiss turned into five. Five turned into him crowding you gently against the door, hands braced on either side of your head, not trapping you, just there. Grounding. His mouth was softer then, slower, lingering like he was trying to commit the shape of you to memory. Like leaving wasn’t just inconvenient, it hurt.
You’d laughed, giddy and stupid, when he pressed one last kiss to your forehead, thumb brushing your temple like it belonged there.
“Get dressed,” he’d murmured. “You’ll catch a cold.” As if he wasn’t the reason your knees still felt weak. As if he hadn’t unraveled you just by staying a little too long. Now he’s gone.
And you’re staring at the ceiling, heart doing that slow, aching thud it’s been doing more and more lately. Not sharp pain. Worse. The kind that settles in and refuses to leave. This, whatever this is, has stopped feeling like pretending. Your phone sits beside you on the bed. Earlier, it buzzed, his name lighting up the screen like it belonged there.
Jake: text me when you get up
Jake: eat something
Jake: don’t skip class 🙄
You’d smiled at that. Actually smiled. The kind that pulls at your cheeks before you can stop it. The kind that lingers after the screen goes dark. The kind that makes your chest feel warm and unbearably tight all at once. That’s when it hits you. Not like a thunderclap. Not dramatically. Quietly. Honestly. Irrevocably.
You’re in love with him. Not the playboy reputation. Not the teasing smirk everyone talks about. Not even the way he touches you like it’s instinct, like his hands always know where to go. Him. The way he tucks you in without being asked. The way his voice softens when he thinks you’re upset, even when he pretends not to notice. The way he stays, really stays, even when every rule you never officially agreed on says he shouldn’t. And that’s the problem.
Because Jake Sim does not fall in love. Jake Sim leaves. Jake Sim runs. Jake Sim breaks hearts and laughs it off like it never mattered.
You roll onto your side, curling in on yourself, hugging a pillow to your chest like it might anchor you. Like it might replace the weight of his arm, the quiet reassurance of his presence. This is going to end badly. You can feel it in your bones, in the way every kiss feels like it means too much, in the way his absence already aches like a missing limb, in the way your heart has quietly, stupidly decided this is worth the risk.
You stare at the wall, then close your eyes. And despite everything, despite what you know about him, despite what you know about yourself, you still hope you’re wrong. You hope, just a little, that this time will be different. That he won’t run. That when it starts to hurt, he’ll stay.
And that hope? That’s what scares you the most. Oh, he’s absolutely not okay either. Jake sits in his car long after practice ends. Engine off. Lights dark. The parking lot emptying out one car at a time until it’s just him and the hum of cooling metal. His phone is face-down on the passenger seat like it might burn him if he looks at it too long. Like if he sees your name again, something in him will crack all the way open. His chest still hasn’t settled.
He keeps replaying the way you looked at him before he left, soft, a little dazed, hair mussed, eyes warm in a way that scared the hell out of him. The way you smiled like you trusted him. Like he was safe. Like he wasn’t a mistake waiting to happen. That’s the problem.
You feel safe. Not exciting-safe. Not fun-safe. Real safe. Quiet safe. Stay-safe. The kind that doesn’t let him hide. He presses his forehead to the steering wheel and exhales shakily, breath fogging the glass for a second before disappearing. His hands are still buzzing, like they don’t know what to do without you under them, curled into him like it was instinct.
He hates the quiet. He’s never been good at this part, the after. The stillness. The thinking. The realizing. When things stop moving, when the noise fades, when there’s nothing left to distract him from the weight in his chest, that’s when it gets dangerous. He tells himself it’s just sex. Just comfort. Just two people blowing off steam. That’s the script. He knows it by heart. Has lived by it for years.
But scripts don’t include the way you tucked your feet under his thigh like you belonged there. Scripts don’t include the way you laughed into his shoulder like the world wasn’t sharp. Scripts don’t include the way leaving your place felt wrong in his bones, like he was walking away from something fragile and alive. His phone buzzes.
The sound is too loud in the quiet car. He freezes. Then flips it over despite himself.
You: did you make it?
His chest tightens immediately, sharp, sudden, like someone reached inside and squeezed. He stares at the message longer than necessary. He types. Deletes. Types again.
Jake: yeah
Jake: u eat?
God. He groans softly and lets his head fall back against the seat. He sounds like a fucking idiot. Like someone’s boyfriend. Like someone who cares. He stares up at the roof of the car, jaw clenched so tight it aches. He can still feel you under his hands. The way you curled into him without thinking. The way you sighed, quiet, content, like you belonged there. Like being with him didn’t cost you anything.
That’s when it hits him. Not all at once. Not dramatically. In pieces. He doesn’t want anyone else touching you. Doesn’t want anyone else making you laugh like that.Doesn’t want anyone else seeing you soft and unguarded and real.
And worse, he doesn’t want to be the guy who ruins this. Which means he already has. “Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face, fingers dragging down hard like he can physically pull himself together if he tries hard enough. This was supposed to be simple. Rules. Distance.No feelings.
Something contained. Something temporary. Something he could walk away from without looking back. But every time he leaves your place, it feels wrong. Like he’s abandoning something unfinished. Like he’s choosing the familiar ache of running over the terrifying possibility of staying.
He picks up his phone again, thumb hovering over your name.
He wants to say something. Anything. Wants to tell you to stop looking at him like that because it makes him want things he can’t afford to want. Wants to tell you that you’re dangerous to him in the quietest way possible. Wants to tell you that he doesn’t trust himself not to fall all the way if you keep letting him stay. Instead, he does what he always does. He chooses restraint dressed up as responsibility.
Jake: get some sleep
Jake: see you tomorrow
He stares at the sent messages like they’re a lie he’s practicing believing. Then he finally starts the car. The engine roars to life too loud in the empty lot, heart pounding just as hard, like it’s betraying him with every beat. As he pulls out, hands steady on the wheel despite everything inside him unraveling, he knows.
This is going to hurt. Because he’s already falling. And Jake Sim has never been good at landing. He almost turns the car around. It’s stupid, he knows that. Reckless. The kind of impulsive, heart-first decision he’s spent years training himself not to make. The kind that ruins carefully constructed exits. The kind that leads to explanations, expectations, things he doesn’t know how to survive.
But he’s barely halfway down the block when his hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, chest caving in like his lungs forgot their job. The road blurs for a second, headlights streaking, and suddenly all he can see is you. Barefoot on your bed. Hair everywhere. Eyes warm. Open. Trusting. Smiling at him like he wasn’t a bad ending waiting to happen.
“Don’t,” he mutters to himself, voice rough, like if he says it out loud it’ll hold. The car slows. The engine hum drops. His foot eases off the gas without permission. For half a second, half a fucking second, he lets himself imagine it.
Pulling back into your driveway. Killing the engine. Walking up to your door like an idiot with nothing rehearsed. Knocking. You opening it, confused, soft, maybe smiling like you always do when you see him. Him saying something honest for once. Saying he can’t stop thinking about you. Saying he doesn’t know how to do this without fucking it up. Saying he’s scared because you feel like something he could actually lose. Saying he wants more, and that wanting you feels like stepping off a cliff without knowing how to land.
His turn signal clicks. Once. Twice. His heart is pounding so loud it’s almost painful, like it’s begging him to choose differently. Then fear wins. It always does. He exhales sharply, jaw locking, and forces the wheel straight like it’s an act of violence. The car accelerates, the street disappearing behind him, and the relief that follows is hollow and sickening. He drives away like a coward. Heart still racing. Chest burning. Knowing, deep down, that this is the part where he fucks it up.
—
The next day, he’s unbearable. Not loud-unbearable. Worse. Sharp. Edged. Like he’s made of glass and anyone who touches him is going to bleed. Practice is a mess. His body’s there, but his head’s somewhere else, back in your room, back at the door he didn’t knock on, back in the moment he chose running because it was easier than staying.
“Jake, chill,” one of his friends laughs when he misses an easy shot. “You’re off today.”
“Don’t tell me to chill,” Jake snaps, voice harsher than he means it, but not apologetic either.
The laughter dies immediately. Someone mutters, “Damn,” under their breath. Another guy avoids his eyes altogether. Jake doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t soften it. Doesn’t even realize how tight his fists are until his nails dig into his palms.
The looks his friends exchange say everything. Oh. He’s gone. This is new. He pushes everyone away like they’re obstacles, like they’re in the way of something he refuses to name. Like if he lets anyone close, they’ll see the cracks forming. Until you show up. You don’t announce yourself. Don’t demand his attention. You just step into his space like you always do, quiet, familiar, grounding. Like you belong there.
“Hey,” you say softly. Something in him gives. Just a fraction. Just enough. His shoulders drop, barely noticeable, but real. His jaw unclenches. His eyes flick over you immediately, searching, automatic, instinctive, like he’s checking for damage he’s responsible for. “What?” he asks, already softer, already undone.
“You okay?” you ask. The concern in your voice hits him harder than any confrontation could.
He scoffs, forcing a shrug. “Yeah. Fine.” You don’t believe him. He knows you don’t. That’s the problem, you never do.
“Jake,” you start, hesitant, careful. “About… us—”
Panic spikes. He cuts you off before you can finish, before you can say something he won’t be able to undo. “There is no us,” he says too fast, too clean, like he practiced it in the mirror. “We agreed on that, remember?”
Your face stills. Not dramatic. Not angry. Just… quiet.
“Oh,” you say after a beat, voice small but steady. “Right. I just thought—”
He looks away immediately, like he can’t stand to see what that did to you. “That’s the problem,” he mutters. “Thinking.” The silence that follows is brutal. It presses in, heavy and suffocating, full of everything he’s too scared to say and everything you’re finally starting to understand. His friends watch from a distance, pretending not to, because it’s obvious now, painfully obvious.
You’re the only one who can calm him. And you’re the one thing he won’t let himself keep. You step back, nodding once, like you’re accepting something you already knew but hoped you were wrong about.
“Okay,” you say quietly. “Then… see you around.” You turn to leave. Jake watches you go.
Doesn’t call your name. Doesn’t stop you. Just stands there, jaw tight, chest aching like he ripped something vital out of himself and pretended it was necessary. And the worst part? He knows. The moment he didn’t turn that car around, the moment he chose fear over honesty, was the moment he started losing you.
And no amount of running has ever saved him from that. You go for a walk because staying still feels like suffocating.
Your body needs motion, air, distance, something to keep your thoughts from closing in on themselves. The streetlights blur past as you walk without direction, hands shoved into your pockets, shoulders tense like you’re bracing for impact. Your phone is face-down in your pocket, but you swear you can feel its weight. Like Jake’s name might burn straight through the fabric if you let it. You haven’t texted him. Haven’t not texted him either. You’re suspended in that awful in-between where every thought circles back to him whether you want it to or not. The way he dodged you. The way his voice hardened the second you said us.The way it still softened when he looked at you, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo his mouth was trying to send.
It hurts in a quiet, persistent way. Not sharp. Worse. Like longing with nowhere to go. Like something alive inside you pacing against its ribs. You don’t even realize you’ve slowed until a familiar voice says your name. You stop. Turn.
Your ex stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, posture tentative, like he’s testing unstable ground. He looks the same. Too familiar. Too easy to place in a past you worked hard to survive.
“Hey,” he says. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”
For a split second, your heart jumps, pure muscle memory. Then the ache evaporates, replaced by something hot and electric. Rage. It floods you all at once. Every sleepless night. Every moment you twisted yourself smaller to keep the peace. Every time you were made to feel like wanting more was asking for too much.
“What do you want?” you ask flatly.
He blinks, thrown off. “Wow. Okay. I just—”
“No,” you cut in, voice shaking despite yourself. “You don’t get to just walk up to me like nothing happened.”
“I was just trying to talk,” he says, already defensive. “We didn’t exactly end on great terms.”
“That was your choice,” you snap. “You made it very clear where I stood.”
“That’s not fair—”
You laugh, sharp and humorless. “Leave me alone.”
His jaw tightens. “You’re being dramatic.”
That word hits like a match to gasoline. “Dramatic?” you repeat, stepping closer, hands curling into fists. “You disappear. You lie. You make me feel like I’m asking for too much, and now you think you get to show up and rewrite it?”
People pass by. Someone glances over, then looks away. You don’t care. “I don’t owe you closure,” you say, voice firm now, steady in a way that surprises even you. “I don’t owe you anything. So walk away.”
He stares at you, stunned, pride and guilt flickering across his face like competing signals. “Fine,” he mutters at last. “Whatever. You’ve changed.”
“Good,” you say. “That was the point.” He leaves. Your hands are shaking by the time you turn away, chest heaving, adrenaline buzzing under your skin. It takes a second for the anger to drain, long enough for the aftermath to crash in and leave you hollow.
You’re exhausted. And then, you see him. Jake stands across the street. Still. Rigid. Like he’s been carved into the concrete. His eyes are locked on you, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle ticking. He didn’t hear the words. Didn’t need to. He saw enough, the proximity, the intensity, the way your ex stood too close. The way you didn’t walk away immediately. Something dark moves through Jake’s expression. Possessive. Afraid. Angry.
He moves before you can stop him. “Jake—” you start, but he’s already there, voice sharp as broken glass.
“What the hell was that?”
Your stomach drops. “It wasn’t—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in. “Don’t lie to me.”
Lie?
“I wasn’t—” You force a breath. “He came up to me. I told him to leave.”
Jake laughs, bitter and disbelieving. “Yeah? Looked real convincing from where I was standing.”
That hurts more than you expect. More than the accusation itself. “You think I’d do that?” you ask quietly.
His eyes flicker, just for a second. Doubt. Fear. Then he hardens again, like softness is dangerous. “I don’t know what you’d do,” he says. “You don’t exactly talk to me anymore, remember?”
“That’s because every time I try, you shut me out,” you shoot back. “You don’t get to act like you care now.”
“I do care,” he snaps, stepping closer. Too close. His voice drops, rough and dangerous. “That’s the problem.”
Silence crashes between you. Heavy. Public. Exposed. “That’s not fair,” you say, voice shaking. “You don’t know what was said.”
“No,” Jake fires back. “But I know how this ends.”
You stare at him, hurt flashing across your face. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“Oh, don’t I?” His jaw clenches. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I was just the rebound.”
The silence is deafening. People walk past. A car honks somewhere. The world keeps moving like this isn’t your chest splitting open on the sidewalk. Jake drags a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “You want to know what it looked like?” he says. “It looked like you going back to him. Like I was an idiot for thinking—”
“For thinking what?” you demand. He stops. Because whatever he was about to say terrifies him. His mouth opens. Closes. “Forget it,” he mutters. “This was a mistake.”
Your chest tightens painfully. “So that’s it?”
“This—” he gestures between you, helpless and furious all at once. “This is exactly why I didn’t want more.” Something inside you goes cold.
“You assumed,” you say softly. “You didn’t even ask.”
His eyes flash. “Because I already know how this ends.”
“Then you don’t know me at all,” you whisper. That one lands. Jake flinches like you slapped him. For a moment, just a fragile, unbearable moment, it looks like he might say something. Something real. Something honest. Like he might finally choose differently.
“I see how it is,” Jake starts, trying to focus anywhere but on your teary gaze, “All you wanted was sex.” Your eyes are glossy. Angry. Wounded.
“How dare you,” you whisper.
Jake falters. “I—”
“No,” you cut in, voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to push me away, dodge every conversation, pretend I don’t matter, and then explode the second someone else talks to me.”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. “You don’t want me,” you continue, tears spilling now. “But you don’t want anyone else to have me either.”
“That’s not—” he starts, then stops. Because it is. And he hates himself for it.
“You made rules,” you say softly. “And then you broke them. And now you’re punishing me for it.” Jake swallows hard, eyes burning.
“I was wrong,” he says, voice low, rough. “About everything.”
You shake your head, wiping at your cheeks. “Too late.”
The words land heavier than any insult. You step back, shaking your head, tears spilling freely now. “You don’t get to want me only when it’s convenient. You don’t get to pull me close and then act shocked when I fall.”
“I never asked you to—”
“Yes, you did,” you interrupt, voice rising. “Every time you held my hand. Every time you stayed. Every time you looked at me like I was more.” His shoulders slump, breath shuddering out of him. You turn away, wiping your cheeks furiously. “I’m done.”
Jake’s heart stutters. “Wait—”
You face him one last time. “You said no feelings,” you say quietly. He swallows. “Then stop making me feel things.”
Jake’s heart lurches. “Don’t—”
“Please,” you whisper. “Just… don’t follow me.” You turn and walk away, shoulders trembling. Jake stands there, frozen, watching you disappear into the crowd. And for the first time since this all started, he doesn’t chase you. Because he knows. This isn’t flirting. This isn’t tension. This is the moment he finally broke something he can’t undo.
After the break, Jake does what he’s always done when things get hard. He disappears into noise. He tells himself it’s fine, that this is normal, that this is who he’s always been. He shows up to parties like muscle memory, like instinct. Someone texts him an address, a vague pull up, and he goes without thinking. Music rattles through cheap speakers. Lights strobe. Alcohol burns its way down his throat.
He laughs at the right moments. He throws an arm around someone’s shoulders when they pull him close. He lets people assume things about him because assumptions are easier than explanations. But something is off.
It hits him the first night he realizes he’s sober enough to notice how hollow everything feels. The bass is pounding so loud the floor vibrates, but inside his head, nothing. No rush. No buzz. No spark. Just this flat, empty quiet that makes his chest feel too big for his lungs. He leans against a kitchen counter slick with spilled drinks, watching people dance like they’re weightless. A girl presses into his side, shouting something in his ear. He nods like he heard her.
He didn’t. Another hand slips into his, fingers lacing easily, confidently. Normally, he’d respond without thinking, pull her closer, let the night go where it always goes. Instead, his first thought is you. The way you stand too close when you’re nervous. The way your laugh comes out crooked when something genuinely surprises you. The look on your face when he said, There is no us. His stomach turns.
“Hey,” the girl says, smiling up at him. “You okay?”
Jake pulls his hand back gently. “Yeah. I’m—uh. I’m good.”
She blinks. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” He forces a smile. “Just tired.” That word, tired, starts following him everywhere. He leaves early. The next party, same thing. He shows up, stays an hour, maybe two. Drinks less. Watches more. Leaves without saying goodbye. People notice.
“Bro, you ghosting your own reputation now?” someone jokes.
“You used to be fun,” another says, half-laughing, half-confused.
Jake shrugs. “Guess I’m evolving.”
But he isn’t. He’s unraveling. He starts checking his phone compulsively, unlocking it without realizing, thumb hovering over your name before he locks it again. He tells himself he’s not waiting for anything, but the disappointment still hits every time the screen stays empty.
Back at his place, the silence is unbearable. No music. No voices. Just the hum of the fridge, the ticking of time he can’t outrun. He lies on his bed staring at the ceiling, replaying moments he didn’t realize mattered so much while they were happening. The way you used to steal his hoodies. The way you looked at him when he got quiet, not annoyed, not demanding, just concerned. The night on the sidewalk replays on a loop. Your voice. Your eyes. You don’t know me at all.
The words lodge somewhere deep, festering. Because the worst part? He thinks you might be right.
—
You try to do the healthy thing. You don’t sit around waiting for him to come back. You don’t reread old messages. You don’t let yourself spiral every time your phone buzzes.
You say yes when someone asks you out. Heeseung is easy in a way Jake never was. He texts ahead of time. Asks what kind of coffee you like. Actually listens to the answer. When you meet, he smiles like he’s genuinely happy you showed up, like it wasn’t a given. The first time you sit across from him, the conversation flows without effort. He tells stories that wander and circle back on themselves. You laugh. You relax.
It feels… safe. And that scares you a little. The second hangout stretches longer than you expect. You walk side by side, hands occasionally brushing, and he always lets you decide whether it turns into something more. You tell yourself this is good.
This is what moving on looks like. But Jake is everywhere. In the way Heeseung laughs too softly, like he’s careful not to take up too much space. In the way he waits before touching you, like he’s afraid of crossing a line you never drew. In the way he looks at you like he wants approval instead of certainty.
Jake never waited. Jake assumed you’d be there. Jake took space like it belonged to him. Jake scared you and thrilled you and hurt you in ways that felt real. On your third hangout, when Heeseung finally calls it out, you almost feel relieved.
He leans back, studying you with a knowing look. “Okay,” he says. “I have to ask.”
Your stomach tightens. “Ask what?”
“Whoever came before me,” he says lightly. “Because you keep smiling like you’re comparing me to someone I’m not even competing with.” You choke on your drink, coughing, mortified. “I’m not—” He grins. “You absolutely are.” You drop your forehead to the table, groaning. “I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be,” he says easily. “I’m just the-” he pauses, “Replacement goldfish.” You snort, “Why would you call yourself that?” He scans your face, eyes softening once again, “You’re human. And very obviously still in love.” You lift your head, eyes searching his face. “That doesn’t bother you?” He shrugs. “I knew what this was when I asked you out. I just wanted to be sure you knew.” That honesty stings more than anger would’ve. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you say quietly. “Then don’t lie to yourself,” he replies. “That’s how people get collateral damage.”
You nod, throat tight, because he’s right. He grins. “Look, you don’t have to tell me the name. Or actually, please do. I live for the tea.” You laugh despite yourself, head dropping to the table.
Jake sees you together by accident. He’s heading somewhere he doesn’t even want to be, hoodie pulled low, earbuds in with nothing playing. He turns a corner, and there you are. Walking beside someone else. Talking. Laughing. You look… lighter.
Like the weight he dropped didn’t crush you the way he assumed it would. Something breaks open in his chest. He stands there longer than he should, watching the way you tilt your head when you listen, the way your smile comes easier around someone who doesn’t make you second-guess yourself. He turns away before you see him. That night, he stays in.
He scrolls through his phone until his eyes ache, old texts, stupid memes, half-serious promises neither of you realized were fragile. Finally, in the quiet, he lets the truth surface. “I fucked up.” There’s no one to hear it. No one to soften it. He assumed. He panicked. He chose distance because closeness scared him. And now he knows, really knows, what he lost. Whether it’s too late or not doesn’t even matter anymore. He’s utterly, devastatingly in love with you. To the point where he went ahead and got his whole life turned upside down. For the first time, Jake Sim is painfully, terrifyingly certain.
And certainty, he’s learning, hurts like hell. Jake wakes up knowing. Not the slow, creeping realization that usually follows regret. Not the kind that waits for coffee or daylight to soften it. This is instant. Violent. Absolute. It hits him so hard he has to sit up, feet on the floor, elbows braced on his knees like the weight of it might knock him over if he doesn’t anchor himself. His hands tangle in his hair, grip tight, breath stuttering once, twice, before it steadies.
He’s in love. There’s no room to negotiate with the thought. No loopholes. No maybes. It isn’t dramatic in the way movies sell it. It’s quieter than that. Cleaner. Terrifyingly simple. You are it.
Not the convenient kind of affection he’s always been good at. Not the easy heat of bodies and laughter and temporary distraction. This is the kind that rearranges things. That reaches backward and forward at the same time and suddenly makes everything else feel like rehearsal. Every hookup before you fades into static, faces blur, memories flatten, sensations lose color. It all feels like noise he mistook for music.
And then you happened. And now there’s no un-knowing it. Jake exhales, slow and steady, and for once he doesn’t argue with himself. He doesn’t list reasons this is a bad idea. He doesn’t tell himself he’s late or stupid or doomed to mess it up again. He moves. That’s the difference.
He pulls on the first hoodie he can find, yesterday’s, probably, and grabs his keys, heart already racing like it knows where this is going. The mirror catches him for half a second: hair a mess, eyes bright and terrified and alive in a way he hasn’t seen in himself for weeks. “Okay,” he murmurs to no one. “Okay.” Find you. Tell you. Fix this, if fixing is still allowed.
Campus stretches out in front of him, familiar paths suddenly charged with urgency. He walks fast, then faster, like if he slows down he might lose nerve. Your coffee spot is first. The barista shakes her head apologetically. “Not today.” Library next. He scans tables, corners, stairwells, nothing.
He jogs to your lecture hall, breathless by the time he gets there. Empty seats. A professor packing up notes. You didn’t show. A flicker of fear tries to worm its way in. He doesn’t let it. He keeps going. He asks people who barely know him, people who know you better, people who only recognize his face from around. Someone jokes, Thought you two were inseparable, and for once, it doesn’t sting. It just fuels him. “Have you seen her?” “Earlier maybe?” “No? Okay, thanks.”
Hour bleeds into hour. The sky shifts. His legs ache. His phone stays stubbornly silent in his pocket, and every unanswered question presses a little heavier on his chest. What if he missed you? What if this realization came a day too late? By the time the sun starts sinking, spilling gold and pink across the buildings, he slows, not because he’s given up, but because he’s tired in that bone-deep way that comes from caring too much. He stops outside a building without really knowing why.
Breathing hard. Hands on his hips. Staring up at nothing. “Jake.” He looks up. Giselle. She’s watching him like she’s been waiting, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her eyes flick over him, sweat-damp hoodie, flushed face, the unmistakable look of someone mid-reckoning.
“Well,” she says finally. “You look like hell.”
He huffs a weak laugh. “Feel worse.”
That earns him a small smile. Then it fades, replaced by something gentler. More serious. Without ceremony, she steps forward and presses a folded piece of paper into his palm. “No questions,” she says before he can speak. “No spiraling. Just, go.”
He blinks at her. “What—”
“Jake,” she cuts in, softer now. “Don’t mess this up.” And then she’s gone, walking away like she just handed him something precious and trusts him not to drop it. His fingers tremble as he unfolds the note. Small handwriting. Familiar. Uneven. rooftop.
His heart kicks hard, sudden and bright. The rooftop. Of course it is. A laugh breaks out of him, quiet, breathless, disbelieving. Relief washes through him so strong it almost knocks him off balance. He doesn’t hesitate. He takes the stairs two at a time, legs burning, lungs protesting, every step lighter than the last. With each floor, the fear shifts, not disappearing, but sharpening into something clean. Hope.
Not the fragile kind. The determined kind.
Because for the first time since everything fell apart, he isn’t guessing. He isn’t assuming. He isn’t running away. He knows where you are. He knows what he feels. And when he reaches the door at the top, hand hovering over the handle, heart steady despite the chaos, he knows exactly what he’s going to say.
He bursts onto the rooftop like he ran the whole way up. Because he did. The door bangs shut behind him, echoing louder than it should, and for a second he just… folds. Hands on his knees, breath tearing in and out of his chest like he sprinted straight through his own fear. His hoodie clings to him, hair wrecked by wind and sweat and panic, eyes wild in a way that makes it painfully obvious he didn’t rehearse a single word of this.
He straightens too fast when he spots you. You’re by the railing. Arms folded tight. Spine straight. Guard fully, unmistakably up. The wind tugs at your hair, lifting strands across your face like the world itself is urging you to turn away from him. “Hey,” you say carefully. Not softly. Not coldly. Carefully.
That almost destroys him. “Hi—fuck—hi,” he says, immediately rubbing the back of his neck, pacing one step to the side before catching himself. He looks like a caged animal who suddenly realized the door is open and doesn’t know whether to bolt or beg. “Okay. Um. I—yeah. I’m bad at this. Like, criminally bad.”
You lift an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”
He winces. “I deserved that. I know. Irony. Laugh later, please.”
He drags a hand down his face, eyes darting everywhere except you, like if he looks too directly he might lose his nerve. That stops you for half a second. He notices. He swallows, shoulders slumping like he’s already stripping away every defense he owns. “I’m not here to be charming,” he says quietly. “I’m not here to talk my way out of anything. I don’t get to do that anymore.”
You don’t respond. So he keeps going. “I messed up,” he says, blunt and unfiltered. “I didn’t just mess up, I hurt you. I assumed. I projected. I saw what I was afraid of instead of what was actually happening, and then I punished you for it.”
Your jaw tightens. Jake sees it and immediately lifts his hands, not surrender, not dramatics. Just honesty. “No, please, don’t shut down,” he says quickly. “You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t have to say anything. Just… let me say this without running away for once.” The wind hums between you. After a long beat, you give a small nod. It feels like mercy. He exhales, shaky and relieved and terrified all at once.
“I’ve spent my whole life leaving first,” he admits. “Before things get real. Before people can see the parts of me that don’t know what the hell they’re doing. And with you… being with you wasn’t scary because it might end.” His voice cracks. “It was scary because it mattered.”
You turn your head slightly, just enough that he knows you’re listening. “When I saw you with your ex,” he continues, voice rough, “I didn’t even ask. I didn’t trust you. I didn’t trust us. I just… decided the ending for both of us like I always do.” He laughs once, humorless, pained. “I tell myself I’m self-aware, but really I just run with better excuses.”
You finally look at him. Really look. His eyes are glassy. Red-rimmed. Open in a way you’ve never seen before. “I went back to partying because that’s what I know,” he says. “Noise. Distraction. People who don’t ask anything of me. And it felt empty. Every single time. I’d be in a room full of people and all I could think was, she would hate this. Or she’d make fun of me for this. Or she’d be laughing right now.” His voice drops. “I missed you in rooms you weren’t even in.”
Your throat tightens despite yourself. “I don’t get to ask you to trust me,” he says quietly. “I broke that. I don’t get to pretend my fear is an excuse. It’s just… a flaw I need to own.” He steps closer, slow, deliberate, but stops a full foot away, like he’s terrified of crossing a line he hasn’t earned the right to cross. “But I am in love with you,” he says. No jokes. No smile. “And I don’t want to be the guy who almost loved you because he was too scared to stay.”
You shake your head, eyes burning. “Jake, you don’t understand how much that hurt.”
“I do,” he says immediately. “I do now. I replayed your face over and over, the way you looked at me when I didn’t even give you the benefit of a question. And if you tell me you can’t do this again, I’ll accept it. I swear I will.” That’s new.
“But if there’s even a sliver of a chance,” he continues, voice breaking, “I’ll do the work. I’ll say the scary things out loud. I’ll stay when my instinct is to bolt. I’ll earn it, slowly. Properly.”
You turn away, gripping the railing hard, blinking rapidly as the city stretches out below you. You remember every lonely night. Every second-guess. Every time you wondered if you were asking for too much just by wanting him to stay. Jake doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t rush you. He just stands there, heart on the floor between you.
“I don’t want rules,” he adds softly. “I don’t want pretending. I don’t want to keep you at arm’s length so I feel safe. I want the version of you who calls me out. Who scares me a little. Who makes me better even when I don’t want to be.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “I am… a lot.”
“I know,” he says instantly. “I want all of it.”
Silence again. But this one feels different. You turn back to him slowly. Your eyes search his face, not for charm, not for confidence, but for cracks. You find only sincerity.
“If you do this again,” you say quietly, voice trembling, “if you shut me out or assume the worst or leave without a conversation—”
“I won’t,” he says. Not rushed. Not desperate. Grounded. “And if I ever feel like I’m about to, I’ll tell you. Even if it makes me look weak. Especially then.”
You search his face for bravado. There is none. Only sincerity. Only Jake, unguarded, terrified, in love. You step closer. “God,” you murmur, “you’re such an idiot.”
Relief floods his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say, smiling through tears. “But you’re my idiot.”
His laugh breaks, half sob, half disbelief, as he pulls you into his arms, holding you like he’s afraid the world might try to take you away again. You step forward. Just one step. Jake doesn’t move until you’re close enough that he’s sure this is real. And this time, he stays. He doesn’t hesitate this time. No pulling away. No second-guessing. No fear winning at the last second.
Jake steps into your space and kisses you first. It’s not rushed, it’s intentional. Like he’s been holding this back for weeks and finally lets himself have it. His hand cups your jaw, thumb warm against your cheek as his lips slot against yours, slow and deep and sure.
You breathe out a soft sound before you can stop yourself. That’s all it takes. His other hand slides into your hair, fingers tangling there like he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. He groans quietly against your mouth, the sound vibrating straight through you, pulling you closer without even trying.
Your hands clutch at his hoodie, heart racing, every nerve lighting up. He kisses you like he means it this time. Like this isn’t practice. Like this isn’t pretend. Your breathing turns uneven, soft little exhales slipping between kisses, and Jake has to pull back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes dark, chest rising fast.
“Fuck,” he whispers, smiling like he’s overwhelmed in the best way. “You’re killing me.” You laugh softly, breathless. “You started it.” He leans in again, slower now, softer, pressing one more kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then your forehead like he’s grounding himself. This time, when he holds you, there’s no rule breaking. No guilt. No running. Just the certainty that whatever this is, it’s real.
His mouth finds your neck again almost immediately, warm and unhurried, lips trailing down the same path he’s already claimed tonight. You feel the gentle scrape of his teeth, the promise of another mark, and your breath hitches. “Not here,” you whisper, voice soft but firm, fingers threading through his hair to guide him back up.
He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t argue. Just pulls away with a low, amused hum, eyes dark and sparkling with mischief. In one smooth motion he scoops you up, arms under your thighs, your legs wrapping around his waist like they belong there. You let out a surprised laugh that turns into a half-hearted squeak when he starts walking toward the door.
“Hey—wait, my—”
The protest barely leaves your mouth before his hand comes down on your ass in a sharp, playful spank. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make heat bloom across your skin and a startled giggle burst out of you. “Shh,” he murmurs against your ear, grin wicked. “You’re coming with me.”
You bury your face in his neck, laughing into his skin as he strides across the rooftop, surprisingly balanced. The door clicks shut behind you, cool night air hitting your flushed cheeks as he strides toward his car parked haphazardly in the driveway. He sets you down only long enough to yank the passenger door open, but the second you’re in the seat he’s crowding in after you for one more quick, hungry kiss before jogging around to the driver’s side.
The engine roars to life. He throws it into gear. And then he floors it. The car surges forward, tires chirping against the pavement, and you both burst out laughing, wild, breathless, uncontrollable, like two high teenagers who just stole the night and don’t plan on giving it back. His right hand immediately finds your thigh, fingers splaying wide, possessive and warm through the thin fabric of whatever you’re still wearing (or not wearing). He squeezes once, then strokes upward in lazy, distracting circles, thumb brushing higher every few seconds just to make you squirm.
You’re both giggling like idiots. He’s speeding, way over the limit, taking corners a little too fast, windows cracked so the wind whips through your hair. Streetlights streak past in golden blurs. Every time you glance over at him, he’s already looking back, eyes bright, smile crooked and reckless and so stupidly in love it makes your chest ache.
“Slow down, you maniac,” you manage between laughs, but your hand covers his on your thigh, pressing it harder against you instead of pushing it away.
“Not a chance,” he shoots back, voice rough with joy. “Gotta get you home before I pull over and finish what I started.” You throw your head back against the seat, laughing louder, the sound mixing with the roar of the engine and the music he cranked up without asking. His thumb keeps tracing slow patterns on your inner thigh. Your fingers lace through his.
The city lights flash by. Your heart races faster than the car. And for once, neither of you is pretending this is anything less than everything. The second the front door clicks shut behind you, Jake doesn’t set you down. He keeps you wrapped around him, legs locked at his ankles, arms slung around his neck, and spins so your back slams against the cool wood of the door with just enough force to knock the breath out of you in the best way. Your laugh turns into a gasp as he presses himself flush against you, pinning you there with the solid weight of his body.
His mouth crashes into yours before you can even catch your breath, sloppy, desperate, all teeth and tongue and shared exhales. It’s not gentle. It’s starving. You kiss him back just as hard, fingers digging into his shoulders, tugging at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer like you’re trying to crawl inside his skin. He grinds up against you, slow and deliberate at first, then harder, his bulge thick and straining through his sweatpants, dragging delicious friction right where you need it. You moan into his mouth, hips rolling instinctively to meet every roll of his, the rhythm filthy and perfect. The door rattles faintly with every thrust of his hips.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans against your lips, voice wrecked and low. “Been thinking about this the whole drive.”
His hand slides down between your bodies, rough and sure, slipping under the waistband of whatever you’re still wearing, shorts, panties, doesn’t matter. Fingers find you slick and ready, and he doesn’t tease. He cups you fully, palm pressing against your clit while two fingers slide through your folds, rubbing slow, firm circles that make your thighs shake around his waist.
You whimper, head falling back against the door, and that’s when his mouth moves to your neck. He latches on immediately, hot, open-mouthed kisses turning into hard sucks, teeth scraping just enough to sting before he soothes with his tongue. He’s marking you again, deliberate and possessive, each pull of his lips drawing a fresh bruise to the surface while his fingers keep working you in steady, maddening strokes. Your hips buck into his hand, chasing more, and every time you moan his name it seems to spur him on harder.
“Love these sounds,” he mutters against your throat, voice vibrating through your skin. “Love how wet you get for me.” Another hard suck right below your ear, another bloom of purple blooming under his mouth, and you’re arching, grinding down on his bulge and his fingers at the same time, the door creaking under the force of it all. You’re both a mess already, lips swollen, breathing ragged, clothes half-askew, and you haven’t even made it past the entryway. He doesn’t seem to care. Neither do you.
Not when he’s kissing you like this, touching you like this, claiming you like this. The night’s just getting started. He bridal-carries you the rest of the way down the hall like you weigh nothing, strong arms secure under your thighs and back, your legs dangling over one elbow while your arms loop around his neck. Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently, and you can’t resist pressing open-mouthed kisses along the side of his throat, slow, deliberate, tasting the salt of his skin and the faint thrum of his pulse. Every time your lips brush the spot just below his ear, he lets out a low, rumbling groan that vibrates through his chest and into yours.
“Keep doing that,” he mutters, voice gravel-rough, “and we’re not making it to the bed.” You smile against his neck and nip lightly in answer, earning another deep sound and the way his grip tightens like he’s fighting not to drop you right there in the hallway.
He kicks the bedroom door open with his foot, strides inside, and lowers you onto the mattress with surprising gentleness, easing you down like something precious instead of the frantic heat you both carried through the front door. The sheets are cool against your back, a sharp contrast to the fever of his skin as he hovers over you for a second, breathing hard, eyes roaming your face like he’s trying to memorize this exact moment.
Then he moves. Hands quick but careful, he strips the rest of your clothes away, shirt tugged over your head, bra unhooked and tossed somewhere in the dark, shorts and panties sliding down your legs in one smooth pull. You’re bare beneath him now, completely exposed, and he doesn’t rush to cover you with his body.
He sits back on his heels between your thighs, hands braced on either side of your hips, and just… looks.
His gaze drags over you slowly, hungry, reverent, almost pained. Chest rising and falling fast. Eyes dark and glassy. He closes them for a beat, like the sight of you is too much, jaw clenching as he exhales a shaky curse. “Fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking on the word. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He says it like a confession, like something he’s been carrying around for too long and can finally let out. His eyes open again, softer now, and he leans down, palms sliding up the outsides of your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin there. “Been thinking about you like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “spread out on my bed, looking at me like that… Jesus.”
One hand moves to your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip while the other stays on your hip, grounding you both. He’s still fully dressed, sweatpants low on his hips, shirt rumpled, and the contrast makes the moment feel even more raw, more intimate. He lowers himself slowly, covering you with his weight, forearms bracketing your head as he kisses you deep and unhurried. When he pulls back just enough to speak, his forehead rests against yours. “I could look at you forever,” he whispers, the words so quiet they almost get lost between your breaths.
And the way he’s holding you, gentle but possessive, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go, says he means every single one.
He doesn’t rush. After stripping the last of your clothes, Jake settles between your thighs again, eyes never leaving yours as he lowers himself. His hands find yours first, fingers sliding between yours, lacing tight, palms pressing together like he needs the anchor. You squeeze back instinctively, and the small, intimate connection makes your chest tighten even before his mouth touches you.
Then he does. His tongue parts you slow and deliberate, a long, flat stroke from entrance to clit that has your back arching off the bed. He groans low against you at the first taste, the vibration shooting straight through your core. He doesn’t tease long, he dives in like he’s been starving for this, lips closing around your clit, sucking gently while his tongue flicks in perfect, relentless rhythm. All the while, his fingers stay locked with yours, grip firm, thumb stroking over your knuckles in soft, steady circles. It’s grounding. Tender. Filthy contrast to the way his mouth is devouring you.
When two of his fingers slide inside, thick, curling just right against that spot that makes your toes curl, he keeps the pace slow at first, letting you feel every inch, every drag. Then he picks up, matching the rhythm of his tongue, pumping deep and steady while he sucks harder on your clit.
Your moans turn broken, hips rolling up to meet him, and he lets you, encourages it, free hand sliding up to press your thigh wider, opening you more for him. The wet sounds fill the room, obscene and perfect, and every time you whimper his name, he answers with a muffled groan against your pussy.
You come hard, shattering, thighs clamping around his head, fingers squeezing his so tight it probably hurts. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull away, just works you through it with softer licks, slower thrusts of his fingers, drawing out every aftershock until you’re trembling, oversensitive, gasping for air.
Only then does he lift his head, lips slick and swollen, eyes dark and glassy with want. He kisses the inside of your thigh once, soft, reverent, before rising up on his knees. He shoves his sweatpants down in one rough motion, kicking them off. His cock springs free, thick, flushed dark, the tip angry red and glistening with precome. He wraps a hand around himself, gives a few slow, firm pumps, spreading the slickness down his length while staring down at you like you’re the only thing that exists. “Fuck… look at you,” he breathes again, voice wrecked. “So pretty when you come for me.”
He leans over you, bracing one hand beside your head, the other guiding himself. The blunt head nudges your entrance, hot, slippery, teasing just the slightest stretch. He doesn’t push in yet. Just rocks there, letting you feel him, letting the anticipation build until you’re whimpering, hips lifting toward him. Eyes locked on yours, he murmurs, low and rough, “Tell me you want it, baby.” You don’t even hesitate. “I want it. I want you.”
That’s all he needs. He pushes in slow, inch by thick inch, stretching you open, filling you so perfectly your breath catches. When he’s buried to the hilt, hips flush against yours, he stills for a second, forehead dropping to yours, breathing hard. “God,” he rasps, voice trembling just a little. “You feel… so fucking good.”
Then he starts to move. He starts slow, deep, deliberate rolls of his hips that bury him to the hilt every time, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with a slick, satisfying drag that makes you both gasp into each other’s mouths. It’s pounding, yes, hard enough that the headboard taps the wall in steady rhythm, hard enough that your thighs tremble around his waist and your nails rake down his back, but it’s so much more than that.
It’s making love. Every thrust feels like he’s trying to fuse himself to you, like he’s pouring everything unspoken into the way he moves inside you. His forehead stays pressed to yours between kisses, breaths mingling, eyes locked when they’re not fluttering shut from the intensity.
He kisses you constantly. Deep, open-mouthed ones that swallow your moans. Soft, lingering ones against the corner of your mouth when you’re both catching air. Quick, desperate pecks when the pleasure spikes too sharp and he needs to ground himself. He kisses your jaw, your cheek, the tip of your nose, then crashes back to your lips like he can’t stay away for more than a second.
“God, baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice wrecked and thick with emotion. “You feel… everything.”
One hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threaded through your hair, holding you close so he can kiss you deeper while the other slides down to grip your hip, angling you just right so every stroke hits that perfect spot inside you. You arch up to meet him, legs tightening around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to pull him harder, deeper. The pace builds, faster, more insistent, but never frantic. It’s purposeful. Reverent. Like he’s savoring every second of being connected to you this completely.
You kiss him through your rising moans, tongues sliding, teeth grazing, sharing every shaky breath. When your climax starts to coil tight, you whimper his name against his lips, and he answers by kissing you harder, swallowing the sound, hips snapping with more force now, chasing both your releases together. “Come with me,” he breathes into your mouth, voice trembling. “Please, want to feel you.” You do. The wave crashes over you at the same time it hits him, your walls fluttering and clenching around him, pulling a broken groan from his throat as he buries himself deep and comes hard, pulsing inside you, hips stuttering through the aftershocks. He doesn’t pull out right away.
He stays there, softening slowly, still kissing you, lazy, sweet, exhausted presses of lips while your heartbeats slow together. His hand strokes your hair back from your damp forehead. Another soft kiss to your temple. Then your cheek. Then your mouth again, like he’s addicted to the taste of you. When he finally eases out and rolls to the side, he pulls you with him, tucking you against his chest, legs tangled, arms wrapped tight like he’s never letting go. No words. Just the quiet sound of your breathing, the gentle brush of his lips against your hair every few seconds, and the unspoken truth settling over both of you like a blanket: This isn’t casual anymore. It never really was. And neither of you wants it to be.
He stays buried inside you for a long, quiet moment after you both come down, breathing together, hearts hammering in tandem. Then he eases out slowly, careful, like he’s afraid of breaking the spell. He doesn’t rush to move away, instead he gathers you close, rolling so you’re tucked against his chest, legs tangled, skin still flushed and damp. Jake presses the softest kiss to your forehead. Then another. And another. Slow, lingering ones that feel like promises. His lips trail down to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your eye, everywhere he can reach without letting you go. “You okay, baby?” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked in the best way. His hand strokes down your spine, gentle, soothing, then back up again. “Need anything? Water? A blanket? Me to never let you go?”
You smile against his collarbone, too blissed-out to speak right away, and he takes that as answer enough. He shifts just enough to reach the nightstand, grabs a soft towel he must’ve left there earlier, and starts cleaning you up with careful, reverent touches. No hurry. No awkwardness. Just tender swipes, his thumb brushing your inner thigh like he’s memorizing the feel of you.
When he’s done, he pulls the covers over both of you, cocooning you in warmth. Then his hands find your shoulders, strong fingers kneading slow, deep circles into the muscles there, working out the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding. He moves to your back next, palms gliding down either side of your spine, thumbs pressing into the small of your back in perfect pressure. Every touch is attentive, caring, like he’s trying to pour every ounce of softness he has into you.
You melt under his hands, eyes fluttering closed. He keeps going, massaging your arms, your hands, even threading his fingers through yours to rub gentle circles into your palms. The whole time he’s murmuring little things against your hair—“You’re so beautiful,” “You did so good for me,” “I’ve got you”—quiet, almost to himself, like he can’t help it. After a while, when your breathing has slowed and the room feels impossibly still, he presses one more kiss to your forehead. Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, really look, eyes soft, vulnerable, a little scared in the most honest way. He swallows. Takes a breath. “So…” His voice is quiet, almost shy. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. “Will you be my girlfriend?”
The question hangs there, simple and huge. No games. No pretense. Just Jake, shirtless, hair a mess, heart on full display, asking the thing you’ve both been circling for months. His eyes search yours, hopeful and terrified all at once, like he’s bracing for whatever comes next. But the way he’s still holding you, still touching you like you’re the most precious thing in his world, already tells you the answer he’s hoping for. And the way your heart is pounding, the way every part of you feels safe and wanted and seen in his arms, tells you the answer you want to give.
“Like that’s a question.” You scoff, pulling Jake in for a kiss. You feel his lips curl up against yours as he slides the blanket over both of you.
The words hang between you, soft and serious in the quiet glow of his bedside lamp. Jake’s still holding you close, one hand lazily tracing circles on your bare back, the other tucked under your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he stops touching you. You can’t help the slow, teasing grin that spreads across your face. “So…” you murmur, voice playful, dragging the word out. “Big bad Jake, the guy who used to have girls blowing up his phone every weekend… officially a simp now?” He lets out a low, breathy laugh that rumbles through his chest and into yours. Doesn’t even try to deny it. Just pulls you tighter, nose brushing your temple. “Yeah,” he says simply. “Hundred percent. Full simp status. No take-backs.” You laugh softly, poking his side. “Look at you. Deleting dating apps, carrying me around like a princess, asking me to be your girlfriend with those big puppy eyes. Who even are you?”
He catches your teasing finger, brings it to his lips and kisses the tip. “You ruined me,” he says, voice dropping quieter, more serious now. His eyes find yours in the dim light, steady and unguarded. “And I’m glad.” The teasing dies on your tongue. Something warm and overwhelming blooms in your chest instead. He shifts, rolling you both so you’re lying on top of him, his arms caging you gently against his chest. His thumb brushes your bottom lip. “I was never really a playboy, you know,” he whispers, like it’s a secret he’s been keeping even from himself. “Just… waiting. For someone who made everything else feel like noise. For you.”
You swallow hard, blinking against the sudden sting behind your eyes. Before you can say anything, he reaches over to the nightstand, grabs his phone, and unlocks it one-handed. You watch as he opens the folder of dating apps, ones you know he hasn’t touched in months anyway, and starts deleting them. One by one. No hesitation. No dramatic speech. Just quiet, final taps until the screen is empty. When the last one’s gone, he tosses the phone somewhere across the bed and pulls you down for a slow, deep kiss. “Done,” he murmurs against your mouth. “No more waiting.”
Later, after more lazy kisses, after you’ve both caught your breath again, you slip out of bed on wobbly legs, claiming you need water. Instead you spot his favorite black hoodie slung over the chair, still smelling faintly of his cologne and rain from earlier. You steal it without asking. Pull it over your head, sleeves swallowing your hands, hem hitting mid-thigh. When you turn around, he’s leaning against the headboard watching you, eyes soft and stupidly fond. “Looks better on you,” he says. You crawl back into bed, straddling his lap, hoodie bunching up around your hips. He immediately slides his hands underneath, warm palms settling on your bare skin like they belong there. The next morning, when you finally leave his place, hand in hand, fingers laced tight, you don’t even make it ten steps into the usual coffee shop before chaos erupts.
Your mutual friends are already there, sprawled across the corner booth. The second they spot you walking in together, properly holding hands, the table explodes. “No fucking way—” “Are you serious?!” “FINALLY—” Someone (probably Jay) actually screams into his coffee cup. Another (definitely Heeseung) starts fake-crying dramatically into Sunghoon’s shoulder while Sunghoon just smirks like he knew this was coming since day one.
Jake doesn’t even blush. Just pulls you closer to his side, chin resting on top of your head, and flips them all off with his free hand. “Shut up,” he says, but he’s grinning so wide it’s useless. “She’s mine now. Deal with it.” You bury your face in his chest, laughing, hoodie sleeves flapping as you try to hide. Later, when the teasing dies down and everyone’s distracted arguing over what to order, Jake ducks his head, lips brushing your ear. “Still think I’m a simp?” he whispers. You turn just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” you whisper back. “My simp.” He hums, pleased, and tightens his arm around your waist. “Good,” he says simply. And that’s it. No more rules. No more pretending. Just you and Jake, ruined for anyone else, and perfectly okay with it. It was crazy. Stupid. But it was love. Crazy, Stupid, Love
Jake usually moves through the house like a ghost, his "virgin nerd" persona defined by hunched shoulders and a nervous stutter that keeps the boundary between step-siblings firmly in place. However, behind closed doors, that awkwardness sharpens into a terrifyingly precise fixation, proving that his role as f-reader quiet step-brother was merely a mask for a deeply calculated hunger. When the tension finally snaps, the transformation is jarring; his stutter vanishes, replaced by a low, steady command and a raw, dominant intensity born from years of observing f-reader from the periphery of the family dynamic. This isn't about the hesitation of a novice, but a heavy-handed control where his intelligence is used to dismantle f-reader composure, turning years of repressed proximity into a rough, unapologetic claim.
────#GOOD BOY────
⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!jake 𝓍 f!reader 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : college AU, smut (MDNI), porn with plot
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : they are both 20, fake nerd!jake, voyeurism, stalking, obsessive behaviour, jealousy, manhandling, masturbating, edging, filthy talk, oral sex (m. receiving), grinding, degradation, use of nicknames : baby, angel, good girl, face fucking
𝐰𝐜 : 8.5k
part 2
𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ──── (specific order)
♫ An Eater - Matt Martians
♫ Freak - Doja Cat
♫ Need To Know - Doja Cat
♫ Love Potion - BJ Lips ft. princess paparazzi
♫ Killshot (Slowed + Reverb) - Magdalena Bay
♫ What You Need - The Weeknd
♫ Don't Run - PARTYNEXTDOOR
♫ Haunted - Beyoncé
♫ All Mine - PLAZA
📎- this was so fun to work on, i think it's one of my fav request so far :)) it has been sitting in my drafts for so long omg. I will probably make a PART 2 of you guys want it and since I paused my Jay ff (I’m procrastinating and might drop it guys). Enjoyyy :)
You wake up when the floorboards creak in the hallway. You wait in bed for five minutes, listening to the silence of the house, before you pull on a grey sweatshirt and walk downstairs.
In the kitchen, Jake is already sitting at the island, hunched over his laptop. His oversized black hoodie bunches around his neck, and his shoulders are rounded forward. When you step onto the tile, he flinches and quickly pushes his glasses up his nose.
"Oh. Hi," he says. His voice is quiet as he stumbles over the greeting. "Good morning."
"Morning," you say, walking to the counter. "Is there coffee?"
"Yeah. I made a pot." He points to the machine before he tucks his hands back into his sleeves. "It's still hot."
You pour yourself a mug. The ceramic is warm against your palms. You lean against the counter and look at him. "You have that midterm today?"
"Yeah, quantum maths. It's a pain in the ass." He types three keys and stops. "I've been awake since 5. My head hurts from looking at the formulas."
"Are you ready for it?"
"I think so. If I don't mess up the proofs." He looks up at you. His eyes blink rapidly behind his thick lenses and a faint red color spreads across his cheeks. "What about you? You have that group project presentation today, right? With the guy from your marketing class."
"Yeah, Damian. He hasn't sent me his half of the slides yet."
Jake's hands freeze on the keyboard. "He's a fucking idiot."
The sudden change in his tone makes you pause. His voice is flat and direct, without his usual wobble. When you look at him, he quickly slumps further into his hoodie, his eyes darting back to the screen.
"I mean," he mumbles, his voice rising back to its nervous pitch. "He just...he seems lazy. I see him sitting by the library sometimes, just talking on his phone."
"He is lazy," you say, taking a sip of the coffee. "I'll probably have to finish the presentation myself before noon."
Jake watches you drink. His head is turned toward you, his eyes fixed on your mouth, then your throat as you swallow. His face is completely still, devoid of the nervous twitching he usually does.
"You shouldn't have to do his work," Jake says.
You set your mug down on the granite. The sound makes him blink, and he immediately looks down at his keyboard again, his shoulders tensing.
"It's fine," you say. "I just want to get it over with."
"I could...I could look at your slides," he says, stammering slightly on the first word. "If you want. I can check the layout or make sure the alignment is correct."
"It's marketing, Jake. We just used a template."
"Right. Yeah. Of course." He nods quickly, his head bobbing four or five times. "Just...if you needed help."
He presses a key to lock his laptop before sliding it into his backpack. When he stands up, his actual height is obvious, he is clearly taller than you, but he immediately curves his spine, lowering his head as he zips the bag.
"I'm going to go to campus early," he says, his eyes focused on the floor near your feet. "I need to study more."
"Okay. Good luck on the test."
"Thanks." He walks past you, leaving a wide space between your bodies as he heads for the front door. "See you later."
The front door clicks shut and the kitchen is quiet again.
──────
You pull into the gravel driveway at the exact same time Jake’s car stops in the space next to yours. You both get out of your cars. Jake immediately ducks his head, grabbing his heavy backpack from the passenger seat and hoisting it over one slouched shoulder.
"Hey," he says, his voice quiet. He stands by his door, waiting for you to walk first.
"Hey," you say, walking toward the stone steps of the mansion. "How was the math midterm?"
"It was...hard. I think I got a B. Maybe a B-minus." He follows a few paces behind you, his sneakers squeaking on the stone.
Inside, the house is silent. Your mother is in Chicago for a week-long business conference, leaving just you, Jake, and his father.
Jake’s dad is already sitting at the long mahogany dining table when you walk into the dining room. A roasted chicken and some sides are laid out on silver platters.
"There they are," he says, looking up from his phone. "Sit down. How was it today?"
You both sit. Jake takes the chair directly across from you. He immediately pulls his plate close, keeping his eyes on his food as he serves himself.
"It was fine," you say. "Just a bit busy."
"That’s good. So, we need to talk about summer," his dad says while carving the chicken. "I’m booking a villa in Ibiza for July. You two are coming."
You set your fork down. "Oh, I don't think I can go. I wanted to take summer classes. I need to catch up on my biology credits."
Jake’s dad sighs, waving his hand. "You work too hard. Take a break."
You look at Jake. He is chewing slowly. He swallows and looks up, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. He clears his throat twice.
"You, um...you can take the classes online," Jake says. His voice is small and hesitant. "The villa has high-speed internet. I looked at your syllabus on the counter yesterday. It's mostly reading and quizzes. I can...I can help you study if you get stuck. It wouldn't be a big deal."
He looks at you through his eyelashes, his expression nervous as if he is waiting for you to shut him down.
"See?" His dad says. "Jake will help you. It's settled."
Under the table, your knee accidentally bumps into Jake's. He doesn't pull his leg away immediately. He holds the contact for three seconds, his leg completely still against yours before he slowly flinches back and looks down at his plate.
"Okay," you say, looking at him. "I'll go."
After dinner, his dad goes to his study to make business calls. You and Jake sit in the main living room. A reality TV show plays on the flat-screen, yet neither of you is really watching it. Jake sits on the far end of the leather sofa, his knees pulled together and his laptop open on his thighs.
The air conditioning is on but the room feels stuffy. You pull at the collar of your t-shirt.
"It's fucking hot in here," you say.
"The compressor downstairs is old," Jake says, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. "Dad refuses to replace it."
"Let's go swim," you say while standing up. "The pool is clean. It'll feel better than sitting in here."
Jake looks up from his screen. He blinks. "Now?"
"Yeah, now. Come on, don't be boring."
He hesitates, his eyes darting to the door and back to his laptop. "Okay. I'll go change."
Ten minutes later, you meet by the outdoor pool. The blue lights under the water are on, casting bright reflections across the concrete patio. You are wearing a simple black bikini. Jake comes out in dark swim trunks and a white t-shirt.
"You're wearing a shirt?" you ask, dipping your legs into the water.
Jake sits on the edge, a foot away from you, letting his feet dangle in the pool. He looks at the water, keeping his eyes away from your body. "I don't want to get sunburned."
"It's 9 o'clock at night, Jake. There is no sun."
"It's a habit," he mumbles, his shoulders curving inward.
You splash a bit of water at his feet.
"Seriously, though," you say, leaning back on your hands. "Do you ever do anything fun? Do you even like girls?"
Jake freezes. His feet stop moving in the water. "What?"
"I've lived here for two years, and you've never brought a girl home. Not even a friend who is a girl."
He keeps his eyes on the water. His voice is very quiet. "I don't have time for that. I'm focusing on my degree."
"Right. Sure."
There’s a silence settling in between you two. So you decide to eventually break it.
"I haven’t heard anything from Jay. What about him?" you ask, watching his profile. "He came over last week to drop off your textbooks. You should invite him over more often."
The nervous and slouched posture Jake has maintained all night vanishes in an instant. His spine straightens. He turns his head to look at you, and the movement is fast, completely lacking his usual hesitation. His jaw is clenched so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek.
"Jay is a fucking jerk," Jake says.
His voice isn't high or shaky anymore. It is dry and perfectly steady. You stare at him, surprised by the sudden bite in his tone. "He was nice to me though."
"He's a dumbass who fails half his classes and spends his weekends getting black-out drunk just because he has the money for it," Jake says, his eyes locking onto yours. "He isn't coming back to this house."
"Why are you saying things like that?" you ask, your heart beating a little faster against your ribs. "He's your friend."
Jake stares at you for another second. The expression on his face is cold, without any of his usual softness. He looks down at your collarbone and slowly back up to your eyes. He clears his throat and slumps his shoulders back down, his head dropping as he rubs the back of his neck. The nervous stutter returns but it sounds slightly forced.
"I just...I don't want him around anymore," Jake stammers, his voice rising back to its soft and shaky register. "He's...he's being annoying. He makes a mess. And he's loud."
He slides into the pool, letting the water come up to his chest, hiding his frame. But even underwater, his eyes stay on you, tracking your every move.
──────
The house was unnervingly quiet. One week before summer break, and the entire afternoon stretched before Jake, empty and ripe with opportunity. Not for studying nor packing, it’s actually for you.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he pushed open the door to your bedroom. The air was filled with the scent of your perfume and he loved it. He breathed it in deeply, his eyes scanning the room. Your bed was perfectly made. However it was the walk-in closet that called to him.
He stepped inside, the soft carpet muffling his footsteps. Your dressing room was a sanctuary of all his desires. Dresses hung on one side, blouses on the other. But his gaze fell to the dresser, its top neatly arranged with perfumes and jewelry. He pulled open the top drawer. There they were. Rows and rows of your panties. Lace, silk, cotton. Thongs, briefs, boyshorts.
His hands trembled as he reached in, his fingers brushing against the delicate material. He pulled out a black lace pair. He brought them to his face, inhaling your scent that made his cock twitch in his pants. He was sick, he knew he was. A depraved and obsessed freak, but he just couldn't stop. He snapped picture after picture with his phone, capturing the intimate details of your underwear drawer for his own personal collection.
Next, he moved to your desk, your laptop left open and sleeping. He shook the mouse, and the screen lit up. He was in. Your social media was already pulled up. He clicked on Instagram, his eyes scanning your feed. Pictures of you with your friends, selfies from class, a few with your mom and his dad. Then something immediately catched his eyes. A private message thread with Jay. ‘That motherfucker’ he thought.
He clicked on it, his stomach clenching. The conversation was ambiguous, full of inside jokes. Jay had sent a picture of himself, at the gym, probably to show you where he was and what he was doing. You'd like the picture and replied that he looked pretty good. After that, a message from Jay that made Jake's blood boil cold : "Can't wait for summer break. Maybe we can see each other."
A low growl rumbled in Jake's chest. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he muttered to the empty room. "Fucking asshole. You think you can have her just like that? You’re fucking dead." He slammed the laptop shut, the sound echoing in the quiet room. He had to see you. He had to watch you.
He retrieved the tiny camera he'd bought online, his hands shaking with a mixture of adrenaline and rage. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on the bookshelf across from your bed. Perfect. He climbed onto a chair, his fingers working quickly as he positioned the camera between two dusty hardcovers, the lens pointed directly at your bed. It was so small and almost invisible. He connected it to his phone, the live feed popping up instantly. He adjusted the angle, a sick sense of satisfaction settling in his gut. Now he could see you whenever he wanted, he could have you, in his own twisted way.
Hours later, he heard the front door open. You were home. He scrambled to his room, his heart pounding and locked the door. He grabbed his phone, opening the camera app, his eyes glued to the screen. He watched as you entered your bedroom, dropping your bag on the floor with a sigh. You looked tired, your hair slightly messy from a long day of classes. You stretched, your arms reaching for the ceiling, your shirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin on your stomach. Jake's breath hitched.
You turned your back to the camera, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. His eyes were glued to the screen, his hand already palming his hardening cock through his pants. You stood there in your t-shirt and a simple pair of cotton panties, the ones he'd seen in your drawer that morning. You reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, revealing a plain white bra. You unhooked it, letting it fall to the floor, and Jake's cock sprang to life, straining against the fabric of his pajamas.
He freed himself, his hand wrapping around his thick shaft, his eyes still locked on the screen. You were just in your panties now, your body even more perfect than he'd imagined. He watched as you walked to your dresser, pulling out a silk nightgown, the fabric shimmering in the soft light of your room.
He started to stroke himself, his movements slow and sharp, his eyes never leaving the screen. He imagined it was his hands on your skin, his lips tracing the line of your collarbone. He imagined you looking up at him, with your beautiful eyes, whispering his name.
"Fuck, Y/N." he grunted, his strokes becoming faster, more urgent. He was so close. He watched as you slipped the nightgown over your head, the silk clinging to your body like a second skin. You climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, and switched off the lamp.
The screen went dark but it was too late. With a final groan, Jake came, his release spurting onto his stomach and chest. He lay there, panting, his phone still clutched in his hand. He was sick, twisted, obsessed. As he stared at the dark screen, a satisfied smile spread across his face. He had you now. He had a piece of you, a secret part of you, all to himself. And he would never, ever let you go.
──────
Finally, summer break. The villa in Ibiza is built from white stone that holds the heat long after the sun goes down. You are sitting at the glass table on the terrace, squinting at your laptop screen while the Mediterranean wind tosses the pages of your textbook.
The biology quiz on the screen is full of red marks. You click an answer, get it wrong, and hiss a curse under your breath.
"That’s the third time you’ve picked the same protein synthesis pathway," Jake says. He’s sitting on the lounger behind you, hunched over a thick paperback. He’s clearly been tracking your failure.
"I know what I'm doing, Jake," you snap, clicking through to the next question.
"You clearly don't. You're forcing it because you're frustrated." He sighs, his voice thin and shaky. "If you just...if you looked at the diagram on page 214, it would—"
"I don't need the diagram, I need this to be over so I can go outside." You click another random answer. Wrong again. "Fuck this."
The chair behind you scrapes harshly against the stone. Suddenly, Jake is standing right over you. He grabs the back of your chair and spins it around so you’re forced to look at him.
"Stop clicking," he says.
The stutter is gone. His voice is flat. He leans down, placing one hand on the table and the other on the arm of your chair, effectively pinning you in place. His eyes are cold and intensely focused, stripped of their usual nervous blinking.
"You are wasting your time," he says, his gaze boring into yours. "Open the book. Read the section I told you to read. Do not click another button until you can explain the process back to me. Okay?"
You stare at him, your mouth slightly open. The quiet side of him is nowhere to be found; in his place is someone who looks like he could dismantle your entire argument with a single sentence.
"I—" you start but the words catch.
Jake blinks. The sharp lines of his face suddenly go soft. He recoils as if he’s been burned, his shoulders hitting his ears as he slumps back into his usual posture. He looks at his shoes, his fingers twitching at his sides.
"I...I mean," he stammers, his voice jumping back up higher. "It would just...it would save you time. S-sorry. I didn't mean to be...whatever that was."
He won't look at you now and he edges back toward his lounger. "I’m going to go down to the beach in 10 minutes. If you want to come. But, uh...finish the work first. I'll wait at the cove."
It takes you 40 minutes to finish. By the time you trek down the private stone path to the beach, the sun is beginning to dip, turning the sand into a pale gold. You spot him standing near the water's edge. He’s taken his shirt off, and the sight stops you in your tracks. Without the oversized hoodies to hide in, his frame is lean and surprisingly muscular, his skin tanned from the few days you've been here. He’s standing tall, looking out at the horizon, his posture relaxed and confident.
"Took you long enough," he calls out. He doesn't turn around but he knows it's you.
"The quiz was a bitch," you say, walking up to him. Up close, he looks different. His hair is pushed back by the wind and he isn't wearing his glasses.
He turns to look at you and grins. "Maybe you’re just a slow learner."
"Excuse me?" you laugh, shoving his shoulder.
"I'm just saying. I finished my credits two years ago." He dodges your next shove with a quick movement.
"You seem...different today," you say, eyeing him. "Did the salt air fix your brain?"
Jake shrugs, kicking a bit of foam toward you. "Maybe. Or maybe there’s just nobody here to perform for." He steps closer, his shadow falling over you. "Is it a problem?"
"No," you murmur. "It’s just...weird."
"Life is weird, you know." he says. Without warning, he reaches down and hooks his arms under your knees and around your back.
"Jake ! Put me down !" You shriek, grabbing his shoulders for balance. His skin is hot and slightly grit with salt.
"You need to cool off," he says. He’s not struggling with your weight at all. He walks into the surf, the water splashing against his thighs.
"Jake, I swear to God—"
He drops you. You hit the water with a splash, coming up gasping and shivering. You immediately lunged for him, grabbing his waist to pull him down with you. He loses his footing, and you both go under, treading water in the shallow break. You come up laughing, wiping hair from your face. Jake is right in front of you, his hands resting on your waist to steady you against a coming wave. The playfulness vanishes as the water settles between you.
The wave pushes you forward, flush against his chest. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer instead of letting you drift back. You look up, expecting to see his nervousness on his face, his eyes are fixed on your lips.
He leans in, agonizingly slow, giving you every second to move away. But you just feel like you don't want to.
When his lips touch yours, it’s not an accident of the waves. It lasts only a second where the world disappears, before he pulls back just an inch. His breath is jagged.
"S-sorry," he whispers, the stutter returning like a ghost. "The wave...pushed us."
He lets go of your waist and turns toward the shore, his shoulders already starting to hunch as he retreats into the surf.
The walk back up to the villa was silent.
Inside the villa, the air was cooler than a few hours ago. Jake disappeared into his suite immediately, leaving you standing in the foyer with damp hair and a racing pulse. You waited, leaning against the wall, until you heard the shower stop. When he finally stepped out into the hallway, he was wearing a fresh white t-shirt and grey joggers, his hair still dark and dripping.
"Jake," you said, your voice sounding thin in the high-ceilinged hall.
He stopped, his hand tightening on the towel around his neck.
"About the beach," you started, crossing your arms. "The kiss. It was...a mistake. The waves, everything…we should just forget it."
Jake was quiet for a long beat. He finally looked at you, his eyes unreadable behind the droplets of water clinging to his lashes. "It’s okay," he said. His voice was dull, almost sounding empty. "I already forgot."
He brushed past you, the scent of his soap lingering in the air, and disappeared into the kitchen. You retreated to your room and threw yourself onto the bed. You stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on your biology notes, but your mind kept looping back to the feeling of his hands on your waist. You tried to convince yourself that the spark was just a fluke, a side effect of the sun, yet the memory of his gaze in the water felt like a bruise that wouldn't stop aching.
Restless, you eventually left your room to wander in the villa. You ended up in a wing you hadn't explored yet. You pushed open a heavy oak door and found yourself in a studio bathed in the blue light of the moon. The room was filled with art pieces. Large canvases leaned against the walls, and stone statues, half-finished figures emerging from marble that stood on pedestals like in a museum. This was Jake’s mother’s space. You knew she had been an artist, but the sheer raw emotion in the room was overwhelming.
Jake stood perfectly still. He looked like one of the sculptures himself, a silhouette carved out of the darkness. You stopped a few feet away from him, your eyes wandering over the canvas near his shoulder.
"She stayed in here for days at a time," Jake said. His voice echoing through the room. "Dad hated it. He thought it was a waste of energy to create things that didn't have a profit margin."
"It’s not a waste," you said, stepping closer to a marble bust. You reached out, running your thumb over the cold and polished cheek of the figure. "It’s honest. You can feel how much she cared about this."
Jake turned his body toward you. He leaned his lower back against a heavy wooden workbench, his long legs stretching out across the floor. He wasn't hiding in his hoodie tonight, he was wearing a simple t-shirt that showed the sharp lines of his shoulders.
"Honesty is dangerous," he said. "People spend their whole lives building walls so they don't have to be honest. Then they come in here and realize they’re transparent."
"Is that why you’re in here?" you asked, looking at him. "To feel transparent?"
He watched you, his gaze moving from your eyes down to the hand you still had resting on the statue and back up again. The air in the room felt like it was thickening, becoming harder to breathe. He looked like he was taking you apart, piece by piece, analyzing the way the moonlight hit your skin.
"I’m in here because it’s the only room in this house where I don't have to pretend," he said. The honesty in his voice was a physical weight. He took a step toward you, closing the distance until you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. The height difference you usually ignored felt overwhelming now.
"You look pretty," he said. "Especially in this light. With your hair like that."
Your throat went dry. You expected him to look away, to blush and stammer a retraction, to go back to being the boy who couldn't look you in the eye at breakfast. But he didn't. He kept his eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable and heavy.
"Jake," you breathed, the name more of a question than anything else.
"Oh please," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, sounding like velvet. "Don't look at me like you're surprised. You've been watching me just as much as I've been watching you."
He reached out, his hand hovering near your face for a second before he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers were warm, and they lingered there, his thumb ghosting over the shell of your ear with a slow pressure.
He let his hand drop yet he didn't move back. He stood there, looking satisfied with just being close to his prey, close to you. "Go to bed," he said, the command soft but absolute. "Before I stop being nice about it." You froze in an instant to his tone. He slightly turns before leaving. His voice suddenly softens. "If you’re searching for me, I’ll be at the pool. Goodnight."
──────
You shut the door to your suite and leaned your back against the wood, your lungs struggling to find a steady rhythm. The heat from his thumb against your ear felt like it had been branded into your skin. You walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led to your private balcony, needing the cold air to snap you out of the haze.
The moon illuminated the entire grounds, turning the pool into a glowing sapphire rectangle against the dark stone of the terrace.
A ripple broke the surface. He was there.
You stayed in the shadows of your room, watching. He moved through the water with a fluid, powerful stroke that was completely the opposite of the clumsy and apologetic boy who tripped over his own feet in the kitchen. He reached the edge of the pool and hauled himself out in one smooth motion.
Water cascaded down his back, defining the muscles of his shoulders and the lean taper of his waist. He stood there for a moment, dripping, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.He looked nothing like what you were thinking he was during those two years. He looked athletic, confident, and entirely too comfortable in his own skin.
You watched the way he ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead. You found yourself wondering if he had ever been with anyone. The stutter, the hunched posture, and his awkwardness, it all felt like a clever lie now. If he could fake his entire personality, what else was he hiding? Could someone who looked like that, who moved like that, really be as inexperienced as he claimed to be?
He reached for a towel on a nearby chair, rubbing it over his face. Then, as if he could feel the weight of your stare from the second floor, his head snapped up. He didn't look startled. Not at all. He looked directly at the spot where you were standing in the darkness.
The distance was too great to see his eyes clearly, but the shift in his expression was unmistakable. A slow, knowing smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth ; a look of pure arrogant satisfaction. It was a silent acknowledgement that he knew exactly what you were doing. He knew you were watching, and he knew you liked what you saw.
Without a word, he slung the towel over his shoulder and walked toward the sliding doors of the villa, disappearing inside and leaving you alone with the sound of your own beating heart.
──────
The next morning, you sat at the breakfast table, picking at a plate of fruit while Jake’s dad scrolled through his emails at the head of the table.
Jake was sitting across from you, the nerd act back in full effect. He was slouched, his glasses slightly crooked, staring intensely at a bowl of cereal. But under the table, his foot found yours. He hooked his ankle around yours and began to slowly slide his foot up your calf. You stiffened, your fork hovering in mid-air. You looked at him, but he was mid-stutter, answering a question from his dad about the stock market.
"I-I think the tech sector is just...it's volatile right now, Dad," Jake mumbled, his face a mask of awkward concentration.
Beneath the tablecloth, his foot pressed harder, his toes tracing the sensitive skin behind your knee. You shifted in your seat, your face heating up. You tried to pull away, but he followed, his movements precise and unrelenting. He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips the only sign he was enjoying your frustration.
"Are you kay?" His dad asked, looking up. "You're barely eating."
"I'm fine," you said, your voice a bit too sharp. "I’m just not hungry."
Jake finally pulled his foot away, sitting up straight. "Actually, Dad, I'm g-going out today. Some guys from the engineering department are in Ibiza for the week. They invited me to a beach club."
His dad looked surprised. "Good for you, Jake. You need to get out more. Why don't you take her with you ?"
Jake turned to you, his eyes wide and blinking. "Oh, yeah. Do you...do you want to come? It might be b-boring, but..."
"Will Jay be there?" you asked, leaning back. "He mentioned to me that he was coming to Ibiza."
The change was instantaneous. Jake’s expression flattened. His shyness didn't just fade, it evaporated into a cold and hard wall. He stood up, grabbing his phone.
"Nevermind," he said, his voice dropping into that low, steady register. "You're not coming."
He walked out of the dining room without looking back.
By 10:00 PM, the villa felt like a tomb. Jake’s dad had gone to bed early, and Jake hadn't returned. You tried to watch a movie, but the silence of the house was grating. On a whim, you grabbed your purse and headed out. You needed noise.
You took a taxi and got toward the town, the neon lights of the coast beginning to blur. You got out of the car and dialed Jake’s number. He picked up on the third ring. The background noise was a low thumping bass.
"Where are you?" you asked. "I'm bored out of my mind."
"I'm at a place called The Vault," he said with no stutter, the noise of a party in the background. "Come if you want. I'll put your name at the door."
He hung up.
When you pulled up to The Vault, you noticed the blacked-out windows and the massive security guards, but you didn't think much of it, everything in Ibiza was over-the-top. You walked past the velvet rope and into the red-lit interior.
As soon as you entered you saw the stage. It was a platform where a woman was slowly spinning around a chrome pole. You froze. It was a strip club. A high-end and discreet one, but a strip club nonetheless.
You scanned the room, your heart hammering. In the far corner, a raised VIP section was cordoned off. You saw Jay first, laughing with a drink in his hand, a girl in a minimal outfit leaning against his shoulder. A few seconds after you saw Jake.
He was leaning back in a deep leather booth, a glass of liquor in his hand. He looked like he owned the entire building. His black button-down was open at the collar, and he looked relaxed, dangerous, and entirely in control. He caught your eye across the smoky room. He didn't look shocked to see you, he smiled and signaled for the guard to let you up.
"Damn, Y/N? Is that really you ?" Jay shouted over the music as you reached the booth. "Jake said you were too much of a ‘good girl’ for this place."
Jake didn't say a word as he shifted over, patting the leather seat right next to him. "Sit down." You sat, your thigh pressed against his. The heat from his body was immediate. The tension from the morning hadn't vanished, it had condensed into something much sharper.
"You didn't tell me what kind of club this was," you hissed into his ear.
Jake leaned in close, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "I told you exactly where I was. You're the one who decided to show up."
He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on the stage where a dancer was performing. He didn't look away but his hand moved, his fingers splaying across your knee.
"Since you're here," he murmured, his voice voice through the loud music, "you might as well watch. It’s educational, isn't it?"
Jay was busy talking to someone else, leaving you trapped in Jake's orbit. His hand started to move, his thumb tracing slow and rhythmic circles on the fabric of your skirt. Every time the bass dropped, his grip tightened just a fraction.
"You're different here," you say, looking at his profile.
He turned his head slowly, his face inches from yours. The red light of the club made his eyes look almost black.
"I'm the same as I always was," he said. "Maybe you weren’t just paying attention to that."
He leaned back, his arm draping over the back of the booth behind your head, effectively caging you in. He looked over at Jay, then back to you, his eyes narrowing.
"Do you still think he's handsome?" Jake asked, his voice low. "Or do I have your full attention now?"
──────
The night air was a welcome shock after the suffocating heat of the club. It clung to your skin, cool and sharp, doing little to sober you up but clearing your head just enough. The world tilted pleasantly as you walked, Jake's hand a firm, grounding pressure on your elbow, steering you through the loose crowd of people lingering on the sidewalk.
"I had no idea you were that much fun," you said, the words bubbling up, loose and unrestrained. You leaned your head against his shoulder for a moment as he unlocked the car door. "Like, genuinely fun. That’s crazy."
He let out a short, amused breath as he helped you into the passenger seat. "Gee, thanks. I'll cherish that compliment forever." He didn't sound offended, he was entertained. The engine rumbled to life and the city lights smeared across the windshield as he pulled away from the curb.
The ride home was comfortably quiet, the sound of the radio a distant melody beneath the sound of your own breathing. You watched him, noticing how he was so familiar, a constant in your life for years, but tonight, he felt different.
Inside the villa, instead of disappearing in his room like he usually did, he followed you into the kitchen, his movements quiet. You sank onto a barstool, resting your head in your hands.
"Here," he said softly. A glass of water appeared in front of you, along with two little white pills. "You'll thank me tomorrow."
You looked up at him, at the genuine concern etched on his face in the soft lighting. He was actually taking care of you. A warmth bloomed in your chest, a feeling so intense and sudden it almost took your breath away. It wasn't new, you realized with a jolt. It had been there for a while, buried under layers of the step-brother status and growing quietly in the dark. Tonight, the alcohol had simply stripped away the camouflage.
"Jake," you said, your voice barely audible.
"Hmm?" He was leaning against the counter opposite you, arms crossed and watching you.
You stood up, the stool scraping softly against the floor. You closed the small distance between you until you were standing so close you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "I really want to kiss you."
The words hung in the air between you. For a split second, you saw it ; a hint of something in his eyes. Hesitation ? Maybe conflict ? It was there and now it’s gone, replaced by a thing you’ve never seen before. He didn't move, like he just froze. So you took the initiative. You rose onto your toes and pressed your lips to his.
For a terrifying moment, he was still, a statue under your touch. And with a soft groan that sounded like surrender, he gave in. His hands shot out, one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist to pull you flush against him. The kiss was nothing like you'd imagined. It was hungry, a little desperate, a release of all the tension that was built since then. His tongue swept against yours, claiming your mouth, it was possessive and a little bit angry.
He walked you backward out of the kitchen and down the hall, his lips never leaving yours, guiding you with his body until your back hit the door of your bedroom. He fumbled with the handle, pushing it open and kicking it shut behind you. He broke the kiss, both of you breathing heavily in the darkness of your room.
"Y/N," he breathed, his voice rough. "I can’t—"
However he was already moving, pushing you gently towards your bed. You sat down on the edge, looking up at him. He stood before you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of you on the bed. The sight of him there, sent a jolt of pure arousal straight through you. He placed his hands on your knees, spreading them apart. Then, he lifted one leg, placing his denim-clad thigh firmly between yours, right against the core of you.
"Go on," he urged, his voice a low command. "Take what you need."
It was an invitation you couldn't refuse. You began to move, rocking your hips against the hard muscle of his thigh. The friction of your core against him, the pressure right where you needed it, was intoxicating. Your hands gripped his forearm, your head falling back as you found a rhythm, chasing the pleasure that was building rapidly inside you.
"That's it," he murmured, his hands sliding up your thighs to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Just like that. Fuck, you look so good riding my thigh."
His words were gasoline on a fire. You moved faster, grinding against him, the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening, until you were right there, hovering on the precipice of your release. You could feel it, so close you could almost taste it.
But he moved.
He shifted his leg, just enough to break the perfect, maddening pressure. A whine of protest escaped your lips, your eyes flying open to meet his. He was watching you, his expression dark, a look of cruel satisfaction on his face.
"Jake," you begged, your hips still twitching with need.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not tonight, angel." he whispered, his voice a soft, devastating blow. He placed a gentle, almost chaste kiss on your cheek. Then he stood up, leaving you cold and wanting on the edge of your bed.
