summary: everyone knows you have a strong character and are a smart woman, and nobody can explain how you ended up with someone like lee heeseung. he makes you want to rip his hair out and kiss him until he drops to his knees at the same time— because however reckless and foolish his decisions are, they’re always made for you.
warnings: crack (and angst if u squint?), mentions of jail, breaking the law. smut! (i put a warning so you can skip if uncomfortable), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), fingering, dirty talking, p in v, doggystyle, pussy eating, sidefuck, mentions of fighting and alcohol consumption. pet names (angel, baby), heeseung isn’t very rich, starring enha hyung line & itzy’s chaeryeong, mentions of songs i like… cause why not?, heeseung is silly, not so nice comments towards reader, for the sake of the plot reader has an ass that jiggles. NOT PROOFREAD.
now playing: Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter
a/n: i honestly don’t really like how it turned out but i didn’t want to make you guys wait any longer. the smut sucks, so sorry but lmk your thoughts! and please LiIKE & REBLOG. also, the songs i mentioned in the fic are related to the scenes so i suggest you to search the lyric on google!
Standing outside the prison, just like the way you got stood up the same morning, you rested your back against your vintage car, tapping your foot impatiently.
You weren’t even surprised when you received Jay’s phone call, informing that the reason why your boyfriend didn’t show up on your date was because he ended up in jail. Again.
You watched as his red-wine hair appeared from the back door, an officer guiding him to the exit until he left his wrists, leaving him free for moving around.
His smirk was smug again, full of fake innocence. Heeseung approached you and said in a sweet voice “Hi, baby.”
He placed his hands on your side, resting them on the dashboard of the car, trapping against the vehicle.
You rolled your eyes, pulling your sunglasses up in a makeshift headband. Chewing on your gum, you asked “What got you in?”
“Speeding,” He answered before joking to lighten up your mood “But the officer put me behind bars for stealing his heart.”
You sighed at his joke, rolling your eyes to look over his shoulder and not gaze into his bambi eyes, knowing they were your weakness.
“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Heeseung asked, lifting one of his hands to tap your chin. He turned your head so you were now looking at him again, a small pout on his lips.
You pushed his chest “Get in the car before I close your head in the door and get sent to jail myself.” You mumbled.
Before you could do it yourself, Heeseung rushed in front of you and opened the driver seat for you. Even if he wanted, he couldn’t drive since they removed his driver licence.
He’d be out for at least two months— that only made you wonder how fast he was actually going.
‘Everytime’ by Ariana Grande started playing from your self-made CD’s and Heeseung smiled softly as he took in the lyric.
“Come on, baby.” He said as you pulled out of the prison and started driving back to his apartment “I know you’re mad—“
“Mad?” You scoffed “I’m infuriated.” You said, and your harsh tone emphasised your range.
Heeseung let out a small sigh, “Baby…” He placed his hand on your thigh, and you shoved it away.
Still, like an annoying mosquito, Heeseung placed his palm back on your thigh “Don’t be mad at me, mh?”
“Do you know how embarrassing it was to get yet another call from Jay that told me he got you bailed out of jail?” You said, looking at him as you reached a stoplight.
“I don’t like it that you make your friend spend so much money for your stupidity.”
He ran a hand through his hair “It was for a good cause.” You rolled your eyes “Sure it was.” You focused back on the road when the light turned green.
“And I don’t know how embarrassed you were— Jay’s loaded anyways, let him use his money on me.” He pinched your thigh, only earning a worse pinch on his own.
“Ouch.” He massaged the flesh you pinched, probably spotting two half moons from your nails “Feisty I see.”
The drive continued silently, just him trying to lighten your obvious bad mood and you purposely ignoring his remarks.
You pulled on the side of the road, letting Heeseung get out of our vehicle. He rounded the car and was about to open your door when you locked it.
He frowned and knocked on the window “Angel?” He asked, leaning forward when you rolled down the window, smiling ever so innocently.
“Yes?” You said, putting your sunglasses back on your face “What is it?”
“You’ll park and come over, right?” He laughed, something that turned awkward after being met with your serious face.
“Y/N?” He asked again and you sucked on your middle finger, flicked him off before pulling away into the road, driving away from him.
Heeseung tried to jog towards you but your foot on the accelerator was pressed down enough that you left the tire’s sign on the ground.
“What the hell.” He scratched the back of his head and shrugged, knowing well that you needed time to cool off.
Sometimes, you wondered if your pressure wasn’t too high from how much mood swings he made you feel in such a short time span.
The same evening, Heeseung chose to fill his stomach with just some chips he found in his cupboard, trying not to choke himself by drinking a coke.
Not very healthy, but low cost. — not really since even some cans of coke started costing a lot, damn inflation —
He took his phone out of his pocket and dialled his best friend’s number, waiting for him to pick up.
“Heeseung?” As his cheerful voice with a thick Australian accent was heard, Heeseung started “Bro, I’m in the doghouse again.”
Jake fought not to laugh at his tragedies and said “What the hell did you do this time?”
“Do not judge.” He balanced the phone on his shoulder and moved to place his very nutritious dinner on the small table in the living room. “But I may have gone to jail again.”
Jake let out a sigh, “You’re a fucking idiot.” He muttered “Why did you go in?”
“Speeding.” Heeseung answered, sitting on the sofa with a loud thud.
“Jesus.” Jake sighed “I suppose Y/N’s all pissed now, uh?”
He flicked on the tv and munched his chips “She’s infuriated, and that’s an understatement.”
Jake pinched the bridge of his nose “You’re in a whole lotta trouble.” He then questioned “What was so important you had to speed so much?”
“Her, bro.” Heeseung answered, “I was late for our date, like, a huge fucking amount late and let’s say I didn’t think before pressing the accelerator.”
“You’re screwed.” Jake commented, “Had I been her, I would’ve broken up with you a long time ago.”
Heeseung frowned, “Don't say that.” He changed channels, not very useful since his TV only had two working channels, blaming the aerial on the rooftop that got damaged after a bad storm.
“It’s the third time you’ve been a ent to jail.” Jake pointed out “For foolish mistakes.”
“I know, I know.” Heeseung sighed “But speeding isn't even a crime if I don’t run over anyone!”
The boy on the other line laughed at how he tried to defend himself "It’s still a crime." Jake pointed out.
"But yeah, you didn't run anyone over, and for that the city should be grateful." He said, before chuckling. “But your girl definitely isn't."
Heeseung rubbed his jaw and took another bunch of chips “Apart from admitting I am a fucking douchebag, what do I do to amend myself?”
Jake thought for a moment before replying “Well, girls usually like gifts. You know, something cliché, roses or chocolates, that kind of stuff.”
“Roses are expensive.” Heeseung thought, “And so is chocolate.”
“How much money do you even have?” Jake sighed “Not a lot, oh—“ He stopped himself “I also have to phone Jay and thank him for bailing me out. Again.”
“Jay is too good to you.” The Australian chuckled “Back to your crappy plan, what are you gonna give her?”
Heeseung took a sip of coke and let out a small burp, at which Jake commented with a quiet ‘Disgusting’, “I’ll steal some flowers on the way.”
“Dude, your gee ef is already pissed off, do you really think giving her stolen flowers is going to win her heart back?” He asked.
“Just go buy them like a normal person, don't steal them, you're gonna dig yourself into an even deeper hole."
Heeseung let out a distressed sigh “Alright, If I still have money after buying those expensive flowers, should I take her out on dinner too?”
Jake chuckled at his best friend’s struggle “Yes. You totally should.”
Heeseung nodded, staring at the old cartoon displayed on the Television. The main character, with long, red hair put in two braids seemed oddly familiar.
Seriously, he had already seen her, and not only in her cartoon whose title he didn’t remember.
And then, something clicked inside his head “Oh my god!” He exclaimed, almost making Jake go deaf.
“You’re the smartest person on earth, thank you man, kisses to your sexy brain.” And then he hung up.
Uh uh baby. Mission ‘Win Y/N’s heart back in full classy with a sprinkle of glitter’ activated.
♡.
“Hi, baby.” Was the first thing that met your hearing when you opened the door.
There stood your boyfriend, you debated whether to let him in or shut the door in his face, but as your eyes scanned his body you noticed he was dressed rather nicely— Was his button up even ironed? Unexpected.
“These are for you.” He cut in, showing a bouquet — actually, there were only three — of tulips.
“What did you do there?” You asked as you noticed some bad scratches on his hands, dried blood on them.
He handed you the flowers, which were nicely put together with pink paper, matching the colour of the petals, and stepped into your apartment.
Your house wasn’t that fancy, you weren’t the wealthiest person in town either, but it was a big contrast with his lapsing one.
It was nicely tidied, everything had its place and nobody would’ve dared to break its order. Not even Heeseung’s clumsy hands.
“I wanted to get you your favourite flowers,” Heeseung smiled, turning toward you when you closed the door behind your back and smelled the tiny bouquet.
“But tulips have become so expensive nowadays, so I had to steal some from my neighbour,” He sighed “Her pussy cat gashed me when I put my hand near the vase.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at his story, carefully placing the flowers on the table and taking his wounded hand, examining it.
“Let me treat it.” You said, walking to the cupboard where you kept your first aid kit “Don’t worry, it doesn’t even—“
At the side eye you shot him, Heeseung knew better than arguing further and just shut his mouth “Yes ma’am.” He said, sitting down on the chair.
You began to gently treat the scratches on his hands, teasing him by adding more pressure than you should. A little payback for how he angered you.
“Why are you here, by the way?” You questioned, tip toeing to reach the cupboard and put back the first aid kit.
Heeseung’s figure hovered behind as his hand softly reached for yours, taking the aid and placing it on the higher shelf.
Fucker, that way you’d either have to ask him to take it down or climb the counter. Knowing how prideful you were, you’d stick with the latter.
“To take you out for dinner.” He replied, the warmth of his body replaced by emptiness as he stepped away “As an apology for standing you up yesterday.”
You crossed your arms on your chest “I’m still mad at you.” Heeseung nodded “Fair, you have all the rights.”
He sighed “But please, let me take you out.” He walked closer and placed a tentative hand on your arm, when he saw you didn’t budge, he let his hands caress your sides “Grab your bestest dress and let’s have a night out, mh?”
“Bestest isn’t even a word.” You rolled your eyes. “Only children use it.”
“It is when I use it to say that you’re the bestest thing in my life.” Heeseung beamed and you cursed yourself for being so weak for him.
Playing hard to get wasn’t a choice, because no matter how stubborn you were or how clumsy he was, he always found the right words to make you fall head over heels for him.
“I have to take a shower and get dressed, and also do my hair and make up.” You murmured and Heeseung smiled, “I’m a patient man.”
You raised a brow at his very much uncorrect statement “Alright, maybe you should start right now.” He gently turned you around and pushed you toward the bathroom.
You sighed and walked in, locking the door when you heard his voice from the other side “Oh and baby? You need to drive, they took my licence, remember?”
♡.
When Heeseung entered your car and heard ‘Fake As Hell’ by All Time Low and Avril Lavigne, he knew he was in deep trouble.
You had this strange habit of listening to songs that matched your mood of the day, usually chilly and sad when it rained and upbeat when the sun shone.
And, well, punk when you had a storm going inside.
It was a habit he found cute, one he learnt from observing you and your behaviour and probably the only one aware of it.
Like how you scrunch your nose and grimace when he says something you don’t like, or how you tend to throw your head back when someone — preferably him — makes you laugh.
Heeseung knew all your little details that you probably didn’t even notice yourself.
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat at the clear side glances you gave him, he cleared his throat before speaking.
“Did you change something in your makeup, angel?” He asked, even if angel wasn’t really the pet name to match your feisty attitude.
He was also glad that you let him inside your car and kindly drove the both of us, because if you wanted, you would’ve made him walk to the date location.
Your gaze softened a little as you focused on the road ahead of you “Yes.” You stated, surprised that he even noticed “I changed the lip combo.”
“You look good with this combination as well.” Heeseung said, careful with his phrasing “Even if I’m foreseeing it’ll get smudged by the end of the evening.” He added with a wink.
You tsked, “I don’t think you deserve to be the one to smudge it.”
His gaze darkened slightly. “I really hope no one else will get to do that.”
You smirked, “Where are you taking me?” You asked even if you were the one driving.
“Wendy’s.” Heeseung smiled, “I know, not fancy or worth enough for such a beautiful person like you, but affordable for a bad person like me.” He added, “And I know you like it.”
You didn’t think he knew that it didn’t matter where you went as long as he was present, where you could have him in sight and check if he did something wrong.
How unhealthy it was, you had grown anxious whenever he wasn’t with you, blaming the fact that he always ends up in trouble without supervision.
“Alright, stud.” You smiled back, speeding just enough to reach the nearest fast food chain “Let’s have our long awaited date.”
The ride was filled with small talks and funny conversations, mostly initiated by your boyfriend, and in the blink of an eye, you reached Wendy’s parking lot.
The side of town wasn’t that famous, just a couple of people stood outside, smoking cigarettes while in the nearby motorbikes parking lot were some old bikers, sipping what you thought was coke.
You didn’t mind them, even if they didn’t give you nice vibes. Heeseung grew confident enough that you wouldn’t reject his touch and wrapped one arm around your waist, tugging you closer.
The dress you chose hugged your curves ever so sweetly, the contrast between black and red making you more seductive.
When you showed up out of the bathroom, you half expected him to call you off and tell you to change; instead, he said you could wear whatever you wanted because he could fight— and that was what worried you.
You smirked and wrapped an arm around his waist as well before slipping it inside the back pocket of his jeans.
Heeseung chuckled “Trying to cop a feel, angel?” He asked, a smile plastered on his face when he finally had you in his arms.
“Yes, baby.” You playfully squeezed his butt through the fabric “Best cake ever.”
“I like this cake better.” Heeseung said as he leaned slightly back to lightly smack your ass.
“Hey!” You walked forward from the impact, laughing “No, how can I blame you.”
“Gosh, I’m starving.” You said, turning around to walk backward, trusting him enough to know that he’d tell you if you were to walk over something or someone.
“Let’s fill our tummies with burgers!” Heeseung exclaimed, beaming down at you, the sound of your heels echoing as you reached the entrance that was close to the motorbikes parking lot.
“Oi, look at how it jiggles.” Heeseung’s neck almost snapped as he heard the comment from a nearby voice. He saw how those creepy as hell bikers were ogling at you, their eyes trailed on your exposed legs. One of them even licked their lips “Bet it bounces so well.”
“You got a problem, buddy?” His voice was dark and he looked past you, his nose up, being territorial.
Oh no. You knew that gaze so well, it was the one he had when he failed to control his pent-up anger.
“Hee—“ You tried to say but he had already walked past you, standing in front of one of their bikes “Nah, no problem.” One laughed “Just thought we’d compliment your lady there.”
Heeseung's eyes narrowed, his irritation growing.
He clenched his fists, trying to keep his anger under control. "You better watch your mouth.” He warned.
One, a little younger than them, chuckled, clearly unfazed by Heeseung’s threads “Not our fault she’s hot,” His smile was smug “Just thought we’d appreciate her from afar.”
He then eyed you up and down, making you shiver under his gaze. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend.
He took a step closer to the bikers, fists still clenched. "I'm not going to tell you again," He growled, "Keep your comments to yourself, or you're going to end up with a black eye."
“Heeseung,” you took his wrist in your small hand, rubbing your thumb on his knuckles in an attempt to sooth him “You promised you’d behave, remember?” Your voice was ever so gentle.
At your words, his gaze softened and he looked behind his back “Yeah.” He whispered, “But baby, they said—“
“I know what they said.” You were quick to interrupt him “But I don’t care, can we just ignore them and enter the building? We’ll be fine.”
He stayed silent a few seconds, clearly trying to calm himself down. His clenched fits slowly relaxed and he nodded “Alright, let’s do that.”
He took your hand, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing you behind his back, as if to protect you.
Your gaze made the enormous mistake of meeting the biker that complimented your jiggly backside and he made a slapping gesture in the air.
A gesture that wasn’t, at all, ignored by your boyfriend who quickly charged at him “Alright fucker, you searched for it.”
His fist connected with the biker’s jaw, twisting his face to the side. He shook his hand, knuckles bruising from the impact.
The other bikers lunged at him, their fists flying.
Heeseung managed to duck and weave, dodging most of the blows. But eventually, one of them was able to land a punch to his stomach, causing him to double over in pain. And another hit connected on his face.
You gasped at the sight, “Stop!” You cried out, not knowing how to intervene “Please, stop it!”
Despite the pain, Heeseung straightened up and lunged at the biker who had punched him, tackling him to the ground.
He wasn't prepared for the sudden attack and fell hard, the wind knocked out of him.
You knew that darkened gaze, it was the one he had when his brain completely shut off and only left room for his angry, ranged feelings.
“No, Heeseung!” You gasped “Get off him.” You tried to get close but just the sight of the bikers around your boyfriend, all ready to attack made you flinch.
Heeseung gave the biker a set of hooks and punches, connecting with his jaw and nose. You heard a vague crack sound and silently prayed that he did not just break his nose.
Your chest heavied up and down, breath troubled from the panic.
You turned around just to see that some people began to gather by the entrance of the hallway, phones in their hands as they filmed the scene in front of them.
Your eyes widened and you quickly approached Heeseung, ignoring any other angry men around you “Let’s go.” You said, taking a hold of the hand he was about to use to punch the biker underneath him.
Heeseung blinked faintly, looking confused but allowing you to make him get up and leading him into one of the hidden hallways behind Wendy’s.
“Hey! Where do ya think you’re doing?” One of them shouted, probably jogging behind you but your feet never faltered.
“Run faster.” Heeseung gasped, taking your hand in his, taking the lead and finally ducking behind a bin.
You both squat down, panting as you tried your best not to make any sound.
You looked at your side, Heeseung’s cheekbone was bruised and his eyebrow bleeding from a minor cut.
Your gaze was full of worry and disappointment. “I can’t believe you started a fight.”
Heeseung grimaced as he touched his cheek “I didn’t start it, they searched for it by making such remarks on you.”
“You threw the first punch.” You frowned “That means starting it.”
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his messy hair. “I know, I just saw red and acted on impulse.”
You looked away and silence filled the air between you two. Waiting some minutes for things to calm down, and you took a sigh of relief when you heard stretches of bikes, driving away.
“Let’s go home.” You said, getting up from the floor, needing to support your weight with the wall.
“What about dinner?” He asked, getting up as well “You don’t want to enter?”
You whispered “I’m not hungry.” and made your way to the parking lot, where you left your car.
Heeseung understood that the situation was critical when, as you entered the car, you turned off the music, leaving only the sound of the tires on the road and the ticketing of turn signals.
Feeling a pang of guilt in his chest at the way up he had upset you so much you didn’t even want him to feed you, he reached for the small drawer where you kept all the CDs.
He took the one full of songs he liked and that you kept there, in case he wanted to listen to them whenever he used your car.
He put it in the console and shuffled the song until the right one came, he leaned back against the seat, gulping down nervously.
You heard the notes of ‘LIPS’ by jxdn playing and your breath hitched when you focused on the lyric.
Heeseung was playing the same little game you’d done since you started dating, or even before, when you tried to give him signals through the lyrics of your favourite songs.
You noticed him sneakily glancing at you, trying to take in your reaction.
He placed a hand on the one you had on the shift gear, and relaxed when he saw you weren’t going to reject his touch.
Because even if your brain screamed to leave him, your body seeked his comfort.
♡.
As soon as you got to your apartment, you rushed to take the first aid kit which was, obviously, on the highest shelf in the cupboard.
Heeseung, silently approached you and took it down for you, offering you a warm smile you did not reciprocate. Not like he thought you would.
You walked from the kitchen into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was already past eight PM and the room’s only source of light was the moonlight coming from the window.
Not wanting to get up from the bed to turn on the light, you just waited for Heeseung to join you.
He sat beside you, not too close but also not too far, enough for you to be able to clean his wounds freely.
You took a cotton stick and the disinfectant out, gently pouring it on the cotton and then placing one finger under his chin to guide his head.
The single touch sent shivers down Heeseung’s spine, glancing to your face as you treated him ever so sweetly.
It was in moments like those that he saw just how wonderful you were. You cared for him, so deeply you would do anything to have him by your side.
Even if it meant ignoring the red flags shooting up.
Then, once again. It was the turn to treat his hands. His knuckles were bruised, dried blood you didn’t think belonged to him coated his skin.
With a small sigh, you ignored the wince that left his lips as you tried to clean it the best without water.
Heeseung studied your face, disappointment written all over, frown knitting your brows.
His heart was as heavy as the air surrounding the pair of you, making it harder for him to talk.
Not long after, you were done and closed the first aid kit, throwing inside the dirty cotton sticks.
Gulping down, he whispered “Baby.” The pet name was enough to make your skin fill with goosebumps “Talk to me.”
His hands twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. And it physically hurt him.
“I get why you did it, I really do.” You explained, “And I’m glad that you tried to defend me, ” You sighed softly “I don’t want you to get in trouble or fight because of me.”
“It’s never ‘because of you’, baby.” He murmured, his arms wrapping around your waist.
“I know you asked me to behave and I shouldn’t have used my fists.” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “But I couldn’t let them talk about my girl like that.”
His thumb traced lazy circles on your stomach, trying to relax your stiff body. “You don’t deserve to hear such things said to you, ever.”
“It hurts, you know?” Your voice was merely a whisper “Having to stand and watch you do all these foolish things.”
Heeseung slowly pressed your back flush against his chest, his lips placing small kisses behind your ear lob. Trying to take your mind off it.
“Heeseung.” You said, voice a little like a thread “Mh?” He hummed, ever so innocently.
One hand trailed down your stomach until the hem of your dress that had rode up your thighs when you sat down.
“Come on, angel.” He purred, “Let me show you how sorry I am.”
You didn’t even have time to let him off because his lips started placing open-mouthed kisses all over your neck, knowing how sensitive you were there.
He shifted so that you were sitting between his legs, you could feel his heartbeat on your back. It matched yours, pounding fast.
SMUT WARNING
Heeseung slowly pried your legs open, enough to make your dress lift and your panties to show.
His attention shifted from your neck to your clothed mound, his fingers teasing you.
You scoffed, “I don’t want to see you.” You stated, trying to do your best to show him that you weren’t enjoying what he was doing.
Shame on you, he knew your body language more than how a book lover knew all the characters of his favourite book.
“You don’t need to see me for me to make you feel good.” He whispered in your ear “Are you seeing me now?” Heeseung asked, his fingers tracing lazy rubs on your clit.
Your body jerked slightly, making him sneak one arm around your waist to keep you steady.
“Answer me, baby.” He purred and you bit your bottom lip, determined not to give him.
Heeseung chuckled darkly and slipped your panties to the side, taking your slickness in his fingers, already dripping wet. Still, you made no sound.
Not satisfied and wanting you to let him do what he does best. Heeseung pushed one finger inside of you, making you gasp out.
“That’s what I thought.” He whispered, his finger moving in and out of you, occasionally rubbing against your g-spot.
“Mh..” You hummed softly, the sound sending heat to Heeseung’s cock that you could feel him press against your arse.
He left wet, kitten kisses down your jawline when you rested your head back on his shoulder, the feeling of him too pleasurable to keep acting like a brat.
“My baby.” He cooed, adding a second digit into your wetness, filthy sounds echoing through the room’s walls.
You moaned and gripped his forearm, trying to steady yourself as your body jerked on its own.
“Mh? There?” Heeseung asked, his finger brushing against a certain spot that had you moaning out loud.
“Uh uh.” He chuckled, “Found it.” He kept brushing and curling his fingers to stimulate your sweet spot until you clenched.
Heeseung slowly rutted his hips on your back, his pants now too strained and tight, beyond uncomfortable.
You felt him, his length so evident and hot even under the lays of clothing.
“Please, Hee.” You mumbled, head fizzy “Fuck me.” His movements faltered. His plan for the night was to just pleasure you, even if he could use a hand at that moment.
“Are you sure?” He asked, “I just want to make you feel good.”
You grew impatient, your mood already pissed from his previous behaviour “And I want you to fuck me, hard, can you do that?”
Heeseung let out a breath, almost pained as he tried to think straight.
“Do you still not want to see me?” He asked, his voice quiet and husky. Dangerous even.
You nodded, despite the sweet feeling he was providing you, you feared that seeing his cocky grin would make you put another bruise on his face.
“Got it.” He removed his fingers from your pussy, licked them clean and manhandled you.
He turned you so your chest was pressed against the mattress. He knew better than to make you wait, so he unzipped your dress, letting it fall open.
He helped you out of it, making you stay on all fours on the bed “Still don’t want to see me?” He asked and you groaned, shaking your head.
“Too bad.” Heeseung murmured, unclasping your bra “I won’t get to see your pretty face when I shove my cock deep inside of you.”
His words had you shiver, slickness pooling on your panties.
Heeseung smirked and threw your bra on the floor before doing the same with his own clothes.
His fingers pushed your panties to the side “You like it, mh?” He murmured, slowly pressing the tip of his already hard cock between your slick folds “You like it when I fuck you?”
With his hard length pressing against you, your head was clouded with desire and primal urges, so strong only when you were with him.
“Yes, Hee.” You whispered, arching your back to make his cock grind against your pussy “Like it. Need it.”
“Fuck.” Heeseung breathed out, pulsing for you, trying his hardest not to lose control.
In one swift thrust, he had already put half of himself inside of you, making you cry out in both pain and pleasure.
“So good.” He breathed out “Always feel so good.”
Your back arched as he slowly pushed all of his cock, filling you to the brim. His mushroom tip hit your cervix with each thrust, making your legs shake.
Your hand reached behind to spread your pussy even more, trying to take him all, needing to feel him inside of you.
It wasn’t the sweetest of sex, but having him taking you made you feel a deep connection. It was something you shared only with him, an intimacy between the two of you.
Heeseung pushed your back by your ass, slowly thrusting, trying to make you adjust to the intrusion.
When the hand that was stretching you went to grasp his waist, trying to get him to move faster, Heeseung was happy to comply.
You wished you could see his muscular body, the way his jaw ticked and his chest clenched tight when he rutted his cock, shoved into your deepest part.
You let out soft moans, your head falling on the bed as the constant hit of your sweet spot made your eyes roll.
“S-so fucking tight.” He groaned, slapping your ass-cheek “Aren’t you baby?” You moaned in return.
He gripped your hips, grip bruising as he thrusted inside of you at a desperate speed “Feels good?”
You grasped the sheets underneath you “So good.” Your voice came out broken.
Heeseung hummed in response, his hips never slowing down as he tried to provide you pleasure and chase his high at the same time. But he didn’t want it to end so soon.
He wanted— no, he needed to have you unravel underneath him, make your legs shake and have you screaming his name.
He wanted to take you hard enough to make you forget all the pain he brought you.
When he felt himself twitch inside of you, dangerously close to his release, he pulled out, earning a complaining moan from you.
Heeseung’s smug grin was still plastered on his face as he dove back between your thighs. He gripped your ass-cheeks, spreading your wet folds and licked a long stripe.
Your body arched into his touch, hum rolling down your tongue.
He licked again, then another time, teasing your clit until you were a whimpering mess.
“Still don’t want to see me, angel?” Heeseung asked, briefly thrusting his tongue in your pussy.
Not answering, you pulled away from his grasp and laid down on the bed sideway, finally taking a glimpse of his face.
The moonlight shone from the window, illuminating his bruised and slightly-puffed face. Heeseung’s chest was heaving up and down, matching yours, his cheeks flushed and his gaze so soft. Enamoured over again, even.
You smiled gently at him and held your hand out for him to take. He quickly complied and took your hand as he laid beside you, his chest flush against your chest once more.
Ignoring the painful stretch of your neck, you turned your face to look at him and he was quick to pull you into a heated kiss.
Guiding his leaking cock into your entrance, he gently entered you, making you gasp.
Taking advantage of your parted lips, his tongue slid past your lips, moving slowly against yours, savouring the taste of you.
His hands roamed over your body, one of them moving to tangle in your hair while the other squeezed your breast, teased your nipple.
His pace was steady, sending waves of pleasure to your body. Your own fingers went to draw lazy circles on your clit, making you clench around him.
“Fuck.” Heeseung breathed out on your lips, twitching inside of you “Stop clenching like that.”
You hummed, biting gently on his bottom lip as the sweet sensation of both his cock and your rubbing sent you close to the edge.
Heeseung could feel it, how you clenched around his length and how your moans got louder.
“I’m gonna cum too.” He whispered, his nose brushing against your cheek “Just a little bit longer.”
Your free hand went to cup your boob as he kept pinching your nipple, making you arch your back.
“Hee.” You breathed out, “S’close.”
“I know, angel.” He hurried his thrusts, the sound of the bed creaking filling the night air “Shit— pussy so warm.”
“Where do you want it?” He wasn’t one to normally ask, but given the circumstances and the previous small ‘argument’, he thought he owed you that question.
“You can come inside.” You stated quietly “I need it— Need you to fill me up.”
“Fuck. Y/N.” He panted, both his hands grasping your body as he rutted his hips against yours, hitting your cervix with each snap.
Heeseung continued that pace until he felt his release approach, he slapped your hand away and began to forcefully rub your sensitive bud, wanting you to come at the same time.
You jerked and squirmed beside him, the feeling too good for your own body “Hee—“ You tried to warn but the knot in your stomach snapped, making you milk his cock.
“Cumming, I’m cumming.” Heeseung panted, hips faltering as he emptied his load inside of you.
Both your breaths were heavy, exhaustion washing over the both of you.
Heeseung waited for you to ride down off your high before pulling out his softened cock, reaching for the nightstand to take a tissue and clean you up.
END WARNING
You let him do what he needed, watching him through tired eyes.
Heeseung smiled softly at you, placing a tender kiss on your forehead “Sore?” He questioned.
You shook your head, taking his hand in yours. Heeseung’s thumb traced lazy circles on your knuckles.
“Stay?” You asked quietly, and his heart sank at your vulnerable state.
Nodding, he shifted back so he could hold you, cuddle you against his chest.
He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. His lips brushed your ear, breath fanning your skin.
“Good night, stud.” You whispered tiredly, your eyes already heavy.
Heeseung smiled, tugging you closer “Good night, angel.”
♡.
It didn’t take a genius to realise that Heeseung had, in fact, messed up. Quite a lot, actually.
Not only had the video of him beating the shit out of the biker gone viral, now all over Twitter (he refused to call it like the letter that made him cry during maths class, the fucker that always needed to be found) and Instagram.
But also, staring at the naked body laying on the bed beside him, sheets around you, looking like a perfect angel on earth to save him, he came to the conclusion that he had poor communication skills.
He always seemed to resolve your arguments using his fingers and dick, and he hated how you just gave in to him.
Heeseung didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve your comprehension, your forgiveness neither.
He wanted to make things right, to be worthy of you. However, all his efforts seemed to just bring more chaos into your relationship.
“I love you so much.” He whispered, brushing a lock of hair out of your face “I can’t even put it into words.”
You stirred, making him retract his hand. Fortunately, you weren’t awake, your eyes were still closed and your face relaxed in the innocence of sleeping.
He needed to find a solution, one that didn’t require the cliché of a night out at a nice restaurant or flowers.
Heeseung needed to find something to win your heart back; one that would demonstrate to you that he, indeed, took you seriously.
Because Heeseung did not want a future if you weren’t in it. If you weren’t the one he chose rings for, if you weren’t their recipient.
He didn’t want a life where you weren’t the one to walk down the aisle, the one to bear his children, the one to build a family with him.
And even if you didn’t want to get married or have a mini-you around the house, growing old alongside you was already the greatest honour he could ask for.
♡.
When you woke up that morning, the last thing you expected to see was a note from Heeseung, telling you that he’d be right back at you and that there was some burnt toast in the kitchen from the failed breakfast he tried to make.
Trying to take your mind off the clumsy man who occupied it all the time, you decided to hang out with your best friend, Chaeryeong.
Sitting at a nice café and taking aesthetic pictures to post was a great distraction and therapy.
And, of course, you found comfort in your best friend, telling all the things she wasn’t aware of and that happened since you two last saw each other— which unfortunately was a long time ago.
“Did he really punch them?” Chaeryeong’s mouth fell open as she took in all the information “Like… he tried to fight a whole gang of old hags that were ogling at you?”
You nodded, pinching the bridge of your nose “Some fuckers even took a video and it spread all over internet.”
“No way.” She said, shocked “Let me see.”
You took your phone out of your pocket and started searching for the video on X. You handed her your phone and waited for her reply.
“Damn baby.” She smiled, “That right hook was strong.”
You widened your eyes “Chaeryeong.” You said, sternly, “I’m being serious here.”
“Sorry, sorry.” She gave you your phone back “Honestly, if my man ain’t like that, I don’t want him.”
You gave her a side eye and Chaeryeong chuckled “Y/N, he defended you from those bikers, he wasn’t afraid to stand up for you.”
“I know.” You looked down at your half-empty cup of coffee “I really appreciated that. But I also don’t want him to get into any more trouble.”
“Yeah, well.” Chaeryeong grimaced “He isn’t a saint, but his actions are clear, as messed up as they are, they’re all for you.”
“I’m just…” You closed your eyes “So confused and so tired.”
She pouted and took your hand in his “I’m so sorry.” She said, sincerity lacing her words “I don’t really know how to help you.”
You just gave her a reassuring smile and stared at your coffee to block out your unhappy thoughts.
“Listen, girl.” Chaeryeong said after a few minutes of silence “Why don’t we go to your favourite pub tonight? The vintage one.” She suggested.
“Let’s wear a pretty dress, order some strong liquor and just shut off anything else.” She raised a hoping brow.
You debated whether to rot in your bed and try to figure your feelings out or ignore them for a while and think about them later.
“Alright, yeah.” You nodded, smiling at her “Let’s do that.”
However, you failed to notice the message she received before asking you to hang out and the cunning grin on her lips.
♡.
Chaeryeong was right, you really needed a girls’ night.
You missed getting ready with her, just listening to music and helping each other doing your makeup.
You just missed her.
Though, you missed a certain wine-haired boy more.
You hadn’t seen him since the night before, where he cuddled you to sleep only to make you wake up in an empty bed.
And even if you didn’t want to admit it, it hurt. Fairly.
Suppressing any thought of him in the deepest part of your mind, you took Chaeryeong’s arm and went into the pub.
Well, it wasn’t a normal pub. There were no blinding lights nor loud music.
It was calm, collected and people’s chattering was quiet, just enjoying the atmosphere and the antique music.
You took place at an empty table where Chaeryeong led you, in front of the small stage.
Ordering a Martini and feeling content, you just talked about anything with your best friend.
Everything was going smoothly until the lights suddenly turned off, leaving only the stage’s ones on.
“Is there a special stage today?” You whispered to Chaeryeong who just shrugged, even if, once again, you failed to see the smile on her face.
A man walked up to the stage, he put down his suitcase and removed his jacket.
The man walked to the centre of the stage where the microphone was and the light showed him.
A man— No. Your man.
Heeseung stood there, red wine hair perfectly styled, grey jacket with a white shirt and equally grey pants you knew he couldn’t afford.
Your eyes widened at the realisation and you heard a soft chuckle beside you.
Oh, that was why Chaeryeong wanted to hang out “Just keep watching.” She incited.
So you did, your eyes finding Heeseung like they always did.
Gentle music started playing and his voice was amplified by the microphone. You knew that song, it was one of your favourites, ‘this is what falling in love feels like’ by JVKE— He remembered.
Heeseung removed his jacket, his voice was as sweet as honey, matching his usual scent.