He walked to the door without looking back. "Goodnight, Y/N."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you in the sudden, deafening silence of your room, your body humming with unfulfilled desire and the shocking, undeniable truth of your feelings for him.
──────
The villa felt larger and colder with Jake’s dad gone. The morning light was flat and grey, a sharp contrast to the blistering heat of the previous week. You sat on the edge of the sofa in the main living area, watching the dust motes dance in the air.
Jake had been a ghost all morning. He’d walked past you three times without a word, his eyes fixed on his phone or the floor, his shoulders back in their defensive, rounded slump.
The glass doors slid open, and Jake stepped inside from the terrace, dripping wet. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and a towel was slung loosely around his neck. He started toward the hallway, his head down, intending to bypass you entirely.
"Why are you ignoring me ?"
The question came out of nowhere. It was born from a week of mounting frustration and the strange, electric silence that had followed the night at the club.
Jake stopped, not turning around immediately. He stood with his back to you, the water from his swim trunks pooling on the stone floor. When he finally looked over his shoulder, he had the shy mask pulled tight. His eyes were wide, and he blinked rapidly behind his damp glasses.
"I...I'm n-not," he stammered, his voice thin. "I just have a lot of...work. From the university. The fall semester is starting soon, and I—"
"Stop it, Jake." You stood up, walking toward him until you were only a few feet away. "You’ve been avoiding eye contact since breakfast. You didn't even say good morning."
"I was just...busy, that’s all." he mummurred, looking at his feet.
"Why do you do that?" you asked, your curiosity finally overriding your caution. "How do you do it? One minute you're the guy who can't speak a full sentence without shaking, and the next you’re the person I saw at that club. And we even—" you stop yourself, the memories of the night before coming back to life in your head.
Jake stayed silent but you could notice how he stopped blinking frantically.
"It’s just us, Jake," you stepped closer, your voice dropping. "Nobody is watching. You don't have to play the part. It’s exhausting to watch you switch back and forth."
He still didn't speak, his breathing shallow.
"Something is happening," you said, the honesty of the statement making your heart thud. "Between us. It’s been growing during the whole summer break, and you know it. Why are you pretending it’s not?"
Not a single recoil. He slowly stood up straight, the hunch in his spine vanishing as he reached his full height. He pulled the towel from his neck and used it to slowly wipe the water from his face. When he dropped the towel onto a nearby chair, the shy boy was gone. His expression was unreadable. He didn't deny it nor did he confirm it. He looked at you with a terrifyingly calm intensity that made the air in the room feel unbearable.
Then, the corner of his mouth ticked upward into a slow, smug smile. It was the look of someone who had been caught but didn't care.
"I'm going to take a shower," he said. His voice was a steady vibration, completely devoid of any tremor. He started toward his suite, but as he reached the door, he paused and looked back at you over his shoulder. He let his gaze wander down your body before meeting your eyes again.
"You could always come with me," he murmured, his tone mocking and sharp. "If you’re so worried about being ignored."
Before you could answer, he stepped into his room and closed the door, the click of the lock echoing through the empty villa.
──────
Beyond all of this, you decided to cook. Not because you were hungry, it’s just because it was the only thing you could do to keep your mind off what happened these previous days. You focused on the task, deliberately keeping your mind off the shower running down the hall or the way he had looked at you before closing his door. You weren't going to wait for him.
The scent of his soap hits you a second before the heat of his body did.
You didn't hear his footsteps, but suddenly, thick arms slid around your waist, pulling you back against a solid, damp chest. You froze, the knife still in your hand, as his chin came to rest on your shoulder. He smelled of clean skin and a faint, expensive cologne.
"What's for dinner?" he asked.
His voice was a deep vibration against your ear, devoid of any stutter. He tightened his grip, his hands splaying across your stomach, pulling you flush against him so you could feel the dampness of his fresh t-shirt.
"Pasta," you managed to say, though your voice sounded strained. "And let go of me, Jake. I’m holding a knife."
"You're so tense," he murmured, ignoring your request. He shifted, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. "Your heart is going like crazy. Why is that?"
"It’s hot in here. The stove is on."
"Right. The stove." He let out a short, dry laugh ; a sound that was more of a scoff. He turned you around in his arms, forcing you to face him. He leaned back against the counter, trapping you between his legs. His glasses were gone, and his eyes were dark, tracking the way your breathing had become shallow. "You’re a fucking liar."
"And you're a fucking prick for playing these stupid games with me," you snapped, trying to push against his chest.
He didn't budge. He watched you, his hands moving to your hips to hold you in place. The shyness was nowhere to be found ; he looked at you with a heavy-handed confidence that felt predatory.
"You could eat something better than pasta," he said.
Before you could ask what he meant, he tilted your head back. He leaned down and captured your mouth with a raw, dominant intensity. This was deep and unapologetic, his tongue sliding against yours as he tasted you with hunger. He kissed you like he was finally claiming something he’d been watching from the periphery for years, his hands gripping your hips hard enough that you knew there would be marks the next day. The air in the kitchen felt like it was disappearing, leaving only the heat of him and the sharp, sudden reality that the mask had finally stayed off.
His hand slid from your waist to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair with a gentle but possessive grip. He pulled you toward him, and the next thing you knew, you were on your knees on the cool tile. The transition was seamless. You looked up at him, his presence towering over you, and reached out lower his sweatpants and his boxers. He wasn't interested in a slow and teasing exploration. He wanted it now.
You took him into your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses. You started with a slow, prudent rhythm, your tongue tracing the vein along the underside, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn't in the mood for patience. His hand tightened in your hair as a silent command, and he guided your head downward.
You gagged slightly, the sudden intrusion making your eyes water, yet you didn't pull away. You let him take control, his hips thrusting forward, setting a rhythm that was faster than you expected. The kitchen was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your mouths, a deafening contrast to the peaceful scenery of the villa.
"That’s a good girl," he growled, his other hand gripping your cheek.
You looked up at him through glazed eyes, a soft, pathetic whine escaping you around his cock. It was a sound of pure surrender, of being overwhelmed by sensation. He groaned again, the sound low and feral, and began to face fuck you with ruthless precision. Each thrust was harder than the last, his cock hitting the back of your throat, forcing you to take it all.
You couldn't do anything but hold on, your hands gripping his thighs for support, your breath coming in short and ragged gasps. You were completely at his mercy, his tool a piston driving into your mouth with increasing speed and ferocity. The heat of the room seemed to spike, the air feeling thick and charged with desire.
"That's it," he commanded, his voice strained. "Take it all. You love this, don't you? You love getting fucked in the mouth."
You whined again, a mix of pleasure and desperation, your body trembling as he bottomed out. You couldn't speak or couldn't form words, surrendered to the rhythm he set, letting him use your mouth exactly the way he wanted.
He stopped and pulled out, bringing his fingers to your mouth. You suck on his finger, swirling your tongue around the tip like it’s the most delicious thing in the world, desperate to taste more of him even as you gasp for air. He watches you with a smirk, pulling his hand out slowly and watching you chase it, lips parting in a pathetic whine. "God, look at you," he scoffs, his voice dripping with contempt. "You're dripping all over the floor like a desperate little slut."
He lifts his pelvis, dragging the slick, angry head of his cock against your wet, swollen lips. He doesn't let you swallow him this time. He taps the tip rhythmically against your mouth—tap, tap, tap—teasing you, denying you the fullness you're begging for. "You want it ? Sorry, baby."
He pulls away completely, leaving you straining on the cold floor, mouth open and wanting. He pulls his pants and boxers up with a casual snap, ignoring your hand reaching out for him. "Enjoy your pasta alone," he says, turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen, leaving you panting and aching on the tiles.
synopsis : living next door to lee heeseung has always been a nightmare loud, cocky, and impossible to ignore until one reckless night at a party leaves you waking up in his bed and running before it can mean anything you try to forget it ever happened, until two lines change everything, and suddenly the one person you can’t stand is the one you can’t escape.
pairing : basketball captain heeseung x neighbourf!reader
trope : accidental pregnancy + forced proximity
word count : 30.3k
warnings : blowjob semi public ?? , fingering, breast play, sex during pregnancy missionary, cowgirl, against the wall, abortion / termination discussions, anxiety, panic attacks, crying, self-doubt, identity crisis, fear of the future, toxic family dynamics, threats, pregnancy symptoms mentioned nausea, vomiting, fatigue, dizziness, mood swings, heightened libido/sexual needs, and body changes
🗯️ JO's NOTES < 🐻❄️ 3 ! : and here it is the long awaited part two, have fun reading >.< also listen to the playlist while reading
“and you didn’t bother telling me?”You looked up at him through tear filled eyes, still crying softly.“I I thought it was better this way,” you whispered, voice breaking. “You don’t have to be involved. I didn’t want to ruin your life or your future with the team or anything. I was going to handle it alone.”
Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. The congee he had cooked for you was still sitting forgotten on the kitchen counter, its smell now making you look even sicker. He set the pregnancy test down on the sink counter carefully, as if it might break.He didn’t know what to feel.
Part of him was angry that you had planned to go through this without saying a single word to him. Another part understood your fear he knew how much you hated him, how hard you had tried to pretend that night never happened. But the hurt lingered.
The realization that you were carrying his child and had already decided to end it without giving him any say it stung more than he expected.He crouched down slowly so he was closer to your eye level, though he kept some distance.“You were just going to do it and never tell me?” he asked, voice quieter now, but still carrying that edge of pain. “That’s my kid too, you know.”You didn’t answer. You just cried harder, curling in on yourself.
Heeseung stayed there on the bathroom floor with you, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of you. The silence between you was heavy, filled with everything neither of you had said since that night.For the first time since he found the test, he didn’t know what to do next.
Heeseung remained crouched on the cold bathroom floor, the pregnancy test long forgotten somewhere . The two red lines seemed to burn into his vision no matter how many times he blinked. The weight of what they meant pressed down on him heavily, making it hard to breathe normally.
You were sitting right in front of him, knees drawn up to your chest, face buried in your arms as quiet sobs continued to shake your shoulders. Your breathing was ragged, broken by hiccups, and your entire body looked small and fragile under the harsh bathroom light.Heeseung swallowed the lump in his throat. He set the test gently on the edge of the sink, then slowly shifted closer until he was sitting cross legged on the floor beside you.His voice came out quieter than he had ever spoken to you before.
“I support your decision,” he said carefully, choosing every word with caution. “If you really want to end this, then I support it. I won’t fight you on it. But I want you to think again, okay? Don’t make the choice right now while you’re scared and exhausted. Just give yourself a little time to be sure.”You lifted your head slowly. Your eyes were red and swollen, tears still streaming freely down your cheeks. Your voice cracked when you finally spoke.
“I don’t know if I can take the responsibility of a child,” you whispered, the words trembling. “I’m still in school my capstone project is due soon, I have exhibitions I want to curate one day I can’t do this. I’m not ready for any of it. I never asked for this. I never wanted this to happen.”
The raw fear and despair in your voice hit Heeseung harder than he expected. He watched as another wave of tears spilled over, and something inside his chest twisted painfully.Without thinking, he opened his arms.“Come here,” he murmured. You hesitated for only a second before you leaned forward and collapsed against him. The moment his arms wrapped around you, you broke completely. Heavy, gut wrenching sobs tore out of your throat as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, hands clutching desperately at the front of his hoodie.
Heeseung held you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubbed slow, soothing circles along your spine. He could feel every shudder that ran through your body, every shaky inhale against his shoulder. Your tears soaked through the fabric of his hoodie, warm and wet, but he didn’t pull away even for a second.
This wasn’t the Heeseung who loved teasing you in the hallway.Right now, he was just a boy holding a girl who was falling apart in his arms the same girl who had spent months hating him, and the same girl who was now carrying his child.
“I’ll book the appointment,” he whispered against your hair, his voice low and steady despite the storm of emotions inside him. “I’ll find a good clinic and take you there myself, okay? I’ll be right there with you the entire time in the waiting room, during the consultation, whatever you need. You aren’t alone in this. I promise you that.”
You cried even harder at his words, your fingers tightening in his hoodie as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your sobs echoed softly in the small bathroom, raw and heartbreaking.Heeseung continued holding you, rocking you ever so slightly as he rubbed your back. He pressed his cheek gently against the top of your head, breathing in the faint scent of your shampoo mixed with the salt of your tears.
“I know you’re scared,” he murmured. “I’m scared too. But we’ll figure this out whatever you decide you don’t have to carry it by yourself anymore.”You stayed like that for a long time curled against his chest on the bathroom floor, his arms wrapped securely around you. Your crying gradually slowed into quiet, exhausted sniffles, but you didn’t pull away. For the first time since that reckless night, the wall between the two of you didn’t feel like a barrier anymore.It felt like something you could both lean on.
Heeseung didn’t rush you. He simply held you, letting you cry until your body grew heavy with exhaustion against him. His hand never stopped its gentle motion on your back, offering the only comfort he knew how to give right now.In that quiet, heavy moment, Heeseung wasn’t the campus king or the arrogant basketball captain. He was just Heeseung and for the first time, you allowed yourself to lean on him completely.
The next few days passed in a strange, heavy blur. After that night on your bathroom floor, something between you and Heeseung had quietly shifted. You had cried yourself exhausted in his arms, and he had stayed holding you without any cocky remarks or teasing. When your sobs finally slowed, he helped you back to bed, made sure you drank some water, and only left after you fell asleep.The following morning, he texted you.
Heeseung : Appointment booked. 7th September, 4:00 PM at the women’s health clinic downtown. I’ll drive you there
You stared at the message for a long time, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You wanted to tell him not to bother. That you could handle it alone. But you were too drained, too scared, and too nauseous to argue. So you simply replied
You : okay
The week leading up to the appointment was one of the hardest you had ever experienced.Your symptoms got significantly worse.The nausea was almost constant now. You threw up multiple times a day sometimes so violently that your throat burned afterward. Smells were unbearable even walking past the campus bakery made you gag. The fatigue was bone deep. You fell asleep in lectures twice, and once you had to excuse yourself from a group meeting because the dizziness became too strong.
Your breasts were painfully tender, and you felt emotionally fragile crying over small things like a sad song or a missed bus.Yunjin and Soobin were growing more suspicious.“Babe, you’ve lost weight,” Yunjin said one afternoon, frowning as she looked at you. “And you look exhausted. This isn’t just capstone stress. Tell us what’s really going on.”
Soobin nodded, his usual soft eyes filled with worry. “If you’re sick, we can help. You don’t have to keep saying you’re ‘fine’ when you clearly aren’t.”You forced a tired smile and gave them the same answer you’d been repeating all week.“I’m alright really just a lot on my plate right now. I’ll feel better soon.”They didn’t fully believe you, but they stopped pushing after a while. Still, you could feel their concerned glances every time you excused yourself to the bathroom or declined food.Through all of it, Heeseung showed a side of himself you had never seen before.He texted you every day.
Heeseung : Did you eat anything today?
Heeseung : How are you feeling this morning?
Heeseung : I’m heading to practice. Text me if the nausea gets bad
You had told him multiple times not to worry.
You : You don’t have to do this im fine
You : Please stop checking on me
But Heeseung ignored your protests completely. Every morning, he waited outside your door to walk with you to the university. When you told him it wasn’t necessary, he simply replied, “I’m going the same way anyway,” and continued doing it. In the evenings, he offered to pick you up from the library if you stayed late. You refused most of the time, but on two occasions when the dizziness was especially bad, you quietly accepted.
He also started cooking for you.He would knock on your door in the evenings with containers of simple, gentle food plain rice porridge with ginger, mild chicken soup, steamed vegetables, and light broths that didn’t trigger your nausea. At first, you felt awkward accepting them, but the meals were the only things you could keep down without throwing up immediately afterward.One night, after he brought over a bowl of warm congee, you finally muttered a quiet “Thank you” while sitting at your desk.Heeseung just shrugged, leaning against your doorway.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “Just eat.”You watched him leave and felt a confusing swirl of emotions gratitude, guilt, anxiety, and something warmer you didn’t want to name. This was not the loud, cocky Heeseung you had spent months hating. This version was quiet, patient, and surprisingly caring. It made everything feel even more complicated.As the 7th of September drew closer, your anxiety skyrocketed.You kept having second thoughts.
What if I’m making a mistake?
What if I regret this later?
What if I can’t go through with it?
You would lie awake at night, hand resting on your still flat stomach, tears silently sliding down your cheeks. The fear and confusion were overwhelming. On the night before the appointment, Heeseung sent you one last text
Heeseung : I’ll pick you up at 3:30 tomorrow. Try to get some rest. I’m here if you need anything
You stared at the message for a long time, heart heavy with emotions you couldn’t even begin to untangle.You were terrified.You were grateful.And you had no idea what you were going to do.
The 7th of September arrived faster than you wanted.
You had decided to skip all your classes that day. The thought of sitting through lectures while pretending everything was normal felt impossible. Instead, you stayed in your apartment, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, heart racing every time you checked the clock. Anxiety sat heavy in your chest like a stone. Your hands wouldn’t stop trembling, and the nausea was especially bad today though you couldn’t tell if it was from pregnancy symptoms or pure terror.
You barely ate. You barely moved. You just sat there, staring into space, wondering if you were really about to go through with this.At exactly 3:30 PM, a soft knock sounded on your door.You jumped slightly, even though you’d been expecting it. Taking a deep breath, you walked over and opened the door.
Heeseung stood there, dressed in a simple black hoodie and grey sweatpants. His hair was still slightly damp, like he’d showered after practice — or maybe he hadn’t gone at all. His expression was calm, but his eyes held a quiet seriousness.“I skipped practice today,” he said simply, as if it was no big deal. “Ready to go?”
You nodded wordlessly, grabbing your bag and stepping out. The walk to his car was silent. The ride to the clinic was even quieter.You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, but your hands betrayed your nerves. You kept fidgeting twisting your fingers, picking at your nails, clenching and unclenching your fists in your lap. The anxiety was eating you alive.
Heeseung noticed after a few minutes.Without saying anything, he reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a small star shaped squishy toy, and held it out to you.“Here,” he said gently. “Squeeze this instead of hurting your hands.”You looked at the soft, pastel yellow star for a second before slowly taking it from him. It was surprisingly soft and satisfying to press. You mumbled a quiet, “Thank you,” barely audible, then started squeezing it rhythmically in your lap.
The small gesture made your throat feel tight.
For a while, the car was silent again, only the low hum of the engine filling the space. Then Heeseung spoke, keeping his voice soft and casual, clearly trying to distract you.“How are you feeling today?” he asked.
You shrugged. “Nauseous tired scared.”He nodded, eyes fixed on the road. “That’s understandable. You don’t have to be strong right now, you know. It’s okay to be scared.”
You squeezed the star toy harder. After a moment, you asked quietly, “Did you really skip practice for this?”“Yeah,” he answered without hesitation. “Coach wasn’t happy, but I told him it was important. He’ll get over it.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. So you stayed quiet. Heeseung didn’t push. Instead, he continued with light, careful small talk asking about your capstone project, telling you a harmless story about Beomgyu messing up a drill during practice yesterday, even mentioning how the weather was supposed to cool down next week. His voice stayed steady and low, never teasing, never cocky just there.
Before you knew it, the car slowed down.
You blinked and looked up. The clinic building stood in front of you modern, discreet, with a small sign that made your stomach drop. You hadn’t even realized how fast the drive had gone.Heeseung parked the car smoothly and turned off the engine. For a moment, neither of you moved. The silence returned, heavier this time.You kept squeezing the star toy, knuckles turning white.
Heeseung turned to look at you, his expression gentle but serious.“We’re here,” he said softly. “Whenever you’re ready I’ll go in with you. Or I can wait in the car. Whatever you want.”Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. The reality of why you were here hit you all over again. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you forced them back.You whispered, almost to yourself “I don’t know if I can do this”
Heeseung didn’t reply right away. He simply reached over and gently placed his hand on top of yours, the one still squeezing the star toy grounding you for a moment.“You don’t have to decide everything right now,” he said. “Let’s just go inside first. One step at a time.”You nodded shakily, still clutching the squishy star like a lifeline.The appointment was finally here.
And you had no idea what you were going to do.You and Heeseung walked into the clinic together.
The moment the automatic doors slid open, a wave of cool, sterile air hit you. Your heart was hammering so hard you felt dizzy. Heeseung stayed close beside you, not touching you, but near enough that you could feel his presence like a quiet anchor.The waiting room was brighter and softer than you expected. Soft beige walls, comfortable chairs, and gentle lighting. But what really hit you were the other women.
Several pregnant women were sitting around the room. One was gently rubbing her rounded belly while smiling down at her phone. Another was showing ultrasound pictures to the woman beside her, both of them laughing softly with pure joy on their faces. A third woman, quite far along, was resting her hands protectively over her bump, looking peaceful and content.You froze for a second, taking it all in.
These women looked happy excited ready.
You, on the other hand, felt like you were walking toward something terrifying. Your hand tightened around the star-shaped squishy toy Heeseung had given you in the car, squeezing it hard.Heeseung glanced at you but said nothing. He simply stayed by your side as you both approached the reception desk.
You cleared your throat, voice barely above a whisper.
“Hi… I have an appointment at 4:00. My name is [Your Name].”The receptionist smiled kindly and checked her computer. “Yes, I see you here. Please fill out this short form and have a seat. The doctor will call you shortly.”You quickly filled out the paperwork with shaky hands while Heeseung waited beside you. Once you handed it back, the receptionist nodded politely.“You can wait over there. It won’t be long.”
You both moved to two empty seats in the corner. The moment you sat down, your leg started bouncing anxiously. You kept squeezing the star squishy toy over and over, the soft pressure somehow helping you stay grounded. Heeseung sat quietly next to you, elbows resting on his knees, saying nothing but staying close.The silence between you two was heavy but not uncomfortable.
Every few seconds, your eyes would drift back to the pregnant women around the room. One of them laughed softly as she showed her partner an ultrasound photo. Another woman caressed her belly lovingly while reading a pregnancy magazine.
You felt a sharp pang in your chest.They look so sure so happy.You, on the other hand, felt nothing but fear and confusion.
Your hands were trembling again. You squeezed the star toy even harder.Heeseung noticed. He leaned slightly closer, voice low so only you could hear.
“You’re doing okay,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”
You didn’t reply. You just kept squeezing the toy.
A few minutes later, a door opened and a nurse stepped out.“[Your Full Name]?”You stood up on unsteady legs. Heeseung rose with you.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” he asked quietly.You hesitated for a second, then gave a small nod. You didn’t think you could do this completely alone.The nurse led both of you down a short hallway and into a clean, warmly lit consultation room. A woman in her mid-forties with kind eyes and a gentle smile stood up from behind the desk as you entered.
“Hello,” she said warmly, extending her hand. “I’m Dr. Kim. It’s nice to meet you.”You shook her hand weakly. “Hi I’m [Your Name].”
Dr. Kim’s gaze shifted to Heeseung with the same kind expression. “And you are…?”“Heeseung,” he answered. “I’m here with her.”The doctor nodded understandingly, not pressing for more details. She gestured for both of you to sit down on the chairs in front of her desk.
Once you were seated, Dr. Kim folded her hands on the desk and looked at you with gentle patience.
“So, tell me what brings you here today,” she said softly. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”You clutched the star squishy toy tightly in your lap, staring down at it. Your throat felt tight, and your eyes were already burning with unshed tears.You opened your mouth, but it took a few seconds before any words came out.
“I… I took a pregnancy test last week,” you whispered. “It was positive. I’m… I think I want to terminate it.”
Dr. Kim nodded calmly, her expression full of understanding and zero judgment.“I see,” she said gently. “Thank you for trusting me with that. We can talk about all your options today. First, let me ask how have you been feeling physically? Any symptoms?”
You took a shaky breath and started listing them the constant nausea, vomiting, fatigue, dizziness, tender breasts. Dr. Kim listened carefully, occasionally nodding and writing notes.
Heeseung sat silently beside you the entire time, a quiet but steady presence.Dr. Kim’s voice was calm and professional, yet warm in a way that felt intentionally soothing. She leaned forward slightly on her desk, folding her hands as she looked at you with gentle eyes.
“Since you mentioned your symptoms and the positive test, I’d like to perform a quick ultrasound today. This is just to confirm the pregnancy, see how far along you are, and check for a heartbeat. It’s completely external no discomfort. We’ll use this wand on your lower abdomen. Would that be alright with you?”
You nodded slowly, your throat too tight to speak properly. Heeseung stayed quiet beside you, but you felt him shift slightly closer in his chair.
Dr. Kim led you behind a pale blue privacy curtain to the exam bed. The paper sheet crinkled loudly under you as you lay down. She asked you to lift your shirt just below your ribs. The gel she squeezed onto your skin was shockingly cold, making you flinch.“Sorry about that,” she said with a small smile. “It’ll warm up soon.”
She placed the ultrasound wand on your lower belly and began moving it slowly, pressing gently. The screen beside the bed flickered to life with gray, blurry images. Dr. Kim adjusted the angle a few times, her eyes focused.You stared at the monitor, barely breathing.After a few moments of silence, Dr. Kim’s expression softened.“Here we are,” she said gently. “This is the gestational sac and right in the center do you see that little flicker?”
She pointed to a tiny, rhythmic pulsing on the screen.
“That’s the baby’s heartbeat.”The moment you saw it that small, steady flicker of life something inside your chest cracked wide open. Your vision blurred instantly as hot tears flooded your eyes. A choked sob escaped your throat before you could stop it. The tears spilled over, running down the sides of your face and into your hair.
“I can’t do this” you whispered, voice trembling. Then louder, more broken, “I can’t do this I can’t”
Dr. Kim immediately lifted the wand and set it aside. The screen went dark.Heeseung was already moving. He stood up so quickly his chair scraped against the floor. In one smooth motion, he was at your side, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably as your hands clutched the front of his hoodie.
“Hey shh, it’s okay,” he murmured against your hair, his voice thick. One of his hands rubbed slow, steady circles on your back while the other cradled the back of your head. “Breathe. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
You shook your head against him, crying harder.
“I want the baby ” you sobbed, the words spilling out between shaky breaths. “I thought I could do it but I can’t… I can’t get rid of it. That’s my baby. I can’t do this to my baby”
Heeseung held you even tighter. You felt his body tremble slightly, and when you pulled back just enough to look at him, you saw tears streaming silently down his own cheeks. His eyes were red, his jaw tight, but he didn’t try to hide it.“You don’t have to force yourself to do this,” he whispered, voice cracking. He gently wiped some of your tears away with his thumb. “Not to yourself and not to the baby. I’m here. I’m right here, okay? You’re not doing this alone.”
Fresh sobs wracked your body. Heeseung rested his forehead against yours, his own tears falling onto your shirt as he continued speaking, soft and raw.
“We will have this baby,” he said, the words heavy with emotion. “I will do everything and anything for you and the baby. I promise. Whatever you need I’ll be there. Every appointment, every late night, every single thing. You’re not alone anymore. I’ve got you both of you.”
You cried into his shoulder, overwhelmed by fear, guilt, relief, and a thousand other emotions you couldn’t name. Heeseung held you through all of it, rocking you gently, his arms strong and steady around you even as his own tears continued to fall.Dr. Kim stayed respectfully quiet for a long moment, giving you both space. When your crying finally quieted into soft sniffles, she spoke gently.
“There’s no rush to decide anything today. If you’d like to continue with the pregnancy, we can start discussing prenatal care, vitamins, and scheduling your next scans. You can take all the time you need.”
You stayed pressed against Heeseung’s chest, exhausted but no longer feeling completely alone.
For the first time since you saw those two pink lines, the future felt a little less terrifying.Dr. Kim gave you both a moment to collect yourselves after your breakdown. She handed you a tissue box and waited patiently until your sobs quieted into soft sniffles. Heeseung never let go of you again one arm stayed wrapped around your shoulders, his thumb gently brushing your arm in soothing strokes. When you finally calmed down enough to sit up properly, Dr. Kim spoke in a gentle, professional tone. “Since you’ve decided to continue with the pregnancy, let me walk you through what comes next.”
She turned the monitor slightly so both of you could see it better and pointed at the image again.“You’re approximately six weeks along. Everything looks good so far the heartbeat is strong. We’ll schedule a more detailed scan around 8 to 10 weeks to check development. For now, I’m going to prescribe prenatal vitamins. You need to start taking them daily they’re very important for the baby’s neural development.”
She slid a prescription paper across the desk.
“Folic acid is especially crucial in the first trimester. I’ll also recommend a gentle prenatal multivitamin. Try to eat small, frequent meals if the nausea is bad. Ginger tea, crackers, and hydration will help. Avoid raw fish, unpasteurized dairy, and limit caffeine.”Dr. Kim looked at both of you warmly.“I know this is a big adjustment. If you experience severe vomiting, dizziness, or bleeding, come back immediately or go to the ER. I’d like to see you again in two weeks for a follow up. Do you have any questions?”
You shook your head, still overwhelmed. Heeseung, however, spoke up for the first time since your emotional outburst.“What should she avoid? Like food, activities, anything?” His voice was steady but serious.Dr. Kim answered patiently, explaining everything in detail while Heeseung listened carefully, nodding and even pulling out his phone to take notes. You watched him quietly, still surprised by how seriously he was taking all of this.
Before you left, Dr. Kim printed out a small ultrasound picture and handed it to you with a kind smile.
“Here’s your baby’s first picture. Congratulations.”
You took the small black and white image with trembling fingers. The tiny bean shaped spot with that flickering heartbeat was now printed in your hand. You stared at it, throat tight with emotion.
Heeseung helped you stand up. His hand stayed gently on your lower back as you both thanked Dr. Kim and left the room.
The car ride home was quiet. You clutched the ultrasound picture tightly in your lap, staring down at it the entire time. Heeseung drove carefully, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally flexing like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy. Now that you had decided to keep the baby, the reality of the situation began sinking in for both of you.
Heeseung was going to be a permanent part of your life forever. No more avoiding him in the hallway. No more pretending that night never happened. This baby would tie the two of you together whether you liked it or not. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His jaw was tense, eyes focused on the road, but there was something softer in his expression something you had never seen before.
What you didn’t know was how deeply this was already affecting him.Heeseung’s heart felt like it was going to burst. From the moment he saw that tiny heartbeat on the screen, something inside him had shifted irreversibly. This baby was his baby it already meant more to him than he could put into words. Despite all the pressure from his father, despite his complicated life and uncertain future in basketball, the thought of this child filled him with a fierce, protective kind of love he had never experienced before.
He already loved this baby.More than he imagined was possible.The car finally pulled into the apartment building parking lot. Heeseung turned off the engine but didn’t move to get out. The silence stretched for a few more seconds.Then he spoke, voice low and serious.“We need to sit down and talk when we get back.”You looked at him, still clutching the ultrasound picture. Your voice came out small.“…Okay.”
Heeseung nodded once, then got out of the car and walked around to open your door. He stayed close as you both walked up to your floor, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you.For the first time, the two of you were about to have a real conversation.And the beginning of whatever this new future was going to look like.“Let’s talk at your place,” he said softly. “If that’s okay with you.”
You nodded. Your legs felt heavy as you both walked up to your apartment. The ultrasound picture was still clutched tightly in your hand. Once inside, you kicked off your shoes and sat down on the couch, exhausted. Heeseung closed the door gently behind him and sat on the armchair directly across from you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.For a few seconds, the silence was thick.
Then, without any warning or buildup, Heeseung looked you straight in the eyes and said “Marry me.”
You stared at him, completely frozen. The words didn’t register at first. When they finally did, a shocked, disbelieving laugh escaped your lips.
“…What?” You let out another nervous laugh, shaking your head. “Heeseung, are you serious right now?”He didn’t smile. His expression remained dead serious, almost solemn. “I’m serious,” he repeated. “Marry me.”
You blinked rapidly, still trying to process what he had just said. Your heart was racing, confusion and shock swirling inside your chest. “Why would you want to marry me?” you asked, voice rising with disbelief. “Heeseung we don’t even like each other. We’ve spent the last few months hating each other. You used to call me Miss Morals and enjoy annoying the hell out of me. Why are you saying this?”
Heeseung didn’t look away. His gaze stayed steady on yours.“Because you’re carrying my child,” he answered plainly. “This baby is mine too. I don’t want to be a part time dad. I want to be there every single day. So marry me.”You let out a shaky breath and shook your head, tears already pricking at your eyes again.
“That isn’t how it works, Heeseung,” you said, voice cracking. “Marriage isn’t something you do just because there’s a baby. It requires trust and love and actually knowing the other person. We don’t have any of that. We don’t even know each other. Not really. All we’ve ever done is argue and avoid one another.”
Something painful flashed across Heeseung’s face a deep, raw hurt that made his eyes darken and his jaw tighten. He looked away for a second, swallowing hard, before forcing himself to meet your eyes again.
“We can make it work if we try,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “People build marriages on less. We can learn to get along. For the baby’s sake.”You felt your chest tighten. The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over.“What if I haven’t met my person yet?” you whispered, voice trembling. “What if I meet the person I’m actually meant to be with while we’re married? What if you do? I don’t want to be bound to you, Heeseung. Not like this. Not when we started all of this hating each other.”
The moment the words left your mouth, you saw it again that same flash of hurt, deeper this time. Heeseung’s shoulders dropped slightly. He looked genuinely wounded, like your rejection had cut him far more than you expected.He stayed silent for a long moment, staring at the floor. Then he let out a slow, tired breath.“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “I understand.”
You frowned, confused by the clear pain on his face. You didn’t understand why he looked so hurt. You two had spent months being enemies. He used to thrive on annoying you. So why did your refusal to marry him seem to affect him this badly?Heeseung stood up slowly, running a hand through his hair.“I should go,” he muttered. “You need rest.”He paused at the door for a second, back facing you.
“I’m still going to be here,” he added without turning around. “For the baby. Whether we get married or not I’m not going anywhere.”Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.You stayed seated on the couch, ultrasound picture still in your lap, feeling more lost and confused than ever before.The silence after Heeseung left the room didn’t last long. Barely ten minutes later, there was a soft knock on your door again. When you opened it, he was standing there, looking exhausted but determined.
“Can I come back in?” he asked quietly.You nodded and stepped aside.Heeseung walked in and sat on the same armchair as before. You returned to the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest. The ultrasound picture was still lying on the coffee table between you two.Heeseung rubbed his face with both hands before speaking.“Look even if we’re not getting married right now,” he said slowly, “we need to at least pretend to date, right? For the baby. So people don’t ask too many questions. So it doesn’t look like some random hookup.”
You thought about it for a moment, then gave a small, tired nod.“Yeah that makes sense.”Heeseung looked relieved. “Okay good.”He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “And about money I’m going to take care of all the expenses. Doctor visits, vitamins, food, whatever you need yours too you don’t have to worry about that.”You immediately frowned and sat up straighter.“I can take care of myself, Heeseung. I’ve been doing it this whole time.”
“I know you can,” he said gently but firmly. “But you’re carrying my child. Let me do this please I want to.”
You opened your mouth to argue again, but the exhaustion in your body and the look in his eyes made you close it. You eventually gave a small, reluctant nod.“…Fine.”Heeseung looked a little more relaxed after that. Then you asked the question that had been weighing on you.
“Are we going to tell everyone that I’m pregnant?”
Heeseung shook his head slowly.“It’s totally up to you,” he said. “You decide who you want to tell and when. I won’t say anything to anyone unless you’re okay with it.”You thought about it for a while, fingers tracing the edge of the ultrasound picture.“Soobin and Yunjin,” you said quietly. “I want to tell them. They’ve been really worried about me. And you can tell your close friends. Beomgyu, Jake, Jay and your coach, I suppose. They’ll probably notice eventually anyway.”
Heeseung nodded. “That sounds fair.”You hesitated, then continued.“What about our parents? We should let them know, right?”Heeseung’s expression changed slightly. He looked more tense.“Are your parents going to be okay with this?” he asked carefully.You gave a small, tired smile.“Yeah I think so. My mom and dad have always supported me no matter what. They might be shocked at first, but once they hear they’re getting a grandbaby they’ll probably be over the moon. They’ve always wanted grandchildren.”
Heeseung smiled faintly at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes. When you looked at him expectantly, he let out a long breath and leaned back in the chair.
“I don’t know how mine will react,” he admitted, voice quieter. “My dad he’s complicated. If he finds out I got someone pregnant while I’m still trying to make it to the NBA” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”
You watched him carefully. For the first time, you saw the weight he was carrying the pressure, the expectations, the fear of disappointing his family.
The conversation settled into a heavy but honest silence. So many things were still uncertain. Your future, your relationship (or lack of one), how you were going to navigate this together.But at least now, you were talking. After the heavy conversation, Heeseung stood up slowly, running a hand through his hair. The air in your apartment felt thick with everything that had just been said and everything that still remained unsaid.
He looked at you for a long moment, eyes soft but tired.“I should go,” he said quietly. “You need to rest. It’s been a really long day.”You nodded, too drained to argue. Heeseung walked toward the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. “Take care of yourself, okay?” he said, glancing back at you. His voice was gentle, almost hesitant. “Eat something light if you can drink water text me if the nausea gets bad or if you need anything. I’m right next door.”
You gave him a small, tired nod. “Yeah I will.”He lingered for another second, like he wanted to say more, but eventually just offered a faint smile and left, closing the door softly behind him.The moment the lock clicked, the silence in your apartment felt suffocating.You were alone.You curled up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest and hugging them tightly. The ultrasound picture was still on the coffee table, staring back at you. You reached out and picked it up, tracing the tiny bean-shaped spot with your fingertip.
Tears blurred your vision again.Now came the hardest part figuring out how to tell the people you loved.
Your mind immediately went to your parents. Strangely, that felt almost easy.Your mom and dad had always been incredibly supportive. They had raised you to be independent, but they’d also made it clear that no matter what happened in life mistakes, heartbreaks, unexpected turns they would stand by you. You could already imagine your mom’s initial shock turning into tears of joy once she processed that she was going to be a grandmother.
Your dad would probably go quiet at first, then start asking a million practical questions while secretly being over the moon.Telling them felt scary, but safe. You knew they would love this baby. They would support you no matter what path you chose.But Yunjin and Soobin?That felt terrifying.They were your best friends. They had watched you complain about Heeseung for months. They knew how much you couldn’t stand him. They had seen you avoid him like the plague. How were you supposed to tell them that you had gotten drunk at a party, slept with the neighbor you hated, and were now keeping his baby?
Yunjin would probably scream then cry then demand to know every single detail while spiraling with worry. Soobin he would be quiet at first, shocked, but then his concern would kick in. He would worry about your health, your future, your capstone, your dreams. You hated the idea of disappointing them or making them feel like they had failed to notice how much you were struggling.You buried your face in your knees, letting out a shaky breath.
How do you even start that conversation?Hey guys, remember how I disappeared at Sunghoon’s party? Yeah I slept with Heeseung. And now I’m pregnant.
The thought alone made you want to crawl under the blankets and never come out.You placed a protective hand over your stomach, still flat but no longer feeling empty.
This baby was real now. You had chosen to keep it. And that choice was going to change everything your friendship with Yunjin and Soobin, your relationship (or lack of one) with Heeseung, your entire future.
You stayed curled up on the couch for a long time, ultrasound picture still in your other hand, heart heavy with fear and quiet determination.
Telling your parents felt like something you could survive.Telling your best friends felt like walking into an emotional battlefield.But you knew you couldn’t keep this secret forever. Not from the people who loved you most.
The next morning, you woke up to soft, hesitant knocks on your door.Your eyes fluttered open, still heavy from crying and restless sleep. The ultrasound picture was lying on your pillow beside you you must have fallen asleep clutching it. Your body felt sore, your eyes puffy, and your hair was a complete mess. The nausea was already simmering in your stomach, a cruel reminder that nothing about this was a dream.
The knocking came again gentle, almost careful.You dragged yourself out of bed, wrapped a loose cardigan over your oversized sleep shirt, and padded to the door. When you opened it, Heeseung was standing there.
He looked freshly showered, wearing a simple black hoodie and sweatpants, hair still slightly damp. In his hands was a paper bag and two cups of what smelled like warm tea.The moment he saw you messy hair, swollen eyes, tired face you suddenly became painfully self conscious. You crossed your arms over your chest and tried to smooth your hair with one hand, cheeks heating up.Heeseung’s expression softened.
“I got you breakfast,” he said quietly, lifting the bag a little. “Something light. Ginger tea and plain rice porridge with a bit of egg. Thought it might help with the nausea.” He paused, looking almost nervous. “Can I come in and eat with you?”You hesitated for a second, then nodded.“Yeah okay. Just give me a minute to freshen up.”
Heeseung gave you a small nod and stepped inside as you retreated to the bathroom. You quickly brushed your teeth, splashed cold water on your face, tied your hair into a messy bun, and changed into a loose sweater and comfortable pants. When you came back out, Heeseung had already set everything up on your small dining table.Two bowls of warm porridge, the ginger tea, and even a small side of fresh fruit he must have brought along. He was waiting for you, standing awkwardly by the table.
You sat down across from him. The silence was soft, not uncomfortable.You both started eating slowly. The porridge was gentle on your stomach warm, lightly seasoned, and easy to keep down. For the first time in days, you actually managed a few proper spoonfuls without feeling like you’d throw up immediately.
After a few minutes of quiet eating, Heeseung spoke.
“I can drop you at university every morning,” he said, eyes on his bowl. “I’ll adjust my practice schedule if I need to. But I can’t always promise I’ll be able to pick you up in the evenings because of team practice and meetings. Still I want to take you in the mornings at least.”You looked up at him, spoon paused halfway to your mouth.“You really don’t have to do that, Heeseung. It’s not necessary.”He shook his head gently but firmly.
“It is necessary,” he replied. “You’re carrying my child. Taking care of you and the life growing inside you that’s my responsibility now. Whether we’re together or not.”His words hung in the air between you. There was no cockiness in his tone, no arrogance, just quiet determination. You stared at him for a long moment, a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest, gratitude, confusion and fear.And something warmer you weren’t ready to name yet.You looked back down at your bowl, stirring the porridge slowly.
“…Thank you,” you whispered.Heeseung gave you a small, almost shy smile the softest you had ever seen from him.“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “Just let me help. Okay?”You nodded, too tired and overwhelmed to argue.For the rest of breakfast, you both ate in relatively comfortable silence. Every now and then Heeseung would glance at you, making sure you were actually eating the quiet felt new different not quite friendly yet.But no longer hostile.
You both finished breakfast in a surprisingly comfortable silence. The porridge had settled well in your stomach, and for the first time in days, you didn’t feel like you needed to run to the bathroom immediately after eating. Heeseung cleared the bowls and cleaned up without being asked, moving around your small kitchen like he was trying not to overstep.
When he was done, he turned to you.“I’ll wait for you downstairs in my car,” he said gently. “Take your time getting ready. No rush.”
You nodded, still a little dazed from everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. Heeseung gave you one last look soft, almost careful before heading out and closing the door quietly behind him. As soon as he left, you hurried to get dressed. You chose something comfortable: an oversized hoodie, loose jeans, and sneakers. You brushed your hair into a simple ponytail and splashed some water on your face, trying to look at least a little presentable. Your hands were still shaking slightly as you grabbed your bag and the ultrasound picture (which you tucked safely into your notebook).
When you stepped outside, Heeseung’s car was waiting right in front of the building. You slid into the passenger seat, and he gave you a small smile before pulling out of the parking lot.The drive to university started off quiet, but Heeseung eventually broke the silence.“So…” he started, glancing at you. “I realized I don’t actually know much about you. Other than the fact that you hate loud music and call me an entitled asshole.”
You let out a soft, surprised laugh despite yourself.
Heeseung’s lips curved into a gentle smirk. “What do you like? Favorite food? Favorite artist? Anything.”
You thought for a moment, squeezing the star shaped squishy toy he had given you yesterday, which was still in your hoodie pocket.
“I like quiet places,” you said. “Museums, art galleries, bookstores with big windows. I love matcha, but lately it makes me nauseous so maybe not right now. I like soft music acoustic stuff and I really love curating imagining how paintings and sculptures would look together in a room. It’s calming.”Heeseung listened attentively, nodding.“What about you?” you asked, surprising yourself by actually being curious. “What do you like when you’re not being loud and annoying?”
He chuckled lightly. “Basketball, obviously. But I also like late night drives. And ramyun the kind that makes your nose run. I’m terrible at drawing, but I like watching you sketch when you’re focused. You get this little crease between your eyebrows.”You glanced at him, cheeks warming. The conversation flowed easier than expected. He asked about your favorite movies, what kind of exhibitions you dreamed of curating one day, and what you hated most about university (early morning lectures and group projects with lazy people).
You teased him lightly about his loud parties, and he admitted that he sometimes turned the music up just to see if you’d come banging on his door.By the time he pulled into the university parking lot, you were both surprised at how easily the conversation had come.But the moment you stepped out of his car, reality hit you like a truck.Everyone was staring.
Students walking by slowed down. A group of girls near the entrance openly gawked. Whispers started almost immediately. You were very aware of how it looked you, leaving Heeseung’s car early in the morning, him leaning over to say something to you before you closed the door.
Your face burned with embarrassment. This was a bad idea a very bad idea.You didn’t even thank him. You just lowered your head, pulled your hood up, and walked away quickly, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the ground. You could feel hundreds of eyes on your back as you hurried toward the main building.
Heeseung watched you go, his expression unreadable. He stayed parked for a few extra seconds before driving off to find a spot.
You kept your head down the entire way to your first class, heart racing, already regretting how public this was becoming.The secret was no longer just yours and his.And campus was about to get very interested in the sudden shift between the girl who hated Lee Heeseung and the basketball captain who was now driving her to university.
Your heart was still pounding wildly as you hurried across campus toward the Art History lecture hall. Every few steps, you felt like someone was staring at you. Whispers seemed to follow you like shadows “Was that Heeseung’s car?”, “Did you see them together?”, “I thought she hated him?” making your skin crawl with embarrassment and anxiety.You kept your head down, hood pulled low over your face, walking as fast as your tired legs would allow without breaking into a run.
The ultrasound picture hidden safely inside your notebook felt like it weighed a ton in your bag. By the time you pushed open the door to the lecture hall, your breathing was slightly ragged and a fresh wave of nausea was threatening to rise.Yunjin and Soobin were already in your usual seats middle row, near the window. The moment they saw you approaching, their expressions shifted.Yunjin’s eyes widened dramatically. “Oh my god, what happened to you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or ten ghosts.”
Soobin turned in his seat, his gentle face immediately filling with concern. “Are you okay? You’re really pale.”
You forced a weak, tired smile as you dropped into the empty seat between them, trying your best to look normal even though your hands were still trembling slightly.“I’m fine,” you said, voice quieter than usual. “I was just running late this morning. Rushed here from the other side of campus.”Soobin glanced at his watch, then back at you with a small frown. “We still have like fifteen minutes before class starts though.”
You froze for a split second, heart skipping. Your mind scrambled for an excuse.
“Yeah I know,” you mumbled, quickly pulling out your notebook and flipping through the pages as if you were looking for something important. “I thought I was way later than I actually was. My brain’s been all over the place lately with the capstone deadline.”
Yunjin wasn’t convinced. She leaned closer, studying your face like a detective. “Are you sure that’s it? You’ve been acting weird for weeks now. Disappearing, not replying to texts, looking exhausted every time we see you”
You swallowed hard and kept your eyes fixed on your notes, refusing to meet their worried gazes.“I’m alright, really,” you insisted, forcing another small smile. “Just been super busy and stressed. You know how it is with this project.”Before Yunjin could push further, Soobin spoke up again, his tone soft but clearly concerned.“You didn’t reply to any of our messages yesterday evening or night,” he said. “We were both really worried. Yunjin was about to go knock on your door at midnight.”
Your chest tightened. You had seen the string of worried texts from both of them asking if you were okay, if you needed anything, if something was wrong. You had read them all but couldn’t bring yourself to answer.“I was just really busy,” you repeated, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. “Got caught up with work and forgot to check my phone. Sorry for making you guys worry.”
Yunjin opened her mouth again, clearly ready to interrogate you more, but right at that moment, the professor walked into the lecture hall carrying his usual stack of papers and laptop. The room gradually quieted down as he set up at the front.“Alright, everyone. Let’s dive straight into today’s topic the evolution of museum curation practices in the late 19th century…”You let out a silent breath of relief as the lecture began. You kept your head down, pretending to take diligent notes while your mind continued to spiral.
The ultrasound picture hidden in your bag felt like it was burning a hole through your notebook. Heeseung’s words from last night and this morning kept replaying in your head. The weight of your new reality pressed down on you harder with every passing minute.Yunjin kept throwing concerned glances your way throughout the class. Soobin, ever observant, stayed quiet but you could feel his worried eyes on you from time to time.
You knew you couldn’t keep dodging them forever.
But for now, as the professor’s voice filled the room, you clung to this temporary escape, squeezing the star shaped squishy toy hidden in your hoodie pocket for comfort. The lecture hall felt unusually stuffy today. You tried your best to focus on the professor’s voice as he discussed 19th century museum practices, but your mind kept drifting. Your phone vibrated quietly in your lap for the third time. You discreetly glanced down, hiding the screen from Yunjin and Soobin.
Heeseung : Hey, just checking in. How are you feeling right now? Nausea any better?
You stared at the message for a few seconds, then typed back with slightly shaky fingers.
You : I’m okay still a bit nauseous but it’s manageable
Not even a minute later, another message popped up.
Heeseung : Good. What do you feel like eating for dinner tonight? I’ll make something light that won’t upset your stomach. Maybe porridge again? Or soup?
You bit your lip, thinking. The idea of him cooking for you again felt strangely comforting, even if it also made everything feel more complicated.
You : I’m not sure. Anything is fine, really I don’t have much appetite these days
His reply came quickly, as if he had been waiting.
Heeseung : Alright. I’ll go with mild chicken porridge with ginger and some steamed vegetables on the side. Easy to digest. Let me know if you crave anything specific, okay?
You read the message twice. A small, unconscious smile crept onto your lips without you realizing it. The simple thoughtfulness behind his texts remembering what your body could handle right now felt unexpectedly warm. Your thumb hovered over the screen as you considered how to reply.Yunjin, who had been side eyeing you the entire time, suddenly leaned over and whispered loudly enough for Soobin to hear, “Why are you smiling at your phone like that? You look suspiciously happy for someone who’s been acting like a zombie for weeks.”
You startled and quickly locked your screen, shoving the phone into your bag.“It’s nothing,” you muttered, avoiding both of their curious gazes. “Just a funny meme I saw.”Yunjin raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “A meme? Since when do memes make you smile like you just won the lottery?”Soobin chuckled softly beside you but didn’t push. Still, you could feel both of them watching you more closely for the rest of the lecture.
When the final class of the day finally ended, you packed your things slowly, hoping the crowd in the hallway would thin out. But the moment the three of you stepped out of the lecture hall into the bustling corridor, you knew something was wrong.
Eyes were everywhere.Students who usually walked past without a second glance were now openly staring. A group of girls near the notice board pulled out their phones as you passed. Whispers rippled through the hallway like a wave. Someone even pointed discreetly in your direction.
Yunjin noticed immediately and linked her arm with yours. “Okay, what the hell is going on? Did we suddenly become celebrities overnight?”Soobin moved to your other side, creating a small protective barrier. “It does feel like we’re in one of those high school drama scenes where everyone turns to look at the main characters,” he joked lightly, though his voice held clear concern. “Did you do something scandalous without telling us?”
You kept your head down, cheeks burning with embarrassment. You knew exactly why they were staring. The news of you getting out of Heeseung’s car this morning had clearly spread like wildfire across campus.You didn’t respond to their teasing. You just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.
Just as you turned the corner toward the main exit, Soobin’s phone buzzed loudly. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression changed instantly from amused to shocked.
“Uh… guys?” His voice was unusually serious. “You really need to see this.”He turned the phone toward you and Yunjin.It was a notification from Decelis Confessions the infamous anonymous campus Twitter account that loved stirring drama.The post had already exploded with likes, retweets, and comments in a very short time.
Decelis Confessions : “Plot twist of the semester 😳
Spotted this morning basketball captain Lee Heeseung personally dropping off the girl who has publicly hated him for months. They looked pretty cozy getting out of his car together. What happened to ‘I can’t stand him’? 👀
Picture attached.”
Below the caption was a clear, well timed photo of you stepping out of Heeseung’s car this morning. Your face was visible enough for people to recognize you, even with your hood partially up. The comments were already spiraling out of control
• “Wait… wasn’t she the one who always complained about his parties???”
• “Enemies to lovers speedrun 💀”
• “Heeseung finally got the girl who hated him the most”
• “This is the most interesting thing that’s happened all semester”
Yunjin’s eyes widened dramatically as she read it. “What the actual fuck is this?!”Soobin looked at you with deep concern, his usual calm expression cracking. “Is this real? You came to school with Heeseung today?”You felt your stomach drop violently. The nausea you had managed to keep under control all day came rushing back with full force. Your hands started trembling as you stared at the post, frozen in the middle of the busy hallway while more students walked past, whispering and checking their phones.
The secret was no longer contained itwas public.
And it was spreading faster than you could ever hope to control.The three of you stood frozen in the middle of the busy hallway, Soobin’s phone still held out between you. The Decelis Confessions post glowed brightly on the screen, the photo of you stepping out of Heeseung’s car crystal clear for everyone to see. The comments were flooding in so fast the numbers were climbing by the second.Yunjin’s mouth fell open. “This is you this is literally you this morning.” Soobin looked at you with wide, concerned eyes. “You came with Heeseung today?”
You felt your face burn with embarrassment. The nausea that had been simmering all day surged violently, and you had to swallow hard to keep it down. Your hands were trembling as you clutched the strap of your bag.You forced yourself to speak, voice shaky but trying to sound casual.“He just dropped me because I was running late this morning,” you said quickly, repeating the excuse you had given them earlier. “That’s all. I told you guys I was in a rush.”
Yunjin wasn’t convinced. She crossed her arms, staring at you intensely. “Running late? Since when does Lee Heeseung play taxi for someone he supposedly hates?”
You shifted uncomfortably on your feet, avoiding their gazes. The whispers around you were getting louder. More people were stopping to look.“I… I have something to tell you guys,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely audible over the hallway noise. “But not right now. I’ll tell you when the time is right. I promise.”Yunjin’s eyes narrowed. She stepped closer, refusing to let you dodge this.“No way you can’t drop a bomb like that and then say ‘later.’ What is going on? First you disappear at the party, then you look like death for two weeks, now you’re getting out of Heeseung’s car like it’s normal? Spill it.”
Soobin placed a gentle hand on Yunjin’s arm, trying to calm her down.“Yunjin,” he said softly but firmly, “she said she’ll tell us when she’s ready. We should respect that. She’s clearly going through something.”
Yunjin huffed, clearly frustrated, but she backed off a little. Still, she couldn’t resist one last sarcastic jab.
“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Don’t tell me you’re secretly dating Heeseung now and you’re pregnant with his child or something.”She laughed at her own ridiculous joke.You, however, froze.
The words hit way too close to home. Your stomach twisted violently. For a split second, you felt like the entire hallway was spinning. You let out an awkward, strained laugh too loud, too forced trying desperately to play it off.“Haha… yeah, right,” you managed, the sound hollow even to your own ears. “As if.”Yunjin raised an eyebrow at your weird reaction but eventually shrugged it off, linking her arm with yours again as the three of you continued walking.
“Whatever but seriously, you better tell us soon. We’re worried about you.”Soobin gave you a small, reassuring smile, though the concern in his eyes didn’t fade. “Whenever you’re ready. No pressure.”You nodded weakly, forcing another smile as you walked with them toward the exit. Inside, your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. The ultrasound picture hidden in your bag suddenly felt ten times heavier.
Yunjin’s sarcastic joke had been way too accurate.
And you had no idea how much longer you could keep pretending everything was fine.The rest of your classes dragged on painfully.You kept your hood pulled up the entire day, even indoors, trying to hide your face as much as possible. It didn’t help. Everywhere you went walking through the corridors, sitting in the library during break, or moving between lecture halls people stared some whispered some openly pointed a few girls even took subtle photos as you passed by.You felt incredibly small.
Like you had shrunk to the size of an ant under a microscope. Every glance made your shoulders curl inward. Every whisper made your stomach twist with nausea and anxiety. You kept your head down, eyes fixed on the floor or your notebook, clutching the star-shaped squishy toy Heeseung had given you like a lifeline. You barely spoke in group discussions. You barely ate during lunch, pushing the food around your plate while Yunjin and Soobin exchanged worried glances.Soobin noticed everything.He stayed close to you the whole day, walking on the side where more people could see him, subtly shielding you from the worst of the stares. During breaks, he tried his best to lighten the mood with his usual gentle humor.
At one point, while you were sitting on a bench between classes, he nudged your shoulder lightly.
“You know,” he said softly, “if everyone’s going to stare anyway, we should give them something worth staring at. Maybe start doing dramatic poses every time someone looks?”You let out a small, tired laugh despite yourself. Soobin smiled, pleased that he managed to get even that out of you.He kept it up throughout the day sharing funny memes, telling light stories about his roommate’s failed cooking attempts, and reminding you of that time the three of you got lost during a group project trip last semester.
His quiet, steady presence helped more than he probably realized.When the final class ended, Soobin didn’t even ask he simply fell into step beside you.
“I’ll drop you back to your apartment,” he said gently. “No arguments.”You were too drained to protest. The walk to your building was quiet, but Soobin made sure to fill the silence with easy conversation, never pushing you to talk about what was really going on.
When you finally reached your door, you turned to him with a small, grateful smile.“Thank you, Soobin. For today and for walking me back.”
He gave you that soft, warm smile of his. “Anytime. You know that, right? If you need to talk I’m here.”
You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I know. Thank you.”Soobin waited until you were safely inside before waving goodbye and heading off.The moment the door closed behind you, you leaned against it, letting out a long, exhausted breath. Your phone buzzed in your pocket.
Heeseung : Did you reach home safely?
You replied quickly.
You : Yes Soobin dropped me back
There was a slightly longer pause than usual before his next message came in.
Heeseung : Oh good that he was there. I’ll bring dinner over later if you want
You stared at the message. It was polite. Normal, even. But something about the “Oh.” and the brief delay felt off. Like a tiny flicker of something unspoken.You didn’t reply right away. You just slid down to the floor, still wearing your hoodie with the hood up, feeling the weight of the day crash over you.
The stares the whispers the rumors spreading like wildfire.Everything was changing so fast.You pulled out the ultrasound picture again and stared at the tiny flicker of a heartbeat, hand resting gently on your stomach.This little life inside you was already turning your world upside down.And now, even Heeseung’s messages carried a quiet weight you couldn’t quite name.
That evening, Heeseung showed up at your door right on time with dinner.He carried a paper bag filled with carefully prepared containers mild chicken porridge with ginger, steamed vegetables, and some fresh fruit slices. Nothing strong smelling. Nothing that would trigger your nausea. He handed it over with a quiet “Eat slowly,” waited until you took a few spoonfuls in front of him, and then left without lingering too long.
From that point on, the next month slowly settled into a new, surprisingly comfortable rhythm between the two of you.
Heeseung became a constant, quiet presence in your life. He was nothing like the loud, arrogant neighbor you had spent months disliking. He was attentive in ways that quietly surprised you. Some mornings, he would knock softly on your door with breakfast already packed simple things like rice porridge or toast with a little honey that your stomach could handle. Other times, he would show up in the afternoon with electrolyte drinks and medicine when he noticed you hadn’t left your apartment all day. On particularly bad nausea days, he would bring over warm ginger tea without you even asking.
He started staying over more often too. Sometimes he would sleep on your couch after bringing dinner, especially on nights when your anxiety kept you awake or the nausea was relentless. You would wake up to find him already making plain toast in your kitchen or folding the blanket he had used. His loud parties had almost completely disappeared. The music was rare now, and when it did play, it was kept low and ended early.
He was there for the small things too. When your favorite hoodie got a tear, a new one in the exact same oversized style appeared at your door the next day. When you mentioned in passing that the smell of your old shampoo made you sick, he came back with a new, scent free one. On days when the fatigue was overwhelming, he would quietly sit with you on the couch, not pushing you to talk, just keeping you company while you rested. You were now two months pregnant.
Your bump was still small enough to hide under loose hoodies and oversized sweaters, but your body was changing in ways that were impossible to ignore. The nausea came in unpredictable waves. The exhaustion made even simple tasks feel heavy. Your emotions swung wildly one moment you felt determined, the next you were crying over nothing. And yet, you still hadn’t told Yunjin, Soobin, or your parents.
Every time you tried to find the right moment, it never felt perfect. The fear of their reactions, their questions, and the overwhelming reality of it all kept stopping you.
This evening, Yunjin was coming over for a group study session. You had already texted Heeseung earlier in the day
You : Yunjin is coming over tonight for study. Can’t do dinner together sorry
His reply had been simple and understanding
Heeseung : No worries lmk if you need anything
At 6:45 PM, there was a knock on your door. You opened it expecting Yunjin.Instead, Heeseung stood there holding a small bag.“I know you said no dinner,” he said softly, “but I brought some light snacks in case you get hungry later. Ginger cookies and cut fruit. Just keep them in the fridge.”You took the bag, feeling that familiar warmth spread through your chest again. “Thank you,” you whispered.Heeseung gave you a small, gentle smile. His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than usual, like he wanted to say more, but he simply nodded.
“I’ll be next door if you need me.”He turned to leave just as Yunjin appeared at the end of the hallway, carrying her bag and laptop. The moment she saw Heeseung leaving your apartment, her eyebrows shot up.She waited until he disappeared into his own door before stepping inside yours and closing the door with a dramatic click.“Okay,” she said immediately, crossing her arms. “What the hell was that?”You froze for a split second at Yunjin’s question, then forced a casual shrug, trying to sound as normal as possible.
“He just had some extra fruits and snacks,” you said, avoiding her sharp gaze. “He was being a good neighbor, that’s all. No big deal.”Yunjin stared at you like you had grown a second head. She let out a loud, disbelieving scoff and crossed her arms tighter. “A good neighbor?” she repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Heeseung? The same guy who used to blast music until 3 a.m. just to piss you off? The one you called an entitled asshole for months? Since when does he randomly bring you snacks like some thoughtful boyfriend? Come on. He’s never been good to you. He’s an asshole, and we both know it.”
Her words hit harder than you expected. You felt a pang of defensiveness rise in your chest, even though part of you knew she was right or at least, she used to be.You rubbed your temple, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Yunjin, can you please calm down? It’s really not that deep. Let’s just get our books out and start studying, okay? I’ll go get the snacks and cut fruits he brought.”You didn’t wait for her reply. You quickly moved toward the kitchen area, grateful for the excuse to escape her intense stare.
Your hands were slightly shaky as you took out the containers Heeseung had brought the ginger cookies, fresh fruit slices, and some light crackers. You arranged them neatly on a plate, trying to buy yourself a few extra seconds to collect your thoughts.
Yunjin muttered something under her breath behind you, but you ignored it and focused on the task.
Two minutes later, you returned to the living room with the plate of snacks, forcing a small smile.“Here, I brought—”Your words died in your throat.
Yunjin was no longer sitting on the couch.She was sitting on the edge of your bed, holding the ultrasound picture in her hands. The same one you had left on your nightstand earlier, half hidden under a notebook. Her eyes were wide, completely fixed on the small black and white image. The room felt like all the air had been sucked out of it. You froze on the spot, the plate trembling slightly in your hands. Your heart slammed against your ribcage so hard you thought it might break.
Yunjin slowly looked up at you, her expression a mixture of shock, confusion, and dawning realization.
“…What the hell is this?” she whispered, voice barely audible.The snacks suddenly felt too heavy. The plate nearly slipped from your fingers as the weight of the moment crashed down on you. You had imagined telling her a thousand times, but never like this. Never with her accidentally finding the proof before you were ready.Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You just stood there, frozen in the middle of your apartment, staring at your best friend holding the ultrasound picture of the baby you were still too scared to fully talk about.
Yunjin’s eyes flicked back down to the image, then back up to your face. Her voice cracked slightly when she spoke again.“Is this… yours?”You stood frozen in the middle of your room, the plate of snacks still trembling in your hands. Yunjin’s eyes were wide, locked onto the ultrasound picture she was holding. The silence stretched for what felt like forever. Finally, you gave a small, shaky nod.Yunjin’s reaction was immediate.
“Oh my god—” She dropped the picture onto the bed and rushed toward you, nearly knocking the plate out of your hands. She wrapped her arms around you tightly, pulling you into a fierce hug. “Oh my god, congratulations!!”You were completely taken back. Your body stiffened at first, but the warmth of her hug and the genuine joy mixed with shock in her voice broke something inside you. Tears welled up in your eyes instantly. You hugged her back, burying your face in her shoulder as both of you started crying.
Yunjin was sobbing softly, rocking you gently. “I can’t believe this You’re pregnant? You’re actually pregnant? Oh my god, I’m so happy for you but I’m also so mad you didn’t tell me sooner!” You cried harder into her shoulder, the relief of finally being seen of not carrying this secret completely alone anymore washing over you in waves. The two of you stood there in the middle of your apartment, hugging and crying for a long minute, the plate of snacks long forgotten on the table.
Eventually, you both pulled back, wiping your tears. Yunjin’s mascara was slightly smudged, and she let out a watery laugh as she cupped your face with both hands.“Tell me everything,” she whispered, still emotional. “When did this happen? How far along are you? Are you okay?” You sat down on the edge of the bed together. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “We we’re dating,” you said first, the lie slipping out carefully. “Me and Heeseung. It started after Sunghoon’s party.”
Yunjin’s eyes widened, but before she could react fully, you continued, dropping the bigger truth.“And he’s the father.”The words hung in the air.Yunjin froze completely. Her mouth fell open in pure shock. For a few long seconds, she just stared at you, processing.
Then she let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.
“I I suspected something was going on between you two,” she admitted, still looking stunned. “The way you’ve been acting lately, disappearing, looking exhausted, and then suddenly getting out of his car this morning I thought maybe you were secretly seeing each other. But him being the father? Holy shit.”
She grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly, her expression shifting rapidly between shock, worry, and tentative happiness.“Are you okay? Like, actually okay? This is a lot. And with Heeseung of all people” She trailed off, searching your face. “Do you want this baby? Are you keeping it?”You nodded slowly, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks.“I’m keeping it,” you whispered. “I saw the heartbeat and I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get rid of it.”Yunjin pulled you into another tight hug, rubbing your back.
“Oh babe I’m here whatever you need. We’ll figure this out together, okay? You’re not alone in this.”
You clung to her, crying quietly into her shoulder again. The relief of finally telling someone, especially your best friend, was overwhelming. But the fear was still there.Because now that Yunjin knew telling Soobin, your parents, and the rest of the world was going to be the next terrifying step.
Yunjin pulled back from the hug but kept her hands on your shoulders, staring at you with wide, teary eyes. She looked like her brain was still trying to catch up with everything you had just told her.“Okay okay, wait,” she said, wiping her own tears. “Let me process this. You’re pregnant. With Heeseung’s baby. And you’re keeping it.”You nodded, sniffling.Yunjin took a deep breath, then launched into full best friend interrogation mode. “Is he taking care of you? Like, actually taking care of you? Or is he being his usual asshole self and making this all about him?” You shook your head slowly.
“He’s been really good, actually,” you said quietly. “He’s been showing up without me asking. He brings me food that doesn’t make me throw up ginger tea, plain porridge, light stuff like that. He checks on me every day. He even skipped basketball practice to take me to the clinic. And when I was crying in the doctor’s room he held me and he cried too.”Yunjin stared at you, completely stunned. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.
“…Heeseung? Lee Heeseung? The loud party guy who used to piss you off on purpose?” She looked genuinely shocked. “You’re telling me he’s been nice? Supportive?”You nodded again, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. “He wanted to keep the baby,” you added softly. “When I told him I was thinking about terminating, he said he supported whatever I decided. But he also said he would be there for me and the baby no matter what.”Yunjin leaned back against the headboard, looking completely floored.
“I… I don’t even know what to say. That’s not the Heeseung I know. I thought he was going to be a total dick about this.”
You let out a watery laugh. “Me too but he’s been really different.” Yunjin was quiet for a moment, processing everything. Then, suddenly, her entire expression shifted. The shock melted away into pure excitement. Her eyes lit up as she grabbed your hands again. “Oh my god,” she squealed, voice rising. “We need to come up with a nickname for your baby! Right now!” You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden mood shift, but her energy was contagious. A small, genuine laugh escaped you.
“Already?” you asked, wiping your tears. “Yes! We have to!” Yunjin grinned, scooting closer. “Okay, okay what about ummm Bean? Because they’re bean sized right now!”You wrinkled your nose. “Too basic.”
“Peanut?”
“Even more basic.”
Yunjin tapped her chin dramatically. “Hmm what about Sprout? Little Sprout!”You giggled. “That’s kind of cute.” “Or or Bubbles!” You both laughed, the tension in the room slowly easing as you brainstormed together.Then Yunjin gasped. “Wait what about Bambi?”You paused. “Bambi?” you repeated, testing the name. A soft smile spread across your face. “Like the deer?” “Yes! Because they’re tiny and cute and probably really gentle and soft Bambi.” Yunjin bounced a little on the bed. “Eeek, I love it!” You looked down at your stomach, gently placing a hand over it.
“Bambi…” you whispered. The name felt warm. gentle and right.You looked back at Yunjin, tears still in your eyes but now mixed with a small, hopeful smile.
“I think I really like Bambi.”Yunjin squealed again and pulled you into another tight hug.“Bambi it is! Our little Bambi.”For the first time in weeks, you felt something other than fear and anxiety.You felt a spark of hope. And even though everything was still terrifying and complicated at least now you had Yunjin by your side and a little nickname for the tiny life growing inside you.
After the initial shock and tears settled, you and Yunjin barely touched your books.The notebooks and highlighters lay forgotten on the table while Yunjin sat cross legged on your bed, eyes sparkling with excitement. She was fully in planning mode, talking a mile a minute as she gestured wildly with her hands.
“Okay, first things first I’m calling dibs on being the godmother,” she declared dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “I’m going to spoil this baby so much. They’re going to love me more than you.” You let out a soft laugh, wiping the last of your tears. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious!” she grinned. “And I’m team girl all the way. It’s definitely a girl. I can feel it. She’s going to be so cute, with your eyes and maybe Heeseung’s stupidly good hair. We’re going to dress her in tiny dresses and put little bows in her hair—” You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “I don’t know I feel in my gut that it’s a boy.” Yunjin gasped, looking personally offended. “A boy?! No way this baby is a girl. I refuse to accept anything else.” You both laughed, but it quickly turned into a tiny, playful argument.
“You’re just saying that because you want to buy cute dresses,” you teased. “And you’re saying boy because you want a mini Heeseung running around,” she shot back, poking your arm. The lighthearted bickering felt normal, even. For a few minutes, the heavy weight of your secret lifted, replaced by giggles and Yunjin’s dramatic declarations. Eventually, she leaned back against the headboard, looking thoughtful. “I’m going to be in charge of the baby shower,” she announced. “And the gender reveal. And the nursery theme. All of it. You don’t even have to lift a finger.”
You smiled softly, but then your expression turned serious. “Yunjin nobody can know yet,” you said quietly. “Not Soobin, not my parents, not anyone. Not about the pregnancy and not about me and Heeseung att least not right now.” Yunjin nodded, understanding immediately. “Of course. I won’t say a word.” You continued, “Maybe in a month or two, we’ll start publicly ‘flaunting’ the relationship to make it look real but right now we need to keep things quiet.” “Got it,” she said, squeezing your hand. “We’ll take it slow. One step at a time.”
The conversation flowed easily after that. Yunjin stayed the night, just like old times. You both changed into pajamas, turned on a comfort movie in the background, and talked for hours about baby names, nursery ideas, how you were feeling, and how Heeseung had been acting. She listened without judgment, only offering support and the occasional teasing remark. Later that night, while Yunjin was brushing her teeth in the bathroom, you picked up your phone and sent Heeseung a message.
You : Yunjin found out about the pregnancy tonight. She kind of discovered the ultrasound picture on her own. She’s staying over right now. We also came up with a nickname for the baby Bambi >.<
You stared at the message for a moment before sending it. A few minutes later, Heeseung replied.
Heeseung : Bambi? I like it
Heeseung : How did she take it? Are you okay?
You smiled faintly at his concern.
You : She took it surprisingly well she’s excited cried a lot. Declared herself godmother already and yes I’m okay just tired
Heeseung : Good tell her I said hi and get some rest. I’ll bring breakfast tomorrow morning
You put your phone down and looked over at Yunjin, who was now sprawled on the other side of your bed, already half asleep. For the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel completely alone in this. You still had a long way to go telling Soobin, telling your parents, figuring out how to navigate this fake relationship with Heeseung, and actually becoming a mother.
But tonight, with your best friend beside you and a tiny nickname for your baby, things felt just a little bit lighter.
The next morning, you and Yunjin were still half asleep when there was a soft knock on your door.
Yunjin groaned dramatically from her side of the bed, burying her face deeper into the pillow. “If that’s Heeseung, tell him I’m interrogating him before I let him leave.” You smiled tiredly and dragged yourself out of bed, still in your oversized sleep shirt. When you opened the door, Heeseung was standing there holding two large paper bags and a tray with drinks.
“Morning,” he said softly, his voice gentle. “I brought breakfast for both of you. Figured Yunjin might be hungry too.”
He stepped inside after you let him in. The smell of warm food, mild porridge, fresh fruit, and ginger tea filled the apartment without being overwhelming. Yunjin sat up in bed, hair messy, eyes narrowing the second she saw him. “Oh, perfect timing,” she said, suddenly wide awake. She crossed her arms like a judge about to deliver a verdict. “Sit down, Lee Heeseung. I have questions.” Heeseung didn’t even look surprised. He set the bags on the small table and pulled up a chair, calm and composed. “Ask away,” he said simply. Yunjin didn’t waste a second.
“Are you actually taking care of her or are you just playing nice because she’s pregnant?” “I’m taking care of her,” he answered steadily. “Every day. I bring food she can keep down, I check on her nausea, I make sure she’s resting. I was with her at the clinic yesterday.”
Yunjin narrowed her eyes. “And you’re not being an asshole to her behind closed doors?” Heeseung shook his head. “No I'm not. I know how I used to act but things are different now.” She fired off more questions, one after another.
He answered every single one patiently about how he was adjusting his practice schedule, how he was handling the pregnancy emotionally, whether he was pressuring you about anything. He never got defensive. He just answered honestly and quietly.
After nearly ten minutes of intense questioning, Yunjin finally leaned back, looking slightly impressed.
“…Okay. You’re not as much of an asshole as I thought,” she muttered. Heeseung gave a small, tired smile. “High praise.”
Before he left, he turned to you. His expression softened as he stepped closer. He gently cupped the side of your face and leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be telling my coach and close friends about us and Bambi today,” he murmured against your skin. “Just so you know.”
Your heart melted into a puddle at the gentle gesture. The warmth of his lips on your forehead sent a flutter through your chest. This wasn’t the first time he had done this.
You remembered the night a week ago when the anxiety had hit you particularly hard. You had been crying uncontrollably, overwhelmed by fear and hormones. Heeseung had shown up without being asked, held you close on the couch, rubbed your back, and kissed your forehead repeatedly while whispering that everything would be okay until you finally fell asleep in his arms. The memory made your cheeks warm. Heeseung pulled back, gave you one last soft look, and quietly left the apartment.
The second the door closed, Yunjin let out a high pitched squeal and flopped back onto your bed.
“OH MY GODDDD!” she screamed into a pillow. “That was so sweet! The forehead kiss?! The ‘Bambi’?! I’m actually going to throw up from how cute that was. Heeseung?? Doing all of this?? I’m in shock.” You sat down on the edge of the bed, still feeling the ghost of his kiss on your forehead. Your heart was doing strange, fluttery things you weren’t ready to examine too closely.
Yunjin sat up again, grinning widely. “Okay, I take back half the things I said about him. He might actually be good for you and for Bambi.” You didn’t reply. You just smiled softly, fingers brushing over the spot he had kissed. For the first time, the future didn’t feel quite as terrifying. Even if everything was still complicated, Heeseung was proving, day by day, that he wasn’t going to run away from this and neither were you.
ꪆ୧ heeseung’s pov ─── ドラマ.
The day you decided to keep the baby, Heeseung felt something he had never experienced before.
It wasn’t just happiness. It was bigger than that overwhelming, almost frightening in its intensity. When you broke down in the doctor’s room and sobbed that you couldn’t go through with the termination, that you wanted to keep the baby, something inside him cracked open and flooded with warmth. He was over the moon. That same evening, after you had both returned to your apartment and the dust had settled a little, the words had slipped out of him before he could stop them.
“Marry me.”He had meant it. In that moment, with the image of that tiny heartbeat still fresh in his mind, he wanted nothing more than to do this properly to stand by you, to give the baby a real family, to prove he could be more than the guy you used to hate.
But you had laughed at first, then looked at him with wide, shocked eyes. You told him marriage wasn’t something you did just because of a baby. You said it needed trust, love, and knowing each other things you didn’t have.The rejection stung more than he wanted to admit. It hurt.
Not because he was arrogant enough to think you’d say yes immediately, but because for a brief moment, he had let himself imagine a future where you chose him too. Where this wasn’t just about responsibility, but something real.Still, he respected your decision. He couldn’t force you to love him. He couldn’t force you to marry him. He wouldn’t do that to you, and he refused to do that to himself either. That night, after he left your apartment, Heeseung couldn’t sleep. He sat on his couch in the dark for hours, staring at the wall that separated his place from yours. Then he opened his laptop and started researching.
He read everything. Early pregnancy symptoms morning sickness management prenatal vitamins. What foods to avoid. How the baby developed week by week emotional changes postpartum care. He spent hours going down rabbit holes articles, medical websites, forums where parents shared their experiences. When the sun started to rise, he moved on to parenting books. He ordered nearly twenty of them in one go everything from What to Expect When You’re Expecting to guides on co parenting, single parenting, and building healthy relationships after unexpected pregnancies. He even bought books on newborn care, baby sleep schedules, and how to support a partner through pregnancy.
By the time he finally closed his laptop, the sky was bright. He leaned back on the couch, rubbing his tired eyes. His mind was racing with information, but beneath all the facts and statistics was one clear, undeniable feeling he already loved this baby. More than he thought was possible in such a short time.
Even if you never loved him back, even if you never wanted to marry him, even if this ended up being the most complicated co-parenting situation in the world he was going to be there.
He was going to be a good father.
He refused to be anything less.
Heeseung glanced at the wall again, wondering if you were awake yet. He thought about texting you, but decided against it. You needed rest. Instead, he whispered to the empty room, voice rough from lack of sleep “I’ve got you both.” And for the first time in a long time, despite the pressure from his father, despite the uncertainty of his basketball career, despite the complicated feelings he had for you, Heeseung felt a quiet sense of purpose settle over him. This baby was going to change everything and he was ready.
Ever since the day you decided to keep the baby, Heeseung had been living in a state of quiet, overwhelming happiness. It wasn’t the loud, flashy kind of joy he was used to winning games, hearing the crowd cheer his name, or the temporary high from parties. This was deeper steadier. It settled in his chest like a warm light that never quite dimmed, even on his hardest days. He had no idea where he was finding the time, but somehow he was doing everything.
He woke up earlier than usual now, going for runs before practice, then pushing himself twice as hard during training sessions. His shots were cleaner, his focus sharper, his stamina noticeably better. Coach had even pulled him aside last week and said, “Whatever fire you’ve got under you lately keep it going.” Heeseung just smiled and kept working.
In the evenings, after practice, he studied harder than he ever had. He reviewed game footage, worked on assignments, and still found time to cook for you.
Simple, gentle meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach ginger porridge, steamed fish with mild seasoning, fresh fruit, warm soups. He enjoyed it. The rhythm of chopping vegetables, stirring pots, plating everything carefully it grounded him. But what made him happiest wasn’t just the baby it was you. You were slowly opening up to him.
What used to be nothing but sharp arguments and cold avoidance had turned into real conversations. Some nights he would cook in your kitchen while you sat on the counter or at the small table, watching him. You’d talk about your capstone project, about the art exhibitions you dreamed of curating one day.
Sometimes you’d ask him about basketball, about his dreams of going pro. He would catch himself smiling for no reason while stirring the pot, just because you were there, talking to him like he wasn’t the guy you used to hate. He often found himself thinking about you even when he wasn’t trying to.Did she eat today?
Is the nausea better this morning?Did she remember to take her vitamins?What is she doing right now?
These thoughts would sneak up on him during practice, during lectures, even late at night.
And instead of feeling annoyed by how much space you took up in his mind, he felt warm and content.
His friends and coach had started noticing the change too. During one practice, Jake had jogged up to him during a water break, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“Dude, you’ve been weirdly chill lately,” Jake said, grinning. “No more wild parties. You barely hang out with us after practice anymore. What’s going on? You got a secret girlfriend or something?” Heeseung just shrugged with a small smile. “Just focused.”
Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Focused? You look like you’re glowing, man. It’s creepy.” Even Coach had commented once, “Lee, you’ve been showing up with better energy lately. Whatever you’re doing outside of here keep doing it.” Heeseung didn’t tell them the truth yet. Not fully. He had quietly told his closest friends and coach that he was seeing someone seriously and that things were complicated, but good. He left out the pregnancy part for now. That was something you both needed to navigate together first.
His partying had almost completely stopped. The loud nights, the random girls, the chaos it all felt pointless now. He preferred quiet evenings cooking for you, or sitting on your couch while you rested your head on his shoulder, too tired to talk but not wanting to be alone. He was happier than he had ever been.
Even on days when the pressure from his father weighed on him, even when he worried about the future and how he was going to balance basketball, fatherhood, and whatever this was with you he was still happy.