He walked around the stage and did silly gestures, always maintaining eye contact with you.
Unconsciously, you smiled back at him, proud of how he was singing in front of such a crowd.
Usually, he’d be so shy of his singing, only doing it under the shower or to lull you when you had trouble sleeping.
You sighed softly, a pang in your heart at the feeling of loss. It hurt, even just being angry at him hurt.
The music slowly stopped and he threw a rose on the small table, which you caught and smelled it.
It was fake, making you chuckle softly and you swear you saw Heeseung’s whole demeanour relax.
All the people there to enjoy his small stage clapped and whistled, clearly mesmerised by his sweet voice.
“Alright, thank you.” Heeseung chuckles softly, the smallest shade of blush colouring his cheeks.
He takes the microphone in his hands “Honestly, dressing like my grandpa, shout-out to him,” He gave two small punches to his chest and then pointed at the crowd, where his grandfather clearly wasn’t “Wasn’t in my plans for the night.”
The small crowd laughed “But I happen to know a girl, this girl loves these places, full of old and dusty things.” He looked around and then his gaze settled on you, a small smirk on his lips.
He paced around the stage “And, thanking whoever is to thank, she also happens to love me.” The crowd raised a choir of ‘woo’s.
“Or so, I hope.” He paced on the other side “Because, you should know that I have this thing for f— messing things up.” He winked at a kid sitting near the stage “Keeping it PG rated.”
The crowd and his parents giggled, and so Heeseung continued walking, stopping in the middle of the stage and settling his microphone back to its place.
“I am no perfect man, alright? I know I have so many flaws, but the one I hate the most is the tendency to break her heart.” ‘Boo’s echoed in the whole room.
“Deserved it.” He placed a hand on his heart and continued his speech, under your still-shocked gaze.
Heeseung wasn’t an extrovert, he preferred not to talk to people who weren’t his close friends— but seeing him talk so freely about you on the stage with at least twenty foreign eyes on him, made your heart melt.
He bit his bottom lip nervously “I have no idea how she saved me. How she saw some good in such a wrecked person, because that’s what I am.” His eyes were full of vulnerability when he locked them with yours.
“In our two years of relationship, I felt so many emotions I didn’t even know existed!” Heeseung smiled softly “I started being less selfish, and think more about her.”
“I still remember that time when she wanted to dance.” His eyes lit up at the memory “In the middle of the night, but my place isn’t big, so I moved the furniture, trying to make enough room for me to swing her around.”
You giggled, recalling the moment and Heeseung gave you a knowing look “The person who lives in the house down mine came to complain and I also got a slipper on my head— but, hey! My girl wanted to dance.”
His girl. It was wonderful how just two words could ignite a fire in you.
“Y/N.” Your name resonated in the whole pub “I don’t want to be the reason of your tears, I want to dry them,” His bambi eyes were serious, boring into yours with so much unspoken affection “I want to be the person you go to when you’re sad, not the one you try to avoid.”
Heeseung took a deep breath and you swore you saw his hands tremble “I’ll be a better man, someone you can be proud of. Someone worthy of you.”
Oh dear. He looked just like a little boy searching for his parents’ approval. “Can I get a last chance to prove myself?” He asked, pointing at you.
Everyone in the room turned to look, eyes fixed on your figure.
You shrugged “Nah.” And a general gasp filled the room. Heeseung’s face fell, hope dissipating from his body.
Deciding that you had toyed with him enough, you got up from your chair and jogged to the stage.
Heeseung widened his eyes and he let go of the microphone to catch you as you threw yourself at him. Your arms around his neck, his hands holding your waist, confusion still written all over his expression.
“Silly.” You smiled up at him “Of course, I’ll give you one chance.” You pointed a threatening finger in his chest “But it’s the last one, you act like an asshole one more time and we’re done, you got it?”
“Thank you.” His voice was filled with gratefulness “Thank you, thank you!” Heeseung exclaimed, burying his face in the crook of your neck, spinning you in the air.
You giggled happily, “Stop.” You laughed when you felt butterflies in your stomach.
All the people at the table, comprehending Chaeryeong and the little boy, erupted in a choir of ‘Kiss’.
Heeseung put your feet back on the ground, his eyes moving from your own to your lips.
You nodded slowly, giving him the consent he needed. He crashed your lips together in a gentle kiss, sparks flying and your hearts connecting once again.
You pulled away “How did you do this?” Your fingers grazed the grey blazer “And where did you get this?”
Heeseung chuckled, licking his lips that lingered with the taste of you and your lipstick “We have to thank Jay for this.” He looked around the stage “And, well, my grandpa for his nice and dusty clothes.”
You chuckled and threw your head back and lord, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound Heeseung had ever heard.
“I love you.” You said, stunning him “Still?”
“Always.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and tip-toeing to reach his lips once more.
“Breaking news, angel.” He smiled on your lips “I happen to love you so much too.”
You squealed happily and kissed him, feeling the fire of passion igniting your body, burning your bones, dooming you to the pain and suffering called love.
But it was in that moment that you realised you would gratefully accept such pain if it came from Heeseung. Because, however reckless he acted, all of his dummy decisions that got him into trouble were made for you.
“I’ll find a better job.” He murmured, licking your bottom lip, “I’ll make money, buy a nicer house where we can live together.” One hand went to tangle your hair in his fingers “And then I’ll buy you a ring.”
“With a diamond?” You joked, making Heeseung chuckle “With whatever you want.”
Feeling as if the air was being taken out of your lungs, your heart pounding so fast and chest heaving up and down, you swore you’d stay by his side with another kiss.
Ignoring the crowd’s cheers, you tilted your head to deepen the kiss and Heeseung’s tongue slipped inside your mouth.
SUMMARY: being married to a boxer is frightening— twice as much when you’re raising a child (or two) with that very same man. but none of it matters, not really, because your love for him is unconditional, stronger than fear, deeper than doubt, and it has always lived beyond the reach of worry.
WARNINGS: boxing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, pet names (baby, love), fear, love making (it’s just the last scene and barely narrated, but you can choose to skip it), starring yunjin huh (lesserafim), babies (jihoon/james & jiheon/jane). lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
NOW PLAYING: Brisbane by Youth in Revolt & Heavenly by Broadside
a/n: the meds against allergy the doctor gave me make me feel high so sorry if there are any errors or shit. anw let me know your thoughts on this fic! 🩷 i honestly like it sm (my search history is full of synonyms lol) and please, if you haven’t, read the sunghoon!dad fic i wrote too!
You always woke up first. That was just the way it went.
The early sun never failed to warm your face through the slightly cracked blinds of your shared bedroom, golden light slipping across the foot of the bed like it belonged there.
Jake’s arm was slung heavy around your waist, his breath slow and deep against the nape of your neck, and just a little too warm. One of his legs was tangled with yours, as if even in his sleep he couldn’t stand to be far from you.
And at the foot of the bed, curled up with a stuffed gray bunny that was beginning to unravel at the seams, was James— Jihoon when he was in trouble.
Five years old. Barely able to tie his shoes right, but already carrying Jake’s stubbornness in his bones.
You shifted gently, trying not to wake Jake as you slipped out from under his hold.
He grumbled something incoherent in his sleep and reached out for you, but you were already halfway to the kitchen.
It wasn’t long before little feet padded after you, and then James was clambering onto a chair at the table, face still puffy with sleep, hair a mess.
“Toast?” you asked.
He nodded, rubbing at one eye. “With honey.”
You ruffled his hair before turning to the counter. “You’re getting too used to sweet things in the morning.”
“It makes me run faster,” he insisted, already kicking his legs under the table like he had a hundred miles of energy to spend.
Behind you, you heard Jake’s heavy steps thudding down the hallway, groggy and shirtless, his curls a wild mess. He kissed your shoulder as he passed, then bent over to ruffle Jihoon’s hair too.
“Morning, champ.”
“Morning,” James beamed. “Can we box today?”
Jake laughed as he sat down. “You wanna box again?”
James nodded so hard his curls bounced. “I’m gonna be a boxer just like you!”
You didn’t say anything at first. Just buttered the toast. Carefully.
Jake noticed. Of course he did.
After six years, he could read you better than anyone. “We’ll be careful,” he said softly, glancing at you over James’ head.
“Boxing’s not a game,” you replied quietly. “It’s not— it’s not something I want him dreaming of every night.”
Jake’s eyes softened, and he reached for your hand as you placed the plate of toast down. “I know, I know it scares you. But he doesn’t see the blood or the bruises. He just sees his dad being strong.”
You looked at him, feeling your chest ache. “That’s exactly why I’m scared.”
James munched on his toast without a care in the world, his feet swinging. “Can I come to your next match?” he asked suddenly, crumbs on his lips. “Please, please, please, pleeeeeease?”
Jake blinked, surprised. “What, the next one? That’s in two days, James.”
“I’m big enough,” he declared, sitting up straighter. “I wanna watch, I wanna cheer. Please, mommy?”
You looked at him, at his big, pleading eyes.
At the innocence behind them.
And then you looked at Jake, with the same eyes who looked torn between pride and guilt. It wasn’t fair— how much James looked like both of you at once, how easily he could tug at your heart.
You sighed. “We’ll see.”
Which really meant yes. Because you were never good at saying no when it came to them.
That night, you helped James into Jake’s old boxing gloves. They were far too big, slipping past his wrists, practically swallowing his arms.
He tried to throw punches, but they were mostly flailing motions that made Jake laugh until he was nearly wheezing on the floor.
You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to smile too much.
Jake caught your eye, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his collarbones from messing around with James. “See? He’s a natural.”
“He’s five.”
“He’s my kid, he’s gonna be unstoppable.”
James fell over trying to jab at Jake’s leg. “Gotcha!” he shouted.
Jake swooped down and scooped him up, holding him upside down while James shrieked with laughter. “You got me, huh? You sure about that?”
“Daaaaaaad!”
“You gonna knock me out one day, champ?”
“Yeah! One punch!”
You bit back a laugh as you walked over, flicking Jake’s shoulder. “Put him down before he vomits dinner.”
“Fine,” Jake groaned, dropping James onto the couch. “You both take all the fun out of my life.”
James poked his tongue out at him. “No I don’t. I’m your best fun.”
Jake looked at him for a long second, eyes warm, and then over at you. “You both are.”
Two nights later, the arena smelled like sweat and nerves.
You had James on your lap, his little legs tucked close to his chest, his hands gripping a paper cup of juice too tightly.
The crowd was loud, the lights bright, and your heart was beating way too fast for someone who wasn’t even in the ring.
Jake stepped into the spotlight wearing his mouthguard and gloves, robe slung low over his shoulders.
He looked fierce. Serious. Beautiful. Like the fighter you’d first met back in college, when he was reckless and full of fire, but still somehow managed to be the kindest boy you’d ever known.
Jihoon bounced excitedly. “There he is! Look, mom, look!”
“I see him, baby.”
The bell rang.
The fight started.
And something was wrong.
You could tell, even if the others couldn’t.
Jake’s steps weren’t as light, his dodges not as quick. The other guy was aggressive, coming in hard and fast, and Jake—he was getting hit. A lot.
Your stomach twisted.
“Mom,” James said, his voice small now. “Why’s dad not winning?”
“He’s trying,” you whispered, arms tightening around him. “He’s okay, he’s— he’s just warming up.”
But then Jake stumbled. His lip was split.
His shoulder sagged like he’d pulled something.
And your son started to panic.
“Mom, he’s hurt. We gotta go help him.”
“James, no, listen to me— he’s gonna be okay, you can’t—”
But your words weren’t fast enough.
James wriggled out of your arms before you could catch him, ducking under the security rope, sprinting across the edge of the crowd.
Someone shouted. You were on your feet, your heart in your throat, but James was already halfway to the ring.
“Jihoon!”
He scrambled up through the ropes, small enough to slip between them, and ran straight to his father.
Jake didn’t even notice at first, too dazed by the last punch.
“Stop the fight!” you screamed. “Stop it, my son’s in there!”
The ref blew his whistle furiously, waving his arms. The other boxer dropped his stance immediately, confused.
Jake blinked down— and froze.
“Champ?”
James launched into his chest, wrapping his tiny arms around his waist. “Don’t let him hit you again! I’ll fight him for you!”
Your vision blurred with tears as you rushed down toward the ring.
Someone opened the gate for you, and you ruan inside, breath shaking, legs trembling.
Jake had dropped to one knee, one arm around James, the other shaking as he pulled his mouthguard out.
“Hey,” he whispered. “What are you doing, buddy? You can’t be in here.”
“You were losing,” James mumbled, clutching him tighter. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
Jake let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “I’m okay. It’s just a match.”
“You were bleeding.”
Jake looked up at you then, and his face — Lord, his face —he looked so sorry. So wrecked.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve never let him come. This was too much.”
You knelt down beside them, pulling James into your arms, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me,” you whispered. “You can’t run off like that, Jihoon. Ever.”
“I’m sorry,” he sniffled. “I just— I didn’t want him to lose.”
Jake leaned in, pressing a kiss to both your foreheads. “I’ll never lose anything that matters, okay? Because I’ve already got you.”
The crowd was murmuring. Officials were everywhere. The match was called off.
Jake was disqualified, but he didn’t care.
All he cared about was you. And James. Safe. In his arms.
Later, in the locker room, after everyone had gone, Jake sat with James asleep in his arms, still wearing one glove that dwarfed his hand.
You sat beside him, your head resting on his shoulder.
“Promise me,” you murmured, “that if he really wants to fight when he’s older…you’ll teach him how to be smart. How to be safe.”
Jake nodded, kissing the top of Jihoon’s curls. “I promise. But for now…I just want him to dream about anything else. Anything safer.”
You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “You scared me tonight.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“I love you, Jake.”
He turned, eyes soft. “I love you too.”
And in that quiet moment, with your son snoring softly between you and the world finally still, you felt it again— that fragile, powerful kind of happiness that could only exist when you had everything you loved right there in your arms.
☆.
It was supposed to be your morning to sleep in.
The deal was sacred: on Sundays, or holidays, or any day the world wasn’t demanding something from the two of you at dawn, one of you got to stay in bed while the other kept James entertained.
It had been years of trial and error, balancing exhaustion with parenting, love with chaos, but you’d found your rhythm.
This morning, you were supposed to be nestled in the warmth of the blankets while Jake took James to the kitchen for cereal and cartoons.
You’d heard them shuffling around in the other room— Jake’s low, sleepy voice, and James, wide awake, asking if he could have two bowls because he was ‘super strong today’.
But instead of dozing off again like you usually did, a sharp pain twisted through your stomach, a heat blooming behind your navel and spreading like fire.
You jolted upright, cold sweat already rising on the back of your neck, and before you could think or breathe or blink, you were rushing out of bed.
The bathroom door hit the wall when you shoved it open, and you barely made it to the toilet in time before your stomach gave out.
Violent, sudden.
Your knees hit the tile hard as your body curled in on itself.
“Baby?” Jake’s voice, thick with sleep, came from the hallway.
You couldn’t answer. The retching had stolen all the air from your lungs.
There were small footsteps, bare feet padding quick against the floor, and then James’s voice, high and worried. “Mommy?”
Jake was there a moment later, crouching beside you, his hand on your back.
“Shit— hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was rubbing gentle circles into your spine, his other hand brushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead.
You forced yourself upright, gasping, “Phone. Get me my phone.”
Jake didn’t waste time asking questions. He was up in a flash, bolting down the hall.
But it was James who surprised you.
He knelt beside you, mimicking his father’s earlier movements, his tiny fingers clumsy as they gathered your hair and held it back.
“I’m here, Mommy,” he whispered. “You’re okay. Daddy’s coming.”
You shut your eyes for a second, heart swollen even through the pain. “Thank you, baby.”
Jake returned a beat later, sliding to the floor with your phone in one hand, his other reaching out to feel your forehead. “You’re burning up. Do you want me to call the doctor? What do you need?”
You didn’t answer at first, just searched the appa until you found the period tracker one.
You looked at him — really looked at him — and said, hoarse and quiet, “My period’s late.”
That madew him pause.
He glanced briefly at James, still by your side, loyal and worried and trying so hard to be brave.
“Late?” he asked.
You nodded. “Like…late late. And I know July’s always weird for me, and sometimes it skips, but this… this isn’t like that. This is…”
Jake caught on. He stood and reached for the bathroom cabinet before you could finish.
His hand went straight to the little white box buried behind cough syrup and cotton pads. The spare test.
He held it up. “This?”
You nodded, pressing a palm against your stomach as another wave of nausea rolled over you.
Jake knelt again and gently coaxed James to his feet. “Hey, buddy. Can you go watch TV for a bit? I’ll bring you snacks soon, I promise.”
“But—Mommy—”
“She’ll be okay,” Jake said, smoothing a hand over James’ss head. “I promise. Just give us a few minutes.”
James hesitated, looking from you to Jake, before finally nodding and stepping out of the room with one last glance over his shoulder.
You leaned back against the wall, breath shaky. Jake helped you up and steadied you with an arm around your waist.
“I’ll wait out there,” he said quietly, placing the test in your hand.
“No,” You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Don’t go.”
He hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Alright. I’m here.”
The test took less than a minute to take. But it felt like a year.
You placed it on the edge of the sink, both of you staring at it like it might jump to life and scream the answer at you.
You were still sitting on the toilet lid, knees tucked up, your arms hugging them to your chest.
Jake sat across from you on the closed tub, elbows on his thighs, eyes flicking between the floor and your face and the tiny plastic stick.
You broke the silence. “We weren’t planning this.”
Jake gave a breathy laugh that had no humor in it. “We weren’t really planning anything back then, either… when we had James.”
“That was different,” you said.
He met your eyes. “Was it?”
You bit your lip, chest tightening. “It feels scarier now.”
Jake didn’t say anything for a second. Then he moved closer, kneeling in front of you.
His hands found yours, his fingers cold from the tile but steady. “Whatever it says…you’re not alone in this. You’re never alone, love.”
“I threw up everywhere.”
“Still not alone.”
You buried your face in his shoulder, and for the first time since the pain had woken you up, you let yourself cry.
Just a little.
Jake held you through it, fingers curling into your hair, his lips pressing against your temple.
When the ten minutes were up, the test was still face-down on the sink.
Jake turned it over.
He didn’t say anything at first.
You looked at his face, trying to read it. He was too still. His jaw clenched once, then loosened.
His eyes flicked up to yours, wide and stunned.
You stood slowly, walking to the sink, feeling your heartbeat rattle in your ribs.
You saw the two lines.
Pregnant.
Your stomach swooped. Your hands trembled.
“Oh my god.”
Jake was behind you in a second. His hands came around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.
“That’s real,” you whispered.
“Yeah.”
“That’s real.” you said, more convinced.
Jake nodded, kissing your cheek softly. “Looks like we’re doing it again.”
You turned in his arms, eyes brimming, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “What if I can’t handle it? What if it’s too much?”
“You will handle it,” he said firmly. “Because you’re strong. And because I’m here, and we already made the best little human in the world. We can do it again.”
You clung to him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “He’s gonna be a big brother.”
Jake pulled back just enough to smile at you. Really smile. “Can you imagine him? With a little sibling running after him?”
“He’ll boss them around.”
“He’ll protect them.”
You laughed again, eyes still blurry with emotion. “We need to tell him.”
Jake looked toward the door. “Now?”
You paused. “Not yet. Let’s just…hold it, just for a little bit. Just ours.”
He nodded. “Just ours.”
There was still pain. Still nausea. Still fear.
But Jake was here. You were here. And there was life, again, starting inside you.
Another heartbeat waiting to be loved.
☆.
You never liked hospitals.
They always smelled too clean, too sharp, like something was being covered up.
But you went anyway, let Yunjin drive you in her little too-fast-for-comfort car with her playlist blaring.
She didn’t let you argue. Not when she saw the look on your face after the test. Not when she showed up with a fresh croissant and a determined, no-bullshit attitude.
“I’m not letting you stay in bed and Google symptoms until you give yourself a panic attack,” she said. “We’re going to the doctor. I’ll hold your hand, throw up with you, whatever you need.”
True to her word, she was there when you lay back on the crinkly white paper of the exam table, heart in your throat, the sonographer squeezing warm gel onto your skin.
She didn’t let go of your hand once.
AAnd there it was.
That flickering heartbeat.
Tiny. So small it didn’t feel real until it pulsed across the screen like a drum.
You stared at it, lips parted, heart unraveling. The image was hazy, grainy, but it was there, this new, growing piece of you. Of Jake. Of your family.
You cried, of course. You always cried at these kinds of things, even if you tried not to.
Yunjin blinked hard a few times herself. “You’re really doing this again, huh?”
You laughed, a watery sound. “God, yeah.”
“You’re stronger than me.”
“No I’m not,” you said. “You’d be amazing.”
She squeezed your hand. “But right now, this baby’s gonna have the coolest mom on earth… and well, aunt, duh!”
When you finally did tell your son, Jake was the one who brought it up.
James had been building a Lego tower in the living room, lying on his stomach in his little dinosaur pajamas, humming to himself.
Jake sat beside you on the couch, his hand on your thigh, a soft press of reassurance.
“Hey, bud,” Jake said, ruffling his son’s hair, “we’ve got something kinda cool to tell you.”
James looked up, blinking, pieces of Lego clutched in each hand. “What?”
Jake looked at you. You nodded, and he smiled. “You’re gonna be a big brother.”
James blinked again. “What?”
You leaned forward. “There’s a baby growing in my tummy, sweetheart.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, “A baby? In there?” He pointed, alarmed, at your belly, which still looked more like you’d eaten too much lunch than anything else.
You laughed. “Yeah. In there.”
His mouth dropped open. “Is it gonna pop out soon?”
“Not soon,” Jake said. “You’ve got a few months, but eventually, yeah.”
James crawled closer, pressing his little hand against your shirt like he was trying to feel the baby through your skin. “Is it a girl?”
“We don’t know yet,” you said.
He tilted his head, clearly deep in thought. “Will it like dinosaurs?”
“I hope so,” Jake said, laughing.
James was quiet again for a moment, looking at you, then Jake, then back to you. “Do I have to share my snacks?”
You smiled. “Only if you want to.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said solemnly. “But only if it doesn’t touch my T-rex.”
“Deal,” Jake said.
And just like that, James accepted it.
Sort of. He had questions, of course— How does the baby breathe? Will it be loud? What if it’s a girl and doesn’t like trucks?
But in the end, he was still the sweetest baby boy on earth.
☆.
The first trimester was cruel.
The toilet became your closest companion.
Mornings were the worst: your body felt hijacked, your stomach constantly roiling, everything smelling too strong or too wrong.
Jake woke up every day with you, even when his eyes were heavy with sleep and his matches were approaching.
Even when his training hours stretched him thin. He still tried to take up time to stay with you, to train younger boxers instead of boxing himself.
But what surprised you most was James.
He’d peek into the bathroom every morning, hair sticking out in wild directions, clutching his little stuffed dinosaur by the arm.
And if Jake wasn’t already holding your hair back, James would quietly step in and do it.
He never complained.
He just stood there with a serious look on his face and said things like, “You’re doing a good job, Mommy,” or “It’s okay. Sometimes I throw up when I eat too much candy, too.”
Jake started calling him your bodyguard.
James puffed his chest with pride every time.
Sometimes, when the nausea got bad enough, Jake would carry you to bed, settle behind you, and James would crawl in on your other side and whisper stories to the baby. “Today I drew a robot. When you come out, I’ll draw you, too.”
It was in that moment that you realised you had won in life.
.
☆.
Valentine’s Day wasn’t usually a big deal for the two of you.
You’d never been the candlelight-dinner, wine-glass-clinking, heart-shaped-everything type of couple.
Your love was built on early mornings and grocery runs, on whispered goodnights and holding hands during hospital appointments, on parenting and partnership and choosing each other again and again, even on the days when your patience was thin and the dishes were stacked high in the sink.
But this year felt different.
You woke up to the soft creak of your bedroom door opening and the quiet shuffle of socks across the floor.
Your belly was heavy, so round and taut it felt like you were a balloon stretched to its final inch of give.
And you were tired. So tired.
But when you opened your eyes, you saw them— Jake, holding a bouquet of slightly squashed red roses, and James peeking from behind his leg with something hidden behind his back.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jake murmured, kneeling on the edge of the bed and brushing a kiss against your forehead.
James stepped forward, biting his lip, then presented you with…a crayon drawing of what looked like three lopsided people holding hands. “This is us,” he explained proudly. “That’s you, and that’s Daddy, and that’s me, the little one in your belly is a circle. I didn’t know if it’s a girl or a boy.”
You took it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Maybe it was.
Jake handed you the flowers with a sheepish smile. “James wanted to get you chocolates, but I told him flowers are important too.”
“Mommy should have both,” James declared.
“You taught him well,” you said, kissing your husband’s lips. Then you reached under in the bedside table drawer and pulled out a wrapped box you’d hidden last night. “And so did I.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”
“Open it.”
He unwrapped it to find a tin of dark chocolate truffles and a new pair of wraps for training —embroidered with Best Father Farter across the edge.
His smile cracked wide. “Oh my god.” he laughed loudly “I love them!”
James clambered onto the bed between you both. “Can we eat cake now?”
Jake cooked lunch while you sat on a stool in the kitchen, rubbing your belly and trying to ignore the low ache that had been bothering you all morning.
James danced around in his socks, insisting on wearing a tie for ‘the special day’c and you let him because he looked too cute not to.
The cake was store-bought, a simple one with little pink sugar hearts, but James was excited about it like it was some magical treasure.
You stood up to grab a knife to cut the first slice.
You didn’t even make it to the drawer.
Pop.
The sound wasn’t loud, but you felt it in your body, a deep, sudden release of pressure.
Warmth gushed down your legs.
You froze.
Jake, mid-laugh, stopped. “Did you— did you drop something?”
You looked down at your soaked pants. Then up at him.
“Oh my god.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Is that—? Is it happening?!”
“Yes! Jake, yes— go grab the hospital bag!”
James gasped, horrified. “You peed yourself?!”
“I didn’t pee myself, baby,” you said through gritted teeth as the first cramp twisted through your belly. “The baby’s coming.”
James blinked. “Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
Jake was moving at light speed— or maybe no speed at all.
He dropped the bouquet. Nearly tripped over James.
Grabbed his phone, then the car keys, then forgot both again.
“Okay, bag— hospital bag, where’s the— where did we—where did you put it?”
“By the door, Jake!” you snapped. “Where it’s always been.”
He stumbled off, yelling back, “I knew that! I’m calm!”
“You’re not calm!”
James was clinging to your leg like a baby koala. “Is the baby falling out right now?”
“No,” you hissed, hand gripping the table as another contraction hit, sharp and fast. “But soon if we don’t move.”
“Should I call someone?” Jake shouted from the hall.
“Yes! Call Yunjin. She needs to come stay with James!”
“I’m already on it!” he yelled back, fumbling his phone.
Yunjin picked up after two rings.
“You’re gonna want to get here,” Jake said, voice too high. “It’s happening. She’s— her water broke. Like actually broke. It’s go time.”
You grabbed the phone from him as he rushed back in. “Yunjin, please— just get here.”
“I’m on my way, don’t panic,” she said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “Tell James I’ll bring candy.”
“I’ll tell him if I survive.”
You handed the phone back to Jake, your hands trembling. “Get the car ready. I’ll get shoes.”
“You’re not getting anything. I’m carrying you.”
“Jake—”
“I’m carrying you,” he repeated, gently but firmly.
James watched the whole scene unfold like a movie, his eyes wide. “Will it hurt?”
You knelt down, wincing, brushing his cheek. “Yeah, honey. It’s going to hurt. Daddy’s going to be with me, don’t worry. you’re gonna be the best big brother ever.”
He nodded, lip trembling. “I’ll tell the baby that I love her.”
Jake kissed his forehead, voice thick. “You tell her that in person. We’ll be back with your sister soon.”
The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and quick footsteps and voices that felt like they were underwater. m
The pain hit in waves, and each time it crashed, you wanted to scream— but you didn’t.
Not yet. Not until it got worse.
And god, it got worse.
Nine hours of it.
Jake never left your side, not for a second.
You yelled at him at least three times.
“Stop talking,” you growled at him during hour five, when he was trying to distract you with some nonsense story about his first amateur fight.
He shut up. Immediately. Nodded like a soldier.
Later, when you were gripping the rail of the bed so hard your knuckles went white, you hissed, “I hate you.”
“I know,” he said.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Got it.”
“Wait, no— touch me again.”
He grabbed your hand without hesitation. “Right here.”
You screamed. He let you crush his fingers.
And when it finally happened,.
the world shrank to pressure and burning and breathless, broken sounds, you gave one last push and everything stopped.
Then—
A cry.
High and raw and brand new.
They placed her on your chest, and your hands shook when they curled around her tiny, wriggling body.
She was pink and warm and squalling like she was furious about the whole ordeal.
You sobbed.
Jake sobbed more.
Your forehead pressed to hers as you whispered, “Hi, baby. Hi, Jane… Hi, Jiheon.”
Jake kissed your temple a hundred times, his face wet with tears. “You did it. You did so good.”
“She’s so small,” you whispered.
“She’s perfect.”
You looked at her again, this little piece of you and Jake and everything that had ever been good between you.
You were exhausted, ripped open and aching, but she was here.
Your daughter.
And she was worth it all.
☆.
The world came back slowly.
Not in one clean breath, but in fragments, blinking against the dim hospital room light, the hum of machines, the sterile scent of disinfectant layered beneath something warm.
Familiar.
Jake’s cologne.
Your throat was dry, lips cracked, body heavy— wrecked didn’t even begin to describe it.
Your stomach ached with the aftershock of labor, your muscles trembling in the stillness, and for a moment, you couldn’t even tell what time it was.
Everything had blurred together into hours of pain, blood, cries, and the weight of her tiny body on your chest before darkness finally pulled you under.
But now—now it was night.
The sky outside the narrow window was ink-dark, the city lights dulled by the thickness of the glass.
You shifted just slightly, wincing at the soreness that radiated through your hips and spine, and turned your head.
He was there.
Jake was sitting in the corner chair beside your bed, hunched forward with a blanket cradled against his chest, shoulders curved inward like a shield.
His hair was a mess,, and his eyes were fixed on her with an expression so full of awe it punched the breath right out of your lungs.
He was crying. Quietly.
Not the dramatic, shaking kind of crying— just slow, steady tears, running along the curve of his jaw and down to his neck as he stared at his daughter.
“Jaeyun…” Your voice cracked like ice underfoot.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at you at first.
“She’s sleeping,” he whispered, brushing one callused thumb over her cheek, his voice so soft it barely stirred the air. “She has your nose.”
You watched him from the bed, your vision still cloudy, but yourr heart was awake now.
He looked so still, so unlike the chaotic Jake you’d known for years.
Not the boy who forgot his keys five times a week.
Not the man who cheered too loud at James’s school recitals. This was something different.
This was a father. Again.
You reached out with a hand that shook from effort. “Let me see her.”
Jake finally turned, startled like he hadn’t realized you were awake.
He sniffed, blinking hard as he carefully got up. “You’re awake,” he said, voice cracking. “God, you— are you okay? You fainted right after they took her. They said you were just exhausted, but you were out. I thought—” He paused. Swallowed. “I’ve been watching you sleep for hours.”
You blinked slowly. “You’re not supposed to say that like it’s romantic, stalker.”
That got a breath of laughter out of him, ragged and wet. He came to the side of the bed, kneeling so he could ease Jane down into your arms. “Here,” he murmured. “Hold her again.”
You adjusted your pillow, barely able to sit up.
But he helped, supporting your back, brushing the strands of hair away from your damp forehead. And then she was there, small and warm and impossibly real in your arms again.
“Hi, baby,” you whispered. “Hi, little Jane.”
“Jiheon,” Jake added softly. “That’s what I’ve been calling her. She likes it… i think. She keeps making this face when I say it— look.” He leaned in and repeated it again in a whisper, “Jiheon.”
Jane shifted slightly, scrunching her face before relaxing again. A barely-there smile tugged at Jake’s lips.
“You look like a dad of two now,” you murmured, brushing your finger along her hair. “There’s something different in your face.”
“I feel different.” He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and just breathed there for a second. “Like… more breakable.”
You rested your cheek on top of Jane’s head and closed your eyes. “You’re not. You’re stronger than you think.”
He pulled back and sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle either of you. “Do you remember what you said during hour seven?”
“Which part? I said a lot of things.”
“You said if I ever touched you again, you’d break my nose.”
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Still stands. For a while.”
Jake grinned and leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Fair. I’ll wait.”
You both sat there for a while, in the stillness that only came in the dead of night, surrounded by beeping monitors and the soft breathing of your daughter.
After a while, he reached out and brushed the back of his finger over Jane’s tiny fist. “She’s got my ears.”
You snorted. “Poor girl.”
He laughed, pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders. “James is gonna love her.”
“He already does,” you said. “He kept talking to my belly like it was a walkie-talkie.”
Jake smiled again, softer now. “He’s gonna be the best big brother.”
You were quiet for a while.
Just breathing. Just holding her.
And him holding you.
Then, your voice cracked the silence, barely a whisper.
“Thank you.”
Jake blinked. “For what?”
“For giving me them.” You looked down at Jane. “For giving me you.”
His face crumpled a little. “You gave me everything back.”
☆.
Coming home was a blur of motion and scent and warmth—soft clothes, white noise, the lingering chill of February air clinging to your coats and hair as you stepped into the house with a car seat cradled between both hands.
Jane was still asleep.
That delicate, floating sleep only newborns seem capable of, where their tiny chests rise like feathers and fall again, their mouths puckering occasionally, eyelashes still damp against their cheeks.
Your arms ached from holding her, your legs felt like jelly, and your stomach was a quilt of stretched skin and healing muscle, but lord— you were finally home.
Jake carried the bags in with one arm and hovered behind you like you might fall at any second.
His hand was low on your back. “You okay?”
“I’m… tired,” you admitted, your voice raspy with lack of sleep and recovery, but your eyes were clear. “But yeah, I’m okay.”
“Good. I want this moment to be good.”
You looked over at him. “It will be.”
James had been waiting by the window.
The second you stepped inside, his feet came skidding over the hardwood floors in his socks, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open.
“Where is she?” he breathed, like he was waiting to see a mythical creature.
Jake gently nudged the car seat toward him. “She’s sleeping. Be soft, okay?”
James crouched like it was some sacred ritual, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.
He peeked in with a squint, nose wrinkling, face twisted in deep thought.
He blinked.
Then frowned.
“…She’s kind of ugly,” he declared.
Jake choked on a laugh, reaching to ruffle his hair. “Hey.”
“But it’s okay,” James continued with a shrug. “She’s a baby. I heard some people get plastic surgery when they grow up. She can do that if she wants.”
You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling a snort. “She’s not ugly.”
“She looks like a wrinkly potato.”
“That’s cause she just came out,,” Jake said solemnly, kneeling beside him. “She’ll look better after some milk and sleep.”
James tilted his head, clearly unsure how to feel. “She smells like butt.”
You bent down beside them both, the ache in your legs sharp but ignorable.
Jane stirred a little, her mouth making a soft sucking noise, her hands twitching. “You smelled worse when you were born.”
James’s eyes widened like you’d just told him he was adopted. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Jake chimed in. “You pooped on me twice in the first week.”
James’ face lit up. “Can I hold her?”
“In a bit,” you said, brushing your fingers along his hair. “After she’s fed. And once we’re on the couch.”
He nodded, serious. “I’ll wait.”
☆.
The days passed like smoke curling around your head—soft and slow and smothering all at once.
Jane didn’t sleep unless she was on someone’s chest.
Your chest. Jake’s chest. Occasionally James’s, when he insisted on sitting perfectly still on the couch, puffed up with responsibility.
Your nights bled into mornings, your mornings into afternoons.
You could barely tell what day it was anymore. You were always either nursing, changing, soothing, or trying to catch a moment of quiet to breathe.
But even in the chaos, there were moments that glowed— small, quiet glimmers of peace.
James tiptoed more than he used to. He would pad into your bedroom at two a.m., rubbing his eyes, clutching his dinosaur plushie under one arm.
“Is she okay?” he’d whisper.
“She’s just hungry,” you’d whisper back.
Sometimes he’d crawl into the bed next to you and lie on Jake’s other side, close enough to reach for your elbow. He didn’t ask for lullabies anymore. Just your presence, closeness.
Sometimes he’d doze off again before Jane had even finished nursing.
Other times, he’d stay awake. Just watching.
“I think she likes when you sing,” he murmured one night.
You paused, fingers stroking Jane’s back. “You think?”
He nodded seriously. “Even if you’re a little out of tune.”
And Jake— Jake was different, this time.
The first time around, he’d tried. He really had.
But he was younger, more nervous, too rough around the edges, and there were nights when you’d cried in the shower because you were the one holding everything together.
But not now.
Now he was soft in the ways that mattered.
He remembered the towel you liked best and warmed it in the dryer before you bathed.
He memorized your medications, prepped your bottle without you asking.
He rubbed your feet while Jane fed, whispered affirmations when you broke into tears at 3 a.m. for no reason except that your body wasn’t yours and your brain was drowning and you missed sleeping for more than two hours at a time.
He wasn’t perfect.
He still forgot to put lids back on properly and he still knocked over the baby lotion bottle three times in the same week.
But he had learned you. Learned your limits. Your moods.
What words would help and which wouldn’t. He never made you feel like a burden. Not once.
And when you had nothing left to give— he gave you back to yourself.
You came down one night after a long nap you hadn’t even realized you’d taken, hair sticking to your forehead, your robe askew.
You expected disaster. Bottles unwashed, a screaming baby, maybe Jake asleep on the couch with James up way too late playing video games.
Instead, you found the living room lit in warm lamplight, quiet.
Jake was shirtless, Jane pressed to his chest in the baby wrap, bouncing slightly on his feet as he whispered a lullaby in half-Korean, half-english.
James was curled on the rug with dinosaurs his book, whispering the words to himself, a blanket pulled over his lap.
Your heart cracked open.
Jake looked up and smiled. “She just finished feeding. I pumped from the stash in the fridge, you looked like you needed rest.”
“I did,” you whispered.
“Go back up,” he said. “I’ll bring you tea.”
You hesitated. “I feel guilty.”
“Don’t. You gave her a whole body, we’ll take care of you now.”
You did cry then.
And when Jake wrapped you in his arms that night, you believed him.
You believed that this family, this messy, tired, beautiful family, was being held together not just by your hands, but by all three of theirs.
And that was everything.
☆.
Two years later, the kitchen smelled like strawberries and sunscreen.
It was a Sunday afternoon in early June, sun slanting through the window blinds and painting long, golden stripes across the tiled floor.
The fan hummed softly in the corner, spinning slow circles that barely stirred the air, and Jan e your little girl with her chubby hands and mismatched socks was sitting in her high chair, smearing strawberry juice across her cheeks like war paint.
Jake was crouched beside her, wiping her chin with one of the soft, floral-patterned cloths you insisted on keeping in the drawer.
His hair was still damp from the hose-outside chaos that had been an hour ago— James, laughing as Jake sprayed him down while Jane screamed and clapped from the porch.
Now everything smelled of damp grass and sweetness.
You were at the sink, rinsing a bowl, humming under your breath, tired but soft around the edges with that summer kind of fatigue that didn’t bite.
James sat at the kitchen table, arms folded, face twisted in a look of intense concentration, like he was on the verge of solving the meaning of life.
“Dad?” he said suddenly, sharp like a question he’d been chewing on all morning.
Jake looked over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, bud?”
James tapped a finger against the table. “How did you and Mom meet?”
You froze mid-rinse, hand still under the stream of water.
Jake blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Why do you wanna know?”
James shrugged, suddenly bashful, eyes darting to the side. “Just curious.”
But you saw the pink flush in his cheeks.
The way he pressed his lips together.
You turned the water off, grabbing a towel, and leaned against the counter just to watch it unfold.
“Wait.” Jake narrowed his eyes playfully. “Did something happen at school?”
James groaned. “Noooo.”
Jake smirked. “Oh my god, it did. Who is she?”
James covered his face with both hands. “Dad, no.”
“She sits next to him,” you supplied, grinning into your towel. “Pretty little thing with the pigtails and glittery pencil case, right?”
James dropped his head to the table with a muffled moan. “You guys are the worst.”
Jake cackled, reaching out to flick his son’s ear. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you how we met, but only if you promise not to laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
James lifted his head, expectant. “Tell me anyway.”
Jake stood, walking toward the fridge to grab a handful more strawberries, before leaning his hip against the counter and settling into storyteller mode.
Jane babbled, still chewing her fruit with delight.
“Well,” Jake began, “your mom hated me.”
“What?” James blinked. “Why?”
You crossed your arms. “Because he was cocky. And late. Constantly.”
“I wasn’t that late.”
“You were twenty-two minutes late to our first study session.”
“Okay, one time—”
“Every time.”
Jake huffed dramatically. “Anyway, we were in college. Same class, I noticed her first. She had this oversized hoodie and earbuds in every time she walked into the lecture hall, and she never talked to anyone.”
“I was tired.”
“Exactly. So mysterious.”
James giggled.
“I tried to sit near her a few times,” Jake continued. “You know, see if I could catch her attention, but she never looked up. So I asked to borrow her notes.”
You raised a brow. “You mean you spilled coffee on your own notes and then cornered me after class.”
Jake grinned at James like it was a badge of honor. “It worked.”
James’ eyes were wide now, totally absorbed. “Then what?”
“She agreed to help me study,” Jake said, placing a hand to his heart like he was reciting poetry. “And the rest… is history.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, it took a while,” Jake added. “Your mom wasn’t easy, she made me work for it.”
“Darn right I did.”
“But then we started spending more time together,” he said. “And she started smiling more. Laughing, she used to pretend she didn’t like me, but I could tell.”
“I didn’t like you.”
Jake shot you a look, grinning. “Tell that to the time you skipped your morning class just to meet me for coffee.”
You scowled playfully. “That was one time. And you had a cold.”
“You brought me soup.”
“Because I’m not a monster.”
James cut in. “Did you kiss?”
Jake opened his mouth, smirking, his eyes shining as if to say and not just that.
You threw a towel at him. “Don’t you dare.”
Jake caught it, snorting. “Yes, we kissed. A lot.”
James made a face. “Ew.”
“And we fell in love,” Jake added, softer now, his smile turning real, almost quiet. “Like, the kind of love where you still want to see their face even when they’re mad at you. The kind where everything feels like home when they walk into the room.”
Your chest squeezed a little.
“She’s still my best friend,” he added. “Even when she makes fun of me for how many times I lose my keys.”
You rolled your eyes. “He’s gotten better.”
“Only because you put a tracker on my keychain.”
James giggled again.
“And then,” Jake said, grinning now, “we had you.”
“Wait— how did that happen?” James asked innocently.
Jake froze. You shot him a warning glance. He paled.
“Uh—well, that’s a whole other story.”
James squinted. “Why?”
“Because it’s for grown-ups.”
“But—”
“Nope,” you said firmly, swooping in to pick Jane up from the high chair as she started getting fussy. “You’ll learn in science class.”
James groaned. “Ugh. But science is so boring.”
“Not always,” Jake said under his breath.
“Jaeyun.”
Jake raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”
Jane curled against your chest, sticky hands tugging at your shirt, and you kissed her forehead before shifting her to your hip.
“Is that really how you fell in love?” James asked quietly, looking between you both.
Jake looked at you, and you looked at him— and your heart did that warm, foolish little flip it had been doing since the first time he held your hand, since he first made you laugh until you cried.
“Yeah,” you said, brushing your fingers through James’s hair as you passed. “It really is.”
Jake came up behind you, his hand sliding to the small of your back. “Still in love, too.”
You looked up at him. “Even after I threatened to cut your head off if you gave me another baby?”
“Even then.”
James groaned. “You guys are so embarrassing.”
☆.
It was past midnight and the rain hadn’t stopped all day. It tapped gently against the window, like fingertips drumming over glass, soft enough now that it no longer sounded like thunder, but like a lullaby to the tired world.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlight that spilled in from between the curtains.
The warmth of the bed wrapped around you both like a cocoon.
The scent of rain still clung faintly to your skin from earlier— just from standing by the door too long, shoes soaked, children loud and chaotic and cooped up.
You were fast asleep now, curled beside Jake under the heavy blankets, your body drawn instinctively to his.
Your hand had found its way to his chest, fingers splayed just over where his heart beat steady.
He could feel your breath on his collarbone, soft and rhythmic, your nose cold against his neck.
He didn’t move. He never did, not when you laid like this.
He only let his arm fold around you tighter, holding you like something sacred.
His eyes didn’t close.
It had been a long day, sure— Jane had tried to flush her brother’s dinosaur down the toilet, James had gotten stuck halfway under the couch trying to retrieve a Lego piece.
But that wasn’t what was keeping Jake awake.
It was your sigh. The small one you let out just minutes ago, right before curling closer to him in your sleep.
It had sounded like comfort. Like home.
And that’s what triggered it.
That memory.
The one he couldn’t forget, even if he tried.
The one from before the house, before the kids, before everything.
The night he almost lost you.
It had been raining then, too. Harder than this. Sharper.
You stood in the middle of a soaked parking lot, your hoodie clinging to your skin like paper, hair plastered to your face, eyes wet with more than just the downpour.
You had just stormed off, away from him.
Jake had followed you out of the gym, his steps echoing behind yours, water sloshing in his shoes, fists clenched at his sides.
“You’re not listening to me!” you shouted, spinning around to face him, voice breaking over the sound of the storm. “You never listen to me!”
“I do!” Jake yelled back, stepping closer, teeth clenched. “I always do! But you’re asking me to be someone I’m not!”
“I’m asking you to stop killing yourself in the ring every weekend!” you cried, your voice raw. “I’m asking you to choose something, anything, that doesn’t make me wonder if I’ll get a call saying you won’t come home!”
Jake’s jaw tightened.
Water ran down his face, indistinguishable from the tears in your eyes.
His chest heaved, soaked through, breath misting in the cold air.
“This is all I know,” he said. “Boxing is all I have.”
“No,” you snapped, stepping toward him. “You have me. You have someone who stands outside every goddamn fight praying you don’t bleed out, you have someone who waits up, and worries, and loves you so much it hurts.”
Jake blinked at you, and for a second, he looked like he couldn’t breathe.
And you shook your head. “But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe this… us, was a mistake.”
The silence that followed made the rain sound louder. It filled the space between you like a wall.
Jake stepped forward, one slow step at a time, until he was standing in front of you, his hands shaking.
“Don’t say that,” he whispered.
You stared at him, your face trembling, your eyes full of everything you couldn’t say. “Jake—”
“I know I’m reckless, I know I’m a mess, I know I don’t always think. But you…” His hand rose, not touching you yet, hovering like you were a flame he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch. “You’re the only thing that ever made me want to slow down.”
“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I’m so scared of losing you.”
Jake’s hand finally reached you.
His fingers slid into your hair, soaked strands between his knuckles. He leaned in until your foreheads touched.
“I’m scared, too,” he said, eyes shut tight. “Of not being enough. Of being too broken to hold onto you.”
“You’re not,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re not broken.”
“I am,” he said, voice cracking. “But I’m better with you.”
The rain came harder then, a sudden gust slamming sideways into your bodies, but neither of you moved.
You were shivering. He was freezing.
The whole world felt like it was falling apart, but Jake looked at you like he’d found the eye of the storm.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t clean.
It was desperate and messy and full of everything you’d both been trying to say. His mouth found yours like he’d been drowning and just found air.
Your hands clung to his soaked hoodie, your body pressed to his like you’d never let him go.
Jake remembered how your tears had mixed with the rain, how his fingers gripped your waist too tight, how you’d gasped his name between kisses like it was a lifeline.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you’d whispered into his mouth.
“You won’t,” he’d vowed, breathless. “Not ever.”
And even back then, before promises and rings and babies with strawberry-stained mouths, he had meant it.
Now, in the warmth of your shared bed, he felt you sigh again.
Just a soft one. Almost imperceptible.
Your leg slid against his beneath the blankets, your head nuzzling deeper into the space between his shoulder and neck. Your fingers curled softly against his chest.
Jake swallowed hard. His hand moved to your back, rubbing in slow, gentle circles, his lips brushing your hair.
He breathed you in.
You were here. You were warm and whole and safe.
And so was he.
☆.
The light was soft when you stirred awake.
You shifted, your body stretching slow beneath the blankets, the cotton sheets warm from shared heat. And then you felt him.
Jake.
Pressed against your back, his chest bare, skin hot and solid.
His arm was around your waist, the other resting on the pillow beside him.
Your hand reached down, brushing over the blanket until you found his fingers resting over your stomach.
You laced yours through them, holding him there. And then you turned, slow and gentle, so you wouldn’t wake him. But he was already awake.
His eyes were open, dark under the faint shadows of morning. He was lying on his side, hair mussed from the bed, jaw dotted with the faintest stubble.
His eyes met yours right away.
“Hey,” you whispered.
“Hey.” His voice was husky, low from sleep… or maybe lack of it.
You frowned softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “You didn’t sleep.”
He didn’t answer. Just watched you. As if he was trying to memorize the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes cast shadows beneath your eyes.
You let your palm slide down to cup his cheek.
“What’s on your mind?” you murmured.
He hesitated.
Then, finally: “Nothing I can say without sounding selfish.”
Your brows drew together gently. “Try me.”
But instead of answering, Jake looked down. And you followed his gaze.
The scars. They were always there— some faint and faded, some newer. One near his ribs from that one brutal match three years ago.
Another near his shoulder, still pinkish, like a memory that hadn’t finished healing
You reached out slowly, letting your fingertips trail over the ridges of old pain, old bottles.
He didn’t flinch. He never did, not with you. But his breath did hitch slightly, the tension in his body curling tighter.
You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the one just below his collarbone. “I love these,” you whispered.
Jake’s throat bobbed with a swallow.
“They’re ugly,” he muttered, half-hearted, like he’d already lost the argument.
You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “They’re proof you survived. Every one of them means you came back to me.”
Something in him broke a little at that. His mouth opened, maybe to argue, maybe to say something tender, but the words didn’t come. His hand came up instead, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of it.
“I thought about you last night,” he said softly. “Back when you almost left. Out in the rain…. that fight.”
You nodded, heart aching at the memory. “It was a long time ago.”
His hand slid from your cheek to your neck, fingers splaying out along the curve of it, then down your spine, slow and reverent. “I didn’t sleep because I kept thinking what if you had left. What if I’d pushed it too far, if we never made it here.”
You shifted closer, pressing your body to his fully, your forehead resting against his. “But I didn’t. I stayed. You fought for me.”
His lips touched yours then— barely. A brush, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.
Even after all those years.
Your hand slid down between you, over the swell of his chest, your palm flat and warm against his heartbeat.
“Still fighting for you,” he whispered, eyes on yours.
And it was then, without another word, that you leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft at first. Slow. Like a secret.
Your lips moved over his with a quiet kind of hunger, not the desperate kind from that night in the rain, but something deeper.
The kind that comes after years of waking up next to each other. After babies. After late nights and early mornings and scars.
Jake kissed you back like he needed you. Like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in that moment.
His hand slipped under the fabric of your shirt, finding the skin of your back, pulling you closer until not even air could live between your bodies.
You pressed yourself to him, your hand roaming his torso, fingers tracing over his skin like you were memorizing the feel of him.
He let out a shaky breath against your lips, his hips shifting forward just enough for you to feel the truth of his want, hard and insistent against your thigh.
“I missed you,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw. “Even with you right next to me.”
You shivered under his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently to bring his face back to yours. “Then take it,” you breathed. “Take me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
Jake rolled you onto your back slowly, carefully, his body hovering over yours, warm and heavy and familiar. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and you let him, eyes fluttering shut, breath uneven.
His hands slipped under your shirt and you arched into his touch, letting him pull the fabric up and over your head. He looked down at you like you were art.
You tugged his mouth back to yours.
When he finally slid inside you, it was slow and careful. You both gasped— every time felt new, felt real, like the first and last and only time.
You clung to him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist.
He rocked into you gently, his mouth finding every part of you he could reach: your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast.
“Still with me?” he asked, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to yours.
“Always,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth.
The rhythm between you built slowly, nothing rushed. You moved together in sync, bodies finding each other like they were made to.
You moaned softly into his ear, hands trailing down his back, nails digging in just enough to make him shiver.
“Lord, I love you,” Jake breathed, pressing his hips deeper. “I love you so much it scares me.”
“I know,” you whispered, blinking through the haze of your pleasure. “I know, baby.”
You held on to each other through it all, the high and the fall, the quiet panting breaths after, the way your hearts beat wildly in sync beneath the mess of limbs and blankets.
After, when your breathing slowed and he was still inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck, you stroked his back softly.
You didn’t say anything. Just kissed the top of his head.
And somewhere down the hall, a floor creaked.
You both froze.
Jake groaned into your shoulder. “Ten dollars that it’s Jane.”
You smiled, lips against his hair. “Or James looking for cereal.”
Jake sighed. “We need a lock on this door.”
“Yeah,” you chuckled, pulling the blanket over both your heads as if it could delay reality for just a few more minutes. “Later.”
“Later,” he agreed, pressing one last kiss over your heart.
SUMMARY: after ferrari’s golden boy crashes in order to save his teammate, he is stuck at the hospital with burns all over his body. between long shifts and the hospital’s desolation, he brings a light in your life that is hard to forget once he’s free to go home.
WARNINGS: feat enhypen RIKI and JAKE. hospital settings, medical terms, mentions of car crashes, blood, burns, mentions of death (brief description, not detailed), mentions of abusive parent, medical conditions, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
a/n: i believe this could’ve turned out better but i wanted to publish my babies (i’ve been writing them since this summer) so please lmk your thought and opinions!! 🩷🫶 RIKI’S SEQUEL IS OUT!!
The emergency room had seen chaos before, but tonight felt heavier.
It started with sirens, loud and insistent, even through the thick hospital walls, and a nurse rushing in with wide eyes and a shaking tablet.
“Two criticals inbound, Formula one accident. One with full-body burns and head trauma, the other with a compound leg fracture and suspected internal bleeding.”
You didn’t look up until the gurneys were rolled in. The automatic doors swung open with a hiss, letting in two stretchers, wheeled fast.
The first man on the left stretcher wasn’t moving, blood was matting the dark fringe of his hair, and his face was pale under the running crimson.
His racing suit, at least, what remained of it, was slit down the middle already, soaked through.
The other one was conscious, barely. He was moaning low, his gloved hand clutching at his stomach.
His helmet was off, but there were burn marks curling along the side of his jaw, climbing his neck like vines. His left eye was bloodshot, and blood was crusting near his temple.
Someone called names, the trauma doctor barking orders, nurses scattering.
"Male, in his twenties, suspected third-degree burns, signs of cranial impact, get a scan, now!”
You walked beside them, flipping through the patient file as quickly as it populated.
Blood type, height, weight, nothing else yet. No names. Just codenames and a tag: F1 INCIDENT – NIGHT PRACTICE RUN.
The burn patient was rushed straight into the burn unit. The younger one too, the boy, he looked like a boy, no older than nineteen, with a mess of internal damage. You heard the word “rupture.” Someone else said “splintered bone.”
The moment the doors shut behind the burning team, you exhaled and leaned against the wall.
“Oh my God.” One of the nurses beside you whispered. “That’s Lee Heeseung and Nishimura Riki… holy shit.”
You blinked. “Who?”
The girl stared at you like you had three heads. “Heeseung? He’s like… a living legend in F1. He won Monaco last year blind in one eye… you seriously don’t know?”
You shrugged. “Not really my thing.”
She shook her head. “Well, it’l be now.”
And in fact, two hours later, you were re-assigned.
“Y/N, you’ll be in the burning unit monitoring, in a private suite.” The charge nurse handed you a clipboard. “VIP patient.”
You glanced down at the name, written in capital letters: LEE HEESEUNG
The report was horrifying, with skin grafts that started on both arms and his left shoulder, smoke inhalation damage that would be treated by manually removing it with a tube in the lung.
Followed by a nasty concussion with swelling that had the neurosurgeon double-checking his pupils every ten minutes, and last but not least a multiple rib fractures from the crash impact.
He’d been put in a medically induced coma for the first few hours, and the sedation wouldn’t wear off until sometime tomorrow. You’d be there to monitor vitals, manage the IV, prep for re-evaluation.
His room was on the east wing, he kind of suite reserved for politicians or royalty.
You slipped inside quietly. Heeseung looked worse now that everything was cleaned up.
The bandages made it more real, he gauze that circled half his head, the IVs in both arms, the oxygen line.
You adjusted the chart at the foot of his bed, but there was a whisper of movement behind you that distracted you.
The man that stepped in wasn’t that tall, with tousled hair and hoodie slung half-off his shoulder. There was dried blood on his jeans.
“Are you the nurse assigned to Heeseung?”
You nodded. “Just got here, are you family? Visiting hours are over.”
“I’m the— uh, manager. My name’s Sim Jake.” He extended his hand, but it trembled, so he dropped it. “Sorry, I— fuck, I can’t think. Is he stable?”
You nodded slowly. “He made it through all the check ups without surgery. He’s sedated, but stable. We’ll have to monitor him for the next 24 hours very closely, especially with the head injury.”
Jake exhaled so hard his shoulders dropped. “And Riki?” he asked quietly.
“From what I heard, he’s still in surgery.”
He pressed his palms together, his eyes were red-rimmed, like he’d been crying or lacked sleeping “They said it was gonna be a regular night, y’know? pre-race laps. Heeseung didn’t even wanna go.”
You stayed quiet. You’d seen people talk to cope, and you learned how to let them.
Jake stared at the bed, at Heeseung’s unconscious body, and then sat down heavily in the corner chair.
“There was a malfunction,” he said slowly. “In Riki’s brakes, his car didn’t slow down on the fourth turn. It’s a corner he usually takes at normal speed, but he went full throttle tonight, he really wanted to impress everyone.” he swallowed, “he didn’t know. Couldn’t have, there was no control. He was headed straight for the barricade, and spectators were there… families with kids.”
You frowned slightly, brows pulling.
“Heeseung… he saw it. He was in front Riki but he saw what was about to happen, he heard it from the communications radio,” he sighed “so he— he pulled out of line, he s werved into his path.”
Jake’s voice cracked. “He used his own car to stop Riki’s, took the hit full-on, it exploded on fire on impact.”
Your throat felt tight. You glanced at Heeseung again, this time a little different.
“He sacrificed himself,” Jake said, hands fisting in his lap. “To stop Riki from plowing into the stands.”
You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how anyone could choose that kind of pain on purpose.
“He’s gonna live, right?” Jake asked, suddenly boyish. Less like a manager and more like a friend.
You nodded slowly, gaze still on the man lying in the bed. “We’ll do everything we can.”
🏁.
He slipped in and out of consciousness through the long stretch of the night, a haze of morphine clouding over his expression every time he stirred.
Most of it was just moaning, incoherent words under his breath, sometimes Riki’s name.
other times it was just soft whimpers, sharp exhales that caught against his bandaged ribs.
Once, around 3:40 AM, he jolted awake with a short cry and tried to move. His hands jerked upward instinctively, maybe to protect himself… maybe reaching for a steering wheel.
You had to catch his wrist gently and murmur softly until he settled again. “It’s okay,” you whispered, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re safe, you’re not in the car anymore.”
His eyes fluttered beneath bruised lids, and for a second, he stared right through you.
His lips parted, dry and cracked. You held a straw to them and helped him sip water, watched him wince even from that tiny effort, and then he was gone again.
Back into the warmth of sedation, head rolling softly to one side. Morphine dripped slow into his IV. You monitored the levels and checked the rate. You replaced the saline bag when it was almost empty and you didn’t leave the room even when your shift technically ended.
By morning, you were back at your post before the sun had even fully risen.
You weren’t due for another hour, but you couldn't stay home knowing he might wake again confused, aching and… alone.
But when you entered the room, he was already awake. Well, barely, but it was something.
The soft hum of the monitor greeted you first. His vitals were holding steady, but the real sign was the way his eyes, still a bit unfocused, and a little raw, tracked you as you stepped in.
You set your clipboard down quietly and met his gaze. “Hey,” you said softly.
He blinked slowly, then frowned. “Fuck,” he rasped, “I’m not dead?”
His voice was hoarse, painful to hear, but you managed a small smile. “Not yet, sorry.”
A weak huff pushed from his chest, maybe a laugh, or maybe a cough, you couldn’t tell. He shifted, then immediately grimaced, body locking stiff.
“It’ll hurt,” you warned, reaching out to adjust his pillow. “Your ribs are still healing.”
“No shit,” he groaned, swallowing hard. “Why… why can’t I feel my neck? and my chest and arms feel—“ another cough “numb.”
You hesitate, then walked to the bedside. His eyes were clearer now, but clouded with the edge of something worse than fear. The dread of what he didn’t know yet.
“You have third-degree burns on your neck and parts of your chest and arms. The reason you can’t feel them is… because the nerves are gone.” You tried to explain it as easily as possible.
His eyes flicked downward toward his shoulder, then to the heavy gauze wrapping his forearm. He didn’t move, just stared. “Am I—” His voice caught. “How bad does it look?”
You exhaled. “Bad,” you said honestly. “But they did a clean graft. You’ll get function back, most likely. The nerve endings yes… maybe not sensation in some areas. But it’s early, the burn team will know more after the swelling goes down.”
He closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenching.
Silence stretched. Then, his throat worked, voice more broken than before. “Riki?”
You nodded slowly, folding your arms. “He’s alive, though still unconscious. He had internal bleeding, and a compound fracture in his left leg. He’s in post-op recovery now, but he’s stable.”
His entire face tightened, like the weight of it had finally dropped onto his chest. His fingers clenched weakly around the edge of the sheet, and he looked away, toward the window where the morning light was just beginning to creep in through the blinds.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Good. He— he’s just a kid.”
You sat down in the chair beside him, scribbled a note on the chart, and glanced over.
“He’s lucky,” you said softly. “that you were there.”
He didn’t answer.
You knew Jake was still outside. He’d arrived early again, eyes red, pacing the hallway like a ghost. You’d seen him hovering through the glass window earlier, glancing in, debating whether or not to come in.
Now, as Heeseung winced and shifted slightly, you knew he wouldn’t want to deal with him yet.
“You’ve got someone outside,” you said after a pause. “Jake, right? Your manager.”
Heeseung closed his eyes.
“I don’t have the energy for him right now,” he muttered. “He’s just gonna yell.”
“Then he can wait.” you stood, heading toward the door. “You need rest, not a lecture.”
You stepped out quietly and met Jake’s eyes. He stood up instantly. “Is he awake? Can I—?”
“He’s not in the mood to talk,” you said, keeping your voice low but firm. “He’s in pain, and he’s processing. Maybe come back tomorrow?”
Jake’s face fell, but he nodded, rubbing his hand over his mouth, murmured something that resembled a ‘thank you’ before stepping away.
When you returned to the room, Heeseung was still awake, eyes half-closed, the tension in his shoulders loosened by a fraction. “You want me to turn the lights down a bit?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “My eyes hurt.”
You moved to the wall, dimmed them until the room was cast in soft amber.
And when you returned to your seat, he glanced over, lips cracked, voice barely above a whisper. “…What’s your name?”
“Y/N.” you replied “I’ll be your nurse for the time you stay here.”
He blinked. “You’re the one who was here last night.”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “You tried to punch me when I held your hand.”
His brows creased. “Did I?”
“You missed.” You shrugged and a ghost of a smile touched his mouth, the first one real enough to settle.
🏁.
When you pushed the door open after your lunch break, it was with the quiet intent of checking Heeseung’s vitals, maybe adjusting his IV line again.
You expected him to still be in pain, perhaps trying to sleep it off. You did not expect what you found.
Three nurses, all hovering around his bed like moths to a dying flame.
One was adjusting his blanket even though it was already neatly draped, another was holding a spoon of soup like it was some kind of sacred ritual, and the last one— oh, she was massaging lotion onto the one patch of unburned skin on his hand with a focus that was frankly excessive.
Heeseung looked… tired. Not just physically, but emotionally drained, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the attention.
His eyes met yours almost instantly as you stepped in, and something like relief washed over his features.
You didn’t smile. “Out,” you just said, sharp but calm.
All three of them froze, as if you’d pulled the fire alarm. One nurse looked like she might argue, but you raised your brow just slightly, and she faltered.
“But we were just—”
“I’m sure you were,” you cut her off smoothly. “He’s under recovery care, not an autograph booth.”
The room grew ten degrees colder.
They scurried out with muttered apologies, not meeting your gaze. One of them left behind the bowl of half-stirred soup and a chocolate pudding cup on the tray.
Heeseung watched you settle the tray on the adjustable table and pull it close to him.
“So,” you said, lifting the spoon from the bowl, “how many fangirls have snuck in while I was gone?”
He grimaced slightly. “Only them, I tjink… one kept calling me ‘hero.’ I tried to play dead but they didn’t leave.”
You smirked faintly, scooping up a small portion of the lukewarm soup “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to fake injuries for attention?”
He gave a weak chuckle. “Pretty sure I didn’t have to fake anything.”
You lifted the spoon to his lips, watching as he took the soup carefully, his lips parting just slightly, eyes grimacing a little at the taste. His neck muscles twitched, probably from strain, and he exhaled hard after swallowing.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Is that soup or dishwater?”
“Hospital cuisine,” you said solemnly. “Five-star micheline.”
He took another spoonful, slowly, wincing just from the movement of his jaw.
He still looked rough, his color wasn’t good, skin pale and slightly ashy from the burn meds. His arms were stiff at his sides, bandaged still, and you could tell the hunger was there, but the effort… not so much.
You opened the pudding cup next, gave it a little stir with the plastic spoon. He looked at it like it was the most edible thing he’d seen in weeks.
“Oh thank god,” he said. “I’ve never been so excited for fake chocolate in my life.”
“Open up,” you said, and he did, the sweetness seeming to go down easier than the soup. He sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
“I thought I’d feel better today,” he murmured. “But I still feel like shit.”
“You’re not even forty-eight hours post the accident yet,” you reminded him. “Your body’s still trying to decide if it wants to forgive you.”
He shifted then, just a little, then a little more. “Careful—”
“I wanna sit up more,” he mumbled, already pressing one arm against the bed, trying to push himself.
You leaned in, firm but calm. “Heeseung, stop.”
“I can’t just lie here—”
“You literally must.”
His eyes flashed with stubbornness, but then he grimaced hard, pain tightening his mouth.
You reached out instinctively, palm flat on his shoulder, not the burned one, holding him still.
“Don’t be stupid,” you said quietly. “Your ribs are still cracked, you won’t win against gravity.”
His jaw clenched. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
He looked away, toward the window. The light outside was gentler now, filtered through the clouds.
His face was drawn, and you could see it in the way he held himself, he wasn’t just sore, he was frustrated
The kind of man who didn’t like stillness. Who probably measured his self-worth by his speed.
“You’re scheduled to remove some of the smoke still in your lungs,” you told him, “It will not be pleasant.”
“Great,” he said sarcastically, “On a scale from one to ten?”
You thought about if for a minute, “I’ve never done it, but I will not lie that I think it will be a solid eight.”
You adjusted the pillow behind his back carefully, angling the bed up a little more for him. He didn’t resist this time, just watched your hands.
“You’re not useless just because you’re healing,” you said, mentioning the previous conversation. “You saved someone. That’s not something your body gets over in a day.”
Heeseung was quiet for a long moment, the sound of the heart monitoring a steady pulse beside you.
“…he’s still not awake, right?” he asked softly.
You nodded. “Still out, but stable.”
He didn’t respond to that. Just stared out at the window again, jaw working.
You finished cleaning up the tray, wiping the corner of his mouth where a little pudding had smeared.
Your fingers brushed along his chin lightly, and for a second, his eyes dropped to your hand.
When you pulled back, he exhaled slowly.
“Thanks,” he said, voice lower now.
You didn’t smile, but your voice was soft. “Stop trying to get up, and I’ll bring you something that actually tastes like food tomorrow.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering, then gave a small nod.
“No fangirls,” you added, pointing an accusing finger towards him.
He smiled, just barely. “Only you then?”
You rolled your eyes and stood.
“Don’t push it.”
🏁.
Days blurred together like a long breath you couldn’t quite finish taking.
Outside, the world carried on, traffic, sunrises, clouds rolling over the hospital’s concrete edges, but inside that room, things moved slower.
Jake came every day now, just after lunch, always bringing a different set of sports magazines or articles printed off from the web.
Heeseung barely read them, but he listened when Jake talked about regular things, probably as not to overwhelm him with the fact that races continued wven as he laid on a hospital bed.
A video someone posted of Riki doing stupid tricks in a go-kart. They didn’t say much about the boy himself, not with him still in the ICU, but you could feel the tension crackle in Jake every time he left, like walking out of that room meant abandoning someone else who couldn’t speak for himself yet.
You didn’t press him, and yoou didn’t ask questions.
You were too busy with your own routine.
You came into Heeseung’s room just before the evening shift change.
The light outside had gone pale blue, casting long shadows across the tile floor.
You rolled in a small cart with the supplies, like bandages, ointments, saline and gauze. He was already sitting up a little, watching you.
His face still bore the bruises of the accident, but the swelling had gone down, and his eyes tracked your every movement now, sharp and clear.
“You get a new uniform?” he asked, voice less raspy than before but still colored with something teasing.
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s the same one you bled on two days ago. We just wash them sometimes.”
“Hot,” he murmured, then hissed softly as he tried to adjust his shoulder.
“Don't be cute,” you muttered. “It’s wound cleaning day.”
You started with his head. The bandage there had to be changed slowly, carefully, because the skin underneath was still raw and sensitive.
You gloved up, peeled back the old gauze from his temple, then gently dabbed at the edges of the injury with a saline-soaked pad.
He winced, but didn’t complain. Not like he had the first time. “You’re quieter than usual,” he said.
“You want me to make small talk while I pull the rest of your scabbed flesh off?” You raised a brow at him. He let out a breathy laugh and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind the distraction.”
You wrapped the fresh bandage around his head, secure but loose enough not to give him a headache.
Then you moved to his chest. He shifted again, the sheets falling to his lap as you pulled the gown down and exposed the burns that still ran like brutal red streaks from just below his collarbone down to the edge of his ribs, spreading across his right shoulder and part of his upper arm. Some had darkened and some peeled.
But all of it looked painful.
You dipped a gloved finger into the ointment and began carefully applying it over the healing areas.
You didn’t flinch at the way the flesh had hardened in some parts, blistered in others. You’d seen worse.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
“Yeah,” he said through his teeth. “Feels like acid.”
“It’s just medicine.”
“I know, but I like being dramatic.”
You gave a short laugh, smoothing the ointment into the side of his neck, then placed new gauze over it, pressing down gently to secure it.