Because for the first time in his life, Heeseung felt like he had something that truly mattered. Something worth working hard for. Something worth becoming better for.And that something was you and the tiny life growing inside you. Heeseung had no real reason to be near the Arts Building that afternoon. Practice had ended early, and he told himself he was just going for a walk to clear his head. When Sunghoon asked where he was headed, Heeseung casually mentioned something about needing to ask Sunghoon about a shared assignment. It was a weak excuse, but Sunghoon didn’t question it.
Deep down, Heeseung knew the truth. He wanted to see you. He didn’t fully understand why. Maybe it was the way you had started smiling at him more often when he brought you dinner. Maybe it was the quiet nights where you let him stay over on your couch. Or maybe it was the tiny life growing inside you that made him feel inexplicably drawn to you. Whatever it was, he found himself walking toward the Arts Building, hands in his pockets, pretending it was completely normal.
They were halfway there when he spotted you. You were walking out of the main entrance with Yunjin and Soobin, laughing at something Yunjin was saying. The late afternoon sunlight caught your face perfectly your warm brown eyes sparkling with amusement, the natural soft pink flush on your cheeks, the way your hair moved as you tilted your head back in laughter. Heeseung stopped in his tracks. God… were you always this pretty? He couldn’t look away. The carefree smile on your face, the lightness in your step, the way you looked so alive and bright despite everything you were going throughit hit him square in the chest.
For a moment, the entire campus faded into background noise. It was just you. Sunghoon walked a few steps ahead before realizing Heeseung had stopped. He turned around, eyebrows raised. “Yo, what are you—” Sunghoon followed Heeseung’s gaze and smirked. “Oh? Staring at someone?” Heeseung blinked, snapping out of it. “What? No.” Sunghoon’s smirk widened. “Sure you were practically frozen. Who is she?” Heeseung quickly looked away and grabbed Sunghoon’s arm, dragging him in the opposite direction. “No one let’s go. I don’t even know why I came this way.”
Sunghoon laughed, letting himself be pulled along but still glancing back curiously. “Alright, whatever you say. But you were definitely staring.” Heeseung didn’t reply. He just kept walking, ears slightly warm.
His heart was still beating faster than usual.
He had no idea when you had gone from being the annoying neighbor he loved to tease to someone whose laugh made him stop dead in his tracks like an idiot. But one thing was becoming clearer every single day he was falling for you and he had no idea what to do with that.
Heeseung had always been honest with himself about one thing girls had never meant much to him beyond a night of fun. It was never emotional, never deep. To him, it was all about sex, release, and moving on the next day. No strings, no feelings, no complications. That was how he liked it, simple and easy. But you you were different. From the very beginning, even when you were banging on his door calling him an asshole, something about you had gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever had. And now, after the pregnancy, after seeing that tiny heartbeat, after holding you while you cried he realized it wasn’t just about the baby.
It was about you. He cared about you. Not because you were carrying his child, but because it was you. The girl who didn’t care about his status, who called him out without hesitation, who had dreams bigger than campus popularity. He loved how different you were from the other girls how real, how stubborn, how unapologetically yourself. It might have sounded cliché as hell, but it was the truth. He was falling for you hard.
That evening, when you texted him that Yunjin had found out about the pregnancy and that the two of you had come up with a nickname for the baby, Heeseung had been in the middle of cooking.
You : Yunjin found out. We came up with a nickname for the baby Bambi
He had stared at the message for a long time, heart suddenly pounding Bambi.The word hit him like fireworks exploding in his chest. He whispered it under his breath, a soft smile spreading across his face. “Bambi”He loved it. He loved it so much it almost scared him. The image of a tiny, gentle little life, his child being called something so soft and precious made something warm and protective bloom inside him. He was starting to fall not just for the idea of being a father, but for the reality of building something with you.
The next morning, when he had dropped off breakfast and kissed your forehead in front of Yunjin, he had felt his cheeks flush with warmth. The way you had looked at him surprised, soft, a little flustered had done something dangerous to his heart. He had to practically run out of your apartment to hide the stupid smile threatening to break across his face.
He loved kissing your forehead. He loved the quiet nights when he held you close until you fell asleep. He loved pulling you into his arms when you cried because of hormones or fear or exhaustion. He loved being the person you leaned on now.
And the scariest part?He was starting to realize he didn’t just want to be there for the baby.He wanted to be there for you.Even if you didn’t feel the same way yet.Even if you had rejected his impulsive marriage proposal.Even if this whole thing was messy and complicated and terrifying.Heeseung leaned back on his couch that night, staring at the ceiling with a small, private smile Bambi.He whispered the name again, letting it settle in his heart like a promise.He was falling in love with you.And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running away from it.
That same day, Heeseung made up his mind.
He was going to tell them.Not everything, not the messy parts, not the fact that you two weren’t actually dating yet but the important truths. That he was seeing you. That you were pregnant. That this baby was his.He arrived at practice with a strange mix of nerves and resolve settled in his chest. For once, his mind wasn’t entirely on basketball. Every drill, every sprint, every shot he took felt secondary to the conversation he knew was coming afterward.
Practice went surprisingly well. His focus was sharp, his movements clean. He pushed himself harder than usual, and it showed. Coach noticed, giving him an approving nod at the end but saying nothing more.
When practice finally ended and most of the team started heading toward the lockers, Heeseung raised his voice.
“Coach guys can you stay back for a minute? I need to talk to you.”The group Coach, Jake, Jay, Beomgyu, and a couple of other close teammates exchanged curious glances but stayed. They gathered near the benches, wiping sweat from their faces, water bottles in hand.
Heeseung stood in front of them, heart pounding harder than it had during any game. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure how to start.
“I… uh, I’ve been seeing someone,” he began. His voice was steady, but his hands were clenched at his sides. “It’s serious. And she’s pregnant.”The silence that followed was deafening.Jake’s water bottle froze halfway to his mouth. Jay’s eyebrows shot up. Beomgyu’s mouth fell open.Coach was the first to speak, voice low and serious. “Pregnant?”Heeseung nodded. “Yeah two months along. It wasn’t planned but we’re keeping the baby.”Beomgyu let out a stunned laugh. “Holy shit, Heeseung. You’re going to be a dad?”
Jake stepped forward, eyes wide. “Wait who is she? Do we know her?”Heeseung hesitated for half a second, then said it.“It’s the girl next door. The one who used to hate me. We had a thing after Sunghoon’s party. And now she’s pregnant with my child.”The reaction was immediate.Jay looked like he was buffering. “You’re telling me you got the one girl who couldn’t stand you pregnant?” Beomgyu grinned, still in disbelief. “This is insane. The girl who used to bang on your door? That girl?”
Heeseung let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Yeah that one.”Coach crossed his arms, studying him carefully. “And you’re sure about this? Keeping the baby?”“I’m sure,” Heeseung said without hesitation. His voice softened. “I saw the heartbeat. It’s real I want this. I’m going to take care of both of them.”The group was quiet for a moment, processing.Then Jake broke into a wide grin and pulled Heeseung into a rough hug. “Damn, man, congratulations. This is wild, butI’m happy for you.”
One by one, the others followed clapping him on the back, offering stunned but genuine congratulations. Even the coach gave him a firm nod and a pat on the shoulder.
“This is going to change things for you, Lee,” Coach said seriously. “But if you’re committed, we’ll work around it. Your priorities are shifting. That’s part of growing up.”Heeseung nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief now that the truth was out with the people who mattered most on the team.As they finally headed toward the lockers, Beomgyu slung an arm around his shoulders.“So does this mean no more parties?” he teased.Heeseung smiled, small but real.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “No more parties.”Because right now, the only thing that mattered was you and Bambi.And for the first time in his life, Heeseung was completely okay with that.
ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ.
Things were starting to get rough.The pregnancy hormones had fully kicked in, and they were merciless.At two months, your body no longer felt like your own. The nausea had eased slightly, but it was replaced by something far more overwhelming an intense, almost constant wave of desire that left you restless and frustrated.
Your emotions swung wildly from one extreme to another. One moment you were crying over a soft song, the next you were irritable for no reason. But the worst part was the arousal.It was relentless.You’d wake up in the middle of the night flushed and aching, thighs pressed together, body throbbing with a need you couldn’t ignore.
During the day, innocent things would set you off the low timbre of Heeseung’s voice when he brought you breakfast, the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders when he cooked, even the faint scent of his cologne drifting through the wall between your apartments. Your breasts were tender and hypersensitive, brushing against fabric made you bite your lip to hold back a whimper.
You tried to take care of it yourself.Late at night, when Yunjin wasn’t staying over and the apartment was quiet, you’d slip your hand between your legs, desperate for relief. But no matter how much you touched yourself, slow circles, faster strokes, even bringing out the small vibrator you rarely used wasn't enough. The orgasms felt shallow, unsatisfying, leaving you even more wound up than before. Your body craved something deeper, something fuller.
Something only another person could give.And the worst part? That person was right next door.
Heeseung. The same Heeseung who had been nothing but gentle and attentive these past weeks. The one who kissed your forehead, held you when you cried, cooked meals that didn’t make you sick. The one whose quiet care was slowly chipping away at the walls you’d built around yourself.You hated how much you wanted him.
You’d lie in bed at night, hand between your thighs, imagining his hands instead his long fingers, his mouth, the way he had touched you that one reckless night. The memory of him inside you, deep and thick, made you moan softly into your pillow as you tried (and failed) to find release.It was getting harder to hide.Your cheeks would flush randomly during conversations with Yunjin. You’d press your thighs together during lectures when a sudden wave of heat hit you.
You found yourself staring at Heeseung’s hands when he brought you food, wondering how they would feel on your skin again. You felt embarrassed, guilty and horny beyond reason.And you had no idea how much longer you could keep pretending everything was fine.
A month had passed since you told your parents.
They had flown in to visit you after you finally gathered the courage to break the news over a video call. The moment you told them you were pregnant and that you were dating Heeseung the reaction was everything you had hoped for but still left you emotional.
Your mom had gasped, then immediately started crying happy tears. Your dad he had gone completely silent for almost ten seconds before his eyes welled up. He shed so many tears that day, pulling you into the tightest hug when they arrived, whispering how proud he was of you and how excited he was to become a grandfather. They both adored Heeseung from the first meeting your dad even clapped him on the back and said, “Take care of my daughter and my grandbaby, son.” The support from them had been overwhelming in the best way.
Now, today was the day. Heeseung’s basketball match is your first public appearance as his (fake) girlfriend in front of everyone.You were three months along. Your belly had started to show a soft, consistent bloat that made your clothes fit differently. You couldn’t hide it completely anymore, but it still looked like normal bloating to most people. Only you, Heeseung, Yunjin, Soobin, and your parents knew the truth.
Heeseung had left early in the morning. As captain, he needed to be with the team for warm ups and strategy meetings. Before he left, he had gently placed his spare jersey in your hands, the one with “LEE 7” printed on the back. “Wear this,” he had said softly, kissing your forehead. “You don’t have to worry about anything today. Just enjoy the game. I’ve got you.” You were nervous as hell. You stood in front of your mirror, adjusting the oversized jersey. It was big on you, falling mid-thigh, but it felt comforting.
You paired it with leggings and a light jacket to hide the slight curve of your belly. Yunjin and Soobin were already waiting for you downstairs.When you finally met them outside, Yunjin squealed at the sight of you in Heeseung’s jersey.“Oh my god, look at you! His girlfriend era is so real,” she teased, linking her arm with yours. Soobin smiled warmly, though his eyes still held that protective worry he’d had ever since you told him the truth two weeks ago. “You look good,” Soobin said gently. “Ready?”You nodded, even though your stomach was doing flips.
The arena was packed when you arrived. The energy was electric cheers, music, the sound of basketballs bouncing during warm ups. The moment you walked in with Yunjin and Soobin, a few heads turned. People whispered. Someone pointed. You kept your head slightly down, heart racing, but Yunjin squeezed your arm reassuringly.
The three of you found seats close to the court, right behind the home team’s bench. As soon as you sat down, the players started coming out for the national anthem. Your eyes immediately found Heeseung.
He looked focused, tall and confident in his uniform. But the second his gaze landed on you wearing his jersey, his expression softened. A small, private smile tugged at his lips. He gave you a subtle nod before turning back to his team.
The game started, and the crowd went wild.
You tried to focus on the match, but your nerves were through the roof. Every time Heeseung made a play, your heart jumped. Every time the crowd cheered his name, you felt a strange mix of pride and anxiety. Yunjin was screaming her lungs out, Soobin was calmly explaining plays to you, but your mind kept drifting.This was real now.You were here as Heeseung’s girlfriend at least in everyone’s eyes.
And you were carrying his baby.During a timeout, Heeseung jogged over to the sidelines.
He looked up at you again, his eyes warm even from a distance. He mouthed “You okay?” and you gave him a small nod and a thumbs up. He smiled that soft, real smile he only seemed to give you these days before jogging back to his team. Yunjin nudged you with her elbow, grinning. “He’s whipped,” she whispered. “Look at him checking on you during the game.”
You didn’t reply. You just squeezed the star shaped squishy toy in your pocket and tried to calm your racing heart.
The game continued, loud and fast paced, but your mind was somewhere else entirely on the tiny life growing inside you, on the boy on the court who was trying so hard to be there for you, and on how complicated and scary and strangely hopeful everything felt right now. The final buzzer sounded, and the entire arena erupted.
Your university team had won by a solid 12 points. The crowd was on their feet, cheering wildly as the players celebrated on the court. Heeseung was right in the middle of it all, smiling wide, laughing with his teammates, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. He looked so happy. So alive. So incredibly cool as he high-fived his teammates and lifted the game ball in victory. You couldn’t stop staring.
Even from the stands, you could see the pure joy on his face. For a moment, all the complications between you two faded, and you just felt proud. Proud of him.
After the celebrations on the court died down a little, Heeseung jogged over to the sidelines where you, Yunjin, and Soobin were waiting. Without hesitation, he pulled you into a warm, sweaty hug right there in front of everyone.
His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand gently pressing against your lower back. The crowd around you cheered louder at the sight. Cameras flashed. Whispers turned into audible gasps.
Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, then leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering peck on your cheek.“You did great,” you whispered, still a little dazed by the public affection. He smiled, that soft, private smile he only seemed to give you these days.
“I’ll be back with the team in a bit we have to do the post game stuff,” he said, voice low so only you could hear. “Go home with Soobin and Yunjin, okay? I’ll text you when I’m heading back.”
You nodded, cheeks burning. “Okay.” He gave your hand one last gentle squeeze before jogging back toward his teammates. You stood there, heart racing, as Yunjin squealed beside you and Soobin gave you a knowing look. The walk back to the apartment with your friends felt surreal. People were still staring, whispering, taking photos. But your mind wasn’t on them.It was on him. Why are you blushing? you thought, pressing your cool hands to your warm cheeks as you walked. It was just a hug. Just a peck on the cheek. It’s all fake anyway.
But your body didn’t seem to care that it was fake.
A familiar heat had pooled low in your belly. Your pussy clenched involuntarily at the memory of his arms around you, his breath against your cheek, the way his jersey had clung to his broad shoulders and back while he played. The pregnancy hormones were ruthless these days. They turned every innocent touch, every look, every small act of care into something filthy in your mind. You pressed your thighs together as you walked, trying to ignore the growing ache between your legs.
Why did everything Heeseung did suddenly feel so hot? The way he had looked at you after the win, the way he had hugged you so publicly, the way he had kissed your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world you were horny.Embarrassingly, desperately horny.And it was getting harder and harder to pretend you weren’t affected by him.
When you finally got back to your apartment, you thanked Soobin and Yunjin for coming with you. Yunjin hugged you tightly before leaving, whispering, “Text me if you need anything, baby mama,” with a wink.
Soobin gave you a gentle, concerned smile and reminded you to rest.The moment the door closed, you leaned against it and let out a shaky breath.
Your hand drifted down to rest on your slightly bloated belly three months. You were three months pregnant with Heeseung’s baby and your body was betraying you in the most inconvenient ways possible.
You closed your eyes, remembering the way Heeseung had looked at you after the game, happy, proud, and focused only on you in a crowded arena.
Your pussy clenched again.
“Fuck,” you whispered to the empty apartment, cheeks burning.This was getting dangerous.You couldn’t fight it anymore. The moment you stepped inside your apartment and locked the door, the ache between your legs became unbearable. Pregnancy hormones had turned your body into something foreign hypersensitive, needy, and constantly throbbing. Your breasts felt heavy and swollen, your nipples tight against the fabric of your bra. Your pussy was slick and aching, clenching around nothing.
You didn’t even make it to the bed properly.
You kicked off your shoes, yanked your pants and panties down in one desperate motion, and fell back onto the mattress. Your shirt was pushed up hastily over your breasts. The cool air hit your heated skin as you cupped your swollen tits, squeezing them roughly. A broken moan slipped from your lips when your fingers brushed your sensitive nipples.
“Fuck…” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut.
One hand stayed on your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple, while the other slid down your stomach and between your thighs.
You were soaked. Your fingers glided easily over your swollen clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles. The relief was immediate but not enough. You pushed two fingers inside yourself, pumping desperately, imagining thicker, longer fingers his fingers.
Your hips bucked against your hand. Soft, needy whimpers filled the room as you fucked yourself faster, thighs trembling. The pressure built quickly, but every time you got close, it slipped away. You needed more. You needed him. You were so lost in it eyes closed, lips parted, fingers thrusting wetly inside your dripping pussy that you didn’t hear the front door open
Heeseung stepped inside quietly, holding the spare key you had given him weeks ago. He had come to check on you after the game, worried you might be tired or nauseous.The sight that greeted him made him freeze in the doorway. You were sprawled on the bed, shirt rucked up, pants around one ankle, legs spread. Your fingers were buried deep inside your glistening pussy, pumping frantically while your other hand squeezed your swollen breast. Your face was flushed with pleasure, lips parted in soft, desperate moans.
Heeseung’s breath caught. His cock hardened instantly in his sweatpants. For a second, it was painfully awkward. He should have left. He should have announced himself.But then your eyes fluttered open and locked onto him.You didn’t stop.Instead, your voice came out hoarse and pleading.“Heeseung… please.” He stepped closer, eyes dark with lust but still careful. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice rough. “You don’t have to—” “Please,” you whimpered, fingers still moving slowly inside yourself. “I can’t I need you. Please help me.” That was all it took.
Heeseung climbed onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. He gently pulled your hand away, replacing it with his own. Two thick fingers slid into your soaked heat easily, curling perfectly against that spot that made you cry out. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, pumping his fingers steadily. His thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight circles. “Been thinking about me, baby?” You moaned loudly, hips bucking against his hand. He leaned down, sucking one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth while his fingers fucked you deeper, faster. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers thrusting into your dripping pussy filled the room.
Heeseung added a third finger, stretching you open, curling them just right. His mouth moved between your breasts, sucking and licking your swollen nipples until you were shaking.“I’m close—” you gasped, fingers threading through his hair. “Come for me,” he murmured against your skin, thumb pressing harder on your clit. Your orgasm crashed over you hard. You cried out, back arching, walls clenching tightly around his fingers as pleasure tore through you. Heeseung kept pumping his fingers through it, drawing out every wave until you were trembling and oversensitive.
But you still weren’t satisfied. You tugged at his shirt desperately. “More please, Heeseung. I need you inside me.” He didn’t hesitate. He pulled his fingers out, quickly stripping off his clothes. His cock sprang free thick, hard, and leaking at the tip. He positioned himself between your thighs, rubbing the head of his cock along your slick folds before slowly pushing in.
You both moaned as he sank deep inside you. He was gentle but firm, filling you completely in one smooth thrust. Heeseung groaned at how tight and wet you were, forehead dropping to yours.
“Fuck you feel so good,” he breathed, starting to move. He fucked you with deep, steady strokes, hips rolling against yours. One hand cradled your slightly bloated belly protectively while the other gripped your thigh, holding you open for him. The wet slap of skin and your mingled moans filled the room.
Heeseung kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours as he thrust harder, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every stroke. Your hands roamed his back, nails digging into his skin as another orgasm built fast. “Come again for me,” he whispered against your lips. “Let me feel you.”
You shattered around him with a cry, pussy clenching tightly around his cock. Heeseung groaned, thrusting a few more times before burying himself deep and coming hard inside you, hips jerking as he filled you with hot spurts of cum. He stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing heavily. Then he gently pulled out and collapsed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. He kissed your forehead, then your temple, holding you close as you came down from the high.
You lay there afterward, breathing hard, body limp and glowing with the aftershocks of pleasure. Heeseung stayed buried inside you for a long moment, forehead pressed against yours, both of you catching your breath. His hand gently stroked your side, thumb brushing over the slight swell of your belly in a protective, almost reverent way.
Eventually, he pulled out slowly, a soft groan leaving his lips as he did. You winced at the sudden emptiness, but Heeseung was already moving, pulling you into his arms and tucking you against his chest.
He kissed your forehead, then your temple, holding you close as your breathing slowly evened out.
Neither of you spoke for a while. The only sounds in the room were your mingled breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioner. Heeseung’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and rough. “…You should’ve told me it was getting this bad,” he murmured. “I would’ve helped sooner.” You buried your face in his neck, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and lingering arousal. “I didn’t know how to say it. It’s humiliating. I feel like my body isn’t mine anymore.”
Heeseung tightened his arms around you. “It’s not humiliating. You’re pregnant. Your body is changing because of our baby. If you need me for anything just tell me. I’m right here.” You stayed silent, letting his warmth seep into you. The hormones were still humming under your skin, but the sharp edge of desperation had dulled into a comfortable, sated haze. After a few minutes, Heeseung gently pulled back so he could look at you. “You okay?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You nodded. “Yeah, thank you.”
He smiled that small, genuine smile that made your chest feel strangely tight and kissed your forehead again. “Stay here. I’ll clean you up.” He got up, completely naked and unashamed, and returned moments later with a warm, damp cloth. He wiped you down gently between your legs, then cleaned himself before crawling back into bed and pulling you against his chest once more. You let yourself relax into him, one hand resting on your slightly rounded belly.
For the first time in weeks, the constant ache of need was quiet. But as you lay there in Heeseung’s arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, a new kind of nervousness settled in.
Because the line between “fake” and “real” was starting to blur dangerously fast. He held you close against his chest, one hand stroking soothing circles on your back while the other rested protectively over the small, soft swell of your belly. The room was quiet except for your slowing breaths and the faint hum of the city outside the window. You stayed like that for a while, skin warm and slightly damp, hearts still beating fast. Neither of you felt the need to speak right away. It felt strangely peaceful.
Eventually, Heeseung broke the silence, his voice low and soft against your hair. “I’ve been reading parenting books,” he murmured, fingers tracing lazy, comforting patterns along your spine. “A lot of them. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, guides on newborn care, nutrition during pregnancy everything I could find. I wanted to be prepared. For you and the baby.” You tilted your head up to look at him, genuinely surprised. “Really? You’ve been doing that?”
Heeseung nodded, a small, almost shy smile touching his lips. “Yeah. I’ve been learning about the second trimester, what symptoms might get worse or better, how to support you when the nausea is bad, safe exercises, all of it. I don’t want to be clueless. I want to do this right.”
You felt a warm flutter in your chest. You hadn’t expected him to take it this seriously. Before you could respond, he continued gently, "And if you ever have any needs physical, emotional, anything at all I’ll always be there for you. Whether it’s holding you when you’re anxious, helping with the nausea, or anything else. Just tell me. Only if it’s okay with you, of course.” You hesitated for a second, then whispered, “Will that be okay with you? Because we aren’t really a couple.” Heeseung was quiet for a moment, then pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
“It’s okay with me,” he said simply. “I know we’re not traditional. But I care about you. And I care about our baby. So whatever you need, I’m here with no pressure , no expectations. Just me, showing up for both of you.” The sincerity in his voice made your eyes sting with tears. You buried your face in his neck, nodding against his skin. The conversation flowed easily after that quiet, honest, and surprisingly comfortable. You told him about your fears of balancing university with pregnancy, how scared you were about telling more people, and how overwhelmed you sometimes felt by the changes in your body.
Heeseung listened without interrupting, rubbing your back the whole time. He shared his own worries too the pressure from his father, his fears about balancing basketball and fatherhood, and how he sometimes felt unprepared but determined to try his best.
Eventually, the talking slowed. Heeseung shifted lower on the bed, resting his cheek gently against your bare belly. He looked up at you with soft, questioning eyes. “Can I talk to the baby?” he asked quietly. “If that’s okay with you.” Your throat tightened with emotion. You nodded.
Heeseung smiled faintly and pressed a soft kiss to the small swell of your stomach. Then, in a low, gentle voice, he spoke “Hey, Bambi it’s me your dad. I know things are a little complicated right now, but I want you to know I’m really happy you’re here. I’m going to take care of you and your mom, okay? We’ve got you. Both of us.” You felt tears slip down your cheeks as you watched him. Heeseung stayed there for a while, murmuring soft promises and little stories to your belly, his hand resting protectively over it.
When he finally crawled back up, he pulled you into his arms again, skin to skin, warm and safe. You tucked your face against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. You both fell asleep like that completely naked, wrapped around each other, his hand resting protectively over your stomach where Bambi was growing. For the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel quite so terrifying.
The next morning, you woke up slowly, blinking against the soft sunlight filtering through your curtains. Your body felt heavy in that familiar, exhausted way the pregnancy making even sleep feel like it wasn’t quite enough. You reached out instinctively to the other side of the bed, expecting warmth, expecting Heeseung’s arm around you like it had been when you fell asleep. But the bed was empty. The sheets where he had lain were cool. He must have left a while ago.
You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes, and noticed a small yellow post it note stuck to the lamp on your nightstand. You reached for it, heart giving a little flutter as you read his neat handwriting
“Made breakfast for you. It’s in the fridge mild porridge with ginger and some fruit. Please eat it before you go to classes. Had some early work with the team, had to leave. Text me when you wake up. Take care of yourself and Bambi today. - Heeseung”
You stared at the note for a long moment, thumb brushing over his name. A strange mix of emotions washed over you warmth, gratitude, and that familiar flutter of confusion in your chest. He had cooked for you again, even though he had practice. Even though he left early. Even though he didn’t have to. You placed the post-it carefully on the nightstand and got out of bed. Your hand instinctively moved to rest on your slightly bloated belly as you walked to the kitchen. True to his word, there was a container in the fridge with perfectly portioned porridge and fresh-cut fruit on the side. A small bottle of ginger tea sat beside it.
You heated the porridge and sat at your small table, eating slowly. The food was gentle on your stomach, exactly what you needed. As you ate, your mind replayed the events of last night the way Heeseung had held you, the way he had talked to your belly, the quiet honesty between you two.It was getting harder to remember that this was all supposed to be fake.
Your phone buzzed on the table. A message from Heeseung.
Heeseung : Did you wake up? Did you eat?
You smiled faintly and replied.
You : Just woke up eating breakfast now thank you
Heeseung : Good let me know how you’re feeling today. I’ll try to finish early so I can bring dinner
You put your phone down and continued eating, one hand still resting on your belly. The reality of your situation felt heavier every day. You were three months pregnant. You were pretending to date the guy you used to hate. You were slowly letting him into your life in ways you never expected. And yet it didn’t feel as terrifying as it once did. After finishing breakfast, you got ready for classes, loose clothes to hide the small curve of your belly, comfortable shoes, and your usual hoodie. Before leaving, you glanced at the post-it note again, then carefully folded it and tucked it into your bag.
As you locked your apartment door, you couldn’t help but think about how much had changed in such a short time. Heeseung was becoming someone you relied on. And you weren’t sure how you felt about that yet.
Heeseung woke up slowly, warmth surrounding him. You were still asleep in his arms, face tucked against his chest, one hand resting lightly on his stomach. Your breathing was soft and even, your body relaxed against his in a way that made his heart feel too big for his chest. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over your face. He smiled a small, private, uncontrollably happy smile.
He was so happy.
Waking up like this, with you curled into him, knowing there was a tiny life growing between you it felt like something he didn’t deserve but would fight to keep. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like pressure. It felt like hope. His phone vibrated on the nightstand. Heeseung’s smile faded slightly when he saw the caller ID Dad.
He carefully slipped his arm from under you, moving slowly so he wouldn’t wake you. You stirred a little but settled back into the pillow with a soft sigh. Heeseung watched you for a second longer, heart clenching with affection, before he grabbed his phone and quietly left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him.He answered the call in the living room, voice low.“Hey, Dad.” Instead of a greeting, his father’s sharp voice cut through immediately.
“So it’s true? You have a girlfriend now? And you’re wasting your time on her instead of focusing on the league?” Heeseung’s jaw tightened. He leaned against the kitchen counter, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m serious about her, Dad,” he said, voice steady but firm. “I want to marry her.” A harsh scoff came through the line. “Marry her? You don’t think about getting into the league, about your future, about everything I’ve sacrificed for you but you think about marriage? With some girl who’s probably just using you for your name?”
Heeseung stayed silent for a moment, letting the familiar sting of his father’s words wash over him. He didn’t argue. He knew it was pointless. His dad continued, tone cold and commanding. “I want to meet her and bring her for Thanksgiving. We’ll see what kind of girl managed to distract you this badly.”
Heeseung exhaled slowly. “Sure. I’ll bring her.” The line went dead without another word.
Heeseung lowered the phone, staring at the black screen for a long moment. The happiness he had felt waking up with you in his arms was still there, but now it was shadowed by the familiar weight of his father’s expectations. He walked back to the bedroom quietly and stood in the doorway for a while, watching you sleep. Your hand had moved to rest on your belly in your sleep a small, protective gesture that made his chest ache with tenderness. Heeseung smiled softly despite everything. Thanksgiving was going to be complicated. But for you and Bambi he would face it he always would.
A few days had passed since that emotional night.
Your life had slowly started to find a strange new rhythm. Mornings often began with Heeseung’s quiet knocks or a text asking how you slept. He still brought you breakfast on most days, always something gentle on your stomach. The nausea was still present but no longer as violent. Your belly had grown just a little more noticeable, a soft curve that you hid under oversized hoodies and loose sweaters.
Today was your checkup. You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the oversized sweater over your belly.
Three months and a few days. The doctor had said everything looked good at the last visit, but you were still nervous every time. You gently placed a hand over your stomach, feeling the slight firmness there.
Bambi. The nickname made you smile despite the nerves. Your phone buzzed on the counter.
Heeseung : I’m outside ready when you are no rush
You took a deep breath, grabbed your bag, and headed downstairs. Heeseung was waiting by his car, leaning against the door in a casual black hoodie and jeans. The moment he saw you, his expression softened into that small, genuine smile he seemed to reserve only for you lately. “Hey,” he said, opening the passenger door for you. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better than yesterday,” you replied, sliding in. “Still a little nauseous in the mornings, but not as bad.”
Heeseung nodded, closing the door gently before getting into the driver’s seat. The drive to the clinic was quiet but comfortable. He asked about your classes, about whether the fatigue had eased, and told you a light story about Beomgyu messing up a drill during practice. You found yourself smiling more than you expected.
A few days later, you had your regular checkup.
Dr. Kim was as kind and patient as always. She did a quick scan, confirmed that everything was progressing normally, and then smiled warmly at both of you. “Everything looks great. The baby is growing well. At your next appointment, around the four month mark, we should be able to determine the gender if you’d like to know. Would you be interested in finding out?” You glanced at Heeseung. He looked at you with soft eyes, waiting for your decision.
You nodded slowly. “Yes I think I’d like to know.”
Heeseung’s hand gently squeezed yours. Dr. Kim smiled and scheduled the next appointment before sending you off with more prenatal vitamins and advice on managing fatigue. After leaving the clinic, Heeseung turned to you in the car. “There’s a movie showing that looked pretty light, not too intense want to go? Just the two of us.” You agreed. The theatre was dimly lit and not very crowded. You chose seats near the back, a little more private. Heeseung bought snacks you could handle plain popcorn and ginger ale and settled in beside you.
The movie started, but your mind was elsewhere.
The pregnancy hormones had been relentless lately. Your body felt hypersensitive. Every brush of his arm against yours, every time his thigh pressed against yours in the seat, sent heat pooling low in your belly. You tried to focus on the screen, but your eyes kept drifting to him the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hand rested on his thigh, the subtle scent of his cologne. You couldn’t fight it. Halfway through the movie, when the theatre was dark and quiet, you leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“Heeseung…” He turned his head slightly. “Yeah?”
Instead of answering with words, you reached over and slowly slid your hand onto his thigh. He tensed, but didn’t stop you. Your fingers moved higher, palming him through his jeans. He was already half hard. His breath hitched. “Baby what are you doing?”
You didn’t answer. You quietly unzipped his jeans, reached inside, and pulled his cock out. He was thick and warm in your hand. You stroked him slowly at first, feeling him harden fully under your touch.
Heeseung’s hand gripped the armrest. “Fuck are you sure?”
You nodded, already sliding down in your seat. You leaned over, taking him into your mouth. Heeseung sucked in a sharp breath, his hand gently threading through your hair. You took him deeper, tongue swirling around the head before sliding down his length. He was big you had to go slow, relaxing your throat to take more of him. The salty taste of his precum coated your tongue as you bobbed your head, sucking him with wet, quiet sounds.
Heeseung’s breathing grew heavier. He tried to stay quiet, biting his lip, but soft, low groans escaped him whenever you sucked harder or swirled your tongue just right. His fingers tightened in your hair, not pushing, just holding on. “You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice strained. “So fucking good”
You took him as deep as you could, hollowing your cheeks, one hand stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. His hips twitched slightly, fighting the urge to thrust. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, getting closer.
When he finally came, it was with a quiet, choked groan. Hot spurts filled your mouth as you swallowed around him, milking him through it. Heeseung’s hand trembled in your hair, breathing ragged. You pulled off slowly, licking your lips as you sat back up. Heeseung looked at you with dark, stunned eyes, chest rising and falling quickly. He quickly tucked himself back into his jeans, then pulled you close, kissing your temple. “Fuck… that was…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
You smiled shyly, cheeks warm, heart still racing.
The rest of the movie passed in a haze. Heeseung kept his arm around you, thumb gently stroking your shoulder, occasionally pressing soft kisses to your hair. When the credits rolled, he leaned in and whispered, “Let’s get you home.”
The car ride back to the apartment was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Heeseung’s hand occasionally brushed against yours on the center console, a small, reassuring touch that made your chest feel strangely warm. You were still replaying the movie in your head or at least pretending to while your body hummed with the memory of what you had done in the theatre. When you reached your building, Heeseung parked and walked you up to your door like he always did now. But instead of saying goodnight, he lingered in the hallway.
“Can I come in?” he asked softly. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” You nodded, unlocking the door and letting him inside. The apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the small lamp on the side table. You both took off your shoes and sat down on the couch. Heeseung turned to face you, looking a little tense. He took a slow breath before speaking.
“My family wants to meet you,” he said. “During Thanksgiving. My dad specifically asked me to bring you.” You blinked, processing the words. Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away. “Oh,” you said quietly. “Are we going to reveal the pregnancy then?”
Heeseung nodded, eyes steady on yours. “Yeah I think it’s time. They deserve to know.” You sat there for a moment, letting the idea settle. A small, nervous smile crossed your face. “I know they’ll be happy,” you said, trying to sound optimistic. “My parents were over the moon when I told them. Yours will probably be excited too, right? A grandbaby and everything”
Heeseung didn’t reply right away. He looked down at his hands, jaw tightening just slightly. You didn’t notice the way his shoulders tensed or the brief flash of worry in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said eventually, voice quiet. “They’ll be happy.”But inside, Heeseung knew the truth.His father wouldn’t be happy. Not even close. The man who had spent years pressuring him to be better than his older brother, who had made it clear that basketball and the NBA were the only priorities that man was going to see this as a distraction. A mistake. A threat to everything he had planned for Heeseung’s future.
Heeseung could already imagine the cold disappointment in his father’s voice, the sharp questions, the comparisons to his perfect older brother who had never “messed up” like this.But he didn’t say any of that to you. Instead, he reached over and gently took your hand, squeezing it. “We’ll face it together,” he said softly. “Okay?” You nodded, leaning into his side a little. You still believed his family would be supportive like yours had been. You had no idea about the tension that existed between Heeseung and his father.
Heeseung wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there for a long moment.For now, he would let you believe everything would be fine.He would carry the worry alone. Because no matter how his parents reacted, one thing was certain he was going to protect you and Bambi no matter what.
The weeks that followed settled into a rhythm you never expected and one you were desperately trying not to get used to. Heeseung was always there. Quietly, steadily, without making a big deal out of it. He’d show up in the mornings with breakfast he’d prepared before practice, simple things like warm ginger porridge or toast with honey that your stomach could actually handle. Some days he’d stay longer than usual, sitting on the edge of your bed while you ate, watching you with that soft look in his eyes that made your chest feel tight. You told yourself it was just the pregnancy making you emotional.
One morning, after a particularly rough night of nausea, you woke up feeling miserable. Heeseung had let himself in with the spare key. Without saying much, he pulled you into the shower with him, washing your hair with gentle fingers while the warm water ran over both of you. The closeness, the steam, the way his body felt against yours , it ignited something fierce. You ended up pressed against the tiled wall, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked you slow and deep, water cascading over your joined bodies. He whispered against your neck how beautiful you looked like this, carrying his baby, and you came so hard you saw stars.
Afterward, he dried you off, carried you back to bed, and held you until you fell asleep again. You told yourself it was just hormones. Just physical need nothing more. Another afternoon, you came home from classes exhausted and emotionally drained. Heeseung was already waiting inside, having cooked a light dinner. You barely ate two bites before the tears started. He didn’t ask questions. He just pulled you onto his lap on the couch, kissing you softly at first, then deeper, hungrier. You ended up riding him right there, slow and desperate, his hands cradling your slightly rounded belly the entire time.
He looked up at you like you were the only thing in his world, groaning your name when he came inside you. You hid your face in his shoulder afterward, heart racing for reasons you refused to name. There were quieter moments too. One night, when the anxiety hit you hard, you texted him at 2 a.m. He showed up minutes later, crawling into bed with you fully clothed. He held you close, rubbing your back, kissing your forehead repeatedly until you calmed down.
That night turned heated too you ended up on top of him again, moving slowly in the dark, his hands gentle on your hips as he whispered how strong you were. You came with his name on your lips and tried to convince yourself it didn’t mean anything. Heeseung started leaving little notes everywhere. “Drink water for Bambi.” “You’re doing amazing today.” “Text me when you’re home.” He’d read parenting books late at night and tell you random facts over dinner what week the baby could hear your voice, how to tell if the nausea was improving, safe positions for intimacy during pregnancy.
You’d watch him cook in your kitchen, sleeves rolled up, humming softly under his breath, and feel something dangerously warm bloom in your chest. You told yourself it was just the hormones making you soft. But it was getting harder to lie to yourself. One lazy Sunday afternoon, you were both on the couch watching a movie. Heeseung’s hand rested on your belly, thumb stroking absentmindedly. The simple touch turned into slow kisses, then heated touches.
You ended up straddling him, riding him deep and slow while the movie played in the background. He kept one hand on your belly the whole time, eyes locked on yours, whispering how much he loved seeing you like this. When you came, trembling in his arms, you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something you couldn’t take back. You were trying so hard not to admit it.Every forehead kiss made your stomach flutter. Every time he cooked for you or held you through a crying spell, your heart felt too full.
Every night he stayed over, wrapped around you naked and warm, you had to remind yourself this is just for the baby. This isn’t real. I don’t like him like that.But deep down, you knew the truth was slipping away from you. You were starting to like Lee Heeseung the real him. The one who showed up without being asked. The one who read parenting books at 3 a.m. The one who looked at you like you were carrying something precious. And you had no idea what to do with that.
The day of Heeseung’s game arrived faster than you expected. It was the last match before the team’s short break for Thanksgiving, and you had agreed to go with Yunjin and Soobin. You were three months along now, your belly softly rounded under an oversized hoodie with Heeseung’s jersey number hidden beneath. The nausea had eased a bit, but the hormones still made everything feel more intense emotions, touches, even the cheers from the crowd.
You sat in the stands between your friends, heart fluttering with a mix of nervousness and something warmer you refused to name. Yunjin was practically bouncing in her seat, waving a small handmade sign that said “GO HEESUNG!” while Soobin sat calmly beside you, occasionally glancing at you with quiet concern. The game started strong, but it quickly became clear that today wasn’t their day.
Heeseung played hard you could see the determination on his face every time he drove to the basket or called out plays. But the opposing team was on fire, and your university’s defense kept slipping. By halftime, they were down by 8 points. The crowd grew restless. You found yourself gripping the star shaped squishy toy he had given you, squeezing it tightly every time Heeseung missed a shot or got blocked.
In the second half, things got worse. Heeseung fought until the final buzzer, but the team lost by 14 points.
The arena was quiet as the final score flashed on the screen. You felt a pang in your chest watching Heeseung stand on the court, shoulders slightly slumped, sweat dripping from his hair. He looked disappointed but not broken, still the captain, still trying to rally his teammates with claps on the back and quiet words.
After the teams shook hands and the crowd started to disperse, you told Yunjin and Soobin you’d meet them later. You made your way down toward the court area, heart beating faster as you waited near the tunnel.
Heeseung emerged a few minutes later, freshly showered, hair still damp. The moment his eyes found you, his expression softened. He walked straight to you, ignoring the few lingering people around.
Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. You hugged him back tightly, one hand rubbing his back, the other resting on the back of his head.
“You played really well,” you whispered. “I’m proud of you.”He let out a heavy breath against your skin. “We fucked up today. I fucked up.” “You didn’t,” you said gently, pulling back just enough to look at him. “You fought until the end. That’s what captains do. One bad game doesn’t change how good you are.”
Heeseung searched your eyes for a moment, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there. His arms stayed wrapped around your waist, careful not to press too hard on your belly.
“Thank you for coming,” he murmured. “Means a lot.”
You stayed like that for a while, letting him hold you in the quiet hallway outside the locker room. A few of his teammates walked past, but no one said anything. The public affection felt natural now part of the “fake” image you were both maintaining. But the way he held you felt anything but fake.When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “We leave for my parents’ place in two days,” he said quietly. “You still okay with going?”
You nodded, even though nerves twisted in your stomach. “Yeah. We’ll face it together.”Heeseung smiled faintly and kissed your forehead one more time before letting you go.“I’ll see you later. Get some rest, okay? For you and Bambi.”You watched him walk back toward the locker room, heart doing that annoying flutter again.You told yourself it was just the pregnancy.Just hormones. But as you walked back to meet Yunjin and Soobin, you couldn’t ignore how safe you felt in his arms or how much you were starting to crave that feeling.
The arena slowly emptied as you, Soobin, and Yunjin made your way out into the cool night air. The loss still lingered in the atmosphere, but the walk back felt lighter thanks to your friends’ company. Yunjin was practically glowing Sunghoon had offered to drop her home after the game, and she couldn’t stop smiling about it. “I’ll see you guys later!” she called out, waving excitedly as Sunghoon’s car pulled up. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Soobin chuckled softly beside you as you both continued walking toward your apartment building.
The streets were quieter now, the distant cheers from the arena fading behind you. Soobin walked at your pace, hands in his pockets, glancing at you every few steps.After a comfortable silence, he spoke gently. “So you and Heeseung, huh?” You kept your eyes on the sidewalk, fingers fiddling with the hem of your oversized hoodie. “Yeah I guess so.” Soobin nodded slowly. “He seems different with you. Nicer I’ve seen how he looks at you during games. How he checks on you. It’s not what I expected.”
You smiled faintly, thinking about the way Heeseung had hugged you after the match, the soft kiss on your forehead, the way he always made sure you ate something gentle on your stomach. “He’s been really good to me,” you admitted quietly. “He brings me food that doesn’t make me sick. He checks on me every day. He even reads parenting books e’s trying a lot.”
Soobin was quiet for a moment, processing. Then he asked the question you’d been dreading. “Do you actually love him?” You hesitated.
The words got stuck in your throat. Your heart raced as memories flashed through your mind Heeseung holding you while you cried, cooking for you at 2 a.m., kissing your belly and whispering to Bambi, the way he looked at you like you mattered.You forced a small laugh, trying to sound casual. “Obviously duh.” Soobin stopped walking. He turned to face you fully under a streetlight, his expression soft but serious.
“It just feels really sudden,” he said gently. “One minute you hated him. You used to complain about him every single day. And now you’re dating him and pregnant with his child. It’s a lot to take in. Are you sure you’re okay?” You looked down at your shoes, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. The truth sat heavy in your chest you weren’t sure if you loved him. You were still trying so hard not to admit how much he was starting to mean to you. The hormones made everything confusing. The pregnancy made everything terrifying. And Heeseung himself made everything feel safe.
“I’m figuring it out,” you said quietly. “It’s complicated. But he’s been there for me for us.” Soobin nodded, not pushing any further. He simply walked beside you the rest of the way, offering his quiet, steady presence like he always did. When you reached your apartment building, he gave you a gentle hug. “I’m happy for you if you’re happy,” he said softly. “But if you ever need to talk I’m here. No judgment.” You hugged him back tightly, grateful beyond words. “Thank you, Soobin.”
As you walked up to your door alone, you leaned against it for a moment, hand resting on your belly.
You were still trying so hard not to admit it.
But every day, it was getting harder to lie to yourself.
You finally reached your apartment after the long walk back with Soobin and Yunjin. The moment the door closed behind you, the exhaustion of the day the game, the stares, the emotions settled heavily on your shoulders. You kicked off your shoes, changed into an oversized t-shirt, and crawled into bed. Before turning off the lights, you picked up your phone and texted Heeseung.
You : Reached home going to sleep now goodnight
You set the phone on the nightstand and turned off the lamp, pulling the blanket up to your chin. But sleep didn’t come. Thirty minutes passed. Then forty. You tossed and turned, mind racing with thoughts of the game, the whispers you’d heard, the weight of the secret you were still carrying, and the tiny life growing inside you. The pregnancy hormones made everything feel louder your emotions, your body, your worries. You heard the soft click of the front door opening. Heeseung must have used the spare key you’d given him.
A few seconds later, he appeared in the doorway of your bedroom, silhouetted by the faint hallway light. He looked tired from the game but his expression softened the moment he saw you.“You’re still awake?” he asked gently.You sat up slowly, hugging your knees to your chest. Your voice came out small and tired.“I can’t sleep…”
Heeseung didn’t hesitate. He walked over, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed beside you. Without a word, you raised your arms toward him. “Cuddles please?” Heeseung’s face softened even more. He pulled you into his arms immediately, wrapping you up against his chest.
One of his hands rested protectively over your small belly while the other stroked your back in slow, soothing circles. “Anything for my baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
The word “baby” made your heart skip. You knew this was all supposed to be fake the relationship, the affection, everything. He shouldn’t be calling you that. But you didn’t correct him. You just burrowed deeper into his chest, letting his warmth and steady heartbeat calm the storm inside you. Heeseung held you tighter, chin resting on top of your head. “Rough day?” he asked softly.
You nodded against him. “The game the stares everything feels too much sometimes.” “I know,” he murmured. “But you did good today. You were there for me. That means a lot.” You stayed silent, just letting him hold you. His hand continued its gentle strokes on your back, occasionally drifting to rub small circles over your belly. The simple touch made something warm bloom in your chest, something you quickly pushed down. It’s just hormones, you reminded yourself. This isn’t real. But it felt real.
Heeseung shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher over both of you.
“Sleep now,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Both of you.” You closed your eyes, safe in his arms, and finally drifted off. Heeseung stayed awake a little longer, holding you close, his hand never leaving your belly. He pressed one last soft kiss to your forehead before letting sleep take him too. In the quiet darkness of your apartment, wrapped in each other, the line between fake and real blurred a little more.
Heeseung lay awake in the dark, long after you had fallen asleep in his arms. Your head rested on his chest, breath warm and steady against his skin. One of your hands had unconsciously curled into his shirt, holding on even in sleep. His own hand stayed protectively over the small, soft swell of your belly where Bambi was growing. He could feel the faint warmth of your body, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, and it made something deep and fierce bloom in his chest. He was so fucking happy.
It was terrifying how happy he was.This wasn’t the kind of happiness he was used to the rush of winning a game, the high of a party, the fleeting satisfaction of a random hookup. This was quieter and deeper. It settled in his bones and refused to leave. He had never imagined himself here lying in bed with the girl who used to hate him, holding her while she carried his child. But now that he was, he couldn’t picture anything else.
His thumb traced slow, gentle circles over your belly Bambi. The nickname still made him smile every time he thought about it. He remembered the first time he felt the baby move just a tiny flutter that you had grabbed his hand for. That moment had wrecked him in the best way. He had stayed up half the night after that, reading every article he could find about fetal movement, what it meant, how to support you through the coming months. He was falling in love with the baby. But he was also falling in love with you and that part scared him more.
He had always been honest with himself about girls before they were fun, temporary, never serious. But you were different. You had always been different. Even when you were yelling at him through the wall, even when you called him entitled and cocky, you looked at him like he was just a person. Not the basketball captain. Not the guy with the rich dad. Just… him and now? Now you let him hold you. You let him cook for you. You let him talk to your belly and kiss your forehead and stay the night when you were anxious. You were slowly opening up to him in ways he never thought you would.
Heeseung pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in. He remembered the night he asked you to marry him. The way you had laughed at first, then looked at him with wide, shocked eyes. The rejection had hurt more than he let on. Not because his ego was bruised, but because for one brief, stupid moment, he had let himself imagine a future where you chose him too.
But he respected your decision. He wouldn’t force you to love him. He wouldn’t trap you in something you didn’t want. If all you could give him right now was this, these quiet nights, these shared moments, this careful co-parenting he would take it. He would take anything you were willing to give. Still he couldn’t stop the quiet hope that bloomed in his chest every time you smiled at him. Every time you leaned into his touch. Every time you fell asleep in his arms like you belonged there.
Heeseung closed his eyes, holding you a little tighter.
He didn’t know what the future held, especially with his father waiting at Thanksgiving, ready to judge and criticize. But for the first time in his life, he felt like he had something worth fighting for you and Bambi.
This strange, messy, beautiful thing growing between you. He was going to protect it. Even if you never loved him back the same way. Even if this was all still “fake” to you. Heeseung whispered against your hair, so quietly he barely heard it himself “I’ve got you both.” And in the dark, with you safe in his arms, he let himself believe it was enough for now.
ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ.
The drive to Heeseung’s parents’ house felt longer than it should have. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and the highway stretched out in front of you, lined with trees that were slowly turning bare for winter. You sat in the passenger seat of Heeseung’s car, hands resting on your lap, occasionally drifting to the small, rounded curve of your belly under your oversized sweater. Three months and two weeks. The bump was undeniable now if you weren’t careful, but you still hid it as best as you could.
Heeseung drove with one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing against yours on the center console. The radio played softly in the background some acoustic playlist he had put on because he knew loud music sometimes made your nausea worse these days. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy. You could feel the weight of what was coming. Meeting his parents. Revealing the pregnancy. Pretending to be in a real relationship when everything still felt so fragile and confusing.
You glanced at him. He looked calm on the surface focused on the road, jaw relaxed but you noticed the way his fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. He was nervous too. “Are you okay?” you asked quietly. Heeseung gave you a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah just thinking about how this is going to go.” He paused, then added, “My dad can be intense. He has high expectations. But my mom will probably be happy to see you. She’s been asking about you since I told them I was bringing someone.”
You nodded, looking out the window again. Your hand unconsciously rubbed small circles over your belly.
“I’m nervous,” you admitted after a while. “What if they don’t like me? What if they think I’m just some girl who trapped you?” Heeseung reached over and gently took your hand, squeezing it once before returning his to the wheel. “They’re not going to think that,” he said, voice steady. “And even if they do it doesn’t matter. This is about us and Bambi not them.”
You stayed quiet, but his words settled something warm in your chest. You tried to ignore it. It’s just hormones, you told yourself again. Don’t get attached.
The car ride continued with small talk to fill the silence. Heeseung asked about your capstone project, about whether the nausea had gotten any better, about what you wanted to eat when you got there. You asked him about his basketball schedule after the break, about whether he was excited to see his mom. The conversation was easy, almost domestic, and that scared you more than the upcoming meeting. At one point, Heeseung reached over and rested his hand on your thigh not sexual, just comforting. You let it stay there.
Halfway through the drive, he spoke again, voice softer. “Thank you for doing this with me,” he said. “I know it’s a lot. Meeting my family pretending all of it. But I’m glad it’s you.” Your heart did that annoying little flip again. You looked down at your lap, cheeks warming. “Yeah me too,” you whispered. The rest of the drive passed in comfortable quiet. Heeseung kept the music low, occasionally humming along. Every now and then his hand would find yours again, giving it a gentle squeeze.
When the familiar gates of his parents’ large, modern house came into view, your stomach twisted with nerves. Heeseung parked the car and turned to you, his expression serious but kind.“You ready?” he asked.
You took a deep breath and nodded.“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Heeseung leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead the same gentle gesture he had been giving you more and more lately. “We’ve got this,” he murmured against your skin. “Together.”
You stepped out of the car with him, heart pounding, hand instinctively resting on your belly as you walked toward the front door of his family home. Thanksgiving had officially begun. The walk from the car to the front door felt longer than it should have. Your hand instinctively rested on your belly under the oversized sweater, a small, protective gesture you’d developed over the past few weeks. The house was beautiful, modern, large, with clean lines and big windows that glowed warmly from the inside. It looked expensive. Intimidating.
Heeseung walked beside you, his hand lightly brushing against yours before he gently took it. His grip was warm and steady.“You okay?” he asked quietly. You nodded, even though your stomach was twisting with nerves. “Just a little scared.”
He squeezed your hand. “I’ve got you. We’ll do this together.”Before you could respond, the front door opened. A woman in her late 40s stepped out, elegant and poised, with sharp features softened by a warm smile. She had Heeseung’s dark eyes. This had to be his mom.
“Heeseung!” she called out happily, walking down the steps to meet you both. She pulled her son into a tight hug first. “My baby. You look tired. Have you been eating properly?” Heeseung hugged her back. “I’m fine, Mom.”Then she turned to you, her expression softening even more. “You must be the girl my son has been talking about,” she said warmly, stepping forward to pull you into a gentle hug. She smelled like expensive perfume and fresh flowers. “I’m Heeseung’s mom. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
You hugged her back, surprised by how kind her embrace felt. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Lee.”
She pulled back but kept her hands on your shoulders, studying your face with genuine curiosity and warmth.“Please, call me Eunae,” she said. “Come inside, both of you. It’s cold out here.” She ushered you both into the house. The interior was even more impressive high ceilings, modern furniture, and a large living room that opened into a beautiful kitchen. The smell of something delicious cooking drifted from the kitchen. Eunae led you to the living room and gestured for you to sit on the large, comfortable sofa.
“Heeseung told us you’d be coming,” she said, sitting across from you with a soft smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this. He doesn’t bring girls home often, you know.” You felt your cheeks warm. Heeseung sat beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours. Eunae asked gentle questions about your studies, your dreams of becoming an art curator, how you and Heeseung had started dating. You answered carefully, sticking to the story you two had rehearsed. She listened with genuine interest, occasionally glancing at Heeseung with a proud but slightly worried look.
Dinner was almost ready, she said. As she stood up to check on the food, she smiled at both of you.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” she said quietly. “Both of you. This house has been too quiet lately.”You smiled back, feeling a little less nervous. But the tension in the air was still there the knowledge that Heeseung’s dad was somewhere in the house, and that the real test was yet to come.Heeseung squeezed your hand again, as if sensing your thoughts. “We’ve got this,” he whispered when his mom left the room. You nodded, leaning into his side just a little.For now, you were safe.
Later at dinner the dining table was beautifully set. Heeseung’s mom had prepared a generous spread grilled meat, fresh vegetables, rice, and several side dishes. His dad sat at the head of the table, a tall, imposing man with sharp eyes and a serious expression. He had greeted you politely but coolly when you first arrived. The conversation started light. Eunae asked more about your studies. His dad asked about basketball. Heeseung answered calmly, his hand occasionally brushing yours under the table for reassurance.
Then, halfway through the meal, Heeseung cleared his throat. “Mom. Dad,” he said, voice steady but serious. “There’s something we need to tell you.”
Both parents looked at him. Eunae’s expression was curious. His dad’s was already guarded.Heeseung reached over and took your hand openly on the table.
“She’s pregnant,” he said. “Three months along. The baby is mine.” The silence that followed was heavy.
Eunae’s eyes widened, then filled with tears. She brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh a grandbaby?”
The dining room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence after Heeseung’s announcement. Eunae’s eyes were wide with surprise, then quickly filled with happy tears. She brought a hand to her mouth, whispering, “A grandbaby oh, Heeseung” But his father’s reaction was ice cold.Mr. Lee set his chopsticks down with a sharp clack. His eyes narrowed on Heeseung, then flicked to you with clear disapproval. “Pregnant,” he repeated, voice low and cutting. “You got this girl pregnant while you’re supposed to be focusing on your future in the league? Are you serious right now?”
Heeseung’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “Yes. We’re keeping the baby.” Mr. Lee let out a harsh, disbelieving scoff. He leaned back in his chair, looking at his son like he was a disappointment he could barely stand. “Of course you are. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? Make reckless decisions and expect everyone else to clean up after you.” His voice grew sharper, colder. “Your brother Heedo never did anything like this. He stayed focused. He trained hard. He made it pro without distractions. And you? You’re out here throwing away your career for some girl you barely know and a baby you’re not ready for.”
The words landed like punches.You felt Heeseung tense beside you, his hand gripping yours under the table. His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t speak.
Mr. Lee wasn’t done. “You think you can handle this? You can’t even handle the pressure of being captain properly. Always distracted, always partying, always doing the bare minimum. Heedo was never like this. He was disciplined. He was excellent. And you you’re just average. Now you’ve gone and ruined your future before it even started.” The silence that followed was brutal.Eunae looked uncomfortable, glancing between her husband and son. Heeseung’s face was carefully blank
The silence that followed Mr. Lee’s words was brutal.
Eunae looked uncomfortable, her eyes darting between her husband and son. Heeseung’s face remained carefully blank, but you could feel the tension radiating from him the way his jaw clenched, the way his hand tightened around yours under the table. Mr. Lee leaned forward, voice dripping with disappointment. “You think you can handle a child? You can’t even handle yourself. Always chasing girls, throwing parties, wasting time instead of training like your brother did.
Heedo never let anything distract him. He made it pro because he was focused, disciplined, excellent and you? You’re average at best. Now you’ve gone and ruined your future before it even started all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.” The words cut deep. You felt Heeseung flinch beside you, though he tried to hide it. Something inside you snapped.
You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Your heart was pounding, but your voice came out steady and sharp. “Enough.” Everyone at the table turned to look at you. Mr. Lee’s eyes narrowed.
“You don’t get to talk to him like that,” you said, voice trembling with anger but clear. “Heeseung has been working incredibly hard. He’s been there for me every single day since we found out about the baby. He’s reading parenting books, adjusting his schedule, taking care of me when I’m sick all while still being the captain of his team. He’s trying his best, and that’s more than enough.” You looked at Heeseung, who was staring at you with wide, surprised eyes. “We’re leaving,” you said firmly, taking his hand. “We don’t have to sit here and listen to this.”
Heeseung stood up beside you without hesitation. Eunae looked torn, but she didn’t stop you. Mr. Lee’s face was red with anger, but you didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Thank you for dinner,” you said politely but coldly to Eunae. “But we’re done here.”
You pulled Heeseung toward the door. He followed without a word, his hand warm and tight around yours. The moment you stepped outside, the cool night air hit your face. You didn’t stop walking until you reached his car. Only then did you turn to him.
Heeseung looked stunned. His eyes were glassy, and for the first time, you saw raw vulnerability on his face.
“You stood up for me,” he whispered. You squeezed his hand. “Of course I did. He had no right to talk to you like that.” Heeseung pulled you into his arms right there in the driveway, hugging you tightly. You felt him exhale shakily against your hair. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I I don’t know what to say.” You hugged him back just as tightly, your hand resting on his back.
As you both drove away from his parents’ house, the silence in the car was heavy but not cold. Heeseung reached over and took your hand again, holding it the entire drive back. For the first time, you didn’t pull away. And for the first time, you didn’t tell yourself it was just hormones.
The drive back to the apartment complex was quiet.
Heeseung kept one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing against yours on the center console. Neither of you said much. The weight of his father’s cruel words still hung heavy in the car, and you could feel the exhaustion radiating from him. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and every now and then he let out a slow, controlled breath like he was trying to push the night’s events away.
When he finally parked in front of the building, it was already well past midnight. The hallway lights were dim, casting long shadows across the floor as you both walked up to your doors in silence. The air felt cooler now, the kind of late-night chill that made you pull your jacket a little tighter around yourself.
Heeseung stopped in front of his own apartment, keys in hand. He looked tired drained in a way that went beyond the long day and the difficult dinner. His eyes were distant, like he was still replaying his father’s voice in his head.
“I think… I want to be alone tonight,” he said quietly, not quite meeting your eyes. “Just need some time to think.” You nodded, understanding. The night had been draining for both of you. You didn’t want to push him when he clearly needed space. “Okay,” you whispered. “Take care of yourself.” Before he could turn away, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. Heeseung stiffened for a second, surprised, then melted into it. His arms came around you, strong and warm, pulling you close.
You felt his face press into your hair, his breath shaky against your neck. For a long moment, you just held each other in the quiet hallway, the only sound being the faint hum of the building’s ventilation system.
When you finally pulled back, you rose onto your tiptoes and pressed a soft, lingering peck to his cheek. Your lips lingered there for a second longer than necessary, feeling the warmth of his skin.
Heeseung froze. His eyes widened slightly as he looked at you, surprised and something else, something softer, almost vulnerable. Why did you do that? you thought, heart racing. This is all supposed to be fake right? But you couldn’t deny it anymore.
You were in love with him. The realization hit you like a wave as you stood there in the dim hallway.
You loved Lee Heeseung not just because of the baby, not just because of the way he took care of you, but because of him. The man who showed up without being asked. The man who read parenting books at 3 a.m. The man who held you when you cried, kissed your forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world, and made you feel safe in a way no one else ever had. You wanted to build a family with him. You wanted the quiet nights, the shared meals, the gentle way he spoke to your belly. You wanted him.
The thought terrified you and warmed you at the same time. Heeseung lingered for a second longer, eyes searching yours, before he gave you a small, tired smile. “Goodnight,” he whispered. “Goodnight,” you replied softly. He disappeared into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. You stood there alone for a moment, heart still racing, before walking into your own place. You locked the door, leaned against it, and let out a long, shaky breath.
You’re in love with him, you admitted to yourself, pressing a hand to your chest. You want this. You want him. You want a family with him. The realization felt both freeing and terrifying. But before you could sit with it any longer, your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. You walked over and picked it up. The screen showed a message from an unknown number.
Unknown : Stay away from Heeseung or else your career and his especially are doomed. I will make sure of it
genre: college au, eventual simp x simp dynamic, smut, slow burn
synopsis: getting partnered with jake, the tall awkward nerd from on of your computer science classes, should've been simple—work on the project, get your grade, move on. except now you're completely obsessed with him and he's totally clueless about it. between tutoring sessions you definitely don't need and "coincidental" dorm hall run-ins, you're pulling out all the stops. too bad jake's more interested in his textbooks than your very obvious flirting.
you've never been rejected before, so this should be fine.
…right?
warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut (oral sex(f. and m. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, size difference, big dick!jake, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pussy drunk!jake, dry humping, heavy makeout, whiny!jake), cursing, mild alcohol use, emotional manipulation, jealousy, themes of insecurity, angst, lots computer science related terms(i kind of geeked out here), reader's kind of delulu and a jerk
note: i'm back to my writing style for lighthearted fics for this one hehe. i lovelovelove nerdy shy men tropes sooo much. i did try to keep it a little realistic though. i hope you like this! enjoyyy
word count: 21.8k
taglist | more works!
you were alone in the computer science lab at nearly midnight, which wasn't unusual. assignments had a way of turning the building into a second home. but tonight felt wrong. everything felt too much. the lights buzzed too loud, drilling into your skull with that persistent electrical hum. your eyes burned from staring at your screen for four hours straight, vision going fuzzy at the edges. somewhere around hour three, you'd stopped actually processing code and started just staring through it.
your cold coffee sat forgotten beside your laptop, abandoned but still somehow necessary because the alternative was admitting defeat and going back to your dorm where your roommate and her boyfriend were probably still taking up the entire common space. you'd rather deal with this. the overstimulation. the way every tiny sound felt amplified in the empty lab. the aggressive brightness of your laptop screen. the uncomfortable pressure building behind your eyes that meant you were about to either cry or throw your laptop across the room. probably both.
your code wasn't working. hadn't been working for two days, and you'd tried everything. every forum suggestion, every stack overflow solution, every pathetic office hours visit where you'd explained your problem three times and still left confused. the cursor blinked at you on line two thousand and forty seven, mocking. the compiler kept throwing errors you didn't understand, and you'd rewritten that function six times already. your hands shook slightly from too much caffeine and not enough food. that tight, hot feeling crept up your throat. the one that signalled imminent breakdown.
you pressed your palms against your eyes until you saw spots, trying to reset something in your overwhelmed nervous system. didn't work. nothing worked tonight.
the silence in the lab was the worst part, it was so quiet that it made you hyper-aware of your own breathing, your heartbeat, the small wet sound your tongue made against the roof of your mouth when you swallowed. you hated it.
then suddenly, the power cut out. total darkness that swallowed everything in an instant, your laptop screen going black, even the emergency exit signs disappearing. your heart kicked into overdrive, adrenaline flooding so fast you felt dizzy. you reached out instinctively for your laptop, fingers scrabbling across the desk, needing to confirm it was still there, that everything you'd been working on wasn't just gone.
suddenly you heard footsteps. someone else was in the lab. you hadn't known anyone else was here. the realisation sent fear spiking through your chest because you'd been so certain you were alone. now there was someone moving closer, footsteps uneven and hurried like they couldn't see any better than you. you opened your mouth to say something, but before you could form words there was sudden pressure against your shoulder, hard and unexpected, and then there was the splash of cold liquid, spreading across your lap and chest.
your coffee. the cup tipped and spilt, liquid soaking through your jeans, spreading sticky and uncomfortable across your thighs. panic hit first, pure and primal, because for a split second all you could think was laptop, everything's gone, hours of work, my entire project. your hands flew out in the darkness, patting frantically at the desk, trying to assess the damage. your chest was so tight you couldn't get a full breath.
then came the anger. fast and hot and overwhelming, rising from somewhere deep in your stomach. you wanted to scream. wanted to grab whoever crashed into you and shake them. wanted to cry from sheer frustration because this was exactly what you didn't need tonight, not when you were already hanging on by a thread.
"oh my god, oh my god, i'm so sorry, i didn't see you, i didn't think anyone else was here, i'm so sorry." the voice came rapid-fire from somewhere to your left. male, young, pitched higher than normal with genuine distress.
he kept apologising, words tumbling over each other, and there was something in his tone that didn't sound rehearsed. he sounded actually afraid, like he'd just committed some unforgivable sin.
"i didn't mean to, i couldn't see, the power just went out and i was trying to get to the door and i'm so sorry, did it get on your laptop? please tell me it didn't get on your laptop."
you took a breath, trying to force words past the tightness in your throat, trying to formulate some response that matched the fury still coursing through your veins. your mouth opened, something sharp and cutting right on the edge of your tongue.
the emergency lighting kicked in. not much, just pale green strips along the baseboards casting everything in eerie, insufficient glow. enough to see by. enough to make out shapes, faces.
the guy who'd run into you stood about two feet away, and the first thing you noticed was his hands. hovering in the air between you, trembling visibly even in the dim light, fingers spread like he wanted to help but didn't dare touch anything. he was tall and lean, dark hair stuck up in odd directions like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. glasses had slipped down his nose, and behind them his eyes were wide. genuinely panicked in a way that didn't feel performed at all.
"your laptop," he said, voice still shaking with that same desperate concern. "what model is it? did the coffee get on it? the keyboard is the main concern, if liquid got into the keyboard we need to shut it down immediately and flip it over to drain, we need to know if you had everything backed up."
he was already moving closer, trembling hands reaching toward your desk, and you realised with a start that he hadn't even looked at you properly yet. his entire focus was on your laptop. on the problem he'd created. on fixing it.
"it's fine," you managed, voice coming out rougher than intended. you looked down at your computer. sitting safely to the right of where your coffee had been, completely dry and unharmed. "it didn't get on it."
the relief that washed over his face was so profound you almost felt embarrassed witnessing it. his shoulders sagged. his hands finally dropped to his sides. he let out a long, shaky breath like he'd been holding it since the collision.
"okay. okay, that's good, that's really good." then, almost as an afterthought, his eyes finally moved to actually look at you. taking in your coffee-soaked lap, your tense posture, your expression which you were sure wasn't friendly. "are you okay? did you get burned? that coffee looked hot, if it was hot we should get you to a sink, run cold water on it."
"it was cold," you said. true, but didn't make the situation better. your jeans were soaked through, fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin, coffee starting to seep into your chair. you were sticky and irritated and still running on too much adrenaline. but he looked so genuinely distressed that some of your anger started deflating despite yourself.
"cold coffee is still a problem," he said, already pulling his backpack off his shoulder, unzipping it with fumbling fingers. "the sugar content means it'll get sticky when it dries, and it can stain, especially on lighter fabrics. i have napkins, i think, or maybe paper towels, i definitely have something."
he was rummaging through his bag now, pulling out crumpled papers, a graphing calculator, several pens, tangled earbuds, talking the entire time in that same rapid, anxious way.
"i'm really sorry, i should have been more careful, i knew the power was out, i should have used my phone flashlight, i just thought i knew the layout well enough to navigate in the dark but obviously i was wrong."
you watched him. something uncomfortable shifted in your chest. you'd been prepared to snap at him, to unleash all your accumulated frustration on whoever had been careless enough to run into you. but he wasn't making excuses. wasn't trying to minimise what he'd done or deflect blame or make some joke to lighten the mood. he was just genuinely, almost painfully concerned about the problem he'd created. the way he kept apologising, kept trying to fix things, made it very hard to stay angry.
"here," he said triumphantly, producing a small pack of tissues from the bottom of his bag. he held them out, then seemed to realise how inadequate they were and let out a frustrated sound. "these aren't going to be enough. we should go to the bathroom, get some actual paper towels. or maybe the kitchen area on the second floor, they have those industrial dispensers that are way more absorbent."
he paused, finally seeming to register that you hadn't moved, that you were just sitting there watching him. his ears went red, visible even in the dim green emergency lighting. "sorry, i'm sorry, i'm doing it again. my sister always tells me i go into problem-solving mode when i'm anxious and it makes people feel like i'm not actually listening to them. are you okay? like, actually okay, not just physically okay?"
the question caught you off guard. nobody had asked you that in days. maybe weeks. everyone just assumed you were fine because you were handling things, meeting deadlines, showing up to class. but this stranger who'd just spilt coffee all over you was looking at you with genuine concern, waiting for a real answer. something in your chest felt suddenly too tight.
"i'm fine," you said, softer than intended. you took the tissues from him, dabbing uselessly at your jeans. he was right. they weren't nearly enough. but the gesture felt important somehow. "it's been a long night."
"assignments?" he asked. when you nodded he made a sympathetic noise. "yeah, same. i've been here since six. had a project deadline at midnight but then the power went out fifteen minutes before and now i don't know if my submission went through because the wifi died with the electricity." he pushed his glasses up his nose. nervous gesture you got the impression he did frequently.
"i'm jake, by the way. jake sim. i feel like i should probably introduce myself since i just, like, assaulted you with your own beverage."
despite everything, ruined jeans and exhaustion and broken code, you felt the corner of your mouth twitch. not quite a smile, but close. "assaulted me with my own beverage?"
"well, yeah," he said, looking vaguely embarrassed. "i mean, i weaponised your coffee against you. that's technically assault, right? or maybe battery? i always get those mixed up. my roommate's a poli-sci major, he'd know."
he was rambling now, words spilling out in that same anxious rush, and there was something almost endearing about how completely lacking in artifice it was. he wasn't trying to be charming. wasn't trying to be funny. just genuinely nervous and dealing with it by talking too much.
you told him your name. he repeated it carefully, like he was committing it to memory. "i really am sorry," he said again, quieter this time. "what were you working on? before i interrupted?"
"data structures project," you said. just thinking about it made your shoulders tense again. "it's due tomorrow and there's a bug i can't figure out and i've been staring at it for hours."
his eyes lit up behind his glasses, spark of interest that transformed his whole face. "what kind of bug? runtime error? logic error? is it a pointer issue? those are always the worst, especially with linked lists."
he was already moving closer to your laptop, stopping himself at the last second like he'd realised he was being presumptuous. "sorry, i mean, i could take a look if you want? i'm pretty good with data structures. it's kind of my thing. i'm a TA for comp 201 actually, so i see a lot of common bugs. but also totally no pressure, i know i just dumped coffee on you so you probably don't want my help."
you should have said no. didn't know this guy, didn't owe him anything. you'd been managing just fine on your own. except you hadn't been managing fine. you'd been on the verge of a breakdown in an empty lab at midnight. now here was this nervous, rambling stranger offering help without expecting anything in return, looking at you like your problem was genuinely important to him.
it was disorienting. how quickly your anger had evaporated, replaced by something you couldn't quite name. you found yourself noticing details you shouldn't care about. the way he kept pushing his glasses up. the way his hands had finally stopped shaking now that he had something concrete to focus on.
"okay," you heard yourself say. his whole face brightened in a way that made something flutter uncomfortably in your stomach. "yeah, if you don't mind looking at it."
"i don't mind at all," he said quickly, already pulling up a chair. he left careful distance between you though, hyper-aware of not invading your space again. "show me what you've got."
you turned your laptop toward him. he leaned in, eyes scanning the lines with immediate focus. his expression shifted into something concentrated, intense. this was probably what he looked like when he wasn't tripping over people in the dark and panicking about it. he started asking questions about your implementation, your logic, what you'd already tried. his voice had lost that nervous edge. this was clearly where he was comfortable. in the clean logic of code, in problems that had solutions.
you answered his questions. watched as he nodded, occasionally pushing his glasses up, finger tracing lines of code on the screen without quite touching it. the emergency lighting cast strange shadows across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the way his brow furrowed in concentration.
you were noticing things you shouldn't notice. but you told yourself it wasn't because you found him attractive. you were just paying attention because he was helping. because he'd disrupted your solitary misery and replaced it with something else. something that felt almost like companionship.
"there," he said suddenly, pointing to a line in the middle of your function. "you're incrementing the counter before you check the condition, but you need to check the condition first. it's causing an off-by-one error. see? you're accessing index n when your array only goes up to n minus one."
you stared at the line he was indicating. slowly, horribly, you realised he was right. such a simple mistake, the kind of thing you should have caught hours ago. but you'd been too tired, too frustrated, too deep in your own head to see it. "oh my god," you said quietly. "that's it. that's the whole problem."
"easy fix," jake said, smiling now. a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "just move that line down two spaces and add the conditional check first. you want me to...?" he gestured at your keyboard, asking permission. you nodded, watched as he made the adjustment with quick, confident keystrokes. "there. try running it now."
you hit compile, holding your breath. for the first time in two days the program ran without errors. the output printed exactly the way it was supposed to. clean and correct and perfect. relief flooded through you so intensely you felt dizzy with it, all the tension you'd been carrying suddenly releasing at once. "thank you," you said, voice more emotional than intended. "seriously, thank you, i've been losing my mind over this."
"it happens to everyone," jake said gently. "sometimes you just need fresh eyes. i've definitely been there." he leaned back in his chair, that nervous energy returning now that the immediate problem was solved. "your code is really clean, by the way. like, really well-structured. that bug was literally the only issue, everything else is solid."
the compliment settled warm in your chest. you realised with a start that you felt calm. actually calm, for the first time all night. your heart rate had slowed. your hands were steady. the overwhelming pressure behind your eyes had eased.
the lab was still too quiet, the emergency lighting still eerie and insufficient, your jeans still soaked with cold coffee. but somehow none of it felt as unbearable as it had fifteen minutes ago. and that was because of him. because jake had crashed into you in the dark and apologised too much and fixed your code and made you feel less alone in this empty building at midnight.
jake was gathering his things, shoving papers and pens back into his backpack with the same energy he'd had while searching for tissues. "i should probably try to find someone about the power situation," he said. "and you should probably change before that coffee stains permanently. there's a campus store in the student centre that's open twenty-four hours, they have overpriced sweatpants but at least they're dry."
"yeah," you said, surprised to find you didn't want him to leave yet. "yeah, i probably should."
he stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and hesitated. "hey, um. if you ever need help with code stuff again, or if you just want to work in the lab at the same time, i'm here most nights. usually not spilling beverages on people, but, you know. tonight was special." he smiled awkwardly. you found yourself smiling back, a real smile this time.
"i might take you up on that," you said. meant it.
jake's expression brightened again. that same transformation you'd noticed earlier. he nodded. "cool. yeah, that would be cool. okay. i'm gonna go now before i accidentally break something else." he gave you a small wave, started toward the door, then turned back. "your code really is good, by the way. i wasn't just saying that."
then he was gone, disappearing into the dark hallway beyond the lab. you were alone again. but that realisation, that awareness that a stranger's clumsy kindness had affected you so much, sat uncomfortable and warm in your chest as you saved your work and finally, finally, packed up to leave.
you walked into your lecture the next morning running on four hours of sleep and caffeine-induced alertness that felt vaguely hallucinogenic. your jeans from last night were balled up in your laundry basket, probably stained beyond saving, and you'd thrown on the first clean thing you could find.
you slid into your usual spot next to yunjin, who was already comparing notes with beomgyu across the aisle. they were your people. your safe zone. the ones you'd suffered through intro courses with, pulled all-nighters with, shared desperate pre-exam breakdowns with.
"you look like death," yunjin said cheerfully, not looking up from her phone.
"thanks. love you too."
"late night?" beomgyu leaned over, stealing one of yunjin's chips. "you missed the group chat meltdown about the algorithms homework."
you hummed noncommittally, pulling out your laptop. your code from last night was still open, that perfect, error-free output staring back at you. you'd submitted it at 12:47 am, seventeen minutes after jake had fixed it. seventeen minutes after he'd disappeared down that dark hallway.
you hadn't told yunjin and beomgyu about any of it. the power outage, the coffee, jake. especially jake. it felt somehow private, like explaining it would cheapen it or make it feel less significant than it had been in the moment.
professor kim walked in, and the room settled into that particular brand of restless attention that morning lectures always had. "alright, alright," she said, pulling up a slide that made half the room groan in unison. "i know you're all thrilled to hear this, but it's time to discuss your semester-long project."
chairs scraped against floors as people twisted around to look at their friends. voices overlapped, people already calling out names, forming pairs out of habit and convenience. you felt yunjin's hand on your arm at the same time beomgyu leaned over.
"partners?" yunjin said.
"obviously we're doing a group," beomgyu added. "the three of us, right?"
you nodded, half-listening, your attention already drifting across the lecture hall. you weren't sure what you were looking for until you found it. him. jake was sitting near the back with a small group of guys you vaguely recognised from other cs classes. he was hunched slightly over his notebook, pen moving across the page, taking notes while everyone else was busy forming alliances. his hair was even messier today, sticking up on one side like he'd rolled out of bed. his glasses kept sliding down his nose and he kept pushing them back up with his index finger, that same nervous gesture from last night.
he looked small somehow, despite being tall. like he was trying to take up less space. one of his friends said something and laughed, nudging jake's shoulder, but jake just smiled politely without really engaging. his attention stayed on his notebook.
you watched him for a moment longer than necessary. watched the way his shoulders curved inward, the way he held his pen, the concentrated furrow of his brow. something in your chest did an uncomfortable little flip.
"so we're agreed then?" yunjin was saying. "i'll handle the frontend, beomgyu can do the database stuff, and you can—"
you stood up. the decision happened before you'd fully processed it, your body moving on instinct or impulse or something you didn't want to examine too closely. your chair scraped loud enough that a few people glanced over.
"actually," you said, already stepping past beomgyu into the aisle. "i'm gonna partner with someone else."
"what?" yunjin's voice pitched up in genuine confusion. "who?"
but you were already walking. moving up the steps toward the back of the lecture hall, weaving between people who were still negotiating partnerships and arguing about skill distributions. you were aware of people watching. of yunjin and beomgyu's matching expressions of confusion. of the way conversations paused as you passed.
jake's friends noticed you first. one of them, a guy with bleached hair, nudged jake's arm and nodded in your direction. another one went quiet mid-sentence, eyes tracking your approach with unconcealed curiosity. jake looked up last, following their gazes, and when his eyes met yours he froze. actually froze, pen suspended over his notebook, lips slightly parted like he'd been about to say something and forgotten how.
you stopped at the edge of their row. suddenly hyperaware of how many people were definitely watching this interaction. "hey," you said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near awkward. "you have a partner yet?"
jake blinked. once, twice. his friends were staring at him now, then at you, then back at him like they were watching a tennis match. "i—what?"
"for the project," you clarified, gesturing vaguely at professor kim who was still explaining requirements at the front of the room. "do you have a partner?"
"i—" jake's hand came up to push his glasses up his nose even though they hadn't moved. his ears were already turning red. "no? i mean, no, i don't, but—" he glanced at his friends, then back at you, looking genuinely lost. "are you—do you mean—"
"i'm asking if you want to partner up," you said, more directly this time. your heart was doing something weird and arrhythmic in your chest. "for the semester project."
the guy with bleached hair made a noise that might have been a strangled laugh. another one of jake's friends just gaped openly. jake himself looked like you'd just spoken to him in a language he only half understood. "you want to—with me?"
"yeah."
"but—" he gestured helplessly toward where yunjin and beomgyu were sitting, both of them now watching with unconcealed shock. "don't you usually work with your friends? i thought—"
"i'm asking you," you said, cutting him off before he could talk himself out of it or before you could overthink what you were doing. "if you already have other plans it's fine, i just thought—" you paused, scrambling for justification that didn't sound insane. "you're good at this stuff. you're a TA. you knew exactly what was wrong with my code last night in like, five seconds. it makes sense. strategically."
strategically. god, you sounded unhinged.
jake stared at you. his friends stared at you. half the lecture hall was probably staring at you at this point. "i—" jake swallowed visibly. "yeah. yes. i mean, if you want to, then—yeah. okay."
"yeah?"
"yeah." he nodded, more firmly this time, though he still looked vaguely shell-shocked. "we can—yeah. that would be—yeah."
his friends exchanged glances that were absolutely loaded with unspoken communication. the bleached hair guy, jungwon you think, was grinning now, looking between you and jake like he'd just witnessed something phenomenal. "well," he said, voice thick with amusement, "this is interesting."
you ignored him. "cool. we should probably meet up sometime this week to go over the requirements?"
"yeah, definitely," jake said quickly, already pulling out his phone with hands that trembled slightly. "i can—do you want my number? or i can get yours, or—we could use email if that's easier—"
"number's fine." you rattled it off, watching him type it into his contacts with endearing focus, tongue poking slightly between his teeth. when he looked up his expression was softer, less panicked. almost shy.
"okay," he said. "i'll text you?"
"sounds good."
you turned to head back down to your seat, acutely aware of the weight of multiple stares following your retreat. yunjin grabbed your arm the second you sat down, eyes wide with questions, but professor kim chose that moment to actually start the lecture and yunjin had to settle for furious whisper-hissing "what the hell was that?" while you studiously ignored her.
you pulled up your laptop, pretending to focus on the slides about project requirements and grading rubrics. but your attention kept drifting. you could feel it, that awareness of jake sitting several rows behind you. you wondered if he was taking notes. if his friends were grilling him. if his ears were still red.
you told yourself this was practical. logical. jake was skilled, focused, clearly knew his stuff. working with him made sense from a grades perspective, from an efficiency perspective. it was a smart choice. strategic, like you'd said.
but the justification felt thin even as you repeated it to yourself. because practical partnerships didn't make your pulse spike like this. strategic choices didn't leave you feeling weirdly breathless, or hyperaware of your phone in your pocket, waiting for a text that might come in an hour or a day. smart decisions didn't come with this flutter of satisfaction sitting warm and dangerous in your chest, the kind that felt unearned and a little reckless.
you'd just chosen jake over your actual friends for a semester-long project. you'd walked across the entire lecture hall in front of everyone to ask him specifically. you'd done it without planning it, without fully understanding why, acting on instinct alone.
your phone buzzed. you grabbed it maybe too quickly, ignoring yunjin's pointed look.
unknown number: hi, it's jake. from the lab? and also from just now. obviously. you know who i am. anyway this is my number.
unknown number: we can meet whenever works for you btw. i'm pretty flexible.
unknown number: sorry i'm rambling over text now apparently. i'll stop.
despite everything, despite the weirdness of the entire situation, you felt yourself smile. properly smile, which made yunjin lean over and whisper, "oh my god, you're blushing," which you absolutely were not.
you saved his number. typed out a response. deleted it. typed it again.
you: library tomorrow at 6?
his reply came almost instantly.
jake: perfect. i'll see you there.
yeah. perfect. that's exactly what this was.
you'd gotten there ten minutes early, which was ridiculous and you knew it, but you'd told yourself it was just to secure a good table. not because you were nervous. definitely not because you'd changed your shirt three times.
jake showed up at 6:02, slightly out of breath like he'd been rushing, backpack slung over one shoulder and hair even messier than usual.
"sorry, sorry," he said, sliding into the chair across from you. "my last class ran over and then i couldn't find my charger and—" he stopped himself, ears going pink. "sorry. you don't need the full explanation. i'm here now."
"you're fine," you said, surprised by how much you meant it. "i just got here too."
it was a lie, but whatever.
he pulled out his laptop, a slightly battered thing covered in tech company stickers, and immediately opened what looked like a meticulously organised project folder.
"so i was thinking we could start by breaking down the requirements," he said, already pulling up the assignment sheet. "if we divide it into modules we can work on different parts simultaneously and then integrate everything at the end. i made a rough outline last night, but obviously we can change whatever you want."
you blinked at him. "you made an outline? already?"
"i—yeah?" he looked uncertain suddenly, like he'd done something wrong. "was that—should i not have? i just thought it would be helpful to have a starting point, but if you wanted to plan it together—"
"no, that's—" you leaned closer to look at his screen, close enough that you could smell whatever soap or shampoo he used. something clean and faintly citrusy. "that's really good actually. you're like, super organised."
"oh." he pushed his glasses up, not quite meeting your eyes. "thanks. i just like having things structured, it makes the actual coding part less chaotic."
you shifted your chair around the table, closing the distance between you under the pretence of seeing his screen better. your knees almost touched under the table. jake didn't seem to notice, already walking you through his outline with the kind of focused enthusiasm that made his whole face more animated. he talked with his hands a little, you realised. small gestures that punctuated his explanations.
it was kind of endearing. he was kind of endearing, in this unpolished, genuine way that made you want to keep watching him talk even though you should probably be paying attention to the actual content of what he was saying.
"—so if we use that framework it'll save us a ton of time on the backend. does that make sense?" he glanced at you, expectant.
"yeah, totally," you said, even though you'd caught maybe half of it. "you're really good at this."
"at what?"
"explaining things. breaking stuff down." you let your voice soften deliberately, the kind of tone you'd use on someone you were interested in. testing. "you must be a really good TA."
jake's expression brightened with genuine pleasure, completely innocent. "oh, thanks! i really like teaching actually. it's really satisfying when something clicks for someone, you know?" he turned back to his laptop. "okay so for the first module, i was thinking we could—"
you felt something deflate slightly in your chest. he'd just. moved on. thanked you politely and redirected straight back to work like you'd commented on the weather.
you tried again twenty minutes later, when he'd finished explaining the database architecture. "seriously, how is your brain even wired like this?" you said, letting your hand rest on the table between you, close enough to his that moving a few inches would mean touching. "like, this would've taken me hours to figure out and you just see it."
"i mean, i've been coding since i was like twelve," jake said, smiling in that self-deprecating way that made your stomach flip. "my dad's a software engineer so i kind of grew up around it. you'd be just as good if you'd had the same exposure."
he grabbed his water bottle, took a sip, completely oblivious to the way you were looking at him. "anyway, should we start on the initial setup? i can handle the repository if you want to draft the pseudocode for the first function?"
"sure," you said, trying not to sound as frustrated as you felt.
it continued like that. you'd find little ways to compliment him, to touch his arm when he said something funny, to lean into his space. and every single time jake would light up with friendly appreciation and then just. keep going. keep working. keep being nice in this utterly platonic way that was starting to drive you slightly insane.
when you suggested taking a break and offered to buy him coffee, he'd said "oh that's so sweet, but i'm good, i don't want to lose momentum." when you'd asked about his hobbies, trying to find some common ground beyond code, he'd given you a genuine answer about gaming and soccer and then immediately asked about your hobbies with the same earnest interest he gave to literally everything.
he wasn't being cold. wasn't being dismissive. he was just. friendly. sincerely friendly in a way that suggested he thought you were also just being friendly and nothing more. the idea that you might be flirting with him clearly hadn't even crossed his mind.
it shouldn't have bothered you. it was one study session. you barely knew him. but there was something about the way he was so completely unaffected that made you want to push harder, try more obviously, make him see you the way you were apparently seeing him.
which was insane. you were being insane.
"okay i think that's a good stopping point," jake said eventually, glancing at his phone. "we got through way more than i expected, honestly. you're really fast at this."
"we work well together," you said, maybe too much emphasis on the together part.
"yeah," he agreed easily, already packing up his stuff. "this is gonna be way less painful than i thought. usually group projects are a nightmare but i think we're pretty compatible."
compatible. he said it like he was talking about software versions.
you packed up your own stuff, trying to shake off whatever weird frustrated feeling had settled in your chest. this was good. you had a competent partner who was easy to work with. that's what mattered. not whether he noticed when you laughed at his jokes or sat closer than strictly necessary.
the library had gotten dark outside while you'd been working, the early winter darkness that feeking too heavy for eight pm. you pushed through the doors together, the cold air immediately biting at your face.
"which way are you headed?" jake asked, adjusting his backpack.
you pointed toward the east side of campus. "miller hall."
jake stopped walking. just fully stopped and stared at you. "wait, seriously?"
"yeah?"
"i'm in miller," he said, and his face did this thing, this open, delighted thing like you'd just told him something genuinely exciting. "i'm on the fourth floor. what floor are you?"
"third," you said, trying to keep your voice normal even though your brain was already racing ahead. same building. same building. you lived in the same building and you hadn't known. "that's—what are the odds?"
"i know, right?" jake fell into step beside you, and he seemed more relaxed now, less formal than he'd been in the library. "i can't believe we haven't run into each other before. though i guess i'm not around that much, i'm usually either in class or the lab or—" he laughed. "okay i'm making myself sound really boring."
"no you're not," you said, maybe too quickly. "i'm the same way. especially during midterms."
"the worst," he agreed. "hey, at least now if we need to meet up for the project it's super convenient. we can literally just knock on each other's doors."
he said it so casually. so normally, like it was just a nice logistical benefit and nothing more. meanwhile your mind was already cataloguing possibilities. you could time your meals to match his schedule. figure out when he usually left for class. find reasons to be in the common areas when he might pass through. it would look natural, coincidental. just friendly neighbors running into each other.
you were already strategising.
the realisation made something uncomfortable twist in your stomach. this was. this was too much maybe. you were thinking about him too much, cataloguing details about him like you were studying for an exam. getting frustrated when he didn't respond to your flirting even though you had no actual reason to expect him to. you'd had one late-night interaction and now one study session and somehow you were already rearranging your mental map of campus to accommodate his presence in it.
"you good?" jake asked, and you realised you'd gone quiet.
"yeah, just tired."
"same." he smiled at you, easy and warm. "thanks for picking me as your partner, by the way. i know you could've worked with your friends and i'm—i'm really glad you asked me instead. i think this is gonna be fun."
fun. he was looking forward to the project because he thought it would be fun. because he liked coding and teaching and he probably thought you were a cool person to work with. he was just. happy to have company. happy to make a new friend.
meanwhile you were over here planning imaginary coincidental run-ins and getting weirdly possessive over someone who didn't even know you liked him.
god, you were pathetic.
"yeah," you managed. "me too."
you reached miller hall, and jake held the door open for you, still talking about some technique he wanted to try for the project. you half-listened, watching the way his hair flopped over his forehead, the animated way he gestured when he got excited about something.
the elevator ride to your floor felt too short. jake got off with you, said he'd just walk up the extra flight of stairs for the exercise. "text me if you think of anything for the project," he said, already heading toward the stairwell. "or honestly just text me whenever. i'm always on my phone."
then he was gone, and you were standing alone in the hallway outside your door, feeling weirdly deflated and wired at the same time.
your phone buzzed before you'd even gotten your key out.
jake: forgot to say this but your idea for the UI was really smart. i think it's gonna make the whole thing way more intuitive.
jake: ok NOW i'm done bothering you. have a good night!
you stared at the messages, that dangerous warm feeling spreading through your chest again. he'd texted you immediately to compliment your idea. with absolutely no prompting.
you were smiling at your phone like an idiot.
yeah. you were definitely pathetic.
"i'm just saying, he's clearly not interested," yunjin said, stabbing her salad with more force than necessary. "like, you've tried everything."
you were sitting in the dining hall, picking at your food while yunjin and beomgyu conducted what was essentially an intervention about your jake situation. an intervention you hadn't asked for and definitely didn't want.
"maybe he's just shy," you said, defensive.
beomgyu snorted. "shy guys still notice when someone's flirting with them. they just get weird about it. this guy sounds like he genuinely has no idea."
"which means he's not into you," yunjin added, gentler now. "and that's fine, you know? you can just be project partners. you don't have to keep torturing yourself."
except the thing was, you weren't entirely convinced jake wasn't interested. or maybe you just didn't want to accept it yet. because he texted you unprompted sometimes, sent you memes he thought you'd find funny, always smiled when he saw you in the hallway. that had to mean something, right?
"i'm not torturing myself," you muttered.
"you've mentioned him like fifteen times in the past hour," beomgyu pointed out.
"have not."
"you literally just told us about how he holds his pen. his pen."
okay. maybe you were torturing yourself a little.
you left the dining hall feeling irritated and restless, your friends' words circling in your head. he's not interested. he has no idea. you're torturing yourself. maybe they were right. probably they were right. you should just focus on the project, get a good grade, and move on like a normal person.
you were cutting through the student centre, not really paying attention to where you were going, when you passed the community bulletin board. the usual chaos of flyers and posters, study abroad programs, club meetings, someone selling a barely-used microwave. your eyes skimmed over it automatically, not really looking.
then you saw his name.
TUTORING AVAILABLE - COMP 101, 201, 301
patient, experienced, flexible schedule
contact: jake sim
there was a row of little tear-off tabs at the bottom with his phone number. several were already missing. the flyer itself was simple, almost plain. you stared at it. people flowed around you, conversations and footsteps and the ambient noise of the student centre, but you just stood there staring at jake's handwritten flyer.
you didn't need tutoring. your grades were fine. good, even. you and jake were in the same advanced class, for god's sake. he'd probably seen your test scores when he was TAing. this would be…obvious. wouldn't it? taking a tab would be transparent and desperate and—
your hand moved before you'd fully decided. the paper tore with a soft sound that felt too loud. you stared at the little strip in your palm, jake's number printed in his neat handwriting even though you already had it saved in your phone.
what were you doing?
you shoved the tab in your pocket and walked away quickly, like someone might have witnessed you doing something incriminating. your heart was beating too fast. this was insane. this was transparent. he was going to see right through it.
but.
but it was also legitimate, wasn't it? people got tutoring all the time, even when their grades were fine. wanting to understand the material better, wanting a different perspective, wanting to be extra prepared. those were all valid reasons. normal reasons. and yeah, maybe you had ulterior motives, but the cover story was solid enough that you could maintain plausible deniability. to him. to yourself.
you made it back to your dorm before you pulled out your phone.
you: hey! i saw your tutoring flyer in the student centre. do you still have availability?
you hit send before you could overthink it. then immediately started overthinking it anyway. he was going to ask why. he was going to point out that you clearly didn't need help. he was going to—
your phone buzzed.
jake<3: oh hey! yeah i have some slots open. but wait, aren't you doing pretty well in class? i've seen your test scores when i'm grading and you're like, consistently in the top range
jake<3: not that you CAN'T get tutoring obviously! everyone can benefit from extra help
jake<3: i just want to make sure you actually need it and aren't just being nice or something
god, he was even considerate about this. checking in to make sure you weren't wasting your time or money on something you didn't need. being thoughtful and genuine while you were over here manipulating the situation to manufacture more time with him.
you felt a twinge of something uncomfortable. guilt maybe. but you pushed it down.
you: i mean yeah my grades are okay, but i feel like i'm just memorising patterns without really UNDERSTANDING the concepts you know? like i can solve the problems but i couldn't explain WHY
you: i just want to make sure i actually get it. especially since the material keeps building on itself
it wasn't entirely a lie. you did sometimes feel like you were pattern-matching your way through assignments. and deeper understanding was always good. these were reasonable concerns. the fact that they weren't your primary motivation didn't make them untrue.
jake<3: oh yeah that makes total sense actually. i see that a lot with students. they can execute but the underlying logic isn't solid
jake<3: okay yeah we can definitely work on that! my rate is $20/hour but honestly for you i'd be happy to just do it for free? since we're already working together on the project anyway
you: no way i'm paying you. you're already helping me so much with the project
jake<3: the project is a two person thing, you're helping me just as much
jake<3: but okay we can argue about payment later. when works for you?
you felt that warm, dangerous flutter again. he'd offered to tutor you for free. just casually, like it was no big deal. like spending extra time with you was something he actively wanted to do, even without compensation.
you: i'm pretty flexible. whenever you have time
jake<3: thursdays at 7? we could do the library again or somewhere on our floor if you want somewhere quieter
jake<3: also i promise i'll actually TEACH and not just fix your code for you like last time lol
you smiled at your phone. somewhere on your floor. which meant his room or yours. which meant private, just the two of you, no other students around.
you: thursdays work for me!
jake<3: cool! we can switch off. i'll bring snacks
jake<3: this'll be fun :)
he'd sent a smiley face. an actual emoticon. it shouldn't have made your heart skip but it did.
you locked your phone and sat on your bed, that satisfaction settling warm in your chest. you'd done it. you'd created a legitimate, recurring excuse to see jake outside of project work. an hour a week, minimum, where you'd have his complete attention. where you could sit close to him in the privacy of a dorm room, help him help you, let those boundaries get just a little bit blurrier.
it was harmless. he was offering tutoring anyway, you were just taking him up on it. and yeah, maybe your motivations weren't entirely pure, but you weren't lying to him. not really. you did want to understand the material better. the fact that you also wanted to be around him more was just. additional context. secondary reasoning.
you were being smart about this, honestly. creating opportunities without being pushy. letting things develop naturally within structures that already existed.
you ignored the small, quiet voice in the back of your mind that whispered this was too much. that you were engineering situations and manufacturing proximity and maybe that wasn't as harmless as you wanted to believe. that jake was offering to help you in good faith while you had an agenda he knew nothing about.
you were good at ignoring that voice.
your phone buzzed again.
jake<3: btw i've been thinking about the database structure and i had an idea
and just like that you were smiling again, typing back, that uncomfortable feeling dissolving into something easier and warmer and more immediately gratifying.
it was fine. everything was fine. this was just tutoring. just spending time with someone you enjoyed being around. there was nothing wrong with that.
nothing wrong with it at all.
you'd been doing the tutoring sessions for three weeks when your roommate officially moved out. well, not officially officially. her stuff was still there, her side of the room still technically occupied. but she'd been spending every night at her boyfriend's off-campus apartment for the past month, and one day she just stopped pretending she was coming back.
"i'm still paying rent," she'd said, shoving clothes into a duffel bag. "so like, it's still my room. i'll probably crash here sometimes. but you basically have the place to yourself."
you'd nodded sympathetically while internally celebrating. your own space. privacy. no need to coordinate schedules or deal with her boyfriend's annoying habits. it was perfect.
it took you less than a day to realise it was perfect for other reasons too.
the next tutoring session was supposed to be in the library. thursday at seven, like always. but you'd been sitting in your empty apartment that afternoon, looking at your space with new eyes, and the idea had planted itself so naturally you'd almost convinced yourself it was practical.
you: hey, would you maybe want to do tutoring at my place tonight instead? my roommate moved in with her boyfriend so it's way quieter than the library
you: totally fine if you prefer the library though!
the response took longer than usual. long enough that you started second-guessing yourself. maybe this was too much. too obvious. crossing some line from study partner into something else.
jake<3: oh
jake<3: um
jake<3: yeah that's fine. if you're sure?
jake<3: i don't want to like. intrude or anything
jake<3: but yeah quieter is definitely better for focusing
you: you're not intruding i literally invited you haha
you: i'm in 3B. just come by at 7
jake<3: okay! see you then
you spent the next two hours in a cleaning frenzy you absolutely did not want to examine too closely. you weren't trying to impress him. you just wanted the place to look nice and presentable. the fact that you changed your clothes twice and lit a candle that made the whole apartment smell like vanilla and sandalwood was just. coincidence.
the knock came at exactly seven. jake was annoyingly punctual.
you opened the door to find him standing in the hallway looking uncertain, backpack slung over one shoulder, holding a bag of chips. "hi," he said. "i brought snacks. i didn't know what you liked so i just got the variety pack."
"you didn't have to do that."
"i know, but—" he shifted his weight. "i don't know, it felt weird showing up empty-handed."
you stepped back to let him in, watching as he moved into your space with obvious hesitation. he didn't walk in so much as carefully entered, like he was worried about disturbing something. his eyes went immediately to your walls, taking in the art prints you'd hung, the string lights, the bookshelf crammed with novels and textbooks. then to your desk setup, the small kitchen area, the couch that your roommate had left behind.
"wow," he said quietly. "this is. really nice."
"it's just a dorm apartment."
"no, i know, but—" he gestured vaguely at everything. "it's decorated. like, actually decorated. my place looks like a prison cell compared to this." he was still standing near the door, like he hadn't fully committed to being here. "is that an original print?"
you glanced at the framed artwork he was pointing at. "yeah. local artist. i got it at a campus market thing."
"it's really cool." he finally took a few more steps inside, setting his backpack down carefully on the floor like he was afraid it might scuff something. his attention caught on your kitchen counter, where you'd left out the fancy coffee you'd bought yesterday. the expensive cheese and crackers. the fruit you'd pre-cut and arranged in a bowl because apparently you were that person now.
jake went quiet for a second. then he laughed, but it sounded a little uncomfortable. "okay i have to ask. are you like, rich?"
you felt your face heat. "what? no."
"because this—" he gestured at your apartment again, at the candle burning on your coffee table, the throw blanket artfully draped over your couch, the general aesthetic coherence of the space. "this seems like. i don't know. very put together for a college student."
"i just like my space to feel nice," you said, defensive. "there's nothing wrong with that."
"no, definitely not! i didn't mean—" he ran a hand through his hair, flustered. "i just meant. my room has like, a bed and a desk and some clothes on the floor. this looks like an apartment from a magazine. in a good way," he added quickly. "it's impressive. i'm just. you know. mildly intimidated."
"don't be intimidated," you said, softer now. trying for casual. "seriously, make yourself comfortable. do you want something to drink? i have coffee, tea, juice, those fancy sparkling waters—"
"you have fancy sparkling water?"
"they were on sale."
they were absolutely not on sale. you'd bought them specifically because you remembered jake mentioning he liked trying different flavours. but he didn't need to know that.
"um, sure. i'll try one." he was still standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room, like he couldn't figure out where he was allowed to exist.
you grabbed two cans from the fridge, handing him one and gesturing toward the couch. "we can work there if you want. or the desk. whatever's comfortable."
"couch is good," he said, finally sitting down and immediately looking slightly less tense. he opened the sparkling water, took a sip, and made a surprised noise. "oh this is actually really good."
"told you." you sat next to him, closer than you would have in the library. not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him next to you. close enough that when he leaned forward to pull his laptop out of his backpack, you caught that familiar scent of soap and citrus.
he pulled up the lesson he'd prepared, something about optimisation algorithms, and fell into his teaching rhythm. you'd noticed this about jake before. when he was explaining code, he became more confident. less apologetic. his hands moved as he talked, tracing invisible diagrams in the air, and his whole face became more animated.
you were trying to focus. really, you were. but you kept getting distracted by the fact that he was here, in your space, sitting on your couch. his knee bumped yours at one point and he apologised even though it was barely contact. you told him it was fine. his handwriting was neat when he sketched out examples in your notebook. he had a small scar on his left hand you'd never noticed before.
"are you following?" he asked, glancing over at you.
"yeah," you said, snapping back to attention. "sorry. just thinking."
"it's kind of a dense topic," he said, apologetic again. "we can take a break if you need."
"no, keep going. you're good at this."
something in his expression softened. "thanks. i—i actually really like doing this. the tutoring, i mean. it's nice having someone to talk through concepts with who actually cares about understanding them properly." he paused, looking around your apartment again like he was seeing it with fresh eyes. "and this is. yeah. this is better than the library for sure."
"yeah?"
"the library's always so loud, even in the quiet sections. and people keep interrupting to ask if they can take chairs from our table." he settled back into your couch slightly, his shoulders loosening. "this is way better. i can actually think here."
you felt that dangerous satisfaction bloom in your chest. this is better. i can actually think here. he was comfortable. in your space. comfortable enough to relax, to take up room, to exist without that careful hesitation he'd had when he first arrived.
"we should do all our sessions here," you said, trying to sound casual. "if you're cool with it."
jake glanced at you, then around the apartment again. for a second you thought he might question it. might recognise this for what it was. but then he just smiled, easy and genuine. "yeah, i'd like that. this is really nice."
"cool," you said. your heart was doing that annoying fluttery thing again.
you went back to the lesson, jake's voice steady and patient as he walked you through increasingly complex problems. his knee stayed pressed against yours. he'd stopped apologising for taking up space. he reached for the fancy crackers you'd set out without asking if it was okay first, just casual and comfortable like he belonged here.
and god help you, you liked seeing him like this. liked having him in your space, surrounded by your things, relaxed and focused and entirely unaware of how much thought you'd put into creating this exact scenario.
he was more comfortable here than he should be. settling into your life with an ease that should have alarmed you but instead just made you want to pull him deeper.
you were playing a game he didn't know existed. creating intimacy in careful increments. manufacturing closeness that felt organic to him but was entirely designed by you.
"okay your turn," jake said, pushing your laptop toward you. "try implementing that function we just talked through."
you pulled the computer into your lap, fingers moving over the keys, hyper-aware of jake watching. of his presence next to you, patient and encouraging. of how easy it would be to let this become routine. thursday nights on your couch, just the two of you, the rest of the world locked outside.
professor kim handed back midterms on a wednesday, and the energy in the lecture hall was exactly what you'd expect. nervous shuffling, people immediately comparing scores, that girl in the front row who always cried regardless of her grade already tearing up.
you flipped your exam over and saw the 100 staring back at you. perfect score. you felt a flush of satisfaction that had nothing to do with the grade itself and everything to do with the fact that jake would see it.
"holy shit," yunjin whispered, leaning over to look. "you got a perfect score?"
"apparently."
"that's insane. i got an 87 and i thought i did well." she shook her head, impressed and maybe slightly annoyed. "what did jake think? he must be so proud, that's basically a direct result of his tutoring."
speaking of jake, he was two rows behind you, and you could hear his friends' voices carrying.
"dude, you got a 98," one of them said. "that's insane."
"i missed this one question," jake said, and he sounded genuinely disappointed. "i can't believe i mixed up the time complexity."
you turned around without really thinking about it, catching his eye. he was already looking at you, and his face did this thing, this hopeful uncertain thing. "how'd you do?"
you held up your exam. his eyes widened.
"you got a hundred?" he said it loud enough that a few people glanced over. then he was standing up, moving past his friends, coming down to your row with his exam still in his hand. "holy shit, that's—that's amazing. you—" he stopped himself, looking almost embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. "sorry, i'm like. weirdly excited about this."
"don't apologise," you said, smiling despite yourself. "you sound more excited than i am."
"because i—" he gestured at your exam, then at you. "you understood it. like really understood it. i could tell during our sessions that things were clicking but seeing it actually translate to a perfect score is just—" he ran his hand through his hair, grinning in a way that made your stomach flip. "i'm really proud of you."
the words hit you weird. i'm proud of you. said with such genuine warmth, such unironic sincerity. like your success was somehow his success too. like he was personally invested in your performance because he'd helped you get there.
except you hadn't really needed the help. you'd manufactured the entire situation. you'd been doing fine before the tutoring started and you'd probably have gotten a perfect score regardless. jake's proud smile was based on a false premise. he thought he'd helped you achieve something when really you'd just. used him. used his time and his patience and his genuine desire to help people, all so you could sit close to him once a week.
something uncomfortable twisted in your chest. you shoved it down.
"i couldn't have done it without you," you said, because that's what you were supposed to say. what he expected to hear. even if it made you feel slightly sick.
"i know, i know. it's a good grade. i just hate making careless mistakes." he smiled at you again, softer this time. "but seriously, i'm really happy for you. you worked really hard for this."
"we should celebrate," you said, before you could second-guess it. "both of us. good scores, successful tutoring, whatever. come over tonight? i'll make dinner, we can watch a movie. my treat, as a thank you."
jake hesitated, just for a second. "you don't have to thank me."
"i want to," you said firmly with a smile. "you've been helping me for weeks and not accepting any payment. the least i can do is feed you."
"when you put it that way." he was smiling again, that easy smile that made your heart do stupid things. "yeah, okay. what time?"
"seven?"
"perfect."
...
you went slightly overboard with dinner. not crazy overboard, just. more effort than was strictly necessary for a casual thank-you meal. homemade pasta, the good parmesan, a salad that actually had more than three ingredients. you'd also bought wine, which felt very adult and sophisticated until you remembered you were literally just having your study partner over.
jake showed up at seven on the dot, holding a bag of cookies from the expensive bakery near campus. "i know you said your treat, but i can't show up empty-handed," he explained, handing them over. "it's like, physically impossible for me."
"you're ridiculous."
"i've been told." he stepped inside, immediately more comfortable than he'd been that first time. he knew where to put his shoes now, where to set his bag. he went straight for the couch like he belonged there.
dinner was easy. conversation flowed naturally, jumping from classes to campus gossip to a debate about whether the dining hall pizza was underrated or genuinely terrible. jake argued passionately for underrated, gesturing with his fork, getting sauce on his chin that he didn't notice until you pointed it out. he laughed, embarrassed, wiping it away.
"wine?" you offered, after you'd cleared the plates.
"oh, um. sure?" he looked uncertain. "i'm not really a big drinker."
"me neither. but we're celebrating, right?"
"right." he accepted the glass you poured, taking a small sip and making a face. "god, why do people like this? it tastes like someone made juice go bad on purpose."
you laughed despite yourself. "it's an acquired taste."
"that's what people say about things that are objectively bad." but he took another sip anyway, settling back into the couch as you pulled up netflix.
you ended up on some action movie neither of you had seen, the kind with improbable stunts and a plot that didn't require much attention. which was good, because you weren't really watching it. you were too aware of jake next to you, closer than he needed to be, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours. he'd finished his wine faster than you expected and seemed looser now, more animated. he kept making commentary on the movie, pointing out plot holes and questionable physics, his hands moving as he talked.
"—and there's no way that building would still be structurally sound after that explosion," he was saying, gesturing at the screen. "like, basic engineering, you know?"
"you're thinking too hard about it."
"i can't help it. my brain won't turn off." he glanced at you, something warm in his expression. "this is nice though. just hanging out. we're always studying or talking about the project, it's cool to just…exist. without an agenda."
without an agenda. the words hit harder than they should have. because you did have an agenda. you'd had one this entire time. this whole evening was carefully constructed, from the homemade dinner to the wine to the deliberately casual intimacy of it all.
"yeah," you managed. "it's nice."
the movie continued. jake shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours. you didn't move away. his arm ended up along the back of the couch, not quite around your shoulders but close enough that you could feel the warmth of it. neither of you acknowledged it, but neither of you adjusted either.
"can i ask you something?" jake said during a particularly slow part of the movie.
"sure."
"why did you pick me? for the project, i mean." he was looking at you now instead of the screen, his expression curious and open. "you could've worked with your friends. people you already knew. but you walked all the way across the lecture hall to ask me."
your heart kicked up. "i told you. you're good at this stuff."
"yeah, but." he paused, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase something. "it felt like. i don't know. like you went out of your way. and i've been trying to figure out if i'm reading too much into it or if there was something else."
the air felt suddenly thinner. "something else like what?"
"i don't know." he laughed, self-conscious. "i'm probably being weird. forget i said anything."
"jake."
"i just—" he met your eyes, and there was something vulnerable in his expression that made your breath catch. "i really like spending time with you. like, more than i probably should for someone who's just a project partner and tutoring student. and sometimes i think maybe you. i don't know, feel the same? but i'm also really bad at reading these things so i'm probably completely wrong."
oh. oh.
"you're not wrong," you said quietly.
his eyes widened slightly. "i'm not?"
instead of answering, you leaned in. gave him enough time to pull back, to stop this, but he didn't. he met you halfway, his lips soft and uncertain against yours. for a second neither of you moved, the kiss chaste and almost careful. then something shifted. his hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and you pressed closer, your fingers curling into his shirt.
jake made a soft sound against your mouth, surprise or maybe pleasure, and kissed you back with more confidence. his other hand found your waist, tentative at first then firmer, pulling you closer. you ended up in his lap somehow, his hands spanning your back, your fingers threading through his hair. he tasted like wine and something sweet from the cookies he'd brought.
"is this okay?" he whispered against your lips, breathing hard.
"yes," you said, and kissed him again before he could second-guess it.
his hands moved under your shirt, warm against your skin, and you felt him shiver when you rolled your hips experimentally. "god," he breathed, sounding almost pained. "we should—are we really—"
"do you want to stop?"
"no. god, no. i just—" he looked up at you, pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen. "i didn't think this would happen. i'm not. i don't usually."
"it's okay," you said softly, meaning it. "we don't have to do anything you don't want."
jake didn’t stop you. instead, he seemed to melt into the contact, his hands trembling as they slid further up your back, skin hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. when you moved to guide him off the couch and onto the rug, he followed with a sort of dazed compliance, his glasses slightly askew on his face.
you knelt between his legs, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. the movie was still playing—some distant sound of tires screeching—but all you could hear was the ragged, uneven hitch of jake’s breath. when you reached for the button of his jeans, his hand flew to your wrist, not to stop you, but just to steady himself. his knuckles were white.
"are you sure?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "i—i'm not... i don't want to mess this up. our project, the tutoring... i don't want to make things weird for you."
"jake," you said, looking up at him through your lashes. "shut up and let me."
he let out a shaky, half-strangled laugh, his head hitting the base of the couch as he let go of your wrist. "okay. okay, yeah. shutting up."
as you eased his jeans down, you realised the lanky, awkward way he carried himself in the halls was a massive deception. he was built with a surprising, heavy sturdiness that the oversized hoodies always hid. his legs were long, his thighs thick with the kind of muscle that suggested he actually did play soccer as more than just a hobby. and when you finally freed him, you couldn't help the small, sharp intake of breath that escaped you.
"jake," you breathed, your eyes widening. "holy..."
he groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, and covered his eyes with his forearm. "don't. don't look at me like that. i know. i'm sorry, is it... is it too much? i can—"
"it's perfect," you cut him off, reaching out to touch him. his skin was searing, and the moment your fingers closed around him, his entire body jolted like he’d been hit with a live wire.
when you leaned forward to take him into your mouth, jake’s reaction was explosive. he arched off the floor, his fingers tangling desperately in your hair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. he was so sensitive, so completely overwhelmed by the sensation that it felt like he was losing his grip on reality.
"oh god," he choked out, his voice high and strained. "wait, wait—that's—you’re so... the pressure, i can't—"
you didn't slow down. you liked the way he lost his composure, the way the articulate, logical TA was reduced to incoherent stutters. you used your hands to keep him steady, your tongue swirling around the head of him, and jake’s hips began to move in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm. he was trying to keep some semblance of control, trying to stay "polite," but the sheer intensity of it was breaking him.
"i'm gonna... i'm actually gonna..." he gasped, his hands tightening in your hair, pulling you closer until he was practically burying himself in you. "please, don't stop. don't stop, just like that—right there—"
he hit his limit with a loud, guttural shout that was muffled only by the back of his hand as he bit down on his own knuckles to stay quiet. his body went rigid, muscles in his arms and chest standing out in sharp relief as he came, the force of it leaving him limp and shuddering against the couch.
it took him a long time to come back down. for several minutes, the only sound in the room was his heavy, labouring breath and the flickering light of the tv. you pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling a fierce, glowing sense of triumph. he looked completely wrecked—hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear, chest heaving.
you felt powerful. you’d spent weeks engineering this, calculating every move, and seeing him like this—totally undone by you—was better than any perfect exam score.
"you okay?" you asked, leaning your chin on his knee.
jake let out a long, shaky exhale, finally moving his arm to look at you. his eyes were hazy, his face flushed a deep, beautiful red. "i... think my brain just short-circuited," he whispered, a small, dazed smile tugging at his lips.
"in a good way?"
"in the best way." he reached out, his fingers trembling as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. "thank you. seriously. i don't—i don't even know what to say."
you smiled, leaning into his touch. the apartment was warm, the air still smelling of vanilla. "you don't have to say anything. you should just stay."
the words were soft, natural. it felt like the obvious next step. but the second they left your mouth, you felt the shift.
it was subtle at first—the way jake’s fingers went still against your skin. then his pupils, which had been blown wide with pleasure, suddenly constricted. he blinked, the haziness clearing as his internal "problem-solving mode" kicked back in with a vengeance.
"stay?" he repeated, his voice sounding suddenly small.
"yeah. it's late, and it's cold out. just stay over. we can... i don't know, wake up and have coffee. maybe look at the project again."
jake’s eyes darted toward his hands, then to his backpack, then to the door. the relaxation in his shoulders vanished, replaced by a rigid, frantic tension. he looked like he’d just realised he was standing in the middle of a minefield.
"i—" he started, scrambling to pull his jeans up. he was moving so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. "i can't. i mean, i should... i have that grading to finish. for kim. and i—i didn't bring my toothbrush. or my meds. and my roommate, he—he'll wonder where i am. he gets worried."
"jake, it’s fine, you can borrow—"
"no!" he said, a bit too loudly. he was fumbling with his belt, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely loop it through. he wouldn't look at you. his face wasn't flushed with pleasure anymore; it was pale, his expression twisted into something that looked dangerously like panic. "no, i really should go. i’m sorry. i just... i realised the time. i have to go."
you stood up, feeling a cold, hollow pit open in your stomach. "did i do something wrong? was it... was it too much?"
"no! no, it was... it was amazing," he said, finally getting his shoes on, not even bothering to tie the laces. he grabbed his backpack, clutching it to his chest like a shield. "it was too amazing. that's the... that's the problem. i'm—i'm not good at this. i think i need to... i need to think. logically. about the implications."
"the implications?" you asked, your voice rising with a sharp, hurt edge. "it was just a night, jake. it doesn't have to be a 'logical problem' to solve."
"i know, i know. i'm sorry. i’m just... i'm a mess." he backed toward the door, his hand fumbling for the handle behind his back. "i'll text you? about the project? we still have that deadline on tuesday."
"jake—"
"goodnight! thank you for dinner. the pasta was really... the texture was perfect. okay. bye."
he practically fell out of the door, the sound of his hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway as he sprinted toward the stairs.
the click of the door closing felt final. you stood in the centre of your perfectly decorated, candle-lit apartment, surrounded by the remnants of the dinner you’d spent hours on. the half-empty wine glasses, the bag of expensive cookies, the rumpled rug.
you felt a hot, stinging prickle behind your eyes. you’d done everything right. you’d been strategic, patient, and kind. you’d gotten him to open up, to trust you, to want you. and yet, watching him run away like you were a bug in his code—something to be deleted or fixed—hurt more than any midterm failure ever could.
you sat back down on the couch, the silence of the room suddenly feeling just as oppressive as it had back in the computer lab. you picked up your phone, looking at his last text. this'll be fun :)
you threw the phone onto the cushions and buried your face in your hands, the smell of his citrus shampoo still clinging to your skin, mocking you.
jake didn't text.
you stared at your phone for the entire next day, watching the screen like you could will a message into existence. the "i'll text you" he'd thrown over his shoulder before fleeing felt increasingly like a polite lie. by saturday afternoon you broke first.
you: hey, you okay?
the message sat there. delivered, but no response.
you tried again sunday morning, going for casual.
you: still on for project work this week?
still no response.
by monday you'd moved past confusion into something that felt uncomfortably like panic. this wasn't how things worked. people didn't just. stop responding to you. they didn't ignore you or avoid you or remove you from their orbit like you were some problem to be managed. you were used to being wanted, pursued, the one who had to let people down gently. this reversed dynamic was unfamiliar and honestly humiliating.
you saw him in the dining hall on tuesday. he was with his friends, laughing at something one of them said, looking completely normal. like nothing had happened. like he hadn't been on your couch four days ago falling apart under your touch.
you started walking toward their table before you could think better of it, but jake's eyes flicked up, met yours for a fraction of a second, and then he was standing, gathering his tray, saying something to his friends. they all got up and left. just. left. walked out the side exit while you stood there holding your lunch like an idiot.
yunjin grabbed your arm. "okay, what the hell was that?"
"nothing," you said, but your voice came out wrong.
"that was not nothing. did something happen with you and jake?"
"no. i don't know. it's complicated."
it wasn't complicated. it was actually pretty simple. you'd pushed too hard and now he wanted nothing to do with you.
wednesday he wasn't in his usual spot in lecture. you spent the entire class scanning the room, finally spotting him in the very back corner, a place he'd never sat before. he kept his eyes on his laptop the entire time, didn't look up once. when class ended he was the first one out the door.
thursday was supposed to be tutoring. seven pm, his room or yours, the standing appointment you'd had for weeks now. you waited in your apartment, laptop open to the half-finished project, telling yourself he'd show up. he was responsible and dedicated. he wouldn't just bail without saying anything.
seven came and went. then seven-thirty. by eight you accepted he wasn't coming.
you: are we still working together on the project? i need to know so i can plan accordingly.
again, no response.
friday morning you were walking to class when you saw him ahead of you on the path. for once he hadn't spotted you first. you sped up, closing the distance, and watched in real time as he seemed to sense your presence. his shoulders tensed. then he took a sharp left turn down a path that definitely wasn't toward any of his classes. he was actively avoiding you. taking different routes. altering his entire routine just to not run into you.
something hot and humiliated burned in your chest.
by next week, you'd had enough. you knew his schedule. knew he had algorithms right before lunch on mondays, in the engineering building, third floor. you positioned yourself outside the classroom before class ended, ignoring the curious looks from other students filing out. you spotted jake immediately when the doors opened. he saw you at the same moment and actually stopped walking, causing someone behind him to bump into his back.
"we need to talk," you said.
"i have—i need to get to—"
"jake." your voice came out sharper than intended. "five minutes. please."
something in his expression shifted. resignation maybe. he nodded once, following you to an empty study room down the hall. you closed the door. the small space suddenly felt suffocating.
"you've been ignoring me," you said.
"i know."
"for a week. you didn't text, you didn't show up to tutoring, you're literally avoiding me on campus."
"i know," he said again, quieter. he wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed somewhere around your shoulder. "i'm sorry. that wasn't— i should have communicated better."
"so communicate now. what's going on?"
jake was quiet for a long moment. when he finally spoke, his voice was careful. measured. "what happened last week. that crossed a line for me."
"we both wanted it."
"did we?" he looked at you now, and there was something in his expression that made your stomach drop. "because i've been thinking about it a lot. about how we got there. and i feel like. i don't know. like maybe i missed something."
"what do you mean?"
"the tutoring," he said. "you didn't actually need it, did you? your grades were already good. and the project. you had friends you could have worked with. people you actually knew. but you picked me." he paused. "why did you pick me?"
the question hung in the air between you. you could lie. deflect. but something about the way he was looking at you, patient and a little sad, made it feel pointless.
"i liked you," you said finally. "i wanted to spend time with you."
"okay." he nodded slowly. "so the tutoring was. what. an excuse? a way to manufacture time together?"
"it wasn't like that."
"wasn't it though?" there was no anger in his voice. just. tiredness. "because from my perspective, i thought i was helping someone who needed help. i thought we were becoming friends. and then suddenly we're… doing that. and i'm trying to figure out when the shift happened and i can't. because maybe there was no shift. maybe that's what you wanted the whole time and i just didn't see it."
"i did want to be your friend," you said, defensive now. "i wasn't. it's not like i was using you."
"weren't you?"
the words hit harder than they should have. because he wasn't wrong. you had used him. used his kindness, his eagerness to help, his complete inability to see through your motivations. you'd engineered situations and manufactured proximity and told yourself it was harmless.
"i like you," jake said, and somehow that made it worse. "i really do. but i feel. god, i don't even know how to explain it. exposed? like you saw something in me that made me an easy target and you just. went for it. and i didn't even realise what was happening until it had already happened."
"that's not—"
"and the thing is," he continued, talking over you gently, "you're so far out of my league. like, objectively. you're smart and pretty and confident and you have your shit together. and i'm just. me. i'm awkward and i ramble and i spend friday nights debugging code for fun. so the fact that you were interested never made sense. i kept waiting for it to click, for me to understand why, and now i think i do. it wasn't about me. it was about. i don't know. the chase? the conquest? i was a project to you."
"no," you said, but your voice came out weak. "jake, that's not true. you weren't a project."
"then what was i?"
you didn't have an answer. or you did, but it was complicated and messy and saying it out loud would mean admitting things you didn't want to admit.
jake sighed. "i'm not trying to be cruel. i'm really not. but being around you right now makes me feel uncomfortable. like i can't trust my own judgement because i didn't see any of this coming. and that's. that's my issue to work through. but i need space to do it."
"what about the class project?"
"we can do it over email. divide up the work, combine it at the end. we don't have to see each other."
"and tutoring?"
"i think we should stop. you don't actually need it anyway."
each sentence felt like a door closing. practical, reasonable, and completely final.
"i'm sorry," you said, and meant it. "i didn't mean to. i wasn't trying to hurt you."
"i know," jake said, and he sounded sincere. "i don't think you set out to do anything malicious. i just think you didn't really consider how it would feel from my side. and now we're here."
"so that's it? we just stop talking?"
"for now, yeah. maybe later we can be normal around each other. but right now i need. distance."
he moved toward the door, his hand on the handle. you wanted to say something, anything that would fix this. some argument that would make him see you differently. but looking at his face, at the quiet certainty there, you knew there was nothing you could say. he'd made up his mind. he'd set a boundary. and you had no choice but to respect it.
"i really am sorry," you said again.
"i know," jake said. "me too."
then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with that same horrible finality. you stood there in the empty study room, staring at the space where he'd been.
you couldn't even argue with his reasoning. everything he'd said was true. you had manufactured situations. you had used his kindness and his obliviousness to get what you wanted. you'd told yourself it was harmless, that your feelings were real even if your methods were questionable.
but intent didn't matter when the impact was someone feeling manipulated and exposed.
you left the study room feeling hollowed out. the campus looked the same. people laughed and talked and went about their days. somewhere out there jake was probably headed to lunch with his friends, relieved to have finally said what he needed to say.
and you were just. alone. with the sharp realisation that you'd ruined something before it even had a chance to be real.
the party was exactly the kind of loud, chaotic mess you needed. bass thrumming through the floors, bodies packed into every available space, the air thick with sweat and cheap alcohol and too many competing perfumes. yunjin had dragged you here, insisting you needed to "get out of your head" after moping around for two weeks straight.
so here you were. red cup in hand, smile fixed in place, laughing at jokes you weren't really hearing. performing normalcy while your brain kept circling the same thoughts on loop. jake's face in that study room. the careful way he'd said i need space. the hollow feeling that had taken up permanent residence in your chest.
"you good?" beomgyu asked, leaning close to be heard over the music.
"yeah, great," you said automatically, taking another drink.
you were on your third. or fourth. you'd stopped counting. the alcohol sat warm in your stomach but hadn't managed to quiet your thoughts yet. maybe if you drank enough you'd stop replaying every conversation with jake, analysing every moment for signs you'd missed, evidence of how thoroughly you'd fucked everything up.
"i'm gonna get another drink," you said to no one in particular, pushing through the crowd toward the kitchen.
that's when you saw him.
jake. standing near the makeshift bar someone had set up on the counter, red cup in hand, talking to a girl you didn't recognise. and he was laughing. actually laughing, head thrown back, completely at ease in a way that made something hot and ugly twist in your chest.
because he never looked like that with you. even before everything went wrong, even during those tutoring sessions in your apartment when you'd thought you were building something real, he'd always been slightly careful and polite, like he was containing himself. but now he was loose and animated, gesturing with his free hand while the girl laughed at whatever he was saying, her hand resting on his arm.
her hand was on his arm.
you watched as she leaned closer, saying something that made jake grin. that specific grin, the one where his eyes crinkled at the corners and you could see his perfect teeth on display. you'd thought that smile was special. something you'd earned. but apparently he was just like this, with everyone who wasn't you.
the jealousy hit so hard it felt physical. burning through your chest, turning your vision sharp and focused. you were moving before you'd decided to, weaving through people, your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
jake saw you coming. his smile faltered, something uncertain crossing his face. "hey—"
"who's this?" you said, gesturing at the girl. your voice came out sharper than you'd intended, heavy with something you couldn't quite name.
the girl looked between you and jake, confused. "i'm mina. jungwon's sister remember? we just met like ten minutes ago."
"oh right." you focused on jake, ignoring her entirely. "you look like you're having fun."
"i—yeah?" jake's eyebrows drew together. "it's a party?"
"funny how you can make time for parties but couldn't respond to any of my texts about the assignment."
"i told you we could do it over email—"
"is that what you're doing right now? project work?" you knew you sounded irrational, accusatory, but you couldn't stop. the words kept spilling out, poisoned by alcohol and jealousy and two weeks of feeling like you'd been the only one affected by any of this.
"or are you just. moving on? found someone new to—"
"okay, i'm gonna go," mina said, backing away with her hands up. "this seems like. a thing. nice meeting you, jake."
she disappeared into the crowd. jake stared at you, his expression shifting from confused to something harder. "what the hell was that?"
"you tell me. you've been ignoring me for two weeks and now you're here flirting with random girls?"
"flirting?" jake's voice pitched up slightly. "flirting? i was literally just talking to her. she asked where the bathroom was and then we started chatting about the music. that's—that's not flirting, that's called being polite."
"she had her hand on your arm."
"so?" jake looked genuinely baffled now. "people touch arms when they talk. that doesn't mean anything. and even if it did—" he stopped himself, jaw tightening. "i don't owe you an explanation. you don't get to. we're not together. we're not anything."
the words hit exactly where they were meant to. "right. because you decided we're not."
"no, because you decided we weren't, like a month ago when you started playing games instead of just being honest." his voice was rising now, frustration bleeding through. "and now you're mad because i'm talking to someone else? you don't get to do that. you don't get to manipulate me into something and then act possessive when i try to move on."
"i'm not—" you started, but stopped. because he was right. you were being possessive and irrational. reading intent into a harmless conversation because you wanted there to be something there. wanted confirmation that jake was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him.
but he wasn't. he was just living his life. talking to people at parties. laughing easily with strangers. completely unaffected while you spiralled.
"i wasn't flirting with her," jake said, quieter now. tired. "i was just being friendly. that's what normal people do. they don't engineer entire relationships or manufacture situations. they just exist around each other."
"i know," you said, your voice coming out smaller than you wanted. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have. that was out of line."
jake nodded once, already turning away. "yeah. it was."
you watched him disappear back into the crowd, leaving you standing alone by the kitchen counter. your hands were shaking. you downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn doing nothing to quiet the noise in your head.
you'd just proven everything he'd said about you. possessive. manipulative. unable to let go. you'd projected your own feelings onto a completely innocent interaction and made a scene because you couldn't handle seeing him okay when you were so thoroughly not okay.
you'd been so certain. so sure he was flirting, that the girl meant something, that you'd caught him in some kind of lie. but you'd been wrong. completely, embarrassingly wrong. because you didn't actually know what jake was thinking. you never had. you'd just assumed, projected, filled in the gaps with your own narrative.
and now he was probably telling his friends what a psycho you were. probably regretting he'd ever let you into his life in the first place.
you grabbed another drink.
…
the party had devolved into that late-night haze where everything blurred together. people you didn't recognise, conversations you weren't part of, music that had gotten somehow both quieter and more invasive. you'd lost track of yunjin and beomgyu somewhere around drink number six. or seven. the room tilted slightly when you moved too fast.
you were trying to find your jacket, ready to call it a night, when you spotted him. jake. sitting alone on a couch in the corner, looking absolutely exhausted. his head kept drooping forward like he was fighting to stay conscious, then jerking back up. his eyes were half-closed, his usual careful posture completely abandoned.
you should walk past him. nothing good could come from another interaction tonight. you'd already embarrassed yourself once. but your feet carried you closer anyway, some magnetic pull you couldn't quite resist even knowing it was a bad idea.
you were almost past him when his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist. "don't," he said, not looking at you. his voice was rough, slurred slightly. "don't leave."
you stopped. "jake—"
"been trying," he mumbled, his grip loosening but not releasing. "trying so hard. but you make it impossible."
"what are you talking about?"
he finally looked up at you, and his eyes were unfocused, glassy with alcohol. "you. i'm talking about you. can't stop thinking about you. it's driving me insane."
your heart lurched. "you're drunk."
"i know but so are you," he said, like that explained everything. "that's the only reason i'm saying this. because sober me knows better. sober me has self-control and boundaries and all that shit." he pulled gently on your wrist, making you stumble slightly closer. "but drunk me is tired. so tired of pretending i don't want you."
"you said you needed space."
"i do need space. because when i'm around you i can't think straight. i can't trust myself." his words were coming out uneven, tripping over each other. "you think i was avoiding you because i was mad? i was avoiding you because if i saw you i'd—" he made a frustrated noise. "i'd do something stupid. like this. this is stupid."
you sat down next to him, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. "jake—"
"you're so pretty," he said, almost accusatory. "and you smell good. and you're smart, like actually smart, not just good at school. and when you laugh it's. it does things to me. and i hate it. i hate that you have this much power over me when i don't even know if you actually like me or if i'm just… convenient."
"i do like you," you said quietly. "i've liked you the whole time."
"but do you?" he turned to face you more fully, his eyes searching yours even though he seemed to be having trouble focusing. "or do you like the idea of me? the nerdy guy you can manipulate? your little project?"
"that's not—" you stopped. "it wasn't like that. it's not like that."
"then what is it like?" he was still holding your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. "because i've been trying to figure it out for weeks and i can't. i can't understand why you'd want me. what you get out of this. and maybe i'm just stupid but i need you to tell me. plainly. what do you want from me?"
"you," you said, the word coming out more honest than you'd intended. "just. you."
jake laughed, bitter and tired. "that doesn't make sense."
"i know."
"i'm not interesting. i'm not cool or funny or—"
"you are though," you interrupted. "you are all of those things. you just don't see it."
he went quiet for a long moment. then, so quietly you almost missed it: "i've been trying so hard not to want you back. because i knew—i know it's not good for me. but i can't stop. and i'm so tired of trying."
his hand slid from your wrist to your hand, fingers threading through yours. the touch was so much gentler than you expected, almost reverent. "i deleted your texts without reading them," he admitted. "because if i read them i'd respond. and if i responded i'd end up right back where i started. wanting you. letting you in. getting hurt."
"i don't want to hurt you."
"i know. that's what makes it worse." he leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closing. "you don't mean to. you just. do."
you didn't know what to say to that. didn't know how to fix the damage you'd done or convince him that your feelings were real when your actions had been so calculated. so you just sat there, holding his hand, feeling the warmth of him next to you.
"i missed you," jake said, so quiet you barely heard it over the music. "i fucking missed you and i hated myself for it."
"i missed you too."
"yeah?" he opened his eyes, looking at you with something raw and unguarded. "you missed manipulating me?"
"that's not fair."
"isn't it though?" but there was no heat in his words. just exhaustion. "god, i'm so tired. tired of being angry. tired of trying to stay away from you. tired of pretending i don't want you so badly it hurts."
the confession hung in the air between you. jake was looking at you like he was waiting for something, permission or rejection or maybe just confirmation that you'd heard him.
you leaned in. gave him time to pull away, to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea. but he didn't. he met you halfway, his lips crashing against yours with none of the careful hesitation from before. this was messy and desperate, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. he kissed you like he'd been holding back for too long, like all that careful control had finally snapped.
you shifted closer, practically climbing into his lap, and he made a sound against your mouth that went straight through you. his hands were everywhere, spanning your waist, sliding up your back, gripping like he was afraid you'd disappear if he loosened his hold even slightly.
"been thinking about this," he mumbled against your lips, barely pulling back enough to speak. "every night. hated myself for it but couldn't stop."
"me too," you admitted, kissing along his jaw. "i couldn't sleep. kept replaying everything."
"i lied about the texts i didn't respond to," he said, tilting his head to give you better access. "i read them. all of them before deleting. at like three am. read them over and over."
"why didn't you answer?"
"because i wanted to say things i shouldn't say. like how much i missed you. how i kept going to the lab hoping you'd be there. how seeing you at the party tonight fucking destroyed me even though i pretended i was fine." his hands tightened on your waist. "how i've been so fucking miserable without you."
you kissed him again, harder this time, swallowing his words. he responded immediately, pulling you fully into his lap now, and you could feel how much he wanted this, wanted you. it was overwhelming. intoxicating. the desperation in every touch, every small sound he made.
"we should," he said between kisses, "we should probably stop."
"do you want to stop?"
"no. god no." he pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, lips swollen. "but i'm drunk and you're drunk and tomorrow we're gonna regret—"
"i won't," you said firmly. "i won't regret this."
something shifted in his expression. softened. he touched your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache, thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "you're gonna break my heart," he said, not quite a question.
"i'm not."
"you will." but he kissed you anyway, softer this time. slower. like he was memorising the feel of you. "and i'm gonna let you. because i'm weak and pathetic and i want you so much i don't even care anymore."
"you're not weak."
"i am though." he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closing. "i'm so weak for you. it's embarrassing."
you could feel his exhaustion creeping in, the way his body was getting heavier against yours, his movements slowing. "come on," you said softly, standing and pulling him up with you. "let's get you somewhere you can actually sleep."
"don't wanna sleep," he protested, but let you guide him anyway. "wanna stay with you."
"you will. i'm not going anywhere."
you found an empty bedroom on the second floor, the door unlocked and the bed mercifully unoccupied. jake collapsed onto it immediately, pulling you down with him. he was asleep within minutes, his arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck. his breathing evened out, deep and steady.
you should probably feel guilty. taking advantage of his drunken honesty, letting him confess things he'd normally keep locked away. but you were too tired, too overwhelmed by everything he'd said. i want you so badly it hurts. i've been so fucking miserable without you. you're gonna break my heart and i'm gonna let you.
you didn't have answers. didn't have promises you could make. didn't know how to fix the fundamental imbalance between you, the manipulation and hurt that had gotten you here.
but for now, in this quiet room with jake's warmth pressed against you, you could pretend tomorrow didn't exist. could pretend this was simple. just two people who wanted each other, tangled together in the dark, nothing more complicated than that.
you fell asleep still wearing your shoes, jake's arms tight around you, his heartbeat steady against your chest.
you woke to pale morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the warm weight of jake still wrapped around you. for a disorienting moment you couldn't place where you were. then it came back in pieces. the party. the confrontation. jake's drunken confessions. falling asleep tangled together.
jake stirred against you, his breath catching as he woke. you felt the exact moment awareness returned, the way his body went tense. slowly, carefully, he pulled back just enough to look at you. his hair was a disaster, sticking up in every direction. his glasses sat crooked on the nightstand. his eyes were cautious but clear.
"hi," he said quietly.
"hi."
he didn't let go of you. didn't immediately scramble away or apologise or retreat into panic like last time. he just looked at you, searching your face for something.
"i said a lot of things last night," he finally said.
"yeah."
"i meant them." his voice was serious, steady despite the embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "i know i was drunk, and i probably shouldn't have said half of it, but. i meant it. all of it."
your heart kicked up. "jake—"
"i like you," he said, cutting you off gently. "i've liked you since that first night in the lab when you were stressed about your code and i got to actually help you with something. and it's been killing me trying to stay away from you because every time i see you i just. want you. so much that it scares me."
"why does it scare you?"
"because i don't know how to want someone this much and still protect myself." he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see you better. "last time i didn't protect myself at all. i just. gave in. and then i panicked because it felt too big, too fast, and i didn't know how to handle it."
"and now?"
"now i'm still terrified," he admitted. "but i'm more scared of not trying. of walking away and spending the rest of college wondering what could have happened if i'd just. been brave enough to give you a real chance."
you felt something tight in your chest start to loosen. "i want that. a real chance. i want to do this right."
"yeah?"
"yeah." you reached up, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. "i'm sorry. for all of it. the manipulation, the games, not being honest about what i wanted. you deserved better than that."
"i know," jake said simply. then, softer: "but i also know you were scared too. just in a different way."
he leaned down, kissing you with a gentleness that made your chest ache. different from last night's desperate intensity. this was slow, careful, almost questioning. you kissed him back, trying to pour everything you couldn't quite say into it. apology and promise and want all tangled together.
when he pulled back his eyes were dark, pupils blown. "i want to try again," he said. "properly this time. but i need you to be honest with me. about what you want. about what this is."
"i want you," you said. "not as a project or a conquest or whatever i convinced myself it was before. just you jake."
something in his expression softened. "okay," he said. "okay. we can work with that."
he kissed you again, deeper this time, and you felt his weight settle more fully over you. "i want to make it up to you," he murmured against your lips. "for running away before. for making you feel like you did something wrong when i was just scared."
"you don't have to—"
"i want to." he was already kissing down your neck, hands sliding under your shirt. "let me. please."
there was something in his voice, almost pleading, that made you nod. he smiled against your skin, helping you out of your clothes with more confidence than he'd had before. when you were bare beneath him he just. looked. taking his time, hands mapping your body like he was memorising every detail.
"you're so pretty," he said, almost reverent. "i thought about this. about you. so many times."
then he was moving lower, pressing kisses down your stomach, your hip bones, the inside of your thighs. when his breath ghosted over where you needed him most you couldn't help the small sound that escaped.
"tell me if anything's too much," he said, glancing up at you. then he lowered his mouth to you and your brain short-circuited.
he started slowly, almost tentatively, like he was learning you. his tongue moved in careful strokes, testing what made you gasp, what made your hips shift toward him. when he found the rhythm that had your fingers tightening in his hair, he made a low, satisfied sound against you that you felt everywhere.
"jake," you breathed, and he looked up at you through his lashes, pupils blown wide, lips glistening with your arousal.
"tell me," he said, voice rough. "tell me what feels good."
"that—" your words cut off as he did it again, tongue flicking over your clit with that same perfect pressure. "right there. just like that."
he was a quick learner. always had been. he catalogued every reaction, every sound you made, adjusting and refining. except this wasn't detached or analytical. this was hungry. desperate. he sucked your clit into his mouth and you moaned, loud and unrestrained, your thighs trembling on either side of his head.
"fuck, jake—"
"god, you taste so good," he mumbled against your pussy, barely pulling back enough to speak. his chin was wet, his glasses fogged slightly. "been thinking about this. wanted to do this right last time."
he was getting lost in it now, the careful control slipping into something messier, greedier. he alternated between focused attention on your clit and broad, indulgent strokes through your folds, like he couldn't decide between making you fall apart and simply savouring you. his tongue pushed inside you and you keened, your back arching off the bed.
"oh my god," you gasped. "jake, your mouth—"
he moaned against you, the vibration making your thighs clench around his head. he didn't seem to mind, just gripped your hips harder, pulled you closer, like he wanted to suffocate in your pussy. when his fingers joined his mouth, sliding through your wetness before pressing inside, you nearly sobbed.
"so wet," he murmured, almost to himself.
he crooked his fingers, finding that spot inside you that made you cry out, and worked it mercilessly while his tongue circled your clit. the dual sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building so fast you couldn't catch your breath. your fingers tightened in his hair, probably painful, but he just groaned and doubled his efforts.
"jake, i'm—fuck, i'm gonna—"
"i know," he said against you, his voice wrecked. "i can feel it. let go for me."
his fingers thrust deeper, faster, his mouth sucking hard on your clit, and you shattered. your orgasm hit like a shockwave, your whole body going taut as pleasure whited out your vision. you were dimly aware of the sounds you were making—high, desperate whimpers and moans—but you couldn't stop them.
jake moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and he didn't let up. he worked you through it with devastating patience, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him like he was starving for it.
"jake," you gasped, trying to push at his head. "too much—"
but he just whined—actually whined—and gripped your thighs tighter, keeping them spread. "please," he mumbled against your pussy, his words muffled and desperate. "please, just one more. need to feel you come again. please."
"i can't—" but your protest died as he sealed his lips around your clit again, sucking gently, his fingers still working inside you. the overstimulation was almost painful but it was already shifting into something else, something that had you gasping and arching into his mouth instead of away from it.
he was making sounds now—desperate, needy whimpers and moans that vibrated against you. he was rutting against the mattress, you realised dimly, seeking friction while he lost himself in eating you out. his hair was a mess from your fingers, and he looked absolutely wrecked.
"so good," he whined between licks. "taste so good. could do this forever. please let me—need to make you come again—"
he was babbling now, drunk on you, his movements getting messier and more desperate. his tongue worked your clit in frantic circles while his fingers curled inside you, and the pleasure was building again impossibly fast. you were so sensitive that every touch felt electric, overwhelming.
"that's it," he gasped, feeling you start to tighten around his fingers. "yeah, give it to me. please, please—"
your second orgasm hit even harder than the first, ripping through you with an intensity that had you crying out his name, your thighs clamping around his head. jake moaned like he was the one coming, his hips jerking against the mattress as he worked you through it, tongue lapping up everything, fingers gentling but not stopping until you were actually sobbing from oversensitivity.
only then did he pull back, and when he finally lifted his head he looked completely gone. his face was flushed and wet, his eyes glazed and unfocused, his lips swollen and red. he looked drunk on you, his eyes unfocused and dark.
"fuck," he breathed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "you're so hot when you come. the sounds you make—"
you pulled him up into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, feeling the way he groaned into your mouth. his cock was rock hard against your thigh, leaking and desperate.
"your turn," you said, reaching down to wrap your hand around him.
he hissed at the contact, his hips jerking forward. "you don't have to—"
"i want to." you stroked him slowly, base to tip, feeling how hot and heavy he was in your palm. precum leaked from the slit and you used it to ease the glide. "you're so hard, jake. does eating my pussy turn you on that much?"
"fuck—" his voice broke. "yes. god, yes. you have no idea."
"tell me." you tightened your grip slightly and he whimpered. actually whimpered. "tell me what you were thinking about."
"i was thinking—" he gasped when your thumb swept over the sensitive head. "thinking about how good you taste. how you were shaking. how i could feel you clenching and i wanted—wanted to be inside you—"
"yeah?" you stroked him faster, loving the way his abs tensed, the way his thighs trembled. "you want to fuck me, jake?"
"so bad," he choked out.
you guided him between your legs, not quite inside yet, just letting the head of his cock slide through your wetness. he made a strangled sound, his whole body shuddering.
"we should—do you have—" he was trying to think through the haze of arousal, being responsible even now. "condom?"
"pill," you said. "i'm on the pill. and i'm clean. tested recently."
"me too. clean, i mean." his cock twitched against you, smearing precum through your folds. "can i—fuck, can i feel you bare?"
"yes," you breathed. "want to feel all of you."
he positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head pressing against you, and even that felt like too much. he pushed in slowly, so slowly, and the stretch was intense. you were wet enough that he slid in smoothly at first, but the sheer size of him was overwhelming.
"oh fuck," you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders. "jake, you're so—you're so big—"
"i know, i'm sorry—" he froze, only halfway in. "am i hurting you?"
"no, don't stop," you urged, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him deeper. "just—go slow. need to adjust."
he sank in another inch and you both moaned. he was splitting you open, stretching you so full you could barely breathe. when he finally bottomed out, buried completely inside you, he dropped his forehead to yours.
"oh my god," he choked out. "you're so tight. so fucking tight and wet and—i can't—"
"don't move yet," you managed, clenching around him involuntarily. he was so deep you could feel him everywhere, pressing against spots that made your toes curl. "just let me—fuck—"
"you feel incredible," he said, his voice shaking. "i've never—nothing compares to this."
you tightened around him experimentally and he swore, his hips jerking forward. "sorry, sorry," he gasped. "i'm trying to hold still but when you do that i want to—"
"want to what?" you rolled your hips slightly and he groaned, deep and guttural.
"want to move," he admitted, his control clearly fraying. "want to fuck you."
"then do it," you said.
something in him snapped. he pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in hard, the force of it punching a cry from your lips. he did it again, and again, finding a rhythm that was deep and relentless. the bed creaked beneath you, the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust.
"yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "just like that—don't stop—"
"god," he panted, his voice wrecked. "you feel so good."
you looked down between your bodies and moaned at the sight—his thick cock disappearing into you, glistening with your wetness, stretching you obscenely. "jake, oh my god—"
"feel how deep i am?" he thrust particularly hard and you keened.
"yes—fuck yes—"
he wasn't being careful anymore, wasn't being gentle. he fucked into you with abandon, each thrust hitting that spot inside you that made sparks shoot up your spine. the sounds were obscene—skin slapping against skin, the wet slide of his cock, his grunts mixing with your moans.
"wanted this," he said against your neck, his breath hot. "wanted you. for so long."
"tell me more," you demanded, loving this unfiltered version of him.
"thought about this constantly," he admitted, his thrusts getting harder. "thought about having you like this. making you feel good. hearing you say my name."
"jake—" you were getting close again, that familiar tension building low in your belly.
"touch yourself," he said. "want to feel you come on my cock. need it. please."
you slid your hand between your bodies, finding your clit, already swollen and sensitive. the added stimulation made you clench around him and he swore, his rhythm faltering.
"that's it," he encouraged, his eyes fixed on where your fingers worked. "fuck, that's so hot. you're so hot. make yourself cum. let me feel it."
you worked your clit in tight circles, the pressure building faster with each thrust of his cock. he was so deep, hitting all the right spots, the slide of him inside you absolutely perfect. you were making sounds you'd never made before—high, desperate whines and gasps.
"close," you managed. "so close—"
"come for me," he urged, his voice strained. "squeeze my cock. want to feel your pussy milk me. come on, baby, let me feel it—"
the orgasm hit you like lightning, sudden and intense. you cried out his name, your whole body convulsing, your pussy clamping down on him rhythmically. waves of pleasure crashed over you, so intense you forgot how to breathe.
"oh fuck," jake choked out, his hips stuttering. "you're—i can feel you—i'm gonna—"
he tried to last, you could see it in the tension of his jaw, the way his arms were shaking. but your pussy was still fluttering around him, still clenching in aftershocks, and it was too much. he buried himself deep with a broken moan, his cock pulsing inside you as he came. you felt the warmth of it, felt him fill you up, and the intimacy of it made something in your chest crack open.
"fuck," he gasped, collapsing on top of you. "oh my god. that was—i've never—"
you wrapped your arms around him, both of you breathing hard, hearts racing in sync. he was still inside you, softening slowly, and you could feel his release leaking out around his cock.
"that was amazing," you said when you could finally speak. "you were amazing."
he lifted his head to look at you, his expression soft and vulnerable. "i think i might be falling for you," he said quietly. "is that okay? am i allowed to say that?"
your throat felt tight with emotion. "yeah. that's okay."
"good." he kissed you gently, sweetly. "because i don't think i could stop even if you told me to."
he pulled out carefully and you both hissed at the sensitivity. immediately he was gathering you into his arms, pulling you against his chest like he couldn't stand not touching you. you fit there perfectly, your head tucked under his chin.
"we should probably talk about this," you said after a while. "about us."
"we will," jake promised, his fingers tracing patterns on your spine. "but can we just stay like this for a bit first?"
"yeah." you pressed closer, breathing in the scent of him. "we can stay like this."
and you did. stayed tangled together as the morning light grew stronger, as the sounds of people leaving the party filtered up through the floor. his cum was still leaking out of you, making a mess on your thighs, but neither of you moved to clean up. you just held each other in this new, tentative peace.
jake changed almost overnight once you started dating. it was like giving him permission to want you openly had flipped some switch in his brain. suddenly he was everywhere.
he'd show up at your door before your 9 am lecture with coffee, your exact order memorised, his hair still messy from sleep because he'd woken up early just to see you. he'd kiss you goodbye and then text you five minutes later with some random thought he forgot to mention. did you know that octopuses have three hearts? just learnt that. thought you should know.
in class he'd sit next to you instead of in his usual back corner spot, his knee always pressed against yours under the desk. sometimes his hand would find its way to your thigh, just resting there, his thumb tracing absent patterns while he tried to focus on the lecture. you'd catch him staring at you instead of his laptop, and when you'd raise an eyebrow he'd just smile, unashamed.
"you're distracting," he'd whisper.
"i'm literally just sitting here."
"i know. it's very distracting."
study sessions became impossible. you'd be explaining a concept and he'd lean over to kiss your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth. "jake, i'm trying to help you."
"i know, keep going," he'd say, already doing it again.
"you're not even listening."
"i am. you were talking about. um." he'd grin sheepishly. "okay i wasn't listening. but you're just so pretty when you're focused."
your friends noticed immediately. yunjin had taken one look at jake's arm slung around your shoulders at lunch, the way he was playing with your hair while talking to beomgyu, and pulled you aside.
"okay so he's like. obsessed with you," she said. "it's actually kind of cute. in a golden retriever kind of way."
"he's not obsessed."
"babe, he just offered to carry your bag even though your apartment is literally three minutes away. and he's been smiling at you for the past ten minutes like you hung the moon. it's obsessed behaviour."
but she said it fondly, and later you caught her telling beomgyu that she'd never seen you this relaxed before. "she's not performing," yunjin had said. "she's just. being."
and she was right. with jake you didn't have to strategise or calculate or perform anything. he wanted you. obviously, openly, without games or subtext. when you showed up to his place in sweats and no makeup, he'd light up like you'd dressed up specifically for him. when you stole his hoodies, he'd just buy more so you could steal those too.
"i like seeing you in my clothes," he'd admitted once, pulling you close. "makes me feel like. i don't know. like you're mine."
"possessive," you'd teased.
"is that bad?"
"no," you'd said, kissing him. "i like it."
jake's friends had their own reactions. you'd been nervous meeting them properly, remembering that disastrous first encounter at the party. but they'd welcomed you easily, even if they did give jake endless shit.
"dude, you're so whipped," his roommate said, watching jake immediately get up to refill your drink without being asked.
"and?" jake had said, completely unbothered.
"and nothing, it's just funny. remember when you said you'd never be that guy who drops everything for someone? and now you're literally—"
"finish that sentence and i'm not helping you with discrete math anymore."
but he was smiling when he said it, and later his roommate told you that jake talked about you constantly. "it's honestly annoying how happy he is."
the thing was, you were happy too. unexpectedly, overwhelmingly happy. jake made you sharper somehow, more focused. when you studied together you actually retained information because he made learning feel collaborative instead of competitive. he celebrated your successes like they were his own, staying up with you before big presentations, bringing you stress-relief snacks, sending you encouraging texts.
and you did the same for him. learnt his patterns, his tells when he was overwhelmed. you'd show up at the lab with dinner when you knew he'd been working for hours. you'd run your fingers through his hair when he was stressed, and he'd melt into your touch, all that tension draining away.
"you make everything easier," he'd told you once, late at night when you were both too tired to filter. "like the world's less heavy when you're around."
"that's the cheesiest thing you've ever said."
"i know. i mean it though."
weeks blurred together in the best way. stolen kisses between classes. jake's hand always finding yours. the way he'd kiss you goodbye at your door and then text you goodnight five minutes later even though he lived one floor up. movie nights that turned into makeout sessions on your couch, jake's glasses getting in the way until you carefully removed them, setting them aside so you could kiss him properly.
he got clingy when he was tired, wrapping around you like a koala, mumbling into your neck. "don't leave."
"i'm just going to get water."
"too far. stay."
"jake, i'll be gone thirty seconds."
"thirty seconds too long."
you'd laugh, running your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, and feel something warm and settled in your chest. this was what it was supposed to feel like.
the beach had been jake's idea. "there's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight," he'd said, eyes lighting up behind his glasses. "and i know this spot that's perfect for stargazing. barely any light pollution. we could bring blankets, make a whole thing of it?"
so here you were, sitting on a blanket in the sand while the ocean crashed softly in the background. the sky was impossibly clear, stars scattered across it like someone had spilt diamonds. jake lay with his head in your lap, one of your hands playing with his hair while he pointed up at the sky.
"okay, so see those seven stars there?" he traced a pattern with his finger. "that's the big dipper, which is part of ursa major. but if you follow those two stars at the edge, they point directly to polaris. the north star."
you hummed, only half listening to the actual words. you were too busy watching him. the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, how animated his expressions were when he talked about something he loved. the moonlight caught on his features, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips.
"and that one—" he was still going, completely absorbed. "that's cassiopeia. she was a queen in greek mythology who bragged about being more beautiful than the sea nymphs, so poseidon punished her by placing her in the sky upside down. you can see how the constellation kind of looks like a W? that's her throne."
"jake," you said softly.
"oh, and if you look over there, that really bright one? that's actually venus, not a star. common misconception. planets don't twinkle like stars do because—"
you leaned down and kissed him, cutting off his rambling mid-sentence. he made a surprised sound but responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. when you pulled back he followed your lips automatically, trying to chase another kiss.
"you were saying?" you teased.
"i—" he blinked up at you, slightly dazed. "what was i saying?"
"something about venus."
"right. venus. because of the. um." he lost his train of thought as you leaned down again, kissing him slower this time. "you're distracting me from the meteor shower."
"am i?"
"yeah. very effectively." but he was smiling, pulling you down for another kiss.
you shifted, moving to straddle his lap properly. jake's hands immediately found your waist, sliding under your shirt to rest against bare skin.
the kissing turned heated quickly. jake made these small, needy sounds that drove you crazy, his hands roaming over your back, your sides, anywhere he could reach. when you rolled your hips experimentally he gasped into your mouth, his grip tightening.
"fuck," he whispered. "you're gonna kill me."
you kissed down his jaw, his neck, feeling his pulse racing under your lips. his hands had moved to your hips now, guiding your movements, and you could feel how affected he was. "still thinking about the stars?" you teased.
"what stars?" he pulled you down for another bruising kiss, one hand tangling in your hair. "can't think about anything except you."
you ground down harder and jake made a sound that was almost a whine, his head falling back against the blanket. "please," he gasped. "please, i need—"
suddenly, the loud, insistent beeping of his watch interrupted the moment.
you both froze.
jake's face went bright red as he fumbled with his wrist. "oh my god. oh my god. it's my fitness watch. it thinks i'm exercising because my heart rate—" another beep. "make it stop."
you couldn't help it. you burst out laughing, burying your face in his shoulder while his watch continued its concerned beeping about his elevated heart rate. "it's not funny," jake groaned, still trying to silence the watch. "this is so embarrassing."
"it's a little funny."
"my watch just cockblocked me. there's nothing funny about that."
you kissed his jaw, still giggling. "i think it's cute. your heart rate got that high just from kissing me?"
"you were not just kissing me, you were—" he made a frustrated noise. "yes. okay. yes. you have that effect on me. are you happy?"
"very." you settled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat still racing under your ear. the watch had finally stopped beeping. "for what it's worth, my heart's doing the same thing."
"yeah?" he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.
"yeah."
you lay there together, the ocean providing a steady soundtrack, the stars scattered above you. jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "i love you," he said softly. "in case that wasn't obvious from the way my watch literally staged an intervention."
you lifted your head to look at him. his eyes were soft, open, vulnerable in the moonlight. "i love you too," you said, meaning it completely.
he smiled, that full, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. then he kissed you again, sweet and unhurried, his hands gentle on your face.
"we should probably head back soon," you murmured eventually. "it's getting late."
"five more minutes," jake said, pulling you closer. "just. let me hold you for five more minutes."
you settled back against him, his arms wrapped securely around you, both of you looking up at the vast sky. you'd come here to watch a meteor shower but you'd been too distracted by each other to notice if any had passed.
somehow, you didn't mind at all.
"hey," jake said softly. "thank you."
"for what?"
"for giving me another chance. for being patient with me while i figured my shit out. for. this. all of it." his arms tightened around you. "i know i was difficult at first."
"you weren't difficult. you were protecting yourself. i get it now."
"still. you could have given up on me. but you didn't."
"of course i didn't," you said, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "you're worth it. you've always been worth it."
jake made a soft, overwhelmed sound, burying his face in your hair. "i'm gonna marry you someday," he mumbled. "just so you know."
"jake—"
"not now. obviously not now. but someday. when we've graduated and figured our lives out and i can actually afford a ring. i'm gonna marry you."
you felt your chest go tight with emotion. "okay," you whispered. "someday."
"yeah. someday."
you stayed like that until the cold started seeping in, until you were both shivering despite being pressed together. finally, reluctantly, you packed up the blanket and headed back to campus. jake held your hand the entire walk, occasionally pulling you close to kiss you at random intervals.
"what was that for?" you asked after the third surprise kiss.
"just because," he said, smiling. "because i can. because i love you. do i need more reasons?"
"no," you said, kissing him back. "no more reasons needed."
if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3
summary. nerdy sim jaeyun is sweating buckets when the baddie he's been crushing on sits in his lap on a two-hour road trip.
pairing. nerdy!jake x baddie!female reader
genre(s). oneshot, smut, big porn with a small plot
warnings. MDNI, jake is a professional yearner, jake is very shy and repressed (and a bit insecure), masturbation, pervert!jake, unprotected sex (pls don’t), subby switch!jake, top or bottom he's always a sub, reader is a bit mean, jake cries a lot and begs a lot, slight sunsunki if you squint, handjob, blowjob, nose-riding, jake eats her out as well, reverse cowgirl, cowgirl, missionary, BRO WHY IS IT NEVER-ENDING, but like it's messy, EDGING EDGING EDGINGGGG, reader calls him jaeyun, reader is jealous and possessive, implied aftercare, enhypen ensemble, hmm please let me know if i missed anything! not beta read we die like injang
word count. 14,807 words
note. oh boy! this used to be a veeeery old, 8k-word draft, my take on nerdy jake that i decided to polish and give life to. it is also a gift for my bestie and fellow jake's wife: dr. @twocupsofsuga 🫶🏼 congratulations on passing medschool! you're so smart mhm here's my lap dance for you 😏
Women make Sim Jaeyun nervous.
Especially someone as bold and confident like you.
There's something about the soft lilt of your voice that makes him feel ashamed to even speak in your presence. There's something about your enticing eyes that makes him stutter and stumble with his own words, his grammar-police persona flying out the window. There's something about the sure sway of your hips that makes him want to avert his gaze and look more all the same time; like something sinful he shouldn't want but crave for anyway.
You're the kind of woman that makes Sim Jaeyun nervous.
Park Jongseong's cousin from the States that always comes to visit for summer, with that bold show of your body that'll usually often get frowned upon in his neighbourhood, that honey tint of your skin that's far from the local society's beauty standard. You're upfront and so unapologetically you, something he admires and makes him overly conscious if his hair looks nice or not.