“I don’t know how you do this every day,” he said after a while “I mean, taking care of people like this…. like me. It can’t be the easiest job.”
You shrugged, taping down the last piece. “I’ve had harder patients.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. There was this guy once who thought flirting through third-degree burns was charming.” you teased.
He chuckled, and you moved to his arms next, slowly peeling back the old dressings.
His skin twitched under the fresh air, his fingers curling instinctively. You worked in silence for a while, glancing up only when you noticed him watching you.
“What?” you asked.
He tilted his head a little. “Nothing, you just never talk about yourself.”
You finished smoothing a patch of ointment along his bicep before answering. “There’s not much to say.”
“Bullshit. You’re in here every day, making sure I don’t die of infection or morphine withdrawal. You clean me, feed me, fight off the occasional fangirl. You’ve gotta have more going on than this.”
You paused. Then looked up at him… you didn’t really have an entertaining life outside the hospital, so you opted for something safe. “I’m also assigned to another patient.”
He blinked. “Yeah?”
You nodded, wrapping his arm now. “A kid about nine years old. He came in with a collapsed lung.”
Heeseung stilled slightly. “Accident?”
“No.” you gulped. “His father beat the shit out of him.”
Something in his face twisted then, slow and ugly. You continued softly. “He’s doing better now. Still needs the oxygen support, but he’s laughing again. Oh, and he loves dinosaurs.”
Heeseung’s voice was low. “Do people like that guy, his father, just get to walk around free?”
“It’s… complicated.” You said, your hands working focused. “He’s on the loose, police are searching for him.”
“Fuck.” He exhaled sharply, then looked away. “I thought I had it bad.”
You finished dressing the last of his wounds, peeling off your gloves with a soft snap and tossing them into the bin.
“You did,” you said quietly. “Pain doesn’t need to compete.”
He looked at you again then, for a long time. You weren’t sure what was in his eyes exactly. Respect, maybe sadness. Something softer, too.
“Thanks,” he said.
You gave him a faint smile, then reached for the blanket again, pulling it over his legs gently. “Don’t move too much tonight.”
“No promises.” Heeseung shrugged.
“I’ll sedate you if I have to.” you threatened.
He smirked. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve done to me.”
You rolled your eyes, gathered your supplies, and started toward the door. Before you stepped out, you glanced back.
He was still looking at you. Not like a patient looking at a nurse.
Like a man trying to understand someone he suddenly realized he didn’t know at all.
🏁.
Riki woke up the following week.
The update came in quietly, just after sunrise, passed from the ICU nurse on duty to your floor with that same hushed relief you’d felt pressing at the back of your ribs since the accident.
He was conscious, but weak. He was. fading in and out of sleep, but breathing on his own, and whispering broken sentences when someone leaned in close enough to hear.
You didn’t rush to tell Heeseung.
You waited until you finished your morning rounds, changed his bandages, fed him half of his usual breakfast. He didn’t complain today. Not once, and that alone told you his mind was elsewhere.
It wasn’t until you were refilling his IV fluids that you finally told him.
“Riki’s awake,” you said simply, not looking up as you slid the fresh saline bag onto the pole.
The stillness in the room shifted sharply.
Heeseung’s voice was instant, a little breathless. “When?”
“This morning.” You turned to him. “He’s in the trauma unit now. They transferred him just after stabilizing.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. His hands flexed slightly at his sides. “Can I see him?”
You hesitated. “You’re not exactly in any shape to—”
“I can sit,” he cut in quickly. “If I sit in a wheelchair, I can do it. I swear I won’t move. Just— five minutes. Please.”.
He was still so pale. The bruising around his eye had darkened into a dull ochre. The bandages on his neck peeked out from under his gown. His arm was trembling just from lifting the glass of water earlier.
He wasn’t ready. But you also knew he’d never feel ready, and something told you he wouldn’t rest until he saw Riki for himself.
You sighed, pulling your gloves off. “Alright, but you don’t lift a finger. You move wrong and I’ll have you sedated for real this time.”
He smiled weakly. “God, that’s hot.”
You shot him a flat look. “Try me.”
You brought the chair around slowly. He watched every motion as you locked the brakes, looped the IV pole onto the hooks, and adjusted the footrest to keep his legs steady. Then came the hard part.
“Okay,” you said gently, moving to his side. “You’re gonna need to lean forward on three. I’ll brace your back. Use your left arm if you can. The right’s still healing.”
He nodded once, already concentrating “One… two.. three.”
He grunted as he moved, your arm slipping under his to guide his weight forward. It took everything in him not to scream, you could tell.
His ribs were like cracked glass, one wrong shift and he’d shatter. But he bit it back, his jaw clenched, and let you ease him into the wheelchair slowly.
Once he was seated, you adjusted his gown to keep the bandages covered, re-checked the IV tube to make sure it wasn’t pulled, and only when everything was steady did you release a breath.
“You good?” you asked.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.. fuck. I feel like a grandpa.”
The trauma unit wasn’t far, but you still took it slow. Every bump in the linoleum seemed to jolt through his bones.
You moved carefully, guiding the chair down the hallway, keeping your hand on the bar, and checking on him every few seconds. He didn’t talk, he just stared straight ahead.
When you reached Riki’s room, you paused at the door. “You sure?” you asked.
Heeseung nodded quietly and so you opened the door slowly.
The lights were dimmed inside, soft beeping of monitors the only sound.
Riki was lying still, propped slightly against the incline of the bed. His skin was a mess of bruises, purple and green splotches painting across his arms and cheek. A heavy cast swallowed most of his left leg, raised and elevated on a cushion.
There were faint stitches near his collarbone, and you saw the tremble of his chest with every breath.
But his eyes were open and conscious, staring at the white ceiling.
When he saw Heeseung, something in his expression cracked. His mouth moved first, like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Heeseung…”
Heeseung tried to lean forward but flinched instantly. You stepped in and pressed lightly on his shoulder.
“Careful,” you murmured.
“I thought you were dead,” Riki said, voice hoarse and small.
Heeseung swallowed, eyes shining faintly. “So did I.”
Riki blinked rapidly. “They said you— why the fuck did you stop in front of me like that? That’s not…” He trailed off, voice thick. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.”
Heeseung stared at him for a long moment. “You were headed for the barricade.”
“You should’ve just let me crash.” Riki snapped.
Heeseung’s voice was low, steady. “No, i really shouldn’t have.”
The silence between them settled like a weight. You didn’t speak, nor did you move. You saw how Heeseung’s hands gripped the armrests, how Riki tried to blink away the water in his eyes.
“You look like shit,” Riki finally said, a faint smile twitching at his lips.
Heeseung gave a tired breath of a laugh. “Yeah. So do you.”
You looked between the two of them. “I’ll give you a few minutes… just don’t make him laugh too hard. His ribs won’t survive it.”
🏁.
Two more weeks passed, and the days started blending again, though in a different rhythm now.
Rehab was slower, less frantic than the ER, but harder in other ways.
You watched Heeseung try to curl his fingers around a towel for ten full minutes one morning, sweat beading along his brow while the physical therapist kept encouraging him softly, and he just clenched his jaw and tried again and again, even when the pain clawed up from his shoulder into his teeth.
The nerves in his right arm were slow to wake. Some hadn’t at all.
But he worked through it, every day. There were setbacks and ghost pains and frustration.
A dozen nights when he asked you to help him sleep with medications because the sensation of nothing in his arm felt worse than agony.
You tried your best to support him, to give him the strength he was missing.
He could get a game of cards with you each time he managed to complete an exercise, and though he struggled to hold the cards in hands, he looked forward to it.
He always did, but one day you didn’t arrive at the time you usually did.
You always checked in after the rehab sessions. Always adjusted the pillows, changed his IV port, sometimes brought him sickeningly sweet tea even though it wasn’t officially allowed.
That afternoon, he returned from physical therapy looking exhausted and stiff, arm strapped carefully in the sling again.
You would be waiting for him, and even if he felt tired, he was excited to tell you about his progress.
But when he got in there were no cards and no you.
He was half-dozing when the door finally opened, with but the footsteps weren’t yours. The nurse on duty came in to check his meds, and as she adjusted his meds she told him you were coming but were just running late.
She went away, and when the door opened again some time later, it was you.
You came in fast, too fast and your steps uneven. Your scrubs were wrinkled, your hair pulled back hastily.
You didn’t even glance at him, just went straight to the counter and dropped your bag like your hands didn’t know what to do with anything.
“Hey,” he said, quietly.
“Hey.” You replied hurriedly.
He tried to push himself up further in bed, and that simple movement sent a spasm through his ribs. He hissed but kept watching you.
Your hands were shaking as you reached for the gloves. You put them on hastily and put some morphine drops in his IV line.
Or tried to, because the needle kept missing. You tried again and again.
“Hey.” He murmured, brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” you gulped, voice shaky, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
But he didn’t buy your lie, so he said more firmly, “Y/N.”
You stopped moving and dropped your hands on the medicine counter. “I lost him.”
The words came out too sharp and too sudden. You hadn’t meant to say them like that. You hadn’t even known what you meant to say until they tore out of your mouth.
He blinked slowly. trying to piece the words together. “The kid?”
You turned slowly toward him, your eyes wide and glassy, and you laughed, a short and broken sound. It caught in your throat. You clutched the edge of the t counter like it could hold you up.
“I— I did everything. Everything I was supposed to. He was smiling yesterday… and… and he even asked me to draw dinosaurs on his oxygen mask. I told him I would after he ate his dinner.”
He didn’t speak, he let you rant, because he knew you needed not to be strong for once. You needed a shoulder to cry on.
You stepped forward, then dropped to your knees before you even realized it. The medical equipment fell from your hands.
“He started coughing and he didn’t stop,” you whispered, voice already breaking. “His lung… it filled with blood. He couldn’t breathe and we couldn’t intubate fast enough. He choked in front of us. In front of me.”
Your hands pressed to your face. “I tried… I tried so fucking hard—”
Your sobs ripped out of you, loud and uncontained, ugly sobs that rocked your body. Heeseung reached out before his body could protest. “Come here.”
“No,” you gasped. “I can’t— I’m not supposed to—”
“Come here.” He repeated firmly.
You crawled toward the bed on your knees, hands shaking too much to reach for anything.
He managed to lower his good arm toward you, fingers trembling as they brushed against your shoulder.
You pressed your face to the side of the bed, arms folded awkwardly under you, and sobbed into the blanket.
He winced, but he kept his hand there on your back. His thumb moved in slow, unsteady circles, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “You did everything you could.”
“I didn’t save him.” You snapped.
“Sometimes… sometimes you can’t.” He tried to reason. “I promised I’d come see him tomorrow.” You whispered brokenly.
Heeseung’s breath hitched, and he closed his eyes like he could carry the weight of that grief for you.
“I keep seeing his face,” you whispered. “He looked so scared.”
“I know that feeling,” he murmured. “I know, I see the fire every night.”
Your fingers curled into the blanket. He moved his hand and brushed your hair back behind your ear. The gentlest touch he could manage.
“You made him forget the horrors he went through,” he said softly. “You were there. That matters more than anything.”
You couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t even pretend to be the composed nurse anymore.
You weren’t her right now. You were just you, kneeling on the floor beside a patient who had become more than just a chart.
You stayed there, head buried into the side of the bed, tears soaking through the sheet, while Heeseung lay still, chest tight, body too raw to offer more than the steady, quiet presence you’d once given him.
Eventually, your sobs softened, worn out. Like the grief had burned through you fast and left only ash behind.
He spoke again, voice slow. “You can sit up here, if you want.”
You shook your head. “I don’t want you to move.” Even in your pain, uou cared more for him.
“I won’t.” He shifted his hand slightly, inviting. “Just stay beside me..”
So you did, because you weren’t really in the right state of mind to list all the reasons why you shouldn’t.
You climbed onto the edge of the bed slowly, not to disturb the tubes or bandages, and leaned gently against the side of his body. His good arm curled around your back.
Just for a moment you let yourself be held.
🏁.
It was quiet between you for a long while. His hand was warm where it rested on your back, too warm for someone who’d spent the last few weeks surrounded by machines and medications and cold gauze.
You were still curled into the side of the bed, your cheek resting just beside the edge of his chest, body limp from the sobbing.
“Hey.” He finally spoke.
You shifted, barely lifting your head. “Mh?.”
He angled his neck enough to glance down at you. “Wheel me downstairs.”
You blinked slowly. “Downstairs where?”
“The cafeteria.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him properly. His face was worn, but his expression was serious.
You stared hard. “You’re not allowed down there yet.”
He shrugged with one shoulder. “Neither was I allowed to have Jake’s candy bars, but I’ve had three Twix and two mini bags of Doritos this week, and I haven’t died.”
Your brows lifted. “You’ve been cheating on your meal plan?” He gave a faint smirk. “Religiously.”
“You sighed, pressing your fingers to your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do right now was escort a stubborn F1 driver out of his room for snacks like he hadn’t nearly burned alive three weeks ago.
But the truth was, your chest still hurt. The grief still sat in your bones, but it was quieter now, and something in his voice had shifted.
“Fine,” you muttered, standing. “But you’re wearing your sling, and your hospital bracelet stays visible. If anyone asks, you’re on a medically supervised movement.”
“Lord,” he murmured. “You make rule-breaking sound so sexy.”
You rolled your eyes, but the ache in your chest had already started to soften.
You helped him into the chair again, slower this time, letting him lean into you more than usual.
His body was getting stronger, but not by much, and even the act of standing made him wince. You adjusted his IV pole and tucked the light blue blanket across his lap before wheeling him carefully out into the corridor.
The hallway was mostly quiet as night shift had already begun. The elevators pinged with soft dings while you descended.
“Did you bring me down here to flirt with the volunteers again?” you asked as the doors opened on the ground floor.
“No,” he said. “They don’t make eye contact anymore. I think you scared them off.”
You snorted. “Good.”
The café was dimly lit, the kind that looked like it was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t inside a hospital.
You wheeled him to a table tucked in the corner, far from the noise of people or the murmur of the vending machines.
You walked up to the bar and ordered what he’d asked for, a hot chocolate with no whipped cream, and a bottle of water. The cashier rang it up, and just as you reached for your hospital-issued card, a hand beat you to it.
Heeseung had wheeled towards you, alone, and handed over a credit card without a word.
You looked at him sharply. “What the fuck are you—”
“I wanted to.” Ahe said quickly, “And I used the good arm.” He waved it for good measure.
You narrowed your eyes. “I’m on shift. I can’t let patients pay for—”
“I’m a grown man in a wheelchair, who needs your help standing while peeing, I think you deserve this.”
You stared at him for a second longer, but he didn’t waver. So you let it go, you took the tray with the drinks, careful not to spill the hot chocolate, and returned to the table.
When you set it down in front of him, he reached out for the bottle of water. He pushed the hot chocolate toward you.
You blinked, then frowned in confusion. “This is yours.”
“I ordered it for you.” He explained as if it was the most obvious thing.
Your hands hovered for a second. “You asked for it.”
“And then I gave it away.” He met your eyes, gaze soft but unwavering. “You’ve had a shit day, well, week. I figured chocolate was a safer bet than tequila.”
You slowly sat down, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. It steamed against your skin, thick and sweet-smelling.
“You still shouldn’t be paying for me,” you muttered.
“I crashed a million-dollar car. You think I’m worried about six bucks?”
You shook your head, trying to hide the way your lip tugged up just slightly.
He leaned back a little in the chair, the bottle of water resting between his thighs. “You’re allowed to sit here,” he said, voice quiet. “Not just as my nurse but just as you.”
You stared down at the cup. “I don’t think I know how to be just me anymore.”
“You do,” he said softly. “You just haven’t had time to remember.”
You took a slow sip and the warmth bled into your chest. “I think I hate hospitals,” you whispered.
He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “So do I.”
You wheeled him back before the nurse on dinner rounds made it to his floor.
Heeseung didn’t say much on the way up, he just kept his eyes ahead, arm still nestled in the sling, the blanket pooling loosely around his waist.
You stopped the wheelchair in front of his room, and opened the door wide enough for the chair to slip in.
He shifted a little as you rolled him in, wincing when the chair hit a bump in the threshold. “Careful,” he murmured.
“Sorry,” you replied quickly, helping him ease into a comfortable position beside his bed before turning off the wheelchair brakes.
You were efficient again, going through motions you’d done a hundred times, but your fingers still trembled slightly when they brushed his wrist, adjusting the IV.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For taking care of me.”
You turned toward him. “It’s literally my job
“It’s more than that,” he said. “You didn’t have to sit with me. You didn’t have to cry where I could see you.”
You swallowed, eyes briefly dropping to his blanket. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not very professional.”
“You’re too pretty to cry,” he said simply.
You rolled your eyes, stepping toward the cabinet to grab a clean set of saline wipes, trying to cover how your heart stuttered at the way he’d said it— like a fact, not a compliment.
“Don’t start,” you warned. “I’m not starting,” he said. “I’m just saying.”
You turned back to him, arms crossed, and leaned against the cabinet. “Alright, fine. How are you feeling? Really.”
He blinked at you, then tilted his head slightly, making a face. “Sore.”
“Where?” You asked.
He shifted, jaw tightening as he angled his neck. “My neck mostly. Probably the burn. It feels like it’s pulling when I sleep.”
“That’s because you keep turning your head instead of using the pillow support,” you said, walking toward him again.
You reached gently toward his collarbone, pulling back the loose hospital shirt to peek at the gauze that covered the worst of the scarring.
“You should kiss it better,” he said then, voice suddenly low.
You stopped, frozen in place. Your hand froze an inch from his skin, and his eyes flicked to your face, watching you for a reaction, but not pushing.
His lips tugged up, a faint, boyish grin pulling the corner of his mouth.
You stared at him, chest tight, then sighed through your nose and leaned in, fast, before you could think better of it, and pressed a quick kiss to the edge of his cheekbone.
Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin under your lips, to let the tension between you shift into something that made your stomach twist.
His smile widened, the surprise obvious on his face.
“Hey,” he whispered, gaze following you as you straightened and stepped back. “That was nice.”
“Don’t let it get to your head.” You said, holding a threatening finger to his face.
He laughed, low and hoarse. “Too late.”
You grabbed your clipboard, pretending to check his chart so you wouldn’t have to look at him while your face still felt warm.
“I should go,” you muttered, already walking toward the door. “Dinner shift’s starting on the east wing.”
“Wait—”
But you were already pulling the door open, glancing back at him just long enough to catch the way he looked at you now.
You didn’t say anything else. You just stepped out, your heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it, and let the door shut behind you with a soft click.
🏁.
By the third day of your ten-hour shift stretch, you could recognize the tone of the call button chime before the light even blinked above the door.
It was always Lee Heeseung’s, allways at the most inopportune moments— just when you had your gloves snapped on to help with someone else’s chart, or when you were halfway through prepping a new IV bag.
And by now, you didn’t even need to guess what he’d say.
“My pillow fell again.”
“My water’s too warm.”
“I finished the tissue box. I sneezed once and now it’s gone.”
“I think my skin feels itchy, but like, only a little. Is that bad?”
“Do you know where the remote is?”
Six times that day, and it wasn’t even five p.m.
So this time, you walked in before the chime finished echoing down the hall, your hands on your hips, the door swinging shut behind you with a firm thud.
“Okay,” you said, standing just inside the threshold, your brows raised. “I know you’re bored, and I know hospital life isn’t exactly thrilling, but unless you’ve developed a new infection or spontaneously combusted again, I really don’t want to hear another call button chime from this room today.”
Heeseung looked up from the bed, blinking at you with the most unapologetically fake innocent expression you’d ever seen.
“You don’t have to scold me like that,” he said, lifting a hand with mock pain. “It hurts my feelings.”
“It hurts my back,” you snapped, “to walk this hallway six times because you suddenly forgot where your mouth is after wiping it.”
He cracked a smile then, slow and crooked. “That one wasn’t urgent, I just missed you.”
You blinked at him, deadpan.
“I’m serious,” he added quickly. “I’m not trying to be annoying. I mean, I am. But not… only.”
You slowly stepped closer to the bed, your arms crossing over your chest. “Heeseung.”
He lifted both hands in surrender, careful not to stretch his burned arm. “Alright. alright, I’ll stop. I’ll be good.”
You narrowed your eyes. You knew he felt alone, F1 season continued, Jake had meetings with his whole department since both his drivers were out and he was afraid he’d be replaced.
You knew, but it didn’t mean he had to drive you insane too. No pun intended.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “I know I’m being a pain in the ass, that you’re tired, and I know it’s not fair to ask for attention when there are patients who actually need you.”
That startled you a little. His voice was sincere now, not playful.
The kind of honest that didn’t come easy to men like him, the men used to winning races and smiling through sponsors’ press conferences and interviews. But he looked small now, even as he sat upright in the bed, chest tight in the bandages you changed every morning.
“I’m just—” he exhaled, his fingers twitching over the blanket. “I’m scared to leave. That’s the truth.”
You frowned, stepping to his bedside without thinking. “Why would you be scared of leaving a hospital?”
“Because I look like this.” He motioned vaguely to his body, to the sling, the burn that peeked from beneath the hem of his collar. “Because I haven’t seen a mirror in weeks, and I know I’ve looked better. Because my hair’s gross and I’ve lost weight and I smell like antiseptic, and I’ve been stuck in this bed thinking that I’ll never feel like myself again.”
You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t done. “And because I finally got the courage to want something for myself. And that something is you.”
The words landed hard. You felt your arms drop slightly, hands now loose by your sides, the air between you suddenly tighter than before. You blinked your eyes, unsure if you were seeing or hearing his words right.
Heeseung looked up at you again, slower this time, less sure of himself than you’d ever seen him.
“I know you don’t owe me anything. You’ve been taking care of me because it’s your duty, and I’ve probably pushed boundaries I shouldn’t. But…” He swallowed, breath shallow. “I wanted to tell you now. Before I get discharged, because the second I’m out of here, I’m gonna be back in recovery, back in press cycles, and everyone’s going to ask about the crash and Riki and the damn brakes, and I’m not going to get to just sit with you… or make you laugh, ormake you roll your eyes like that.”
You stared at him, speechless, as if your body had finally shut down.
“I just needed you to know,” he said finally. “When I’m back on my feet and when I look like me again… I’m going to ask you out, properly. If you’ll let me.”
Your heart was pounding, because somewhere deep down, maybe you’d known. Known from the moment he reached for the hot chocolate and slid it across the table. Known from the way he watched you like you were the only anchor he had left.
You didn’t know what to say, not yet. Your mouth felt dry and your chest felt tight, but your feet stepped closer anyway, drawn like a magnet.
You didn’t kiss him this time. You didn’t touch him either. You just looked down at him, eyes skimming his face, the new pink of his healing skin, the glint of defiance still in his expression.
“You still can’t press the call button,” you said quietly.
His smile broke again, wider this time. Like sunlight on rained down pavement.
“Alright,” he whispered. “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait for you.”
🏁.
You didn’t see Heeseung for almost three weeks.
He still came to the hospital, that much you knew, rehabilitation was mandatory, even for someone as stubborn as Ferrari’s golden boy.
He was scheduled twice a week for physical therapy, and he visited Riki when he could, sometimes staying an hour or more in the kid’s room.
But your shifts never overlapped. It was strange, how easily someone could vanish into the same building you worked in, the same halls you’d memorized with your eyes closed.
You didn’t try to ask around. You didn’t dig through records or prod the therapists in the staff lounge.
You didn’t let it show on your face that every time the elevator dinged on your floor, your eyes flicked up before you could stop yourself.
He was healing at home now. Taking care of his own burns, which had scabbed and scarred over with that red-purple finish that made your heart twist the last time you saw them.
You imagined him moving stiffly through some fancy condo, with his water always cold, pillows never out of reach, tissues unused because there was no one around to pass them.
However, you saw Riki often. He was in less pain now, and more alert to his surroundings.
Still sour most days, snappy and restless from staying still for so long, but there was a spark there, something sharp behind his eyes when he talked about rehab. He wanted to walk, he wanted to drive again. Even if it was far off for the time being.
“Heeseung comes in all weird,” Riki muttered one afternoon while you adjusted the IV tubing above his bed. “Like, in baseball caps and hoodies. As if people won’t recognize him if he covers half his face and walks with that stupid gait.”
“Maybe he’s trying not to get mobbed,” you murmured, flicking the drip line with your nail. “He had fans even in the hospital.”
“He just doesn’t want people to look at him,” Riki said, a little quieter. “Not until his skin looks normal.”
You didn’t answer that. You just gave him a sip of water and changed the subject, but it stayed with you.
That night, for the first time, you opened Instagram and typed Ferrari into the search bar.
The page was easy to find. It was verified, with the bold logo, all red and gold and glory.
You scrolled past the highlight reels, the merchandise links, the footage of pit crews moving like insects in reverse. You skimmed captions about sponsors, about prep for the next season, about hopeful outlooks. And then you found his name.
Lee Heeseung, back in training. Slowly regaining strength in his right arm, working with team specialists twice a week. Determined to be ready for next season’s opener.
There was a photo. Blurry, and taken from behind. Heeseung bent forward, sweat soaking through a dark training tee, fingers curled over a steering simulator.
His profile was partly visible, bandage still over the side of his neck, his jaw clenched, dark hair longer than it had been in the hospital.
He looked thin and tired. But he looked alive.
You stared at the photo for longer than you should have. Then, against your better judgment, you hit the follow button.
You didn’t expect it to change anything. You didn’t expect him to see it, even, his feed was full of likes and mentions from fans all over the world, probably flooded every minute.
But something about it made you feel closer. Like you’d walked into a corner of his life no one had given you permission to touch.
Like you were choosing to see him now, not as your patient, not as a body in bandages, but as someone aching to be more than that.
You still didn’t see him in ‘real life’, but you started noticing the gap he left in your day.
The way your shift felt a little quieter without his voice drifting out of his VIP room.
How your eyes scanned the hallway out of habit, expecting his lanky frame to come sauntering around the corner with a sarcastic comment ready. How the call button in his old room remained untouched, almost dusty with disuse.
You didn’t let yourself think about it too much. You had other patients. You had other wounds to clean, other charts to fill.
You had boys younger than Riki who didn’t know what comfort felt like, who cried into your sleeves when no one else was looking.
But late at night, when you walked home in silence, something in you still flickered with that unfinished sentence. With that look in his eyes the last time you left his room.
🏁.
Saturdays weren’t yours to work, but the fire from three nights ago had overflowed the ER.
Nurses had been calling out, supplies were low, and patients kept pouring in with second-degree burns and smoke in their lungs, soot in their hair and soot in their blood.
You hadn’t had lunch. You barely remembered what you’d eaten for breakfast.
Your scrubs were wrinkled, your badge strap sticky with someone’s dried medication, your shoes creaked wet from a mop bucket you stepped in by accident. All you wanted was to go home, shower, and sleep for fourteen uninterrupted hours.
So when you stepped out the side exit, your usual escape route to avoid the busier front doors, and found a sleek, glimmering black car parked right in the middle of the access road, you groaned out loud.
“The hell…” you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes.
You looked around first, no security in sight and no staff nearby.
The car was expensive, way too shiny to belong to a low waged doctor, but the way it was angled made your jaw clench.
Right in the path of emergency lanes. If an ambulance pulled in, it would have to slow down, stop before it hit it and possibly lose a life.
You stepped toward the driver’s side window without hesitation, rapping your knuckles against the glass firmly.
You didn’t expect it to roll down that fast. And you definitely didn’t expect him.
Heeseung turned toward you slowly, lips twitching up into the smallest smile, his eyes scanning you like you were a familiar song playing again for the first time in weeks.
He had a hat on, but he pulled it off the second he saw your face. His skin had lost the swollen, raw shine, there were still scars on his jawline and neck, but they were faded now, pinked and healing.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
You just blinked, hands mid-air, paused knock on the window. “What— what are you doing here?” you asked.
“I was waiting for you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Your shift ended half an hour ago.”
“I stayed behind because the trauma and burning bay was still full.” You explained, brows furrowed.
“Yeah, I heard about the fire.” His brows dipped a little. “I figured you wouldn’t leave on time.”
You glanced at the car again, then back at him “You’re parked in the middle of the road.”
He shrugged, leaning his elbow against the wheel, lazy and composed and so infuriatingly calm. “You always said I was reckless.”
“That’s not— Heeseung, you can’t park here. What if an ambulance came in?” You nagged.
“Then I would’ve moved.” His smile widened slightly. “I saw you coming out. You were holding your bag like it was about to break.”
You looked down at your satchel, at the way it was sagging from your shoulder, the straps barely stitched. You hadn’t realized he was watching.
“You look exhausted,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you or get in the way. I just… I wanted to talk to you.”
You hesitated, swallowing hard. “You could’ve texted.”
“I don’t have your number.” You paused again, jaw tightening. The handsome fucker was right.
He read the hesitation in your expression because his voice softened when he added, “It’s not anything heavy. I just wanted to see you…. talk. If that’s okay.”
“I should go home,” you said, but your voice didn’t sound as sure as it should have.
“I know,” he replied, tone level. “I’m not trying to trap you. I just… thought maybe you’d want to come for a short drive.”
You opened your mouth to protest again, but he must’ve seen it in your face, that flicker, that tiny weakening you always had with him, because he leaned across the passenger seat and pushed the door open.
The smell of his cologne wafted out faintly, clean and unfamiliar. Not the antiseptic you used to associate with him, but something warmer.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “And I’ll drive slow.”
You stood there another heartbeat before sighing heavily and slipping in, dropping your bag between your feet. “You can’t park like that again.” you grumbled, pulling your seatbelt on.
“I won’t,” he said, already shifting the gear. “Unless it gets me your attention.”
The car was too smooth, barely a hum beneath your thighs as he pulled onto the road.
He didn’t take the highway. Instead, he drifted toward the north side of the city, where the buildings thinned and the roads turned narrow and winding.
You didn’t say anything for a while, and the radio was off, creating a not so awkward silence.
The windows cracked just enough for the wind to kiss your temples. Heeseung kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. His fingers tapped to a rhythm only he heard.
You finally asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” he smirked.
The hill was quiet. Just far enough from town that the lights behind you blurred into a string of distant sparks, like stars upside down.
He pulled up to the edge, beside a lookout you vaguely recognized from photos, some popular spot kids used to park and drink or kiss in late at night.
But now it was just the two of you, and the sun was melting behind the skyline, leaving streaks of orange and dusty violet stretching across the horizon.
He killed the engine as you sat still, unsure. He turned to you. “You’ve been following the Ferrari page.”
You flushed before you could stop it, your eyes darting to the glovebox. “You noticed?”
“You think I wouldn’t?” he asked, tilting his head. “Your username has your badge number and Jake asked me if it was you when he saw the notification. He’s the one who runs the profile.”
You cringed. “I misclicked.”
“I like it that you follow it.” He took a breath, shifting to face you slightly. “I wasn’t lying that day. I know I was half gross with hair oily and calling for tissues every five minutes. But I meant what I said.”
You chewed your bottom lip, hands clasped together on your lap.
“I’ve thought about you every damn day,” he said, voice low. “Every burn I cleaned, every stretch I did to move my arm again… it was all with your voice in my head, lecturing me, cussing under your breath, or humming while you changed my dressings.
He chucked softly, “I’m not trying to romanticize what you did— it was your job, I know that. But you were the only part of that room that didn’t feel like pain.”
Your throat tightened. The silence around you pressed against your chest.
“So,” he said, after a moment. “Now that I’m here, and I don’t look like a half-melted wax figure, I’m going to ask again.”
He leaned in a little, not enough to touch you. Just enough to make the air shiver between your knees.
“Would you go out with me?”
You looked at him, really looked at the scars that would never fully fade, at the honesty stretched across his face. At the way his fingers curled and uncurled on his thigh, nervous.
Not Heeseung-the-racer. Not Heeseung-the-patient. Just the man who held you when you broke down and offered you hot chocolate to cheer you up.
“…You’re still kind of a pain in the ass,” you whispered.
He grinned, soft and warm and so stupidly pretty. “I’m hoping you like that about me.”
You rolled your eyes and looked away. But your voice cracked into something almost smiling as you said, “Okay.”
His inhale was slow, asif he didn’t believe you yet.
“Yeah?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again.
You turned back to him and nodded. “Yeah.”
🏁.
You hadn’t meant for it to happen so naturallyx, but the nights at his place started slipping into your week like a warm spring breeze.
He picked you up after long shifts when you didn’t feel like taking the bus, and you’d slip into his fancy car still in your scrubs, smelling faintly of antiseptic and latex gloves, too tired to talk.
And he never asked you to. He just opened the passenger door, let you rest your head against the window, and drove home in silence, music turned low and hand reaching across the console to hold yours.
His mansion, because there was no way around calling it that, wasn’t what you expected.
You thought it’d be filled with trophies and screaming red logos, but it was just neat and quiet.
His bedroom was painted in soft shades of gray and navy, his kitchen smelled like coffee beans and a hint of vanilla, and the couch was so wide you’d often curl up in the corner with a blanket and not move for hours.
You didn’t have the energy for fancy dates or being out in public. You certainly didn’t want to be photographed, you didn’t ant some journalist writing a two-paragraph caption about how Heeseung’s latest girl was just some tired nurse with eyebags and oversized jackets.
And Heeseung never made you feel small for it. Whatever he chose for his life you didn’t have to force yourself to be a part of.
Most nights were spent curled on the sofa, a Netflix movie you barely registered playing in the background.
You would start the evening upright, knees tucked in, a warm drink in your hands, and end it slouched sideways, your cheek against his shoulder, breath even and shallow as sleep claimed you halfway through the plot.
He’d carry you, sometimes. Tuck you in and kiss your forehead lightly. Other nights, you made it to bed on your own, and he would join you an hour later, warm and silent, pressing himself carefully to your back, still stiff because of his healing skin.
He had noticed your pills early on. The first time, you thought you’d been slick about it, hiding them behind your hand as you opened the bottle near the sink.
But he leaned over and asked, “You okay?”
You nodded, embarrassed, trying to swallow them quickly. “Just for digestion, y’know? My stomach gets weird after long shifts. I don’t always… well, can’t always eat right after I see something.”
His expression softened like you’d pressed a hand over his chest. He didn’t say anything right away, he just took the glass from your hand, poured you another, and passed it back silently.
“You don’t have to explain it,” he said quietly. “I get it.”
You weren’t sure he could get it. He didn’t have to hold broken children or stitch the soft skin of dying women, and he didn’t have to stand still while a monitor flatlined.
But he had burned for someone else. He’d jumped in front of a car going too fast to stop, taken the brunt of it, let himself be crushed and concussed to save a boy who wasn’t ready to die.
So maybe he did understand.
When you came over one Saturday morning, he was more animated than usual.
He was wearing a dark sweater and cargo pants, with hair half-damp from a shower, and his bandage finally gone from his wrist, his body almost healed.
He still couldn’t grip with his right hand properly. He said the nerves were healing slowly, but he’d been trying.
“C’mere,” he grinned, reaching for your bag to drop it by the entrance. “I want to show you something.”
You blinked at him, one eyebrow rising. “Show me what?”
“Just come.” He tugged at your hand and pulled you toward the garage.
You hadn’t really stepped inside the main garage before. The house had two: one for his daily cars, and the other for, well, whatever this was. The second he flipped the lights on, you saw it.
His car. That car.
The one that had been twisted into fire and pain months ago. The one you’d seen on the news, reduced to smoldering steel.
Now it sat before you, with a brand new frame, the same number, and the same paint job, the shine of it almost surreal under the ceiling lights.