It's another summer and you're here again. You're always a welcome addition to their annual trip to Jay's beach house, a road trip that's usually joined by the other five plus you and him. But this year, Nishimura Riki had a last minute decision to cancel his flight to Japan and opted to spend the summer with them instead of with his family.
Which leaves all of you with no space for one person inside Jay's SUV.
"I call dibs on the rear seats," Heeseung says before anyone gets the chance to and disappears into the car. Riki opens his mouth, about to follow the eldest of the group, when Jungwon shoots him a sharp look and blocks his way with his hand.
"No, Riki. You're not getting a seat."
Riki's face morphs into horror. "What?! Am I excluded from this trip?"
"You cancelled your flight this morning. You were never included in the trip."
Seeing the look of hurt on his face, Sunoo actually takes pity on Riki. Peering inside, the blonde mumbles with a pout when he sees a small ice box sitting beside Heeseung. "Surely we can squeeze him into the rear seat, right…?"
"All of his six-feet-one ass? I'd like to see you try, Sunoo hyung." Jungwon shakes his head. He leans on the passenger door, already the assigned co-pilot of the car, in charge of Spotify playlist and Waze and moral support to his Jay hyung. "Either one of you sits in another's lap, or we can Uber Riki to the beach house."
Hearing that, Riki immediately throws his hands. "It's a two-hour drive, hyung, I might just be paying for the Uber's car loan! It's gonna be so expensive!"
"If you can afford cancelling your flight with no refunds, then I think you can afford an Uber to Sokcho."
Riki whips his head to his Sunoo and Jake hyung, jutting out his lips in a pout that's borderline pitiful. Jake mirrors his expression, not really having the power to go against Jungwon's verdict—as if anybody could. Jake pities him, really, but it's Yang Jungwon. There's a whole menace behind those cute dimples and boba eyes.
Beside him, Sunghoon lets out a long sigh. "Then one of us will have to sit in another's lap."
It's an option that has everybody darting their eyes around, afraid that any eye contact with Jungwon will make them become the sacrificial thighs for the two-hour road trip. They're all men packed with mass and muscles, a result of a gym routine that unexpectedly becomes a problem today. Each of them at least weighs one hundred-forty pounds. Jake's sure that if he was chosen, he'd lose his legs by the time they exit Seoul.
Just in time, a loud thud is heard from the car boot. You and Jay walk into the scene, just having finished loading all of their stuff into the car. Jake adjusts his glasses instinctively, unknowingly fixing his appearence when his eyes land on you.
You've abandoned your cardigan, now only wearing a yellow camisole top that only reaches your belly button and a pair of jeans shorts that ends at the bottom swell of your ass. Your outfit choice hides nothing about your figure—your perfect body that admittedly has always been on his mind.
Jake gulps and lets his eyes trail down to your legs. You're seriously one of the most beautiful and hottest girls he's ever seen, and unfortunately, he has a severe problem of having a crush on baddies who are completely out of his nerdy league. You're definitely one of them.
When he looks up, Jake almost faints when your gaze catches his eyes with an unreadable expression. He quickly averts his eyes, adjusting the thick black rims of his glasses that didn't need adjusting.
Did you notice him staring?
"Car seat problem?" Jay asks when he senses the tension among the boys, already foreseeing this issue the moment Riki told him that he was joining their road trip over the phone this morning. They hesitantly nod.
"So what's the solution?"
"Riki takes an Uber to Sokcho—"
"Which will cost him his tuition fees," Jay comments, ever the hyperbole-user.
"—Or someone has to sit in another's lap."
Judging from the expression on Jay's face, he, too, doesn't think it's a comfortable position to be sitting in on a two-hour road trip.
But apparently, someone thinks otherwise.
"Oh, then let's do that!" You pipe in, flashing them with your charming smile. "I don't mind doing it!"
There's an elephant silence that follows your statement. Upon seeing their gaped expression, your smile slowly dies down, unsure if you had said the right thing.
"…Or not."
"Or yes!" Riki interrupts, relief flooding his senses. His eyes lit up as he looks around at each one of his friends. "Guys, she's offered to sit in anyone's lap. We can do that, right?"
Jungwon narrows his eyes. "It's a two-hour drive."
Riki blinks nervously. "But noona wants it."
"Then let Y/N noona sit in your lap."
Now, there's a rosy blush blooming across Riki's cheeks. Jake frowns. Lucky bastard. "I-I mean—"
"Not him," you cut in, a small smile playing on your lips. Jake can feel the exact moment everyone holds their breath, as if the air pauses on its own accord and waits for the rest of your sentence. Either they're anticipating or dreading to be your exclusive seat in the car—he's not sure. He's certain that he's the former, but he's also certain you'd pick someone more your type—Sunghoon or Riki, who are loyal gym buddies that possess strong thighs for you to sit on—or even Heeseung who's abandoned his nap and is eavesdropping the conversation now.
He doesn't know why, but surely someone hot like you would pick someone just as hot, right? And hot in Sim Jaeyun's definition is someone who matches your confidence (not him), someone who has a good body and is not shy to show them (Jake thinks his body is nice, but he's also always wearing long-sleeves), or just anyone but him.
Jay pinches the bridge of his nose. "Then who?"
When your eyes meet Jake's, the brown-haired boy almost loses his breath.
A smile curves up your lips. Jake thinks he's hallucinating because there's no way you are smirking at him.
"With Jaeyun."
There's a ripple of gasps, disbelief and shock mixing with a hint of betrayal (no doubt from Riki). Jay's brow disappears behind his hair.
"Seriously, Y/N? You don't have to—Riki's rich enough to pay for the Uber."
Riki's protest is muffled when Jungwon pulls him into a chokehold and slaps a hand over his mouth. Jake wants to pity him, really, but this time he thinks he's the one who needs help because what do you mean? There's no way—
"I'm serious. Jaeyun-ah."
—Oh my fucking God. Jaeyun. Jaeyun. Who's Jaeyun? Who the fuck is Jaeyun?
Jake has a trouble hearing you over the loud roar of his blood, heart threatening to jump out of his throat. But he manages a small, airy, 'Hm?' when all eyes are on him.
You tilt your head slightly, eyes never letting go of his, holding him hostage in your gaze alone. This, paired with the way you call his government name—a name you prefer over Jake because 'it's cuter' (according to you, not him) when he first introduced himself to you four years ago, and Jake had let you because he could never say no to you—are the most perfect, never-before-seen formula to unravel the physics genius Sim Jaeyun.
Yeah. Jake is a goner. And will soon have a boner if no one stops you from picking him as today's sacrificial thighs.
"Can I sit with you, Jaeyunnie?"
Someone please say no. Someone please stop you. Someone please tell this Jaeyun to say no because—because why him? Is this some kind of a cliché ploy that popular girls do to play with men's feelings, especially a physics nerd like him? Because if it is, Jake hates to admit that he'd be a willing participant (even if it'd break his heart a little).
"Yes, sure," he squeaks, finally recognising that Jaeyun is his name. He's still trying to process that you chose him—not Sunghoon with his ridiculous broad shoulders, or Riki with his ridiculous long legs, or Heeseung with his ridiculous charm—but him, who's sweating buckets and dampening his armpits underneath his long-sleeved T-shirt. His glasses almost glide down his nose from how sticky it is.
"It's settled, then!" Sunoo claps once, already red and irritated from having to stand under the unforgiving sun for longer than necessary. "Jake hyung and Y/N will sit together. So I will be sitting with—"
"Me!"
"Me!"
Sunoo ignores Sunghoon and Riki, and walks straight to the rear seats. "With Heeseung hyung!"
Soon, there's shuffling and then everyone's already inside the car. Riki sits in the middle with a pout, a penalty for causing the minor disruption and losing rock-paper-scissors to Sunghoon and Jake. Sunghoon is happily humming to a song from the 80s, occassionally turning around to tease Sunoo who's been trying to join Heeseung in his mandatory road-trip nap. Jay and Jungwon have settled into their designated seats as the drivers of the day, already talking about the route they're taking and traffic condition. While Jake—well, he's preparing himself for the inevitable.
You're still standing by the door, overseeing the situation at hand, and Jake tries to ignore the way his cheeks burn under your weighted gaze.
"Can I sit now?" You softly ask. Jake hesitates a moment before nodding his head frantically.
"Y-Yes."
You, on the other hand, do not hesitate at all. Jake instinctively spreads his legs when you climb into the car, already aiming his lap as your throne for the next 120-minute of the ride. His senses heighten, overly aware of his friends' eyes watching his every move, and the soft scent of peach from your body wash that invades his nose when your weight finally settles on him.
In a split second, Jake goes from never daring to touch you to having you resting your ass comfortably on his clothed dick, thanks to a certain Japanese who's now queueing songs like he didn't just commit a fatal crime against his Aussie hyung.
His slightly longer thighs bracket your exposed ones in a hesitant cage, every point of your skin meeting his seems to burn through the fabric of his jeans. Your hair and neck are one breath away from his nose now, where he's inhaling lungfuls of peaches and creams and your vanilla-ish perfume, and Jake chooses to blink at the ceiling to avoid looking over your shoulders and possibly flashing himself with the swell of your chest under that thin camisole top. The already-cramped space feels even smaller, and Jake doesn't think he can breathe properly.
While at it, Jake hopes his prayers could break through the car roof and reach the heavens.
God, please have mercy on me and let my other head not have a brain of its own.
God answers him shortly in the form of you shifting around.
"You comfortable?" You ask innocently, adjusting yourself on his lap. Jake nearly inhales his tongue, feeling blood rush to his ears and south. A strangled noise escapes his throat instead.
"Mhm."
From the front, he can hear a snort coming from none other than Jay. "You sound constipated, dude."
'Try having a pretty girl sit on your dick then!', is what Jake wishes he could say to his friend, but he knows that this is more of a him-problem. Someone like Jay won't get flustered in this kind of situation—at least not as bad as he is, who doesn't even fucking know where to put his hands, hovering in the air like he's about to conduct a choral speaking.
So, Jake resorts to conveying his rage through the rearview mirror instead, hoping that his glare and frown are enough to make Jay feel bad. (They don't, Jay finds him cute instead).
Jungwon comes to save the day as he turns to the backseat. "Do you have everything with you?" All of them except Jake hum. He thinks he doesn't have his sanity anymore, but of course the younger boy pretends to ignore him.
Jungwon eyes each one of his friends, his gaze stopping longer at the sight of Jake gripping the leather seat, the white of his knuckles almost matching his face, and you smiling innocently at him. Jungwon badly wants to laugh.
Jake widens his eyes at Jungwon. Help me!
The younger boy gives him an indecipherable look before turning to face the front. "Alright. We're not turning back for you even if you forgot your PlayStation."
Jake wants to say that they might want to leave a certain Sim Jaeyun to save him from this misery, but all words are gone from his mind when the car starts forward with a sharp jolt. Your back meets his chest in a soft thud, punching air out of his lungs. Your ass pushes deeper into his lap and Jake nearly pierces the leather with his nails from how desperately hard he's gripping it.
"Oops, sorry!" Jay chimes from the driver seat, sounding far from sorry.
You straighten up and turn around, looking more sorry than your cousin. "You okay? Sorry about that, Jaeyunnie."
Oh, fuck. Please don't use that voice on him when he's one bump away from kissing your lips. You're so close it feels like you're breathing in the same air he exhales, so close he can see the faint, tiny freckles dusting your cheeks and the bridge of your nose.
"Yeah," he manages, voice hoarse like he's just swallowed a bucket of sand. "I'm okay."
There's a halt in your movement, like you're actually seeing him through the calm façade he's exuding. His breath catches when your eyes drop to his lips briefly, the bitten-red skin tingles under your heated gaze.
Then, after a moment, you smile at him so easily; as if the tension never existed, as if the pull was only one-sided.
"If you say so."
When he's met with your shiny hair again, Jake lets out a breath he unknowlingly held. Your voice fills up the space softly as you begin talking to Jungwon and Jay, all cheery and unrestrained while he's exerting mental training equivalent to physical labour of a building constructor to stop his dick from hardening every time you move.
He hears a snicker from his left and immediately meets with Riki's mischievous eyes. The younger boy mouths something that has Jake closing his eyes and leaning on the headrest in defeat.
'Don't get horny now, Jake hyung.'
Jake is worried that if it's not now, it'll be the next time Jay hits a bump.
Instead of a road bump, Jake's personal enemy turns out to be you.
Ten minutes in, everything is still going fine. Jake is still breathing, alive, and hasn't popped a boner that could traumatise you and get him banned from the car permanently. You also seem okay, still engrossed in a conversation with the cat-duo driving the car, talking about college and your winter trip to Japan.
For a moment, Jake selfishly thinks if his lap was that…sitable, seeing as you haven't shown any signs of discomfort yet. Or, to be fair, it has been barely ten minutes since they're en route, and though those minutes are enough to pull the others into a car nap, ten minutes feel like one round of orbit around the Sun when he has you sitting on his lap.
Jake can feel himself melt into the seat. Maybe this isn't so bad at all. Maybe he can make it to Sokcho without having to cut his dick off before anyone could see his hard-on. He just has to sit really quietly and will his mind to avoid teetering dangerous territory.
Yeap. Everything is fine.
Not until you decide to put your hands on his thighs.
Jake almost jolts at the contact, flexing his thighs instinctively when you place your perfectly manicured fingers on the surface of his jeans. It's a brief touch, one that can pass as accidental, but the lingering heat it leaves behind feels almost physical.
His eyes dart to the back of your head, trembling with nerves nearly frayed at the edges, gauging your reaction, and bites the bottom of his lips when you resume your conversation as if nothing happened. Or nothing really happened to you.
It's just a touch, for God's sake. Calm your dick down.
If a simple touch from you could unravel him this fast, what about other things? What if you hug him, or-or if you hold his hand, or—wait, is he wishing for other things to happen between you and him? (He does, but he knows that it won't happen.)
Jake gulps harshly and decides to enjoy the scenery instead. He stares hard out the window, so intense like he's memorising every species of the trees they pass by, mind lost in a whirlwind of horny thoughts clashing with rationality, when you do something again.
This time, it isn't an innocent touch on his thigh. It's an innocent move to hear Jungwon better. You lean forward, pushing your ass deeper into his lap simultaneously, offering your ear to Jungwon who seems to be sharing a secret about Jay. Jake's breath hitches and his hands almost come up to hold your waist, the friction sending heat through his body.
Fuck. He peels his eyes away from the window forcefully and follows down the dip of your spine to where your ass meets his crotch. Your position highlights the narrow of your waist and the width of your hips, all sinful curves that have him swallowing harder, something inside his pants threatening to stir alive. Jake closes his eyes.
Think of Jesus, Jake. Think of Layla. He absentmindedly fixes his glasses. Think of quantum physics. Think of—
"—Oh!" You squirm excitedly, round butt wiggling slightly against his cock. "Yes, I met her before!"
Jake hisses before he can stop himself, the sound serving like a knife cutting the conversation. You and Jungwon instantly turn to look at him, the latter wearing a mischievous expression when he sees the heat painting Jake's face red.
"Are you okay?" You prompt in concern, noticing how stiffly Jake is nodding at you.
"Y-Yeah. Good. I'm horgoony."
Freudian slip is gonna be the death of him.
Jay and Jungwon burst out laughing, catching the slip as fast as any dirty-minded man would. Jake's face turns a darker shade of red, avoiding your eyes whose brows now pinching in confusion.
"Horgoony?" You echo, pretty confident you have never heard of that strange word spoken before. Jake immediately shakes his head, panic creeping into his chest when Jungwon shows a sign of opening his mouth.
No! Do not let that orange cat speak! Jungwon only cares about his downfall!
"I feel horribly good! Yeah," Jake stammers, to hell with any logical reasoning. "Like, I feel good because we're on a road trip. But also kind of horrible because I get motion sickness sometimes."
Now that the string of the sentences has flowed out of his mouth, Jake thinks he is kind of making sense. Satisfaction blooms in his chest when you nod in understanding, because two conflicting emotions—feeling good and horrible—can exist simultaneously, right? Like the way he wants to push you from his lap and hide in the deepest part of the Sokcho forest forever but also craves to just grab your hips and pull you close and have his way with you—wait stop.
What a horrible, horny, nothing-good man you are, Sim Jaeyun.
"That does sound horrible." Jake snaps out of his thoughts when he registers your voice, nodding fervently to amplify the faux pity that he's just orchestrated.
You give him a sorry look, the one where it pulls the corners of your mouth down into a frown. Jake sighs in relief. You bought it. Thank God for his smart brain.
"Yeah. I think I'm just gonna take a nap," he adds, voice turning softer when you still look at him in concern. He feels a strange need to overexplain.
"Motion sickness happens because your eyes see one thing while your inner ears and muscles feel another. If I take a nap, it'll eliminate the visual stimuli that causes the conflict…" Jake trails off, catching himself before he could go on and on and on on why humans experience motion sickness, and possibly bore you to death. He shakes his head imperceptibly. "So—yeah. I should take a nap."
To his surprise, you only give him a warm smile. "I never knew that, Jaeyun. Then what's the correlation between motion sickness and playing your phone in a moving vehicle?"
Jake blinks behind his glasses, genuinely taken aback that you're actually listening instead of zoning out halfway through his rambling.
"Oh. Um." He clears his throat. "It's kind of the same concept. Your eyes are focused on something stationary—your phone—but your body still feels the movement of the car."
You hum softly, leaning back against him slightly, prompting him to continue. Jake immediately forgets how lungs work.
"S-So your brain gets confused because the signals don't match," he continues weakly. "Your eyes tell your brain you're sitting still, but your inner ears are like, 'No, we're moving.' It's like mixed signals, and our body doesn't like mixed signals."
His ears are warming up from how true the words are to the situation he's having with you.
"And right now you're seeing my stationary body while the car's moving," you continue with a subtle tilt of your mouth, "so you're nauseous and all dizzy now, right?"
Jake almost chokes to death. Did you know about his little problem? He blinks at you rapidly, hand itching to touch his glasses in a fit of nerves.
Oh my God. He's going to die. He's going to die and Jungwon will write 'Sim Jaeyun was a smart friend, died a horny man with a dick that never went down, a standing ovation to his contribution to Seoul National University' as his headstone epitaph. You know about it so Jake is going to die!
He stumbles with his own words. "I-I mean—It's actually—"
You give him a cheeky smile. "I'm just joking with you, Jaeyun. You're probably sick because you're having me on your lap like this."
You start digging into your front pocket, frowning when it's empty. Jake holds his breath when your hands move to your back pocket, looking for whatever it is that gets you so determined and his dick so excited whenever your finger brushes against his crotch. Jake is almost blue from not breathing.
He thinks this time he's really going to die.
"Found it!"
You offer your palm to him, where two mint candies sit idly on the soft surface. Jake's chest slowly feels lighter as air rushes in, no longer collapsing under the pressure of your searching hand accidentally brushing against him moments ago. He clears his throat.
You beam at him. "These will soothe your sickness, Jaeyunnie. Please take them."
Jake studies your face.
Do you know what you're doing to him? Was everything done on purpose, or are you really oblivious to everything?
He swallows and forces a nod, taking the candies from your palm, feeling a spark of electricity in his system when his fingers brush your skin.
"Thank you, Y/N."
You turn your back on him, resuming your conversation with Jungwon and Jay. All sweet and cotton candy, unaware of the turmoil he's going through. Jake stares at the candies in his hand, a mocking sign to his misery, and heaves out a quiet sigh. He glances at his wristwatch.
It feels like two world wars had happened but it's only been twenty minutes into the drive. An hour and forty minutes of horny torture remains for Sim Jaeyun to endure, and he's not sure if he's going to survive.
He slowly closes his eyes. Maybe sleep can help with horniness, too.
It does, but only for a moment, because Jake could swear he just blinked when you tap his shoulder a few times.
Jake blinks, half-groggy and half-alert. Did he have a wet dream of you and get hard in his unconsciousness? Is that why you woke him up?
But he's met with your apologetic face instead. "I'm sorry for waking you up," you whisper, trying not to wake other boys who are fast asleep. "But my back's sore. Can I lean on you for a moment?"
In a flash, all incoherent thoughts fly out the window. Guilt starts lodging in his chest as he realises—glancing at his watch—that you've been sitting straight for one hour. Before he knows it, Jake is already nodding at you, adjusting his seat to accommodate the new position.
"Y-Yes, you can."
God, he's such a loser. The word 'no' seems to disappear from his dictionary whenever you're around.
You reward him with an appreciative smile and waste no time to turn around and lean back softly on him. The moment your back touches his chest, Jake can feel his system kick start, a chemical reaction that he can never understand no matter how hard he studies Biology.
You physically relax into his chest. "This is so much better," you sigh, a dreamy smile on your face, resting your head in the crook of his neck. Then you tilt your head upwards to glance at him. "Is this okay for you?"
Jake hopes you can't feel how fast his heart is beating through the fabric of his shirt. The brown-haired boy nods wordlessly. "More than okay."
For a moment, you just stare at him, brilliant eyes holding his in a soft gaze. It's a silent minute full of everything unspoken, rendering him speechless and even more restless because no matter how smart he is, he could never decipher the meaning behind this look you're giving him. There's something you hide that he feels like he should know, like an open secret waiting for the right time for him to catch.
This time, Jake is even sure that you can hear his heartbeat.
Then, as if that moment never happened, you close your eyes and get comfortable.
"We should sleep, Jaeyun. Don't want you to get carsick again."
You nuzzle closer and Jake holds his breath, feeling the silky strands of your hair brushing against his jaw. His hands hover, not knowing where to land, though the pinch of your waist is where he wants to hold the most. Eventually, Jake settles on his thighs, watching the difference between his veiny hands and the smooth span of your thighs.
Is he still sleeping? Is he dreaming or are you really sleeping on his chest?
It seems that sitting in his lap really tired you out, because you're fast asleep in less than five minutes. The guilt in his chest amplifies at the sight of your closed eyes, breathing evening out as sleep overtakes your being. Jake bites his lips.
He's so shameless, napping to avoid getting turned on instead of caring for your being. He’s so horrible, worrying more about his hard-on than the fact that you’ve been uncomfortable for an hour. Jake wants to cry so bad.
Jake spends the rest of the ride watching you sleep. He fixes your hair when it falls over your face, tucking it behind your ear carefully, and then smiles to himself when he sees your pout. He blocks the sunlight with his hand when it's glaring on your skin through the window, not minding letting his hand redden from the harsh light. He instinctively holds your waist at a sharp turn, firm and secure, though he lets go just as fast as if it burns, afraid that it's not a touch you'd receive had you been conscious.
Other than the carnal desire he has suppressed for you, this road trip also makes him realise the depth of the feelings he actually harbours for you. He's so doomed. He's so doomed because in what universe would a hot, sweet, popular California girl like yourself, return back the feelings of a bland, studious, quiet Korean-Aussie boy like him?
In fictions. In another lifetime. But not in Sim Jaeyun's current universe right now.
However, the Sim Jaeyun in this universe also will never know peace.
Because just as he's getting comfortable with the you-watching routine that he just recently discovered, the road has another plan for him when Jay finally, and actually, hits a bump this time.
The first bump is a mild surprise. Jake gathers it's a small bump, one that Jay overlooks while getting excited over Bon Jovi playing on the rodeo. But the aftermath brings you settling deeper into him, pressing on him in a way that has his breath hitching. Jake holds your waist on instinct.
"Oh my God, I didn't see that," Jay mutters from the front.
Jake tries to steady his breath. That's…a shock. One that shatters the soft atmosphere he created while watching you, now replaced with the same tension he's been fighting the last hour.
Jake lets go of your waist when he assumes that it's just a one-time thing. But then the bump happens again, and instead of a solid, big one—it's shaky, like they're sliding through endless, tiny jagged rocks.
"Damn bro, this road needs fixing," Jay makes another commentary. He glances at the rearview mirror. "You good, Jake?"
Jake doesn't know what to answer. "I think I am," he mumbles, voice clipped.
Is it good that you're practically bouncing in his lap, adding more pressure with almost no interval for him to recover mentally? He thinks not. But Jay doesn't have to know that.
"We're almost there," Jungwon chimes in, navigating the map. There's a shakiness in his voice that comes from the vibration caused by the bumps. "Fifteen minutes at most. We found a shorter route just now and traffic was smooth."
Fifteen minutes.
Jake thinks he might actually die in fifteen minutes.
Another bump sends your body rocking against him softly, your sleeping face scrunching for a brief second before relaxing. His grip tightens.
Fuck.
If Jay doesn't stop the car and fix this damn road himself then he's definitely going to pop a boner soon.
Jake squeezes his eyes shut when another bump rattles through the car, and then again, and again, and again until Jake can barely separate one sensation from another anymore. Until he doesn't know where he starts and where you end anymore. You shift unconsciously, settling heavier against his chest before Jay hits another bump.
This time, Jake makes a mistake of looking down at you.
He didn't notice it before, too lost in his sappy, romantic feelings for you. But right now, it's actually so damn obvious that the angle from where he sits taller than you and you lean against him, he can easily see your cleavage past the neckline of your camisole.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The road doesn't stop shaking beneath the tires, and so does his pulse as he watches your breasts bounce with every bump that comes their way. Jake averts his eyes, so stiff and so strained, but can't help letting his gaze drift back to watch the soft mounds shake.
This is bad. This is very, very bad, and Jake is nothing but a bad fucking pervert.
A particularly rough patch of road sends the entire car jolting. Your body bounces against him harder this time, more pressure and more friction that Jake almost whimpers. He tips his head back, gulping harshly as the line of his long neck glistens with a sheen of sweat.
Inside his jeans, he can feel his cock kick.
Oh, fuck—he's definitely hard now.
Oh my fucking God.
"This is the last one, promise!"
Jake doesn't even register Jay's words, or the way your head hits his jaw from impact, because his internal system is flooded with horny-filled panic. He can feel it: his dick twitching and getting semi-hard from the continuous stimulation from your bouncing. He doesn't even realise that he's now clawing at his own thighs, seeking strength that could neutralise his blooming lust, or that you are finally awake.
"Are we almost there?" You ask groggily, blissfully unaware of the raging boner forming under your ass. You sit up when the coastal view greets your blurry vision, mouth gaping in awe.
"Oh, wow!" You gasp, always excited to visit Sokcho no matter how many times you've been there. "It's beautiful as always!"
The road is smooth now, but Jake's final torture arrives in the form of you bouncing, excitedly and consciously, in his lap. You wiggle in enthusiasm, urging Jungwon to pass your phone that's been charging at the front to take some pictures and send it to the family groupchat.
"Jungwon, Jaeyun, look at those seagulls!"
Jake is seeing no seagulls. He's only seeing white hot, painful pleasure as you move in his lap, his brain dissolving into useless static. His fingers twitch, itching to grab your waist and force you to stay still, but you're so excited that he almost didn't have the heart to do it.
"Did you see that?" You lean to the window, and then shift happily when you spot kites in the sky. "We should do that too! Hey, Jay, do you think you can—"
Jake finally has had enough.
The restraint that he's been holding onto finally breaks like a taut wire getting cut. His hands snap to your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, hips almost bucking up from the delicious friction alone. His lips drop to the shell of your ears, hot, ragged breath brushing the sensitive skin as his voice lowers an octave.
"Y/N," Jake licks his dry lips, the tip of his tongue peeking through. He watches with dark eyes as the hair on your neck stands straight under his unforgiving proximity.
"Stop fucking moving."
And that's the moment you feel it.
A bulge, hard and rigid and big, poking your ass from where you rest in his lap.
Oh my fucking God.
Sim Jaeyun is hard.
You freeze, breath hitching.
Neither of you dare to move. Not even your excitement of being back to your uncle's beach house, or Jay's questioning look from where you cut your sentence, can bring you to move. No.
You couldn't, not when Jake's hard dick is nudging at you right now, so tangible and unmistakably his.
The brown-haired boy is still panting in your ear, shooting tingles through your system. His grip on your waist is almost bruising, like he's trying very, very hard to hold back from overstepping lines that shouldn't be overstepped.
You hadn't meant for this to happen. Sure, Jake is fun to tease. That boy is all broken words and nervous glances whenever you're in his proximity, and it can't be helped when he blushes prettily too.
You just can't stop yourself from seeking his attention in your own way, because aside from being a pretty boy, Jake is also such a sweetheart and so, so smart. And in an age where intellligence is a scarcity, you absolutely adore smart guys.
Especially the one who isn't condescending and is actually eager to help people like him.
So, really—you hadn't meant for this to happen. Offering to become the one without a seat is a decision you made when you consider yourself to be lighter than most of the guys, but offering to sit in Jake's lap is definitely a decision born from personal bias. You kind of knew what it would cause—seeing how stiff and awkward Jake had been—but you let it go halfway through when the soreness in your back outweighs your desire to tease.
Which has now brought you to this situation.
The car's still moving like nothing happened, and the boys are slowly stirring to life one by one. Everything is normal, except for the nails digging into your waist and the deep timbre in your ear.
You swallow harshly, not daring to move. Jake is so close, so close that you can feel every movement of his chest. You sit still in his hold, trying not to wince from how hard he's gripping your hips, and how hot you find the situation is.
His dick, despite no movement is being made, only hardens further. Jake gasps almost imperceptibly, almost matching the way your breath leaves your mouth when you notice, again, just how big he is.
Fuck. Fuck, that's so hot. Sim Jaeyun is so hot and you can feel yourself slowly getting turned on.
Without any warning, as if driven by an invisible force that urges to look at him, you finally turn around.
And Jake looks absolutely wrecked.
Beads of sweat dot on his forehead, the furrow of his eyebrows showing restraint and constraint. His lips are red from how hard he's biting them, and his previously clean, smooth glasses are now fogged up and hazy. His eyes, glazed over with tamed lust, lock into yours, half-lidded and dark.
A breath catches in your throat.
This is not the Jaeyun you know.
Or, more accurately, this is not the Jaeyun he usually shows.
This is another side of him, like seeing Jake wearing short-sleeves and showing his arms for the first time. Gone are his round, puppy eyes, now replaced with this narrowed, slit gaze that makes you shiver under his heated stare. He used to be so nervous around you, and you can feel that he's nervous now, too, but his pent-up sexual frustration seems to outweigh any rational daily-Jake thoughts.
This is still Sim Jaeyun. Just a different, never-before-seen side of Sim Jaeyun.
"Are we finally there?" Riki, the last one to awaken, stretches beside the two of you. You don't even notice that the car has pulled up into the driveway of Jay's ridiculously huge beach house from how piercing Jake's gaze is holding your eyes captive now.
Jake bites his lips, the fog in his head slowly clearing up now that the car has stopped. As if snapping out of a daze, he quickly maneuvers you into Riki's lap instead, showcasing his strength that he often hides. The latter yelps at the sudden weight and grabs your waist on instinct, before Jake darts out of the car without looking back.
"Sim Jaeyun! Bring your own fucking luggage!" Jay shouts from the car boot, but the brown-haired boy has already disappeared behind the door.
You sit, stunned in silence, still frozen and unable to speak. Not until Riki nudges at you, Heeseung and Sunoo impatiently asking the both of you to move so that they can get out.
"Are you okay, noona? Is hyung okay?"
You nod. You give the youngest a strained smile as you slowly move out of his lap and out of the car, careful not to start another war of hormones.
"We're okay."
The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.
Jake is avoiding you.
It's a foreseeable aftermath. It's inevitable. But it pains you regardless.
It gets to the point where he straight up refuses sitting next to you at dinner, which raises some eyebrows and teasing from the boys. But you know better.
He is deliberately avoiding you.
It frustrates you, really. Because every summer, it is your thing with Jake to sit in silence in the morning and read at the porch, enjoying the sunrise over wordless, comfortable silence. But now he purposely sleeps in, waking up later than usual, leaving you alone in the cold of dawn, your paperback copy of The Inheritance Games left untouched on your thighs.
At movie nights, he'll be the last one to join, just to see where you sit first to avoid being near you. He'll become extra quiet when you speak, acting like the floor is more interesting than your face, not even sparing you a glance.
And your patience is wearing thin. Almost thinner than the bikini you're wearing right now.
Fine. He can ignore you all he wants, act like he didn't just pop a boner after letting you sit in his lap. He can pretend like you never affected him, pretend like nothing happened, but one thing you know is that Jake could never betray his attraction for you.
So, be fucking it. You don't care if it's petty to pick the skimpiest bikini you own today, the one in hot pink that always contours the line of your cleavage, perfectly bunching up your tits and making them look rounder. The one that you know will drive Jake crazy from how bouncy your ass looks, basically confirmed when his eyes can't seem to stop trailing after you even after you dive into the pool.
You come to the surface with a gaping mouth, letting the water slide down the lines on your body, and make no show of hiding yourself from looking straight at Jake.
That coward has the nerves to look away after staring at you like a touch-deprived teenager.
"Is Sim Jaeyun single?"
The reason why you always agree to join the all-boys road trip is because it's not exactly all-boys. There are girls who live nearby. Girls you're acquainted with from how often you follow your cousin to his beach house every summer. Spoiled rich girls whose parents come from the same tax bracket as your and Jay's family.
And one of those girls is shamelessly checking Jake out now, hungry eyes drinking in the way his wet, long-sleeved shirt sticks to his torso, outlining the faint lines of his abdomen that he never shows. She's sitting on the edge of the pool, feet-dipping while you take a break from your swim.
You narrow your eyes, an ugly spark of jealousy blooming in your chest. You don't like the implication of the question, and you absolutely hate the way she's looking at him now.
"Don't even think about it."
Your neighbour only shrugs and continues her eye-fucking. "He's so my type. So nerdy, so smart. I wonder how he'll look like without the glasses?"
You will poke her eyes before she gets the chance to. "Use your own imagination," you hiss, almost bitter when you realise that you also have barely seen him without his glasses.
Jake has sensitive eyes that react badly to contact lenses, which explains his preference for thick glasses than going out without them. Even now, when everyone is fooling around Jay's enormous pool, his thick, black-rimmed glasses perch on the bridge of his tall nose—the nose you hope you can put into good use one day.
The girl only hums, half-listening to you. She sighs dreamily. "I can't believe that I have his number."
At this point, the jealousy has turned so ugly you're actually seeing green. Or red. Or whatever that Cortis song sounds like. "You have his number?"
She finally pays attention to you. "Yeap! I asked him yesterday. I don't know what I should say to start the conversation though," she pouts, glancing back at Jake who's now sitting on the side with Sunghoon, sipping on coconut water. "Should I ask him if I can join dinner at your house tonight?"
Jake gave his number to her?
You grit your teeth. The hurt has materialised into a knife, twisting in your chest in a sharp pain disguised in jealousy. So, while Jake's been avoiding you like a fucking plague, he's been spending his time giving away his number to any curious girl? He's been talking with other girls while leaving you with radio silence, one that you didn't deserve because it was him who popped that boner?!
You are the one who's supposed to ignore him—not the other way around!
What a fucking loser.
You can't stop the bitterness from leaking through your voice when you finally speak.
"It's me and Jay that you should ask—not Sim Jaeyun. And no, you cannot join dinner at my house tonight."
You leave her dumbfounded by the pool, seething in anger that the water on your skin could steam from the heat alone. You march to the slide doors, giving Jake and Sunghoon the nastiest side-eye you could ever give when the latter calls out to you, and slam the door behind.
Whatever. Or not whatever. Sim Jaeyun is a fucking pervert and a jerk and a coward, and stupidly hot while being so oblivious to how hot he actually is. Whatever! You don't care.
You don't care that he barely speaks a word to you. You don't care that he leaves any room you walk into. You don't care that he's flirting with other girls and giving away his number willingly when you had his on default for being Jay's younger cousin, and from Jay himself at that.
The corner of your eyes burn.
You wish you didn't care.
You're ignoring Jake.
Jake knows this the moment you no longer come to the porch to read. Instead, every morning is now spent in the garden with Jungwon, tending to Jay's mom's flowers. After, you'll brew some hibiscus tea that you pluck from the garden and share it with Sunoo and Riki.
And when he walks into the kitchen to get some food, you no longer meet his eyes, or save that apple that he knows you know he likes to eat for breakfast. You let Heeseung eat all of them! It's so—so unfair, because he likes apples and you know it!
It sends Jake to the end of a cliff. Why are you suddenly being like this?
His sanity is stretching thin as he tries to work his brain. Why the sudden change? Is it because of his silence? But he's just embarrassed to face you! Or—did you find out about it?
Genuine horror floods his mind when he thinks, oh no, you must've realised how disgusting he truly is. How dirty-minded and perverted he is, that every day he has to take cold showers three times a day whenever he catches a glimpse of you.
You in your sleepwear. You in your casual shirt. You in shorts.
You in bikini.
Jake has fallen out of any point of salvation, because God, could any man get this horny just from a mere look? In the back of his mind, he knows it's the image of you sitting in his lap that ignited the beginning of his undoing, but the continuous hard-on he gets whenever he's around you is definitely, entirely on him.
And Jake, oh so sweet Jake, doesn't dare touch himself to the thought of you. No. He'd rather leave his balls blue, take cold showers every morning, every evening, and every night, and let his dick go from standing tall like a national anthem was being played to becoming flaccid under the cold water without any action. He doesn't even have the guts to touch his own fucking dick, the guilt blocking him from doing anything to relieve himself.
So—did you find out about it? Because if you did, then Jake could understand the cold shoulders you're giving him.
But Jake is a mere man—maybe a bit perverted, and a bit too horny despite his image, so he couldn't stop himself from getting hard the moment he sees you walking into the living room in nothing but an oversized white tee that falls off your shoulder. He grabs the nearest cushion and places it on top of his crotch, blood already rushing south when he sees the strap of your black bra.
This is why he has to go to church sometimes; to balance everything out. Because Einstein never talked about the solution or formula to cure men's (Jake's) sexual desires that seem endless. And sexual desires that come from seeing a strap of a bra alone.
Whatever it is, Jake's soul has almost left his body, already tuning out of his surroundings. He doesn't even realise that Jay and Riki are wrestling for the TV remote, and accidentally sending said remote flying onto the floor just a few feet away from him.
He only comes to when you stand in front of him, back facing him, and bend over to pick up the remote.
You. Bend. Over. In. Front. Of. Him.
In a second, Jake has a full view of your ass. The shirt rides up slightly, revealing white shorts that stretches across the round flesh as you bend over to reach the remote and Jake feels like he's brought back to the car when he was fighting demons as you unintentionally ground his crotch with every movement.
His grip on the cushion tightens, head dizzy from the way you practically shove your butt in his face.
Jake releases a shaky exhale.
He can see the outline of your panties and wonders if it matches your black bra.
And he can see the outline of his doomed future if he stays in the living room any longer.
"Whose turn is it to pick the movie?" You casually ask, now straightening up as if you just didn't flash Jake with your perky ass.
"Jake hyung," Jungwon replies from the center of the long couch, carding his hand through Sunoo's silky hair, the blonde who's now laying down his head on his lap. "It's his turn."
Your face remains expressionless as you turn to the glasses boy. But instead of taking the remote from your hand, Jake stands up, avoiding eye contact and clutching the cushion tight over his crotch.
Then he flees the living room, leaving behind six confused men and one very angry, very upset girl.
Jake thinks he deserves a medal for surviving the living room.
Or perhaps an exorcism.
The moment his bedroom door clicks shut behind him, Jake drops the cushion onto the floor and drags both hands down his face with a groan. His glasses nearly fall off his nose in the process.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
He paces once across the room, then twice.
Outside, he can still hear the muffled sounds of the movie downstairs—Riki yelling dramatically at a character, Sunoo complaining about spoilers, Jay laughing too loudly. Normal sounds. Normal people.
Meanwhile Jake feels like he's one accidental glimpse of your shoulder away from committing a crime.
His eyes squeeze shut.
That white shirt.
The black bra strap.
The way you bent over in front of him so casually, completely unaware that Jake nearly ascended right there on Jay's living room couch.
"Fuck," he whispers weakly to himself.
Jake drops onto the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees.
Maybe he should take another cold shower. That would make four today.
"I should sleep," he mutters to himself, breath shaky. "S-Sleep can help with motion sickness and horniness."
With a newfound resolution, he turns off the lamp and settles under the blanket. His movement is stiff and awkward, overly aware of the tent straining his shorts. Once he pulls the blanket over his chest, Jake closes his eyes, forcing sleep into his system.
Only, the image of you swimming in your hot pink bikini flashes behind his eyelids.
"No, stop. Not that," he whispers, brows scrunching in protest. He shakes his head, as if physically removing the image away, and tries again.
This time, the image of you in his lap comes back, stripped down to heated skin and soft breaths, your body moving against his in ways that make his stomach twist.
His eyes fly open. The image is so clear and vivid, thanks to his photographic memory and insane imagination—the very thing that's been saving him in the academic department now serving as the tool that brings him to his downfall.
His cock twitches involuntarily.
"N-No," he pants, chest moving rapidly. He grips the edge of the blanket, knuckles turning white. "I—Stop—"
Then he remembers just now: you bent over, giving him a delicious access to his ass-shaped sufferings, and Jake almost whimpers from the flashback alone.
The room rises in temperature, the air conditioner doing nothing to tone down the feverish lust spreading through his body. Jake finally relents and discards the blanket, glasses all fogged up as he stares at the bulge under his shorts.
"I'm sorry," he whimpers, slipping off his shorts and boxers until they bunch up around his knees. "I'm so fucking sorry."
His cock springs free, standing tall in the dimness of his room. The tip glistens, already drooling with precum that shows no sign of stopping. With shaky hands, hesitance still edging around his lust, Jake finaly touches himself.
He has to bite down hard on his lips to muffle the sound threatening to escape. His hand stutters, the feeling of finally rubbing some relief after days of holding back comes crashing down on him. His head spins from how heavy his cock is in his hold, veins protuding like they're going to combust.
He slowly starts moving his hand, lathering up precum to ease the glide. His head tips back, a strangled sound catches behind his throat.
"Oh, God," his head spins, sparks of lust bursting at the tip of his fingers. "Oh, fuck—"
Through his hazy gaze of the blurry lenses, Jake tightens his grip slightly. A moan escapes his lips at the force, his cock only getting heavier in his hand. He plays with the mushroom tip of his dick, thumbing the slit and hissing when it sends pleasure up his spine.
"Ngh—" his eyes squeeze shut, brain putting up pieces of his memory of you. His body jerks when the rough pad of his thumb touches the underside of his cock, and as if on cue, the image of your jiggly breasts inside the car flashes behind his closed eyes.
"Fuck—Y/N," Jake sobs, picking up his pace. His wrist turns and flicks, biceps flexing hard at the speed he's going. Guilt starts accumulating inside his chest the more he thinks of you, of your voice, of your gaze, of your scent—but guilt isn't enough to stop Jake from chasing his own release.
"'So sorry," he chokes, letting go of his bottom lip, bitten-red and swollen. He imagines it was your hand instead of his, smaller and softer, with those manicured nails that he loves so much. How tiny your hand would look around his hard dick, trying to grip his length in its fully erect state.
Jake isn't inexpereinced. He's had his own fair share of sexcapades with a few people, and he's always been told that he's bigger than average. The big dick that he hides under his pants, further concealed by his nervous persona that only certain girls find cute.
But seeing his state right now, Jake thinks he's the furthest thing from cute.
He's pathetic.
Pathetic and gross and disgusting, feeling bad for jerking off to the thoughts of you but still unable to retract his hand and stop. The sound of his cries that he fails to hide fills up the space, and for the first time in days he's very glad that he won paper-rock-scissors during room assignment.
"Oh, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N," he chants, mouth gaping open when he can feel himself close. His wrist is already tired and numb from the relentless pace he's set, the slick sound of his sinful act matching the roar of his blood rushing in his ears.
"Please, please, 'm gonna cum," he sobs, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. His hips lift off the mattress. "Please—"
"Do not fucking cum, Sim Jaeyun."
Jake's entire body locks up.
His wrist stills immediately, pleasure crashing into horror so fast it makes his stomach twist. For a second, he genuinely thinks his heart stops beating.
The room goes dead silent except for his ragged breathing.
Through fogged-up lenses and teary eyes, Jake stares at you standing by the door, unable to process the fact that you're actually here.
That you heard him.
That you saw him.
Oh my fucking God.
His hand jerks away from himself like he’s been burned, chest heaving violently as he scrambles to sit up straighter. The blanket tangles around his legs from how abruptly he moves.
"I—"
Nothing comes out.
Jake has never felt this level of humiliation before.
Not when he failed his chemistry olympiad in tenth grade. Not when he tripped in front of his entire lecture hall. Not even when Jungwon found his hidden Pokémon card collection at nineteen.
This is worse. So much worse.
Because it's you.
You, standing there in that oversized white shirt slipping off your shoulder again, eyes dark and unreadable as you look at him sprawled across the bed like something shameful.
Jake feels sick. His face burns so hot he thinks he might actually pass out.
"S-Sorry," he chokes out instinctively, because apologising is the only thing his brain knows how to do right now. "I didn't—I wasn't—I—"
His voice cracks miserably.
Jake is going to cry.
What should he even say in this situation? Sorry that you caught him jerking off to you? Sorry that he's such a nerd, such a loser that the only time he could talk smoothly with you was when he was defining what motion sickness was, but never had the courage to tell you how much he likes you and how much you affect me? Sorry that he's such a pervert that he thinks of you in positions way too inappropriate to be just friends?
The weight of his arousal sits heavy against his thigh, a testament to a newfound, lifelong embarrassment that he'll carry to his grave.
Jake squirms under your heated gaze, and quickly covers his crotch with his blanket when you slip into his bedroom wordlessly. The door clicks shut, the sound amplified by the heavy silence hanging in the air. His body tenses up.
Oh my God—he messed up, didn't he? Jake hangs his head low in shame, tears gathering along his lashlines.
"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to…"
His vision turns blurry. Fuck, you must hate him now.
"I-It's wrong—I know that—I'm sorry—ah!"
Jake looks up in surprise when your bold hand cups his erection. There's angry lines in your forehead, a sneer on your mouth, but the nasty look you're giving him does nothing to soothe down his arousal.
If anything, twisted as it is—it turns him on even more.
"Couldn't even look me in the eye downstairs," you begin, "but you here you are, jerking off to me like I wouldn't find out?"
The venom in your voice hurts him. You're being mean with your words, and it hurts his feelings but Jake couldn't care less. His mind is a messy jumbles of guilt and pleasure and shame, so all he does is cry and shake his head.
"I-I'm sorry, Y/N—"
"Are you really sorry?" you tighten your grip on his cock, one knee dipping into the mattress. "Your dick doesn't seem sorry though."
Jake wants to cry—oh, he's already crying. His hand curls into the sheets beneath him, unable to form coherent words when you start rocking the heel of your palm on his hard-on. The friction from the blanket and the pressure from your hand only spark electric pleasure through his system.
Within seconds, Jake is all hard again—even harder than before.
"Tell me, Jaeyunnie. Did all of this happen because I sat in your lap?"
Jake whimpers pathetically. You knew. Of course you knew. You're not only hot and pretty and kind, you're also smart like him, so in tune with your surroundings. You're a little mean right now, but it's okay because Jake believes that he deserves this after avoiding you without any explanation.
"Answer me, Sim Jaeyun."
"Yes," he croaks, shame burning his face red. His eyes screw shut. The admission sets his being on fire, skin flushed from embarrassment. "O-Oh, God, y-yes."
He cracks one eye open when you don't reply. Instead, he's met with your fiery gaze. The edges have softened with lust, like you're also affected by this, but you're good at keeping your control.
Unlike him, who's unraveling like a loose thread under your touch alone.
Jake almost whines when you retract your hand, but the sound is muffled with a gasp when you yank the blanket open. He instinctively closes his crotch area with his hands, but you're fast to slap his wrists away.
"I'm so pissed off, Jaeyun," you mutter, swinging your leg over his thighs so now you're straddling him. You fix him with your sharp eyes, hand finding his dick again.
"You've been acting like we're strangers and it hurts me so bad."
Jake's mouth hangs open as you gather his precum and start working your wrist around his cock. His brain barely registers your words, too lost in a cloud of lust, but when he finally processes it, he desperately shakes his head.
He wants to apologise again and again and again, because he is truly sorry—he didn't know how affected you were. How could he not, when you're always described as everything out of his league, but he's always described as everything that doesn't fit your type?
"I'm sorry, I was just—fuck—just ashamed—" he gasps, hips bucking into your touch. "Didn't mean to—t-to hurt y—ngh, Y/N, faster please."
You coo at him, feigning sympathy as you set a ruthless pace on his cock. Jake is big—something that isn't a surprise anymore since that day you sat in his lap—but the sheer size of him is enough to make your mouth water and your panties damp.
Damn these nerdy boys. Acting all shy and innocent when they have this monstrousity hiding behind those ugly glasses.
"Faster? You wanna cum, Jaeyunnie?" you tilt your head. Jake nods frantically. "I don't think you deserve it, though. Why not ask from those girls you gave your number to?"
Something sharp twists in his stomach. Jake's eyes fly open, almost cowering when you give him a distasteful look. He grabs your arms desperately and shakes his head.
"N-No! She asked me first—" you put more pressure and Jake damn near loses his mind. "—said she needs—help—w-with Physi—cs—"
You roll your eyes. It's that easy to fool him? Can't he see the way those girls fuck him with their eyes? Without waiting for his sentence to finish, you sink down and take him in your mouth.
"Oh, fuck!" Jake screams, accidentally thrusting up his hips. He bites his lips, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose as you take him deeper, tracing the line of his veins with your sinful tongue. "Oh, Y/N—please."
You hum around his length, tongue swirling as you hollow your cheeks to deepen the suction. Jake nearly busts from that alone, mind melting into a puddle of your name, the wet heat of your mouth serving as a better pleasure than his own hand.
You start bobbing your head up and down, marveling in the way the weight of his dick sits on your tongue. He's so big that you're so close to choking, but you don't care. You need to remind Jake how stupid he's been acting and how stupid he is if he thinks that you were not just as attracted toward him.
Jake sobs into his hands, hips jerking with every touch of his tip hitting the back of your throat. His head is getting dizzier, he can feel the coil in his stomach getting tighter and he knows that anytime soon, he will come undone on your skillful tongue.
But just as he's about to reach that high, you let go of him with a pop.
"No!" Jake whines, tears sliding down his cheeks. You're so mean. "P-Please let me cum."
"Not yet, nerdy boy." You mutter, red lips slick with saliva and precum. Jake can only sob, dick throbbing in need and desperation.
This is the punishment he deserves for being a jerk. He knows that, but he can't seem to stop crying. God, he's so pathetic.
Then he feels movement on his thighs. He blinks through the foggy lenses and lets out a breathless moan when you lift up your shirt and shorts and discard them away, leaving you in nothing but a pair of bra and panties. His mouth starts salivating at the display of your beautiful body, and Jake swears he almost cums when he sees that you're indeed wearing black panties.
Oh, fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Just as he imagined—God, you're so perfect he wants to kiss you.
But instead of a kiss, you push his at his chest instead. "Lie down."
And like the obedient puppy that he is, Jake follows your word, carefully descending his back onto the mattress. He's still sniffling from the previous denial, but now it's mixed with anticipation of what's to come when you hover above him.
You trace a gentle finger along the tall bridge of his nose, a barely-there touch that makes him shiver. With a slow tap on the tip of his nose, you finally speak.
"Did anyone ever ride your nose, Jaeyunnie?"
H-His nose?
Girls always compliment his nose, but he's never given it many thoughts as to why they did that. "N-No. Never."
There's a wicked smile on your face as you stand on your knees. Jake watches with a mouth gaping open as you make a show of shimmying down your panties, painfully and traitorously slowly that he almost rips it with his hand.
"Ah, what a shame," you sigh dreamily. "Guess I have to be the first one then."
Once your panties are out of the picture, Jake is instanly hit with a wave of your arousal. Your pussy glistens under the moonlight, soaked with slick and dripping with need. Jake inhales shakily, stopping himself from darting out his tongue to get a taste.
Fuck. He's sure he has actually died in the car and this is heaven because not even in his wildest dream did he get to have you like this.
Too lost in his reverie, Jake belatedly notices that you have removed his glasses. Despite your mean words and your mean actions, the caresses of your thumb on his cheeks are so gentle that he thinks he's hallucinating.
"You're so handsome, Jaeyun," you murmur. "But I bet you'll look better buried between my thighs."
You give him no time to recover from your crude words when you slowly move to straddle his head. Then, with a hand in his hair, you descend, letting the tip of his nose nudge at your clit.
And oh my fucking God—you smell so divine.
"Ah, Jaeyunnie," you moan, rocking your hips slowly to test the waters. "Your nose feels so good."
You sound even more divine. Jake's eyes roll to the back, savouring the way your sinful moans fall on his ears as you use his nose to get off. The bridge of his nose slides through your folds—wet and sticky and so sweet that he can't get enough of it.
Jake wraps his arms around your thighs to give you support, and another moan escapes your lips upon seeing his veiny arms around your supple skin. He stares at you through half-lidded eyes, groaning despite your cunt suffocating him, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure to your system.
"Ngh—Jaeyun—"
He can't breathe, and he can't hear properly from how hard you're clamping his head with your legs, but he can't deny that this is the best way to die. Being suffocated by your leaking pussy sounds like a dream death compared to dying in Jay's old SUV.
You keep your rhythm, rocking your hips back and forth, grinding your clit on his nose and dragging your folds on the tall bridge until the sharp tip of his nose catches at your hole. The grip you have in his hair hurts his scalp, but everything is worth the pain when Jake can watch you fall apart on his face, his own cock pulsing with a trembling need to cum.
"Ah—ah—Jaeyun oppa—"
Fuck. Fuck that sacred nickname.
The dynamics between you two often makes Jake forget the fact that he is indeed older than you. Coming from the States, it's uncommon for you to address people with such honorifics.
But right now, using that very honorific against him ignites something inside him; a carnal desire that's been thrumming low in his guts, waiting to be unleashed.
This time, Jake barely stops himself from stealing a taste. He darts out his tongue, prodding your hole with the tip, and hums in satisfaction when your stance falters slightly.
"Don't," you hiss, but there's no heat in it. Jake takes it as a sign to continue, licking more into your weeping cunt until your pace turns sloppy.
He doesn't care. You're probably gonna be so mad at him and punish him more, but whatever it is you have prepared can wait. Right now, Jake is having the best pussy of his life—barely breathing but still eating so, so fucking well.
"Jaeyun—stop—"
"No," Jake protests when you try to get up, pulling you down until the full weight of your body rests on his face.
Oh God, choking on pussy has never felt so good.
"Sim Jaeyun!" You squirm, feeling the stirring inside your belly getting wilder. Despite your weak attempts, your hips keeps grinding on his nose, showing no signs of stopping. You throw your head back.
You knew his nose would be the best thing to ride on, but hearing the slurps of your slick and his saliva—the sinful noises of him feasting on your cunt—makes you almost regret not letting him eat you out first.
"Ngh—Jaeyun—I'm close—"
Jake pulls your hips harder, letting you grind your clit on the tip of his nose as his tongue pushes into your hole mercilessly. You let out a high-pitched scream, muscles pulling tight at his ministrations. The double stimulations are fast pushing you over the edge.
Soon, white hot pleasure crashes into you, your vision turning black momentarily. It's so blurry and messy that you haven't realised that you've been screaming his name raw, hips unrelenting to chase the high. Jake swallows every drop of your sweet nectar, moaning into your spasming hole as he licks it clean.
Fuck. He's already desperate to have another round.
When you come down from your orgasm, hair matted to your forehead, you look down at him furiously.
"Let me go! I told you not to do it!" You attempt to sit up, but Jake doesn't let go, shaking his head with a pout. His nose and chin are drenched with your release, it's so sinful and filthy and you can't lie that you like seeing him so wrecked and fucked over like this.
"Can I have more? Please," he begs, kissing your inner thigh unhurriedly. He's already so addicted to the taste of you, Jake thinks he's gonna die if he doesn't have another fill. "I'll be so good to you, Y/N. Wanna eat you out so bad."
You grit your teeth, pushing away the temptation to save your pride. "No. Get up, Jaeyun."
But Jake is stubborn. He's so desperate to have more of you that he doesn't mind if he's leaving his own cock neglected and balls blue. "Please, I need it bad," he nudges at your pussy with his finger, pupils blown wide at the strings of sticky cum decorating your folds. "Fuck, please, Y/N, I want to eat you out."
"I said get up, Jaeyun."
"Y/N—"
"Jake."
The sharpness in your voice cuts through the haze instantly.
Jake stills immediately.
The desperation in his eyes flickers into something softer, more uncertain, like a scolded puppy finally realising he’s crossed a line. His grip on your thighs loosens at once, chest rising and falling hard beneath you.
The sound of his English name on your tongue feels foreign and almost painful, because it lacks the usual warmth and intimacy that your 'Jaeyun' usually holds. Yet, something inside him pulses harder, liking the change more than he'd like to admit.
“S-Sorry,” he whispers automatically, voice rough. “I just…”
He doesn’t even know how to explain it. How could he? That hearing you moan his name made him lose every coherent thought in his brain? That he’s spent days trying to stay away from you only to end up here, beneath you, completely ruined anyway?
You study him for a long moment before finally shifting off his face.
“Sit up.”
Jake obeys instantly.
The movement is clumsy and needy. His hair is a mess, lips swollen, face still flushed from lack of oxygen and desire. Without his glasses, his eyes look unbearably open like this—too honest, too vulnerable.
You cup his jaw gently, the touch losing its cruelty. Jake melts into it.
"There he is," you murmur softly, fixing his bangs that are obscuring his eyesight.
Jake can feel his heart stutter traitorously. This version of you—tender and sweet—a glimpse of the usual-you, is always more dangerous than any teasing.
Wordlessly, you tug at his shirt, and Jake obediently holds up his arms to let you peel away the fabric. Your eyes flick downward, amusement tugging at your lips.
"You know," you start, fingers trailing slowly down his sculpted chest, "for someone who acted terrified of touching me in the car…"
He groans softly, already embarrassed.
"…You were pretty damn desperate down there, Jaeyun."
His face burns hotter. Fine, he's just a touch-starved man, desperate for you in every way possible. But how could he not? Have you even looked at yourself?
"I-I can't help it…" His eyes drop to your lips. "You tasted so good."
A breathy chuckle escapes you, quiet and fond. But to Jake's ears, he's already hearing the wedding bells chime.
And suddenly the humiliation twisting in his chest eases into something warmer when you climb into his lap again, turning slowly until your back presses against his chest.
The exact same position. That fucking position in the car that has his mind on an endless frenzy that he thinks he was genuinely getting crazy.
Jake goes completely still beneath you.
“Oh,” you whisper, settling against him deliberately. “Now you’re quiet again?”
His hands hover uncertainly near your hips, like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to touch you.
“You’re mean,” he mumbles weakly against your shoulder. You laugh, one hand patting his hair as the other one aligning his neglected cock on your entrance.
"But I know you like it, Jaeyunnie."
At the same time you presses on the nickname, you sink onto his cock slowly, letting the bulbous head of his length spear you open.
The both of you moan simultaneously. Jake's hands find puchase on your waist, trying his best to stop from manhandling you to just fucking bounce on his dick and letting you adjust. You, on the other hand, let the stretch burn, your walls spasming to accommodate his length.
"S-So big," you stutter, taking him inch by inch. Jake drops his head on your shoulder, his own breathing ragged. "So—full—"
When he finally fits inside you to the brim, you let out a long, drawn-out moan. He fills you up so good that you can feel every vein against your walls, every pulse kissing your insides. It's a dizzying experience that prompts you to start moving your hips.
Jake’s fingers dig into your waist, trembling.
Not because he wants to stop you.
Because he’s trying so hard not to lose himself completely.
The position alone is enough to send him spiraling—your back against his chest, your body in his lap exactly like the car ride, except now there’s no seatbelt digging into his side, no boys teasing from the front seat, no restraint left between the two of you.
Just you and him.
And the devastating realisation that you wanted him too.
Jake lets out a broken sound against your shoulder when you move again, his forehead falling against your skin. His entire body feels feverish, overwhelmed by too much sensation and too many emotions crashing into him at once.
"Wasn't this what got you so hard, Jaeyunnie?" You pant between breathless moans. "Me in your lap, bouncing on your cock like this?"
"Ngh—" A strangled noise escapes his throat. Jake watches with bated breath as your hands find the clasp of your bra and finally let the two soft mounds free. Now, he badly wants you to turn around, eager to relive the scene of your bouncy breasts in Jay's car.
"Did you not—ah—crave this?"
You arch your back, pleasure tingling every nerves as his cock drags against your walls. Jake feels his dick throb inside your hole, the same position that ruined him now had him completely at your mercy.
"S-So tight," he whimpers, mouth falling open at the way you clench around his cock and roll your hips. "S-So fucking tight, Y/N, fuck."
Jake clings onto you desperately, bucking his hips to chase your movement. But you hold down a firm hand on his thigh, completely in charge.
"Don't," you warn, grinding down on him in a way that makes your ass ripple. "Or I'll get up and leave."
Jake freezes instantly.
The warning slices straight through him, sharp and effective. His hands tighten on your waist, but he forces his hips back against the mattress despite every instinct screaming at him to chase you harder.
“O-Okay,” he breathes quickly. “Okay. Sorry.”
God, he sounds wrecked.
You can feel the way his thighs tremble beneath yours, the strain in his breathing every time you move your hips slowly against him. Jake drops his forehead between your shoulder blades with a weak groan, like simply holding himself back is physically painful.
"I'm still mad at you," you murmur. You roll your hips again, faster this time, and Jake nearly whimpers into your shoulder. His jaw clenches so hard he might pop a vessel.
"Are you sure you're not the one—" you moan, your thighs burning from how fast you're exerting yourself. The wet sound of skin hitting skin starts getting louder the harder you slam down your hips. "The one who's being—mean?"
Jake sobs into your skin, half-regretting, half-dizzy. The tight heat of your cunt pulses and flutters around his dick and he genuinely feels horrible for only thinking using his other head now.
Even so, he still manages to apologise again. "I'm s-sorry—"
You clench around him on purpose. Jake digs his nails deeper. "Fuck—"
"Stop fucking apologising," you seethe, voice trembling as you feel your release getting near. "Delete her number or I'll sit in Sunghoon's lap when we get back to Seoul."
There's no bite in your threat. It's just a spur-of-the-moment kind of things, one that you say just to rile him up.
But Jake takes your words like a verdict. He snakes an arm around your waist, lips worshipping your skin in desperate, wet kisses.
"I'm sorry, Y/N, darling," he begs, tears clinging to his lashes. He bites his lips in an attempt to stop himself from moaning because he's so, so close. "I will block her. Fuck—I will delete her number. P-Please don't sit with S-Sunghoon—"
His speech is interrupted by a high-pitched whine. Jake hasn't come all night, he's nothing more than a thread waiting to snap. The moment you bounce harder and faster, the supple skin of your butt jiggling wilder, Jake can feel that he's about to come.
"Y/N—ah—p-puh—lease—" he whimpers, voice scratching at his throat. "'M close, 'm g-gonna cum—"
But he should've known that you're so, so mean.
The moment you lift off his cock, Jake genuinely sobs out loud, thrashing under you.
"No! No, please—" he chokes, hiding his crying face behind his hands, too shattered when his orgasm being denied again. "Please, no—I wanna cum, please."
You turn around and the sight of him—red-faced, wet cheeks, lips trembling—it softens your heart. You quickly pull his wrists and rest his hands on your hips, your own cupping his cheeks.
"I'm sorry, baby," you shush him, blowing kisses to the tip of his nose as you take him again. Jake whimpers quietly. "I'm so sorry—I'll let you cum this time, hm?"
Jake weakly nods, then lets out a soft moan at the familiar feeling of your walls enveloping him. You move again, already sore, but you no longer have it in you to torture your poor, poor Jaeyun. This time, you immediately begin with a fast pace, giving him a show of your tits bouncing with every thrust.
"Ah—fuck—Jaeyunnie—" you bite your lips, expression so erotic that it has the brown-haired boy drooling. "Glasses—like you better with glasses."
Jake is too dazed to register your words, so you pick the glasses on your own and put them on him. And there he is—your sweet, sweet boy, your Jaeyunnie that you adore so much, your Jaeyun that thinks it's bad for wanting you this much.
"S-So—handsome, Jaeyunnie," you roll your hips, chest arching into his face. "My nerdy boy, you're mine, hm?"
Jake physically cannot take it anymore. The sight of you on top of him, bouncing on his cock like your life depends on it, putting on his glasses and calling him yours—it's too much for Sim Jaeyun who's never been given this kind of attention and affection.
Especially from you.
His lips move, but you can barely hear him.
"Hm? What did you say?"
"I said I'm sorry, Y/N," his nails dig into your waist. "I'm so fucking sorry, please don't be mad at me."
Your brows furrow in confusion, but before you know it, Jake is already flipping you around, changing your position in one swift movement. You have half a second to gain your breath before the boy hovering over you pulls you closer by your ankles and throws your legs over his shoulders.
"I'm s-sorry," Jake stutters, slipping his dick back into your cunt and starts thrusting fast. "I-I can't hold it anymore."
Despite the showcase of his strength, Jake looks absolutely ruined. There's a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but from the pace he's railing you, you know that his lust ovverrides whatever little guilt he has.
Soon enough, the air smells so thickly of sex. The sound of his balls slapping your ass, accompanied by your high-pitched moans and his groans are the only one filling up the space, to the point that you're sure one of the boys must've heard you.
It's so hot and filthy that Jake's glasses are all fogged up again. His grip on your waist is now leaving bruises, but you don't care because all you can think of is Jake, Jake's big cock, Jake's stupid glasses and just Jake, Jake, Jake.
"F-f-f-fuck," he exhales shakily, splitting you open with his cock. "I-I'm so—close—"
You thrash around, fisting the sheets until it tears from the force of your nails. "Jaeyun—" you gasp when he keeps abusing that spot that has you seeing stars. "Oh, fuck—Jaeyun—harder—"
Jake leans forward, straining his arms on either side of your head. His glasses slide down his slick nose slightly when he bends down to capture your lips in his thick ones. You both moan into the kiss, finally getting the taste of each other, tongues already clashing for more.
Jake licks into your mouth, hips never faltering, and sucks on your bottom lip. You whimper, the sensation becoming too much until you're just breathing against his lips, all heat and teeth and saliva. Jake groans.
"I-I'm gonna—cum—" he gasps against your mouth, face scrunching in pleasure when you clench around him. "O-Oh my fucking God, Y/N, fuck—please let me cum inside."
His hands find your waist again, thrusting harder than before. His head drops to your shoulder as he begs, again and again.
"P-Please let me cum inside, please," he whimpers, voice needy and whiny. "Please—I'm gonna—I wanna—"
"Just cum," you moan when his teeth scrape against your skin. "Jae—Jaeyunnie—"
Jake groans. With last few, deliberate thrusts, he finally cums—a full-body orgasm that has him shuddering, his cock spurting out rope after thick rope of his release, painting your walls white.
You follow him just a second after, vision blurring for a moment as your second orgasm rips through your body. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, eyes rolling back from how delicious your climax is.
Jake takes a long moment breathing into your ear, grinding his hips slowly before he's finally pulling out. He hisses as he drags out his cock, careful not to overstimulate you, and watches in awe as white fluid flowing out of your pulsing cunt.
"Oh my fucking God."
You breathe out a laugh, sounding breathless and disbelieving. Seeing Jake sitting still by your legs, you open your arms toward him.
"C'mere, Jaeyunnie. Let's cuddle for a moment before washing up—I'm too sore to walk."
Jake perks up at that. Gone is the hungry, lust-driven boy a few moments ago, now replaced with the shy, kicked puppy holding his tail between his legs.
"Cuddle?" he echoes, unsure. "Are you not mad at me?"
"I could never be mad at you for too long," you reply, giving him a reassuring smile.
It gives Jake a flicker of hope. He scoots closer, still cautious and observing, like approaching a scared animal.
"But I avoided you…"
You drop your arms and pretend to think, making a show of tapping your chin with a finger.
"You're right. You were mean for that. Why don't you carry me to the bathroom and clean me up so we can cuddle afterwards?"
Hearing that, Jake finally relaxes, his tight muscles loosening. With an eager smile, he scoops an arm under your knees and your back, and then lifts you up easily as if you weigh nothing.
"Your wish is my command, my princess."
The next morning, you receive knowing looks from the boys. There are lingering stares on your neck from where Jake was mauling your skin last night, but you have no problem showing them off.
Jake, on the other hand, is on the edge of another breakdown.
"So, Jake," Jay starts, already planning a mischievous teasing inside his head. "How did it feel like to get railed—"
"I did not get railed!" he squeaks, ears blushing red. "I-I was the one who railed her! Right, Y/N?"
There's a laugh bubbling inside your chest as you watch Jake squirm under the relentless teasing of his friends. It felt good to be the one in charge, but after that display of strength and the way he manhandled you last night?
You don't mind having him on top of you.
But the both of you know who's truly in charge.
And if you choose to sit in his lap again, this time grinding and shifting on purpose that he gets hard until the car reaches Seoul, nobody has to know that.
Hi my love, i just wanted you to know the photo of jake with his chin on the pillow in bed (third ss i think?) is ai!! I thought id let u know so u can change it
hi! thank you for letting me know. i did notice it days after posting but i didn’t know how to replace just that slide.
but in no way do i condone the use of ai, let alone using it for face swaps! i appreciate you calling me out. thank you! this will surely never happen again.
𓍢 ⋆📖⊹ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ you are reading: preacher's daughter
sjy x f.reader (corruption kink, religious guilt, smut with a lot of plot, sensitive themes, +18)
"in the early 2000s, in some small, rural town, your religious and restrained life collides with jake sim, who makes you doubt everything you know and want to explore more of the world"
wc: 19.6k (what was that honesly)
author's notes: hii hellooo!!! i don't want to go on about this any longer cause it already took me about a month to prepare this, so despite having very maternal instincts with it, i feel desperate because maybe ill never write this well again! lol (it IS that deep for me okay) anyways! i hope you can enjoy it as much as i did! and here's the playlist i used (i was heavily influenced by ethel cain)
tw: corruption kink, outsider!jake x preachersdaughter!reader, no use of yn, use of legal substances, religious guilt, religious stuff in general, heresy, slow burn, opposites attract, size difference, manhandling, heavy make out, dry humping, edging, loss of virginity, p in v, unprotected sex, belly bulge, teasing, marking, cursing, dirty talk, oral sex, clit play, nipple play, body worship (f rec.), guided masturbation, dacryphilia, talking you through it, praising, pet names (church girl, little one), some grapphic violence(? not btw the pairing tho), distorted feelings, a funny turn of events in the end bc im crazy lmao, intended lowercase, and english is not my first language!!! if i forget anything let me know juseyo!
"my children, look at your hands. are they clean? the world outside is a hungry wolf, but inside here, we must be like the immaculate lamb" you heard the pastor preach from the pulpit. formal clothes, shirt tucked into pants, the best shoes you owned, hair so slicked back with a mixture of water and styling gel that it reflected the ceiling lights. when your father's eyes fell upon you, you lowered yours, resting them on the restless hands in your lap. that week's sermon was not in vain.
"remember: your body does not belong to you. it was bought with a price of blood. any desire of the flesh is a crack in the temple, and through that crack, the enemy enters" the man kept his eyes on your figure, and it wasn't necessary to look back to know; your shoulders burned from the indirect exposure. all because he had seen the boy who tended the gardens handing you a rose; which, of course, you had accepted politely.
it wasn't as if you had feelings for the boy, but you also weren't used to receiving attention from the opposite sex - even the church youth groups were careful not to mix genders. besides that, there was the major factor of being the pastor's daughter in a tiny countryside town where everyone knew each other and nothing was a secret.
it had happened to lisa, a former high school classmate, when she had her first kiss and went to confess and seek guidance; she had come out in tears from the small room your father used as an office. that same night, he told you never to speak to or sit near her during services again. or when the late mrs. johnson refused to give her tithe, claiming she needed to pay for the entire family's burial plot since she was the last of the name; the following week she no longer appeared at church, or the week after that, and after, and after... until she was found dead in her living room armchair; your father refused to say why the woman had stopped coming on sundays before her inevitable death from old age.
you sighed when the church bells rang, indicating the end of the preaching. the murmuring grew, and most people stood up, greeting one another, talking about trivialities as they walked toward the exit. you refrained, going to help your father blow out the candles and put away the books. you piled the objects in your lap, heading toward the narrow back door, noticing out of the corner of your eye before crossing the threshold an unfamiliar face going to talk to him.
you arranged everything on the shelves, brushing your dusty hand against your linen skirt before heading back out. your father was no longer there, nor was the stranger, but you saw under the door that the office light was on, so you sat down to wait. if your mother were still around, maybe she would tell you to go talk with the younger crowd while she waited for him, but that was a reality from years ago when she was still alive. you pressed your lips together and sighed, settled once more in the front row of pews.
the silence of the hall made the distant clock's tick-tock echo loudly, and the amplitude of the empty space made the cross positioned on the small altar seem to triple in size. he was watching. even if it wasn't your father, he would know, and he would judge. he would judge your lack of excitement for religion, your little faith, your curious glances, your inadequate desires, and he would whisper to your parent what he should say up there, so that every word was directed specifically at you.
a shiver ran down your spine when the office door opened, pulling you out of your small trance. your father was the first to step out, holding the door and signaling for the other to follow. who was he? dark hair, longer than usual for guys, a heavy brown suede jacket over a plain white shirt, jeans, and leather boots. you had never seen him around there, or anywhere else in town. his face was different, handsome... very handsome. full lips, thick eyebrows, a large nose... and as they approached, you noticed how tall he was too.
"ah, you're here" your father commented, flashing a fake smile in your direction, indicating his anger hadn't ceased, even after everything he had said. you stood up on impulse; hands pinned to your sides and perfect posture, but your sweet, shimmering eyes didn't lie as they scanned the new guy. "this is jake, jake sim, he just moved in" the man continued, observing your stunned state and then clearing his throat. "introduce yourself, kid..." something deep in your gut urged you to be indifferent, to ignore jake's hand extended toward you. but your body spoke before your brain could rationalize. your name came out as a whisper from your dry lips, but he still smiled, squeezing your hand lightly, letting you let go first. he put his hands back into his coat pockets while your father looked at you as if your head had been replaced by a giant question mark.
***
after that day, jake's presence was recurring. more often than you needed, less often than you craved. he was different from all the guys you knew; those who were almost a copy of your father - clothes too perfect, empty gazes. yes, jake was like a reminder that the mundane existed, a reminder that not everyone believed in the same god as you, that not everyone prayed before eating or cared about going to hell over a bad choice. whenever you ran into him, he smiled in your direction - an upside-down smile that made you wonder if he was curious or just felt pity.
your father had said he was moving from another city with no relatives, trying to make a life in a different place, and that was why jake would live in the small back room of the church for a while, paying rent by helping with the restoration of the ceiling and some walls that urgently needed plaster and paint.
he seemed willing, never truly standing still, carrying buckets of paint, mortar, pushing the rusty wheelbarrow where he put all the tools and materials back and forth. one moment he was outside, another he stopped to smoke before moving on to restore some pillar in the main hall. and whenever you cooked, your father asked you to take a plate of food to the dark-haired guy; since your house was across the street and it didn't hurt to help.
whether it was simple rice and meat or pasta, jake always made sure to thank you properly, stopping what he was doing - white tank top clinging to his sweaty torso, stained with paint and dirt, hair stuck to his forehead which he pushed back with his fingers - stepping down from the ladder or standing up to receive the plate from you. "did you make this?" he would ask, smelling the food and then looking at you. "yes... it's simple, i hope you don't mind". he would shake his head and then smile wide before sitting down to eat on a low stool nearby. "i haven't eaten home-cooked food in months." he would fork it and take a big bite, chewing and nodding approvingly, "it's good, very good."
your heart didn't help, making your chest give an unexpected twinge that left you flustered by the compliments you never received. "you... have been helping a lot..." you justified, and after a few seconds of just watching, you would simply extend your hand in a small goodbye and turn your back, walking quickly to leave the place while your small fingers reached for the rosary decorating your neck, squeezing the pendant hard.
it was bad. it was worse than you could have imagined. and it got worse. the more you saw him, the more phrases you exchanged, the more you wanted to talk, the more you wanted to discover who he really was. you knew he had a car, a ford f-custom pickup in a faded red tone from sitting in the sun. you knew he liked jackets because you had seen him with several; you knew he smoked and that he didn't attend the services; not even once.
jake didn't talk about his family; let alone which city he was coming from. your father didn't know much more either, snapping back with a "why do you want to know?" the first and only time you questioned him during dinner. "just because... he appeared so suddenly" you replied with a trembling voice, hearing a huff from the older man.
as the weeks passed, the church took on a new air: revamped, clean. he had even taken care of the flowers in the beds - abandoned since your father excommunicated the gardener for the act of chivalry toward you - which now had small white and yellow flowers blooming. the ceiling didn't drip anymore when it rained, and jake had fixed the pews that had rotting boards inside. your father was grateful, you knew he was; maybe that was why he didn't force jake to participate on sundays. but whenever the service ended and you left the church, you could see him outside with a cigarette tucked into the corner of his lips, flipping through some book you had never heard of, sitting on the hood of his truck.
and whenever he caught you watching, he would stop, take the cigarette from his lips, and close the book, setting it aside as if he were dedicating all his attention to you for those brief minutes in which you passed by him, waved, crossed the street, and went inside; blushing, and with ragged breath. so pathetic that you felt stupid.
maybe he knew. or maybe that was very presumptuous of you. to assume he knew what he was doing to you, that your head was becoming so disorganized that even you couldn't name what it was, other than that it was wrong.
that was why you had started to pray every night that jake could find a real job and move away, asking that he be successful and move to a bigger city, far away. far from the church and far from where you could see him. and for that same reason, you would finish and go to bed crying because the words whispered weakly were never genuine. they were selfish and lying, and the angels would know.
one monday, you decided you would ignore him. that it was nonsense, that your lack of faith was dominating you and you couldn't go on like this. so, you headed to your nursing course which took place in the town clinic and which you could get to and from on foot.
on the way, you had seen him at a car parts store, but you didn't look more than enough to ignore him, letting him crane his neck out of the small shop watching you walk down the street. you had finished high school the previous year, and despite having taken some exams and sent some recommendation letters, you had never received any reply from any of the colleges; or at least that's what your father said.
you wanted to study medicine, and while you couldn't, you were content with the course miss marie taught in exchange for you helping with some patients during the week. you had already learned about sutures, stitches, wound cleaning, casting, dressings, and a host of other things. as a consequence, you ended up learning about medications and dosages and always heard from marie that you were an exemplary student and would surely do well in the real course.
and whenever she said this, a mix of sadness and joy formed in the pit of your stomach, tangling with your breakfast that you nearly threw up. you would never be able to go to college, not if you stayed here... not if you stayed under your father's watch, being swallowed by the monotony of this dead-end town and the church, ever fuller, ever more imposing.
when your break arrived, you asked to go to the bookstore on the same street and stayed there for half an hour, entertained with nursing and medicine books, tempting yourself every now and then and picking up some romance story to leaf through.
"love"
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ"surrender"
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ"desire"
the words caught in the air quickly as your eyes scanned the yellowed pages always made the hair on your arms stand up. romance wasn't something real. and the only true love was the one that came from devotion to the lord. men and women shouldn't touch for pleasure; that was reserved for marriage and procreation according to divine laws. but still, the words didn't disappear from your mind as you went back to work under the weakened heat of the setting sun.
"oh dear, are you back already? a young man stopped by and asked for you" you heard marie, stopping in your tracks, your body freezing, making you turn your head slowly toward her as she noted something in a small customer log, leaning on the counter. "jake! he said he needed to talk to you, but didn't want to leave any message" she continued simply, taking a moment to land her eyes on you and smirk at your pale expression. "you know him, right?" she knit her brows and you nodded before swallowing hard and heading to the bandage room.
what could he possibly want with you? what could be so urgent that jake genuinely sought out the place where you worked? maybe it was about your father. or maybe he needed help at the church. maybe he wanted to say goodbye before finally leaving after five weeks of living there and standing out from everything around him.
maybe he wanted to warn you that he would tell your father, that he would tell of the times your eyes lingered too long on him, or how your cheeks flushed when he smiled at you when you looked at him through your bedroom window and he was in the flower beds. your stomach spiraled and you leaned against the cabinet next to you at the unreal possibility, feeling on the verge of fainting.
air failed you and you grabbed your own shirt, twisting the fabric in your fingers and pulling -wanting the fabric to unstick from your skin for a few seconds because it had to be that preventing you from filling your lungs with oxygen and not a damn panic attack - trying to breathe deeply and not succeeding for long minutes.
you needed to tell the pastor it wasn't that, that it wasn't what he thought, that you would never think... that you would never do it! that you would be better, that you would pray more, dedicate yourself more!
when you finally managed to come back to yourself, you grabbed your crossbody bag and returned to the front of the clinic, asking brokenly if you could leave work a little early that day, which was promptly accepted despite the older woman's concerned expression.
"see you to-" but you didn't hear her, already on the sidewalk, quickening your pace.
***
you had never walked so fast in your life. the slight cramp in your calf was ignored until you were on your home block, able to see the high church bell from there, where you walked with yearning. your house had the windows closed, but the car was in the garage, only meaning your father was at the church. you threw the hall doors open, and the echo of the whistling wind vibrated against the walls. your lips parted and closed uncertainly as you passed through the rows of long pews, illuminated by the sunbeams still entering through the high windows at that hour of the afternoon. you stepped onto the platform, your low sandal heels sounding on the floorboards, extending your hand to reach the office door.
but just as you opened it, another person came out of there, bumping their body against yours.
"sorry, i-" you began, slowly raising your eyes until they met the dark eyes of the sim boy. you took a step back, squeezing the bag strap. jake closed the door behind him and smiled simply, knitting his brows when you stared at him as if he had two heads.
"in a hurry?" he asked and you pressed your mouth into a line, shaking your head. "really? i could've sworn i heard your footsteps all the way here" he said and crossed his arms, making his forearms with noticeable veins suck in your attention for an instant.
"i need to talk to my father" you managed to say quietly, looking away from him. "he's not in. at least, not here" he told you, turning his face a bit to analyze you. "did your boss say i looked for you?" he asked, watching you chew the inside of your cheek before nodding. "is that why you left early?" he raised an eyebrow and let out a short laugh.
"n-not because of you..." the phrase came out direct, more direct than you intended, and he was perfectly aware you hadn't done it maliciously, but even so, he leaned over and placed his hand over his chest, letting out a dramatic "arrgh".
"didn't have to destroy me like that" he joked, but your posture didn't relaxed. your free hand gripped your long skirt and crumpled the fabric; this didn't go unnoticed by him either.
jake straightened up and ran his tongue over his teeth, looking around before going back to watching you, measuring your small, trembling body in front of him. "did you come to tell your father that i looked for you then? wow... such a good girl, huh?" he let out in a mocking bittersweet tone.
your eyes widened and you finally stared back at him, parting your lips and feeling your heart hammer against your rib cage. "so that's really it?" he held a shit-eating grin on his lips now, just amusing himself, but when you took a step back, indicating you'd run from there at the first chance, the boy decided to stop stalling, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out an envelope.
"the reason for looking for you was because this arrived for you, and... it seems to be something important" he handed you the letter with the college seal on the edge, pointing with his index finger.
the moment he spoke and you took the letter in your hands, your head took a while to process what that meant... or rather, what it could mean. you raised your eyes to him once more and he gestured to the paper in clear encouragement. you were feeling a bit of shame from the earlier exposure, but still... to finally have a response to the countless letters you had sent was truly exciting.
you closed your eyes for a few moments before opening the seal with erratic hands. your almond-shaped eyes scanned every detail, the sender's information, the college logos, the date, and your name written there.
"subject: admission decision and financial aid offer
congratulations! it is with great pleasure that we offer you admission to the class of-"
you stopped, not because you wanted to, but because your voice got choked up with a knot forming in your throat, making you bring your other hand to your mouth to cover it, unable to believe what you had just read.
your eyes were so wide that jake ended up laughing and leaning in to take it and finish reading for you. "thats awesome... like, with them funding a huge part of it?..." you stared at him, static. behind your eyes, your mind made a small movie of your life pass by until that moment. all the times you had worked hard on high school projects, the sleepless nights of study, the social actions that were always successful thanks to the church faithful. however, now that you had the result right there in your hands, didn't it seem a bit too much?
you remained quiet. the passing of time was just an illusion.
"what? you did not liked it?" the taller boy knit his brows and then you shook your head dejectedly, receiving the paper back and looking awkwardly at what was written. "no, i loved it. but... it's the furthest one of all..." you spoke softly at last, feeling your nose sting and eyes water, controlling the urge to cry in front of the other because so many humiliations in a row in one day would be hard to deal with.
"it's the chance of a lifetime, little one" jake added, but didn't force it more than that, resting one hand on your head and messing up your hair lightly. he didn't know exactly why, but judging by your earlier desperation and the not-so-gentle sermons the pastor used to give -which he could hear even from afar - he had some idea.
***
after the touch, jake had left you there. it had nothing to do with him anyway. you didn't know how much longer you had remained standing there; you only knew that when you left the church, the orange sky was gradually giving way to the black vastness of the night, while your father talked to one of the congregants at the front door. you had passed by them and greeted them politely, going inside and up the stairs to your room.
the week passed in the blink of any eye for you, your thoughts drifting far away. on the street you stumbled, at work you pricked yourself with scissors and needles, inattentive, earning your first scoldings from marie; you struggled to invent excuses not to eat dinner, preferring the pain of a growling stomach to sitting at the table with the pastor and having him ask about your day. and whenever you thought about sleeping to escape the hunger, the moment you laid your head on the pillow, you saw a crucifix nailed above the bed.
you didn't remember when that decoration had been nailed there, but you remembered once asking your 7th-grade classmates what they had for decorations on their walls. stars that glowed in the dark, band posters, original drawings, wallpaper - but not a damn beige wall with a single crucifix in the middle. wasn't it normal for a child to be able to decorate their room with... child things? wasn't it normal for children to be encouraged to have childhood interests? and the symbol weighed over you as if it weighed a ton, squeezing your diaphragm and making you so frustrated that you threw a pillow at the object, to no effect.
on friday, when you got up and went down for breakfast, you found the man there, with a cup of strong black coffee exhaling steam from the heat while he flipped through a newspaper. he didn't say good morning, and you breathed one out so quietly that the sound of the birds outside kept it from being heard. you served yourself cereal and milk, sitting at the furthest end of the table. he turned a page, wetting his fingertips with saliva, and you breathed shallowly, trying not to be noticed. too late. "make dinner today, and come down to eat" the thick, firm voice sounded, rhetorical and impenetrable. you nodded, even though he wouldn't see over the newspaper, and continued eating, swallowing with difficulty because you barely chewed so as not to make noise.
when you left the porch of the house, heading down the steps to the sidewalk, you were surprised by jake, who joined your walk.
"so... have made your decision yet?" he asked, hands in pockets, walking side by side.
"good morning... and no" you replied simply, avoiding eye contact with the taller man; looking at your feet walking in sync instead. jake sighed and then pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, putting one in his mouth and reaching for his lighter.
"do you mind?" he asked, and when you just looked at him for half a second before focusing elsewhere, he lit it, watching the tip burn as he took a slow drag. he blew the smoke to the opposite side. "you know those scholarships could give you access to a dorm, right? what's the problem with it being far?"
why was jake following you anyway? you rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand and shrugged. "if you want something that bad... why don't you do it?" his words parked in your head.
because james in his first chapter, verses fourteen through fifteen, said that each one is tempted by their own evil desire, being dragged away and enticed, and then after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin. that was why you couldn't decide for yourself, choose your own clothes, or wear makeup; it was why you didn't choose the decorations for your room even though you were nineteen years old, and why you couldn't let your will make you cross the country just to study if you could still be useful here. but jake wouldn't understand.
"is that what you would do if you were in my place?" you asked back, giving a timid smile and watching him study your expression - he thought you managed to look even cuter with your eyes puffy from sleep - as he slowly pulled the nicotine into his lungs, holding it and then letting it out bit by bit.
"if i were you, you wouldn't be asking what someone else would do" he replied confidently.
jake didn't have any appointments downtown, nor did he have any business there, but he still accompanied you to the front of the clinic, where he watched you go in quietly without saying anything else. he finished his cigarette right there, throwing the butt on the ground and crushing it with the sole of his boot.
marie asked you to make a splint for a little boy's finger that morning. the little guy had sprained his finger playing basketball in his garage, and every time you even brushed against the needle with the anesthesia, his eyes filled with tears. he was probably afraid, you thought, even though he wanted to appear brave. "did you know the mayor said they're going to build a sports court in the central plaza?" you commented, catching the little one's attention and seeing him shake his head no. "i heard all the children will be able to use it; doesn't that seem like a good opportunity to make friends?" you asked sweetly.
while the child thought and began to answer, you quickly gripped the anesthesia and applied it to the site. "ow!" he furrowed his brows, finally looking down and seeing the empty syringe. "you... already did it?" he blinked, confused and relieved at the same time. "uh-huh, and you didn't even notice" you breathed. "how did you do that?" he stared at you again with eyes shining with pure hope. "secret!" you winked and then grabbed the materials to make the splint.
"she probably cast a spell on me or something mommy, i swear!" that's what the kiddo said as he left the clinic accompanied by his mother, who just laughed at the silly assumptions. your boss gave you a playful little nudge, liking how you hadn't stopped smiling at the situation. after all, you had been strange all the other days, and feeling a bit of satisfaction with work was a great reason.
"you really have a gift" she pointed out and touched your shoulder. "by the way, i saw you were accompanied today... it was the guy from the other day..." the nurse continued. "are you two dating?" she asked as if she were asking about the weather.
your eyes widened and you denied it repeatedly, squeezing the small bag where you threw the dirty gauze and discarded the needle. "he... we-my father helped him... he's a newcomer". "oh. well, he definitely looks like one" she breathed before leaving you.
when you were alone in the room, you stopped for a few seconds, looking down and taking a deep breath.
you wanted to be able to say that the joy of having been good for the child with the hurt finger had remained for the rest of the day, but as soon as the clock struck five in the afternoon, you felt the anguish of the inevitable approaching. you packed your things slowly and even waited for marie to close the entrance so you could head home. if jake appeared and offered you a ride at that moment to anywhere far from there, you would accept it; you'd deal with the consequences of leaving your father waiting some other time. but no one appeared, and you were alone to face whatever was coming.
***
the bath? it had been a rupture in time disguised as a cloud of steam that passed without you noticing. you put on your light, long dress - which reached your ankles - and combed your hair before going down to make dinner.
your house had never been very well-lit, but in the past, there were still photos scattered around, some diplomas, both yours and your mother's, but your father had made sure to remove everything that reminded him of her. everything. except what he couldn't: the memory.
the humming of the refrigerator sounded louder than ever, making your internal organs want to coil up. the sound of the fire boiling the vegetable soup to thicken the broth served only as a second voice to the discordant music in the kitchen.
when it was seven in the evening, he appeared. dress shirt, polished shoes, pressed pants, and hair no longer so perfectly combed. an indifferent expression that you never knew was because he was at home or because he was seeing you. you exchanged silent glances, and he approached the dining table, which casually sat under the only light source between the living room and the kitchen. you served the plates and sat down, joining your hands and interlacing your fingers, closing your eyes to give thanks for the food.
"heavenly father, sanctify this meal which your hand has provided. may this food give us vigor to serve your kingdom with purity and obedience. amen" this made you press your lips together; he never thanked the one who prepared it.
the clinking of cutlery filled the void in the air, along with the sound of moderate chewing.
"so what happened that you lost your respect and appetite this week?" he was the one who started, cutting a piece of bread to dip in the soup. over the days you had considered telling him, taking a chance. you were almost convinced it wasn't worth it, if it hadn't been for that afternoon... you had been so happy to help, so content to see the softening expression in those child eyes.
"i received an acceptance letter, for next year's class..." you commented quietly, without the courage to look at your own parent.
"and what about it?" he returned, chewing the soaked slice of bread audibly.
"i thought... with the money i saved, and maybe finding a part-time job, i could support myself there. it's a full scholarship" oh, he didn't seem surprised.
your father continued eating, feeling your eyes slowly rising to him until he stopped abruptly, dropping the spoon on the plate. "i thought we had put an end to this discussion. that you would take the theology course in the neighboring town and help me with the church. that is the path the lord has been laying out for you..." the words came out serious.
"i made so many applications and we agreed to wait for a year, dad..." you furrowed your eyebrows.
"i didn't agree to wait a year. i never even agreed with this college story. do you know how hard it is? the sins, the ambition, the selfishness in those places? do you know what it's like to be alone in a place like that? especially you, who has never seen any of it?" his voice began to change and he moved his mouth irritably. "that's your wish? to become mundane and dirty? to disappoint god because you couldn't resist to your inner demons?" he asked, staring, his fist clenched on the wooden table.
"it doesn't have to be like that! i would only go to study!" you defended yourself, feeling a bitterness rise in your throat.
"study? do you want to look at me straight in the eyes and ask me to believe this when you can barely keep your legs closed to the garden boy?!" you widened your eyes and parted your lips... how could he say something so gross and unrealistic when all you had done was accept a simple flower?
the first tear ran down your cheek stealthily, without you noticing; the others that followed, you didn't have the strength to contain. "mom would want me to pursue this..." your voice crawled, weak and trembling. but to him, it sounded like the worst of offenses, one that tore the armor he had created many years ago.
"repeat what you've just said" his tone was dark now, loaded with a veiled hate he felt for your existence.
when his chair scraped back and his body rose, you swallowed your sobs, looking at him. "dad, p-please... i didn't intend t-"
the impact of the slap on your face was strong enough to make your ear ring and your neck be thrown to the side. the welt immediately rose to the surface of your skin. the pain made you lose your breath, but he didn't care, grabbing your hair and making you look at him as he leaned down to be at your height. "you disgust me" he said sharply, spitting the words. "i pray to god forgive your sins, but you are helpless" and with that, he let you go, making your body collapse into the chair, and he left the room, heading to the second floor with heavy steps.
you hugged your own body while the crying was overwhelming, squeezing your eyes shut and shrinking back.
when times like this arrived, to whom should you turn? your father thought you were disgusting, and god must have had an opinion not much different. your friends were limited to the young people who attended church on sundays and occasionally went to the group, but never really got close. the rest of your family lived miles away, and unfortunately, you were foolish and inexperienced, just as the older man had said.
you stood up limply and put the unfinished plates of soup in the sink, almost letting the heavy dishes fall and shatter on the floor; you turned off the light and instead of going to your room, you went out the front door, feeling the cold breeze and the yellow streetlights bathe your figure.
you walked across the porch and across the front garden until you were on the sidewalk, starting to walk without a certain direction. maybe you'd walk around the block, maybe you'd go to the small park nearby and sit on one of the swings until your body got used to the sadness and the night went back to being like any other.
***
the tears still fell, less agitated, yet colder as the wind chilled them against your flushed cheeks. your swollen nose sniffled, and you pressed your lips together, dwelling on the words you had heard.
jake was coming back from one of the freelance jobs he had picked up at a construction site. in the pickup, the music played low, and he tapped the steering wheel every now and then, attentive to the dark streets of the little town that went to sleep too early. he would have continued if he hadn't spotted something. honestly, with that thin, light dress that fluttered in the skirt from the wind, he might have thought it was a ghost... a very pretty and well-behaved one, though. the boy smiled as he flashed his high beams once, slowing down and rolling down the window to stick his head out. "hey church girl!" he called, and your silhouette stopped. but when your face turned to him, the smile jake had died almost instantly.
he stopped the vehicle right there and got out in a hurry. loose pants held up by a worn belt, a stained tank top, a jacket - which he was already taking off to wrap around you - and beautifully disheveled hair.
"what happened? what are you doing here?" he asked, looking down, without asking permission to touch your face and make you look at him. you were a mess of tears, snot, and there was still that mark on your cheek that he quickly identified. you didn't answer, but when the gentle weight of the leather jacket wrapped around your bare shoulders and jake's thumbs wiped your tears, you looked at him.
"jake..." you called, testing the name on the tip of your tongue. that, as incredible as it seems, was the first time you breathed the combination of letters.
"yes? i'm here." his expression was one of concern. but how could he feel that for someone like you? whom he barely knew or spoke to; maybe you were so miserable that you really didn't realize it. "do you want me to do something?" he asked, shifting his eyes from yours to your cheek before coming back.
"no..." you denied. you could have pulled away from him, touched his wrists so he would let go, but you didn't. "i was just... walking..." your last shred of judgment made you speak.
"no, you were crying and walking without direction... that's not just walking. what happened?" god, he was so insistent.
"my dad... we talked, about the college..." you explained, and jake shook his head, squeezing your face between his large, calloused hands. he could picture what had happened; he wasn't an idiot, he knew exactly the kind of guy the pastor was. they were all the same, so good for the community, titling themselves messengers of god or some shit like that, using other people's money to promote themselves, spreading lies, taking away dreams, having disgusting secrets.
"i'm not letting you go back home today, sorry" the boy concluded, letting go of your cheeks and holding your hand, dragging you so he could take you to the truck.
without another word, he opened the passenger door and lifted you by the waist as if you weighed nothing, sitting you there and helping with the belt. your faces were close, but your eyes were too cloudy for you to see the details of the taller man's profile. you saw him go around before getting in the driver's side and sitting there to start it again; the roar of the engine breaking the silence of the street.
he didn't say where he was taking you, and you didn't ask either. for someone who fled from him as the devil flees from the cross, you were placing a lot of trust there. in less than twenty minutes, during which you had exchanged at most two words - with him asking if you were still cold and you denying it - you had arrived at a bar where the blinking neon sign read "jj's bar." the facade was nothing fancy; on the contrary, plain walls with some posters announcing live music and cheap beer, the light of the sign in shades of yellow and red making the mixture of colors bathe the cracked sidewalk.
jake offered you his hand for you to get out, and you avoided eye contact when you did, lips pressed together. when you entered, the atmosphere was strangely welcoming. a varnished counter with several stools along its length. floorboards of wood that creaked slightly when stepped on, tables scattered about, walls covered in posters, flyers, ads, photos, and tacky wallpaper in shades of wine and brown. behind the counter, a young man was drying some glass cups, and a large cabinet held various glasses, containers, and drinks. a pool table, some slot machines, a jukebox.
"jake jakey..." the barman spoke and smiled, leaning on the counter as you approached.
jake smiled, touching the small of your back subtly as if he wanted to reassure you that everything was fine; he also extended his hand, shaking the guy's on the other side. "my friend, jay..." he breathed and followed jay's gaze, which fell slowly onto you.
"and you, young lady?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, friendly. you breathed out softly and nodded.
"i already told you about her..."
"oh... so you are the preach-"
"ahem" jake cleared his throat and the guy stopped, staring at him and getting the message.
"well, make yourselves comfortable. for you, i already know, but how about you, sweetheart, what'll it be?" - jake rolled his eyes in disbelief at the blatant flirting – the park waited for your answer, but the only thing you could do was look up, searching for a menu... like in the diners, right?
"oh-i see... what's your age?"
"nineteen" jay smiled gently in your direction, shifting his attention to the boy beside you; what kind of communication was that?
you watched him grab a bottle from the cabinet and serve a glass halfway, putting in ice and tapping the surface in front of the sim boy before pushing it toward him.
you watched jake take the glass and gulp - his prominent adam's apple bobbing - wrinkling his nose slightly before staring at you. "what?" he murmured, and you shook your head, embarrassed to be caught staring.
minutes later jay placed a glass with a pink mixture and a little umbrella on top. "its cherry syrup with white vermouth by the way, that's the lightest i can do" he threw the hand-drying cloth over his shoulder and crossed his arms. you shouldn't drink. you didn't know these people, you didn't know your limit, and you were far from home, but the only thing you did was look to the sides, searching for any sign. a cross, a saint, someone... any sign that indicated you would be punished later.
when you didn't find one, you looked at the glass, closing your small fingers around it and testing the weight before lifting it to your lips. the first sip wasn't bad, the smell was sweet and the taste even more so, but at the very end the aftertaste caused a sting. both pairs of eyes analyzed you and you covered your mouth after placing the glass back on the wood. "it's good... different, but good," you said and saw both of them smiling.
"you don't have to drink it all," jake breathed and let his eyes travel over you. your body disappeared in his jacket, and you held onto the fabric of your dress skirt as usual. were you always afraid?
you just nodded... without much to say. it was the first time you had entered a bar, you were sure you shouldn't be there, but you didn't feel threatened. the music wasn't loud and it was pleasant to hear, making your feet suspended from the stool swing lightly while you fingered the sweating glass. "have things always been this way?", jake took advantage of the moment when his colleague, and owner of the bar, moved away to talk.
and you caught yourself trying to remember when was the last time your father had acted like a real father and not like a vigilante. "no... it's hard to remember, though... after my mother passed away, he doesn't seem to be the same person" you breathed.
jake looked down and bit his lip. he was terrible at consoling and it wasn't as if he had never had a girl crying in his arms, but definitely the reason wasn't the same. "and you never thought about leaving?", he continued and saw you sip the drink once more before looking at him.
"wouldn't that be selfish?", you returned and he knit his brows.
selfish...? the word made the older boy swallow hard, tapping the counter once before getting up from the stool and helping you do the same. he held your shoulders, placing your body in front of his and guiding you to one of the game machines.
"i don't know how to play" you looked up from below and he just smiled, taking a token from his pocket and positioning himself behind you.
"you don't have to know everything to do it, you know?", his voice had a soft and more relaxed timbre now. "you just have to want to" jake carefully touched your wrists, indicating where you should hold. the machine's crank and the colored buttons that every time they were pressed made the character on the screen release some kind of different animation.
the dark-haired boy was hunched over, his face next to yours, cheeks almost brushing, explaining what you could do. your brain tried, struggled to pay attention, but it was so much information... blue button to attack, his perfume invading your nostrils, walking forward with the joystick, the warm touch of his hands over yours, white button to start again, his minty breath blowing against your neck while he spoke... you bit your lip and confirmed when he asked if you were ready.
you watched the characters on the screen casting powers and trading funny blows. in high school some boys mentioned this. it was fun, although you didn't understand the rules. you did exactly as the older boy said, managing somehow to defeat the opponent. when the 'winner' text appeared there you smiled, but you smiled even more when jake celebrated, squeezing your arms and shaking you carefully, just drawing a soft giggle from you. "you're good at it!", he straightened up and pinched your chin lightly.
he spent three more tokens, letting you test other characters and showing you how it was done; proceeding to lose all the times and making a tired face when the last fight ended and the machine flashed ‘insert your ticket’. "okay... that was a first, i'm actually good, seriously," he defended himself and you gave a breathy smile, enjoying yourself.
when your crying was nowhere to be seen and jake's presence had totally overshadowed the night's events, you could finally notice him. black, wavy hair, a mouth drawn with a heart-shaped cupid's bow. there was something magnetically soft about him that made it impossible to look away, a perfect harmony between the sharp, aristocratic line of his nose and the warm glow of his dark eyes. his lip curved into a lazy side smile, the kind of smile you knew your father would call temptation, and for the first time, you understood exactly why people gave in to it.
you passed in front of the old jukebox and stopped, observing the varnished details and the little letters inside, showing which tracks were available.
"do you like music?", he asked, approaching as well.
"i... don't listen much" and even so your eyes vibrated at the equipment in front of you, curious, exploring.
"pick one" he said, alternating his gaze between you and the machine, biting his lip, anxious to know what it would be.
"i don't know any of these...", you denied laughingly and he rolled his eyes, putting the coin there and looking at you expectantly.
so many names, you ended up choosing the most different of all, drawing a little laugh from him. jake and you looked at each other while iris by the goo goo dolls started to play. he held your hand and took a few steps back, taking you to one of the more open spaces in the bar, before joining your bodies, circling your waist carefully, smoothly sliding his fingertips along your wrist, making you hold him by the shoulders, guiding your body in a slow dance.
your heart was galloping, and your cheeks were feverish, while your expression didn't hide your mixed shock and embarrassment, feeling your lip twitch as you searched for words and gave up ridiculously.
jake smiled from the side, making you rest your head on his chest. he accompanied your small body moving slowly with his, feeling a twinge in his chest when you rubbed your face lightly against him, sniffling against his shirt. your thin and small fingers squeezing so lightly on his shoulders that he was afraid the minimum contraction of muscles could hurt you. the melody swayed the pressed bodies, and for the minutes the music box played, it was just you two there.
even when the last guitar chords played, you slowly pulled away, staring at him sweetly. you wanted to ask what that had been - which would be a mess because not even jake knew - but you moistened your lips, pulling back your arms again, smiling awkwardly before hugging your own body.
"thank you...", you said softly and he froze, his eyes darkening even more, watching your body take a few steps back, testing the subtle distance; with no intention of really running away now.
the boy blinked slowly and as soon as you turned to go back to the counter he stretched his body, holding your arm and making you turn again. but when your eyes met, he took a few moments to say: "i would never think that selfishness is being yourself. i would never think that selfishness is prioritizing yourself" the answer finally came, making you fix your eyes on him. "and if it is, then maybe being selfish isn't so bad, right?", his touch softened, making his arm slide away again, but the electricity of the contact remained there, like a promise that this was only the first step out of your bubble.
and you could swear he was approaching millimetrically when jay's voice sounded nearby. "guys, sorry to interrupt, but, we are closing"
***
the pickup's engine finally went silent, leaving only the popping of the cooling metal and the sound of the wind cutting through the tall grass of the lookout. down there, the city was just a tangle of distant lights that didn't seem to belong to the same world you were in. a parallel world where he had dragged you to spend the night.
jake lowered the tailgate and helped you up, spreading a thick blanket over the metal so you'd be comfortable. lying side by side, the sky seemed larger than you had ever seen from the locked windows of home. you talked - as if in all those years the words had just been waiting for someone to ask and care - you told him everything and anything he asked, from your favorite color to the last book you had read.
you told him about the silent rules of your routine, about the expectations that weighed on your shoulders and about how you wanted to be able to do something without disappointing the people around you. jake, on the other hand, was a presence of mysteries and calm silences. he listened with an almost voracious attention, eyes fixed on your profile, on how your mouth moved and tightened when you thought, absorbing every fragment of your story to understand how you still managed to be so intact. it was fascinating.
"and you?" you asked, turning your face to him, feeling the early morning dew prickle your skin. "do you have a religion? do you believe in god?"
jake let out a soft chuckle, a sound that vibrated in his chest before reaching the full lips he moistened. he turned on his side, propping his head on his hand to face you. "i don't believe in that image they sell out there. altars, punishments..." he shrugged, and the glow of his eyes seemed denser under the moonlight. and at the same time his sincerity frightened you, it made you more and more interested. "i have my own convictions. i believe in what i can feel, what i can touch...", jake let his eyes slide over your body for a few milliseconds.
a shiver that wasn't from cold ran down your spine.
"don't you think god- that he would hate us? for being here? for thinking like this?" the question came out small, loaded with a reverential fear, and a guilt that was present for as long as you could remember.
jake smiled, dangerously docile. "god could never hate a girl like you" he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a dark velvet. "you're just so... pure"
the word seemed to burn, entering through your ears, circling your whole body and stopping right in your chest where your heart accelerated. you sat up on the truck bed, hugging your knees against your chest and hiding your face between them for a moment. the silence in the air became thick, and not even the chirping of the crickets was enough to appease your feelings.
"i... don't feel that way anymore" you confessed with a slightly trembling voice; struggling not to cry again since your puffy eyelids couldn't handle another round.
jake sat up right after, his movement being fluid and, at the same time, careful. he didn't look away; on the contrary. his hand went up to your shoulder, warm fingers contrasting with the cold jacket, caressing the fabric that covered your shoulder with a slowness that seemed to want to uncover what was underneath all those layers.
"look at me" he asked, pulling your shoulder with a gentle firmness so you would stare back.
seeing you like that - with damp eyes, parted lips and this readiness to let yourself be carried away - jake felt his stomach twist. there was something sickly and stimulating in the way you seemed breakable in his hands, even without him touching you properly. his desire wasn't just physical; it was the desire to be the one who would untie all your knots, the one who would see your chastity transform into something that only belonged to him, that only existed in his presence.
he repeated the motion from the bar, but now there was no one to interrupt.
jake kept leaning in, the space between you disappearing while the smell of mint and leather enveloped you little by little. you knew exactly what was about to happen and your mind sought your father's warnings, the moral lessons, the sunday sermons, the sins listed in old books... but your body didn't move one bit. your eyes closed, and you held your breath without noticing, waiting for the meeting of lips in a simple kiss. his mouth warm, contrasting with your cold lips.
this was your first kiss, surrendered so naturally to jake sim that it didn't feel wrong. his large and hand held the side of your face, long fingers getting lost among the strands of hair and his thumb caressing your cheekbone, a tender possessiveness that anchored you there. at the beginning, it was a dry, exploratory contact, just the warmth of the mucous membranes recognizing each other, a sensation that made your stomach turn from the novelty.
with the passing of seconds, the pressure increased. jake didn't force it; he just offered. he parted his lips against yours, letting the tip of his tongue provoke the contour of your mouth, a silent invitation he anxiously waited to be accepted. your inexperience screamed, but instinct spoke louder. when you finally gave in, allowing the tongues to meet for the first time, a short gasp escaped your throat making the older boy sniff in approval.
jake noticed your hesitation and didn't allow you to feel lost. he guided, dictating the rhythm, while his free hand sought your wrist with delicacy making you position your hand on his shoulder, encouraging your fingers to seek the support they needed to pull closer. with the contact firm, the kiss became needy, an urgency that seemed to consume the oxygen around, and a kind of magnet making both drag closer to each other; your thigh very nearly climbing over his leg.
inside your head, chaos tried to organize itself. memorized verses about temptation and severe warnings tried to emerge, but were immediately buried. there was no room for guilt when every inch of your body responded to his with a frightening intensity. morality was a language you didn't speak anymore. now, your brain could only process the tangible reality: the taste of him.
when he took his hand to your waist, entering the jacket he himself had lent you and you startled at the rougher and more direct touch, with lips peeling off his before seeking them again, jake pulled away suddenly, clearing his throat and taking his hand from there, laughing awkwardly and shaking his head. "fuck, i'm sorry...", he breathed low, not knowing for sure what he was asking for, but making you come back to the surface too, just as confused, blushing and swallowing the saliva in your mouth, biting your lip still leaning towards him. "you've been drinking...", he explained calmly, passing his eyes over the girl, the shiny lips, the straight neckline of the messy dress and exposing one of your collarbones, the breathing through the mouth.
he had been drinking too, but your courage to speak had been entirely spent with the seal, so you just nodded, turning your face away and settling better inside the jacket.
the rest of the night was filled with small talk, clumsy touches, and without you noticing, the sun rose on the horizon, making you realize that was also your first night away from home. for a few minutes, jake had dozed off by your side, the wavy locks falling perfectly over the sculpted face, his chest rising and falling peacefully, reminding her that he had rescued and sheltered her.
that was the problem, jake made it seem good to go against everything she knew.
***
"submit yourselves to god; resist the devil, and he will flee from you. do not let yourselves fall into temptation, my children. the enemy is always lurking looking for openings, especially in those of weak heart" the pastor spoke, the bible near his chest while he walked from one side to the other, but your head was far away. you were outside the church, sitting on the pickup with the peeling hood, stained pants and denim jacket.
when was it like this anyway?
jake sim was lean and sneaky. accompanying you every morning to work on foot - with an arm that wrapped your shoulders and a mouth that whispered idiotic things just to make you laugh -, picking you up and suddenly changing the path to some place you didn't yet know, whether it was a bridge with a beautiful view or some field. poking your shoulder when he passed by you just to see you looking for him while he moved away with a playful smile on his lips. he also threw stones at your window at night when you were about to sleep, and as soon as you looked he made a gesture with his hand calling you to come down in secret, without your father knowing.
the kisses and experimental touches were becoming more and more urgent. your cheeks burned every time he got excited and brought his mouth down to your neck, whispering how much your scent drove him crazy.
it was even worse when he grabbed your waist tightly, or pressed you against some surface - usually the small room where he was staying, at the back of the church, right after the sermon ended. but, he never went beyond, sometimes stopping when both were altered and breathless from making out, with hands clinging to the barriers of clothes or to the hair of each other's napes.
little by little the questions started to get more intimate... he no longer wanted to know about your favorite things, but about what you were curious about, or how much you liked his kisses, or even how much you were willing to go with him.
god, and you were.
you bit your lip, eyes widening as you noticed what you were thinking inside the church.
when your eyes returned to the room your father stared at you firmly for a few brief seconds before returning to talk.
you had even asked your former friend lisa what you should do days ago - during the youth group’s pause; anything that would make you stop incessantly thinking about the outsider boy.
both had talked under the stairs in a whispered tone that could only be interpreted looking eye to eye: "even the greatest of sins god is willing to forgive if you are really sorry" the girl told you, staring with an impartial warmth. "that's what torments me. when i commit this sin, i don't feel bad... i feel good. better than i have ever been" had been your answer.
how could you feel sorry?
the moment the bells rang, your feet firmed on the ground, getting up hurriedly and going to help with the organization as always. books put away, candles extinguished, and this time you even managed to leave along with the other faithful who crowded near the exit, talking and saying goodbye, it was when you felt a hand wrap around your wrist and pull you from among the crowd to the side of the church. jake looked around before holding your cheek and depositing a loud smooch on your mouth, taking a little note and putting it in the palm of your hand before winking and leaving without saying more.
you gave a breathy smile, feeling like a fool. your shoes brushing against each other while opening the yellowish paper to find his handwriting.
"no work tomorrow. we have a date. meet me at 10am, you know where", with a hurried heart scribble adorning the upper corner of the post-it.
he was so secretive and unpredictable, making your belly vibrate with so many butterflies. anyway, you ran home to call marie's phone and warn her about a persistent pain in the wrist that would prevent you from working the next morning.
***
the sound of closet doors was the only noise to be heard throughout the second floor at that hour of the morning. you slipped into your white skirt and donned the blouse with romantic sleeves before stepping into your heavy shoes over your socks. your hair remained loose and your backpack was slung on in a hurry before you left the room and headed down the stairs, running into your father halfway down.
"haven't you left for work yet?" he asked, stopping in his tracks and furrowing his brow.
"i’m late today... i’m on my way!" you dodged his body and finished the descent, heading toward the door to leave.
you couldn't allow yourself to be caught, and you knew he would look out the window for at least a full minute, which made you walk slowly, mentally counting to sixty so that the steps heading down the street would suddenly change direction, crossing from one sidewalk to the other, leading you to the back of the church where the pickup truck was parked.
when you opened the passenger door to get in, jake met you with a smile, unable to help but notice you had dressed up, letting you fasten your belt and adjust your shoulders and posture in the seat, oblivious to how he watched you, until you weren't anymore and turned to him.
"what?"
he bit his lip. "you look pretty" he replied sincerely, basking in your flushed cheeks and the way you shyly looked away. he started the engine and shifted into gear before pulling away.
"where are you taking me?" you asked as the landscape outside the window gradually changed. he had taken a road that passed through several fenced pastures - some with animals, others with trees, and even those that held nothing but a green vastness of grass.
"you're so curious. i wanted it to be a surprise" he said laughingly, eyes never leaving the road.
"that's not fair... you're always doing that" you retorted, though you weren't truly bothered.
"just know you're going to like it, hm?" you nodded, fiddling with one of the buttons on your blouse.
when they were about 3 minutes away from arriving, jake told you to close your eyes, grumbling playfully when you tried to cheat by squinting through your fingers. when he whispered softly that he really wanted to make it a surprise, you stopped teasing and kept your hands over your eyes until the car was parked and he said you could open them.
and even so, when jake spoke and your eyes opened, it was impossible to believe.
from inside, the passenger window - slightly fogged and covered by a thin layer of road dust - framed the flowery field like an old, faded painting. the landscape unfolded in waves of moss-green and soft hues of lavender and white. as the engine cooled, the high sun poured a radiant light over the vast space, turning the rows of pine trees in the distance into dark green silhouettes against the blue sky.
it was beautiful, one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen. jake laughed at how you suddenly stared at him.
"how did you find this place?" you asked before putting your hand on the handle and opening the door to get out. the soft grass cushioned your weight, making it feel like you were stepping on a thin quilted layer. you bit your lip with a childish giggle and looked around. there were some fences toward the side the truck had passed, indicating the property likely had an owner.
"i came here to fish one day" he said, passing by you to get something from the truck bed.
you took a few steps and crouched down, looking at the colorful flowers more closely. so beautiful that you were afraid to touch them and end up ruining them. "i prepared something for us today..." you heard him and turned to see what he was carrying: a blanket and a basket, making you furrow your brow in amusement.
"what is this?" you stood up and went over.
"well, you said you'd never had a picnic, so..." jake shrugged, playing it cool, even though he was hoping for the surprise to be good.
he did everything, from finding a spot to spread the blanket to taking several jars of fruit, bread, and sweets out of the basket, looking your way every now and then as you followed him with your hands behind your back and a curious expression. it was still so unbelievable that jake was even there, that he wanted to get to know you, or fulfill your wishes. he didn't belong in that place - the free way he carried himself, the hair falling over his eyes, the tanned skin, the calloused hands - he stood out from everything and everyone, a natural attraction, almost as if you were tempted to look at him and desire him.
you smiled compassionately before kneeling beside him and touching his face, making jake stop, turn to you, and touch your waist.
"is everything okay? did you like it? you can tell me if you didn't, i need to know..."
you didn't answer with words, but held the back of his neck and leaned in to seal the older boy's full lips, enjoying the warmth and softness for a few seconds, catching jake off guard as it was the first time you had initiated something like that.
he had a funny look on his face when you pulled apart, like someone who had just discovered a funny secret. "i really like it, thank you" you whispered, and he stole one more little kiss before pulling you to sit on his lap, proceeding to show you everything he had brought: strawberries, pancakes with honey, a bottle of coffee.
***
time by his side seemed to flow in a different way, a soft, warm current that carried you without you feeling the need to fight it; or perhaps, you were ignoring your internalized morality, because living was more important. there, in the flowery field with the sound of the stream in the distance, the world outside was a pale memory you didn't miss at all. you surrendered with an ease that never failed to scare you, but jake sim's touch was a constant invitation to simply be.
what had started as light play, between laughter and distracted touches while eating, shifted in intensity when his body ended up over yours on the picnic blanket; he had a hand on each side of your face, avoiding letting his weight fall on you, and his eyes minutely searched your expressions to know if it was time.
the seconds in which you just looked at each other were a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of birds and the wind blowing freely. jake leaned in, as a test, and began to kiss you slowly - an almost lazy affection for a day like that, exploring your lips without haste, without the urgency of excitement. he nibbled on your bottom lip and whispered against the sensitive skin how good your mouth tasted.
but the rhythm changed as you reacted. your short gasps and the way your small hands sought the back of his neck once more, pulling him closer, began wearing down the self-control he was trying to maintain. his hands moved up, outlining your waist and messing with your clothes, his thumbs tracing the path of your protruding ribs just below the curve of your breasts, while your legs tangled together, seeking more contact, more heat.
the mood was cut sharply by a dry sound.
heavy steps against the earth, the violent rustling of vegetation, and a sharp animal grunt of pain.
you both stopped.
jake froze with his lips still brushing the skin of your collarbone where he had been licking just before, while your eyes widened, your heart racing now for a completely different reason than the second before.
from behind one of the nearby bushes, the figure emerged suddenly, piercing eyes checking if you were a threat to its hunt... it wasn't the graceful red fox from children's books, but an animal with dirty caramel fur, rustic and opaque, eyes fixed on both of you as it crossed the field. its snout was stained a bright red, contrasting with the body of a small white rabbit it carried clenched between its teeth; the small animal still spasmed, an agonizing reflex movement that made blood run even more down the fox's jaw.
the scene was ugly, pitiless, and mortal. there, under the late afternoon sun and surrounded by flowers, nature displayed its carnivorous face, reminding you that life and death shared the same space - exactly like the innocence you tried to maintain and the desire jake awakened in you.
"don't be afraid" jake whispered, a side smile forming as he saw your jugular jump with the erratic heartbeat. "it's natural, it means the fox will manage to survive for a few more days... nothing more than that" and for some reason, he didn't seem to be talking only about the animals. the words didn't do their part in making you calmer; instead, you swallowed with difficulty, entering a complicated internal dissonance.
maybe god had ambiguous plans for certain creatures. maybe creation wasn't just about green pastures, miraculous healings, and benevolence, but about this silent, cruel gear that didn't ask before turning. you thought you weren't in a position to judge; after all, who were you to understand the logic behind survival? maybe these creatures had some idea of what their destinies would be, or maybe they were completely oblivious to it, living and dying without ever understanding why.
it was this perception of the frivolity of raw life that made your hair stand on end and your throat go dry. an existential dread creeping up your spine. the fragility of the kit was your own fragility. but jake remained there, his voice steady and his body still warm against yours, as if that carnage were merely the natural backdrop for what you were doing.
"it's okay to feel sad, though... but we can't interfere" he murmured, and the way he accepted it without looking away seemed, in a way, engaging, making you face him again with tearful eyes. "jake" you called, and he smiled, brushing the tip of his nose against your neck, moving up until he was staring back at you. "can we continue in the car?" the shy words left your trembling lips.
oh? he knew exactly what that was.
he understood that transition; it was the violence of nature, strange and inevitable, that, instigated carnal acts. it was the most primitive emotional escape, the one that seeks the warmth of life immediately after being confronted with the coldness of death. the type of surrender that is condemned by all doctrines, but is the only possible response to instinct.
even so, he didn't hesitate. jake held you in his lap with disconcerting ease, one of his large hands firm on your butt as he carried you to the truck, while you wrapped yourself around his torso.
with his free hand, he opened the door and tossed you into the front seat, onto that continuous leather upholstery that eliminated any barrier between you. as soon as he got in and closed the door, the silence of the cabin was broken by the sound of your small, skittish hands reaching for his face. you gripped his cheeks hard, pulling him into a kiss loaded with want, as if every second of waiting were torture.
the kisses were deep and dense. you both grumbled and gasped against each other's mouths, a duel of tongues and teeth taking place. when you sucked his full lower lip, jake felt a snap of urgency. he pulled away just enough to get rid of his jacket and shirt, one piece following the other, revealing the warm skin under the light filtered through the windows. you blushed, eyes trailing down slowly, leading your fingers in an almost experimental way across his six-pack, mapping the defined muscles before looking up to meet him.
the eye contact didn't last long before you went back to kissing in an animalistic and needy way. jake moved his lips down to your slender neck, sucking the skin with controlled strength, leaving reddish marks. his hands slid without haste but with intention, moving down your goosebump-covered arms, squeezing your thin waist and tracing your hips until they found their way under the linen skirt. the rough touch of his fingertips scratching your rounded thighs made your whole body tense.
suddenly, in an agile movement, he reversed positions. jake pulled you onto his lap, feeling the weight of your body on his, and parted his lips when you let out an innocent little moan that seemed to echo inside him, breaking what remained of his last gram of self-control. "fuck, babe, i swear i'm trying... trying so hard to take my time with you, but you're just so hot" he whispered against your shoulder, where the sleeve of your blouse had slipped down.
"it's okay... you don't have to right now... i want it too" his head was about to explode.
"say that again..." he asked, holding your chin and sliding his thumb across your lip.
"i want you."
jake felt an electric current through his own spine at the words, holding the back of your neck firmly and invading your mouth in a messy, lingering tongue kiss. his experienced hands unbuttoned your blouse and pushed the fabric open before helping you take it off immediately reaching for your soft skin, breasts held in the bra decorated with a bow.
he bit his lip before using a single finger to pull the cup down, finding your shy, peaked nipple there. his dark eyes, almost begging, stared at you and you nodded.
he captured the small point and sucked with intent, circling it with his tongue before sucking as if he wanted to draw something from it. he closed his eyes, concentrated on what he was doing, playing with the breast between his lips while one of his hands went to the clasp on your back to open it. when he felt the weight of the breast in his mouth, he became even more invested, hollowing his cheeks as he encompassed even more of the soft flesh around the areola.
when he let go of the nipple, it was red and completely wet, using his index finger to flick it while his mouth already moved toward the other. your low moans and the way your body shivered over his did nothing to help the erection jake had in the confines of his jeans. he bit the tip of the peak when you squeezed his shoulder and adjusted yourself in his lap, practically grinding there. he returned to your lips, but didn't kiss now.
"hmm more…" he asked softly and you swallowed, feeling feverish just looking at him. "w-what?" you asked confused, but furrowed your brow and looked down with a weakened expression when he guided your hips to grind.
"jake..."
"you're going to drive me crazy..." he gasped through gritted teeth.
jake helped you out of the skirt and his eyes stayed fixed on the panties you wore - they had some lace ruffles near the elastic and were completely transparent in the front, betraying how wet you were. "shit... look at this" he moved his hand there, pressing his thumb exactly where it seemed wettest, feeling your nails prick his shoulder. "do you even know what this means?" his eyebrows knit as he looked at you again, leaning his body until his lips were brushing your ear. "your body wants me so much it's preparing you to receive me... isn't that cute?" he licked your lobe.
but he couldn't just fuck you in the damn pickup; he might be whatever he was, but he still thought of your well-being - of the fact that you were virgin and delicate and that putting you against the dashboard while he stretched you with his cock wouldn't be the best of experiences... so the boy smiled wide, turning his head thinking. "have you ever touched yourself?" he questioned, keeping his voice low and engaging, waiting for you to deny it. "not even once? not even in the shower?"
"jake..." you pleaded, embarrassed; god, he really liked how your eyes got low and avoidant when you were cornered. he bit his bottom lip and tucked a strand of your hair that hung behind your ear, running his index finger down your jaw, neck, the space between your breasts... until he was near your lower abdomen.
"i want you to touch yourself for me..." he breathed, an order so soft it sounded like a request.
you stared at him lost, almost as if at a crossroads between accepting quickly and denying for fear of doing it wrong. "sshh, it's okay... i will guide you" and jake was making it so much harder.
your mind knew, even before you did, that it was wrong... he wasn't promised to you, you hadn't prayed together before, the pastor hadn't approved - or didn't know you were seeing each other this way - everything you shouldn't do or give in to... so why were you bringing your hand down there? why were your lips trembling when your fingers felt the moisture of the soaked fabric?
"uh uh... inside the panties" jake corrected, pulling the elastic of the undergarment so you could slide your hand inside. "describe what you're feeling for me..."
pressing your lips together, wavering and closing your eyelids trying to concentrate, your fingers wandered through your folds, feeling them slippery. there was the entrance, where a portion of lubrication literally wet your phalanges, and when it moved up... right there, hidden and sensitive, was your point of nerves, pulsing. "say it, baby..." jake implored, pressing his forehead to yours.
"i-it's soft... and squishy. and it's so hot, jake... please..." your eyes met his closely now. he gave a breathy smile.
"do you feel that spot?" he asked, ignoring your plea for help.
“y-yes"
"good... rub it for me... slowly" he almost whispered, pulling away from you again and looking down. if the sight of your flushed cheeks, peaked nipples, and contracting stomach didn't make him come in his own pants, he would be fine.
jake noticed when your posture became more restless, when your hips began to involuntarily seek more pressure. "now slide your fingers down slowly... it's so messy, right? you're a messy girl..." he said, his raspy voice being the only thread keeping you connected to reality. "try to put a finger inside."
as soon as the digit slipped into the damp slit, a loud, labored moan escaped your lips. in the next minute, the weight of reality crashed down on you; shame hit you like a punch and you tried to stop, withdrawing your hand while staring at him with tearful eyes, seeking some kind of exit from a situation so intimate, so embarrassing.
"did i say to stop?" his tone changed, becoming firmer, almost authoritative, clicking his tongue and letting a sliver of his impatience show through. before you could pull away, he grabbed your wrist, keeping your hand exactly where it was, preventing your escape. the eye contact was intense, unbreakable. "try putting a second one in..." he suggested, his voice laced with a risk that made your heart race wildly.
you pouted, feeling the unusual fullness, and slowly shook your head, your voice failing as you said it wouldn't fit, that it was too much for you... jake let out a low sss, throbbing inside his underwear. "that's because you're so tight, my love" he whispered against your ear. "go back to rubbing your little clit... a bit more strength now, hm? i promise it'll be good..." he ordered and, almost instantaneously, you obeyed.
the speed with which you followed the command, despite the shame and previous hesitation, made jake's blood boil. fuck, - like a trained little bitch, he thought - dark eyes fixed on the scene of your hand moving under his words. it was, without a doubt, one of the best things he had ever witnessed.
jake leaned over and once again captured one of your stiff peaks in his mouth, sucking noisily while his other hand squeezed the neglected one. you, on the other hand, strove to follow his orders, feeling your body react in a completely new way as you used two fingers to excite your clitoris, brushing your palm slightly against your pubis; which caused a soft, prickly sensation.
your eyes rolled back and your hips moved again by impulse, making the boy attentive as he purposefully raised his hips higher, letting not only the pressure of your fingers hit you, but also the firm elevation he had there.
the contained moans from before filled the pickup, becoming more drawn out, less controlled, and jake knew you would come at any moment... you were going to come from masturbating and grinding against him, holy shit. and when your small body spasmed several times in a row, jake let go of your breast and grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand out of your panties, hearing an audible groan from you. your erratic hips took a moment to stop, almost as if your arousal was enough to make them move alone.
you looked at him with literal tears in your eyes, puffing your cheeks slightly and grunting at the slightest movement.
"aawn... don't make that face. i know, i know... sshh" he hugged you slowly, stroking your hair and your back before placing a tender kiss on your forehead. "you were so good to me...", and the words of affirmation were somehow enough to appease a void you had felt for a long time, making you sob as you nodded, allowing yourself to sink into his embrace.
***
living around jake was consuming you. it was a slow, silent process, like a tide that rises without warning until the sand beneath your feet completely disappears. he occupied you in such a way that your thoughts orbited the idea of him almost twenty-four hours a day; the memory of how he teased you, of how he left you waiting on the edge of something you didn't yet fully understand.
and in the quiet of your room, you thought that maybe he was right. maybe the guilt was yours for still being a virgin, for being this burden of glass he had to carry so carefully.
gradually, the pillars that supported your life began to give way. principles that were once non-negotiable now felt like clothes that no longer fit. at work, your attention wandered; in the church youth groups, the sacred vocabulary felt strange in your mouth. sunday services became short, rushed, while the time you spent alone, discovering your own body, increased.
you prayed less and touched yourself more. dreams became vivid, dense, and you woke up sweaty and aroused more often than you could - or wanted to - remember.
the pastor was the first to notice the spark in your eyes. then came the others. marie, your boss, commented on the change while you hummed, without realizing, a melody you had heard in his car during a drive. "you've been cheerful... different," marie said with a half-smile. although your body stiffened for a millisecond, you turned and smiled, nodding. "oh... what is it then? a boy?"
you felt the blood rush to your cheeks, but the answer came with a clarity that surprised you. "he's not a boy."
jake was a man, an idea, a new doctrine that you embraced with the same blind devotion with which you had worshiped god and the holy spirit all those years.
but the ecstasy didn't last forever.
on a thursday afternoon, upon arriving from work, the expectation of going up to your room and losing yourself in thought was cut like a razor wire. your father was sitting on the stairs, his dark silhouette against the dim light. "dad!" you exclaimed, your heart giving a troubled jolt.
"where did you leave your bible last?"
the direct and raw question tore through the atmosphere. time stopped for a few seconds; the breeze coming through the window seemed to blow out all the candles of your security and the evening sun no longer warmed the room of the townhouse.
"i-i always leave it on the dresser... when we get back from service on sunday... it's always there," you breathed, your voice small, feeling your brow furrow in an instinctive defense.
you should read it every day. without exception.
"right. and have you been talking to god every day?" he turned his head slightly, eyes fixed on yours, making the saliva go down heavy in your throat in an audible gulp.
"yes, dad," you nodded, averting your gaze to the floor.
he stood up. the heavy steps against the wood of the stairs echoed like sentences. a bitter, almost suffocating energy emanated from him as he walked toward you. you closed your eyes, stiffening your shoulders waiting for the impact of the slap you already knew, but it didn't come. instead, he stretched out his arm, taking the object that had been hidden behind him and shoved it against your chest, curling his lips in deep disgust.
"and why was your bible forgotten at church until this morning? can you answer me that?" you looked down. the heavy book, with its dark cover, seemed to burn in contact with your skin, as if the paper were on fire. your lips stayed parted, but no words came out. there was no answer. there was no excuse. "that's what i thought," your father breathed low.
the silence that followed between you and your father wasn't one of peace, but of a suffocating stagnation, where every second seemed to weigh pounds on your shoulders. he watched you with a cold pity, the kind the saints reserve for the damned before the pyre. "woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who put darkness for light, and light for darkness" he quoted, his voice monotonous and deep echoing through the walls of the townhouse. "light cannot be given to the blind, daughter. you are too innocent to understand your own situation, to see the abyss that opened beneath your feet while you smiled."
he paused, lips narrowing into a line.
"he's already gone, for your information. left this morning. the church has been repaired, the bills have been paid... there's nothing for him to do here anyway."
your heart, which had been galloping, simply froze. air refused to pass through your throat, as if your lungs had turned to stone.
"what are you talking about?" you questioned him in a whisper, taking an instinctive step back, the bible still weighing between your fingers like a corpse.
"you know who i'm talking about. don't think you've been sneaky"
you shook your head, a frantic movement. brow furrowed, your mind screaming that it was a lie - not that he knew. damn it if he knew, actually. and before he could finish the sentence or utter any other judgment, you spun on your heels and rushed out of the house. the bible fell somewhere on the front lawn and your legs moved restlessly. you crossed the yard, invaded the street ignoring the cars and the asphalt under your feet, hurriedly crossing to the church grounds.
your lungs burned when you reached the small cabin in the back. in the last few weeks, jake had transformed that place. he had built a table with his own hands, installed lights that made the environment cozy, put up posters that spoke of a world you only knew through his eyes. there were shelves full of books and a closet... the closet he filled with his jackets.
but when you flung the small door open, the emptiness hit you like a physical punch.
everything was clean. impersonal. not a single trace of him remained; not a strand of hair, not the smell of mint and leather, nothing. you flipped the lights on frantically, hands trembling as you searched under the perfectly made bed, looking in the corners, on top of the furniture... seeking any sign, a note, a forgotten game token, anything that proved your father was just trying to scare you. you checked the small bathroom and only saw the shower curtains pushed to the corner, the bathtub dry underneath.
the little room held only the parish toolbox, a few boards leaning against the wall, and a small bench. the space he had built to live in had been dismantled as if it had never existed. it was exactly as you had asked in your prayers when you first met him... it was exactly what you had said in the sensitive words you prayed those nights, and now you blamed yourself because, of all your requests, god had chosen that one to fulfill. "n-no...", the crying that was forming, filling your eyes with tears and making your cheeks turn red, broke loose and you sat on the bed that held only the thin mattress.
you brought both hands to your neck as a long, drawn-out, tearful guttural scream left you, feeling your vision blur as tears began to stream down your face. maybe this was the punishment for sinning, for not following the rules, for being a deviant soul... and it hurt so, so much... even when you tried to breathe properly, hunching over with your chest burning and crying even more, copiously.
but suddenly, the pain of loss was replaced by an incandescent rage, something that boiled in your blood and transformed you into someone else, someone irrational and fierce. you stood up and with all the strength you had in your being, you went back breathless to the house, invading the living room where your father was still waiting for you.
you lunged at him like a wounded animal. possessed, you tried to scratch his face, fingers curved into claws. your father grabbed you by the shoulders tightly, trying to contain the explosion of fury emanating from you, a strength you never knew you possessed.
"i hate you! what did you do! you damn man! i hate you!", the words came out choked, yelled.
"you were being consumed by evil! it was for the best!" he growled, his voice trying to overcome your screams and his strong arms holding your thin wrists. you were no longer the obedient daughter. you grunted, the sound coming from deep in your throat, a primitive noise of pain and hate.
"you sent him away! it's your fault! yours!" you screamed, fighting against his grip, the world collapsing while jake was the only thing that could save you.
"look at you, daughter, look at how you are. do you think this is normal? do you think god would approve of something like this?" he questioned, and the mention of divinity only left you more unhinged.
"stop talking about that! i don't care anymore! i hate all of it! i never truly liked it..! god, angels... i don't want any of it anymore! you took everything i wanted! everything! i hate you!", and as the words were uttered, hate gave way to sorrow and your knees buckled, making your body collapse to the floor, hitting your knees on the floorboards.
when the pastor let you go, your wrists fell as if they were heavy, limp sacks beside your hunched body that was still crying, making the drops of salt water wet the wooden floor below you. he was astounded, horrified. your father took a step back, averting his eyes for a few seconds as he himself had difficulty dealing with watery eyes, running his hand over his temple before sighing.
"i feel sorry for you... i fear you are unpunishable... perhaps, there truly is no place for you beside the lord" the bitter words cut his throat before he walked away with long strides.
***
how many days had passed?
three? five? ten?
you didn't know. your room remained the same, the house remained the same, and that was all you had been seeing since then. refusing to go on with your monotonous routine. too guilty to set foot outside the house, afraid of how they would look at you, what they would think, in that damn town of five thousand people.
and you were wrong before; it wasn't jake's presence that corrupted you - your own inner demons did that. you didn't fit salvation either way.
sometimes, your father would come to call you at the door, receiving only the sweet sound of your silence from the other side as an answer. you took your baths and ate when he wasn't around or when you knew he was going to sleep. if you were wrong and if god judged you for it, then so be it... let him watch while you worship your own ruin.
the night was terribly calm.
lying on the floor, staring at the beige ceiling of the room didn't help sleep come any faster. out of muscle memory, you made the sign of the cross over your chest, like someone about to pray, but stopped halfway. who would hear your prayers? when you had decided it was better to die surrounded by the life that pleased you than to care for what should be the purest of vessels for your soul. then you turned to your side, feeling the hard floor beneath you and huffing.
you closed your eyes and tried to count. tried not to think about anything. tried to cover your face with the pillow. but it didn't work.
when the muffled sound of something scratching the glass began, you didn't give it any importance; the wind, a dry branch, or maybe just your mind playing tricks in the middle of exhaustion. but the persistent, sharp, and rhythmic taps like small hailstones cut through the silence until the annoyance overcame the inertia.
you stood up, bare feet feeling the cold floor, and walked to the window where the bluish moonlight bathed the windowsill.
looking down, the world seemed to regain its colors in a single second. jake was there. real, solid, wearing jeans and that flannel shirt that seemed to carry all the comfort your father's townhouse had denied you in recent days. he smiled when he saw you, the arm that had just thrown the last pebble coming down slowly. you opened the glass in a desperate movement, the cold night air invading the room.
"what..?" the whisper came out raspy, loaded with a disbelief that bordered on ecstasy.
"missed me, church girl?" he asked with a smirk, moistening his lips afterward, and your nod was enough to set him in motion.
with agility, he wrapped his hand in an old cloth and climbed the tree trunk beside the house. every movement of his was precise, the strength of his arms lifting him to the second floor until he braced himself on his knee and jumped inside, landing on the carpet with a nasal laugh, narrowly missing the lamp.
you were stunned.
your eyes shone in the dark, fixed on him as if jake were a divine apparition in the midst of your private purgatory. he brushed the dust off his clothes and turned his face slightly, opening his arms in a silent invitation.
he mapped you there: the thin and transparent nightgown that molded your breasts but fell loose over your hips, the rosary of dark beads resting on your exposed collarbones, and your faltering feet.
when you finally took the step forward, he pulled you hard, crushing you against his chest, against the smell of the outdoors and freedom he exhaled. jake noticed the change in your countenance milliseconds before you hid your face in his chest. the emptiness of the last few days tried to turn into crying, but your eyes were dry, exhausted from so much fighting.
"i'm sorry for not writing a note... your father was really demanding when he came to me that day" he said softly against the top of your head, his fingers getting lost in your hair in a protective caress. "was he very hard on you?"
you shook your head against his chest, a quick, almost automatic movement. jake felt the lie vibrate in your body. you really were a terrible liar, but for him, that silence said much more than any words about what you had faced since he was forced to leave.
and the boy pondered before holding your face and pulling you away just so your eyes could meet. "come with me"
your lips parted and you looked down, lost, bringing your thin fingers to the buttons of his shirt. "i don't... i don't deserve you, jake...", your head shook and your laugh was weak, reluctant.
"what is that?" he knit his brows and shook his head, holding your chin and making you look at him again.
"god hates me. he will punish me and punish anyone who tries to help me... and i don't want that for you" your voice came out choked, but he didn't let go, pressing his mouth into a line and hardening his expression.
"i know you might think that now... because that's all you know, but there is nothing to punish you... you didn't do anything wrong" he replied, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "and even if he does... i don't care" he shrugged, running his tongue along his cheek. "i've been punished since the day i was born, i can't worry about one more day". and once again, you realized you didn't know jake sim, or his story, where he came from, or what his past was, but you loved him for what he showed now. "so come with me. we'll move near your college, get a job, and you decide what to do about this" he brought his thumb to the pendant of the necklace, pressing it.
you disentangled yourself from him delicately. took a few steps back and turned around, your bare feet sinking into the carpet as your eyes scanned the room. the bedroom suddenly felt strange; the dull walls, the heavy and impersonal wooden furniture where you had grown up, hidden, and lately, withered away.
a shiver ran down your arms and you hugged yourself, feeling the weight of that decision crush your chest.
jake didn’t leave you alone for long. he approached from behind, steps silent, and wrapped his arms around your waist with that firmness only he possessed. he tucked his face into the curve of your neck, inhaling the soft, natural scent of your skin, as if memorizing your essence. "i promise to take care of you... while you discover the world, the landscapes, the life..." he hissed, his warm breath brushing against your sensitive skin and sending electric jolts down your spine.
and you shrunk slightly against him, a reflex of someone still not used to such unconditional affection. jake smiled against your neck, noticing your gradual surrender.
"let me save you"
the phrase made your heart skip a beat. it ached in a deep way, the kind of pain that tears away what was left of your old identity to make room for something new. you remained still, feeling only the beat of his heart against your back, until you finally nodded. turning to him, a light and trembling smile appeared on your lips.
"yes?" he asked, just to hear the confirmation from you.
jake held you and sealed your lips in a short kiss, but one loaded with a victorious urgency.
"you need to pack your things, we’re leaving today."
"now?" your eyebrows shot up.
"yes, now"
there was no time for hesitation. jake moved through the room with practical efficiency, helping you find a large backpack in the back of your closet and dropping it on the floor with a dull thud. he guided you to choose practical clothes and, especially, something warm to face the biting cold of the road that awaited you both.
while you looked for what to take, he helped gather small fragments of your life - a few photos and personal belongings - which were kept in a small box and carefully tucked into the backpack's outer pocket.
the rest you did alone, in an almost ritualistic silence. you folded each piece of clothing with care, feeling the weight of every choice, while jake settled onto your bed. he stretched out one leg and leaned his torso against the headboard - resting one arm behind his head - watching your every move. his gaze was attentive, calm, but charged with anticipation.
until you stopped...
and you stopped just as you were about to change your clothes... about to slip a sleeve of the nightgown you were wearing off your shoulder. knowing his eyes were on you and that he would watch you undress.
jake licked his lower lip, clicking his jaw slightly, watching you do one side and then the other, very slowly. the fabric slid down your body, pooling around your feet so that all that remained was your underwear. the boy's dark eyes outlined your curves, and it wasn't like he hadn't seen some of them before, but not all at once; never.
you waited, looking over your shoulder, and he understood, standing up and approaching you.
"do you want help?" he whispered, his body so close to your small frame that you felt his heat radiating.
"yes..." you nodded and he bit his lip.
"where do you need my help?" jake questioned, still serene... wanting to know what your real intentions were.
that was when you sought out one of his thick wrists, holding it calmly and guiding his hand to one of your perky breasts, which he palmed as soon as he felt the soft flesh beneath.
jake gave a small smile but composed himself. "you know you tease me when you do these things... don't you?" he asked softly, just leaning forward, making both bodies brush against each other, his mouth close to your earlobe.
"i'm not teasing now" you replied, sounding a bit more decisive.
"know i stopped all the other times, but i wouldn't stop this time..." he warned, trying to catch any hesitation from you, but there was none; you kept holding his wrist there, breathing calmly... he was forced to close his eyes and sigh, restraining himself. "if you really want this, use your words..." he whispered, placing a brief kiss below your ear.
"jake, please..." you began... but it was hard to find the words.
"yes? i'm listening," he wanted to hear it.
"make me yours. completely" your voice came out hoarse.
and he didn't take long to comply with your request, sliding his hand from your breast to your neck, making you turn your face so he could take your mouth in a hungry kiss; saved up since the first day he saw you in the front row of the church pews, waiting for your father to finish his sermons. his lips, full and plump, swallowing and molding yours while he held you beneath your breasts with his other strong arm. jake pulled you, literally dragging your feet across the floor until you were leaning over the dresser.
your mouths broke apart and he flattened his hand against your back, feeling the small bones of your spine and pushing you to bend further.
"bend over f’me..." he commanded, analyzing the angle; the contrast between him still dressed and you exposed making you look smaller and more breakable.
you had your hands on either side of your body and your cheek pressed against the surface of the furniture while your hips remained arched. his large hands went straight to that region, holding firm. "you’re so beautiful..." he leaned over and kissed your hips. how had he held back for so long? "stay still like that"
jake got on his knees right behind you, caressing your soft thighs before wrapping his hands around them carefully.
his long fingers gripped the waistband of your panties, sliding the fabric down slowly until it was pooling at your heels. his eyes followed the movement and went back up, now seeing your sex pressed together, so pink and barely used... he spread your legs apart, watching as your pussy decompressed, feeling his mouth water.
his tongue reached your womanhood next. it was hot, and he licked from bottom to top, catching all the places where you seemed to need him most. you whimpered and tried to lift your torso to look, feeling a stinging slap on one of your butt cheeks.
"is that staying still for you?" the boy asked muffled - making you drop your face until it was pressed against the dresser again - before sinking his tongue into your slit, feeling you getting wetter and wetter.
fingertips wandered over your legs, scratching your skin as if feeling braille, reading you completely, discovering desires and wants you had hidden.
jake opened his mouth wider, latching his pretty lips around your pussy before sucking noisily, making your small folds catch pressure there, leaving your eyes rolling back. you felt so dirty. it was terrible that you liked feeling his mouth on your body so much, terrible that your body responded so well. "j-jake..." you whimpered softly, looking for something to hold onto.
he, however, was more concerned with making you slippery enough. it was about that, wasn't it? about being able to take him when the time came. he knew it was and despite being afraid, you were more curious. when the sim's tongue penetrated your tight cavity, a grunt escaped you, and as soon as jake forced a digit inside as well, your fingers tightened against the corners of the wooden furniture; your knuckles turning white and your toes curling.
he gave a breathy smile, parting his lips as he couldn't keep his thoughts to himself. "look at how you’re squeezing a single finger... fuck, your pussy is going to be so full with my cock" the dirty words echoed low through the room, entering your ears and making you moan more and more. jake began to pump his finger, sliding his tongue down to wrap it around your clitoris meanwhile, playing with the spot like it was candy.
you shook your head - divided between the urge to keep being good or finish losing yourself - trembling and standing on your tiptoes as your muscles tensed. he forced another thick finger into you as the squelches of your entrance grew louder, making you grit your teeth and let out a drawn-out sound. "sshh, you don't want to wake up the preacher, do you?" he mocked, knowing it was almost impossible not to make a sound with the way he was touching you.
and before you could unravel, he stopped, suddenly, standing up and grabbing you by the shoulder to pull your body back and press it against his once more. his mouth traveled over your shoulders, kissing your neck and sucking the skin in visible places now, leaving marks and making your legs weak, needing to double the strength with which he kept you upright.
the boy turned you around and pulled your thighs so you could climb into his lap, walking with you to the bed and tossing you into the center of it.
you watched as jake took off his clothes, biting your lip hard while he deliberately unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants before kicking the garment away. and when he was left only in his underwear... damn, he was marked. the thick outline in the thin fabric making you doubt if he would fit before you looked at him. "speak your mind, little one..." he asked, mischievous, sliding his hands over your thighs as he positioned himself between them.
"w-what if it is too big?" your voice crackled, making him let out a brief chuckle. "then i would have to go slow... until you get used to the size..." he replied, leaning over your body, maintaining a smirk and eye contact, making your heart beat fast and your body burn. your face contorted with shame and your free hand flew to cover his eyes with a muffled grunt. "d-don't look at me like that..." you asked, affected, and he laughed again, enjoying himself.
jake held your wrist and unhurriedly moved your hand away, bringing it to his lips and kissing the whole palm, before holding it firmer and licking slowly, with a flat tongue, staring at you with eyes clouded with desire. "i can't, you're too cute..." he slid his tongue to the softest part of your palm and sucked just as he had done with your cunny earlier, stretching the warm muscle between your digits and passing between them too. when your body softened again, he let go of your hand and stood erect, looking down at you - your hair spread across the sheet, your breathing uneven, folds glistening with the mixture of his saliva and your arousal. "are you ready?" his tone was low and sensual.
you nodded, watching the older boy take his throbbing member out of his underwear. it hit, hard, against his lower abdomen, the veins protruding and the pink head swollen and leaking pre-cum.
he held the base, forcing his cock down and rubbing it against your mound in a provocative back-and-forth. god, you were so small... maybe you really should be afraid.
jake held one of your thighs, forcing your knee back almost near your shoulder, making more room for him, and guided his swollen head to your virgin entrance. "breathe in, baby... relax a bit..." he whispered as he forced his entry there.
jake advanced with agonizing slowness, feeling every millimeter of resistance your body offered. he was focused, his dark eyes fixed on the point where his flesh lost itself in your tight interiors; he watched, almost hypnotized, as the sensitive skin stretched to its limit to accommodate his thickness.
a whimpery gasp escaped the boy's lips. it had been so long since he felt something squeeze him that way, as if every fiber of you were trying to push him out and hug him at the same time.
he hissed softly, a mixture of pain and extreme pleasure, before leaning down again to capture your mouth, muffling the whimpers you let out as you felt the inevitable stretching. you were breathless, your chest rising and falling frantically. your hands, restless and desperate for a point of support, squeezed his arms which pinned you to the bed, your nails scratching the warm skin before sliding down your own breasts, squeezing them in a reflex of agony and ecstasy.
"it's too much...nng i can't!" you protested through gritted teeth, your voice choked.
"of course you can... you're being so good..." he replied, his tone of voice so intoxicating it numbed you.
the compliment made you throw your head back, small tears of pain and effort accumulating in the corner of your eyes as you felt his weight fill every empty space that remained in you. when jake finally buried himself completely, he let out a raspy grunt, biting his own lower lip as a few drops of sweat broke out on his forehead. "fu-ck, you squeeze me so well... so good, my love..." he whispered, his voice failing.
he tried to move his hips, a short and experimental movement, and felt your nails dig hard into his biceps in response to the new surge of sensations. jake stopped for a moment, his face close to yours, seeking your eyes reassuringly. "just breathe, hm? don't think too much..." he started talking to you, his soft voice acting like an anchor in the middle of the storm. "the hardest part is over... can you do this for me?"
the way he asked, turning that surrender into a favor for him, made the pain of being devirginated start to be swallowed by an even greater need: that of satisfying him, of being exactly what he wanted you to be. which made you nod breathlessly and bring your fingers to your swollen clitoris and rub it - in slow circular motions, as he had taught before - closing your eyes and allowing yourself to feel bit by bit how the stinging became something more bearable, almost good... "there's my good girl" he said with a little smile after watching the act.
every time you got wetter and less tense, you could feel his cock going deeper and deeper, sliding out and coming back in with jake's full weight in every thrust.
you could even feel your lower abdomen bulging, parting your lips at the sight you had when you looked down to where your bodies met - the large cock, and your small, swollen lips sliding along the length of it. your moans became more spontaneous, and gradually your body began to give small signs it would give in.
jake saw you arch when he thrust harder, felt your nails scratch his back when he laid his body over yours, incredibly deep, making the head of his cock hit your internal wall.
but it was when he buried his face in your neck to suck the flesh and vent some of the pressure he felt, that you looked up.
there, above your bed, the crucifix.
your eyes clouded with growing pleasure and your thoughts far away, no longer able to process the guilt you had carried all that time, not while jake fucked you and made you a woman. this was the moment when you decided to have a new religion, one that began and ended with jake sim.
***
you leaned your head against the glass of the truck, feeling the constant vibration of the engine against your temple as you watched the landscape of your old life being left behind, turning into green and gray blurs. the radio played a soft melody, a sound that filled the comfortable silence that had settled between you.
occasionally, jake took one hand off the steering wheel and squeezed your thigh lightly - a possessive and calm touch, just to make sure you were still awake. you smiled, closing your eyes and feeling that, finally, you were safe.
not far from there, at a roadside station that smelled of diesel oil and burnt coffee, two old men shared a beer at a rustic, worn-out table. between them, an old battery-operated radio crackled, fighting against static to deliver the latest afternoon news.
"- suspect in the murder of four people remains at large" the announcer's voice cut through the hot air. "the suspect goes by the name of jaeyun sim. he has asian features, is approximately five-foot-nine, with brown eyes and hair. he is the primary suspect in the killing of his parents, his fiancée, and a witness at the scene of the crime four months ago. if you have any information call xxx or make an anonymous report".
OR… in which jesus absolutely did not die for your sins just for you to go and corrupt your local priest. but hey, at least you’re kneeling!
PAIRING priest park sunghoon x siren reader. 💿 playlist teaser wc 2.4k ─ est. wc 30kish ─── taglist is open! 𝖂 … this story will contain heavy smut — mdni teaser contains… just plot for now. modern supernatural world, supernaturals live in secret (inspired by tvd), strangers to friends to lovers, angst, fluff, a grumpy hopeless romantic reader, she’s also #suicidal, corruption duh, shit ton of religious guilt, ft. sunoo as the token sarcastic human bestie, full fic will contain more tags!
𝓢 big fat thank you to my undead girl gang because this wouldn’t exist w/o you @intromortal @soulofsim <3 #romancemortalworld
THERE ARE MANY REASONS one goes to church.
Faith. Salvation. Spiritual guidance. The hope of feeling less alone in the world. Or, as Hozier once so wisely put it, to worship like a dog.
Or in your case, because you had a dream.
If that does not sound ominous and odd enough, then factor in your madness fueled research spiral of Reddit theorists flying much too close to the sun with supernatural theories that ought to make their little mortal brains burst if they knew any of it was real and precisely what you were desperately hoping would work.
Because so far in all your existence, not a single man in this loathsome world had ever been immune to your charm, or your song.
And you were biblically determined to find one.
♱⃓ ♱⃓ ♱⃓
You walk along the nave in Saint Evan’s, your pointy red Louboutins clicking on the stone. As you glance around, you note that the pews are fairly full, but what seems to stand out is how there is a very specific demographic of women. Blowouts. Shiny lip gloss. Standout outfits and midi skirts in the name of plausible deniability.
How peculiar! Out of sheer nosiness, you peek into a few of their minds.
God, is this top too much? It’s definitely too much, worries one woman in a bold red lip. (it is too much.) I need to get it together. He could be my son’s age, Anyway, can this church afford air conditioning… thinks another. I can’t believe he used to box… I would let him beat my p— Wait, isn’t that Y/N? Jesus Christ, the shape of that ass! Oh, Lord forgive me…
The more minds you intrude upon, the more you realize there is a common denominator among them.
Father Sunghoon, this. Father Sunghoon, that. Who the hell is this Father Sunghoon?
You stare at the congregation with faint disdain. Is this mass hysteria? Haha. Mass Hysteria. But, seriously, have these women truly come to Holy Grounds just to ogle the priest? How blasphemous! you think. That someone’s faith would be so shallow as to indulge in such repulsive behavior here.
As if any man is worth such theatrics.
Then again, who are you to scrutinize anyone’s faith when your own is so dismal? But at least unlike the divorcee three pews over with the scandalous neckline, you possess shame—
“I was wondering when you’d find your way over here.”
The silvery voice comes from just behind you and interrupts your train of thought, and when you turn, a priest stands there.
God.
He might be the most beautiful man you have ever seen.
The young priest is illuminatingly pale, which only made the dark sweep of his black hair and his thick brows stand out all the more in contrast. There is something almost glacial in the sheer excess of this mortal's beauty. Tall, sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and overall athletic.
Many thoughts run through your head abruptly. Is he new in town? You have never seen him before, which is odd because you know just about everyone. He looks rather young for a priest. Oh, how infuriating it is not to be able to read his mind due to his vows!
This, you assume and quickly receive confirmation from nearby women pretending not to stare, must be the Father Sunghoon.
Oh. Wait. You've been staring at him for far too long.
You clear your throat, pretending you have not just been gawking at a priest in the middle of a church. “Interesting choice of words there. What, are you like a psychic or something?”
The handsome priest laughs lightly, the rosary at his neck glinting. “Psychic? Not at all. I simply try to greet every newcomer as though they were always meant to find their way here. I’m Father Sunghoon, by the way.”
So he’s just charming and beautiful and utterly welcoming? No wonder everybody is feeling rather sacrilegious.
Eh. You are not moved.
Beauty is hardly everything. You of all people would know that, considering you’re you and had eaten a man not very long before arriving. So for all you know, he could be a latent weirdo and slash or homicidal… Besides, you are not in the habit of warming easily to men anyway. Or ever.
♱⃓ ♱⃓ ♱⃓
OUTSIDE, THE EVENING SUMMER air burns nearly as fiercely as the hunger still pulsing through you to bleed that boy dry.
Gluttony. One of your more recurring sins.
So now you stand in the shadow behind Saint Evan’s, trying to calm down by lighting a fickle thing mortals use for comfort, that has absolutely no effect on you save for making you look sultrier than you already are.
Unfortunately, your stupid goddamn lighter refuses to cooperate.
On top of that, all of a sudden you hear footsteps and this agitating, grating voice…
“Are you alright?”
It might just be the overstimulation talking (it is), but right now you loathe this priest and you want him to die.
You turn with the cigarette tucked between your lips and find Father Sunghoon standing a few respectful feet away with a look of concern etched into his face, light kissing his pale skin as if the sun itself exists to serve him. “Why are you here?”
The priest raises an eyebrow. “It’s not everyday a woman runs out of church… like that. I’m confused. Have I done something to offend you?”
You sigh. You could probably take it easy on him, you know? “No. No, you know what actually? I’m not alright,” you mumble through your cigarette. “My fucking lighter isn’t working, and I’m starting to feel that God has fucking abandoned me.”
The young priest clicks his tongue, faintly reproving at your taking the Lord’s name in vain. “Bad girl. Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” he laughs boyishly. “Let me help.”
Did he just…?
Before you can react, he steps close enough that the air between you alters as you catch a whiff of him. Oh, he smells… maddening.
Control yourself.
You hold your breath as he reaches into the pocket of his cassock and pulls out a lighter. Sunghoon’s cups the flame from the light breeze, and you inhale once it is lit, thanking him before you exhale a tad bit of smoke.
This feels far too intimate a moment to share with a goddamn priest you have only just met.
“Aren’t you supposed to be discouraging me from death, Father?”
Sunghoon’s mouth curves upwards. He reaches into the same pocket again, draws out a cigarette of his own, and lights it. “Maybe,” he shrugs coolly, smoke curling from his lips. “But I have a feeling I’m in no position to be lecturing you.”
You eye the cigarette between his fingers and let out a small laugh out of disbelief. “Wow. Is following a woman you just met out of church and smoking with her also part of your priest training or something?”
The priest handsomely smirks. “Think of this as a special service.”
You blush like a flustered mortal woman. What is happening to you right now? How stupid! “Amazing,” you quip, trying to brush it off with a joke. “I feel like the chosen one. I feel so honored to be singled out for your care.”
The priest shrugs. “You do seem to need a terrible amount of it.”
You narrow your eyes at the smoking (hot) priest. “Are you literally judging me in church, Father?”
“We’re outside,” he says flatly.
You roll your eyes, blowing a puff of smoke out. “I don’t like you.”
Sunghoon traces a mocking tear down his cheek. “I’ll live.”
You just look at him, wholly unimpressed. You do hate to admit that he is so sincere and funny, though (and annoyingly charming.) The last priest you remember here had felt less like a man and more like a vessel trying to impersonate Christ himself. Somehow this one annoys you more, because a man simply cannot be sexy, brooding, charismatic, beautiful, sarcastic and kind altogether. This is the greed they spoke of in the bible.
“So,” the young priest goes on, glancing at you through the drift of smoke in the air, “what brings you to Mass today? Surely you’re not here just to run away to smoke and make your… dislike towards me so wonderfully obvious.”
“You’re awfully conversational for a man I just told I don’t like. Also, what, did you expect me to like… swoon or something?” you retort curtly, biting back the urge to say like the rest of those women.
He laughs again, and you decide that sound irritates you too. “Forgive me for having hope and expecting basic politeness.”
You mimic how he’d done a fake tear. “You’ll live. And please don’t get all priestly on me. I’m being polite, thank you very much. I just don’t know you. For all I know, you could be… like a psychotic murderer or something.”
Father Sunghoon faintly laughs, clearly finding you amusing. “I’m enjoying this progression. Psychic. Psychotic murderer… The theme seems to be the letter P. Have you considered priest?”
You narrow your eyes, biting back a smile when he lazily smirks. Ugh! “I fear your vows do not exempt you from the possibilities under review. As every woman knows upon meeting a man. I simply happen to conduct my evaluations out loud.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell,” he replies stoically.
“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Father.”
“Sunghoon.”
“What?”
“If you’re going to share a cigarette and argue with me,” he says, his eyes dropping briefly to your mouth around the filter, “I think we can manage Sunghoon.”
And suddenly you remember why you are here.
What is wrong with you? God, you’re pricklier today, even more so than usual. Why are you bantering and smoking with a priest? Priorities, please?
It’s so ridiculous of you to have been distracted for your reason of being here by a beautiful face. You are no better than the men you bait.
Let’s test the stupid holy-man myth.
With focus, you velvetly and quietly sing to him, soundless to anyone else but him. “Kiss me.”
Just then, Sunghoon moves, and your unyielding immortal heart faintly squeezes in your chest—
Only for him to flick ash off his cigarette and look at you as though nothing at all has happened.
Holy shit.
The holy-man myth is real.
A delighted satisfied smile curls over your mouth. “So. Sunghoon, what would you do if I said I came here today for reasons that are not especially holy?”
“I’d say… I’m pretty sure I gathered that,” Sunghoon stubs out his cigarette beneath the heel of his shoe, then he tugs on his collar. “But above it all I’d say God is less concerned with why you came than with the fact that you came at all. He’ll love you as you are...”
You barely even register what he is saying.
Because with his head turned at an angle of this sort as he takes his cigarette out, you spot a tattoo at the edge of his black collar, right at the nape of his neck.
It is one of a bleeding gothic cross with sharp edges, that has a gemstone set at its center and chains trailing from it. It seems wholly unique and personal, definitely not like the sort of tattoo a mortal picks at some random parlor on a drunken Saturday night. But you have still seen it before.
In your dreams.
♱⃓ ♱⃓ ♱⃓
A FEW DAYS LATER, Sunoo, naturally, conducts several investigative scrolls and somehow uncovers their Instagrams. Yes, plural. Their. There are not one, not two, but three newly transferred hot priests currently operating out of Saint Evan’s.