“You got it back,” you murmured.
“I got her back, my Scarlet.” he said, voice soft with affection. “It’s not exactly the same frame, and we’ve upgraded a few things. But… yeah. She’s mine again.”
You walked slowly around it, trailing your fingers just barely along the side. “And you’ll drive again.”
“As soon as they let me.”
“And your hand?” He held it up, flexing it in the air. “Still annoying as hell. But I’ve been cooperating with the exercises.”
You smiled, turning to him. “That’s a first.”
He grinned, full of boyish pride. Then he nodded toward the other side of the garage. “There’s someone else I want you to meet officially.”
You followed him without question.
Jake was waiting near the workbench, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair tied back with a cap. He looked better than the last time you’d seen him in a panic outside the hospital room, pacing the hall and begging for updates.
“Jake,” Heeseung said, his voice low but proud, “this is Y/N.”
Jake smiled and extended his hand. “You’re the nurse who yelled at the three others for pampering him with pudding.”
You laughed as you shook it. “They were fangirling and he was still high on morphine. Someone had to keep his ego in check.”
Heeseung groaned behind you. “You’re never going to let that go.”
“Not a chance.”
Jake grinned even wider. “I like her.”
“She’s not just my nurse anymore,” Heeseung said quietly, and when you glanced back at him, he was looking straight at you. “She’s my girl now.”
The words shouldn’t have knocked the air out of your chest the way they did. You weren’t sixteen anymore, you’d had men call you worse and sweeter things in the heat of a moment, but this— this was soft and real.
You didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled, nodded a thank you to Jake, and let Heeseung lead you upstairs again, through the back hallway.
When the door to the garage closed behind you and the silence settled again, you reached for him before he could say anything else.
you pressed your hands to his cheeks gently, careful of the last faint scar that still lingered along the side of his jaw, and kissed him.
He stilled at first, stunned. Then he leaned in, warm and steady, one hand sliding to your hip, the other brushing the back of your neck.
It was the kind of kiss that made time pause. With no rush, no fire behind your teeth. Just slow, deep breaths and the rhythm of his lips against yours, like he’d been waiting too long to ask again.
When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his.
“You are a wonderful person, Lee Heeseung.” You breathed out.
“You make me better.” He murmured.
You smiled, kissed the tip of his nose, and said, “No, that’s all you.”
PAIRING: f1 racer!riki x rehab therapist!reader (f)
SUMMARY: ferrari’s newbie driver can’t outrun the guilt of a crash that wasn’t his fault. a sudden brake failure put him in a hospital bed and in his own head. but like a fenice rising from its own ashes, riki is ready to get back on track… as long as you keep watching.
WARNINGS: starring enhypen JAKE, JUNGWON & HEESEUNG and bnd TAESAN. heeseung’s gf is reader in siren sounds, mention of accidents (slight description), hospital settings, mentions of injuries, burns, fighting, riki is a little rude but that’s his coping mechanism, making out, slightly suggestive, panic attack, reader struggles financially, celebrity harassment, trauma, rehabilitation, argument, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD
a/n: you don’t necessarily need to read SIREN SOUNDS first, but for context i heavily advise it. my babies i love them sm! this fic has been my comfort zone to write for the past months 🩷 the ending is very rushed but i was running out of ideas and i didnt want to make it too long 😃 still REBLOGS & COMMENTS are appreciated!!
Riki woke up like he had been dragged upward from the bottom of a black ocean.
There was no gradual return and no soft drifting into awareness. One minute he was stuck in a burning car and the next he woke up gasping for air in a sterile room.
He tried to inhale sharply, and something resisted him. Something was inside his mouth.
His eyes snapped open in panic, but they couldn’t focus well on his surroundings.
The ceiling above him was blinding white, the lights too bright and shapes too blurry.
His vision trembled, refusing to focus. His body felt… gone, not numb in the way a limb fell asleep. Just gone, as if he had been reduced to a head floating in a field of static.
He tried to move his hand, but nothing happened. Not even a finger twitched from his will.
Panic surged like electricity through his chest. His heart rate spiked and he could hear it now, the beeping accelerating in response.
Voices cut through the haze, muffled. “His heart rate is increasing.”
“He’s trying to wake up.”
“Riki? Can you hear me?”
He couldn’t tell where the voices were coming from. They sounded underwater, like someone speaking through thick glass. He tried to turn his head toward the sound, but even that felt impossible.
A face leaned over him. A doctor, maybe. “Riki,” the doctor said slowly, shining a light into his pupils. “Follow the light.”
He couldn’t, hisis eyes struggled to track it. His vision doubled, then blurred, then sharpened just to blur again.
He tried to speak, but pain flared in his throat…. a tube. That was what was there.
He gagged slightly around it, instinctively trying to cough, but the movement sent a ripple of agony through his chest and something… lower?
His left leg. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything below his ribs.
He tried to lift his arm, to thrash, to signal that something was wrong, but nothing moved.
The monitor screamed louder as his panic grew. “Easy, easy.” someone murmured, keeping him down by his chest.
“The sedation might still be heavy, it’s not a good time to wake up while we are cleaning his lungs.” a female voice murmured. They were cleaning his what?
“He’s disoriented.” no shit.
The light flashed in his eyes again. “Pupils are reactive now,” someone muttered.
He wanted to ask what had happened. He wanted to ask if Heeseung was alive. If the families in the stands were alive. If he had killed someone, to ask if it’d been his fault.
But his body betrayed him, because the ceiling blurred again, then the beeping softened.
And the world folded back into black.
🐦🔥.
When he woke the second time, it wasn’t violent. It was slow and thick, like surfacing through the honey in the Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs movie.
The first thing he noticed was that the tube was gone. His throat felt scraped raw, each breath dry and painful but blessedly unobstructed.
He blinked carefully and this time, the room stayed still.
Riki was in the hospital, he realised.
His head ached, but it was manageable. His chest felt tight, and heavy bandaging wrapped around his right arm.
He tried to shift his shoulders and that fortunately worked. Relief flooded him. Then he tried to move his left leg, but nothing worked. It felt strange, numb from his own body.
His stomach dropped as soon as he looked down.
The blanket rose in a stiff, unnatural angle where his leg lay immobilized.
Metal rods and external fixators peeked from beneath layers of dressing. His thigh was swollen beneath the gauze. The machine beside his bed hummed quietly, pumping fluids through tubes attached to him.
“Don’t try to move it.” A nurse stood near the doorway, watching him carefully. She approached when she saw his eyes fully open.
“You’re in the ICU. You were in surgery for several hours earlier this week after a car accident,” she inforemd, fixing his blanket, “You’ve been in a coma for two weeks.”
Fuck. two weeks felt like an eternity. His voice came out hoarse. “Heeseung?”
The nurse paused just slightly before answering. “Your teammate is alive.”
Riki shut his eyes for a second, relief mixing with something far uglier. “What happened?” he whispered.
She checked his IV fluids as she murmured, “You sustained a compound fracture in your leg. There were additional injuries, but those are healing. And the internal bleeding was minimal. You’re stable now.”
Compound fracture.
The words echoed inside his skull… he knew what that meant. Bone through skin.
The recovery was measured not in weeks— but in months.
He turned his face toward the wall, jaw tightening. His throat burned again, but this time it wasn’t from the tube. It was from the sheer urge it took him not to cry like a fucking baby.
Heeseung came to visit him as soon as he learnt the news of his awakening. Riki wasn't really himself yet, he was still high on morphine, but he felt so relieved.
Heeseung sat there on the wheelchair looking thinner, his own arm wrapped heavily in bandages, faint bruising still shadowing his face.
The burns along his neck were angry and red, partially healed but unmistakable.
He looked like someone who had run through fire, which he had and it was all Riki’s fault.
The second time he visited, Riki could see him better, his brain cooperated and so did his body.
“You’re barbecued,” Riki rasped weakly.
Heeseung huffed out that might have been a laugh. “Job hazard.”
He frowned, gulping hard. “I’m sorry I lost control.”
“And I’m glad I stepped in.” Heeseung replied, thanking the pretty nurse who placed him beside his bed and stepped outside to give them privacy.
“You should’ve let me crash alone.” He murmured.
Heeseung’s eyes sharpened. “There were families there.”
He remembered it now in flashes. The car fishtailing and . the barrier being too close. He remembered panicking when the breaks under his foot stopped working, and then the impact.
Heeseung had taken the hit full on. He had positioned himself between the trajectory and the stands. Between Riki and the worst possible outcome.
A true hero.
The media was already calling him so, he'd peeked from a nurse phone who had caved at his begging.
Riki felt like a reckless child. “You could’ve died,” he whispered.
“So could you.” Silence stretched between them. Riki looked away first as shame crawled under his skin. “It was my fault.”
Heeseung leaned closer despite the stiffness in his movements. “It was an accident.”
And despite it being the truth, Riki couldn’t help but blame himself.
Jake tried to come the next day, but Riki refused him.
“Tell him I’m sleeping,” he told the nurse flatly. “But you’re awake.” she pointed out gently.
“I don’t care, just— don’t let him in, okay?” he ran a stiff hand through his hair and the nurse nodded, closing the door behind her back.
Jake tried again the day after, and the day after the day after.
“No visitors.” He repeated and the nurses respected it. Trauma unit rules were clear, the patient consent mattered.
Riki had been transferred there after the ICU, once he stabilized. The room was quieter and less frantic, as well as less depressing, But the reality settled heavier there.
A compound fracture required at least six months of rehab, of physiotherapy.
It was uncertainty.
He stared at his leg often. At the metal and at the swelling. At the way it no longer felt like part of him.
Would he still drive the same?
Would his reflexes hesitate?
Would fear live in the back of his skull forever?
One month passed by quickly despite the boredom of the four white walls.
One afternoon, a different nurse walked in, he recognized her vaguely. She had been Heeseun’s ex-nurse, and she came to check on him some times.
She moved quietly, efficient but gentle, adjusting his IV and checking his vitals. “How are you feeling today?” she asked softly.
“Like shit,” he answered honestly. She didn’t flinch, just nodded once. “That’s fair.”
Her hands were careful when she adjusted his leg. She didn’t overtalk nor did she pity him. Just did her job with steady precision.
“You’ll start light rehab soon,” she said without sugarcoating. “It’ll hurt at first.”
“I figured.” he gritted out.
“Will Heeseung come to visit me today?” Riki asked, because he felt like he could go insane.
The nurse stopped, her shoulders stuffing. He noticed the change but made no comment whatsoever. “Probably.”
“He’ll start driving again soon.” He felt the need to reassure.
The nurse smiled softly and told him, “So will you.” before closing the door behind her back.
A few days later, he told the nurse, “Let Jake in.” when she gave him his breakfast trail.
When Jake entered the room, Riki braced himself.
He expected anger and disappointment. A lecture about contracts and sponsors and recklessness.
Instead, Jake stopped just inside the doorway.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Riki crossed his arms defensively. “You’re going to start?”
Jake didn’t answer right away. He walked forward slowly. “Oh fuck off, I know I made a mistake—“ Riki rolled his eyes but then Jake wrapped his arms around him carefully, mindful of the injuries, and held him tightly.
He froze, blinking, suddenly at a loss of words.
Jake’s voice broke first. “You scared me.” he whispered.
Riki’s defenses crumbled so fast it almost embarrassed him. His chin trembled as he tried to hold it back and failed.
“I messed up,” Riki choked out.
Jake tightened his hold. “You’re alive.”
“I could’ve—” Jake stopped him, “But you didn’t.”
Riki’s hands clutched weakly at the back of Jake’s shirt. His vision blurred with tears. “I thought you’d be mad,” Riki admitted through tears.
Jake pulled back just enough to look at him. His own eyes were red. “Oh, I am mad at you, but…”
“I don’t care about the car, or the sponsors, or about the headlines,” Jake said firmly. “I care about you.”
The words hit harder than any reprimand could have.
Riki broke. The tears came freely, hot and humiliating and necessary. Jake held him through it, steady and unashamed.
For the first time since waking up in that white ICU room, Riki allowed himself to feel something other than guilt.
🐦🔥.
When Riki was released from the hospital, the silence of his own apartment felt louder than any beeping monitor or whining patient.
The place was not as flashy as Heeseung’s mansion, but it was still polished in that quiet, newly-successful way.
It had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, and the couch was modern and barely touched for weeks.
Framed race photos hung on the walls, one with him smiling with trophies, him in a helmet, him mid-turn on a track at barely eleven years old.
His bedroom was fortunately close to the living room area so he wouldn’t have to navigate the hallway.
The external cast was still wrapped around his leg during the first days home, bulky and humiliating. Crutches leaned uselessly against the wall, since he couldn’t use them yet. A wheelchair waited nearby, unused because he preferred staying horizontal.
He spent most of his time flat on his back, propped slightly by pillows, the television glowing at the foot of the bed.
The accident replayed on every sports channel.
In different angles, then in slow motion with a commentary that layered over the screech of tires.
He watched it once. Then again. And again.
The moment his car fishtailed, the split second where he overcorrected. The frame where the barrier seemed too close, the explosion when metal kissed metal… he memorised it as as if he was living it again.
“If I hadn’t pushed,” he muttered one afternoon, staring at the screen. “If I hadn’t gone full throttle.”
The commentators didn’t blame him outright. They called it “an unfortunate miscalculation.” They praised Heeseung’s intervention. They called Heeseung a hero.
Riki swallowed bitterness that tasted like rust. “If I was just less competitive,” he whispered to the empty room. “If I wasn’t so damn hungry.”
The explosion sound replayed again, loud and violent.
On the second week of bed rest, the frustration finally snapped something inside him.
The remote was in his grip as the crash replayed yet again in high definition. His own voice from an earlier interview echoed over the footage, “I always push to the limit.”
“Shut up.” He said, his eyes fixed on the scene, watching the way ambulances rushed through the race as it got suspended temporarily.
“Guess he pushed too much to the limit, will Ferrari’s golden boy and Ferrari’s newbie be able to race again?” The interviewer said and it made Riki’s blood boil.
“Shut up!” he repeated at the screen.
“News say Heeseung will be back soon in the car while Riki will be substituted by the third pilot—“ With a sudden, furious motion, he hurled the remote at the television, and the plastic cracked against glass.
The screen spider-webbed instantly, a dark fracture spreading from the point of impact by before the display fizzled into black.
The apartment fell silent, while his breathing filled the room, uneven and sharp. He stared at the ruined screen, chest rising and falling rapidly.
For a moment, the silence felt worse than the noise had.
When Jake arrived later that afternoon, grocery bags hanging from both hands, he froze at the sight.
“What happened to the TV?”
Riki didn’t look at him. “It was annoying me.”
Jake set the bags down slowly. “You threw something at it?”
Riki shrugged, jaw tight. He was in no mood for a lecture. He could buy another one if he wanted.
Jake didn’t comment further. He moved through the kitchen, unloading groceries, placing bottles of water in the fridge, fresh fruit in a bowl and some snacks on a riki’s bedside table. The normalcy of the movements contrasted painfully with the tension in the room.
“You need help to shower?” Jake asked gently.
Riki hesitated, pride flaring. Then he exhaled softly “Yeah.”
Jake helped him carefully, with steady hands, practical and respectful.
Steam filled the bathroom, and Riki clenched his jaw while Jake helped him balance, avoiding pressure or water on the injured leg.
Afterward, back in bed, Jake sat at the edge of the mattress. “The external cast is coming off tomorrow,” Jake said, showing him the hospital papers. “The doctor cleared you to start rehab.”
Riki’s eyes flicked up. “Already?”
“It’s time.” Jake’s smile was hopeful and boyish.
He swallowed. Rehab meant reality… it meant effort and pain and acknowledging weakness. Something Riki wasnt really known for.
Jake studied him for a long second. “You don’t have to be strong every second.”
Riki scoffed faintly. “Kind of my job.” Jake’s expression softened. “Your job is to heal right now.”
The next day, there was a knock at the door.
Jake opened it with a welcoming smile. You stepped inside and followed him to Riki’s bedroom.
You tried not to act too surprised by how big the apartment was. How small yours was compared to just his living room.
“My name is Y/N,” you said gently, offering a small smile. “I’ll be working with you for your rehabilitation.”
You were young, fresh out of university, your posture straight with professional determination.
Your clothes were simple but neat, and there was a brightness about you that felt almost out of place in the dim apartment.
Riki studied you from the bed. “You look twelve,” he muttered unapologetically.
You didn’t take offense. You had heard worse from older patients. “I’m twenty-four,” you replied calmly. “And fully licensed.”
Jake hid a smile and stepped aside. You moved further into the room, taking in the crutches, the wheelchair, the broken television.
“You’ll start light exercises today,” you explained, setting your bag down. “We won’t push too hard. The goal is mobility, not speed.”
Riki’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Speed is kind of my thing.”
“Not right now,” you answered softly.
You helped him sit upright, carefully guiding his leg off the side of the bed. His muscles trembled instantly from disuse.
“Breathe,” you instructed. “We’re just flexing first.”
He gripped the edge of the mattress, jaw clenched. Sweat already formed at his temples.
He tried so many times, he started losing hopes. If he couldn’t even flex his leg how could he push on the accelerator?
With your support and guidance, he managed to flex his toes and leg, but it shook violently.
“That’s normal,” you said gently. “Your muscles have been inactive.”
“I can do more than this,” he insisted through his teeth.
“Today, this is enough.” You said, it had taken him thirty minutes to fully flex it.
He hated the word enough.
You guided him through small, controlled movements. Flexing, then llight weight shifts.
He complied at first. But frustration simmered.
“This is useless,” he snapped suddenly. “I’m not an eighty-year-old.”
“You’re recovering from a compound fracture,” you corrected evenly. “Your bone pierced through your skin. It needs structured stress, not reckless strain.”
His eyes flashed. “I’m not reckless.” It had been what the cameras called him, what everyone thought of him.
He wasn’t reckless. Sure, he liked speed and to test limits but he wasn’t reckless… Was he? He hadn’t meant to crash. He hadn’t meant for the break to malfunction.
You held his gaze. “The goal is healing, not proving something.”
With sudden determination, he shifted his weight harder onto the injured leg, attempting to stand up without your cue.
“Riki—” you started but it was too late.
His knee buckled. Pain shot through him like lightning. He gasped sharply, nearly collapsing.
You caught him as best you could, heart racing. “I told you not to push!”
He gritted his teeth, breathing ragged. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” You snapped.
You helped him back onto the bed, your movements firm now rather than soft. You knelt in front of him, examining the leg carefully.
You let your fingers trace his skin. “You just strained healing tissue,” you said, frustration bleeding through despite your effort to remain professional. “If you keep doing that, you’ll delay recovery.”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “I need to get back,” he muttered.
“And you will,” you replied firmly. “But not like that.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy and awkward. You softened your tone slightly, back to your professional self. “I understand you want progress, and that’s good. But progress is measured. You can’t treat your body like a machine.”
Riki’s chest rose and fell heavily. For a moment, the anger in his eyes flickered into something else… fear, perhaps. The fear of not being enough.
“If I’m not the same,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “If I can’t drive like before…”
You stood slowly, meeting his gaze. “Then we adapt,” you answered. “But you won’t know that until you give yourself the chance to heal properly.”
He didn’t respond to that, he just turned back to the lying position and stared at the broken TV.
You gathered your things, but before leaving, you added gently, “We’ll try again tomorrow,” You emphasised, “Slowly.”
🐦🔥.
Your mornings belonged to the café.
You tied your apron tight around your waist at six thirty, with your hair pulled back and sleeves rolled up. The bell above the door chimed every few minutes as regulars shuffled in, office workers clutching laptops, elderly couples sharing newspapers, university students pretending to study.
The air smelled like espresso and warm milk foam. Taesan leaned against the counter beside you, drying a cup with exaggerated seriousness.
“Table three is on a first date,” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
You didn’t look directly, but you adjusted your stance slightly to catch their reflection in the espresso machine. “The guy keeps talking about football,” you whispered back. “She hasn’t blinked in thirty seconds.”
Taesan bit back a grin. “Do you think she’s plotting escape or murder?”
“Both.” you replied solemnly. He snorted, nearly dropping the cup.
You worked well together, with quick hands and shared glances. Inside jokes made the rush easier to survive.
When a man complained that his cappuccino foam wasn’t symmetrical, Taesan leaned toward you and muttered, “Tragic. I’ll call the authorities.” You had to turn away to hide your laugh.
For a few hours, your world was just coffee orders and sarcastic commentary.
Then the clock crept toward eleven. Your smile shifted into something more focused, as it always did when it was time to put to work the studies you did.
Taesan noticed. “Rehab guy?” he asked casually while wiping down the counter.
You nodded, untying your apron and disappearing in the kitchen to grab your bag from the hook.
“You still won’t tell me who he is?” he wiggled his brows teasingly.
“I signed confidentiality forms,” you reminded him. “Very official and very serious, unlike you.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I respect the mystery.”
“Try not to judge too many people without me.” you said, waving your hand and hurrying to the door.
“No promises!” he replied, winking.
You stepped out into the late morning sun, the air cooler than inside the café. Your car started on the second try, and you drove faster than you probably should have, mentally rehearsing today’s plan for Riki’s session.
Weight distribution, perhaps some controlled steps if he felt ready. And much, much patience.
Jake had given you the door code days ago so he wouldn’t have to wait around. It felt strange at first, entering a client’s home alone, but professionalism overrode discomfort.
You punched in the code, the door clicking open with a soft mechanical sound.
The apartment was quiet, which was never a good sign with a toddler or with a Formula One driver named Nishimura Riki.
“Riki?” you called gently as you stepped inside, closing the door behind you.
At the absence of responde, you frowned and moved toward the bedroom automatically, your bag already sliding off your shoulder.
“Good morning,” you began as you turned the corner and froze.
Riki was halfway upright. Not upright like you had instructed. Upright like he had dragged himself out of bed without support.
“Oh no.” you breathed.
His back was to you, muscles straining as he gripped the edge of the dresser. The injured leg trembled violently beneath him, knee barely stable.
“Riki,” you said, trying to keep your tone even, even though your pulse spiked. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t turn around. “Standing.” he deadpanned.
“This is not how we practice standing.” you breathed out.
“I’m fine.” He snapped.
“No, you’re not.” You stepped forward quickly, heart racing despite your attempt at composure. Inside, panic clawed at you.
You had worked with stubborn patients before, older men who insisted they could climb stairs two days after surgery. But this was different. He wasn’t just impatient. He was desperate.
“Shift your weight back,” you instructed calmly. “Slowly.”
He replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve got it.” His voice wavered.
You saw it before it happened, the micro-tremor in his thigh and the way his shoulders tightened. “Riki—”
His leg gave out and seconds later he hit the floor hard.
The sound made your stomach flip. You were at his side instantly. “Are you okay? Tell me where it hurts.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine,” you repeated firmly, kneeling beside him. His height made everything harder. He was long-limbed, heavy with muscle even in recovery.
“On three, we’re getting you up,” you said. “One, two—”
He tried to push himself too quickly, grimacing.
“Stop fighting me,” you snapped before you could soften it. “Work with me.”
He hesitated, but then nodded. Together, slowly and awkwardly, you maneuvered him back onto the bed.
It took effort, and your arms strained under his weight. When he was finally seated, breathing uneven, you stepped back slightly.
“You cannot do that,” you said, voice firm but controlled. “You could have torn something.”
He looked away, embarrassed anger simmering in his eyes. “I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t say you were. But you are healing.” you tried to make your point.
Silence filled the room. Then, without another argument, he nodded faintly.
The session that followed was slower than usual, because he would never be ready for more if he kept pushing. You guided him through measured movements, adjusting his posture and counting repetitions softly.
Two hours passed by slowly and by the end, both of you were tired.
You were crouched beside the bed, writing notes in your folder, when your stomach betrayed you.
A loud, unmistakable growl echoed through the quiet room.
You froze, embarrassed. Riki blinked at you, then he chuckled. “You didn’t eat?” he asked. “I’m fine,” you replied quickly, snapping your folder shut.
Your stomach growled again, louder than the first time, betraying your words.
Riki’s eyebrow lifted. “I can cook,” he offered.
You shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not. I don’t need my patients cooking for me.”
“You helped me off the floor,” he countered. “Seems fair.”
“That’s my job—“ Another growl interrupted.
You sighed, cheeks warming slightly. “It’s not appropriate.”
He tilted his head. “You’re starving.” You crossed your arms defensively. “I had a busy morning, but I did have breakfast.”
“Before you can say anything, coffee doesn’t count as breakfast.” He replied matter-of-factly.
You stared at him for a moment. He smiled faintly. “Let me.”
Reluctantly, you helped him into the wheelchair. In the kitchen, sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating the marble counters.
“What do you even have?” you muttered, opening the fridge cautiously.
“Enough,” he said.
You hovered nearby as he maneuvered carefully, one hand steadying himself against the counter. He moved slower than before the accident, but there was determination in every motion.
The wheelchair made him smaller, but he could reach the counter just fine. He moved effortlessly, taking eggs from the fridge, adding them in a pan with butter, bread and cinnamon.
“You’re good at this.” You commented from where you were watching, leaning against the counter.
“I remind you that I live alone,” he replied, placing the french toast on the plate, “It’s either this or take out.”
He turned around, pushing the wheelchair with one hand and before handing you the plate, “Voilà mademoiselle.”
“Thank you.” You replied, taking it in your hand. He wheeled himself to the fridge and took out a can of coke, handing it to you. You noticed he had beers stacked inside as well as energy drinks.
You didn’t think it was very healthy, but you didn’t comment on it. Perhaps you’d secretly take a couple away when he wasn’t aware. You didn’t really want him to drown his guilt on alcohol.
You bit down the french toast and the taste melted in your mouth, the cinnamon mixing with the bread and eggs. Your eyes widened and you sighed contentedly, “This tastes so good!”
Riki shrugged with a smirk, leaning back on the wheelchair, “Glad you like it.”
You ate eagerly and gulped down the can of coke, then you wiped your mouth and smiled at him, “Thank you, Riki.”
“No biggie.” He wiggled his brows. You went behind him and took him to his bedroom, helping him on the bed again.
You tucked him under the cover, “Everything’s good?”
“Nothing is truly good in this world,” he replied, wiggling, trying to find a more comfortable position. “You can go now.”
You just nodded and stepped away, “Goodbye, Riki.”
He waved his hand, “Bye Y/N.”
🐦🔥.
You were supposed to arrive at Riki’s house at eleven sharp, however, fate was cruel because it was 11:15 a.m. and you were still in your apron.
Taesan had called in sick that morning, he had caught a cold and could hardly get out of bed, and nobody could fill in his shift.
You had called your boss at least five times, and he hadn’t picked up once.
You were tempted to just close the shop and call it a day, if you didn’t desperately need it.
But you needed the job as the rehab nurse too…
“Come on…” You tapped your foot impatiently, hurriedly making an espresso and giving it to a customer, “That’ll be one and fifty.”
The old man took out the wallet from his pocket and tried to open it, but his hand shook too hard. He could barely hold the zipper.
Your eyes softened and you quickly slipped in caregiver mode, taking the wallet from his trembling hands and opening it.
You showed him the amount of money you took out and gave the wallet back to him. He smiled widely, “Thank you so much, young girl.”
“Have a nice day!” You replied.
After some minutes, the bell on top of the door chimed. “Welcome—“ You said, but as you turned around you realised it was not a customer, but Han Taesan.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, walking towards him. He really didn’t look well.
“Kai told me he couldn’t cover my shift.” He smiled, already stepping behind the counter despite being worryingly pale, “And I figured the only kind enough to do it was you, but you have to go to the rehab guy, right?”
“Yes,” you frowned. “But you’re sick.”
“Meh,” he shrugged, “I’ve been worse, now go.” He hushed you out of the door.
You turned around and kissed his cheek gratefully, “Thank you! I owe you.”
You probably broke eight different laws of the road to get there in five minutes. You punched in the code to Riki’s apartment, breath slightly uneven from hurrying up the stairs. “Sorry,” you muttered to no one in particular as the door clicked open.
The apartment smelled faintly… toasty.
You stepped inside and immediately noticed it.
On the kitchen counter, neatly placed on a small white plate, sat a sandwich9, with slices of bread cut diagonally and lettuce peeking out. A folded napkin was beneath it like it had been presented deliberately.
You blinked and stepped closer, staring at it like it might explain itself.
“What…” you murmured.
You set your bag down and walked quickly toward the bedroom.
He was propped up against the headboard when you entered, phone in his hand. He looked up when you appeared.
“Good morning,” he said.
You crossed your arms automatically. “Did you make that sandwich?”
“Yes.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “You were in the kitchen?”
He shrugged faintly. “Obviously.”
“Riki.” Your tone carried the beginning of a lecture.
“You’re not supposed to move around unsupervised,” you continued, stepping further into the room. “You could have fallen again.”
“I didn’t,” he replied calmly. “That’s not the point.” You nagger again.
He sighed and shifted slightly. “I figured out how to get onto the wheelchair without putting weight on my leg.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Show me.”
There was a flicker of pride in his expression. “Watch.”
He moved carefully to the edge of the bed. You hovered close, ready to intervene.
Instead of trying to stand upright like before, he positioned the wheelchair at an angle, locked the wheels, and used his arms to lift his body in a controlled motion. His injured leg stayed elevated, barely brushing the floor.
It was awkward, but precise. He transferred himself fully into the wheelchair without grimacing.
You blinked. “That’s…” You paused. “Impressive.”
He smirked slightly. “I told you I’m not helpless.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to experiment without supervision,” you shot back automatically, though your tone softened.
He rolled his eyes lightly. “Eat the sandwich,” he said. “Before you faint.”
You hesitated. “I won’t faint.”
“You look like you might.” You sighed, walking back into the kitchen. The sandwich was still warm. You picked it up, taking a cautious bite.
“Did you toast it?” you called out.
“Yes! i’m a pro.”
You finished it faster than you intended to. Hunger had a way of humbling pride.
When you returned to the bedroom, wiping your hands on the napkin, he was watching you with faint amusement.
“Thank you,” you muttered.
“You’re welcome.” he shrugged.
You clapped your hands lightly. “All right, now it’s rehab time.”
The session began normally. You guided him through controlled leg lifts, assisted stretches, slow weight shifts. He followed instructions, but something felt off.
He kept adjusting in his seat, his responses were delayed and his focus drifted.
“Riki,” you said gently after noticing him wince for the third time. “If it hurts too much, we can stop.”
“It’s fine.” he murmured.
“It doesn’t look fine.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
You crouched in front of him to meet his eyes. “Talk to me, are you tired?”
He looked… frustrated. But not in the usual way. There was a sheepish tension in his jaw.
You waited patiently. Finally, he muttered, “I need to pee.”
You blinked. “Oh.”
Silence hung between you for half a second.
“Jake didn’t come today,” he added quickly, as if that explained everything.
“Okay,” you said carefully. “We’ll pause.” You stood, processing the logistics.
“Why don’t you have someone assisting you full-time?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “You could afford it.”
His expression hardened instantly. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
“I meant support,” you corrected calmly. “There’s nothing wrong with having help during recovery.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m not paying someone to follow me around twenty-four seven.”
You crossed your arms, meeting his glare evenly. “Needing help doesn’t make you weak.”
His voice dropped. “It feels like it.”
That landed heavier than you expected. You softened slightly. “Let’s just get you to the bathroom.”
Without further argument, he positioned the wheelchair again.
“Watch,” he said, a little sharper now, as if proving something.
He performed the transfer trick again, controlled, careful, avoiding pressure on the injured leg. You stayed close but didn’t intervene.
It was smoother this time.
You wheeled him down the hallway and into the bathroom. The space was wide, adapted with grab bars that you were sure Jake had installed without Riki’s permission.
“All right,” you said, steadying the chair. “On three.”
He gripped the bar and pushed himself up carefully. His good leg bore most of the weight while the injured one hovered lightly.
He couldn’t lean fully on you, the angle didn’t allow it. So he braced one hand against the wall as well, breathing controlled.
“Turn around,” he said quietly.
You nodded immediately and pivoted, facing the opposite wall. “I’m not looking,” you assured him.
There was the faint rustle of fabric. The sound of his uneven breathing. Then the soft, unmistakable sound of relief.
You focused on the tiled wall in front of you, counting silently to give him privacy.
When it ended, you turned slightly. “Do you need help?”
“I can manage.” He gritted out.
You stepped closer cautiously anyway, prepared to assist if needed.
He adjusted himself awkwardly, his movements stiff and awkward.
You reached instinctively to steady him. “I’ve got it,” he said quickly.
You paused. “I can help you clean up,” you offered gently, professional tone intact. “I’ve done it with other patients already.”
He stiffened. “No.”
“It’s part of recovery. There’s nothing embarrassing about it.” you pressed on.
His cheeks flushed faintly. “I said no.”
There was a fragile edge to his voice now, you recognised it as pride.
You studied him for a moment. “All right,” you said softly, stepping back.
He finished on his own, slow and deliberate. When he was ready, you helped him ease back into the wheelchair.
The trip back to the bedroom was quieter. You could feel the shift between you, an understanding of boundaries being tested and reset.
Once he was settled again, you spoke carefully. “You don’t have to do everything alone.”
He stared at the floor. “I know.”
“But you don’t believe it,” you said gently.
He didn’t answer and you didn’t push further.
Instead, you adjusted your notes and said, “We’ll finish with seated exercises today.”
He nodded once.
And this time, when you guided his movements, he followed without trying to prove anything.
🐦🔥.
You had chosen a day where the sky was clear. Not too hot and not too windy. The sunlight felt intentional, like it had decided to show up for a reason.
When you told Riki you were taking him out, he had stared at you like you had suggested skydiving.
“No,” he said immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“You need fresh air.” You smiled, pointing to the world around.
“I have windows.”beh replied matter-of-factly.
“You need sun.” You now pointed a threatening finger towards his pale skin.
“I have vitamin D supplements.” Riki raised a brow in challenge.
You crossed your arms. “You also have cabin fever.”
He glared at you from the edge of the bed. “I’m not going outside like this.”
“Like what?” You tilted your head.
“In a wheelchair and with people staring.” you rolled your eyes, “They won’t stare.”
“They will.” You softened your tone, stepping closer. “Then we’ll make it harder for them to recognize you.”
Ten minutes later he was wearing a dark hoodie, the hood pulled low, and a cap shadowing most of his face. If someone wasn’t looking closely, he was just another tall guy recovering from an injury.
You adjusted the footrests of the wheelchair carefully before pushing him toward the elevator.
“Y/N,” he muttered as the doors closed, “if this ends badly, I’m blaming you.”
“You blame me for everything already,” you replied lightly.
Outside, the park felt alive. Children ran across the grass, their laughter bright and uncontrolled. A dog barked somewhere near the fountain and leaves rustled softly overhead.
You guided him along the paved path, careful over small cracks. His shoulders were tense at first, hunched slightly inward, as if trying to shrink.
“No one’s looking,” you said quietly. “That’s because they’re being subtle about it” he muttered.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. You stopped near a sunny patch by a bench and locked the wheelchair in place.
“Sunlight is good for bone healing,” you explained, crouching in front of him. “It helps your body produce vitamin D naturally.”
“I already take supplements.” He murmured, watching you with his intense eyes.
“But this is free.”
Before he could protest, you gently lifted the hem of his sweatpants slightly to expose part of his injured leg to the warmth. The skin was still pale from weeks indoors.
He inhaled, surprised by the simple sensation. “It feels… weird,” he admitted.
“It’s just warmth.”
You sat beside him on the bench, close enough that your shoulders almost touched. For a while, neither of you spoke. You watched a little boy chase pigeons, tripping over his own feet and laughing as if falling was the funniest thing in the world.
Riki’s voice came quieter than usual. “When I was in Japan, in kindergarten, I cried all the time.”
You turned your head slightly toward him. “For what?”
“For everything,” he said with a faint huff. “If someone took my toy or if my mom left me at school. I hated it.”
“Why?” you questioned.
“Because the other boys didn’t cry. I felt weak.” You studied his profile beneath the cap’s shadow.
“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” you said gently. “It’s your body’s way of signaling that something hurts, physically or emotionally. It’s… a wayv of communication.”
He stayed quiet for a few moments, “I stopped eventually,” he added. “I told myself it was embarrassing.”
“Or maybe you just learned to hide it,” you replied softly.
Before he could answer, footsteps approached. A couple walked past you, young and laughing at something between them. The boyfriend slowed mid-step, eyes narrowing.
“Wait,” he said, squinting. “Is that…?”
Your stomach dropped, bracing for Riki’s fear materialising.
He stepped closer without invitation. “Yo, you’re Riki, right? The Ferrari driver?” Riki’s hands tightened on the armrests.
“Not now,” you said calmly but firmly. “He’s recovering.”
The boyfriend ignored you. “Dude, that crash was insane. What did it feel like? Did you think you were gonna die?”
Riki’s jaw clenched and he lowered his face, trying to hide it with the cap.
“Please,” you said, standing slightly. “We’re not doing interviews.”
The guy laughed awkwardly. “I’m just asking. It’s public news.”
His girlfriend tugged at his sleeve. “Babe, leave him alone.”
But he stepped even closer, peering at Riki’s leg. “Man, that looks brutal. You think you’ll ever race again?”
“Step back,” you said, sharper now.
He brushed past you slightly as he leaned in, and the sudden shift unbalanced you. You stumbled backward, your foot catching on the edge of the pavement.
You hit the ground as pain shot through your palms.
Riki’s head snapped toward you. “Y/N!”
He gripped the wheels instinctively, as if he could stand, as if he could do something. But he couldn’t.
The wheelchair stayed locked and he stayed unmoving.
The boyfriend froze, startled. His girlfriend rushed forward immediately.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said, helping you up gently. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you muttered, brushing dirt off your hands.
She turned to her boyfriend sharply. “What is wrong with you? He’s clearly not okay.”
The guy mumbled something defensive but allowed himself to be pulled away.
Silence settled heavy after they left.
Riki didn’t speak, even as you braced for his crash out. You knelt beside him. “I’m sorry.”
But didn’t look at you.
You decided to take him home, unlocking the wheelchair and pushing it.
The park noises faded behind you. His shoulders were tense again, maybe more than before.
“Wait here for one minute,” you said suddenly.
His head snapped up. “What?”
“Just… wait.” You stepped away before he could argue.
“Y/N!” he hissed after you. “Don’t leave me here.”
You ignored the tightness in your chest and hurried down the street toward the small ice cream vendor you had spotted before.
You came back less than three minutes later, and the look on Riki’s face told you he wasn’t mildly irritated. “You can’t just—”
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw what you were holding.
A cone of chocolate ice cream, slightly melting at the edges.
You walked toward him slowly, holding it out like a peace offering. “I assumed you liked chocolate,” you said softly.
He blinked at it. “What is this?”
“Ice cream,” you replied gently. “When I was sad as a kid, my mom used to buy me ice cream. It didn’t fix anything, but it made things better.”
He stared at you as if you had grown three heads.
“You don’t have to eat it,” you added quickly. “I just thought maybe it would help.”
He looked down at his hands. Then back at the cone. “You left me alone in the street for ice cream?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yes…. well, with good intentions.”
He took the cone carefully from your hand and licked it slowly, tentatively. “Thank you.” he murmured.
“Anytime.” You smiled.
🐦🔥.
Riki sat on the edge of the bed wit his left leg extended stiffly.
You knelt beside him, your hands gentle but firm as you adjusted the brace around his leg. It had been full months of hardship, bickering and trying to get the F1 racer to collaborate with you, and with great effort, you managed to establish a relationship based on collaboration and bribing.
“Alright, Riki.” you said softly, your voice carrying the encouragement that had become your shared language. "Let's try walking again. Remember, slow and steady, no rushing."
He nodded, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, those sharp eyes, usually so fierce on the track, now softened by frustration and determination.
The limp was pronounced, a halting drag that pulled at your heart each time, but progress was there, inch by inch.
That day, though, the session felt heavier, the lateness of the hour weighing on both of you. You'd noticed how his energy flagged earlier than usual, the pain etching deeper lines into his young face.
To lighten the mood, you'd invented a game earlier that week, something simple to turn the monotony of rehab into a challenge. "Okay, let's play 'Track Lap,'" you announced with a playful smile, helping him to his feet.
He leaned on the sturdy cane you'd provided, its rubber tip thudding softly against the floor. "You have to 'lap' the hallway and back to the room without stopping. I'll time you, but the goal isn't speed— it's completing the circuit. Winner gets bragging rights."
Riki's lips quirked into a rare grin, the first genuine one you'd seen all evening. "Bragging rights? You're on. But if I win, you owe me a weird story from your physiotherapy sessions." His voice was low, laced with that competitive edge that hadn't dulled despite the accident.
You chuckled, steadying him as he took his first step. The hallway stretched out from the bedroom door, a long corridor lined with abstract art and a few framed photos of Riki on the podium, his helmet tucked under one arm.
He moved deliberately, the cane planting ahead, his injured leg swinging forward with effort.
You walked beside him, not touching unless needed, your presence a quiet anchor. "One lap down," you murmured as he rounded the corner, his breath coming in measured puffs.
The game worked its magic: his focus sharpened, the limp less about defeat and more about strategy.
Back in the room, after two full circuits, sweat beaded on his brow, and his grip on the cane tightened. He paused by the bed, chest rising and falling. "I think that's enough for today," he admitted, his tone apologetic, as if pushing himself was the only option he knew.
You nodded, concerned,. "You did great! better than last time. Let me help you back." But as you reached for his arm, he shook his head, a spark of stubborn pride igniting.
"I can do it alone.” he insisted, his jaw set. Slowly, painfully so, he shuffled the remaining steps to the bed.
Each movement was a testament to his resilience, the way his good leg bore the weight, the subtle tremor in the injured one, and the soft grunt he let escape when he finally lowered himself onto the mattress.
It took what felt like an eternity, the room silent save for the distant hum of the air conditioning, but he made it without your aid. Pride swelled in your chest as you watched.
Once settled, you moved to tuck him under the covers, pulling the soft duvet up to his waist with care.
The fabric whispered against his skin, and he sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders. You sat on the edge of the bed beside him, your hand resting lightly on the blanket over his leg.
The proximity felt natural now, after weeks of shared vulnerability, the boundaries of professional distance blurring in the quiet intimacy of these late sessions.
"I'm very happy with the results, Riki," you said, your voice warm with sincerity. "You've come so far. I’m sure in just a couple of weeks, you'll be walking without that limp holding you back. Back to striding like the champion you are."
His eyes met yours, a mix of gratitude and something deeper flickering there, a gratitude that bordered on affection. "Thanks to you," he murmured. "Couldn't do it without... this." He gestured vaguely between you, his fingers brushing the air.
To help him unwind further, you shifted closer, your hands returning to his leg. "Let me give you a quick massage to relax the muscles.” you offered.
Gently, you worked your fingers over the taut flesh above the brace, kneading in slow circles. The skin was warm under your touch, the scar a textured map you navigated with care.
Riki closed his eyes, his body melting into the bed, a low hum of contentment escaping his lips. The room seemed to shrink around you both, the outside world fading as his breathing steadied.
As your hands moved, conversation drifted to safer topics, but your mind wandered to the news you'd caught earlier. "I saw Heeseung on the news today," you said casually, though you knew the topic was a raw nerve.
Heeseung, with now only minor burns marring his skin, was already back on the track, dominating practice sessions while Riki still languished in recovery.
The substitution by the third pilot, Noah, a talented but unproven rookie, had been a bitter pill, splashed across headlines as the team's pragmatic move.
Riki's body tensed slightly under your hands, but he didn't pull away. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken resentment. You pressed on gently, hoping to acknowledge the pain without dwelling "It must be tough, seeing him out there while you're sidelined."
He exhaled slowly, his eyes still closed. "Yeah, tough." The words were clipped, laced with the frustration of a man caged by his own body.
Curiosity, or perhaps a need to connect on that shared scar tissue, prompted your next question. "Were you burnt during the accident too? The reports were vague about your side of things."
He didn't reply at first, the quiet amplifying the soft sounds of your massage.
Then, with a deliberate motion, he lifted the sleeve of his loose shirt, exposing his forearm. The skin there was marred by a jagged scar, pale and healed, twisting like a frozen lightning bolt from wrist to elbow.
"Heeseung's car was the one that blew up," he said finally, his voice even but distant. "He took the hit for me. I got this when they pulled me out, because the flames were close, but I was already fading. It healed on its own while I was in the coma for those two weeks. Didn't feel much... or anything, really."
Your fingers paused, drawn inexorably to the mark. You traced it lightly, the pad of your index finger following the raised edges, feeling the story etched into his flesh.
The texture was rough yet smooth in places, a testament to time's imperfect healing.
Something stirred in you, an impulse born of empathy and the closeness of the moment. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a featherlight kiss to the center of the scar, your lips brushing the warm skin in a gesture that was tender, almost reverent.
Oh shit.
The realization hit like a cold splash— very unprofessional. Heat flooded your cheeks as you pulled away sharply, your heart pounding. "I-I'm sorry," you stammered, ready to retreat.
But Riki's hand moved swiftly, fingers tangling in your hair, gentle yet insistent. He tugged you back, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath. Before you could protest, he pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss was electric, a spark igniting the air between you. You melted against him, a soft moan escaping your throat as his mouth moved with surprising urgency.
His tongue invaded, teasing at the seam of your lips until you parted them, allowing him deeper.
The taste of him flooded your senses, your body responding instinctively. Your hands found his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as your lips danced together, the rhythm building from tentative to fervent.
Emboldened, you shifted, and he guided you, his hands on your hips as you swung a leg over to straddle him.
The position was awkward with his injury, your weight was carefully distributed to avoid pressure on his leg, but neither of you cared.
The bed dipped under the new balance, sheets rustling as you settled atop him. Experimentally, you ground your hips down, the friction sending a jolt through you both. He rewarded you with a deep groan, the sound vibrating against your lips, his fingers tightening in your hair.
Concern pierced the haze of desire. You broke the kiss just enough to whisper, "Am I hurting you? Your leg—"
His response was immediate, his voice rough with need. "Only if you stop."
Reassured, you dove back in, your mouths fusing once more. The making out intensified, tongues tangling in a heated exploration and breaths mingling in short gasps.
Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palm, while his free hand slid up your back, pulling you closer. The grind of your hips became rhythmic, a slow roll that elicited more groans from him, his body arching slightly despite the restraint. Heat built between you, the room charged with the scent of arousal and the soft sounds of lips smacking, moans muffled against skin.
Time blurred in the cocoon of the bed, the world narrowing to the press of his body, the way his scar brushed your arm as you leaned in.
His fingers traced patterns on your spine, sending shivers racing down your body. You nipped at his lower lip, drawing another low sound from him, your own desire pooling hot and insistent.
Then, abruptly, the front door burst open with a resounding thud that echoed through the hallway. The spell shattered.
You jumped away from him, scrambling off the bed in a flurry of motion, your face burning with mortification.
With your heart racing, you gathered your things fumbling as footsteps approached. Riki sat up straighter, his expression shifting to casual nonchalance, though his lips were still swollen from the kisses.
Jake entered the room without knocking further, arms laden with grocery bags bulging with fresh produce and protein shakes.
He was oblivious, his focus on the task, whistling a tuneless melody. "Hey, man, got the stuff you asked for, extra greens for that rehab diet. Traffic was a nightmare, sorry I'm late."
“Oh, hi Y/N.” He said as he entered the bedroom to check on his driver, “Are you okay? You look flushed.”
You straightened, clutching your bag like a shield, words tumbling out in an awkward stutter. "I-I should go, the session’s over. Great progress tonight, Riki. See you tomorrow."
Without waiting for a response, you hurried out, brushing past Jake in the doorway, your pulse thundering in your ears as you escaped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you.
Jake frowned, glancing at Riki. “Did you say something to her?”
Riki sighed, sinking further on the mattress, “I wish.”
🐦🔥.
The evening sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the half-drawn curtains of Riki's bedroom.
The room, still carrying the faint scent of your perfume, felt heavier now, charged with the residue of unspoken tension.
Riki lay propped against the pillows, his injured leg elevated on a cushion, staring blankly at the wall.
The king-sized bed seemed too vast for him alone, the white sheets rumpled from the day's exertions.
The front door clicked open again, but this time, the footsteps were heavier, more purposeful.
Heeseung stepped into the apartment, his presence announced by the faint jingle of car keys and the rustle of a jacket being shrugged off.
He'd been absent for over one month, swallowed by his own whirlwind of rehabilitation sessions and relentless press conferences.
The media hounded him as the hero of the accident, the driver who'd sacrificed his car to save his teammate, but the glow of that narrative couldn't mask the toll it took.
His own recovery was a grind, physical therapy for the burns that mottled his hands and arms, sessions where he gripped steering wheels only to feel the skin pull tight and raw.
He pushed open the bedroom door without knocking, his eyes immediately drawn to the broken TV.
The sight of hit him like a punch to the gut: he knew Riki's temper, the way frustration boiled over when the world moved on without him.
Glass shards glinted under the lamp light, a stark symbol of the isolation Riki had been stewing in. Heeseung's expression softened, a mix of concern and understanding etching deeper lines into his face.
He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling a chair from the corner desk and positioning it beside the bed. The wooden legs scraped softly against the floor, breaking the silence.
Riki's gaze flicked to him, surprise flickering before settling into something weary. Heeseung sat down, the chair creaking under his weight, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Look who finally showed his face after I got out of the hospital.” Riki teased.
"Hey, man," he said. "I’m so sorry, I’ve been busy with press conferences and practice, but I know Jake was taking care of you, no?”
Riki nodded faintly, his fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. Heeseung launched into the update, needing to fill the space with something normal, something racing-related to bridge the gap.
“Want to hear something funny? No matter how much rehab I have, my hand won’t collaborate! I finished tenth in the last race. Tenth. Can you believe it?" He flexed his right hand experimentally, wincing as the scarred knuckles protested. “I give you the permission to laugh at me.”
He spoke for a few more minutes, but Riki's attention wandered. His eyes drifted to the window, then back to the ceiling, his responses limited to hums and nods that lacked conviction.
Heeseung paused, studying his teammate's face, the distant look that spoke volumes. He'd seen it before, in the garages after a bad qualifying, but this was deeper, laced with something personal.
"Alright, spill it," Heeseung said, straightening up. "You're not even hearing me. What's eating you?"
Riki sighed softly, the sound escaping like a deflating tire. He shifted against the pillows, his injured leg twitching slightly under the covers.
For a moment, he hesitated, chewing on his lower lip, but the weight of the evening pressed too hard to keep it bottled. "Hypothetically speaking," he started, his voice tentative, eyes fixed on a spot on the blanket, "what would you do if you accidentally made out with your rehab therapist?"
Heeseung's eyebrows shot up, surprise rippling across his features. He leaned back in the chair, processing the question, a low chuckle escaping despite himself. "Oh shit. Well, first of all, my girlfriend would be very mad." The words hung in the air, casual but loaded.
Riki's eyes widened, snapping to Heeseung's face with genuine shock. "Wait— you have a girlfriend? Since when?"
Heeseung nodded, a huge smile tugging at his lips, softening the edges of his exhaustion.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that pulled at the collar of his shirt, revealing faint scarring along his collarbone. "Yeah, it's the nurse who followed me in the hospital after the accident. The one with zero tolerance for my bullshit, I believe you remember her. We made it official a few weeks back, but we kept it quiet. She doesn't want any part of the press life, and i respect it.” His voice warmed at the mention, a rare glimpse of vulnerability from the unflappable driver.
Then, Heeseung cleared his throat,"But hypothetically," he pressed, "how much of that making out would be a mistake, and how much... right?"
The room fell quiet again, and Riki sighed deeper this time, running a hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "It isn’t hypothetical," he admitted, his voice dropping. "I kissed my therapist. And she kissed me back. But maybe it wasn't... I don't know, anything about feelings? We see each other every day, and she's the only one who doesn't look at me like I'm Riki the Ferrari driver, the guy who crashed out. She sees just... me. But maybe that's all professional, you know? Just her job."
Heeseung watched him, the pieces clicking into place.
Oh man, Riki was truly fucked.
Heeseung leaned forward again, his expression turning serious. "Sounds like it's more than professional to me.”
He gave Riki a small smile “But yeah, it's a minefield. You've got to figure out what it means before it derails everything." He didn't push further, letting the advice settle.
“Ah, whatever, I’ll figure it out.” Riki sat up straighter, “Now tell me about you and the pretty nurse, uh?”
Meanwhile, the following morning dawned crisp and bustling in the heart of the city. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the sweet tang of pastries, steam rising from the espresso machine like a fog.
Sunlight filtered through the large front windows, casting warm patterns on the wooden counters and the mismatched stools lining the bar.
Your shift started early as always, but today, your mind was elsewhere, replaying the heated press of lips, the tangle of fingers in your hair, and the abrupt interruption that had sent you fleeing.
Clumsiness plagued you from the moment you clocked in. The first mishap came during the breakfast rush, when a customer ordered a latte,p and as you reached for a cup, your elbow knocked into a stack on the shelf.
Two ceramic mugs tumbled, shattering on the tiled floor with a sharp crack that drew stares from the line.
Shards scattered like confetti, white and blue fragments glinting under the lights. "Sorry," you muttered, grabbing the broom from the back, cheeks flushing as you swept up the mess.
Taesan, your dear coworker, shot you a concerned glance from behind the register. Not even ten minutes later, disaster struck again. While prepping an Americano, you fumbled the syrup bottle, but it was the espresso that did you in.
As you pulled the shot, your hand slipped on the hot portafilter, the scalding metal brushing your palm.
Pain bloomed instantly, a red welt rising as you hissed and dropped the tamper with a clang. The machine hissed back, oblivious as steam curling upward. You plunged your hand under cold water at the sink, biting your lip to stifle a yelp, the cafe's chatter fading into a dull roar in your ears.
Taesan hurried over, wiping his hands on a towel, his brow furrowed with worry. "Y/N, you okay? You’ve broken two cups today and now this? You don't look well— did you even sleep?"
You shook your head, drying your hand gingerly on a clean cloth, the burn throbbing like a guilty heartbeat.
"I did something very unprofessional last night," you confessed, your voice low to avoid the ears of the patrons. The words tasted bitter, laced with regret.d
Taesan raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. He glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping before grinning playfully. "Unprofessional? What, did you kiss your rehab guy or something? Come on, spill, you've been hiding his identity like it's state secrets." His tone was light, teasing, the kind of joke that usually elicited a laugh from you.
But you didn't reply, your silence stretching as you busied yourself wiping down the steamer, avoiding his gaze.
The lack of denial hit him like a revelation. His eyes widened, and he gasped so hard it echoed over the soft jazz playing from the speakers.
Heads turned from nearby tables, customers raised their eyebrows in mild curiosity before they returned to their own worlds.
"Wait, seriously?" Taesan whispered urgently, pulling you toward the back of the counter, away from prying eyes. "You actually did? Oh my god, Y/N, sit down and tell me everything. Now."
You sank onto a stool behind the espresso machine, the wooden seat cool against your jeans while your burned hand cradled in your lap.
Taking a deep breath, you let it out in a rush. "It was after the session. He showed me his burn scars on his arm, from the accident that broke his leg. He looked so... sad, Taesan. I just traced them with my fingers, and then... I kissed it.”
You gripped your hair in your hands, “But it was so stupid, so unprofessional. And then he…. he pulled me in, and we kissed. Really kissed. But we're still working together. He just started walking with the cane properly, and now this? Gosh, I'm so stupid. He could report me for harassment!”
Your words tumbled out, laced with self-reproach and your free hand gesturing wildly before you caught yourself.
The burn on your palm pulsed in time with your racing thoughts, a physical echo of the inner turmoil. Taesan listened, his initial shock giving way to a thoughtful nod, though his eyes sparkled with a mix of concern and intrigue.
He crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Okay, hold up— did he kiss you back? Like, was it mutual?"
You hesitated, the memory flashing vivid in your mind: the tangle of his fingers in your hair, the groan against your lips, the way he'd insisted you continue. "Well... yes," you admitted, your voice softening. "He kissed me back. But that's so not the point! I initiated it, I crossed every line. It was unprofessional, full stop. I need to apologize and set boundaries. I'll do it after my shift ends. Clear the air before it poisons everything."
Taesan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding amid the cafe's bustle. "Hey, breathe. if he kissed back, maybe it's not all on you. Just... be careful. Apologize if it feels right, but don't beat yourself up too hard. You've got this."
You nodded, though doubt lingered, the weight of the impending confrontation settling like steam on the counter.
🐦🔥.
That afternoon, the weight of what had happened before seemed to follow you all the way up the stairs to Riki’s apartment, pressing against your chest with every step until even the simple act of breathing felt deliberate.
It hadn’t been planned, hadn’t been calculated, and that made it worse, because it meant it had been honest.
And honesty, in your line of work, could be dangerous.
By the time you entered the code and stepped inside, your fingers felt colder than usual, despite the mild weather outside. The apartment greeted you with its usual quiet, a stillness that had become familiar over the past weeks. You closed the door softly behind you, almost as if loud sounds might break something fragile that lingered in the air.
“Hello?” you called out, your voice carefully even.
“In here,” Riki answered.
You found him in the bedroom, sitting upright against the pillows, his injured leg stretched out in front of him.
He looked better, there was no denying that. Less pale and less hollow. But there was something in his gaze when it met yours that made your stomach tighten.
You looked away first. “Let’s start with cleaning the skin around the case,” you said, moving into routine as if it could shield you.
You set your bag down and pulled out gloves and ointment. your hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over where your thoughts faltered.
You sat beside him on the edge of the bed, close enough to feel the heat of his body, close enough to notice the faint scent of his soap.
You focused on your work, gently lifting the edge of the case padding, careful not to irritate the skin underneath.
the silence wasn’t uncomfortable in the usual sense. It was heavier than that, filled with something unspoken, something waiting.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry,” you said suddenly, your voice quieter than you intended.
Your hands didn’t stop moving, but your fingers slowed slightly against his skin.
“For yesterday,” you continued. “That shouldn’t have happened. It was unprofessional, and I really hope you can forget it. And… forgive me.”
The words felt rehearsed, like you had practiced them in your head too many times, worn them thin before even saying them out loud.
Riki didn’t respond immediately. You felt his gaze before you saw it, the weight of it settling on your face, studying you in a way that made it impossible to pretend nothing had shifted between you.
“Do you really want me to forget it?” he asked.
The question caught you off guard, even though you should have expected it.
Your heart stuttered. Truthfully? No.
Truthfully, you didn’t want him to forget the way his hand had tightened slightly against your waist, the way his breath had changed, the way it had felt so natural to be that close to him.
You didn’t want to forget how it had stirred something in you that had nothing to do with professionalism and everything to do with something softer, deeper and more dangerous.
You wanted him to kiss you again, to pull you closer and to bury his fingers in your hair like he had almost done.
But you couldn’t say that.
So you looked down again, focusing on the careful motion of applying ointment along the edge of his skin, your voice steady despite the quiet storm inside your chest. “Yes,” you said. “I really do.”
“Okay,” he said simply, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. And somehow, that made it worse.
You continued working, finishing the cleaning, rewrapping the padding with practiced care. The routine steadied you again, grounding you in something familiar.
Rehab that day was quieter than usual, but not tense. There was a strange kind of understanding settling between you, one that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
He followed your instructions without pushing too far, without trying to prove anything. His movements were more controlled now and the progress was subtle but undeniable.
Days turned into weeks. And then, at the end of the month, something shifted again. “I want to go outside,” he said one late afternoon.
You blinked at him, surprised “Really?”
He nodded, a little uncertain but determined. “Yeah. I think… I think I’m ready to try again.”
The smile that spread across your face came before you could stop it. “Okay,” you said, almost breathless with relief. “Okay, yes, we can do that.”
You helped him get dressed carefully, adjusting the brace, making sure everything was secure.
He wore a cap, a mask, and a hoodie, layers of anonymity that made him feel safer.
Outside, the air was cooler than expected, the sky a soft gray that hinted at rain.
The streets weren’t crowded, which helped. You stayed close to him as he walked, his hand gripping the cane, his steps slow but steady.
The limp was still there, but it was less pronounced now. “You’re doing really well,” you said quietly.
He shrugged, but there was a flicker of pride in the movement. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
“It will,” you replied. “You’re getting there.”
After a while, he spoke again. “You never really talk about yourself.”
You glanced at him, surprised. “There’s not much to say.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said.
You hesitated, then exhaled softly. “I graduated recently from university.”
“What did you study?” he questioned genuinely
“Rehabilitation therapy,” you answered, smiling faintly. “Obviously.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I also work at a café in the mornings,” you added. “To pay rent. And… finish paying my fees.”
He glanced at you, something thoughtful in his eyes. “Why this job?” he asked. “Why rehab?”
You looked ahead, your gaze softening as the memory surfaced.
“My best friend,” you began slowly, “her name is Karina and in high school, she was…. an increible gymnastic. The kind that made everything look effortless.”
You paused, the image vivid in your mind. “She fell during a routine and broke her knee badly. It wasn’t just the injury… it was what came after. She lost herself for a while, completely. She stopped smiling… stopped caring about anything.”
Riki listened quietly, and you continued. “But then she went through rehab,” you continued. “And it wasn’t easy, it took months, but she got better. She found her way back. Not just to gymnastics— but to herself.”
You smiled faintly. “I want to do that for people. To help them find their way back.”
There was a silence after that, not empty but full. “And you?” you asked gently. “Why racing?”
He let out a quiet breath, his gaze drifting ahead. “My dad used to take me to watch races,” he said. “When I was a kid. I didn’t understand everything, but I loved the sound… the speed, the feeling of it all.” He shifted his grip on the cane.
“I think… I wanted to feel like that. Like I was part of something bigger. Like I was in control.” You nodded, understanding more than you expected.
Something wet hit his cheek, and he frowned. Then, something wet hit your head too.
It took only a couple of seconds for the sky to open completely, rain pouring down. “Oh—” you laughed softly, looking up. “Of course.”
You turned around, walking back to his apartment. People all rushed to find shelter, but there was no need. Riki could not run, and you were content just by being by his side.
Riki groaned. “I hate this.”
“You hate rain?” Your eyes widened.
“Yes.”
You shook your head, smiling. “I love it. It makes everything feel… free.”
“Free?” he echoed, incredulous.
“Yes. Especially when you’re inside, under a blanket, listening to it.” He huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it.
The rain soaked through your clothes, your hair clinging to your face and your shoes growing heavier with each step. But there was something strangely peaceful about it, something that made the moment feel… alive.
By the time you reached his apartment, both of you were drenched. “Okay,” you said, pushing the door open. “First priority: getting you dry.”
You helped him out of his wet clothes carefully, mindful of his leg, his balance. You handed him a towel, then moved to the wardrobe to grab something clean.
“You should change too,” he said.
“I’m fine—” you dismissed, but he insisted. “You’re soaked.”
He pulled out a hoodie and sweatpants, handing them to you. They were too big, the fabric soft and warm. “Here.”
“Thanks,” you murmured.
You changed quickly in the bathroom, the dry fabric a relief against your skin. When you stepped back into the room, the clothes hung loosely on you, sleeves too long and the waistband gathered awkwardly at your hips, tied with a hair tie
Riki looked up and stilled. There was a shift in his expression, it made your breath catch. You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the space between you.
“So, today…” you began softly, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of the hoodie. “Today is the last day.”
He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“The contract,” you explained. “It was for five months, today marks five months from our first session.”
Understanding flickered across his face. “Oh.” He nodded slowly. “Of course, yes.”
But there was something in his eyes now. Something that hadn’t been there before. “You went a long way, uh? From being stubborn to almost being my best patient. I might even give you a star sticker.” You joked, trying to lighten the mood.
He pushed himself up, not using the cane this time. He just had a slight limp as he crossed the space between you.
And then he wrapped his arms around you. “I’m glad you helped me,” he said quietly, his voice close to your ear. “You gave me my hope back.”
Your chest tightened and you smiled, even if he couldn’t see it.
“I hope I see you on TV again one Sunday,” you replied softly.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. “You will.”
You nodded, stepping away before the moment could stretch any further.
You gathered your things slowly, your movements deliberate, as if rushing would make it harder to leave.
“Goodbye, Riki.” You said for the last time.
“Bye, Y/N.”
🐦🔥.
The clearance to go back racing wasn’t dramatic. There was no dramatic announcement, no applause abd no flashing cameras waiting outside the hospital doors.
Just a doctor flipping through a chart, nodding once, and saying, “You can start driving again. Slowly and no pressure. Listen to your body.”
Riki had nodded too, but the words hadn’t landed the way everyone expected them to.
They didn’t feel like freedom, not yet. They felt like a door opening to something he wasn’t sure he could step through.
Still, that evening, he went to the track.
The city circuit stretched out under a fading sky, the asphalt still warm from the day with lights flickering on one by one as the sun dipped lower.
The place smelled the same way, of burnt rubber, fuel and metal. It was familiar in a way that should have been comforting, but instead, it made something in his chest tighten.
He stood near the pit boxes, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, cap low over his eyes.
The sounds of engines roaring past surrounded him. Noah was on track with Riki’s car. He watched it pass once, then again, the sleek red body slicing through the circuit like nothing had ever happened to it. There was no trace of the crash that had nearly ended everything five months ago.
It almost looked like a stranger’s car.
When Noah finally pulled back into the pit lane, the engine whined down as the car rolled into position, Riki didn’t move at first. He just stared, his gaze fixed on the vehicle like it might shift if he blinked too hard.
Noah climbed out, pulling off his helmet with a grin. “As good as new,” he said, clapping Riki on the shoulder as he passed. “All yours.”
Riki barely reacted, he was somewhere else. Maybe he was still inside it as it almost crashed against the bleachers, or maybe he was still at the hospital, in a coma.
So much so that he didn’t notice Heeseung approaching until an arm suddenly hooked around his shoulders and a sharp nudge hit his side, a knee, quick and familiar.
Riki jolted slightly, blinking out of whatever trance had held him. “What the fuck—”
Heeseung grinned. “Payback.” Because that had been the joke Riki always did to Heeseung when he was nervous.
Riki exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re annoying.”
“You started it,” Heeseung shot back easily, his arm still loosely draped over Riki’s shoulders. “So, you ready to get back on track, huh?”
Riki’s eyes flicked back to the car. Ready… the word felt heavy.
“Jake even had your racing suit fixed and polished.” Heeseung informed, pushing Riki towards a table where his old racing suit rested.
He reached out, fingers brushing the fabric before gripping it fully. “Thanks.”
The changing room felt smaller than he remembered. Or maybe it was just him. The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The suit hung from his hands, heavier than it should have been.
He changed slowly, pulling the fabric over his body felt strange after months of loose clothes, hoodies, and sweatpants. The suit hugged him tightly, outlining muscles that had weakened and then rebuilt, reminding him of every inch of his body that had been broken and stitched back together.
He stared at himself in the mirror and for a second, he didn’t recognize the reflection.
Then he grabbed his helmet and stepped back out, reaching for his car.
He slid into the seat, his movements more careful than they used to be. The harness clicked into place across his chest, the familiar pressure grounding and suffocating all at once.
His hands wrapped around the wheel, then he flexed his injured leg slightly, testing it against the pedal. It responded, stiff and a little sore, but functional.
“Radio check,” a voice crackled through his helmet.
Yang Jungwon. His trusted radio friend. “Yeah,” Riki replied, his voice steady but quieter than usual.
“Conditions are clear, the track’s yours and the brake system was fully checked and fixed,” Jungwon continued. “Take it easy. No need to push.”
Riki swallowed the lump in his throat “Got it.”
The engine roared to life beneath him. The vibration traveled through his body, up his spine and went into his chest.
For a moment, it felt like coming home. he eased out of the pit lane. Slow and controlled at first, then faster.
The straight opened up in front of him, long and inviting. His foot pressed down on the accelerator, the engine responding instantly as the car surged forward.
He was at 100, then the number climbed, reaching 200 km/h.
The wind roared against the chassis, the world narrowing into speed and motion.
For a split second, everything aligned. his muscles, his memory, the feeling of control…
But then the turn came.
A familiar one. One he had taken hundreds of times without thinking.
But now his mind was filled with something else. It was somewhere else.
His foot slammed on the brake, too hard. The car jerked violently, swerving slightly as the tires protested against the sudden force.
“Riki, ease up,” Jungwon’s voice cut in, sharper now. “Control the car.”
Riki’s grip tightened on the wheel as his breath peaked up. “Move the car off the racing line,” Jungwon continued. “Heeseung’s coming up behind you.”
But the words barely registered, because that turn wasn’f just a simple turn. It was again that moment. That crash. That loss of control.
“I can’t—” he muttered under his breath. Instead of correcting, instead of continuing, he pulled off abruptly, stopping near the edge of the track.
He unlatched the harness with shaking hands, ripping the helmet off as he climbed out.
He left the car there, left himself behind and rushed back toward the pit building, his limp more pronounced now.
The changing room door slammed shut behind him. A silence, heavy and suffocating filled the room. He sat down hard on the bench, elbows on his knees while hands gripped his head.
Then, during his not so internal turmoil, the door that connected the reception to the changing rooms opened.
“Hello?” a voice called softly.
As Riki looked up, he noticed that it was you. You stood there, slightly out of place among the harsh lighting and metallic surroundings, a cartoon-patterned bag in your hand.
Your hair caught the artificial light, your expression shifting quickly from neutral to concerned as you took in the sight of him.
“Y/N?” he said, confused.
“I— Jake texted me,” you explained, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. “He said to bring your clothes back here because you weren’t home.” You paused, studying him more closely.
He was still in his racing suit, half unzipped, damp with sweat. His chest rose and fell too quickly while his hands trembled faintly.
“Are you okay?” you asked gently.
Something in your voice, soft and familiar, something he’d heard for five whole months, broke whatever fragile control he had left.
He dropped his head into his hands again, fingers digging into his hair. “I can’t do it,” he said, his voice cracking.
You stepped closer instinctively. “I can’t,” he repeated, louder this time, frustration and fear tangling together. “I got in the car and it was fine, and then the turn came and I—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “I froze.”
You set the bag down slowly, approaching him as if he was a wounded animal. “I thought I was ready,” he continued, his words rushing now. “Everyone thinks I’m ready. But I’m not. I’m—” He let out a harsh laugh. “I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared.”
The confession hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. “I’m a coward,” he finished quietly.
You didn’t hesitate. You moved in front of him and dropped to your knees, the motion quick but deliberate, forcing him to look at you.
“No,” you said firmly.
His eyes flicked up, surprised.
“I have never seen cowardice in you,” you continued, your voice steady despite the intensity in your chest. “Not once.”
“You didn’t see me out there,” he shot back bitterly. “I slammed the brakes like I’d never driven before.”