Suddenly, your friends felt the Holy Spirit moving through them and became ever so devoted children of God. Meaning, operation Hot Priest Summer was in motion for Nia and Stella. Your stance, however, was very much a firm no.
You pause the karaoke on the TV and turn to Sunoo. “Sunoo, for the love of God, stop fantasizing about how many abs my goddamn priest has under his cassocks!”
“Fork found in kitchen. Me soon on that sexy taurus priests dick,” Nia quips.
“It’s not my fault Father Sexy Priest is an ex boxer!” Sunoo gasps and clutches his head as if that will somehow barricade his thoughts from you. “I am literally going to become a priest just to have some privacy. I cannot live like this anymore.”
…
After a while of back and forth persuasions from your friends, you reconsider your stance on… operation corrupt a priest.
See, your friends weren’t surprised when you said no. They know perfectly well that you had never once been tempted to sleep with a man who was not your late fiancée. A lifetime of religious guilt had done an efficient job on you! So would the fact that you just don’t want to have sex with men. Casually or not.
But.
There was just something about that damned priest that kept pulling you in.
Weird symbolic tattoo gate aside — and yes, yes, he’s handsome and all that but it is not just that… (that doesn’t mean you are one of those gorgeous women who bafflingly date ugly men for their personalities.)
Ironically, he was tantalizing in a way men almost never were to you, as if he were the siren and you the fool drifting happily toward the song.
Plus, he was immune. Hello?
It would be nice to be wanted by a man who could see you and want you because he found you funny. Or nice. (though you were not making a particularly compelling case for that factor right now.) Rather than one who regards you as an object to acquire or pin beneath his own desire.
The concept of corrupting a priest by getting him into bed does possess a sumptuous appeal…
And if he falls in love with you and dies? That sounds very much like a him problem.
Oh, God.
You really are going out with a bang either way, aren’t you?
“I think I’m in for the whole… Hot Priest Summer thing.”
“Oh my God? Sing it with me ladies!” Sunoo presses play on the TV and pretends to hold a microphone once more. “I will be your father figureee, put your tiny hand in mineee, I will be your preacherrr, teacher—”
what should’ve been a quiet night turns fragile when your husband walks in on you and your daughter crying over a homework.
genre: romance, fluff, drabble, established relationship, marriage, angst (if you squint enough)
warning: mild emotional (hormonal) distress
────────────────────────
approaching your crush in college is easy. getting him to notice you without trying is easier. finding out he’s liked you long before you even know his name feels like luck tipping in your favor. loving him through college— through sleepless weeks and fleeting semesters— comes naturally. marrying him feels inevitable, like something the world has been quietly arranging all along. carrying his child becomes a purpose you don’t question.
but teaching your daughter how to spell her name? oh, now that’s a story.
jay texts ahead— he’s on his way home, leaving work earlier than usual just to make it in time for dinner with his girls. he tells you not to cook; he’s already ordered takeout from your favorite place, and your daughter’s too. there’s a box— no, a whole indulgent spread— of chocolate-coated strawberries waiting in the passenger seat, because you’ve been craving them for days without saying it out loud.
he wants tonight to feel like something simple. something his. not boardrooms. not expectations. not the weight of being the park heir.
just jay the husband. just jay the dad.
he can’t remember the last time he lay in bed with you long enough for hours to blur— was it during your board exam review? finals week before graduation? the memory slips through his fingers, and it unsettles him enough that his foot presses a little harder on the gas.
when he gets home, he pauses at the door. no television humming in the living room. no quiet laughter spilling from the kitchen. no small footsteps racing across the floor.
just nothing. the silence lands wrong. he keys in the code, steps inside, and slips off his dress shoes, placing them beside your white stilettos with a kind of practiced care. the house greets him with stillness, and something in his chest tightens.
a beat passes. then another. he drops his bag and the takeout onto the couch, loosens his tie, the fabric suddenly too restrictive, too aware against his throat. maybe you stepped out— your daughter does love evening walks. but you always tell him. always. even if it’s something small, something trivial— burning your finger, noticing a missing grape from the bunch—you tell him.
so why not now? his fingers close around his phone as he starts dialing, unease threading through him as he moves deeper into the house. past the living room. past the hallway. and then— he hears it. soft at first. then clearer.
sobs.
not one voice. two.
he doesn’t think— just lowers his phone and moves toward the sound, careful, strangely careful, as if rushing might somehow shatter whatever is happening on the other side of the door.
he turns the knob slowly. pushes it open. and there you are. his five-year-old daughter, hair parted into neat pigtails now falling loose at the edges, sits hunched over a small table scattered with paper. a pencil— too big for her tiny grip— shakes in her hand.
and you, two months pregnant— you sit across from her, legs crossed, shoulders trembling, crying just as quietly and just as helplessly.
in perfect, aching sync.
jay’s breath catches. “what—what happened?”
you daughter breaks first. a full wail tears out of her, cheeks flushed, tears streaking freely as she drops the pencil and stumbles into his arms. “appa!”
he gathers her immediately, one hand at her back, the other cradling her head. “hey, hey—” his voice softens instinctively, steadying where everything else isn’t. “it’s okay. i’ve got you.”
“so hard,” she chokes out. “me can’t— i can’t do.”
across from him, you don’t move. you just wipe at your face with the sleeve of your sweater, small, quiet motions— like if you keep it contained, it won’t spill over and take more than it already has.
he notices anyway. of course he does. he brings her to the kitchen for water, murmuring soft reassurances between her hiccupped breaths. when they come back, he hands you a glass too.
you look like you did the first time he ever saw you unravel— back in college, over something as small and as consuming as not getting into an extracurricular you wanted. same flushed cheeks. same glassy eyes.
same you.
the realization steadies him more than anything else.
“sweetheart,” he says gently, brushing damp strands away from your daughter’s face, “can you tell daddy what’s wrong? why are you and mommy crying?”
“me can’t do,” she sniffles, rubbing her eyes with the hem of her sleeve— just like how you did a while back. he smiles despite everything. a quiet, fleeting thing.
“my angel,” he murmurs, “you can do anything. what do we always say?”
she hiccups, then recites it with him, voice small but certain. “mommy and daddy love me so much that i can do anything.”
watching your husband and daughter like that— so easy, so in sync after time spent apart— fills your chest with something too full to name. you tell yourself it’s the hormones. it would be easier if it were just that.
but the guilt lingers, quiet and persistent, settling somewhere deeper. because no matter how gently jay handles it, no matter how quickly he steadies her, you can’t quite forgive yourself for being part of what made her cry.
so you fold in on yourself. head lowered, arms wrapped loosely around your knees, you let the tears come without sound. controlled, contained, as if silence might make them smaller.
it doesn’t. he notices. how can he not? he’s been noticing you long before you ever learned how to hide. back in college, he kept track of you in ways that never felt intrusive— just careful, constant. making sure you made it to your lectures. noting the days you were late, or absent, like it mattered more than it should. even during crowded events, when attention should’ve been anywhere but you, he still found the moments you loved most— lingering there, as if committing them to memory. the band playing onstage, his friends beside him— heeseung, jake, sunghoon— and somehow, still, you.
and all that time, you had been looking at him too. just as quietly.. with the same certainty.
you fold in on yourself a little more.
watching them like this— easy, warm, something you haven’t had in a while— makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with pregnancy hormones and everything to do with guilt.
so you hide your face against your knees to cry quietly. and still— he notices.
“my love,” he says, softer now, turning to you. he doesn’t pull you in. doesn’t force comfort where you haven’t reached for it. just sits beside you, hand resting lightly at your back, warmth without weight.
“do you want to tell me?”
your sobs begin to taper off, thinning into quiet, uneven breaths. without looking, your hand drifts across the table until it finds the tissue box by memory alone. you pull one free, press it to your nose, and breathe into it— steadying, stalling—before finally lifting your head.
face flushed, a soft, unmistakable pink blooming across your cheeks. jay feels it then— a small, sudden pull in his chest. because for a moment, it’s like looking at her and you all at once.
leia has taken more from you than from him— he’s always known that— but it settles differently now. the same eyes. the same way they hold emotion a second longer than necessary, like they don’t quite know how to let it go.
the same eyes he fell in love with, all those years ago.
the room quiets, but not uncomfortably. it rests between you, familiar, lived-in. still, he waits. he knows you well enough not to fill the silence too quickly. you’ve always been this way— needing a moment to gather yourself, to let the swell of emotion pass before you try to shape it into words.
when you cry, you’ve never quite known how to speak through it. so he stays where he is, patient, steady— letting you come back to him in your own time.
you wait until your breathing steadies. until your voice won’t break on the first word. “i shouldn’t have given her this name.” his brows knit.
you gesture weakly to the papers scattered across the table— attempt after attempt, each one faltering halfway through. letters collapsing into shapes that don’t quite hold.
“i should’ve chosen something easier,” you whisper, voice trembling despite your effort to keep it steady. “something she wouldn’t struggle to write.”
the words feel heavier once they’re said. like you’ve placed something fragile and irreversible between you.
for a second, he says nothing. then he exhales, soft. not a laugh. not dismissal but something gentler.
he shifts closer, finally pulling you into him, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your lips— slow, grounding, familiar.
“my angels,” he murmurs. he opens an arm. “sweetie, come here.” your daughter climbs between you without hesitation.
“leia,” he says her nickname best, “do you want a different name?” she shakes her head immediately, almost violently.
“no.”
“why not?”
she sniffles, thinking, then answers with quiet conviction. “because awelie is pretty. teacher says it sounds like a fairy.. and i look like one.” jay’s mouth curves. he takes her hand, gently easing it away from where she’s started biting her nails.
you watch them. and without meaning to, your breathing starts to match theirs— slower, steadier.
“do you think,” he asks, lifting her onto his lap, guiding her small hands back to the pencil, “you can try again? with daddy’s help?” she nods.
you’ve always known jay is the one. not in the loud, fleeting way people talk about certainty— but in something quieter, something that settles deep and stays. the kind that tells you, without needing proof, that he’s the life you’re meant to grow into. the man you’ll build a home with. the father your children will reach for without hesitation.
if you had placed a bet on it back in college, you might’ve walked away with more than certainty. but you never cared for that. not the money. not the name. not the distance people insisted existed between you.
he never saw it either. with him, there was no “out of your league.” no careful measuring of worth. just you— exactly as you are— and the way he chose you, easily, every time.
and his family, they didn’t hesitate. his father, especially. from the very beginning, there had been something almost knowing in the way he looked at you, like he had already placed you somewhere permanent in their lives. he used to say— half-joking, half-serious— that his only son would go far, so long as he had the right woman beside him.
you hadn’t realized, then, that he meant you. didn’t dare to assume. but now, now you do. and if there’s one thing you’re certain of, standing here in the life you’ve built— it’s that somewhere along the way, without anyone announcing it, jay stopped being the favorite.
determined, despite the tear-streaks still drying on her cheeks.
he guides her hand over the paper, patient, unhurried. letter by letter. stroke by stroke. until something legible begins to take shape. you sit there, watching. it feels— quietly, unexpectedly— like everything is falling back into place.
“mommy,” she says suddenly, turning toward you with bright eyes, holding out the paper like it’s something precious. “we did it.”
we— the word breaks something open in you. because she doesn’t see failure.
doesn’t see the frustration, or the tears, or the moment you almost wished her name away. she sees this. your vision blurs again, but softer this time.
“you did amazing,” you whisper, voice thick but steady.
jay nudges her playfully. “told you. most beautiful fairy.”
she beams. “my classmates are jelly.”
you laugh— a small, watery thing. and when you look up at him, really look this time, he’s already watching you. like he always has.
the night settles quietly after that. from where he stands in the doorway, jay watches the two of you without announcing himself. you’re seated on the couch now, your daughter tucked against your side, both of you sharing the strawberries he’d brought home— laughing softly over the way the chocolate melts too quickly against your fingers. a smear at the corner of your mouth. there’s another on your daughter’s cheek.
he doesn’t interrupt. he just observes. because this— this is the part he keeps missing.
not the milestones. not the big, shining moments people congratulate him for. but this. the in-between. the soft hours that don’t ask for anything except his presence.
and earlier— he thought something had broken. the silence. the crying. the way your shoulders shook like you were trying to carry something too heavy on your own. the way his daughter’s hands trembled over something as small as a name.
he exhales, leaning his shoulder against the frame.
sofiya aureleia park. what an english name.
he rolls it over in his mind, slower this time. not as something long or difficult or inconvenient— but as something chosen. something loved into existence.
he remembers the day you said it out loud for the first time— half uncertain, half hopeful, like you were offering him a piece of yourself you weren’t ready to defend yet.
and he had loved it immediately. not because it was easy. but because it was yours.
“jay?”
your voice pulls him back. looking at him now, a quiet smile curving at your lips like you’ve caught him in the act of something tender.
“come here,” you say.
jay crosses the room in a few easy steps, sinking into the space beside you. your daughter shifts instantly, climbing into his lap like it’s second nature— because it is. becauseshe fits there like she was always meant to.
he brushes a thumb under her eye, catching the faint trace of earlier tears. “all better?”
she nods, already half-asleep, cheek pressed against his chest. “can write me name now,” she murmurs, pride soft but unwavering. he smiles, pressing a kiss to her hair. “i know you can.”
you lean into him then— just enough that your shoulder rests against his. he turns his head slightly, pressing his lips to your temple, lingering there a second longer than necessary.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “for what?” he murmurs.
“for earlier. for making it hard for her.” he pulls back just enough to look at you, brows drawing together faintly. “you didn’t make anything hard.”
“she was crying—”
“so were you,” he cuts in gently. you go quiet. he softens immediately, his hand finding yours where it rests against your lap, threading your fingers together like it’s instinct. “hey,” he says, quieter now. “you gave her a name she’s proud of. did you hear her?”
you glance down at your daughter, who’s already drifting, breathing slow and even.
“she said it’s pretty,” he continues. “said it’s hers.” he squeezes your hand once.
“that’s not something to regret.”
the room grows quieter after that. it’s not empty, simply full in the best way possible.
your daughter falls asleep between you, warm and steady, her small hand still curled loosely around his shirt like she needs to make sure he’s real. like he won’t disappear if she lets go.
and maybe that’s what gets to him. not the crying earlier.
this.
being wanted like that. needed in the smallest, quietest ways. he shifts slightly, careful not to wake her, and lets his head rest back against the couch. His free hand comes up to trace idle patterns against your arm— slow, absentminded, grounding.
“i like her name,” he says after a while, voice low enough not to disturb the stillness. you hum softly. “you always say that.”
“i always mean it.” you tilt your head to look at him, something softer in your expression now— something unguarded.
he meets your gaze, steady.
“it sounds like her,” he adds.
“and what does that mean?” he glances down at the small girl sleeping against him, then back at you.
“it sounds like something i’d spend my whole life trying to protect,” he says simply. your eyes soften in a way that makes his chest tighten.
“i love you,” you say like a silent prayer.
his expression softens, something unguarded slipping through. “you are my life.” he mouths back.
🐈⬛
author’s note: wrote this on my way home from work so it’s a mess and not proofread. just didn’t wanna waste a good plot. may or may never update this : p also yay en o clock is baaack please support the boys!
your gym rat of a boyfriend ditches workout to paint your nails.
genre: fluff, short drabble, established relationship
warning: themes of adhd and anxiety
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“hold still.” he barks, yet his hold on your flimsy hand remains gentle, almost hesitant, while the other trembles slightly, a small brush dipped in your favorite shade of blue hovering with careful concentration.
it was both of your day off, which means neither of you had to spend hours dancing until your knees give out— his more than yours, though he’d never admit it. you’d plan to stay in, thinking it would be restful, but the quiet quickly turns restless. you can’t seem to stay still, stealth always itching for movement. you joked to yourself it might be time to get the undiagnosed adhd checked. the thought absentmindedly made you anxious, picking at the skin around your fingers, and to stop yourself from making it worse, you’d decided to pain your nails instead— something small, to keep your hands busy, too.
you had expected your boyfriend to be out of your shared apartment before your alarm went off. usually, he’d already be at the company gym for his morning workout so when you find him coming out of the shower downstairs, you pause— then curse softly under your breath. you’d sprawled yourself on the carpet in front of the couch, a good minute taking him in afterwards. in his favorite sweatpants and a black compression shirt, hair damp as he dries it with a towel. he tilts his head to you, and then— he offered to do your nails— catching you completely off guard.
“baby, i told you i can do it.” you giggle, flinching slightly as the cool polish brushes past your skin more than your nails. but it’s not just that— it’s the sight of his large hands, so used to precision and strength, now clumsy and delicate around your touch. “shouldn’t you be at the gym right now?” you add when he doesn’t answer, watching him instead, the silence stretching comfortably between you.
with brows knitted and a pout threatening to form, he leans closer to your hand instead of pulling it towards him. “shh. i’m almost done.” yeah, on the third finger.
“look.” you say, reaching for his phone from your lap, where he left it after settling on the floor beside you. “jay’s blowing up your phone. he’s asking where you ar—”
“don’t you have a bigger brush for this, baby? this thing doesn’t work.” he stares at the brush as if he has a personal vendetta against it before dipping it back into the blue vial. “i’m done.” he says, nibbling at his lower lip, his canine peeking just lightly.
oh my god, he is so cute. you squeal in your head.
you angle your hand up, watching as the third nail catches the light from the sun outside. he then cleans the edges with care, using his own finger to wipe away the excess. a faint smear of blue stains his thumbnail— quiet evidence of his effort— as he closes the bottle and gives it a small shake. you watch him, a little in awe, a little amused.
“how did you know how to—”
“yeji always bothered me to do her nails in high school because mom wouldn’t let her get them done at the salon.” he says, cutting you off gently. his tone is patient, easy, as he reaches over to his phone beside you, thumbs hovering the screen.
it shows. despite the slight tremble in his fingers, he did an incredible job. no uneven streaks, no bubbles— just smooth, careful strokes of blue that catch the light when you tilt your fingers. your cheeks slowly glow a faint shade of pink upon realizing that it isn’t a lack of skill. just the mismatch between the tiny brush and his large hands that made it difficult. and over the fact that your boyfriend— who never skips his routine, who’s always so disciplined, so set in his workout— chose to stay, to sit here with you, and paint your nails for you.
“let me see.” he rests his big hands on your lap, waiting for yours, and when you place them in his, “okay.” a satisfied smile spreads across his face, eyes softening with it. “blue really is your color. your hands look prettier with them.” he murmurs, almost to himself, the words slipping out like a quiet thought he didn’t mean to say aloud.
he leans down again to continue, and this time he’s better. his hands no longer tremble as much, movement steadier. each stroke comes a little quicker. by the time he reaches your second pinky, he struggles slightly with the size, but finishes it just as neatly. using the same stained thumb, he cleans the edges one last time before gently placing your hands back in your lap.
“look at them, baby.” he cracks his fingers lightly after setting the polish bottle on the center table, adjusting the throw pillow beneath your elbows.
“wow.”
sunghoon watches you closely, eager for your reaction. he looks softer like this— barefaced, a little damp from shower, his features relaxed in a way the stage never sees. the contrast tugs at something in your chest. moments like this, small and unguarded, are your favorite— the ones that belong only to the two of you. this isn’t rare, not really, but it still catches you off guarded in the best way possible. one for the history books, something you’ll surely remember long after it’s passed.
“i think you might’ve done them better than i ever did.” you admit, earning a proud smile from sunghoon. “really? i thought they looked a little wonky.” there’s a boyish gleam in his eyes as his grin widens, half-teasing and half-seeking your approval.
time slips by without either of you noticing. the warm sunlight streaming in from outside has shifted, now brushing softly against your eyes. you stand, stretching a little, then reach out to help your boyfriend up after you. “you know that i love you, right?” you ask quietly.
sunghoon frowns, caught off guard by the suddenness. he steps closer, not touching at first, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him— before his hand settles on your lower back, pulling you into a secure, familiar hug. “and i love you.” he replies, kissing the top of your head.
“i know. you didn’t crush the brush.” you joke, earning a soft laugh from him. “i didn’t,” he agrees, pulling back just enough to look at you. “i didn’t want to ruin your nails.” his voice soften as he adds: “i don’t want you to bite them until you bleed again.” worry dripping in his tone— but the way he looks at you never once felt like judgment. you never felt the need to pull away nor hide, never with sunghoon.
“i— i’ll try.”
“that’s my good girl.” he smiles, teeth showing, thumb carefully brushing over the apple of your cheek. you lean into it by instinct. like if he left them there long enough, he’d burn a hole through you. sunghoon dips down and presses a firm kiss on your lips, you feel him smile into it before he pulls away.
“now, let’s go,” giving his biceps a quick squeeze and tap. “i’m going to drive you to the gym and watch you compete with jongseong.”
sunghoon scoffs, “i do not compete with jay. or with anyone, matter of fact.”
“except,” you look back at him through your shoulder, “you do, baby. he tries to deadlift 400, you’d do 450.”
his mouth falls open, half-surprised and half-offended that you clocked him. “okay—” he attempts to argue, “because he used to turn down my invitations to go to the gym, and now suddenly he’s all about it.” he explains, voice fading behind you as you make your way to your shared bedroom to grab your keys and change.
synopsis: It was supposed to be a joke. a simple experiment after one too many 'but what if we could' questions. but now the college golden boy is convinced he's in love with you, and you have to figure out a way to remind him he's not. unless, of course, the experiment isn't the reason he can't seem to leave you alone.
wc: 22.1k
warnings: romcom, fluff, humor, hockey captain!sunghoon, a lot of chemistry nonsense that is not realistic or accurate, slow-burn (i did not mean for that to happen but it did so sorry), love potion (?), severe yearning, reader is a bit oblivious, reader is a woman in stem, reader AND sunghoon are down baddd, one scene inspired by “better then the movies” // p in v, fingering, oral f!receiving, multiple orgasms, soft dom!sunghoon, super sweet and giggly sex (they’re in love your honor), praise kink
ab thinks... i rewatched descendants and this came to me...so thank ben's rendition of "ridiculous" for this LOL. also the chemistry plot kind of got away from me towards the end but i promise the concept is there! this fic meant so much to me to write. it's one of the longest I've ever wrote, and i seriously think that despite how much i complained about writing this, it helped me fall back in love with writing. special thanks to @arischacco @ickbite @ewstain @heedimples and @clearlyhoonie for listening to me complain while also supporting all my ideas. ily guys ok?
the playlist: "black magic" - little mix / "if only" - dove cameron / "slut" - taylor swift / "supernatural" - ariana grande / "ready to love" - seventeen / “too close” - enhypen
It’d sounded like a good idea at the time.
But now, as you watch Park Sunghoon–campus golden boy and the boy you’ve been (secretly) in love with for three years–literally drink your experiment, you’re starting to think you might have messed up somewhere.
Let's start at the beginning, shall we?
“Okay, but, like, what are the odds a person could make a real life potion? Or something like it?” Jungwon asks, eyes racing back and forth on the screen as Harry Potter brings back Cedric's dead body.
Yunjin shoots him a glare, her eyes brimming with tears. “Are you seriously asking that right now? Cedric just died!”
He blinks, eyebrows knitting in confusion. "We’ve seen this movie, like, a hundred times.”
“That doesn’t make it any less sad!” She scoffs, reaching for the throw pillow behind her head and tossing it at him.
It hits him square in the chest, but he barely reacts. Just lets it fall into his lap like it'd always been there. “I’m being serious, though!”
Beomgyu hums, popping another pretzel in his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you’re just thinking of chemistry.”
Jungwon rolls his eyes, shifting in his seat so he can better face the three of you. “I mean like an actual potion. Like ones that make you fall in love or something dumb like that.”
You finally decide to speak up, tucking your feet under yourself and pulling your gaze away from the glowing screen. “You want to know if it’s possible to make a love potion?” You ask, voice laced with disbelief.
But Jungwon doesn’t laugh. If anything, he just looks ten times more serious. “Exactly.”
The three of you go silent, glancing between eachother like Jungwon might reveal he’s joking and he knows something like that isn’t possible.
Right?
See, there's a lot of issues with being a Biochemistry major. Some of the more obvious being that you’re a woman in a male-dominated field–which is a problem in and of itself–and the other being that it’s extremely difficult.
But the one people don’t talk about is your extreme crave for knowledge. Even if that knowledge has to do with finding out whether or not it’s possible to make a fucking love potion.
And you should shoot the idea down as soon as it comes to your head, really, you should. But there’s that little flicker in the back of your mind, the one that usually gets you into trouble, that has you saying: “It wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”
(Newsflash: it really, really would.)
Three weeks. That’s how long it takes the four of you to work out numerous formulas, some which nearly exploded in your face, others that did nothing at all. It wasn’t until you suggested using a bit less magnesium does the whole thing seem to be less far-fetched.
Despite her initial scepticism, Yunjin was insistent on finishing it as soon as possible so that she could make Jay–her second situationship of the month–realize he was in love with her and finally ask her on a proper date. You couldn’t help but feel like maybe that was a little unethical.
Besides, you’d already agreed you weren’t actually going to use the substance on real people. You’d test it on rats, see if it worked, and then go to sleep feeling completely and utterly satisfied.
That was the plan, anyway.
You crossed your legs, pencil tapping against your chin as you read over the equations in your notebook. The experiment was nearly completed–but you just couldn’t figure out how to make sure its effects wore off. Beomgyu had suggested maybe substituting the sodium for something else, but you just weren’t sure what.
Jungwon groans next to you, letting his forehead rest against the desk. “Remind me again why electives insist on giving more work than necessary? Like, why do I have to write a 15,000 word essay on the history of the internet?”
You snort, shaking your head slightly as the eraser of your pencil rubs furiously against your paper. “Remind me again why you chose to take a class on the internet?”
He lifts his head up, glaring at you the entire time. “I wasn’t aware the curriculum included 15 page long think pieces on the significance of Damn Daniel.”
You really laugh at that, lips curling up in a cheeky smile.
You and Jungwon usually had nightly study sessions at the campus library. It was a good way to unwind while also getting some work done. Well, more like you were getting work done and he was decoding Vine’s cultural significance.
It’s hard for you to focus though.
Park Sunghoon is considerably the most beautiful man you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, with raven hair and a smile that stops girls in their tracks, he has officially claimed the title of Campus Golden Boy and local heartthrob.
So how can you be expected to focus when he’s sitting in front of you, looking like that?
He’s wearing glasses, something you weren’t even aware he needed, slightly hunched over his glowing computer screen with an adorable knit in his brow. The sight should be illegal, honestly.
You don’t even notice you’re staring until Jungwon nudges your foot with his, a knowing smirk on his face. “If you keep staring at him like that he might think there’s something wrong with you.”
You immediately flush, forcing your gaze back onto your notebook and trying to ignore the fact that your ears have begun to burn something mean.
“I hate you.” You mumble, fully expecting Jungwon to reply with something witty, but it never comes. Instead, when you lift your gaze up, Sunghoon has left his table and begun to make a beeline for you.
Your eyes widen, throat already closing up and panic swelling deep in your chest. You’d definitely been caught and now he was going to confront you about your stalker-like behavior. You briefly wonder how long it takes for the police to arrive when they’re called, because he was definitely coming over to inform you that he’d done just that.
“Stop looking like your five seconds away from combusting.” Jungwon whispers, tone strangely serious.
You do your best to straighten your posture and make it look like there weren’t three-week-old eye bags under your eyes or a mysterious stain on your sweats, but it’s all futile when he flashes you that smile. The one he gave everyone when he was being friendly, something you’d been on the receiving end of before. But, for some reason, this time it feels different.
This time it feels like the start of something new.
He stops at the other end of your table, hand shooting up in a brief wave. “Hi,” He breathes out, “We have chemistry together.”
You blink. Once. Twice. Jungwon kicks your shin and you remember that you should probably reply. ‘Uh–Yeah!” Your voice cracks, tone pitching up higher than you meant it too. You clear your throat with a slight wince, doing your best to give him a smile. “Yes. Yeah. We do.”
He chuckles, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. And, wow, maybe Jungwon was right–you really are about to explode.
“I was having trouble with this last assignment,” He sighs, clearly exasperated, pointing a thumb back at his computer. “What are the chances you might be able to help me?”
Okay. This is fine. Amazing, actually. You’d finished that assignment the other night and you understood it pretty well, so helping him should be a piece of cake.
At least it would be if you didn’t seem to forget everything in his presence. Because you can definitely smell a bit of his cologne right now, sharp and clean, and you think you’re going to die. Yep. You’re going to pass away from cologne.
“Yes,” Jungwon answers for you, already ushering you out of your chair. “She can help you. Trust me, she’s crazy smart.”
Your eyes widen, staring at your friend in horror as he practically pushes you out of your chair and closer to Sunghoon.
“I know.” Sunghoon replies easily, tone light. Two words, but they’re enough to nearly send you melting into the floor.
You do your best to stay composed as Sunghoon leads you back to his table, but you aren’t entirely sure you’re even going to be able to think next to him. Which is definitely a little pathetic when you think about it, but seriously, look at the man. You are not ashamed in the least.
Jungwon shoots you two thumbs up, dimples showing as he smiles like he’s just won the fucking lottery. You don’t return the sentiment, instead shooting him a harsh glare.
Sunghoon pulls out the chair next to his computer for you, and you sit down shakily. Your nerves feel completely shot, face on fire and your palms becoming uncomfortably moist.
He gestures to the problem on his screen, murmuring something about how he’d been stuck on it for the last hour.
You nod along, chewing on your bottom lip. The equation he was stuck on was thankfully something you knew how to do, so after taking a breath and reminding yourself that he is simply a boy and you are a very smart woman, you manage to explain it to him.
“You put a negative there, but the equations actually positive,” You explain, voice still shaking the tiniest bit, but stronger than it was earlier as you gain back some confidence. “You also wrote the wrong unit over here.”
Sunghoon listens as you explain everything to him, your hands gesturing wildly and words going a mile-a-minute. It’s obvious to anyone watching you that you’re passionate about the subject.
By the time you finish, he’s already fixing his mistakes and taking the steps needed to get the right answer.
He shifts closer to you, finger dragging over the paper with a light touch, “Is this right?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. He says it loud enough that only you hear, eyes flickering over the side of your face.
You feel that familiar flush building when his knee brushes yours under the table, but do your best to swallow it down. “Uh, yeah. All you have to do now is figure out the correct configuration, which you’re pretty close to doing, and you’ll be good to go.”
He hums, leaning back in his seat and flexing his palms. “How are you so good at this stuff?” He asks with a laugh, eyes raking over yours like he’s trying to fully understand you.
You swallow, playing with your fingers in your lap. “It’s just always interested me, I guess. Like, the fact that we breathe in air and breathe out carbon? And the earth needs carbon to survive, so really we’re helping power the world. It’s all just so fascinating to me!” You’re smiling now, talking animatedly, “It’s difficult, yeah, but it’s also rewarding. Like, watching your experiment work is such a rush and I–”
You cut yourself off, realizing you’re rambling about fucking chemistry like you’re in love with it. He must seriously regret even asking.
“Sorry,” You mumble, nervous laughter bubbling out of you like a defense mechanism.
He shifts, leaning forward onto the table now, face turned so he’s still looking at you. “Don’t be sorry,” He reassures, eyebrows lifting slightly. “I was listening.”
Okay, wow. You are seriously either about to throw up and die or…yeah that’s it. There aren’t any other options.
By the time you make your way back to your table you’re practically shaking, breaths coming in shallow and rushed, your entire body on fire. You feel like you’re in some weird kind of fight or flight.
Jungwons bouncing in his seat, bottom lip sucked into his teeth. He practically pulls you down next to him, beginning to ask you a million questions, but you can’t see him.
All you can focus on is the subtle glance Sunghoon gives you when he leaves.
You should’ve known something was going to go wrong the moment Beomgyu called you.
“I swear I’ve almost figured it out,” He sighs into the phone. You can’t see him, but you can tell his nose is scrunched up the way it always is when he’s thinking too hard about something. “I think we got the units wrong, but if we can figure out the correct ones it should work.”
You kiss your teeth, bumping your silverware drawer with your hip and letting it slide shut. Your phone rests snugly between your shoulder and ear, your head tilted uncomfortably to accommodate it. “Are you in the lab right now?” You ask.
Beomgyu hums, “Jungwon and Yunjin are here too, but I don’t really know why considering neither of them are doing anything to help.” He says sharply, and you can hear the subtle cries of retaliation from your two friends in the background.
You snort, rolling your eyes slightly. “Okay, well,” You sit on your couch, attempting to get comfortable and placing your plate of food in your lap. “I’m gonna eat this and then I’ll be over, okay? Try not to blow anything up before I get there.”
“No promises.” He groans, tone laced with annoyance, but you know it’s all out of love.
You get there twenty minutes later, hair thrown up and sweats hanging off your body. Very professional, you know.
When you push the metal doors open the first sight that greets you is one you’re quite familiar with. Jungwon and Yunjin fighting with each other over something stupid, and Beomgyu ignoring them like they're his children. Nothing says friendship quite like that.
Yunjin immediately shoots up when you enter, her eyes narrowed with anger. “Can you please tell him that Jay is in love with me before I kill him?”
Jungwon’s quick to follow her, knocking his shoulder with hers so that his frame blocks her from your view. “Can you please tell her she’s known him for a week?"
You roll your eyes and scoot past them, making your way over to Beomgyu. He’s diligently writing down formulas; bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He's giving off a mad scientist vibe right now. Or maybe just a stressed-out university student vibe. Both are interchangeable.
You nudge his shoulder to get his attention, but he barely even glances at you. Just continues mumbling out questions like he's expecting the universe to answer him.
“What can I help with?” You ask, throwing on your lab coat and snapping on a pair of medical gloves.
He groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He gestures lazily to the counter top, where a small gatorade bottle is sitting where the glass test tubes usually do. “Those two idiots broke the glass tubes I was holding the liquid in so now I have to use this janky bottle,” He mutters, throwing a glare at Yunjin and Jungwon.
Your experiment was currently sitting in a Blue Crush Gatorade bottle, floating around the bottom unsuspectingly. You snort at the sight, rolling your eyes slightly. “I think they have some extra next door,” You sigh, turning on your heel to go grab them.
But before you can even think about pushing the door open, Sunghoon reveals himself on the other side.
He’s still in his hockey uniform, helmet hanging from his hand and cheeks flushed a lively pink. You both stand there for a moment, blinking like you’re waiting for each other to make the first move. Jungwon and Yunjin even stop bickering, the both of them staring at you with wide eyes and cunning smiles.
Sunghoon clears his throat, gripping his helmet just the tiniest bit tighter. “Sorry for bothering you,” He murmurs, “I, uh, forgot something in here. Just stopping by to grab it.”
You’re silent for a moment too long, trying to string together a sentence without sounding it’s your first day on earth. It turns out, it’s a bit difficult to do that when Sunghoon is staring at you like that.
Like he’s trying just as hard as you are to not burst at the seams.
“Can I scoot past?” he asks, tone small and light, a shy smile playing on his lips.
You swallow, managing a small nod and moving to the side weakly. His fingers brush yours when he scoots past, sending a cool shiver down your spine, one that shouldn’t feel as electric as it does.
He waves at Jungwon and Yunjin, who both give him polite smiles, but you can see the way their eyes shine at him. Like they know something he doesn’t–which they do–but still.
Yunjin hurries over to your side as soon as his back is to you, giving you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen. She grabs your bicep with her manicured hand, squeezing it so tightly you have half the mind to think it’ll bruise.
“Oh my God,” She whispers, eyes flickering between you and Sunghoon, whose eyebrows seem to be narrowed in confusion as he looks for whatever it is he left. “Did you see the way he looked at you?”
You immediately flush, smacking her lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up.” You grumble.
“I’m being serious!” She defends, wiggling her eyebrows. “Even I got butterflies.”
You run a hand over your face, head shaking slightly. “Yunjin, seriously, stop talking.”
She laughs, but you can’t find it in yourself to laugh with her. Even if Sunghoon was looking at you a certain way, it didn’t mean anything. Not when Sophia was still around.
Sophia was the complete opposite of Sunghoon. A rude party girl who assumed the world revolved around her and her perfectly blown-out hair. And somehow, someway, she’d gotten the dark-haired man wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger.
Their relationship was constantly off and on, mostly because Sophia could never seem to make up her mind on what man she was interested in that week. And Sunghoon, poor, beautiful Sunghoon, always went back to her. Sometimes you wondered if she had some kind of blackmail on him. Or maybe he was just a secret masochist. Both answers were equally concerning.
They seemed to be on one of their breaks right now, but everyone knows it's only a matter of time before she's showing up at his games again. You hate that the thought of it fills your chest with green smoke.
You turn around on your heel to continue your walk to the classroom next door, but the sound of Beomgyu shrieking stops you.
You whip around, half expecting something to have exploded, but instead the sight you’re met with is worlds more alarming.
Sunghoon, the campus golden boy and secret love of your life, is drinking your experiment. Literally. Lid to mouth, chugging it like it's water.
Beomgyu rips it from him, but it’s too late. Almost all of the liquid, aside from a few measly drops in the bottom, is gone.
The four of you freeze, watching Sunghoon like he’s grown three heads. But the boy in question just blinks at you with confusion. His tongue flicks out to lick a drop off his bottom lip, eyes flickering between the three of you. “What?
Beomgyu takes a cautious step towards him, arm held out like he’s worried Sunghoon might go rabid and lunge at him. “Do you feel anything…strange?”
Sunghoon swallows awkwardly, lips curving into a concerned smile. “Um,” he murmurs, letting out a nervous laugh. “Should I?”
You share a glance with Jungwon, who just shrugs his shoulders. The four of you are in different stages of shock, because why would somebody drink a mysterious liquid in a lab? What is the thought process behind that?
Yunjin looks like she's holding back a laugh, which isn't that shocking since she always laughs at the most inappropriate times. Meanwhile Jungwon looks nearly amused, like he'd known this would happen, and Beomgyu just looks pissed.
“Sunghoon,” Jungwon murmurs, circling the ravenette like he’s studying him, a hand on his chin. “Why did you drink out of that bottle?”
Sunghoon watches him, head twisting around his shoulder every time Jungwon makes his way out of his line of sight. “Because it’s mine? I left it here last night.” He answers casually.
Your eyes snap to Beomgyu, watching as his eyes trail down to the bottle in his hand.
“You guys alright?” Sunghoon asks, tone laced with suspicion. Not that you can really blame him.
Yunjin’s the first to answer, a honey-sweet smile on her face. “Oh, yeah, we’re good! Just…deadlines. You know how people get.”
Sunghoon nods, eyebrows knit together. “Right,” He mumbles, pursing his lips slightly. His eyes flicker between all of you once more, like if he stares at you long enough one of you might break.
When his eyes land on you, he pauses. It’s just a moment, something you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying attention, but something you aren’t quite sure how to place flashes in his gaze. Something far too real and confusing.
“I should, uh,” He swallows, gesturing lazily towards the door. “I should go.”
You nod, lips parted slightly as he slips past you.
Beomgyu clearly wants to stop him and ask more questions, maybe try and keep him for observation, but you shoot him a look that tells him to let it go. Your experiment being gone sucks, yes, but if he seems fine then there isn’t any reason to scare him. And if he isn’t fine later then you can deal with it then.
Sunghoon glances back at you before he leaves, lips parting like he wants to say something more, but he decides against it. Instead, he pushes the door open and steps back outside, leaving the four of you to try and come to terms with what happened.
Theres a pregnant pause, mostly because you think nobody really knows how to approach the situation. How do you move on with your day after your personal campus celebrity drank your fucking experiment? It's seriously a valid question.
Yunjin clears her throat, arms crossing over her chest. “So... does this mean I can’t use it on Joshua?" She asks, expression completley serious.
Beomgyu lets out a large sigh, fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose like it might ground him. “Yunjin,” He murmurs, “Shut up.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "It was a genuine question."
Your lips tighten, hand reaching out to give her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "You weren't going to be able to use it on him anyway."
"You don't know that!"
You can’t help but feel on edge when you walk into your Chemistry lecture the next day, hands gripping your computer tighter than necessary.
Would Sunghoon be here? Would he be okay? Did he die sometime in the night and the campus just wasn’t aware? What if the police were waiting for you so they could question you?
What would you even say? Well, you see officer, he kind of drank my experiment. So sorry it killed him! Yeah, no. That wasn’t gonna work.
To your relief, there aren’t any police officers waiting for you in the lecture hall, and Sunghoon seems to be perfectly fine.
Except, he’s sitting in Yunjin’s usual seat right next to yours.
You immediately pause, heart dropping to your stomach. This has never happened, ever, and you already know it must mean bad news.
He’s writing something in his notebook casually, hair curling over his forehead in a way that makes him look hand-sculpted by the Gods themselves. Your mouth goes dry, eyes flickering across the room until they land on a sly looking Yunjin. She curls her fingers at you in a sultry wave, like she knows exactly what she’s done–which you’re sure she does.
And, conveniently, every other seat in the room is full. Which means you have no other choice than to sit by Sunghoon.
Which is perfectly fine. Yep. It’s fine.
You force yourself to make your way to your seat, feet dragging the entire way, head hanging so that your hair covers your face. Is it a little pathetic? Yeah, definitely. But you’re way past caring.
You try to sit down as incredulously as possible, making sure your body is conveniently facing away from him. And for the first few minutes it works! Sunghoon doesn’t glance at you when you open your computer and pull up the assignment, doesn’t even blink when you sneeze right next to his ear.
And when you think you’re finally in the safe–finally feel like you can let yourself relax–it happens.
Sunghoon turns to you, his cheeks flushed a strange shade of pink, eyes strangely bright and pupils blown, and says in a scarily serious tone, “How are you, beautiful?”
You don’t even register it at first. It feels so absurd, so out of reach that he could even be thinking about saying that to you, that you completely ignore him. You assume he must be on the phone with Sophia, because there is absolutely no way Park Sunghoon just called you beautiful. It just wasn’t possible.
But then his foot finds yours under the table, and he starts trying to play fucking footsie with you. You freeze momentarily, brain trying it’s very hardest to catch up with whatever the hell it is that’s going on right now.
You swallow, finally forcing yourself to look at him. For a moment you really wish you hadn’t, because he’s got this cheeky smile going on, like he’s content just being in your presence.
You clear your throat, looking around once more for confirmation that he isn’t talking to anyone else. Your pointer finger comes up to point at yourself hesitantly, voice coming out in a small whisper when you say, “Are you talking to me?”
His foot stops nudging against yours now that you’ve finally answered him, and his smile widens. “Who else would I be calling beautiful?”
You nearly choke on your own spit, hand flying up to your mouth as you fall into a coughing fit. Sunghoons hand comes up to rub soothingly on your back like he’s done it a million times.
“What are you talking about?” You manage between coughs, eyes wide like you’ve just seen a bomb go off.
Well, this certainly feels like one has.
Your mind can't even make sense of what he's saying. It almost feels like he's speaking another language and you're using google translate to try and communicate with him.
Sunghoon laughs, head shaking as his hand travels up to ruffle your hair. “You’re so funny sometimes, really. Did you know that? Honestly, I’ve always thought you were the funniest girl I’d ever met. And the prettiest.” His eyelashes flutter, leaning his cheek onto his hand like he’s got some type of school-girl crush. “I want the whole world to know just how perfect you are.”
You’re too shocked to even respond, lips opening and closing while you rack your brain for anything to say. This is so out of character for Sunghoon. Not just because his admiration is aimed at you, but because you’ve gone to university with him long enough to know he doesn’t act like this.
And then it hits you.
The fucking experiment.
You are so screwed.
You clear your throat, glancing around warily. Your professor started lecturing a few minutes ago, but you were so busy with Sunghoon you had no idea what it was he was even talking about.
You suck in a shaky breath, “Okay, listen, I know you’re probably confused right now." You attempt, voice quiet as to not draw any attention to what’s going on. “But you drank something you shouldn’t have yesterday, which isn’t your fault! Me and Beomgyu just have to figure out how to reverse its effects! Unless, of course, it wears off by itself. That would definitely be ideal.” You mumble the last part, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth just like it always does when you’re thinking too hard.
Sunghoon watches you with a dopey smile on his face, clearly not caring about anything that you’re saying. The sight makes your heart stutter, which you know shouldn’t happen. Personal feelings about Sunghoon aside, he doesn’t actually feel anything for you. He just thinks he does.
“You’re so cute when you’re focused.” He murmurs, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
Your breath catches when the tips of his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch soft and intentional. He's gazing at you with so much love, so much genuine feeling, it breaks your heart the tiniest bit.
And you wonder for the briefest moment what would happen if you let yourself indulge in this. Even if just for a day. Would it be so bad?
He pulls away from you slowly, the tips of his ears pink and his lips curled into a shy smile. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs again.
You sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. “Sunghoon–”
He stands from his seat abruptly, his chair scratching against the floor obnoxiously. You wince, head whipping up to figure out what the hell it is he’s doing.
“Everyone!” He announces, voice booming through the lecture hall. You immediately scramble to stop him, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to try and pull him back down. He just ignores you, instead choosing to continue to address the whole class like he’s giving some big speech.
“I’m in love–!”
Yeah, no.
You practically wrestle him into his chair, pulling on his arm so hard he nearly collapses into your lap. You push him into his chair, a shaky smile on your face.
The class stares at you with unamused frowns, all clearly annoyed at having the lecture interrupted by Sunghoons near-declaration.
You clear your throat, hands waving in front of you. “He’s just not feeling well,” You attempt nervously, a humorless laugh bubbling out of your lips like it might save you from embarrassment. It doesn’t.
Your professor fixes you with a stern look, one that you’d never been on the receiving end of until this moment. Now, you’re starting to understand why people say she’s so icy.
You murmur out apologies to the room, hoping to ease at least some ofthe growing tension between you and your peers. Yunjins looking at you with genuine shock, her hand covering her mouth like she’s hoping to spare you any kind of embarrassment. It doesn’t work.
You turn your attention back to Sunghoon, who’s giggling in his chair like he’d just witnessed the funniest thing ever.
“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, beginning to pack your stuff as well as his. You’d thought you’d wait until class was over to go find Beomgyu, but after that stunt you’re starting to think your social life might go down if you don’t figureout how to fix this ASAP.
Sunghoon shrugs, fingertips tapping against his thigh. “Is it a crime to tell people about the girl I love?”
You tense for a moment, but don’t stop gathering the rest of your things. “You don’t love me.” You manage out, voice cracking slightly. “You’re just confused.”
Sunghoon grabs your wrist and stops you from closing his notebook, his thumb hovering over your pulse point. “I’m not confused.” He insists, and, God, for a second you almost believe him. It’d definitely be easier to.
But you know he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s confusing his emotions for you with something else—something that isn’t there.
Something that will never be there.
You pull your wrist out of his grip, a sad smile on your face. “C’mon,” You manage, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Let's go talk to Beomgyu.”
The walk to Beomgyu’s apartment is filled with endless yapping from Sunghoon and mostly silence from you. You aren’t sure how you should reply to his advances considering he doesn’t actually know what he’s saying. You keep telling yourself to imagine he’s on some weird drug that makes him more open than normal. And ten times more flirty.
Beomgyus apartment is just on the cusp of campus, close enough that it wasn’t a long walk, but far enough to get some sense of individualism. You’d been there a thousand times, whether it was for a casual hangout or to catch up on homework, but never in a million years did you imagine you’d be knocking on the door with Park Sunghoon staring at you like you’d hung the moon and the stars.
“Stop,” You mumble, fist rapping onto the door again. You know Beomgyu’s home right now.
Sunghoon raises a brow, arms crossed as he leans against the wall next to you. “Stop what?” He asks, maintaining his false facade of innocence.
You shoot him a glare, hands gesturing at him wildly. “Stop looking at me like that!”
He just hums, like he’s amused at your reaction. And you know none of this is technically his fault–well, it is but it isn’t–but there’s a growing annoyance in your chest that you can’t seem to get rid of. If you were going to be subjected to another public embarrassment like what he’d pulled in your lecture you think you’ll die.
You huff, fist tapping against the door again. “I know you’re in there, Beomgyu! Stop trying to pretend you aren’t there so I’ll leave!”
There’s a momentary silence, and then the door clicks open and an unamused Beomgyu stares at you from the other side. He’s wearing a white stained shirt, hair sticking up in numerous places.
He’s a sight for sore eyes, honestly.
“What?” He sighs, staring at you like you’ve interrupted his very busy schedule.
You point over at Sunghoon with your thumb, “We’ve got a massive issue.”
Beomgyu’s eyes trail towards where you’re pointing lazily, like you’re somehow inconveniencing him. He looks Sunghoon up and down, lips twisting into a frown. “I don’t see the problem.” He mumbles.
You sigh, running a hand over your face and letting it slap back down to your thigh. “It worked.”
Beomgyu raises a brow. “What worked?”
You groan, “The experiment worked.” You hiss, nodding towards Sunghoon slightly. “And now he’s convinced he’s in love with me.”
Beomgyu blinks, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he processes what you said. He’s been your closest friend for long enough to know that under different circumstances, Sunghoon confessing his love to you would’ve had you over the moon. He knows you would’ve had a much different reaction to the one you’re giving now, at least.
He licks his lips, glancing around the hallway like he’s expecting someone to jump out at you, and then ushers the both of you into your apartment. Sunghoon tries to grab your hand when you go inside, but you pull away and shoot him a sharp glare. He just smiles back, like your annoyance is the most amusing thing in the world to him.
Beomgyu gestures to the couch, mumbling out a hasty sit before disappearing into his room. You sigh when you plop down onto it, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursued.
You know it’s not Sunghoons fault. This whole thing was a complete accident. But…some part of you couldn’t help but feel like this entire thing was only going to end one way–with you getting hurt. Sunghoon doesn’t love you like he seems to think. The issue is, you aren’t sure just how long you’ll be able to resist him before you finally start believing him.
That’s why you need to figure out how to reverse this before it gets to that point.
And what about the effects it must be having on Sunghoon? Sure, you were taking emotional hits, but what if you had accidentally seriously messed him up mentally or physically? What if he never recovered and then you’d have to live with the fact that you’d indirectly messed him up for life?
Sunghoon sits down next to you wordlessly, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes trail over the living room, eyes pausing on a framed picture of you and Beomgyu from highschool. In it, the both of you are laughing at something on the other side of the camera, your hands clenching your stomachs and wide smiles on your faces. You don’t remember what exactly had been so funny at the time, but your heart still melts all the same every time you look at it.
Sunghoon hums, nodding towards the picture. “You look happy.”
Even though you don’t mean to, and there's definitely no reason to do so right now, you crack a small smile. “Yeah,” You mumble, “That was a good day.”
The space between you isn’t uncomfortable, it never really has been despite everything, but it’s tense. Like there’s some sort of gravitational force pushing you towards him, and the harder you resist, the more it wants to persist.
Sunghoon must feel it to, because his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his adams apple bobbing slightly. For the first time since this entire fiasco started, he looks almost unsure, like there’s something he wants to do or say, but he can’t.
You frown, hand instinctively coming up to rest on his bicep, “Sunghoon,” You murmur, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Are you alright–”
“Okay, here's the plan,” Beomgyu interrupts, finally emerging from his room. He looks much more put together now and not like he’d just rolled out of bed. He points to himself, “I’m going to figure out how to fix…” He gestures to Sunghoon warily, “This as soon as possible. You,” He points to you next, “Are going to watch him while I do.”
Immediately, alarms go off in your head. You can’t watch over Sunghoon. You just can’t.
You sit up straighter, arms crossing in an X over your chest. “I can’t,” You blurt, heat rising to your cheeks. You slowly lean back again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I have…plans.”
It’s a lame excuse, you know. And you know neither of them believe you. (Honestly, does Sunghoon even understand what’s going on?)
Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “Okay, first off, no you don’t. And if this is like, a one in a million time in which you actually do have something going on, cancel it.” He lowers his voice slightly, hand covering his mouth so Sunghoon can’t see what he’s saying. “He can’t be alone right now, and I’m guessing you’re the only person he’ll willingly go with. So, either take him or deal with the repercussions.”
You hate that he’s right.
Maybe, if you had any energy left in you you’d fight with him on it. Or maybe you’d just deal with the consequences of sending Sunghoon out there on his own. But one glance at the man in question, and you immediately cave.
He’s gazing at you with hopeful eyes, his head tilted slightly to the side, like he’s hanging onto every word you say. It really shouldn’t tug at your heart strings like it does. It shouldn’t make you want to say yes until the word doesn’t sound like a word anymore.
You sigh, forcing your gaze to the ground. “Fine,” You huff, “I’ll watch him. Whatever that means.”
Beomgyu grins, glancing between you and Sunghoon cheekily, like he knows something you don’t. “Great,” He rolls his neck, letting it pop once. “Now get out so I can get to work.”
Campus is never busy on Mondays. You think it’s because most people don’t like the idea of morning classes on the first day of the week, which you can’t really blame them for. But that also means that it’s just you and Sunghoon on the street, and while it feels completely awkward for you—he looks like he just won a million bucks.
He’s smiling, as if the harsh winds blowing across your faces is anything to smile about. As if anything about this situation is something to smile about.
And you know you shouldn’t be upset. Anyone in your situation right now would probably be ecstatic. The man you’ve been secretly in love with for the past three years is finally returning your feelings, even if they aren’t completely genuine.
But that’s the issue, isn’t it? He doesn’t really feel this way towards you, he just thinks he does. And it would be so easy to let yourself indulge in it–to let yourself forget that none of this is actually real.
But you can’t. You know you can’t.
Sunghoons arm brushes against yours, a complete accident, but you still flinch and pull away like he’s burned you.
He glances at you, eyebrows furrowing. His breaths coming out in uneven puffs of white fog. “Everything okay?”
You clear your throat, trying to act like the shiver that goes down your spine is from the frosted air and not because his smooth voice makes your body flush with heat. “I’m fine,” You murmur, “Just…hungry. Tired.”
He hums, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “You know,” He drawls, trying to keep up a nonchalant front. “We could go eat. Together. Just me and you.”
You blink, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Is he asking you on a date right now? If the past two hours hadn't happened, you probably would've been more surprised.
You sigh, shaking your head slightly, “I’m not going on a date with you Sunghoon.” The words nearly don't make it out of your throat, feeling more artificial and practiced than anything else. If you would've told yourself a week ago you'd be rejecting Sunghoon, you probably would've slapped yourself for even thinking about it.
He shrugs, eyes glinting with mischief. “Who said anything about a date?” He asks, looking at you like you've just uggested the craziest thing he's ever heard. “We're just two friends eating lunch together, right? Even if I am irrevocably in love with you.”
He throws the word love out like he's saying hello, not like he's pulling at the strings of your heart every time it leaves his lips. It almost sounds fucking natural, like he'd been saying it to you for years, which makes it even worse.
You pause in the street, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Okay, I get that your brain isn’t in the right place right now, but stop saying things like that.”
His head tilts slightly to the side, eyebrows raising in amusement. “Why?” He asks, tone innocent, but you know better. You know he’s finding this funny. It’s frustrating and annoying and your heart fucking stutters every time he looks at you like he knows exactly what makes you tick.
You stumble over your words, hands gesturing wildly in front of you. “Because It’s annoying! And weird! How would Sophia feel if she knew you were saying all of this?”
The air goes still at the mention of Sophia, like the thought of her is enough to push away the sun. Sunghoons expression hardens, his jaw tightening for a moment before he releases it. It’s almost like the sound of her name has sucked all of the joy out of him. “Why would I care what she thinks?” He mutters.
You blank, unsure of how to respond to that. You know the two have always had a more than toxic relationship, but you’ve never seen him have so much distaste towards her before. You’ve never seen him have so much distaste towards anyone before.
“I don't know, maybe because she’s your girlfriend?” You attempt.
His eyes harden as he looks away from you, like he doesn't want to point his annoyance towards you. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He mumbles.
Your neck cranes up so you can look at him, arms crossing over your chest in a silent defense. “Besides,” He continues, taking a small step closer. “Why would I care about her when you’re right in front of me?”
You feel that familiar heat rush up your neck, the one you know you have no right to feel. And it’s strange how something good on the surface can cut you so deeply. How something you hoped to hear from him for years can suddenly feel like the biggest insult.
But, you are hungry–you weren’t lying about that, and Beomgyu has already assigned you to practically be his babysitter anyway, so might as well get something out of it, right?
You let out a breath, kissing your teeth as you do. This is a very bad idea, and you know it. “We can go to lunch as friends, but that’s it, okay? And no more flirting.”
His lips curl into a grin, eyes flashing like he’s just won a prize. “Perfect, because I already made a reservation for us off campus.”
Of course he did.
You open your mouth to argue, or really say anything, but his hand makes its way onto your lower back so he can lead you away and you suddenly forget how to speak. Because, yes, you’re still a strong woman who would rather die than ever be rendered speechless by a man–but Park Sunghoon is an exception. One that you know you shouldn’t indulge, but doesn’t it feel oh, so good when you do?
That’s how you find yourself thirty minutes later in the nicest restaurant in a fifteen mile radius, wearing jeans and an old ratty t-shirt. You cross your legs, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach at being so underdressed.
Sunghoon doesn’t look the least bothered by it though, reading over the menu with sharp eyes and a slight furrow to his brows. He asks you your opinion occasionally, mumbles about calories and his protein intake. All things you’d never really felt the need to look at yourself before. Maybe hockey people have to worry about that stuff? You’d always assumed it was just wrestlers and weightlifters.
“Do you like Alfredo sauce or marinara? I like both, but I want you to be able to pick off my plate.” He mutters, saying it so casually. Like ordering his own food based on what you like is just common sense. If any of this was real, he would make the perfect boyfriend.
It makes you wonder again how Sophia could just let him go so easily.
Your eyes flicker up from your own menu, heart stuttering in your chest. “Just get whatever you want,” You sigh, “You don’t need to ask me.”
He’s silent for a moment, the gears in his head turning. He slowly sets his menu down, and then plucks your own from your fingers.
Your eyebrows furrow as you go to reach for it, “Sunghoon—“
“Why are you so set on rejecting me?” He asks, keeping his eyes on yours. The eye-contact nearly makes your throat close up from how intense it is. “I know you think none of this is real or whatever—“
"Because it isn’t.” You interrupt. You wish you understood how this experiment worked, because then maybe you'd know how to get it through his thick skull that none of this was real. You run a hand through your hair before continuing, “You drank an experiment, Sunghoon. Everything you’re feeling—everything you think you’re feeling—it isn’t real.” Your voice cracks slightly, like it’s a manifestation of your own hurt.
Sunghoon, for the first time since this entire thing started, goes silent. His jaw ticks, breathing going slightly uneven. The air crackles between you, tension that neither of you really want to admit is there.
And then, without even so much as a stutter, he says, “I’ll prove it then.”
You falter, lips parting as a laugh bubbles out of your throat. You don’t mean to laugh, really, you don’t, but Sunghoon's insistence is almost admirable. And, unfortunately for you, his stubbornness only makes you fall for him the tiniest bit more.
“Why are you so set on this?” You ask, mimicking his question from earlier.
He shrugs, leaning forward and placing his chin in his hand. “Does it matter?”
Yes, it does matter. But you know there’s no way you’re going to get an actual answer from him, so you won’t push anymore. So, instead you just shrug, fingers tapping against the table. “I guess not.”
Sunghoon grins, his tongue poking against his cheek slightly. “Atta girl.”
You should drag him out of the restaurant and back to Beomgyu’s apartment after that. Should refuse to even speak to him until Beomgyu figures out how to reverse this whole thing. Should protect your heart from the hurt that you know is coming.
But you don’t do any of that. Instead, you laugh along to his jokes. You don’t protest when he pays for your food. You let him walk you home like he’s your boyfriend and try to ignore the deep ache beginning to bloom in your chest every time he looks at you like he loves you.
And when you lay in bed that night, sheets tucked to your chin and green glowing stars shining on your ceiling, you let yourself believe that all of it was real. That all of it meant something.
Even if that was only true for one of you.
You aren’t sure what you’re expecting the next morning, but it certainly isn’t sunghoon at your door with a jersey in one hand and hockey stick in the other.
You blink at him, still in your pajamas with leftover mascara flakes covering your cheeks. You’re sure you look the picture of attractiveness right now. You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles. “What are you doing here?”
Sunghoon holds the jersey out to you, and it’s then that you realize it’s his. Or, at least, one with his number and name on it. “This is for tonight.” He says casually, like you’re supposed to know what that means.
Your eyebrows furrow as you cautiously take it from him, inspecting it like it was a bomb and not a piece of fabric. “Uh,” You chuckle humorlessly, “What’s tonight?”
The jersey is your size, but the only other people you can think of who wear these are family members, die-hard fans, and…girlfriends.
But there’s no way that’s why he’s giving this to you. Besides, you’d seen Sophia wear the same exact thing enough times to know what wearing it would mean--to know what it would make you, as well as everyone else on the campus, aware of.
That you were Sunghoons.
That is not happening.
He leans against your doorframe, arms crossed against his chest. His hockey stick pokes out from under his armpit awkwardly, and the sight nearly makes you crack a smile.
“For the game,” He says, “You’re coming.”
You immediately shake your head and attempt to shove the jersey back into his arms. “Yeah, no, I’m not going to that. Thanks for the offer though.”
You turn on your heel after forcing him to take back the shirt, and while you know you should tell him to leave, you let him follow you into your apartment.
He trails behind you like a lost puppy, a slight pout twisted onto his features. “You have to go,” He insists, “You’re my girlfriend–”
You whip around and glare at him, “I am not your girlfriend.”
His lips curl up into a shy smile, a hand coming up to brace the back of his neck. “That’s a technicality.”
You give him a look before finally turning back around and continuing your walk to your bathroom. He tries to follow you in, but you quickly shut the door in his face. You half expect that to finally be the hint he needs, but of course it isn't. Instead, he just keeps talking to you through the door. “Okay, fine, you’re not my girlfriend.” He sighs, voice slightly muffled. You just roll your eyes and throw your hair up, grabbing your toothbrush from its place in the barbie cup on your sink.
“But you said I could prove to you how serious I was,” He continues. You can hear his body slide down to the floor, and you assume he’s sitting with his back against the door. He’s silent for a moment, before mumbling out so quietly you nearly don’t hear him, “Let me do what I said I would. Please.”
You are a weak, weak woman. You’ve always known this. When it comes to school and things of that nature you’d always known you excelled. But, people? That was something that was way out of your league.
Your mom used to call you a people-pleaser. Said it’d end up in you getting hurt if you didn’t learn how to step away from things before they got out of hand. And you thought you had.
But maybe you hadn’t.
You sigh, finishing up brushing your teeth and washing your face. By the time you're finished the ends of your hair and the sleeves of your shirt are soaked, but you don’t care. He wouldn’t care what you looked like right now anyway. His brain is all jumbled up and you doubt you looking like a hot mess is the thing that'll fix it.
You open the door cautiously, and just as you’d expected he’s sat on the other side with his knees tucked into his chest. He looks so small here, so boyish. Not like the Park Sunghoon you’d seen from the spotlight, not like the school's star player and pride and joy. From here, he looks like a boy trying to find himself in a world too big for him.
You tug your bottom lip into your teeth, eyes choosing to look everywhere but at him. “I’ll go,” You finally mumble, voice smaller than you wanted it to be. “But I’m not wearing the jersey.”
He smiles, shoulders sagging in relief. He tilts his head up so he can see you. “Jersey?” He smirks, crumbling up the fabric and shoving it behind his back. “What jersey?”
You grin despite yourself and nudge your foot into his lower back. “Whatever. Go home so I can get ready.”
He stands, knees popping as he does. He grabs his hockey stick from where it leans against your wall, fingers wrapping around it and giving it a firm squeeze. “Six pm, alright? I’ll get you and your friends a spot up front.”
You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that–”
He grins, and before you can even think about swerving him, leans in and places a gentle kiss at the crown of your head. You freeze, body flushing and eyes going wide.
His lips are softer than you thought they’d be, coated with a scentless chapstick that you’d seen him carry around with him for years. He pauses for a moment, his spare hand lingering at your waist. He never touches you directly, doesn’t even attempt to. But you can still feel the slight heat emitting from his hand, and it almost feels more intimate than if he'd just taken that final leap.
He swallows, taking a step away from you. There’s a slight pink blush dusting his cheeks, like he’s shocked by his own actions, but he’s quick to clear his throat and pretend like there was nothing out of the ordinary about what he’d just done. Like the entire thing was a regular occasion for the both of you.
“I’ll see you there, okay?” He mutters, raising a brow. Like he needs more reassurance that you’ll stick to your word and show up.
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips for a moment, eyes searching for any indication that maybe he understands what he did. That maybe the experiment's effects are starting to wear off. But when you look at him, you see the same exact thing you’ve been seeing since yesterday morning.
Pure, unbridled, love.
You suck in a breath, nodding your head slightly. “Yeah,” You manage, though your voice comes out low and breathless. “I’ll be there.”
He smiles, mumbles out a soft goodbye, and then leaves you in the middle of your hallway, body flushed and mind jumbled.
Yunjin, to your dismay, comes over as soon as you ask her too.
She looks ecstatic. You’d called her last night and explained the entire situation, but she, of course, couldn’t see how it was a very bad thing.
“Why are you so upset?” She’d asked over the phone. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was practically beaming. “The guy you’ve been secreltey obsessing over like some kind of stalker is in love with you! That sounds like a complete win to me!”
You’d winced, bottom lip tugged between your teeth. “Yeah, It sounds great! But he doesn’t…” You swallowed uncomfortably, “He doesn’t actually feel that way for me. He just thinks he does.”
You heard her take a drink of something before she sighed out, “How do you know that?”
You went silent, unsure of how to answer. What did she mean how did you know? It was obvious. Sunghoon accidentally drinks a love potion and now thinks he’s in love with you. That’s what had happened.
You tucked your legs under you and adjusted your phone against your ear. “I think that’s obvious, Yunjin.” You murmured.
She hummed, “I don’t know, [Y/N].” She said, tone strangely teasing. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”
So, when you’d called her and asked her to help you get ready for tonight’s match, she was ecstatic. And you appreciated her support, of course, but you weren’t sure she really understood what was happening here.
You and Sunghoon are nothing. When all of this was over, you’d go back to being two strangers who sometimes smiled awkwardly at each other out of obligation. And you needed to be able to be okay with that. You had to be.
“Okay, I think you should wear something super sexy so that Sunghoon’s knocked on his ass.” Yunjin quips, scouring through your closet and inspecting everything you own like it owes her something.
You sigh from where you lay on your bed, staring up at the stars on your ceiling like maybe they’ll save you. “We’re going to his game, Yun. I don’t want him to fall on his ass.” You chuckle, throwing up air quotes around the end of your sentence.
Yunjin rolls her eyes and throws another pair of jeans onto your desk chair. “I don’t mean literally. I just mean maybe it wouldn’t hurt to wear something different."
You sit up, bracing yourself against your elbows. “What's wrong with my usual clothes?” You ask, eyebrows raising teasingly.
Yunjin pauses, cautiously turning around so you’re face to face. “There’s nothing wrong with it," She attempts, lips twisting thoughtfully as she tries to come up with the softest way to say it. “But I don’t think a pair of sweatpants and some random shirt you got in middle school is quite the look we’re going for.”
You scoff, flopping back down onto your bed and pushing the palm of your hands into your eyes until white dots fill your vision. You don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you usually wear, even if it isn’t the nicest clothes ever.
But you can’t lie and say there isn’t a part of you that wonders how Sunghoon would react. Would he even care? If he did, would it even be real?
“I think that you’re blowing this way out of proportion.” You mutter, letting your arms wrap around yourself.
Yunjin snorts and tosses a shirt at you. You cautiously inspect the fabric–a blue long sleeved top with a deep neckline that you’d bought to make your ex-boyfriend jealous and then never wore. You scrunch your nose slightly at it and then toss it back at her.
“There’s no way I’m wearing that.” You snort.
Yunjin nods, grabbing a pair of dark jeans from your closet. “That’s what you think.”
The hockey arena, to no one's surprise, is full to the brim with die hard fans and half-way drunk college students. You, personally, have never been to a game before. Mostly because you know what they consist of, and you’d rather skip watching men fight over a puck on ice when you could be doing much more important things. Like rewatching New Girl.
But, alas, you, Yunjin, and Jungwon all find your seats right at the barricade. Beomgyu had chosen to skip so that he could keep working on some kind of fix for your current situation, but you had half the mind to believe it was because he simply didn’t want to come.
Jungwon takes a sip of his fountain drink, letting the red straw rest on his lip. “So, you’re telling me that Sunghoon drank the experiment, thinks he’s in love with you, and invited you here because he wants to prove to you that it’s real?”
You nod, shrugging your jacket off and laying it across the back of your seat. The players are warming up in front of you, their skates scratching against the ice as they yell instructions at each other. You can see Sunghoon talking to another boy with a serious expression, his hands moving admittedly as he does. You can tell he’s being stern with him, but the boy doesn’t look upset or scared in the least. If anything, he’s taking his lecture with pride–like getting told off by Park Sunghoon is a privilege.
And you think that goes into show just the kind of person that he is. He's kind, and funny, and defientley doesn't deserve what you're putting him through.
"Um," You sniff, adjusting yourself in your seat. “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”
Jungwon hums, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Is it weird that that isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened to us?” He asks.
You furrow your brows, “What could possibly be weirder then that?”
“Remember freshman year?” Yunjin chimes in, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “There was that full two weeks where Beomgyu was stained pink.”
“Oh,” You draw out, chuckling at the memory. “I do remember that.”
You giggle at the memory. Beomgyu had had a rouge experiment blow up in his face--literally--and spent two weeks looking like he'd just stepped out of the Barbie movie.
Jungwon shrugs, “I would argue that seeing Beomgyu walk around campus like a real-life monster high doll was definitely weirder than this.”
You don’t respond, instead turning your attention back towards Sunghoon. He still hasn’t noticed you–which you’re mostly grateful for, but it also makes you anxious for when he does.
While you’ve never been to one of the matches in person, you have seen them online. You know that they can get heated and violent. You’ve seen Sunghoon walk into class with the occasional black eye or scabbed over knuckles.
It makes worry build in your stomach, thick and strong and nearly overwhelming. And you know you shouldn’t care. Sunghoon isn’t your boyfriend, even if he seems to think he is. But, still, the thought of him getting hurt makes you want to throw up.
You lean back in your chair, leg bouncing anxiously, and then you see it. It’s a subtle movement from the corner of your eye, but you catch it nonetheless.
Two seats down from you, Sophia sits down with her friends, all of them looking like they just stepped out of fucking vogue. And Sophia, with her perfectly blown-out hair and sickly sweet smile, is wearing Sunghoons jersey.
Your heart drops, stomach becoming an endless pit as you stare at her. You’d assumed they broke up, but what if they hadn’t? That was the only explanation you could think of for why she was here wearing that. What if you had accidentally ruined her relationship with Sunghoon?
Not to say that their relationship wasn’t already on the brink of disaster, but still.
You nudge Jungwon with your elbow, forcing your gaze onto the rink. The other team has come onto the ice now, and you can see Sunghoon's jaw tick. But he isn’t watching the other team, no, he’s searching the stands.
Searching them for you.
You suddenly feel a wave of guilt at what you’ve done, even if it was an accident. You’ve inadvertently forced yourself into the middle of a relationship that was never any of your business. Does this make you a homewrecker?
“Jungwon,” You mumble, “Tell Yunjin we’re leaving.”
“What?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together. “The game hasn’t even started.”
You sink into your seat as you watch Sunghoons gaze get closer and closer to you. “Sophia’s here.” You say through your teeth, “And she’s wearing his jersey.”
Jungwons gaze shifts past you, lips parting when he spots her. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” You murmur, “Oh.”
Jungwon turns and tells Yunjin, and you watch as her head pops out from behind him, her lips pulled into a frown. “Oh, this is so fucked.”
You cover your face with your hands and groan, “I’m a homewrecker!”
“Okay, no,” Yunjin scoffs, still eyeing Sophia like maybe if she stares at her long enough she’ll disappear, “This is all just a really small misunderstanding.”
You groan again, dropping your hands to your lap and looking back onto the rink. Sunghoon finally spots you then, a smile curling onto his lips as he skates over. Your stomach churns, letting yourself steal a glance to Sophia, who is also smiling at Sunghoon.
You sink further into your seat.
“Y/N!” He calls once he approaches, placing a hand in the glass separating you. You can practically feel Sophia’s gaze burning into your skull, and for once, you can’t even be mad that you’re on the other side of her icy glare.
“Um,” You manage, clearing your throat and cocking your head as subtly as possible towards Sophia. “Sunghoon, you should probably go say hi to your girlfriend before you say hi to me.”
You can feel Jungwon and Yunjin holding their breaths, like they’re scared any sudden movement will set off some kind of bomb. But Sunghoon either doesn't notice the tension, or he’s actively choosing to ignore it.
He cocks his head to the side, smile faltering a bit. “What are you talking about—”
“Hoonie!”
There’s something very distinct about Sophia’s voice—just the right amount of feminine to be cutsey, but still bordering on the edge of nails on a chalkboard. Normally, the sound of it would make you roll your eyes and resist the urge to pull your hair out, but now it just makes you feel sick with guilt.
Sunghoons expression immediately shifts, his smile curling downwards, eyes narrowing slightly. When he spots Sophia, he almost looks bored. Like the sight of her is nothing special.
She climbs over the people next to you, a mom and her toddler, both of whom she doesn’t apologize to when she steps on the tips of their shoes.
“Hoon,” She sighs, adjusting her skirt. “I missed you.”
She doesn’t even spare you a glance, which you’re partially thankful for. But, you also can’t help but wonder if it’s because she doesn’t even see you as a threat.
Which, you’re not—but still. It’d at least be nice to be considered one.
Sunghoons jaw ripples, gaze icy and nearly angry. “What’re you doing here Sophia?” He asks. His gaze falls downwards, onto the blue jersey she wears proudly across her chest, and scoffs. “And why are you wearing that?”
Sophia doesn’t even flinch at his tone, if anything she seems to revel in it. “Why wouldn’t I be here, silly?” She giggles, “I’m supporting my boyfriend!”
Jungwon glances over at you, but your eyes stay on the floor. What are you supposed to say? Actually, you’re boyfriend thinks he’s in love with me, so sorry! You’d just sound crazy.
Sunghoon leans closer, voice lowering an octave. “Are you forgetting that I caught you fucking my roomate last weekend?” He spits, gripping his hockey stick so hard you’re convinced it’ll break. “Or am I supposed to just get over that like everything else?”
You can’t help the gasp that leaves you. A small sound, but it’s enough to catch her attention. She whips her head around, dark eyes catch yours, nose scrunched like she’s staring at the trash on the side of the sidewalk and not a person.
You half expect her to apologize for having such a private conversation in front of you, but she doesn’t do that. Why would she? Instead, she barks, “Can’t you see we’re having a conversation? Go somewhere else.”
You blink, lips parting as you try to come up with something to say. But, Sunghoon beats you to it.
“Don’t talk to her like that.” He defends, eyes blazing something nearly protective. It makes your heart flutter and heat fill your stomach for all the wrong reasons.
Sophia takes a moment to process, but when she does, you would’ve thought Sunghoon had just told her he’d made out with her mom.
“Why are you defending her?” She asks, letting out a humorless laugh. She really takes you in then, eyeing you up and down. You sink into yourself instinctually, arms wrapping around your stomach like a shield. “Don’t tell me this is my replacement?” She chuckles, like the thought of you even being near Sunghoon is amusing.
You shake your head, hands shooting out in front of you. Even though she doesn't deserve it, you don't want to be the other woman. “No, no, that’s not—”
But Sunghoon doesn't let you finish. “She can’t be a replacement when there’s nothing to replace.” He mutters, tongue leaking venom.
Sophia, for what you’re sure is the first time in her life, is rendered speechless. Her glossy lips part, eyes widening a fraction. “Sunghoon—”
He turns to you then, completely ignoring her like her prescense isn’t even a blip on his radar. His eyes soften, cheeks flushing the lightest shade of pink. “Meet me after the game, okay?” He mumbles.
A buzzer sounds, and both teams on the ice skate over to their respective coaches to get ready for the game. Your lips part as you wrack your brain for a response, but it’s hard when Sophia is sneering at you like you’d just said the dumbest thing she’d ever heard.
Sunghoon sighs, throwing you a final glance before pushing off the glass and beginning to skate towards the rest of his teammates.
His jaw ticks once, throwing Sophia an icy look over his shoulder. “Go home, Sophia.” He mumbles.
Sophia doesn’t say anything else, just shoots you a glare and then stomps back to her waiting friends. They all look sympathetic when she tells them what happened, shooting you not-so-subtle death glares. As if you did something. Well, you did—you unintentionally home wrecked her relationship, but still, it was all accidental!
Yunjin lets out a low whistle, crossing her leg over her knee and clasping her hands around it. “Can we make more of those love potion things?” She asks with a chuckle. “This is reality tv kind of entertainment.”
Jungwon nods, “Rivals love island, honestly.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut, “This isn’t a reality tv show.” You mumble.
Yunjin shrugs, popping a piece of candy into her mouth. “We know, but it might as well be. Or maybe the plot of some super bad fanfiction.”
And, well, you can’t really argue with that.
But you’d never been good at confrontation, and Sophia keeps looking at you like you’d owe her something. Her lips pulled tightly together, friend whispering in her ear like she knows your deepest darkest secrets.
And somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s a subtle prick of insecurity. One that forces you deeper into your seat and into your own head.
The game goes by in a blur, one that you barely pay attention to. It’s not that you don’t want to, but it’s a little difficult when Sophia keeps glancing over at you and laughing with her friends.
You aren’t stupid. You’ve been laughed at before--been the victim of bullies who thought they had the upper hand for whatever reason. But that had been in high school, never in college. And even though you try to push it away—try to block it out—those awful thoughts still crawl their way from the depths of your mind. Thoughts that you hadn’t had since you’d sat alone in a chemistry classroom in tenth grade, back before you’d met Beomgyu.
So, when the game is over (Sunghoon led the team to victory of course, because why wouldn’t he?), you don’t hesitate shrugging your jacket back on and climbing your way over people to get to the exit.
Yunjin and Jungwon stumble behind you, calling your name in an attempt to get you to slow down, but you don’t. Can’t, really.
You didn’t sign up for any of this. Didn’t sign up to be the target of Sophia’s stares, didn’t sign up to be the girl Sunghoons convinced he’s in love with.
You just wanted to go back to your life before. When you were still just in the background with your select circle. You wanted to go back to watching Sunghoon from afar—to being the girl he’d never look twice at.
Because this? This was too much for you.
And you know none of it is his fault, but that almost just makes it worse. He has no idea how much all of this is really hurting you. How much it breaks your heart every time he looks at you like you mean something to him.
The wind hits your face when you step outside, neon lights of the stadium lighting up the parking lot around you. You finally let out a breath, eyes glassy and lips chapped. Maybe you’re being dramatic, but you really don’t care.
“[Y/N]!” Yunjin calls, jogging slightly to catch up with you. Her jackets hanging off her arms awkwardly, purse dangling from her elbow. “Where are you going?” She presses, grabbing your bicep gently and forcing you to a stop. “What’s going on?”
You force your gaze to the ground, shoving your hands in your pockets. “I’m going home,” You tell her, voice raw. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. If I had known he was still with Sophia—”
“Woah, hold on,” Yunjin interrupts you. Jungwon approaches then, his blonde hair blowing over his forehead awkwardly. “Did you not hear Sunghoon? They’re broken up.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes. “They’re always broken up.”
Yunjins lips pull in tight, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “Is this because she was here?” She asks you, tone serious and deadly. "You know you don't need to care about whatever it is her and her friends think."
It’s rare for her to speak to you so seriously, always the one looking towards humor to lighten up situations. So when she does, you tend to listen.
“Sophia is a bitch, plain and simple. Sunghoon is not. And he’s actively trying to prove to you that he wants you, and you’re not letting him.” She insists.
You pull your arm from her grip at that, eyebrows knitting together. Does she seriously think anything Sunghoon is doing he actually means? If that were the case, you wouldn't even be in this situation.
“Yunjin, he doesn’t know what he’s doing!” You spit, tone harsher then you mean it. You don’t mean to aim your anger towards her, but she just keeps pushing and pushing until you finally explode. “Don’t you get it? He doesn’t feel like that towards me.” Your voice breaks, eyes brimming with tears. “He doesn’t feel anything towards me.”
Jungwon swallows, his eyes downcast. He was usually good in situations like this, usually the one to take the lead and get you laughing again, but now he can’t even meet your eyes.
Yunjin reaches for you again, sympathy written all over her face, but you pull away. You don’t want her comfort right now, even though you know it comes from a place of love.
You suck in a shaky breath, forcing your gaze onto the sidewalk in front of you. The pavement is wet from rain earlier in the day, collecting in small puddles below your feet. “I’m just going to go home, okay? Tell Sunghoon I’m sorry.”
“[Y/N]…” Yunjin mumbles, but you’re already walking away, arms wrapped around yourself and bottom lip trembling.
Is it pathetic to be crying over a stupid boy and a mean girl? Maybe. But you also know that having feelings is human, and sometimes, when the time is right, it’s okay to cry.
And you think right now is one of those times.
You don’t cry hard. Not full, chest-heaving sobs, just occasional hiccups—a steady stream of tears flowing down your cheeks that you stain your sleeves with every time you wipe at them.
Your apartment is cold when you enter, the air brushing harshly against your face. You shrug your jacket off and toss it onto the couch, padding over to your room with exhaustion sinking into your bones.
You peel off your clothes–the top Yunjin had insisted you wear for Sunghoon suddenly feeling suffocating and tight. It isn’t often you let yourself wallow in self-pity like this, but tonight was going to have to be an exception.
You change into a stained t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with a rip in the knees and collapse onto your couch. You wonder if Sunghoon said anything when he noticed you weren’t there. Was he disappointed? Or had he finally realized it wasn’t you he should be chasing after?
Your heart hurts at the thought, aching and heavy in your chest.