“I saw you fight to get back on your feet when you couldn’t even stand,” you replied. “I saw you push through pain every single day. I saw you rebuild something you thought you’d lost.”
He shook his head. “That’s different.”
“It’s not,” you insisted. “It’s the same strength.”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “I see fire in you,” you said softly.
His laugh was hollow. “Yeah. I saw fire too, right before i slammed the break.”
You leaned forward slightly, your voice gentler now but no less certain. “You saw it because it scared you. Because you remember what happened. That doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human.”
“I believe in you,” you added quietly. “You’re not going back to who you were before,” you continued. “You’re going to be better. Stronger. You’ve been through something most people wouldn’t survive, and you’re still here.”
You reached for his helmet, which lay discarded beside him, and picked it up. For a moment, you just held it. Then you stood and placed it gently into his hands.
“If you want,” you said softly, “I’ll watch you.”
He stared at the helmet, foreign in your hands, and something shifted in his expression.
He exhaled slowly, then he stood. He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you for a long second, something unspoken passing between you.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Follow me.”
He held out his hand, and despite everything in your brain telling you not to take it, to turn around and go back to your life, you took it.
🐦🔥.
The pit lane was louder now, harsher after the silence inside.
The entire place felt like a world built on precision and speed, and you stood there, just slightly out of place.
Riki was already back at his car, standing beside it with the helmet in his hands, shoulders squared in a way that looked more like resolve than confidence. Noah had brought it back, parked neatly in the pit box, the red body gleaming under artificial lights as if it had never betrayed him before.
You watched as he slipped the helmet on again, the motion more deliberate this time, less rushed, like he was bracing himself instead of escaping.
As he climbed in, the engine roared back to life, vibrating through the ground beneath your feet.
It startled you slightly, even though you had heard it before ci.
You stayed near the edge of the pit area, unsure where you were allowed to stand, unsure of the invisible rules that seemed to govern everything around you. No one stopped you, but no one acknowledged you either.
So you stayed still..
The car pulled out again, smoother this time, merging back onto the track.
Your hands clasped together unconsciously. You didn’t know how this worked. You didn’t know what you were supposed to look for, what was considered good or bad.
All you knew was him, the way he had looked in that room and the way his voice had broken when he admitted he was afraid.
That was what you were watching for. Not the car, but him.
“Hey.” The voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
You turned, and a tall man stood a few steps away, studying you with mild curiosity.
His posture was relaxed, but there was something sharp in his gaze, something observant.
“Who are you?” he asked suspiciously.
You hesitated for a second, caught off guard. “I— uhm…” you started, suddenly aware of how out of place you must have looked. “I’m with… Riki?”
The sentence came out unsure, like you weren’t entirely certain what you were to him anymore. “And your name?” he asked.
“Y/N, I was his rehab therapist.” you shuffled on your feet awkwardly.
He frowned before recognition burned in his eyes. “So you’re that Y/N.”
“That?” you echoed, confused.
He smiled faintly, extending a hand. “Heeseung.”
You shook it, his grip was warm and firm. You noticed then, the faint scars that wrapped around his neck, peaking out from under the collar of the racing suit.
“Come,” he said, gesturing for you to follow. “You probably shouldn’t just stand there, let’s go watch him.”
You fell into step beside him, weaving through the organized chaos of the pit lane until he led you to a set of monitors set up under a shaded structure.
A man with headphones sat in front of them, eyes glued to the screens while his fingers moving quickly over controls.
“This is where we watch everything,” Heeseung explained, nodding toward the screens. “Positions, speed… well, all the fun stuff.”
You nodded, even though most of it went over your head.
The screens showed Riki’s car from different angles: onboard views, overhead shots with data scrolling alongside in numbers and lines you couldn’t decipher.
“He’s out again,” Heeseung added, glancing at the main monitor.
You leaned slightly closer, your eyes fixed on the moving image.
As the car approached the turn, a simple one, it slowed down until it stopped aburptly.
A frustrated groan came from the man with the headphones. “Again.” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“That’s Jungwon,” Heeseung said quietly to you. “Our radio technician.”
Jungwon leaned forward, pressing a button. “Riki, you need to keep moving.” he said into the mic, his tone controlled but strained.
On the screen, the car stayed still for a beat too long. Heeseung exhaled slowly beside you, but then something shifted in his expression.
He looked at you, then back at the screen and then at you again. “I have an idea,” he said.
Before you could ask what he meant, he reached over and gently, but very decisively, lifted the headphones off Jungwon’s head.
“Hey—!” Jungwon protested immediately, turning around. “What are you doing?”
“Relax,” Heeseung replied easily, already placing the headphones into your hands. “We’re trying something.”
“I need those—”
Heeseung rolled his eyes “You’ll get them back.”
Jungwon looked like he was about to argue more, but Heeseung had already turned his attention to you.
“Talk to him,” he said.
Your eyes widened. “What?”
“Talk to him,” he repeated. “Maybe he needs to hear you.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the headphones. “I don’t know what to say…” you admitted.
Jungwon leaned closer, clearly still annoyed but focused. “Just tell him what I tell you. He’s alone on the track right now, but he needs to keep moving.”
You swallowed, and then you put the headphones on. You pressed the button hesitantly.
“Riki?” you said, your voice softer than expected.
There was a pause, a shaky exhale. “Yes?”
Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice. “I—” you glanced quickly at Jungwon.
“He’s alone,” Jungwon whispered. “Tell him that.”
“You’re the only one on the track,” you said, trying to keep your tone steady. “There’s no one around you. You can take it slow, but you have to keep going.”
“I’m right here,” you added, softer now. “And… I believe in you.”
There was another pause before the engine roared again and the car on the screen began moving.
Your eyes locked onto it, your entire body tense with anticipation.
“Keep your line,” Jungwon murmured beside you. “Keep your line.” you repeated into the mic, your voice steady now.
The car turned, not perfectly, definetly not, but it went over the turn and continued on the track. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escaped your lips.
“He did it.” Jungwon muttered, almost to himself.
You relayed every instruction Jungwon gave you, about speeds, adjustments and small corrections. Your voice became a thread he could hold onto.
Until finally, he pulled back into the pit boxes.
You removed the headphones slowly, as ykur hands slightly trembled.
Heeseung was already walking toward the car, and you followed, your steps quick despite the lingering uncertainty in your chest.
When his eyes found you, he smiled. He flexed his leg slightly, almost instinctively, as if showing you without needing to say anything.
You stepped closer immediately. “Does it hurt?”
You dropped down slightly, your hands already reaching to check, your instincts taking over.
But he caught your wrist gently. “Hey,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not working right now, remember?”
You blinked, then let out a quiet breath, straightening. “Right.”
Behind him, Heeseung watched the exchange with a knowing look, something almost amused flickering in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, though. He just gave Riki a light pat on the shoulder.
“I’ll give you two a minute.” he said casually, already stepping away.
The space around you shifted again. Riki looked at you for a moment, before speaking “Did you come here with your car?” he asked.
You shook your head. “No, it broke down a few days ago. It’s at the mechanic, but…” You hesitated slightly. “I don’t really have the money to fix it right now. So I took the bus.”
He frowned. “Wait here,” he said suddenly.
Before you could ask anything, he turned and walked back toward the building.
You stayed where you were, confused but oddly calm, watching as he disappeared inside.
A few minutes later, he came back , he had changed out of his racing suit, back in normal clothes and carrying the bag you had brought.
He walked straight to you and without a word, he reached for your hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and steady as if it was a normal thing.
“Come on,” he said.
His car was, well, expensive, here was no other way to describe it. A black, sleek Cadillac. It felt like stepping into a different world entirely as you got in, the interior smelling faintly of leather and. You gave him your address quietly as he started the engine.
You watched the city pass by through the window, the lights beginning to glow as evening settled in. When he pulled up in front of your building, the engine idling softly, neither of you moved immediately.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
He nodded once. “Anytime.”
You reached for the door, then paused.
Before you could overthink it, you leaned slightly toward him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
You pulled back immediately, your heart racing slightly. “Goodnight, Riki.”
Riki smiled, “Good night, Y/N.”
And he started the engine again only when he was sure you were safe in the house. You knew it because you had peaked from behind the curtain, your heart fluttering.
🐦🔥.
The café wasn’t supposed to be busy, that was part of its charm, the reason people loved it, the reason you had chosen it in the first place.
It was tucked away between two narrow streets, almost hidden unless someone already knew where to look.
The kind of place where regulars came for quiet mornings, where conversations stayed low and unhurried and where the sound of the espresso machine was usually the loudest thing in the room.
But that day, something had shifted.
From the moment you tied your apron and stepped behind the counter, there had been a steady flow of people, the bell above the door chiming over and over until it lost its meaning.
Orders piled up, cups lined the counter, and the air grew thick with the scent of coffee and warm pastries.
You moved quickly and taesan was beside you, just as quick, though less composed.
“What is happening today?” he muttered under his breath as he wiped the counter for the third time in five minutes.
“I don’t know,” you replied, adjusting a cup beneath the espresso machine. “Maybe the world discovered us overnight.”
“Or maybe they’re all lost,” he said dryly.
“I’ll take the orders.” you called, turning toward the tables instead of the counter this time, a small notepad already in your hand.
A man sat near the window. His presence didn’t match the others. While the café buzzed with chatter and movement, he seemed… still.
You approached him anyway. “Good afternoon, what would you like to order?” you asked, your voice professional, neutral.
He lifted his head… and everything in you stilled.
You knew that face. Even partially hidden under the cap, even softened by natural light instead of flashing cameras and polished interviews— you knew it instantly.
Nishimura Riki.
Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself, your breath catching sharply in your throat as recognition hit all at once.
“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear, but loud enough that your own shock echoed in your ears.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, “I never told you the name of the cafe where i work.”
He tilted his head slightly, something almost amused flickering in his eyes. “I have my ways,” he said simply.
You stared at him. “Of course you do.” you replied flatly, trying to regain control of yourself.
“A cappuccino, please.” he said, as if this was a normal interaction, as if he hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere and shattered your sense of order. “With cocoa.”
You scribbled it down mechanically. “Anything else?”
He shook his head.
You nodded once and turned away, your heartbeat still uneven as you walked back behind the counter.
Taesan noticed immediately. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” he said, leaning closer as you set the notepad down.
His gaze went to the man you had just taken the order of, “Oh my God,” Taesan breathed, his voice rising before you could stop him. “Is that—”
You grabbed his arm instantly. “Lower your voice,” you hissed.
His eyes snapped back to you, wide. “That’s Nishimura Riki,” he whispered harshly. “What is he doing here?”
You busied your hands with the coffee machine, focusing on the mechanical process just to ground yourself.
“I don’t know.” you muttered.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “The way he’s looking at you—”
“He’s not looking at me.” You snapped too quickly.
Taesan raised a brow “He is looking at you.”
You ignored him, concentrating on pouring the milk inside the coffee, the steady motion helping you keep your composure.
“You said your rehab client was private,” Taesan continued, his voice dropping into something more curious than teasing. “You never told me who it was.”
You didn’t respond again and that tipped you off.
“It was him!” he said suddenly, realisation hitting him all at once.
Your head snapped toward him. “Shut up,” you snapped under your breath.
He leaned back slightly, stunned. “You kissed Nishimura Riki?”
“If you say his name one more time, I will throw this coffee at you.” you threatened, your voice low and deadly serious.
He raised his hands in surrender, though his expression was still full of disbelief.
You turned back to the counter, finishing the cappuccino with steady hands despite everything swirling inside you. You added the cocoa on top, just like he had asked, the small detail grounding you.
When you brought it to him, the café had shifted.
People had started noticing, a dad was trying to get his kid to get Riki’s autograph, while others had cameras clearly aimed at his face.
He sat there, completely at ease in the attention, as if it were just another part of his day.
It felt strange, seeing him so confident in his own skin.
You placed the mug in front of him. “Cappuccino with cocoa,” you said, your tone carefully neutral.
“Thanks.” he replied, his voice softer than the chaos around you.
You worked through the rest of your shift mechanically, your thoughts circling back to him over and over.
When he finally stood, the movement caught your attention immediately. The limp became less pronounced each time you saw him.
He walked toward the counter. “How much?” he asked.
“Two and thirty.” You replied, typing on the register. “Alright,” he said, reaching in his pocket, “Can I tip?” he added casually.
You hesitated. “Sure.” you said, though something in his tone made you wary.
He pulled out money. Too much money. Way too much. “Take it,” he said.
“No.” you replied instantly, your voice sharper than intended.
“It’s fine.” He said, holding it out for you. “It’s not fine.” You took only what was needed for the cappuccino, pushing the rest back toward him.
“I’m not a charity case.” you said firmly.
His brows furrowed slightly. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Then don’t treat me like one,” you snapped.
“Okay.” He didn’t argue. He just took the money back and left.
The rest of your shift dragged heavy. Your mood lingered somewhere between frustration and something heavier, something harder to define.
Who did he think he was?
You stepped outside for your break, needing air, needing space away from the noise and the constant motion.
The door closed behind you, but it didn’t bring salvation.
Because there Riki was, leaning against his sleek Cadillac parked just outside, his arms crossed loosely and his head tilted slightly as if he had been waiting.
He straightened immediately when he saw you, pushing off the car and jogging the short distance toward you.
“I told you to go away,” you said before he could speak, your voice still edged with irritation. “I’m not working for you anymore.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “Just— hear me out.”
Hesitation flickered in your eyes before sighing, “Fine.”
He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly less composed than he had been inside.
“This is new for me,” he admitted.
You frowned slightly. “What is?”
“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you. “Feeling like this.”
“I’m good at flirting,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “At being… cocky, at saying the right things. But this?” He shook his head slightly. “This is different.”
You didn’t interrupt, afraid to shatter the vulnerability of the moment.
“The way you make me feel,” he said, meeting your eyes, “it’s not something I know how to handle.”
“I wanted to help you,” he added. “To fix things. To make things easier for you.”
“That’s not your job.” you said.
“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.”
He took a step closer. “I wanted to take away some of your burdens. That’s why I gave you that money.”
Your jaw clenched slightly as he continued. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
His voice softened. “I just… wanted you to be okay.” he added more quietly, “Can you let me do that?”
You frowned. “Do what?”
“Take care of you,” he said.
The words were simple, but they carried weight.
“We don’t have to rush anything,” he added quickly. “We can take it slow. Just… see where it goes.”
You looked at him, really looked at him.
At the boy who was so stuck in his own head just months ago. At the boy who blamed himself for something that wasn’t his fault.
At the man Riki had become, not Riki the driver.
“It’s weird hearing you say you don’t want to rush,” you said lightly. “Considering you’re very good with speed.”
He huffed a small laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Guess this is different too.”
You nodded slowly. “Okay,” you said. “I can give you a chance.”
The word hung in the air for a second, and then his hand found your waist. And he kissed you.
This time, there was no hesitation, no interruption. Just warmth and certainty and something that felt… right.
You melted into it for a moment before pulling back slightly. “People might see us.” You murmured.
“I don’t care.” he replied.
And then he kissed you again, your hands grasping his shirt while his fingers pulled you flush against his chest.
When you finally pulled away, with your breath uneven and your heart racing, he smiled faintly.
“I might have done something else that could make you mad.” He announced sheepishly.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “What did you do?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.
Your breath caught when you recognised them. “No way…”
He held them out. “Your car,” he said simply. “I picked it up from the mechanic. It’s fixed.”
“You’re unbelievable!” you muttered, hitting his arm lightly.
He winced dramatically. “Ow.”
You grabbed the collar of his shirt, kissing him again. You weren’t sure of many things: you didn’t know if you could manage paying rent, or if you could actually make a living with rehab.
You didn’t even know what to eat for breakfast, always debating whether you preferred toast or cereal.
But what you were sure of was that if you gave your heart to this man, he wouldn’t break it.
summary: your daughter asks heeseung to tell the greatest love story of all and he takes the chance to narrate how he met you, the love of his life.
warnings: fluff & crack! (i tried), early 2000s au, kinda enemies to lovers, heeseung is down bad, they have a daughter, mentions of pregnancy, heeseung plays basketball, cuddling and kissing, light angst, mentions of leukaemia, parent’s death, if more lmk. NOT PROOFREAD
published: 23rd April 2024
wc: 6.2k
tag list: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted
Heeseung couldn’t bring himself to wake you up, knowing you were so exhausted from all the things you had to do.
Not only did you manage to prepare everything for Jia’s kindergarten, take her there and get to work in time but you also cleaned and cooked in your spare time, leaving little to just sit down and rest, which was why every time you sat down on the sofa, you ended up falling in a deep slumber.
He smiled fondly, covering your curled figure with a blanket and turned around with his hands on his hips “Tin Soldier.”
He called with a forced low voice, making Jia’s attention turn from the toy in her hand to her father, she placed her stocky hand on her forehead, standing at attention “Captain Hamster.”
Heeseung chuckled at her high pitched voice and scooped her up from the floor, taking her in his arms “Mission sweet tooth,” He booped her nose “Time for teeth brushing.”
Jia let out a whine of disappointment “But I want to play more.” She pouted, and if Heeseung didn’t know how much you’d get upset if Jia missed her bedtime, he’d let his daughter play to her heart's content.
“I know,” He pinched her cheek softly, earning a giggle “But I heard the tooth fairy doesn’t come to those who don’t brush their teeth before bed…” He trailed off, Jia’s eyes widened and she quickly climbed down Heeseung’s arms, hurrying upstairs. He could hear her small steps darting to the bathroom, making him smile writhing himself.
He glanced back at you, feeling such an euphoric feeling he thought his heart would explode.
Heeseung walked close to you and placed a featherlight kiss on your forehead, but your momma instinctive feelings made your eyes open up, alerted to your surroundings as you tried to get the sight of your daughter.
“Shh..” He soothed, caressing your cheek “I’ll prepare Jia for bed, mh?” He kissed the corner of your lips, your eyes already closed under his relaxing touch “You stay here, I'll take you to bed later.” You just let out a sleepy hum, your eyes too heavy to stay open more.
Heeseung went upstairs, following his daughter’s route and getting to the bathroom where she was already brushing her teeth, probably with a little too much toothbrush but it didn’t matter. He was glad she was trying.
Jia rinsed her mouth and opened it to let her father see how much of a good job she did, Heeseung smiled proudly “Great job, Tin Soldier. It's jammy mission now.” Jia giggled as she hurried off the stool that helped her reach the faucet and took Heeseung's sleeve, dragging him (more like, he let himself be dragged) to her bedroom.
The baby took her pyjama from the chair and placed it on the bed, “Daddy, can you help me?” She asked, clumsily removing her clothes.
Heeseung nodded, smiling as he saw her attempts at changing, despite still not majoring in it. In no time, she was clean and ready to bed, Heeseung tugged her under the blankets and sat by the edge of the bed, only the thin reflection of the pink night light illuminating the room.
They stared at each other for a few moments until Jia spoke “No bedtime story?” She tilted her head in confusion “You want me to tell you a bedtime story?”
“Mommy always does,” He explained, hugging her purple bear tightly “And what kind of stories does mommy tell you?” Heeseung asked, curious
“She usually recounts Tangled because she like a Flynn Rider.” Jia informed, making Heeseung raise a brow “She does?” Was it possible to feel jealous of a cartoon character? Probably not but Heeseung was crazy about you, so he’d make it a normal thing.
“Yes, but it’s always the same story.” Jia sighed, shaking her head “I want a more interesting one.”
Heeseung stayed silent, his lips forming a thin line as he tried to think “What do you want to hear about?”
It didn’t take much for Jia to reply “I want the greatest love story of all.” She answered happily, at her age, everything was about fantasies and unicorns.
So, Heeseung tried to think about the many love stories he knew, the famous tales he’d known growing up. There was Cinderella, The Little Mermaid and…. a candle lit in his mind.
“I’ll tell you the greatest love story of all,” He started with a cocky smirk “The best fairytale ever told.”
His words fuelled Jia’s curiosity as she snuggled better under the blankets, eyes sparkling “The wonderful love story of Lee Heeseung and L/N Y/N.”
Jia’s face was puzzled “But that’s you and mommy.” She stated and Heeseung nodded, smiling “Mommy isn’t a princess.”
Heeseung shook his head, but his smile never disappeared from his lips. “No, she’s my queen.” He ruffled Jia’s hair “So, do you want to hear it?”
“Mhmh!” Jia hummed in response “If mommy is a queen then I am the princess.” Heeseung let out a low chuckle, nodding “Yes, you are our dear princess.”
Jia smiled widely, one of those smiles that made your days uncontrollably better and sweeter “Tell me, tell me.” She incited her father
“It all started on..”
⪩⪨
A rainy Thursday afternoon. It was the perfect time for a cinema hang out with friends. You stood in front of the long line, it seemed like everyone had your same idea since both elderly couples and families with children were buying tickets and popcorn. You waved your hand to a young boy who was staring at you while holding a sachet of popcorn bigger than him, he waved back, making you smile.
You turned your head to see that most of the queue was gone, so you surpassed some of those people who never moved and just stared at the menu. You already knew your order, so why would you wait for them to choose?
The cashier who looked like he could really do a vacation asked in a monotone voice “What do you want to order?”
“A packet of Twizzlers.” You said but your voice did not seem quite like yours. You turned your head to the side just to meet a pair of big eyes staring at you in disbelief.
You two narrowed your eyes at each other, a staring battle that would declare the winner. Why were you acting that way? Because the packet of Twizzlers was the last one, and if that pretty boy thought he could steal it from you, he thought wrongly.
The cashier cleared his throat. “It’s the last one.” He stated, holding the dear packet of candies in front of you two
“I was there first.” The boy tried to defend himself, making you scoff “He was talking to me.” You raised a challenging brow.
“I clearly saw you cutting the line.” He blamed “False accusation, do you have any proof?”
“You were at the end of the queue just two seconds ago!” He exclaimed, making you smirk “You were staring at me?” Pink flashed instantly on the guy’s cheeks “No.” He tried to mask it, but you could clearly see some frustration in his features
The cashier cleared his throat once again, snatching your attention. “Just decide already, or I will.”
“No!” You both screamed, side eyeing each other once again “They’re mine.” The boy said, making you roll your eyes, “Your name ain’t written on them.”
“Neither is yours.” He raised his chin, an attempt to make you see he wasn’t backing down.
There was a moment where you two stared at each other, silence filling the place except for the vociferate inside the cinema halls, waiting for the movie to begin.
“Rock, paper, scissors!” You both exclaimed at the same time again, showing your hands. He cursed under his breath, seeing your petite hand that represented paper wrap around his closed fist which was rock.
“I won.” You said mockingly, throwing a few coins on the counter and taking the packet of twizzlers in your hand.
You were walking away when the cashier called you “Miss, excuse me?” You turned around and raised a questioning brow
He waved the coins you used to pay for the candies “You’re missing ten cents.”
You widened your eyes, checking your jeans pockets. You were sure you took the right amount of money, had you miscounted them?
An hopeful grin spread across the guy’s lips, taking the pennies from the cashier’s fingers and walking toward you “Guess this should be mine.” He tried to take the packet of Twizzlers but you moved your arm
He sighed, shaking his head “Listen, darling—“ “Don’t call me darling” You snapped at him, a frown on your face
He placed two surrounding hands between you two “Alright, my bad.” He then pointed at you and the dear packet of candies “You don’t have enough money, but I do, so just give it up and go watch your movie.”
Your mouth fell agape, staring at him in disbelief. However, you had nothing to counterattack anymore and had to stay still when he took the packet, replacing your hand with your not enough coins and paying for it to the overtired cashier.
The boy winked at you before disappearing down the corridor that led to the halls.
A movie just wasn’t the same without Twizzlers, but instead of doing twenty cents charity outside the cinema to buy at least a coke, you hurried inside the hall that projected ‘The Notebook’ and tried to find your seat, despite the room being dark already. Fortunately, there was at least ten minutes of advertising, so you had enough time to let yourself fall on the seat with a loud thud, earning a few ‘shhh’s from other people.
“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” Your best friend, Sunoo asked “What took you so long to come back? I thought you got lost or something.”
You shook your head, a defeated expression painted on your face “Someone stole my Twizzlers.” You fake-dried a tear
“Aw, poor you.” Sunoo patted your shoulder, knowing your tradition of eating candies and drinking coke while watching a movie “It’s ok, I’ll share my coke with you.” He took the giant cup and placed it on the armrest between the two of you. You smiled at him and focused your attention on the movie that started.
You felt a familiar scent filling your nostrils, you slowly turned your head and raised a brow when you noticed that not only had that boy stolen your candies, he was also eating them on the seat beside yours. You had not noticed it when you first sat down, but now you could clearly see his silhouette enjoying the snack that should’ve been yours.
As if feeling someone’s stare on him, he turned his head and met your angry gaze, his eyes widened a little before they turned into two half-moons, a smug grin on his lips. You exchanged no words but the way he was acting was so mocking it made your blood burn.
You gave your attention back to the film, not wanting to fuel his ego by acting affected by his childish behaviour. Yes, it was childish, but you were more petty so it did anger you. Who did he think he was to act that way?
The movie continued, even if you were painfully aware of the parasite beside you, you were able to follow the whole plot line until the ending scene was replaced with the closing credits. Murmurs filled the cinema room, the lights went on and you heard.
Sunoo was crying rivers beside you which made you chuckle, he had already finished his third tissue when he said “I’ll run to the bathroom.” To probably cry some more and try to fix his swelling eyes later. You were about to follow him when you heard a sniffle from your other side, you turned around and your eyes lit up when you noticed the stealer crying.
He raised his head and hid it behind his hands when he noticed you were staring. A heartfelt laugh escaped your lips “Don’t laugh at me.” He mumbled with a clear runny nose “You bet I am.” You sat down again, waiting for all the people to flow out and leave the exits freer “That’s what you get for stealing my snacks.”
He peaked at you from behind his fingers. “It’s not my fault you’re broke.” You tsked at his false-not-so-false statement “It’s not my fault you’re a crybaby.”
He side-eyed you and you side-eyed him back, just like Sunoo had taught you. The boy tried to dry his tears and runny nose, which was both unhygienic and impossible with one palm of his hand.
You felt a little pitiful for him and sighed, taking a tissue from the small tissue box and handing it to the boy.
He eyed it warily, not sure if he should’ve accepted it or not. “It’s not poisonous, unlike your germs.” You waved it in front of his face and he accepted it with a groan, blowing his nose and drying his tears.
He crumpled it and put it in his jeans pocket, staring at you while gulping down in a nervous way. You chuckled teasingly “What? Is the venom acting up?”
He rolled his eyes and took something from inside his hoodie’s pocket, “I saved this for you.”
You stared at the red candy stick he was holding out for you with a frown “What?” You asked, puzzled. Heeseung just sighed, acting unbiased. “I was full, don’t think I did it out of kindness.”
“What’s your name?” You asked suddenly, making him widen his eyes “Careful, you sound interested.”
You pursued your lips “Just answer, yeah?” The boy placed the candy on your palm, standing up.
You hadn’t noticed it, but he towered you by a lot just with you sitting, you didn’t imagine how you would have to pull your neck to look into his eyes by standing in front of him.
He stretched, lazily placing his hands in his pocket “Heeseung,” He beckoned to you “Y/N.” You replied
“Thank you for the tissue, Y/N.” He said and the way your name rolled from his tongue made your stomach turn. Whether it was disgust or attraction, you didn’t dare to label.
“Unthank you for the Twizzlers.” You smirked and turned on your heels, walking away before he even had the chance to talk to you more.
⪩⪨
“You cried over a movie?” Jia asked in an accusatory tone “I’m a sensitive person.” Heeseung huffed, blinking faintly
“I think you’re just a cry baby.” Jia raised her chin proudly “I didn’t even cry when I went to the dentist.”
Heeseung sniggered softly, booping his daughter's nose. He couldn’t help but always show some sort of affection towards her. The feeling of protection and longing was so strong whenever they spent time together. “Of course, you’re stronger than me.”
“Did you see her again later?” Heeseung nodded “Yes, but it was a lot of time later, like one month or so.” Jia widened her eyes “That much?” He hummed, running a hand in his hair “I was always awestruck when I saw her, it happened at the cinema and again…”
⪩⪨
“A 40, please.” Heeseung forced out a smile and handed the skates to the young girl who just asked. He was supposed to be relaxing at home but his brother decided to have a small trip with his girlfriend and obviously, it was Heeseung’s turn to cover up for him.
He had been handing skates that smelled like sweat and rotten cheese to people for four hours, and the thoughts of doing that for another one and half made him feel sick.
“A 38, please.” Heeseung’s eyes widened at the familiar voice, he raised his head and stared at your face through his bangs.
“You!” You both shouted at the same time, making the gesture of the Spiderman meme “What are you doing here?” He asked, eyeing you up and down.
Perhaps, it was the reddish lightning of the room, or the fact that your hair had grown a little, seeming like the perfect length for you; or the soft make up accentuating your face. Or maybe just the toxic fumes from the overused skates played tricks on his head.
“What’s taking so long?” One arm sneaked around your shoulders, making Heeseung raise a brow.
Oh, that was why you were there.
“My size is hard to find.” You lied, beckoning to Heeseung to do his job. Complying, he turned around and found your skates. passing them to you “Remember to take the safety precautions.” He said the same phrase he’d been repeating so many times and watched as you walked away with that guy’s arm still around your shoulder.
It shouldn’t have pissed him off, but it did. The way you smiled with him, helping him skating despite him was a lost case. Seriously, that guy sucked at skating, he had fallen so many times in just one hour.
Trying to distract himself, when he saw you approaching the counter bar, he started polishing the skates, but the urge to just talk to you was strong, so he approached you, sneakingly.
“Where’s your date?” Heeseung asked, cleaning the table with a sponge near where you were sat “Bathroom.” You replied nonchalantly
A soft frown curved his forehead “You’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes, you sure he’s still in there?” At his words you smirked “You were staring at me?” Those same two words you told him when you first met.
You added “I saw him sneaking away five minutes ago, I just like to think he had a massive diarrhoea and didn’t actually dump me.”
Fucker. If he didn’t want to go out with you anymore he could’ve at least told you face to face.
The notes of ‘She Will Be Loved’ by Maroon 5 started playing as background music. Heeseung stared at you, you looked so gorgeous with your makeup, messy hair from the skating and the same bored expression you always wore, like nothing truly entertained you enough.
“What a loser.” He joked instead, earning a scoff from you “Why don’t you put yourself to good use and make me a smoothie?” You asked, sliding three coins on the counter.
Heeseung raised a brow, “I don’t know how to do it.” You raised it back “Don’t you work here?”
He shook his head “I’m just filling in for my brother.” You rolled your eyes “How useless.”
You were about to take those coins back when Heeseung stopped you, his hands brushing against yours “I’ll do it.” You smirked “A vanilla one, thank you.”
It was already late afternoon and the skating room wasn’t as packed as it was during the early hours, so Heeseung could put aside the skates sizes to make you a smoothie. Obviously, only to prove to you he was better than you thought, not because he wanted to cheer you up. Not at all.
Fiddling a little bit with the smoothies machine, he managed to make one, a little too liquid, but still drinkable.
He placed victoriously the glass in front of you, adding a straw inside “Here ya go.” You eyed it up and down, warily “Did you spit in it?”
Heeseung put a hand on his chest, acting wounded “You think so low of me.” You sighed while shaking your hand and took a small sip of the ‘vanilla smoothie’
“How is it?” He asked, hopeful. You just shrugged “Not bad for a newbie.”
Heeseung smirked, leaning against the counter, you could feel his body heat near you “Where’s my tip?”
You rolled your eyes, pushing him away “Nowhere.”
Your phone rang at that moment, you made a gesture for him to keep quiet and answered “Yes, mom… Yes, I know— at the, don’t shout, at the skating rink—“ A heavy sigh “Okay, I’ll be home.”
You hung up and hopped off the stool “Where are you going?” Heeseung frowned, “You haven’t even finished your smoothie.”
“Curfew.” You replied, waving your phone to him. He raised a brow “Don’t ask.”
Heeseung nodded, exiting from behind the counter, still in his brother’s uniform. Now you raised a brow “Where are you going?”
“I’ll walk you home.” You scowled, your face showing surprise “You’re working.” You stated
Heeseung pointed at the clock on the wall that ticked 06:03 PM. “Technically, my shift ended three minutes ago.”
“And why would you walk me home?” You asked “If something happened to you on the way, I’m sure your ghost would haunt me.”
You tsked, “I wouldn’t give you the honour to visit you when I’m dead.” Heeseung just smiled and nudged your shoulder with his “Lead the way, Twizzlers lover.”
You just rolled your eyes and walked out as he held the door for you “Let’s go, Twizzlers stealer.”
⪩⪨
“Why did that boy leave mommy?” Jia asked, her lips shifting to a cute pout “Because he didn’t realise what a treasure your mother is.” Heeseung answered, now sitting beside Jia with her small body curled under his arm.
“And you walked her home?” He nodded, laughing at the memories “Your grandfather went crazy when he saw me walk her home, I got a slipper thrown at my head.”
Jia chuckled as well, her soft giggles echoing through the whole room “What’s so funny? I got hurt.”
Jia chuckled loudly, hiding her face in her father’s chest “Grandpa still throws slippers at you.” She stated, making Heeseung laugh again “That’s right.”
“What happened then?” She asked, wanting to know more about her parents' love story. This was better than any prince and princesses tales her mother used to tell her.
“Later, I was forced to have dinner with them.” Heeseung started narrating, “After that awkward meal, me and Y/N grew closer. We kept bickering and fighting, but with her, no conversation was forced.”
Jia frowned “What does it mean?” She naively asked, of course she wouldn’t know this yet, so Heeseung explained “Sometimes, we feel forced to talk to others, however with your mother I didn’t even have to think about what to say, words just came to my mind.”
“Mommy seemed like she hated you.” The baby stated, glancing up to her father “She didn’t.”
Jia tilted her head “How do you know?” Heeseung smiled fondly, “I just knew.”
⪩⪨
“This one’s for you!” Heeseung exclaimed, throwing the ball to the basket just to painfully miss it. You laughed loudly at his fail “I hope that’s not how you flirt with girls or that explains why you’re single.” You snickered
Heeseung reached the ball and dribbled it around the court, his sleeves rolled up and his bangs sticking to the sweat on his forehead “Only with you.” He winked, making you act as if you were about to gag.
“Do you think I’ll be able to enter the college’s basketball team?” He asked, his voice sounding a little too serious for his usual playful character.
“We still have two months to think about college,” You frowned. “Let me live my summer without any thoughts.” Heeseung chuckled and threw the ball at you, which you caught before it landed on your face.
“I know,” He caught the ball you threw back at him “But I truly want to get a scholarship and maybe become a basketball player.” His tone may have been indifferent but his eyes were full of insecurities that could not could not be ignored.
You had been enemy (friend) with Heeseung long enough to know he had two things he deeply cared for: His family and basketball.
He was the High School team captain but hadn’t managed to receive a scholarship to enter the Sports faculty, which meant he had to rely on his own skills and money.
That wasn’t a problem, you know his family would always support his dreams, but there was something that Heeseung did not tell you about. You had a feeling, however you didn’t want to assume things. He’d tell you when he felt like it.
Your expression softened, you jumped off the railing and moved closer to him, stealing the ball from his hands, that he let you do, and taking a shot.
The ball entered the basket, making you smile proudly “You’re the best player I know, Heeseung.” You said honestly, nudging his shoulder with yours. The ball bounced back to you and you scooped it from the floor, placing a hand that signalled to Heeseung to wait there.