It isn't fair to him that you feel like this. It isn't fair to you that he's unknowingly playing with your heart. The entire thing is a bad dream you wish you could just wake up from.
You barely register the knock at your door at first, too stuck in your head while trying to pretend you’re paying attention to whatever sitcom’s playing on the TV.
But then it comes again, not harsh, just louder. More insistent. Like whoever’s on the other side is desperate to see you.
You roll your eyes, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders and forcing yourself to pad over. “Yunjin,” You sigh, clicking the lock and swinging the door open. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
But it isn’t Yunjin standing on the other side. It’s Sunghoon.
His black hair is a mess, bangs covering his eyes in a way you know can’t be comfortable, a pair of black-rimmed glasses resting against his nose. He’s not wearing his jersey anymore, but the black compression shirt he wears under it is still there, a pair of gray sweatpants laying dangerously low on his hips.
He looks dangerously handsome without even trying.
Your breath catches before you can stop it, gaze falling down his body like you’re commiting it to memory. You’re both silent, just staring at eachother, waiting for the other to cut through the tension first.
It shouldn’t hurt seeing him right now as much as it does. You don’t have any claim on him. He loves Sophia, you’ve known that from the start.
So why does it feel like tonight was just one big slap in the face? Like the universe was reminding you of exactly what your place with him really is?
Sunghoon swallows, eyes shaky as they try to search your own. You don’t let him though. You know if you look him in the eye right now, you’ll break, and that’s the last thing you want him to see.
“You left,” He whispers, tone low. You can hear the hurt seeping through his voice, but it’s masked by a weird kind of warmth. Like even though you hurt him, he can’t physically be mad at you.
You think that’s probably a side effect.
You shift your weight uncomfortably, twiddling your thumbs in front of you. You can’t look at him—too scared of what you’ll find if you do.
“Sunghoon,” You start, voice trembling. “You don’t want me.” You don't say it like a question, instead it's a statement.
His fingers tighten into fists at his sides, knuckles going pale. “Why do you keep assuming you know what I want?” He asks.
You shake your head, “You’re just confused—”
“Stop,” He interrupts, taking a small step towards you. “Stop saying that when I know I've never been more clear headed in my life.”
You stiffen, unsure of how to respond. You know for a fact he has no idea what he’s doing or talking about. And that’s what makes it hurt the most. He genuinely believes he loves you, and fuck, you’d give anything for it to be real.
His hand reaches out, but he hesitates and drops it back to his side. "Let me prove it to you, okay? Just like I said I would. No games. No Sophia. Just me and you.”
You force your gaze up then, eyes narrowed. You shouldn’t say yes, not when your heart is already on the brink of collapse. But Sunghoons staring at you like he’ll break into pieces if you say no—like the thought of you rejecting him is too much to handle.
You lean against the doorframe, lips twisting slightly. “I don't know,” You attempt, “it’s already so late and I look a mess—”
“Please,” he breathes out, voice wrecked. “Stop thinking so hard and let me show you how much you mean to me.”
Your knuckles tighten until your fingernails dig into your palms, forming little crescent-shaped marks into the soft skin. Everything inside of you is telling you to say no. To tell him to go home and lock himself in his room until Beomgyu figures out how to fix this.
But there’s still that small part of you—the part that wonders if maybe he really did mean every sweet word that fell from his perfect lips. If maybe, just maybe, all of this was real.
And that part of you wins.
Sunghoon doesn’t let you change—just ushers you into your jacket and leads you with a hand on your lower back out of your apartment and back towards the rink.
You don’t notice that’s where you’re heading at first, not until the lights outside the parking lot come into view. Your stomach twists at the memory of your last conversation with Yunjin and Jungwon, but you push it away. You’d fix things tomorrow.
“Why are we here?” You ask, glancing up at the raven-haired boy. His palm hasn’t left your back since you started walking, almost like he was staking his claim there. Imprinting the shape of him into your skin like it’s second nature.
He shrugs, mischief flashing in his smile. “You’ll see.”
You’ve never seen the stadium empty before, but now that you are, it makes you realize just how daunting it really is. The lights pointed at the rink are still on, reflecting off of the ice and glinting across its surface. You can see the slight scuff marks and dents from numerous skates, small puddles forming in their wake.
Sunghoon jogs in front of you, pulling out a set of keys and opening the gate that the hockey players use to get onto the rink. He holds an arm out to you, gesturing for you to come over to him.
You do so cautiously, arms wrapped around yourself. The ice from the rink makes the air frigid, crawling up your spine like a garden snake. Menacing, but not dangerous.
“I don’t have any skates.” You mumble.
Sunghoon smiles, reaching out and wiggling your hand out from where it rests under your arm, “That’s okay,” He says softly, intertwining your fingers. His hands are large, this is something you’ve always known. It’s hard not to notice when he makes his pencil look like a fucking mini-brand every time he writes down his notes—but now you realize just how much they dwarf your own. “We don't need them.”
He pulls you onto the rink then, and feet immediately slip on the slick ice. You yelp when you feel your foot begin to slide from beneath you, back arching and spare arm flinging to your side, but Sunghoon grips your hand and pulls you to his chest like he’d been expecting it.
You huff when your face meets his chest, heat crawling viciously up your neck from embarrassment. Sunghoons chest vibrates with laughter against your cheek, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your head and pull you closer to him.
“Finally falling for me?” He teases.
If only he knew.
You scoff and cautiously step away from him, tightening the muscles in your legs so you don’t slip again. “You wish.” You say, meaning for it to come out harsh, but instead it sounds soft. Playful. Everything it shouldn’t be.
He rolls his eyes and drags you to the middle of the ice, careful not to tug too hard or walk too fast, instead matching his pace with yours.
You look around at the thousands of seats surrounding you, the blinding lights on the ice. There isn’t even anyone here, and you still feel slightly intimidated. It makes you wonder how he’s able to deal with all of it so efficiently.
He stops suddenly, forcing you to as well. For a split second, you think he almost looks nervous.
He sucks in a breath, brown eyes finding your own. You just raise your brows, staring at him expectantly. You assume he must’ve brought you here for something—it’s just whatever that is that puts you slightly on edge.
“Do you remember that glass duck you carried around at the beginning of the year? The one with the weird monocle and pink jacket?” He asks, releasing your hand and shoving it into his coat pocket. You can see something round in there, you just have no idea what it is.
You frown. You do remember that duck. You’d found it on your trip with Yunjin to Europe over the summer in some rundown antique shop. It was stupidly overpriced and honestly kind of ugly, but you’d fallen in love with it for whatever reason. Maybe because it was a little different then the other ducks, with a weirdly shaped beak and slightly bigger beady eyes. But it was perfect to you.
At least, it was until Jungwon accidently broke it on Halloween weekend. He’d drunkenly slammed into you and knocked it loose from its place on your bag, and it ultimately shattered as soon as it hit the floor. You remember you’d been devastated and refused to talk to Jungwon for a week after, but that was it. You hadn't really thought twice about it for a while now.
But, how did Sunghoon know about it? Why was he asking you? You’d never talked about it with him—hell, you barely said two words to him back then.
Your chin lowers slightly in suspicion, “I do, yes. Why?”
He swallows, and you can see his free hand twitch. “Well, I saw it break at that party on Halloween. And you looked so sad. And…I really hated it. So,” He takes a breath, finally revealing whatever it was he had in his pocket. “I fixed it.”
You blink. Once. Twice. He’s holding out the duck to you, cracks from where it'd shattered all over its little glass body but ultimately put back together.
It takes you a second to fully process what’s going on, but once you do your lips part in a gasp and you take it from him. You hold it up to your face, cradling it in your hands. “How did you—what? Why? I-I don’t understand—” You’re talking so fast you barely even understand yourself, but Sunghoon just laughs, and you notice the way his shoulders slowly relax in relief.
He shrugs, like this is any other day and he didn’t just reveal to you he’d fixed your most prized possession. “I didn't want you to lose it,” He admits, taking a careful step towards you. “You don’t deserve to lose things you love.”
You glance up at him then, and you realize just how close he really is. The last time you’d been in this position he’d placed a soft kiss on your hairline, and although your heart feels like it’s skipping a beat, it’s not out of fear this time.
It’s something more dangerous, something you shouldn’t be allowing yourself to feel. Not with his condition. You glance back down to the glass duck, hesitation gnawing at your stomach.
Ultimately, you know that what you feel for Sunghoon is not returned. But this... this changes things. He’d taken the time all those months ago, before the experiment was even thought of, and fixed something you’d deemed unfixable simply because he didn’t want you to be sad. Usually, you’d think that meant something.
But isn’t that also just the kind of boy he is? Kind, golden-hearted Park Sunghoon. Campus golden boy. Star hockey player. Everything you could never have.
“Sunghoon,” You breathe out shakily, still holding the duck in your palm. “Thank you.”
Although you're feeling conflicted about where he really stands with you, you know you're overall grateful. You've never had someone do something so kind for you simply because they can.
He doesn’t respond, just gives you a shy smile. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look so bashful. It’s cute. “It wasn’t any problem.”
You hum, tapping your nails against the duck's glass tail. “Can I ask why you needed to bring me here to give me this?” You question, a teasing lilt to your voice.
He shrugs, “It’s more romantic here then in the middle of your living room.”
You laugh aloud at that. For once, the mention of romance with him doesn’t make you want to throw up and die all at the same time. Instead, it leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy and all the things you know are going to hurt you in the end.
Because while this entire illusion is going to be over at some point, right now, in this moment, Sunghoon is in love with you. And you’re starting to wonder just how wrong it’d be to let him.
Your heart is heavy in the morning as you fidget with the duck. It’s hanging off your purse again, safely locked into place with a keychain. You’d asked Jungwon and Yunjin to meet you for coffee so you could talk, and both had agreed easily.
You guys never really did well with bad blood. Any arguments you had were always resolved fairly quickly, because otherwise it would simmer until you thought too hard about it and ended up doing something you regretted.
And you know you owe them an apology–Yunjin, especially. She’d only been trying to help, and you’d spat venom at her like she’d done something wrong. You didn’t want to be like that, and it was important to you that she knew how sorry you were. That they both knew.
They arrive together, steps slow as they approach the table you’d saved. You shoot them a sad smile, unsure of just how angry they were.
They sit next to each other across from you, sharing a glance that makes your stomach churn. You suck in a breath, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry,” You start, choosing to skip the awkward pleasantries and getting straight to the point. “You guys didn’t deserve that. At all. And I–”
“Stop,” Yunjin sighs, not letting you finish. Your heart drops, immediately assuming she's about to end your friendship. But she doesn't--instead, she points between herself and Jungwon and says with a quiet finality, “We should be the ones apologizing.”
You raise a brow at that, spine straightening in your seat. “What? No–”
“Yes,” Jungwon interrupts now, his eyes full of concern. “You were rightfully upset with everything going on, and we pushed it aside simply because we didn’t understand how you were feeling.” He sniffs, head tilting to the side slightly. “I didn’t realize how hard this must all be for you. Having the guy you like constantly telling you he’s in love with you, and then not even know if he means it? It’s unfair to you.”
You’re silent, a wave of relief and guilt crashing over you at once. You’re relieved that your emotions are being validated, but you also feel guilty that they think they need to apologize to you when you yourself are struggling with what you should feel. Before last night, you would've agreed with them wholeheartedly, but now you weren’t sure. You glance down at the figurine hanging from your bag once, heart filling with so much warmth you think it may burst.
“You’re right,” You murmur, leaning back in your chair. “It is unfair, but I’m starting to wonder if maybe…maybe I was wrong.”
Yunjin’s eyes widen, confusion written all over her face. “What?”
You smile softly, reaching for your purse and spinning it around so they can see the once-broken glass duck. They both study it for a moment, and you watch as recognition flashes in their eyes.
Jungwon frowns and looks back at you. “I thought I broke that ugly thing?”
“It’s not ugly,” You scoff, snatching your bag back and carefully unclipping the little duck from where it hangs. You place it in the middle of the table with a small shrug. “He fixed it.”
The three of you stare at it, studying the cracks the run along it’s surface.
“What do you mean he fixed it?” Yunjin asks.
“I mean,” You sigh, “He saw it break on Halloweekend, and took it upon himself to fucking glue it back together.”
A beat. And then, “Are you serious?”
You don’t laugh, even though you want to. It is entirely ridiculous, but it happened. You’ve spent the last twelve hours mulling it over in your mind, and you can only come to one conclusion.
Maybe Sunghoon noticed you more than you thought.
And if that were true, what did it mean now?
You manage a soft smile, picking at the skin around your fingers mindlessly. “Yep,” You hum, popping the P. “Gave it to me last night.”
Yunjin squeals, gripping Jungwon's bicep and shaking him. He huffs and rips his arm from her grip. “Quit!” He hisses.
Yunjin just ignores him, her full attention on you. “I know I shouldn’t be feeding into this anymore, but that,” She gestures towards the duck, “That is more than some stupid experiment.”
You sigh, voice small when you say, “I know. I just…I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore.”
And for the first time, you’re starting to feel like you’re finally being honest with yourself.
“Well,” Jungwon shrugs, leaning back in the booth. The waitress comes around and drops off three milkshakes, vanilla for yourself, and chocolate for Jungwon and Yunjin. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try it out.”
Your eyebrows furrow, “Test it out?” You repeat, taking a small spoonful of whipped cream and stuffing it into your mouth. You'd always been a sucker for ice cream.
Jungwon nods, “There’s a party tomorrow night to celebrate the hockey team's win last night. Sunghoon will obviously be there, and maybe you can test out what he does when it’s not just the two of you.”
Yunjin sucks in a sharp breath, “But,” She draws, “Sophia will be there too.”
Jungwon snaps his fingers, “My point exactly.”
You aren’t really understanding where he’s trying to go with this. “So what?”
Jungwon continues, “We don’t really know if he’s still under the influence of the experiment,” He explains, nodding towards the duck, “that changes things. So, I think we should see if his feelings are real or not at the party.”
Your lips twist in thought, “How do you plan to do that?” You push. It's not that you don't understand what he's trying to say, it's just hard for your head to fully wrap around it.
He smiles then, that same mischievous smile he’d given you all those weeks ago when he’d initially suggested this whole disaster, and it’s then that you know you shouldn’t listen to anything that comes out of his mouth.
“Simple,” He shrugs, taking a sip of his milkshake. “We ask.”
Your lips part to respond, but your phone ringing in your pocket interrupts you. Beomgyu’s name flashes across the screen, bold white letters that usually bring you comfort, but strangely are now doing the opposite.
You clear your throat, “Hello?”
Beomgyu’s voice sounds from the other side, exhausted and groggy, but he’s got that spark he always does when he says, “I did it.”
You glance up at Yunjin and Jungwon, stomach twisting low. “Did what?”
“I figured it out,” He swallows, “I’ve got the cure or whatever we’re calling it.”
And while it should be relief that floods your chest, instead what you’re met with is a cold pinch of disappointment.
You’d never been one for parties. Even now, dressed in some slim black dress Yunjin picked for you, a vial of something you aren’t even sure works in your purse, you’re reminded just why you don’t like them.
They’re overcrowded, filled with college students all looking to either pass out drunk or find someone to fuck until they forget why they were even there in the first place. It wasn’t your crowd, and you’d found peace with that a long time ago.
And yet, you're still here.
Beomgyu nudges your shoulder, eyes searching around the crowd of sweaty bodies. He wasn’t one for parties either, but when you explained to him just why you were coming, he insisted on joining. Of course, Yunjin and Jungwon had been ecstatic and you had to explain to them that you were not coming just to have a good time.
You were coming to find out the truth, and that was it.
“Are you sure he’s here?” Beomgyu asks.
You nod, “He texted me earlier and invited me. Said he’d meet us here.”
Sunghoon had been slightly surprised but happy when you confirmed you already planned to come. He’d told you he might get a little busy with people trying to talk to him, but he’d make sure to try and come find you at some point. You'd scoffed, in disbelief that you seemed to have to schedule a time to talk to him. You knew he was popular, but people here seriously treated him like some celebrity and not a normal college student.
Yunjin smiles next to you, plucking a drink from the countertop. She tips it back against her mouth and chugs it, wiping off the small droplet that spills from her lips.
Beomgyu makes a disgusted face, “You don’t even know where that came from.”
“Does it matter?” She asks, grabbing another one and shoving it towards you, “It all ends up in someone's stomach.”
You push her hand away and take a cautious step back. “I’m good, thanks.”
She just shrugs like she’d been expecting that and hands it to Jungwon, who happily accepts it. “Suit yourself.”
You don’t respond, instead unknowingly floating closer to Beomgyu. Your eyes rake along the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar head of black hair, but instead you’re met with the one person you didn’t want to see.
Sophia is wearing a soft baby pink skirt and a white top that make her look like the picture of innocence, lips red and tempting. The guy she’s flirting with clearly isn’t immune to her strategy, because his eyes keep falling down to her soft neckline like he’s hoping he’ll suddenly develop x-ray vision.
Normally, the sight of her wouldn’t bother you. It really shouldn’t considering you haven’t interacted with her at all outside of the hockey incident. But, for some reason, all you can see when you look at her is Sunghoon.
Sunghoon looking at her like she’d hung the moon and stars. Sunghoon dragging her to his games. Sunghoon fixing things for her simply because he didn’t want her to be sad. Sunghoon telling her he loves her.
You have no right to feel it, but jealousy curls deep in your stomach.
You recognize the boy she’s talking to. Jay, The hockey teams co-captain, and Sunghoons roommate. The same roommate who you’re assuming slept with Sophia.
You don’t know any of the details–never thought it appropriate to ask, really. But you do know that if Sunghoon saw this, he’d probably be pissed. You wonder if that’s why she’s flirting with him so openly, because she wants Sunghoon to see. You wouldn’t put it beneath her.
The night continues like that, with you and Beomgyu hanging around awkwardly while Yunjin and Jungwon drink until their vision goes blurry. You keep catching glimpses of Sophia, and each time she’s talking to a different guy. A different pawn, actually.
You haven't even seen Sunghoon once, which is kind of strange considering this party is kind of for him. You’d even texted him, a quick "you here?" and had gotten no reply.
The antidote feels heavy in your purse for reasons you can’t exactly explain. You were going to give it to him tonight no matter what, you’d already decided that. Even if you found out that this entire thing meant more to him then you thought it did, you were going to give it to him. Your heart flutters in your chest at the thought, forcing yourself to bite back a smile.
You know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but it’s hard. The duck had to be proof that this whole thing wasn’t just a massive fuck up–maybe it was exactly what you’d needed to finally lead the both of you to each other.
And then, as if it’s fate throwing it in your face, you see Sunghoon.
He’s laughing at something someone's saying, his cheeks flushed and hair falling over his forehead like he’d deliberately placed it there. He looks good–but when does he not?
You nudge Beomgyu (Yunjin and Jungwon are too busy on the dance floor) and nod your head towards the black-haired man.
Beomgyu exhales lowly and grips the strap of your bag. “No matter what he says, he has to drink this.” He insists, “I know it might be easier to keep up with the lie–”
“I know,” You interrupt, placing your hand atop his. You give it a light squeeze, “No matter the outcome, he has to drink it.”
Beomgyu physically exhales and then shoots you a small smile, “For what it’s worth,” He murmurs, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“Yeah,” You reply, “Neither do I.” And you really mean it.
Sunghoon doesn’t notice you approach at first, not until you push past one of his friends—Heeseung, you think his name is—and his attention snaps to you.
The look he gives you isn’t one you’re used to seeing from him. It’s softer. Like light rain on a warm day. Like the beginning stages of a love that lasts a lifetime.
Every other time it’s been strong. Fierce. Like a house fire at its peak. But now…now it makes your heart melt just like it did when you’d seen him for the first time three years ago.
“Hi,” You breathe.
“Hi.” He replies.
His friends have dispersed now, leaving just you and him in the sea of bodies. The moonlight filters through the windows, reflecting across his face in a way that really should be illegal.
“You came,” He says after a moment, but he doesn’t sound surprised.
“I did.”
The air crackles between you in a way it never has before. Real and raw and entirely strange. It should scare you—it does scare you—but you lean into the feeling. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned the past couple of weeks, it’s to embrace the fear.
You reach into your purse and pull out the vial. It’s small, with a few drops of a see-through pink liquid that you don’t think anyone should ever be drinking.
“I need you to do something for me,” You tell him, voice shaking slightly. Embrace the fear, you remind yourself. “I need you to drink this.” You say, pushing the vial towards him.
His eyes flicker down to it, and then back up to yours, and for a moment you think he looks guilty.
“Look, [Y/N]—”
“Hoonie!” Your blood feels like it goes cold. Sophia approaches from behind you, shoving past and making her way in front of you like weren’t even there.
“I got your text,” She grins, voice sweet. But you know she knows what she’s doing. You know she’s doing it on purpose to upset you, but you’re not going to give her that satisfaction. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you came to your senses.”
Oh.
Your eyes widen slightly, something mean twisting in your stomach. Your heart feels heavy in a way that physically hurts. Of course. The experiment must’ve worn off, and he was trying to figure out the best way to tell you that he hadn’t meant anything he’d said. That’s why the air between the two of you had been so different.
You look at the antidote in your hand, and suddenly it feels pointless. Beomgyu did all that work just for it to wear off on its own. But you’d promised that you’d get him to drink it no matter what, and you weren’t planning on breaking that.
Sunghoon shakes his head, “Sophia, that’s not why I texted you.” He practically spits, “Stop trying to spin this into something you know it’s not.”
She looks genuinely taken aback for a moment but recovers swiftly. “I’m not trying to do anything,” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re the one who asked me to meet you, yes?”
His eyes flicker to yours, like he’s begging you to hear him out before you jump to conclusions. “I did, but—”
“Then what else am I supposed to assume? Unless,” She turns back to you then, finally acknowledging the fact that you’re there. The sneer on her face when she looks at you is nearly enough to make you feel small. “You didn’t want to say it in front of your rebound.”
Sunghoon visibly bristles, “She’s not—”
But you've heard enough. “It’s fine,” you say, not letting him finish. You manage a small smile, but it feels like poison against your skin. “I just need you to drink this so we can make sure everything goes back to normal without any hiccups.”
You push it back towards him, but he refuses to take it. “[Y/N], just let me explain.” He begs.
“You don’t need to explain to me.” You reply, and you mean it. You’d done the exact thing you’d been afraid of since the beginning, and that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault that you’d taken everything too seriously despite knowing it was all manufactured by your own hands. He’d just been an accidental victim. “Just drink it and then we can pretend none of this ever happened.”
When you let your eyes meet his, it hurts so bad you think you’ll collapse right there and then. He looks genuinely devastated, eyebrows pulled taut and lips parted. But you can’t for the life of you understand why. He was getting what he wanted, right? He was getting Sophia back. He was getting his life back. And so were you.
So why does it feel like nothing will ever be the same again?
He looks like he’s going to protest again, but holds back. Whether it’s for his own sake or yours, you aren’t sure.
He takes the vial from you with shaky hands, unscrewing the cap and swallowing it down in one gulp. He doesn’t make a face, even though you’re sure it can’t taste pleasant.
Once it’s done, you don’t bother saying bye. You just nod at him and turn on your heel, ignoring the smirk you can practically feel growing on Sophia’s face.
Sunghoon got what he wanted. So did you. That’s all that should matter.
But you still can’t stop the tears from flooding your eyes.
You don't look for your friends, you just get out of there as fast as possible. You knew this would happen, it was exactly why you'd been so worrued at first. And you did exactly what you said you would, you got too involved. You let his words seep through the cracks in your walls instead of strengthening them.
And now you weren't sure they'd ever be fully put back together again.
You spend the next few days locked away in your dorm. You skip class, even though you know you shouldn’t, and spend your time watching reruns of New Girl and eating bowls of Lucky Charms.
Usually, hiding away for a few days and letting yourself marinate in your ugly helps. But it’s been days since the party, and the ache in your chest hasn’t subsided at all.
Sunghoon tried to text you once, just to check up on you since you hadn’t shown up to class, but you didn’t respond; just shut off your phone and shoved it in between the couch cushions.
You’d known this would happen when it started. Knew you’d end up hurt, and the worst part was that it wasn’t even anyone’s fault. There was no one you could shift blame onto; no one you could justify being angry with.
It’d all just spiraled out of control before you could fix it.
The following Monday you finally decide to suck it up and go to class. You weren’t going to let a boy get in the way of your schooling, even if the thought of seeing him made you sick to your stomach. (Also because Yunjin had threatened to call your mom if you didn’t show up again, and you really didn’t want to have to deal with that.)
Your feet drag when you get there, head hanging low. You’re expecting Sunghoon to have gone back to his spot before, but when you look up, he’s still in the chair next to yours. He looks different. Tired, almost. Like he hasn’t gotten proper sleep in days. You doubt you look any better.
You approach cautiously, hoping and praying that he won’t try and say anything to you. Does he even remember everything that happened? Was memory loss a symptom? You weren’t really sure, and you weren’t that interested in finding out.
You feel his eyes on you when you sit down, pulling out your computer and crossing one leg over the other. You’re hoping you look the picture of casual, not like your heart was just unknowingly crushed by the boy next to you.
Sunghoon, for what its worth, doesn’t talk to you for the majority of the lesson. Just shakes his leg anxiously and sneaks not-so-subtle glances your way. He keeps biting his bottom lip like he wants to say something, but stops himself before he can. Truthfully, it takes everything in you to not look at him. It’d be so easy to look into those brown eyes and remember everything he’d said–to remember every almost-kiss and every i love you that spilled from his lips like oil spilling into an endless clear blue sea.
It’d be so easy to pretend that nothing had changed between you. That the last two weeks had never happened and things were still how they were before–when he was the moon and you were the star blinking just for him, hoping for just a sliver of attention.
But, you know things will never be the same.
You barely even register the lesson ending, not until you feel Yunjin at your side. She must’ve known you’d need her support right now, and that much you can appreciate.
“You good?” She mumbles, glancing over at Sunghoon. The lecture hall has begun to clear out now, only a few stragglers remaining. Everyone must be ready to get out of this weather.
You nod, but it’s not sincere. “Yeah,” You manage, stuffing your laptop into your bag. It clinks against the glass duck softly, and your heart twists again. “I’m all good.”
Yunjin gives you a look that says she doesn't believe you, but she doesn't push. You stand, starting to make your way down the stairs and finally away from him–but he stops you.
“[Y/N].”
You almost don’t hear him at first, but you’d recognize that tone anywhere. The same one he’d used when he asked you to come to the rink with him. Insistence teetering on the edge of pleading, but there's something that underlines it. Something you’ve been recognizing within yourself a little too much lately.
You make the mistake of turning to look at him, and your breath catches in your throat. That look in his eyes is one you’ve seen before, the same one you’d convinced yourself meant nothing.
Pure, unfiltered, love.
Except now there isn’t any experiment to fall back on.
“Can we…” He glances back at Yunjin and clears his throat. “Can we talk?”
Everything inside of you screams at you to say no–to turn around and ignore the way your body feels like it’s being pulled towards him. Like the world has tilted on its axis and he is your only source of gravity.
Against your own will, you hear yourself say, “Okay.”
You’ve only ever felt genuine fear three times in your life.
That time in the second grade when your dad thought it’d be funny to take you on a roller-coaster despite your fear of heights, and you’d cried so hard you ended up throwing up onto the lady in front of you. Then, there was the time you’d accidently switched up a water bottle and literal acid your freshman year of college and watched as your professor drank one of the liquids (It’d been the water, thank God). And, of course, the time you watched Sunghoon drink your experiment.
But now, standing in some empty corridor with Park Sunghoon, you think you might have to add this to the list.
Embrace the fear, you remind yourself.
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just stares at you with this unreadable look in his eyes. His hands are shoved in his coat pockets, posture slightly slumped. He doesn’t look like the put together golden-boy you’d fallen in love with. He looks more vulnerable; more like a person instead of an idea.
He sniffles and juts his chin towards the duck hanging off your bag, “You aren’t scared it’ll break again?” He asks softly.
You glance down at the cracked glass, reaching out and holding it between your fingers. “I guess I wasn’t worried,” You mumble, “Because last time it shattered someone put it back together.”
You hear his breath catch at that, and he takes a small step towards you. He’s close enough now that you can smell his cologne, can feel the ghost of his lips on the crown of your head.
“Do you know why I fixed it?” He asks.
You swallow, having to lift your head slightly to see him. “Because you’re a nice person, Sunghoon.” You murmur, forcing yourself to take a small step back. Enough distance that his presence doesn’t feel like it’s consuming your very soul. “You would’ve done it for anyone.”
He breathes out a disbelieving laugh, “That’s not true.”
“What do you mean?”
His eyebrows knit together, “I know you’re smarter than that.” Even though his words are harsh, his tone is soft. Like he can’t even conceptualize the concept of being upset with you. Like it's an emotion he’s never even experienced.
He’s right, you are smarter than that. But last time you let yourself believe, you’d ended up exactly where you knew you would be–with a broken heart and tear-stained cheeks.
“You don’t understand,” You manage, voice breaking slightly. “You don’t feel that for me. I know you don’t.”
“How do you know that?”
You pause, bottom lip finding it’s way between your teeth. “You’ve been with Sophia for so long, and I’m just-just me. She’s beautiful and popular and I spend more time watching fucking Harry Potter with my friends then I do actually socializing and–”
Sunghoon cuts you off, voice level. “Exactly.”
You blink. “What?”
“Sure, Sophia is popular and objectively beautiful, but she isn’t you.”
It takes you a moment to fully process what he’s saying. But still, all you can find in yourself to manage is a quiet, “What?”
He takes another step closer, enclosing in on your personal space like he's always belonged there. “She isn’t you.” He repeats.
You’ve only felt genuine fear four times in your life. But only once has it ever melted into something so genuine–something so raw and real that your heart has felt like it was bursting at the seams.
“That night Jungwon shattered your duck, you said something. Do you remember what it was?”
You shake your head softly. All you remember from that night is how upset you’d been that it’d happened and trying to find it in yourself to forgive Jungwon.
Sunghoon’s lips twitch softly, “You said you loved it because it was different. You said you didn’t care that it was a little strange on the outside, because you knew it had a good heart.”
You don’t even remember those words coming out of your mouth. Honestly, you don’t even remember Sunghoon being close enough to hear them.
“I think that’s when I fell in love with you,” He admits quietly. “I didn’t know it at first, but it was there. Everytime you sat down in class and tried not to laugh at something Yunjin said, everytime I saw you and Jungwon studying at the library, I felt it.” He sucks in a breath, “And then I drank the experiment.”
You shudder at the memory, lips twisting slightly in discomfort. You’re expecting him to say that it made him realize his feelings for you weren’t actually there–that this was all just an elaborately cruel way to reject you.
But then, without even blinking, he says, “But it didn’t work.”
Your world stops for a moment. There’s no way that’s possible. You’d seen him with your own two eyes acting like a fool to get your attention. Constantly following you around, texting you late into the night, tucking your hair behind your ear–all things he’d done because the experiment gave him the confidence to. But, if that wasn’t true and the experiment hadn’t worked then that meant that all of it had been real. There’d never been any pretend. There’d never been any accidents.
It’d all been real.
Your eyes widen, hands gesturing in front of you. “But that doesn’t make any sense.” You insist, “You were acting like you…” Love me. The words linger in the air, like mistletoe teasing you.
You think at first, part of you still didn’t believe that he loved you even with him standing here pouring his heart out to you. It just didn’t make any sense in your head. But now it was undeniable. It was a burning truth that had forced its way into the light without so much as apologizing.
“Because I do,” He murmurs, “And maybe it was stupid to go about it this way. I won’t argue with you on that. But, can you blame me? Do you know how hard it was to approach you?”
You scoff, “Me? What about you? And what about Sophia–”
He shakes his head, “That’s done. Has been for a long time now. That’s why I texted her at the party, I wanted to make sure she finally got it through her head that there was nothing there.”
“Oh.”
Sunghoon chuckles, voice deep and soft. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Oh.”
You look up at him now, into those swimming pools of chestnut. His pupils are slightly dilated, light reflecting off of his irises in a way that looks serene. The air around you fills with a soft tension, one that you’d have to focus on to even really notice.
You don’t miss the way his eyes glance down at your lips, silently asking for a permission you’d given him years ago.
He leans in closer, breath warm against your lips. “I really want to kiss you right now,” He murmurs. Your skin tingles when his fingers brush the apple of your cheek, before cupping it softly.
You lean into him, reaching a hand up to cover his own. “What’s stopping you?”
He smiles, a big toothy grin that shows off his canines, and then leans forward slowly.
It isn’t really a kiss at first, more like he's just lingering there, letting your breaths intermix. His hand travels from your cheek to the side of your neck, gently holding you in place.
And then he surges forward, mouth moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize you. He’s gentle, holding you like you’re something fragile—like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he pushes too hard.
He pulls away slowly, grinning from ear to ear like he’s just won the lottery. “You have no idea how bad I've wanted to do that.”
You giggle, heat crawling up your stomach and swirling around your cheeks. “Maybe you should do it again just to make sure it sticks.”
Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate then. His hand finds your waist and pulls you into him, lips colliding with yours in a way that makes your head spin. You think colors swirl behind your eyes, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.
“I love you,” Sunghoon murmurs against your lips, “I love the way your nose scrunches when you’re focused,” He kisses the tip of your nose. “I love how kind you are even when people don’t deserve it,” Another one to your cheek. “I love that you’re unapologetically you.”
Your heart stutters, laughter bubbling out of your chest uncontrollably.
“You sure it isn’t because you accidentally drank a love potion?” You tease, reaching a hand up to tangle in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.
He huffs, finally pulling away so he can get a good look at you. “I don’t think I’d need a love potion to find my way to you.” He says, voice so sincere it nearly makes tears spring to your eyes.
So, yeah. The thing about Biochemistry is that it’s extremely difficult and sometimes shows you that maybe you should let your curiosity remain exactly that—curiosity.
But sometimes, if you’re lucky, it can lead you to exactly where you’re supposed to go.
Sunghoons hand traces down your arm until it finds your hand, and he easily intertwines your fingers like he was always supposed to fit there. “Let me take you home?”
For the first time, you see no reason to argue. No reason to protect your heart or turn him away. So, without a single protest, you say, “Okay.”
You aren’t sure exactly how it happened. One minute Sunghoons walking you home, smiling like a kid in a candy store, and the next he’s kissing you like he’ll die if he isn’t touching you. Your apartment door shuts softly behind you, leaving just the two of you in your space.
You remember the last time he’d been in here, how he’d kissed the crown of your head with tender care. He’d seemed nervous then, like the action was scandalous. Now, it was nearly the opposite.
He isn’t rough, no, he’s deliberate. Fingertips tracing across the curve of your waist, teasing against the hem of your shirt. He kisses you like you’re the oxygen he needs to survive, like he's an addict and your lips are his fix.
It steals your breath away and breathes the air into your lungs all at once.
“Tell me to stop and I will.” He grunts against you, hands tugging at your waist and pulling you closer against him until you’re flush against his body.
“Sunghoon,” You gasp when you feel the growing bulge in his pants brush against your thigh. “Don’t you ever stop.”
That’s all it takes before he’s tapping your thigh once and lifting you into his arms. His hands take up half your thighs, kneading the skin as he carries you to your bedroom. You’re giggling the whole way there, hearts in your eyes and cheeks flushed.
He places you down on the bed gently, your hair fawning out around you like a halo. He sucks in a breath and crawls over you, eyes trained on your face. His knuckles brush your cheek, and you lean into it on pure instinct.
“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, voice tender. “Can’t believe you’re letting me love you.”
You smile, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. “There’s no one in this world for me except for you, Park Sunghoon.”
He grins, burying his face in the nape of your neck like he’s embarrassed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” You answer, not even having to second guess yourself. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”
He whines at your words, lips tracing across the skin of your neck, the length of your jaw, the space behind your ear, tongue darting out occasionally to mark you as his.
He tugs gently at your shirt and you arch your back so he can pull it over your head and toss it across the room, but it gets stuck on your elbow and he has to tug it loose. You laugh when it finally comes off, your hair falling in places it isn’t supposed to.
Sunghoon giggles and pecks your lips. “You’re making this difficult," he teases.
You just shrug and settle back down, ignoring the way his fingers trail over your bare stomach and pop open the button of your jeans. “I have to make you work for it.”
He smirks, devilish and no longer with any of that boyishness he’d had earlier. “Yeah, baby?” He whispers, voice husky. “Want me to beg you to let me taste you?”
Your breath hitches, bottom lip finding its way in between your teeth. Suddenly, nothing is funny anymore.
He unzips your jeans and slowly drags them down your legs, tossing them to the floor and out of sight. “Want me to beg you to let me fuck you?” He continues.
You whimper, the sound escaping you without your permission. You’d be lying if you said the idea of Sunghoon on his knees for you doesn’t make something burn deep in your belly, but the thought of admitting that to him make your nerves spike with embarrassment.
He chuckles, sinking down to his knees until his face is level with your cunt. You can’t help but squirm in place, because even though your panties still cover you, you feel completely exposed. If you would’ve known this was going to happen today, you would’ve worn something much cuter. Not your days of the week pantied and an old bra that was a pathetic excuse for lacy.
Sunghoons breath ghosts against your growing slick, and you know your panties are already damp. “You gonna let me touch you, baby?” He asks.
You nod your head insistently, hips searching for any kind of relief. He just chuckles and places a hand on your tummy to hold you down. “Need to hear you say it.” He murmurs. You can feel his lips brushing against your core, his nose nudging in the junction of your hip. He’s so close to giving you what you want, but he won’t. Not until he hears it coming from your own lips.
“Please,” You gasp. Your own voice sounds so needy, completely foreign to your own ears. “Wan’ you to touch me, Hoon.”
He groans, but immediately obliges. He doesn’t devour you at first, just lets his tongue lick small little kitten licks over your panties. You jump at the feeling, but he uses his spare hand to grip your hip and hold you down.
He’s messy with it, even when he’s being gentle. He licks you open until you’re teary eyed and your panties are so drenched they look nearly see-through. He just sighs dreamily, like he’s enjoying some five-star meal and not like he’s eating you out like his life depends on it.
Pretty soon though you get over feeling everything without actually feeling it, because yes, it feels fucking insane–but you want to actually feel his lips against your bare folds. Want to feel him suck against your clit while his fingers get you ready to take him. It’s just actually admitting that that’s the hard part.
“Sunghoon,” You whine, hips stuttering slightly. “Stop teasing me.”
He pulls off of you, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I’m not teasing you, baby.” He chuckles, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin of your hip.
You huff, “You are.”
He raises a brow and begins to stand, and your stomach immediately drops. “You want me to stop then?”
“No!” You cry, shaking your head furiously. “God, no, don’t-don’t stop.”
He nods slowly, finding his place on his knees in front of you once again. “Then be a good girl and tell me what you want.”
It shouldn't be as embarrassing as it is. You’re a twenty-something year old woman with a sparkling GPA and enough experience under your belt that asking for something like this should be easy. But Sunghoons looking at you so tenderly, his hair a slight mess and eyes fucked out without even having been touched, and you’re finding it difficult to get the words out.
“I want…” You suck in a shaky breath, forcing your gaze to the ceiling. “I want you to eat me out. Properly.”
He grins and presses a chaste skin to the inside of your thigh. “See?” He hums, “that wasn’t so hard was it?”
You don't bother giving him a response, because he’s already pulling your panties off your legs and plunging back in like a man starved. His lips wrap around your clit and suck the bud into his mouth, causing your back to arch and a loud moan to fall from your lips.
He doesn’t stop after that, licking and sucking with such expertise you wonder how Sophia could ever want anything else. She had all this and genuinely thought she was going to get better? What a fucking joke.
“S-Sunghoon–” You gasp, fingers tightening into fists in his hair. He groans when you tug lightly, and you swear you see his hips roll against nothing.
The hand on your belly travels down until he reaches your fluttering hole, gently pushing his middle finger inside of you. The stretch isn’t intense, more like just a subtle pressure between your hips, but it’s drowned out by the stimulation against your clit.
His fingers aren’t abnormally large, but they are long. So long he finds your g-spot with ease and curls his finger against it until you swear you’re seeing stars. You let out a choked whimper, hips stuttering against him.
He seems to take that as a good sign because he’s slipping another finger inside now, intensifying the stretch and making your eyes roll back. His fingers move in tandem with his tongue, licking and thrusting until your vision starts to blur at the corners. You’re close, you know it–can feel it tightening deep in your stomach.
“Gonna-gonna cum, fuck, m’cumming–”
Sunghoon hums, and the vibrations are exactly what you need to reach your peak. Your back bows off the bed, mouth falling open and eyes squeezing shut. You release with a silent cry of his name. He fucks you through it, and you can feel his eyes on you as he does. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your legs shake slightly with aftershocks. He’s studying this image of you, fucked out and empty-headed, like he’s committing it to memory.
When he finally pulls away your vision is slowly starting to come back to you. You barely register him maneuvering to come up next to you until you watch him rid himself of his shirt and you come face-to-face with the hard plains of his chest. His skin is soft and milky, the soft lines of his abs rising and falling as he takes in breaths of air.
You reach for him and he complies, falling over you until you’re chest to chest. You don’t waste any time before you’re kissing him again. You can taste the saltiness of your own slick on his lips, but you don’t care–instead, you kiss him deeper.
His tongue slips until your mouth, brushing against your own. It’s wet and gross and fucking perfect. “Sunghoon,” You manage between pants, “Fuck me.”
A beat passes as his eyes find yours, “Yeah?”
You nod, and that’s all the answer he needs. He wastes no time ridding himself of his pants and lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes in slowly, taking in every expression you make like he’s scared he’ll hurt you. And, yeah, he’s big. Like, bigger than anything you’ve ever taken. But the stretch is also perfect, filling you so completely your eyes nearly roll back.
“Fuck, you’re warm,” He mumbles, words slurring together. He sounds drunk on you.
When he bottoms out, you swear you’re seeing soundwaves and hearing colors. His tip nudges against that spot in you perfectly, curved at just the right angle.
He takes a moment to let you adjust, but you can tell he’s holding himself back. His fingers drip the sheets with effort, bottom lips in between his teeth. You roll your hips once, testing the waters, and the pleasure that floods through you forces a moan out of the both of you.
“Don’t do that,” He says breathily, voice on the verge of collapse. “Fuck.”
It takes a second, but his hips slowly start to push into yours. His thrusts are shallow at first, just little pushes that help you to accommodate his size, but it’s not long before they turn rougher.
He pulls out halfway just to slam back in, and your breath actually gets ripped from your lungs. Stars swim behind your eyes as he finds his pace, “Fuck,” You breathe.
Sunghoon gasps, burying his face in your neck. “I love you,” He groans, “Fuck, I love this pussy. I love the way you sound. Love the way you fucking feel. You’re perfect,” He babbles.
You part your lips to reply, but all that comes out is a sob when he thrusts particularly hard. You tighten instinctively around him, and he falters for a split-second before he’s finding his tempo again.
He fucks you like you’ve been denying him for years, like he’s spent every night dreaming of this. Tears of pleasure begin to streak across your cheeks; each he kisses away without so much as a hum.
It’s so intimate, so perfect, so full of love that you don’t even notice you’re approaching your climax until it crashes over you.
“Fuck, just like that,” Sunghoon whimpers, reaching down and rubbing light circles over your clit. “You’re so perfect. Such a good fucking girl. My good girl.” And then he’s releasing inside of you, hot spurts of cum painting your insides.
He stays inside of you after he comes, both of you panting hard, sweat and fluids leaking from your bodies. He eventually pulls out and lays down next to you, his arm across your middle.
You’re silent for a moment, collecting your thoughts. You just had Sex with Park Sunghoon. Not only that, but Park Sunghoon is in love with you. He’d said it enough times tonight for you to finally really believe it.
“You okay?” He asks softly, reaching up and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. The gentleness in which he treats you now is such a stark contrast to the brutalness of which he just fucked you that you nearly laugh.
“Yeah,” You hum, voice a bit raspy. “I’m perfect.”
Sunghoon grins and pulls you into him. He kisses you again, but there aren’t any intentions behind it. Instead, it’s slow and sweet, like he’s hoping to convey every emotion he’s ever felt into the kiss.
“Good,” he says, pulling away slightly. “Because I’m going to remind you of how much I love you as much as I can.”
You laugh, “Are you asking to fuck me again?”
He shakes his head, “No,” He whispers, “I’m asking if I can make love to you again.”
And it doesn’t take much for you to say yes.
You’ve been dating Park Sunghoon for nine months and fourteen days. Nine months of hockey games, late night study session, and weekly dates (all of which he insisted he pay for). Nine months of surprise gifts, of sweet words, and daily reminders of just how lucky you are to have him.
Yunjin groans next to you, typing away furiously on her phone. “I can’t believe this is happening again!” She whines.
“I told you that a man you met on snapchat quick add wasn’t going to end up the love of your life.” Beomgyu sings knowingly, shoveling popcorn in his mouth.
“For what it's worth, he really wasn’t even that cute.” Jungwon adds.
She shoots him a glare, “Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Jiung was fucking beautiful and now he’s ghosting me!”
You shiver slightly, watching Sunghoon glide on the ice. He’s instructing his teammates to do something; you aren’t really sure. He’d tried to explain the rules of hockey to you months ago, but your brain was very clearly made for science and not sports.
“Try not to worry about it, Yunjin,” you say sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on her back. “You just haven’t met your person yet.”
She scoffs, gesturing at your shirt. “Easy for you to say when you’re already practically married to, like, the most perfect guy on the planet!”
You glance down at what you’re wearing–a blue jersey with the number 23 sprawled in the middle. Sunghoons hockey number.
You would argue with her, maybe try to make her feel better, but your eyes lock with Sunghoons across the rink for just a moment, and you stop yourself.
Because, well, she’s right. You did get lucky. You glance down at the duck hanging off of your bag, the very thing that had unknowingly started this entire thing.
“Yeah,” You shrug, “You’re right.”
And when you go home that night, listening to Sunghoon ramble about scoring the winning goal, you know that there's nowhere else you'd rather be.
thank you guys so much for reading 🥲 this story took everything out of me but i’m mostly happy with how it came out. ily guys <3
───༉‧₊˚. frat house president!jungwon who never loses
⤷ very self-indulgent headcanons about fratboy!jungwon
✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist
⤷ pairing — jungwon x fem!reader
⤷ enhypen permanent taglist — open !
⤷ warning/s — smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), college au, frat!enhypen, fratboy!jungwon, college!jungwon, college!enhypen, business major!jungwon, rich!jungwon, rich kid!jungwon, popular!jungwon, heir!jungwon, jungwon is very down bad, fashion major!reader, sunoo is a good wingman, sunoo is reader’s cousin, mentions of alcohol, underage drinking, smoking (implied), illegal street racing, physical fights, jealousy/possessiveness, fluff
⤷ a/n — as a heeseung stan, i have very mixed feelings about everything happening right now, but i firmly believe he’ll be back—#hopemaxxing !! anyways hi my loves ! i’m finally back for a bit since university is giving me time to breathe again, so here i am. i’m planning to continue the ‘xo, with you’ series if my schedule allows it, and as always, i hope you enjoy !! 🤍
fratboy!jungwon who only attended decelis university to please his father, who wanted him to do something with his life and be a ‘normal young adult’ for once—unbeknownst to them, jungwon had already been living that life back in high school, just in his own way; the kind where silence in a mansion meant freedom, where long business trips meant no supervision.
fratboy!jungwon who turned their empty home into something loud, alive—throwing parties that stretched until sunrise, music echoing through halls that were never meant to hold that kind of mess, jungwon always somewhere in the middle of it, not drunk, not out of control, just watching—because even then, he liked being the one in control.
fratboy!jungwon who took business management as his major just to inherit the family fortune and to please his older sister, who didn’t want to be the next family head—unlike him, who basked in the idea of it, the power, the name, the way people would look at him differently; he still remembers the way she fixed his collar one morning, sighing softly, “you’re the only one who actually wants this,” and jungwon only smiled, because wanting it meant winning it.
fratboy!jungwon who the moment he stepped foot onto campus, heads turned almost instantly, the low hum of his sports car engine dying down as he parked in a free spot right beside a row of flimsy bikes he had to fight the urge to laugh at, twirling his keys lazily around his fingers before tossing them into the glovebox without a second thought—if it got stolen, he could just buy a new one anyway; the door shut softly, but the attention around him wasn’t, whispers already starting before he even took a step.
fratboy!jungwon who didn’t care for the murmurs around him as he walked through the gates like he owned the place, despite it being welcome week for freshmen—which included him.
his hand tucked into his pocket, phone pressed to his ear as he casually spoke to lee heeseung, or what he liked to call his senior, already in his third year.
“don’t make me wait,” heeseung muttered. earning a quiet laugh from the other end.
and it wasn’t just anyone—it was the same heeseung who taught him the basics of throwing a damn good party behind their parents’ backs, the same heeseung who came from a family just as prominent as his.
fratboy!jungwon who only dressed in designer clothing thanks to his older sister, who refused to let him be seen any other way, her words still lingering in his head—“you are not going to be an embarrassment to me, jungwon, and if you do, at least look half-decent”—so he shows up to classes decked out effortlessly, expensive fabrics sitting on him like second skin, not because he really cared, but because reputation did.
fratboy!jungwon who before even becoming a fratboy had every fraternity fighting to have him in their house, for the sake of keeping up a good image or simply for having yang jungwon under their name—for both his status and his looks; he hears the whispers, the offers, the subtle attempts to impress him, but he never answers right away, just watching, amused, like it was all a game he already knew he’d win.
fratboy!jungwon who only nodded and flashed his signature dimpled smirk as heeseung stood next to him, proudly bragging that he was already part of house dark blood—and as corny as the name sounded, jungwon couldn’t deny it was filled with people like him, rich, connected, and familiar, faces he’d seen long before university, so choosing them wasn’t even a question.
fratboy!jungwon who became the president of the house in the blink of an eye despite being a freshman, all because of a bet that may or may not have involved illegal street racing with the former president—who, in his own stupidity, agreed to it while half out of his mind, laughing like it was a joke, only for jungwon to win within minutes.
fratboy!jungwon who stepped out of his car with a wide smirk, leaning against the hood as cheers erupted around him, the night loud and electric, the former president handing him the house keys in quiet shame while sunghoon and the others rushed toward him with wide grins, calling him insane—but jungwon only tilted his head slightly, like it was expected.
fratboy!jungwon who despite all the attention on him and his frat brothers, his eyes still found you across the street, like everything else blurred out the second you stepped into his line of sight—you, in a body-hugging silky black dress paired with heels that clicked softly against the pavement, your shorter stature only making the look more striking, a black leather jacket thrown over your shoulders.
and for a brief moment, jungwon glanced down at himself—black zip-up pulled halfway down, revealing a tank top underneath, baggy jeans layered with chains—and clicked his tongue under his breath, silently cursing himself, “should’ve dressed better”.
fratboy!jungwon who was pulled back into reality by a rough pat on his back from kim sunoo, one of the sophomores he quickly got along with, the older already grinning as he looked at him, “you did good,” sunoo said, voice light and teasing. “why are you so spaced out?”
jungwon didn’t answer right away but sunoo followed his line of sight anyway—and the moment he saw you, a quiet laugh slipped out of him, shoulders shaking slightly as he nudged jungwon’s side. “didn’t know you were into the soft types.”
that was enough to snap jungwon out of it. his head turned sharply, brows furrowing as he looked at him, “you know her?” he muttered, tone low, almost disbelieving.
sunoo only nodded, smile turning knowing as he replied, “yeah, she’s my cousin—(y/n),” letting your name sit for a second—just to make it worse, before adding, “do you want her number?”
fratboy!jungwon who thanks to his pride and ego only shook his head at the idea of needing anything, letting out a quiet scoff as if the entire situation was almost insulting.
“what?” he muttered, tone laced with effortless arrogance. “don’t you trust me?”
a pause, then a faint tilt of his head as if the answer was obvious.
“you’re literally talking to the new president of house dark blood,” just as jay suddenly appeared beside him, dramatically throwing an arm out as if presenting a show, “looks like we got a new frat president—everyone, yang jungwon!”
and just like that, the crowd erupted, cheers and hollers bouncing off the night air as all eyes snapped back to him, but fratboy!jungwon only smiled—slow, smug, controlled—already used to this kind of attention, his gaze briefly dropping to the can of red bull in jay’s hand before he exhaled quietly through his nose, yeah… first thing he’s doing is limiting the energy drink stock back at the house.
fratboy!jungwon who met your eyes again like it was inevitable, like no matter how loud the world got around him, it always circled back to you—sending a flirty smirk your way that wasn’t subtle in the slightest, watching as you blinked once, then twice, clearly caught off guard, the tips of your ears turning red, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks that only made his smirk widen.
and fratboy!jungwon couldn’t help but tilt his head slightly in curiosity because you didn’t fit here, not at all—you looked like the type who preferred quiet mornings, polished nails, soft conversations, the kind who’d rather sit in the passenger seat and be taken care of than stand in the middle of something as loud and reckless as illegal street racing—and yet here you were, standing under dim lights and roaring engines was enough to confuse him.
fratboy!jungwon who felt that same smirk get wiped off his face almost instantly the moment the former president—the same one he beat just minutes ago—started walking toward you, his jaw tightening as his expression darkened, eyes narrowing just slightly.
and jake—one of the third-years jungwon got along with let out a low whistle beside him, the sound cutting subtly through the noise. he exchanged a knowing look with sunoo before muttering under his breath,
“yikes… there he goes again.”
jungwon’s brows furrowed immediately as he glanced at you.
“what do you mean?
jake only shrugged, nudging sunoo lightly like he was passing the responsibility off. “you wanna take this one or—”
sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by the drama, before looking back at jungwon again.
when he spoke again, his voice dropped—just enough to make it feel more serious. “the president—well, former—likes her.”
a small pause.
“and he’s not really the type to take no for an answer… no matter how many times (y/n) rejects him.”
and something about that didn’t sit right with jungwon at all, his eyes flickering back to you, watching the interaction too closely, jaw set as a quiet, almost dangerous thought settled in his head—because you weren’t just some girl anymore, not when you were sunoo’s cousin, not when luck had already placed you right in front of him—and jungwon, for all his control, had never been the type to let something he wanted slip away.
fratboy!jungwon who made it his mission to bother sunoo the moment every painfully boring frat meeting ended—especially when all they did was talk about something as simple as throwing a party to celebrate him.
so now he’s trailing right behind sunoo in the late afternoon, just outside the house, hands tucked in his pockets as he circles him like he’s got something to say (he does), and sunoo doesn’t even look annoyed, just mildly entertained, like he’s dealing with a kid who wants candy.
except this kid could buy the entire store without blinking.
jungwon walks beside him casually before dropping it out of nowhere, voice low, almost too casual, “so… how’s (y/n)?”
and that alone is enough to make sunoo laugh, shaking his head as they step out into the driveway where his car is parked right next to jungwon’s, glancing at him with a teasing smile, “what happened to ‘hi sunoo’ or ‘good afternoon sunoo’?”
fratboy!jungwon who isn’t exactly known for patience, only shrugging slightly as if that counts as a greeting, “good afternoon, sunoo… so, how’s (y/n)?”
sunoo lets out a quiet hum at that, already slipping into his car. he presses a button, and the roof slowly slides back, letting the late afternoon sunlight pour in.
only then does he glance back at jungwon, clearly amused. “you gonna keep asking questions, or are you gonna get in your car and follow me?”
and honestly, jungwon isn’t that hard to convince, huffing softly under his breath as he turns, slipping into his own car and pulling the door shut in one smooth motion, hand immediately reaching for the glove box before starting the engine, eyes flicking toward sunoo just in time to see him pulling out first and heading toward the main road of campus—and jungwon follows without hesitation.
fratboy!jungwon who isn’t someone easily surprised—but he definitely was the moment he and sunoo pulled up and parked in front of a boutique he immediately deemed too girly, too pink, too… not him.
he steps out of his car with a slight raise of his brow as he glanced at the storefront, recognizing the area easily—lined with designer shops he was familiar with—but this one? yeah, he’s never had a reason to step inside somewhere that looked like it catered to silk dresses and soft ribbons when all he ever needed were tailored pants and new silver chains.
jungwon only looks at sunoo like he’s about to question his life choices, but the older only nudges his head forward, silently telling him to follow.
and jungwon can only mutter a quiet, “oh, for fuck’s sake,” under his breath before pushing the door open, the soft chime of the bell greeting them as they step inside.
fratboy!jungwon who isn’t entirely surprised when his eyes land on you almost immediately—standing near a rack, carefully picking between two dresses hung in front of you, your fingers lightly brushing over the fabric like you were trying to decide which one spoke to you more, another pile of clothes stacked messily beside a chair already overflowing with options—and it’s such a contrast to everything he’s used to that he just… watches for a second.
sunoo doesn’t hesitate though, already striding in with a bright, “(y/n)!” that makes you turn quickly, your expression softening into a small smile the moment you recognize him.
and then shifting into confusion when your gaze flickers to jungwon standing beside him—but before you can even ask, sunoo is already speaking again, clearing his throat,
“i brought jungwon with me, hope you don’t mind—and don’t worry, my sister already knows,”
you offer a small, polite smile in response, and jungwon catches it instantly, something about it making him straighten just slightly. his eyes flicker briefly to a sign nearby that reads ‘kim’s atelier,’ the name settling in his mind before his attention drifts right back to you.
only for sunoo to suddenly mutter something about needing to check on his sister, already backing away toward another part of the boutique, leaving the two of you standing there in a quiet that feels a little too intentional.
fratboy!jungwon who doesn’t hesitate in approaching you, but still keeps a respectable distance, like he knows better than to crowd you too fast, flashing that signature dimpled smile as his hands slip into the pockets of his trousers, sleeves of his black button-up slightly rolled, exposing toned arms that flex subtly with every movement.
he tilts his head, voice light, almost amused, “typical sunoo,”
and the soft giggle that slips past your lips right after is enough to make something in his chest loosen, a quiet relief settling in as you shake your head slightly, “i know… don’t think too much about it, he’s always been weird like that.”
jungwon only hums in agreement, eyes flickering briefly—noticing the way you’re dressed, the soft fabrics, the shorter skirt, the pile of clothes beside you that all follow the same theme—and he takes note of it, stores it somewhere in his head.
fratboy!jungwon who suddenly finds himself silently thanking his older sister for every forced shopping trip she dragged him to. his gaze drops to the dresses in your hands, tilting his head slightly before speaking without hesitation, “either would look good on you.”
his tone carried a kind of confidence that doesn’t sound like a guess, and it shows in the way your cheeks warm almost instantly, but he doesn’t stop there.
he steps just a little closer—still careful—eyes scanning the fabrics as he adds, “the one on the right brings out your eyes… but the other one’s different—the ruffles at the hem make it softer, more delicate… or, at least, that’s what my sister says.”
he finishes with a small shrug, like he’s brushing it off, but the quick look of admiration on your face doesn’t go unnoticed.
and internally, jungwon is thanking every possible god for that one piece of information he bothered to remember. he lets out a quiet breath, slipping back into something smoother, more practiced, as he pulls one hand out of his pocket and offers it to you, “yang jungwon.”
and the moment you place yours in his, softly replying, “kim (y/n),” he doesn’t hesitate—lifting your hand just slightly, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles, slow enough to mean something, just enough to make your breath hitch and your cheeks flush deeper.
and jungwon only chuckles under his breath, still holding your hand—longer than necessary, longer than polite—because it’s soft, because it’s warm, and because he doesn’t see a reason to let go just yet.
fratboy!jungwon who lets you drag him through hallways after class, even if it’s only been a few weeks, even if people are already staring—because there he is, yang jungwon, walking around campus in all black, plain sweater, baggy pants, silver rings catching the light… holding a very obviously pink tote bag covered in bows that sticks out like a sore thumb.
yet he doesn’t complain.
he just adjusts his grip slightly as you hum beside him, glancing at your phone before looking back up with a small frown, “have you eaten lunch yet?”
jungwon only shakes his head, dark bangs falling over his eyes as he answers easily, “no… but i could eat. do you want to?”
before he can even say anything else, you’re already stepping closer, gently nudging him to the side to avoid the crowd before reaching up without hesitation to fix his hair, fingers brushing against his forehead as you smooth the strands down.
for a second, jungwon goes still—not because he’s surprised, but because he can smell your perfume, soft vanilla lingering too close, settling somewhere in his mind as something he needs to remember, something that already feels familiar in a way he can’t explain.
fratboy!jungwon who starts picking you up after every class like it’s become part of his routine, going out of his way to drive toward your building even after long frat meetings, barely sparing a glance at anyone as he mutters quick goodbyes, already halfway out the door.
heeseung just huffs behind him, shaking his head, “he’s down bad that fast?”
jay only laughs, leaning back in his seat, “hey, at least he’s useful—those donation drive ideas? we already have three lined up and the event isn’t even for weeks.”
and jungwon doesn’t even hear them anymore, too busy tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulls up outside your building, eyes scanning the entrance like he’s waiting for something important.
fratboy!jungwon who finds himself willingly subjected to your projects—of course you were a fashion major, and somehow, despite the very real mannequin standing untouched in the corner of your dorm, he ends up being your personal one.
he stands still as you adjust fabrics against him, pinning here and there with careful precision, your fingers brushing his arms, his shoulders, his chest—and jungwon, who usually hates being told what to do, just… lets you.
even humming softly under his breath without realizing it, something he never does, no matter how content he is, but there’s something about you, about the way you focus, brows slightly furrowed, lips parted in concentration, that makes him stay still longer than necessary, enjoying it more than he should.
fratboy!jungwon who leans casually against your door once you’re both done, hands resting loosely on your hips as you fix the tie hanging crooked around his neck, fingers brushing against the fabric, adjusting it with small, precise movements while he watches you from above, amused.
you hum teasingly, “remind me why you’re dressed like a business student again?” even though he’s only in a white button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to show his arms, a plain black tie clipped neatly with a small prada pin—and he chuckles under his breath, watching your brows furrow in concentration as you try to fix it properly, finding it a little too amusing how you barely reach his adam’s apple, when you’re not in heels.
tilting his head slightly, he feigns a pout, “baby, i am a business major—you wound me.”
you let out a quiet laugh, pressing your palms lightly against his chest as you smooth the fabric one last time. “all done.”
jungwon just looks at you for a second too long, something soft and obvious in his eyes, a lovesick expression he doesn’t even try to hide as he murmurs, “thank you, baby.”
only for you to hum back casually, “yeah, you’re welcome—now go, you’re gonna be late for your photoshoot,”
fratboy!jungwon who immediately lets that pout return, deeper this time, brows knitting together slightly as he leans closer, “don’t tell me you’re getting tired of me already?”
you roll your eyes, slipping away from him to grab his bag and keys from your bed before placing them into his hands. he sighs dramatically, shaking his head, “can’t believe my own girl is kicking me out of her room.”
even though you aren’t his—not yet—but you don’t argue.
you just roll your eyes again before stepping closer, rising onto your toes, hands resting on his broad shoulders for balance as you press a soft kiss to his cheek, quick but enough to leave him completely still for a second.
his breath catches somewhere in his chest as he blinks down at you, caught off guard in a way that almost never happens—until you pull back, smiling like it was nothing, “now go on, that fraternity photoshoot won’t wait, jungwon,”
when he finally turns to leave, he doesn’t even bother wiping off the very obvious pink gloss you left on his cheek, walking out like that on purpose, smugly claiming it as his—and with the way his grin slowly spreads after that—yeah, there’s no way he was saying no to you now.
fratboy!jungwon who finds himself in a situation he never thought he’d be in—grumbling under his breath as he waits outside his older sister’s building, leaning against the side of his car while the engine hums low, the sound filling the silence.
students pass by and sneak glances at him, and despite the rumors about them not getting along—because of their differences, because she’s already a senior about to graduate while he’s just a freshman—he still came.
he watches her approach from a distance, arms crossed as she stops in front of him, raising a brow, “what are you doing here, jungwon?”
for a second, he almost backs out, almost brushes it off like it was nothing—but he sighs instead, muttering something under his breath, only for her to frown, “speak up, i can’t hear you with all that muttering,”
jungwon finally lifts his head, jaw tight, ears and cheeks faintly flushed against his usual composed expression as he blurts out, “how do i ask a girl out?”
it sounds wrong coming from him—yang jungwon, who’s never had to ask for anything twice, who’s never needed help with something like this—and yet here he is, standing in front of the one person he swore he wouldn’t go to.
fratboy!jungwon who can’t help the small smile that slips onto his face when he takes you out to eat somewhere near campus, sitting across from you as you lean forward without hesitation to try the ramen he ordered, only to immediately stick your tongue out, wincing at the burn as your eyes water.
before you can even say anything, he’s already reaching for the nearest cup, sliding it toward you, “careful,” he mutters.
you take it with teary eyes, and for a second, he just watches you—he had to look away for a second, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his composure—because you look cute, and he’s not used to thinking like that, not used to wanting to say it out loud, so he keeps it to himself, settling for a quiet huff instead.
fratboy!jungwon who surprisingly doesn’t mind you dragging him around malls, even if he used to hate long walks and anything remotely tiring that didn’t involve working out, illegal street racing, or picking fights with people he thought were too full of themselves—now he just follows a step behind you without complaint.
fratboy!jungwon who now finds himself sitting patiently on benches or outside fitting rooms, phone in hand as he takes pictures of you spinning around in skimpy skirts and body-hugging dresses, different colors, different styles, capturing every little turn and smile like it’s important, nodding in approval each time like your opinion somehow depends on his, like he’s already decided everything looks good on you anyway.
fratboy!jungwon who never saw the need to spend his money on anything he considered useless—outside of his own parties, frat events, occasional charity drives (not just for image, he tells himself), and new cars—to him, money was a tool. something to maintain status, control, reputation; never something to waste on small, meaningless things—that’s just how he was raised.
fratboy!jungwon who somehow throws that standard out the window when it comes to you. now he’s the one paying for your overly sweet matcha drinks and tiny cakes without a second thought, covering every shopping spree you drag him into, even offering to pay for your nail appointments like it’s nothing—and the moment you show him a pretty pink set with black details, shyly mentioning you wanted to incorporate him into it, something in him just… settles, a quiet satisfaction he doesn’t question, because at this point it’s obvious—yang jungwon isn’t just spending money anymore, he’s investing in you, and he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.
fratboy!jungwon who finds himself thinking about you in the middle of football games—something that should be impossible given how loud everything gets, how focused he’s supposed to be—but somehow you still slip into his mind, even when he only joined because heeseung and ni-ki dragged him into it, ending up as a winger like it was nothing, sprinting down the field with sharp precision, breath steady, eyes locked in—yet there’s a moment, just before he makes a play, where he mutters under his breath, almost instinctively, “i’ll win this for you.”
even if you aren’t there—busy with your projects or somewhere on campus catching up with sunoo, and it’s ridiculous, really, how much it drives him—but he doesn’t question it.
fratboy!jungwon who is still the same cocky, egotistical yang family heir everyone knows—the same freshman who somehow became the president of house dark blood because of some illegal street racing bet, the same guy who scoffs at the idea of effort when his money already gets him everything, the same one who doesn’t hesitate to throw a punch just to blow off steam—but there’s something slightly different now, something people notice even if they can’t fully place it, because rumors spread fast in decelis.
fratboy!jungwon who has whispers following him in halls about how yang jungwon has a thing now—a fling? a girlfriend? no one really knows, and jungwon doesn’t bother correcting them, because to him, labels don’t matter, not when you’re already his anyways. the way his arm naturally wraps around your waist when you walk together after class, the way he guides you into the frat house without a second thought, ignoring the stares, the whispers, like none of it matters as long as you’re beside him.
fratboy!jungwon who gets into fights on purpose whenever someone looks at you the wrong way, or when someone else stares a second too long, jaw tightening just enough before he moves without thinking, because control has always been his thing—but when it comes to you, it slips just slightly.
he smirks to himself when he feels the jealous stares around him when you’re together, like he knows exactly what he has, and he doesn’t hesitate to get his knuckles bloodied just because someone got a little too comfortable talking to you while he was gone for a minute.
“watch (y/n) for me, yeah?” he mutters to heeseung before lunging forward, thankful—if anything—that he decided to wear plenty of silver rings that day.
heeseung only sighs, shaking his head, though the amused, almost proud grin he exchanges with jake doesn’t go unnoticed, muttering under his breath, “kids these days.”
as fratboy!jungwon walks back like nothing happened, barely even bothered—and what makes him smile more, what really gets to him, is that you don’t look at him any differently, don’t question it, don’t scold him—the first thing you do is reach for his hand, brows soft with concern as you ask, “do you need a band-aid?” and just like that, all the tension in him melts.
fratboy!jungwon who doesn’t even give you the chance to refuse his invitations to their frat parties—the same parties he meticulously plans during meetings with his frat brothers, already thinking three steps ahead—including you, already coordinating your matching outfits in his head as he casually explains it to you like it’s already decided.
“we should go with red and black this time,” he says, voice thoughtful as his fingers lace with yours.
“i got you this wine red lace dress a few days ago, remember?” he trails off slightly, more to himself now than to you—“maybe i could wear a red leather jacket…”
then he glances back at you, eyes soft but expectant, “what do you think, baby?”
you only shake your head, feigning annoyance as you drag him toward his car, “what makes you think i’m even going?” but jungwon’s quick—always quick—gently pulling you back, hands settling around your waist as he leans down just slightly, a smirk playing on his lips.
“because i told sunoo to cancel his plans with you on friday so both of you could come,” pausing just long enough before adding with a quiet scoff, “he’s an annoying little shit anyway, he keeps stealing you from me.”
fratboy!jungwon who always has an arm around you as he leads you through the chaos of his own party, guiding you toward a quieter corner like he’s done this a hundred times before. the frat house already packed inside and out, people crowding near the pool—something jay very clearly warned against unless they wanted to deal with him later, because he refused to call the housekeepers just to clean up someone’s mess.
the flashing strobe lights replace the main ones, casting everything in neon hues that make the whole place feel more like a club than a frat house, music loud enough to shake the walls as you laugh beside him, watching sunoo try—and fail—to snatch his beer bottle back from sunghoon, who only does it to mess with him.
jungwon takes a slow sip of his whiskey before raising his voice over the music, “can you two at least break that outside? i don’t need broken bottles on my damn floor.”
that only earns a wider grin from sunghoon as sunoo curses loudly, already chasing after him, “oh, for fuck’s sake, jungwon!”
jungwon just laughs, looking back down at you with the same amused smile. even with your heels giving you height, he still leans closer when you mutter, “you’re such a menace.”
he doesn’t deny it—just dips down slightly to press a soft kiss to your lips, the faint taste of whiskey lingering—pulling back with a small grin as he murmurs, “you love me for it”
you hadn’t exactly planned on finishing the bottle, but with the looming threat of exams finally behind you and no morning lectures to sober up for, the champagne went down a little too easy. now, you were far gone—hazy, heavy-lidded, and prone to dissolving into giggles at things that weren't even funny.
the sound bubbled past your lips again when fratboy!jungwon backed you against his bedroom door, his mouth crashing onto yours with a desperate kind of hunger.
he didn’t seem to mind the way your gloss smeared across his cheek or the corner of his lips; he was too busy pinning you there, one arm braced firmly against the wood while his other hand wandered dangerously low, bunching the fabric of your dress to pull you flush against him.
away from the muffled bass of the party downstairs, the room felt stiflingly hot. you felt the cool friction of his red leather jacket under your palms as his lips trailed down your jawline, eventually settling against the sensitive skin of your throat.
he was alternating between soft, bruising sucks and sharp nips that made your eyes roll back to the back of your head. your head fell back, fingers clutching the leather of his shoulders for some kind of leverage, and you swallowed back a whine that caught in your chest.
jungwon pulled back just an inch, his breath hot against your skin as he let out a low, rough grunt of disapproval. he tilted his head, eyes dark and focused entirely on you, “don’t quiet down now,” he murmured, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “i wanna hear that pretty voice of yours, baby.”
you didn’t know how it got to this point, but all you could remember were articles of your clothing being thrown haphazardly onto the carpeted floor, your heels somewhere in the dimly lit room. your dress was bunched down at your waist as the soft, expensive sheets of fratboy!jungwon’s bed overtook your senses.
the room felt like it was spinning, the distant thump of bass from the party downstairs vibrating through the walls, but it all faded into nothing compared to the raw, pounding rhythm of jungwon’s hips slamming against yours.
his cock stretched you wide, dragging along every sensitive ridge inside your clenching pussy with each brutal thrust, the wet sounds of skin slapping skin echoing louder than the music. you could feel every inch of him—thick, veined, pulsing with heat—as he buried himself to the hilt, his balls smacking against your ass with a lewd, rhythmic tap that made your toes curl.
“fuck, look at you,” jungwon growled low in his throat, his voice rough and breathless as he pulled back just enough to watch your face contort in ecstasy. his dark eyes locked onto yours, pupils blown wide with lust, sweat dripping from his brow onto your flushed skin.
he shifted his weight, one hand pinning your thigh harder against your chest to keep you folded beneath him, exposing you completely.
the new angle let him grind deeper, his tip nudging that sweet spot inside you that sent sparks exploding behind your eyelids. “taking my cock so well, like you were made for it. those pretty nails scratching me up—yeah, just like that, baby. mark me. show everyone downstairs who owns this pussy now.”
your breath hitched, a desperate whine spilling from your lips as his words sank in, fueling the fire coiling tight in your belly. the pain from your nails raking down his flexed biceps mixed with the overwhelming pleasure, making your walls flutter around him, sucking him in greedier with every plunge.
“j-jungwon… oh god, it's too much,” you gasped, your voice breaking into a sob as tears of pure bliss welled up in your eyes. but even as you said it, your hips bucked up to meet his, chasing the friction, the fullness that had you teetering on the edge.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest as it pressed against your heaving breasts, his thumb circling your nipple roughly before pinching it hard enough to make you yelp.
“too much? nah, you can take it. i paid for those nails just so you could dig ‘em into me while i fuck you senseless.” leaning down, he nipped at your earlobe, hot breath fanning over your neck littered with his possessive bites. “tell me how it feels, baby. tell me how my cock’s ruining this tight little pussy.”
the demand sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you, your body arching off the sheets as he snapped his hips forward again, harder, faster, the carpet muffling the creak of the bedframe. “it—ah! it feels so good, won… so deep,” you stammered, your words tumbling out in a rush between moans.
your hands clutched at his shoulders now, nails biting into the muscle there, leaving crescent-shaped indents that made him hiss in approval. the expensive sheets twisted beneath you, damp with sweat, clinging to your skin as the cool air of the room contrasted sharply with the scorching heat where your bodies connected.
jungwon’s pace didn’t let up—if anything, it quickened, his grunts growing more animalistic as he chased his own release, but he was relentless in drawing yours out first. “that’s it, scream for me. let the whole fucking frat hear how i’m splitting you open.”
he captured your mouth again, the kiss messy and devouring, teeth clashing as his tongue mimicked the thrust of his cock. saliva trailed from the corner of your lips when he pulled away, only to spit inside, watching with a smug grin as you swallowed eagerly, your throat working visibly.
“good fucking girl,” he praised, voice dripping with condescension that only made you clench tighter around him. his free hand slid down your body, fingers finding your clit swollen and slick, rubbing firm circles that had your vision blurring.
the dual assault—his cock pounding relentlessly, hitting that spot over and over, and his skilled fingers working you—pushed you closer, the pressure building like a storm about to break. “cum for me, baby. soak my dick. i wanna feel you gush all over me while i breed this pussy.”
you were lost, utterly consumed, your whimpers turning into full-throated cries as the orgasm crashed over you. your walls spasmed wildly around his thrusting cock, milking him as waves of pleasure ripped through you, your body trembling violently beneath his.
“jungwon! fuck, yes—i’m cumming!” the words tore from your throat, raw and desperate, as you scratched fresh lines down his back, the pain spurring him on.
he groaned deeply, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as his thrusts grew erratic, hips stuttering. “shit, that’s it… so tight, baby. gonna fill you up—mark you from the inside.”
with a final, powerful thrust, he came, hot spurts of cum flooding your pussy, coating your walls as he rode out his release, grinding deep to push every drop inside. his body shuddered against yours, breaths ragged, but even in the aftershocks, his grip on you didn’t loosen—he held you close, possessive, as if he never planned to let go.
fratboy!jungwon who leans his forehead against yours after tiring you out, breath still uneven but softer now. he presses slow, lingering kisses across your cheeks just to hear those quiet giggles spill out of you. your hands come up to cup his face, thumbs brushing lightly over his skin, but jungwon is quicker.
one of his hands slides over yours, turning it gently so he can press a soft kiss against your palm, holding it there for a second longer than needed while maintaining the softest eye contact he can manage—something uncharacteristically gentle in his gaze.
you smile at him, brushing his hair away from his eyes, and he just melts into it, leaning in again to press a soft peck against your lips, barely there—but it’s followed by a quiet, almost mumbled: “i love you,”
fratboy!jungwon carefully excuses himself afterward, making sure you’re settled properly on his bed first. he pulls the covers over you for a moment before disappearing into the bathroom. when he comes back out, he’s in nothing but his boxers, a few damp towels in hand. he kneels beside you again, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead before he starts cleaning you up. his movements are slow, careful.
soft apologies escape under his breath every time you so much as wince. “i’m sorry, baby… just a little more, okay?” his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it, almost worried as he glances up at you, “i didn’t hurt you too much, did i?”
you have to reassure him, soft words, small kisses pressed against his jaw, fingers brushing his hair back as he focuses on taking care of you.
fratboy!jungwon who dresses you just as carefully afterward, letting out a small sigh of relief when he realizes your dress isn’t ruined, no stains, no damage—but the marks he left? yeah, he’s definitely proud of those, the faint smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes linger a little too long on your neck and chest, earning an exasperated eye roll from you as he casually drapes his red leather jacket over your shoulders so it matches your outfit, leaving himself in his black button-down, unbuttoned far too low—but he doesn’t care, not when your lipstick marks are still visible across his skin, something he has absolutely no intention of wiping off, at least not until the party’s over.
fratboy!jungwon who sits with you on his lap by the pool, holding you just enough to keep you comfortable, one hand resting lazily on your thigh while the other grips a bottle of beer, both of you illuminated by the soft glow of pool lights and the fairy lights you practically begged him to put up earlier, the atmosphere calmer out here compared to the chaos inside as you chat with sunoo lounging nearby.
while jungwon half-listens, half-argues with heeseung about something as stupid as ramen preferences, the conversation getting mildly heated until heeseung eventually sighs and excuses himself to grab more drinks from inside—and that’s when jungwon’s attention shifts, eyes flickering toward the open back door across the pool, landing on a face he immediately recognizes.
fratboy!jungwon who smirks—slow, wide, completely egoistic—the moment he sees him. the same guy he beat to become president of the frat. the same guy who lost everything that night because he was too cocky, too careless. and now… the same guy who thinks jungwon ‘stole’ you from him, even if you never once acknowledged him the way he wanted you to.
and the look on his face now? pure, burning anger, eyes dragging over you sitting comfortably on jungwon’s lap, over the jacket around your shoulders, over the lipstick stains spread across jungwon’s chest.
jungwon just drinks it in, unbothered, amused even, taking a slow sip of his beer without breaking eye contact before casually lifting his hand to flip him off—subtle but intentional.
he leans down to press a soft kiss to your head like nothing happened, when you glance up at him, clueless, he only murmurs lowly, “keep talking to sunoo, baby.”
his voice is calm—but his eyes were sharp, victorious—because in the end, it’s always the same with yang jungwon: he gets what he wants, and he never loses.
bits with your husband and how you both navigate through parenthood and married life.
genre: romance, smau, marriage, idol!jake x female!reader, dad!hoon, dad!jake, lots of fluff
warning: suggestive, inaccurate pregnancy depiction, (i’m so sorry. i didn’t notice until publishing + i’m too lazy to edit it), mention of bomb in a light joke, light playful banters, emotional pressure, lmk if i missed anything
pairing: jake x fem!reader x sunghoon
synopsis: you decide to go to your first college party after two years, and after having to take care of two different drunk men, your college life changes drastically.
genre: social media au (smau), crack, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers, love triangle, college au
status: finished! (12/22/2024 - 04/12/2025)
playlist: jake's playlist | sunghoon's playlist
warnings: profanity, sexual jokes, little bit polygamic, weed consumption, alcohol consumption, ignore timestamps please!!! it's all crack zero braincells kinda au, reader is jungwon's twin sister, jake and hoon hate each other
teaser 📓
profiles: 1 | 2 | 3
chapters
1. greek god
2. the bro code
3. jungwon's best friend
4. rabbit hole
5. niki from the future
6. she's coming...
7. the aftermath (2.6k words)
8. like a prayer trend
9. werefolf
10. naruto and sasuke are gay
11. thanks sigmund freud
12. bros like to gossip
13. women are dating robots in 2025
14. between two wolves (2k words + 6 screenshots)
15. shawty had them apple bottom jeans
16. the john cena episode
17. TELL ME WHY
18. sigma boy
19. rose bowl
20. hate to mate bowl
21. tom brady and patrick mahomes
22. unspoken desires (5.5 works + 6 screenshots)
23. hungary field trip
24. sunghoon diss track
25. fifa straight male gathering
26. just close the door (1.3k words + 8 screenshots)
27. nikola jokic
28. the super bowl episode (10k words + 10 screenshots
29. tdot
30. travis kelce but he's from japan
31. chateau marmont
32. tax evasion is a victimless crime
33. the premiere (15k words)
34. binding contract with the devil
35. just like tt
36. world war 5 just dropped
37. magnesium the mouse
38. the final chapter (6.7k words + 20 screenshots)
heejama's masterlist 📎
author's note: hey guys! this is my first long smau so i hope you guys like it 🥹 taglist is open, just comment down below or dm me 🤍
izzy806
gummygunk
discoholicmusic
2087
vaporwave
annaxmalina