You rushed to your bags and took something he couldn’t see. He waited patiently, following all your movements.
You turned around and showed him what you did— holding out his basketball ball with a smiley face drawn on it “You just have to believe it too.” The smile on your lips matched with the ball’s one, but yours shone brighter. Heeseung felt a warm feeling spread all over his chest, something tickling his heart.
“Not as good as me.” You smirked playfully, taking another shot that missed the basket “Cause at least I fail gracefully.”
Heeseung shook his head, his lips curling into a small grin “You free tomorrow evening?” He suddenly asked and you quickly replied “Not at all.”
Heeseung knitted his brows “Why?” You sat back on the railing “The new season of ‘One Tree Hill’ is airing, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
He reached for you, taking the new-styled ball in his hands and rolling it “Not even if I said I’ll buy you Twizzlers?” You pondered a little but then shook your head “Nah ah.”
“Damn.” Heeseung sighed, “I’ll watch it with you, then.”
You blinked faintly “You called my series trash yesterday.” Heeseung nodded “Well, they are.” He hopped on the railing beside you “But when I become the best basketball player in the world, I won’t be able to spend much time with you.”
You smiled, noting how he said ‘when’ and not ‘if’ “Finally some time away from you.” Heeseung faked being offended “I’ll say on national TV that you were about to sabotage my career.” You laughed “I’ll be making prayers for your downfall.”
You both laughed at whatever, teasing each other but knowing when to stop not to upset the other.
“Eight PM, tomorrow?” Heeseung questioned, “I don’t want you in my house.” You answered, laughing “I’ll climb the window.” You immediately shook your head, knowing he could manage to do it, because he had tried once “Fine, loser. Roast beef for dinner, take it or leave it.”
Heeseung smirked, biting his bottom lip “Not you as a meal?” You widened your eyes, pushing him off the railing “What the hell.”
“Ouch—“ He fell flat on the floor, “That hurt.” You wiggled your brows “Serves you right.”
“Oh yeah?” He said, tone flirty as he took the ball and hit you hard with it, making you fall “How dare you!” You started chasing after him while he ran away.
If anyone saw you from afar, they’d think you were two people madly in love with each other… and you were.
You just hadn’t realised it yet.
⪩⪨
“You wanted to become a basketball player?” Jia asked, her voice filled with sleepiness, but she wanted to know how the story continued, so she fought her eyes open.
“Yes dear,” Heeseung placed a featherlight kiss on Jia’s hair. “I played basketball and was the best player in the world— or so Y/N thought.”
“But you don’t play anymore.” She stated and Heeseung shook his head in response “No, I don’t.” Jia yawned softly “Why?”
He sighed sadly, gulping down “Before I went to college, my mother passed away.” Heeseung held Jia a little tighter “She had leukaemia, which is a very bad thing,” He explained easily so that his daughter could understand “And I needed stability, I needed something that basketball couldn’t bring me.”
Jia looked up at him “And what could?”
“Your mother.”
⪩⪨
You couldn’t believe you learned about it two days later. That day was the date of the funeral and you weren’t by Heeseung’s side. Truth to be told, you tried to reach for him a lot in the past few days, but his brother either shrugged you off or didn’t even answer the door.
You thought you did something wrong, but it turned out his mother died due to the illness that had been haunting her for over a year.
You should’ve realised it, you should be by his side, giving him the strength he needed to get through it. Which was why you were running despite the pouring rain, trying to reach the location of the funeral.
You didn’t care if you were going to be sick the next day, your fixed thought was Heeseung and just him.
Heeseung, on the other hand, had been painfully quiet and shut down. He hasn’t comprehended yet that he was going to live the rest of his life without his dear mother, facing the troubles and sufferings of adulthood alone.
The whole room was packed with relatives he had never known about, all giving him pity glances and condolences he didn’t need. He just wanted his mother back.
Sighing, he went outside to have some time alone. As soon as he stepped outside, the cold breeze hugged his body, making him shiver. The rain made his suit wet but he didn’t really care— maybe it would take the pain away with its drain.
He stared at the night sky, the moon and the stars watching him back, probably feeling pity for him too.
His heart was heavy and black, full of grief and sorrow. He just wished you were there to make it better. You always did.
Your smile, your playfulness, your sharp tongue. He liked everything about you, even your ugliest flaw.
As he was trying to fill his dull mind with the thought of you, he saw something rushing in the streets, towards his directions.
The figure kept coming closer and closer until a familiar face was lightened from the lightbulb.
There he saw you, standing under the pouring rain, looking ever so dreamlike. There was a moment where you both just studied each other’s faces, as if you hadn’t seen each other in forever— which felt like it.
Just a couple of days without you made him realise how important you are, how much he needed you. No words were exchanged, there was no necessity, you hurried your steps toward him and hugged him, your embrace so warm in contrast with the cold weather.
Heeseung let out a sob and then another until he was crying ugly on your chest, all the tears he wasn’t able to shed until that day. You rubbed soothing circles on his chest, gripping him tightly, afraid that he would shatter right there.
“W-Why..” He weeped, his voice breaking from the trembling of his lips, due to both the cold and his crying “It— It was too early.. Why her?”
You let him rumble nonsense, knowing how heartbroken and sad he was, you just held him through the pain, hoping to at least relieve some “I know, but I am here now, I won’t leave you.”
Heeseung looked up at you, his eyes glossy, his whole body soaked and nose reddened. Perfect regardless. You stared at him, afraid that if you blinked he would disappear, and he seemed to be thinking the same thought.
You placed your hands on both his cheeks, your thumb rubbing them. Heeseung gulped down, his long lashes and bambi eyes enchanting you, so mesmerising.
You didn’t know what you were doing until you felt his hot breath hit your skin, like one of Jupiter's satellites orbiting around him, getting closer and closer to him.
And then, like a crashing wave, your lips found each other into a gentle and soft kiss, his hands raising to brush against the nape of your neck.
You let out a sigh in his mouth, his hand grasping the back of your head, tilting it to deepen the kiss. It was an anchor that he needed, something not to give up for. You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his body flush to yours, both of you warming the other, protecting from the darkness of the world.
He was the first to pull away, his lips swollen as he stared at you “You don’t know how much I waited for this.” He whispered, shaking his head to emphasise his words. Your whole body trembled under his touch, his expression filling with worry “Are you cold? We should—“
You shushed him by reattaching your lips together, only one kiss not enough to calm down the desire, “No,” you murmured on his lips “You just make me feel so much it’s overwhelming.” He let out a small sigh, nodding as if to say he felt the same. His heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his throat, every best spelling your name.
“Thank you for coming,” He whispered and you smiled at him “You know I wouldn’t leave you alone even if I were a ghost— Sorry!” You exclaimed, realising it was not the best time to bring up the conversation you had at the skating rink.
To your surprise, Heeseung laughed out loud and pressed his lips on your brow, ever so caring “Please, don’t ever lose it.”
Puzzled, you asked “Lose what?” Heeseung smiled, “The spark that makes you, you.”
Your breath caught in your throat, his gaze intense as he studied those same features he knew by heart. You grinned back “If I had a packet of Twizzlers, I’d give you the last one.”
Heeseung bit his bottom lip, not able to hide the way his lips curled upwards everytime he was with you. “If I had a packet of Rolos, I’d give you the last one.”
⪩⪨
“You kissed mommy?” Jia’s voice grew softer every passing minute “Yes— but you can’t let a person kiss you until you’re eighteen, understood?”
“Why?” She asked, playing with the arms of her purple teddy bear “Because I say so.”
“Is the story finished?” Jia questioned with another yawn, as much as she wanted to hear more, her eyelids were becoming heavier
“I’ll make it quick,” Heeseung started, massaging Jia’s arm. “Mommy and I started dating after that kiss, it wasn’t official because none of us was truly ready, but we both knew what we had was magical.” He smiled within himself.
“Then, we graduated from college and I proposed to her,” Jia’s heart-lips opened to resemble an ‘o’ “With a ring?” Heeseung dipped “Yes, with a ring as beautiful as her.”
“It was an engagement ring, we made a promise to marry after university, and as soon as we got our degrees, we prepared for the big celebration— Your mother looked so perfect by the altar.”
Jia smiled sleepily, imagining how beautiful her mother must’ve looked with the wedding dress on, all candid and white “Like a queen?” Heeseung placed a kiss on her hair “Like a queen.”
“And a couple of years later, we had you.” He smiled happily. Heeseung was so satisfied with his life, and even if he had to give basketball up, he felt like he gained more. He had a beautiful wife, always by his side and a perfect daughter he’d protect with all his might (and probably throw slippers at her boyfriend’s too). His heart never felt so full of love and affection, he was accomplished.
“But the ending…“ He turned around to finish his sentence just to see Jia had fallen asleep, her breaths shallow and calm. He tugged her better under the covers, standing up from the small bed, feeling a little sore but joyful “…Still has to be written.”
He placed another featherlight kiss on her daughter’s forehead, whispering a gentle “Good night.” Before exiting the room.
He closed the door behind her back, hurrying downstairs with light steps. Heeseung saw you were still fast asleep on the couch. He removed the blanket from your figure and hooked his arms behind your neck and knees, scooping you from it.
You blinked your eyes open, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck “Hee?” You murmured, your voice laced with sleep.
“Hey, love.” He nudged his nose with your cheek “Time to get to bed.” You hummed, snuggling closer, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.
Heeseung opened the door to your bedroom with his foot and slowly placed you down on the mattress. You opened your eyes again, staring at him through your half-lids “Jia?” Heeseung smiled reassuringly. “She’s sleeping, just finished telling her a story.”
He laid down beside you, wrapping the cover over your two figures, he shifted closer to you, holding you close “What story?” You asked, your voice hoarse “Just the best story ever.” He placed a sweet kiss on the corner of your lips
“By the way, I’m a better storyteller than you.” He bragged and you scoffed “Liar.”
“Maybe,” He chuckled, wrapping both his arms around your body “But do you know one thing I never lie about?”
You shook your head “I’d give you my last Rolo.” You smiled, he could feel it on his chest “I’d give you my last Twizzler too.”
[⪩⪨] END.
THANK YOU FOR READING ! REBLOG (and like) AND LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS ON THIS !
SUMMARY: after your parents death, you were forced to be crowned queen of the north realm and decided to take a young sergeant as your personal guard. however, you can’t ignore the evident tension between the two of you, that will lead to some… illicit affairs. well, it never happened if nobody knows, right?
WARNINGS: 1800s au. mentions of war and death, fencing terms, sexual tension, unprotected sex (they didn’t have condoms, did they?), masturbation, dirty talk, missionary, fingering, cream pie, angst if you squint (like, really squint), mentions of scars, pet names (sweetheart), i abused the world ‘would’. i know. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
PUBLISHED: 20th August 2024
WC: 6k
TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey y @destinyhoon (oneshot) @indigoez @astratlantis @shuichi-sama @skaterhoon @simsungsims @hoonatic @sammie217 @hoonics @kissesforthefangirl @woorcve @laurradoesloveu @capri-cuntz @whateverhoon @woninluv @cyjhhyj @alienqbrain BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED.
NOW PLAYING: War Of Hearts by Ruelle
a/n: honestly, i don’t like it. the idea was good, the outcome not so, but let me know your thoughts. i literally don’t know old english, my knowledge comes from pride and prejudice and bridgerton, im sorry (i gave up by the end and it shows). please LIKE & REBLOG (or don’t, cause this is the worst fic i’ve ever written lol)
You hadn’t realised just how drastically your life could change overnight until you woke up to the news that your father, the ever so powerful king of the North realm, had died in war.
Soon, your teachers were making you learn about strategies and alliances, not about history anymore, your legions kneeled before you, ready to be at your service.
You had to watch your mother, the woman you looked up to, being consumed by the grief of her dead husband until the grim reaper decided to make them reunite.
Leaving you all alone. Helpless, bearing a burden so heavy it crashed your shoulders.
In just the span of a month you found yourself leading a kingdom through war, sending hundreds of warriors to their death sentence.
The crown weighed significantly on your head, your desk was full of scrambled letters and quills dripping ink, and if it wasn’t for your most-trusted maid, Ella, you would’ve certainly already died of hunger, leaving your people without a ruler.
Fortunately, the same day of your coronation, the first day of you being a queen was also the first day of a young sergeant.
He was the youngest of all, just like you being the youngest of the monarchs, and was leading the loyal legion.
Doing a better job than you, you had to say. He was diligent, perfect in his tasks and polite whenever you interpellated him.
His name was Park Sunghoon, and it didn’t take much for you to nominate him as your personal royal guard.
He was an attractive man, barely a couple of years older than you but he indeed towered you by much.
Sunghoon’s face was sharp, with a defined jawline and hardly any trace of baby-fat left.
Despite his frail appearance, you knew he had defined muscles hidden under his white guard uniform, you had seen it.
Even if you were busy with your tight schedule, especially after your coronation, you still found the time to peek at him.
In the morning he’d train the royal legions, helping new warriors. In the afternoon, he would follow you through your travels around the realm, visiting villages and other castles.
The days you stayed at the castle he’d occupy his afternoons by doing some training alone and some evenings he would stand out of your bedroom to guard.
And Sunghoon? Well, he was as attracted to you as you were.
It always sent jolts of excitement whenever he was around you, walking you to your activities and always keeping an eye for possible harms.
Especially one day, when Ella ran towards him with a bucket full of water when he was guarding your bedroom “Sergeant!” She panted, “Please, would you be so kind to bring this into her majesty’s room? I need to get another one.”
Sunghoon was quick to nod “Of course.” He replied politely and took the heavy — for her, not so for him — bucket from her hands.
Ella sincerely thanked him and hurried away to complete her task while the young guard opened your bedroom door.
When his eyes raised to your figure, he saw you standing there… naked. Probably expecting your maid to enter and certainly not your personal guard.
Your hands quickly shot to cover your dignity, your cheeks tinting a deep shade of pink as you breathed “Dear lord.”
Had he been more reckless, he would’ve dropped the bucket, but he managed to keep his polite demeanour.
“My sincere apologies, my lady, I should’ve knocked.” He turned slightly to the side so as not to look at you, but still managed to peek from the corner of his eye.
“D-doesn’t matter..” You murmured, reaching for the nightgown on the chair of the desk and quickly slipping it on “I just didn’t expect it to be… you, sergeant.”
Sunghoon nodded, “Where do you want me to place this?” He asked, raising the container of water.
You stepped aside, hugging your arms like you were afraid your nightgown could reveal your body to him once more. Not like he would complain.
“Inside the tub would be great.” You replied, watching as he lifted the bucket and dropped the hot water in it.
Sunghoon dared to look at you only then, bowing his head slightly “I apologise again. I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”
You let out a small breath and offered him a warm smile. You were always so kind and thoughtful to everyone, it made him want to lock those who dared to criticise you in the dungeons and make them all perish.
“Worry not,” Your voice was gentle, like a ray of sunshine through the storm “I forgive you, after all, it was an accident.”
Sunghoon thought that if he ever had the chance to take a glimpse at your perfect, naked body, he would’ve taken it right away.
But he chose against letting you know and opted for a “Thank you, my queen.” He bowed, “Anything else you need for me?”
“No, thank you.” You said “You can go back to your duty.”
He nodded and headed to the door, hesitating for a second and then walked out.
The image of your naked body was hard to remove from his mind. Sergeant.
Your curves, your dips, the colour of your skin, your breasts and your pretty pussy… Sergeant?
He wondered what you would feel like if he touched you, tasted you— “Sergeant!”
The voice of one of the royal guards snapped Sunghoon out of his thoughts. He cleared his throat “Yes?”
“It’s my turn,” He said, his eyes blinking faintly “Are you feeling alright?”
“Yes, worry not.” Sunghoon nodded and gave his farewell to the guard before walking to his chamber.
Since you had labelled him worthy of being your personal knight, his bedroom was in the same wing as yours, unlike all the other knights in the legion that stayed in the West wing.
He entered his chamber and closed the door behind his back, the room was dark except for the moonlight shining from the window.
It was better that way, he enjoyed the natural light, rather than the artificial one from the candles that also smelled bad and spread smoke in the room.
Sunghoon sighed, quickly removing his uniform to put on some more comfortable clothes, some black pants and a white, sleeved shirt.
He dropped down on the bed, another quiet sigh leaving his lips.
He rested one of his arms behind his head while he played mindlessly with the laces of his shirt.
It was stronger than him, his mind kept replaying the same scene over and over again.
Your body.
Perhaps, it was that you were so modest, despite literally being the ruler of the kingdom, or it was the fact that you were literally his type.
But he was drawn to you, the same way a donkey was to the apple in front of him. Maybe not the best example, but you get it.
At the thought of your flushed face, he felt his pants growing tighter. At your plump and tender lips, he palmed himself to soothe his growing desire.
At the memory of your perky nipples and your breasts, his hand slipped inside his trousers until he pulled them down to his ankles.
Sunghoon knew he couldn’t be loud, but the soft whimpers and groans that left his lips weren’t contained.
He imagined it was your hand, the one providing him relief, that you were down on your knees, batting your eyelashes at him.
“Oh yes, you’re so good.” He whispered, squeezing the base of his thick cock, it twitched.
The tip was angry red as he heavenly stroked it, never focusing on one place more than the other.
If it were you, would you lick his tip? Would you squeeze his balls and take him in your mouth?
Would you ever fit him all?
“Take my cock,” He groaned, thrusting his hips upward to fuck his fist “Take it like a good girl.”
He pressed two fingers on the tip of his length, edging himself “You like to tease, my lady?”
So many filthy scenes played in his mind, keeping him company as he felt the sweet sensation in his lower stomach.
“I’m so close, sweetheart.” He groaned, moving his hand so fast it almost hurt his wrist “You want it on your breasts? Of course.” He kept moving until he saw white, “Take it.”
He was left spent, dirty white all over his sheets as he tried to even his breath.
Sunghoon fell asleep with a smile on his face that night, and he woke up even better after you visited his dreams and showed him how much you wanted him.
…Too bad it wasn’t real, right?
𓆩♡𓆪
After your little and awkward interaction with Sunghoon, the previous evening, you decided to go find him during his late afternoon training.
You would’ve lied if you were to say it didn’t turn you on, the thought of being seen by him in such an intimate manner. But that, he mustn’t know.
He was wearing a black sleeved shirt and a pair of trousers of the same colour, a great contrast with his skin.
You quietly tip-toed, walking towards as he stroked in the air with the fencing sword.
His movements were calculated, precise and so mesmerising you hadn’t even realised you were right behind him until the blade stopped right beside your jugular.
You gulped “Good evening.” Sunghoon widened his eyes and quickly placed himself into a more polite position, removing the swords from your neck “I'm so sorry, my lady, I didn’t see you coming.”
You just smiled at him “You seem excellent at fencing.” You commented, your fingertips trailing the blade of the sword, careful not to cut yourself.
“Fencing is one of my favourite parts of training, my queen.” He replied, his tone serious.
You hummed “Is that so?” The way the sunset kissed his skin, how his hair was perfectly combed and matched with his fit looked straight out of the erotic novels you hid under your bed.
“I’ve always wanted to learn this type of art.” You informed him “Though, it would be too scandalous for a woman to do it, wouldn’t it?”
Sunghoon’s gaze was soft as he commented “There’s nothing scandalous in wanting to be able to defend yourself.” He threw you a french sword “Even if you have a whole legion before you.”
You swiftly caught it, circling around Sunghoon while he did the same.
“Nah ah,” He was quick to correct “Eyes on the enemy’s, never on the sword.” You diverted your gaze from the sword to his chocolate, warm eyes.
“Great,” Sunghoon praised. “You must study your enemy if you have the time, watch his body language.”
He stroked again and you barely missed it. A second time and you docked it.
At the third, you blocked it “You slightly blink your right eye when you strike.”
Sunghoon smiled proudly, “Yes, that’s right.” You squealed happily, making him slightly widen his eyes.
If it wasn’t the best sound he’d ever heard.
“Now, your strike isn’t bad, especially in second and third, but your position can be better.” He dropped his sword and walked behind you.
“Bend your knees.” He commanded and you obliged again, following his instructions “Your arm shouldn’t stay that far… tilt your elbow.”
“Your back is already straight,” His fingers trailed the laces of your corset, feeling your spine underneath them “But your chin should be tilted… like this.” He tipped your chin up with his index finger.
“How about how?” You whispered breathlessly, feeling the coldness of his skin against your burning one.
“Better, but not perfect.” Sunghoon replied and quickly put space between the two of you “Still, you’re one of my best students.”
You smiled happily and was about to reply when Ella called you from afar because dinner was being served.
You sighed “I must go.” You said, slightly hoping he would keep you with him.
However, obviously, he just nodded and bowed. “It has been a pleasure, my lady.”
As he watched you walk away, he hoped you hadn’t felt the proof of his desire pressed against your back when he fixed your position… the proof he had to fix before anyone could notice.
𓆩♡𓆪
Sunghoon’s footsteps echoed through the dark hallway as he made his way to your room. He wasn’t sure about the reason as to why you called him, given the fact that he was supposed to be patrolling the main gates, but it seemed clear when he noticed you had already sent the guard outside your room to rest.
He stood in front of your bedroom door, the hallway only dimly lit by the few candles on the walls.
There was something in his mind that told him he was still in time to turn his heels and simply ignore your late-night visit request, even if it would eventually get him in trouble.
Still, he aight and placed his hand on the doorknob, quietly opening your bedroom door and entering.
Out of precaution, he locked the door behind him and made a few steps towards you, nevertheless keeping some distance.
“My queen,” Sunghoon began, “I thought you’d be asleep by now.” His tone was quiet, almost concerned.
You were standing in front of the large window that gave you a nice view of the royal gardens, the moonlight illuminating the room as well as a few candles on the tables.
Despite the late hours, you were still wearing your pistachio green gown, your favourite one. The one that once belonged to your mother.
It gave you a sense of comfort, reminiscing the days where you would drown in the fabric as you played queen and princess with her.
You deeply wished it was still a game.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping.” You replied, still giving him your back.
Sunghoon cleared his throat. Yes, he’d seen you in that gown the same morning, but now, in the intimacy of your chamber, it made him want to drop to his knees.
He made his way so that he was standing just a few steps behind you “Any particular reason for your lack of sleep?” He inquired.
You sighed softly. The moon made your doe eyes sparkle, as if they held the stars in them, “Perhaps, thoughts of the upcoming war.”
Sunghoon’s hands hitched to hold yours, to give you the comfort you needed without any paternal figure to rely on.
Still, he kept them clasped behind his back. The need to be respectful of your position was still in the front of his mind.
“It is not confirmed yet,” He tried to reassure “The other kingdoms may decide not to attack anymore.”
You tried to find reassurance in his words, but even if your people thought so, you weren’t naïve. “They killed my father,” You gulped. “It’s just a matter of time before they come at me next.”
And that was true, everytime you ever tried to close your eyes to seek some rest, your mind would play any possible scenario.
You being slayed, you being beheaded… your kingdom going in flames.
“No one will touch you,” His voice was soothing, like a hand pulling you out of deep water, preventing you from drowning “Not while I’m here.”
You finally allowed yourself to look at him, afraid that if you did it the second you heard the key of your room twisting you would’ve kissed him.
His hair was still perfectly in place, his forehead in sight. His porcelain-like skin glowing under the rays of the moon, caressing his cheeks.
You offered him a polite smile “You seem confident, sergeant.”
Sunghoon let the briefest of a smile form on his lips “Confidence comes with the job,” He said, softly “It is my duty to protect you, my queen, and I take that very seriously.
“What else does your job offer?” You asked, fully turning your body towards him “Apart from private fencing lessons and a twenty-four-seven guarding.”
His breath hitched slightly when you stood in front of him, he hadn’t even realised the vicinity you two had until he had to tilt his head down to stare at you. It would be so easy to reach out and touch you, to feel your skin against his hands.
Sunghoon’s gaze slowly dragged from your chest up to your face. “That’s it, mainly,” He said, his voice a little rougher than before. “Though… my duties extend to anything you ask of me, my queen.”
“Anything?” You murmured quietly, your eyes widening.
He wanted to touch you so badly, to pull you against him so he could kiss you and touch you anywhere and everywhere. But he had to keep the professional veil going, even though he knew you were baiting him.
He nodded, his eyes on yours “Anything at all.”
You batted your eyelashes, trying to seduce him without boldly doing so “Is that so, sergeant?”
Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, struggling to keep his composure and hoping you weren’t able to see the effect of your presence.
He took a deep breath before replying “Yes, anything you ask of me.”
You gulped, your heart pounding in your chest as you gathered the courage to put into action your plan “I believe I need to unwind,” You stated “Any ideas?”
Sunghoon’s mind was immediately flooded with ideas, most of them very, very inappropriate for the moment. He bit his lip and tried to keep a straight face.
He considered keeping up the professional front but quickly decided against it. He was tired of forcing himself to maintain control.
“I do have a few ideas, my queen,” He said, his voice a low rumble. “Mind sharing them with me?” You asked.
Sunghoon stepped closer to you, so close that your bodies were almost touching. “My ideas may not be entirely appropriate, my queen,” He replied, “Would you like to hear them anyway?”
You closed briefly your eyes, just the brief feeling of his body near yours sending jolts of fire through your veins “I’m all ears.”
His eyes roamed over your face and body, taking in every single detail. He was practically salivating, desperate to touch you in any way possible.
Sunghoon leaned even closer, his breath now hot on your skin. “I have things I'd like to do, my queen,” He whispered in your ear. “Wicked things, to distract you from your stress.”
You let out a shaky breath, shivering from head to toe “Wicked?” You questioned.
Sunghoon felt his control slip as chuckled slowly, “Oh, very wicked, my lady.”
He brought his lips to your neck, planting soft kisses up and down your skin, taking you by surprise.
However, he kept his hands firmly by his sides, restraining himself from wandering. “I want to do things that would be highly inappropriate for a sergeant to do to his queen.”
“And who says so?” You breathed out, aching for him, your eyes flattering closed.
Sunghoon hummed against your skin, his lips moving to your collarbone. “That would be the royal laws,” He replied quietly, “Among other things.”
“I could get punished for this, you know.” He said in between kisses. “My actions are considered disrespectful.”
“I could change the law,” You replied, hooking your arms around his neck “For the night.”
His hands immediately went to your hips, grabbing you and pulling you even closer to him. “Just for the night, my queen?” He murmured against your skin, his lips trailing kisses up your jaw “I might want more than just one night.”
You chuckled lowly, “How do you know so already, sergeant?”
sunghoon’s hands moved from your hips to your thighs, caressing them through your nightgown, his thumbs tracing patterns against your skin.
Sunghoon pulled back to look at you, his eyes darkened significantly. “I'm quite sure, my queen,” He said, “The things I want to do to you are not something I can do just once.”
You shivered at his words, and the hungry way he was shamelessly looking at you. It almost seemed unreal, the polite soldier losing his cool in front of you, “How about you show me what you can do tonight, first?”
He looked at you, his gaze dark and intense, before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours in a rough kiss.
You moaned and gripped his shoulders tightly and he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth desperately, like he was starving.
You tip toed, desperate to reach for him, to feel his lips on yours and make you forget all the duties you had.
Sunghoon chuckled against your lips, amused by your struggle to reach his height. He pulled back, a smirk on his face. “Too short for me, my queen?”
Without warning, he lifted you up with ease, and he continued the kiss.
You wrapped your legs around his waist to steady yourself, thanking yourself for not having worn an underskirt that would’ve made it impossible for you to straddle him.
Sunghoon groaned against your mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist, the kiss becoming more desperate and rougher.
He moved his lips from your mouth and attacked your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites as he went. One of his hands moved from your thigh to your butt, squeezing it appreciatively.
You groaned and let your head fall back, goosebumps filling your skin in reaction to his lips.
Your fingers tried to tug his blue uniform jacket, desperate to remove any clothing between the two of you.
He gently helped you to remove it, chuckling against your neck at your eagerness.
You rocked your hips, needing to feel him, to soothe the aching sensation between your legs.
He pressed his own hips back onto yours, you could feel the proof of his desire for you, secluded in his pants.
“You have no idea how hard it is not to take you right now,” He thrust upwards, making you gasp.
“What’s stopping you, sergeant?” You asked breathlessly, you knew he was trying to restrict himself, to draw a line that shouldn’t be crossed.
But you didn’t care, all you had in mind was how good his touch was on your skin, his lips on yours and how better it would’ve been if he was inside you.
“Nothing,” Sunghoon whispered in your ear, his breath causing your body to shiver “Absolutely nothing, as long as you’re not opposed to it.”
You chuckled, looking down at yourself “Does it look like I’m against it?”
Your sweet laugh only made him madder and he kissed you, tasting your lips “No, not at all, my queen.”
“Then, take me.” You whispered on his lips, your hand caressing down his arm, still clothed from his sleeved shirt.
Sunghoon shivered under your touch, your words breaking the last strand of self-restraint he had. He grabbed your hips, suddenly carrying you to the bed and dropping you down on it.
He quickly dropped to his knees between your legs, his hands on either side of you, trapping you in “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” He warned.
Your hair formed a halo around your head, spread around the mattress. Your chest was heaving up and down as you replied, “That's fine by me.”
Sunghoon hummed appreciatively at the sight of you splayed out on the bed underneath him. You looked divine, like an angel sent to drive him insane.
He connected his lips to yours once again, his hands moving behind your back as you propped yourself on your elbows.
His skilled fingers worked on the laces of your corset, undoing them.
You frowned, pulling away “Experienced much?”
Sunghoon chuckled softly as he got the corset undone, pulling the fabric off you and discarding it on the floor.
He shook his head before replying, a smirk on his lips. “Just a few,” He said. “and I have been fantasising about this moment for a while now.”
“Have you?” You whispered, your hands caressing his chest, where the v-neckline of the shirt exposed it “Have you thought about me late at night, sergeant?”
Sunghoon sighed softly, his eyes closing briefly as he confessed “Yes,” He said “Every night I’ve wondered what you would taste like, how soft you were, what your moans sounded like.”
His words only made you bolder. “Have you touched yourself wishing it was me?”
Now that the corset wasn’t restricting your air capacity, it also made the dress fall down your shoulder, exposing them to him.
He leaned down and pressed gentle kisses on your skin, trailing them up to your ear “Yes, my queen. I’ve touched myself wishing it was you, craving your body and soul.”
You let out a shaky breath, the sweet sensation warming your lower stomach “Perhaps, I have done the same.”
Sunghoon groaned loudly against your skin, his body shuddering at your confession “You’ve touched yourself, thinking about me?”
You flopped back onto the mattress and hummed “Yes.”
He was completely losing it, the thought of you touching yourself, thinking about him, driving him crazy. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure.
“Tell me more,” He rasped, his voice a low rumble. “Tell me what you've done, what you've imagined."
You bit your bottom lip, afraid to voice out your late night secrets.
“Go on, my queen.” His voice was soft and soothing, his hips just barely pressing against yours “I won’t judge you, I can’t… Can I?” He let out a quiet chuckle.
You breathed out “I’ve thought about your fingers,” You gulped “Touching me in places no one has touched before.”
“Where?” He whispered, his nose grazing your cheek “Tell me.”
Instead of speaking, you took his hand and slowly guided it down your body, you were still covered by your dress but he could still feel your core beating under his touch.
So, in one swift movement he placed his hand under your skirt, feeling just how damp your underthings were, making you gasp.
“You’re so wet for me.” He murmured, “Is this how you are around me?”
You nodded, all drops of self awareness down the drain.
Sunghoon smirked, taking your hand with his free one and placing it on the front of his pants, making you feel his hard on “That’s what you do to me.”
Amazed, you started to palm him, letting your hand feel “I do?”
“Yes,” He whispered, his hips bucking against your touch “All the time.”
“Please,” You pleaded, “I can’t take it anymore, I really need you.”
Sunghoon sighed “There’s no turning back from this, my queen..”
“Y/N.” You blurted out, eyes taking in his reaction.
Without having you to explain, he knew what you meant. You wanted him to call you by your name, crossing a boundary that would be hard to build back.
Still, he reached behind your back and unzipped your dress, slowly slipping it down.
You laid underneath it, the only thing separating you from him was your lace underwear, your upper body bare for him to see.
Sunghoon rested his chest on yours, his fingers grazing your clothed core as he whispered in your ear “Y/N.” Making you moan.
You nodded, your arms wrapping around his neck to steady yourself “Sunghoon.” You breathed back.
“Y/N..” He murmured, slipping your panties to the side and teasing your entrance with his digits “My pretty, pretty girl.”
Your eyes flickered closed, senses awakened by his single touch.
“You’ve never done this?” He questioned, gathering all your juices in his fingers, your pussy clenching around nothing.
You shook your head, your mind already a puddle of nothing “No.”
“Then I need to get you all nice and lose, mh?” Sunghoon murmured, inserting one of his fingers inside your wet folds.
You gasped, your back arching against him at the intrusion “Oh lord.”
The sensation was so new but so welcome, you had never really dared to finger yourself, your orgasms were given by clit stimulation only, so when his digit thrust into you, your body jolted with each one.
Sunghoon’s lips attached to your left breath, tongue swirling around your nipple and you thought you couldn’t feel any better until he curled his fingers and found your sweet spot, making you moan out loud.
“Shh,” He cooed, pressing one hand on your mouth while his teeth gently grazed your abused nipple. “You don’t want anyone to find out what we’re doing, don’t you?”
You were quick to shake your head, but as he thrust a second finger in your pussy, you grunted.
One of your hands went to the back of his head, your fingers knotting his perfectly combed hair “S-sunghoon.”
You bucked your hips up, needing him to stop and continue at the same time “Feels so good.”
Sunghoon chuckled lowly, both his fingers brushing against your sweet spot “I know, Y/N.” He murmured “Let me take care of you.”
You nodded mindlessly; you thought that even if he asked you to hand over the kingdom you would’ve nodded anyways.
You whimpered, your other hand digging in the flesh of his shoulders from the amount of pleasure you were feeling.
“I’ve got you.” He whispered, brushing his thumb on your bundle of nerves “Relax.”
You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten with each thrust of his fingers, just a brief pain from the intrusion making your head spin.
“Oh lord,” You breathed out, “I think I—“ Another broken whimper left your mouth.
Sunghoon nodded, understanding you and crashed his lips on yours, drowning your moans in.
Another thrust of his fingers got you falling apart under him, your whole body trembling.
It took a good couple of minutes and his soothing words to calm you down, your breath still laboured but at least you could keep your body still.
You opened your eyes back and met his own, he offered you a sweet smile “You’re perfect.” He whispered, kissing your forehead.
You smiled back at him, slowly releasing your strong grip around his neck. “This has been… amazing.”
“I’m glad, my— Y/N.” Sunghoon quickly corrected himself, “But… we don’t have to do anything more.”
You frowned, worry coating your features “Was it because you didn’t feel good? I can help—“
He was fast to shake his head. “No, of course not.” He caressed your cheek “I just don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“You will not.” You sat up, looking inside his eyes to convince him “I want it, Sunghoon, I want it with my whole body and soul.”
He closed his eyes and dropped his head, as if he physically restrained himself from reaching out to you and take you in all the ways someone can be taken.
“I want you so much it’s driving me insane,” He breathed out, resting his forehead against your chest “My sweetheart, I would love to make you mine… will you allow me to?”
You nodded “Yes, please.” You tugged at his shirt, needing him to remove it.
Sunghoon complied, tossing it to the floor as well as his trousers, leaving himself bare to you.
At first, you hadn’t understood why he was so reluctant to be intimate with you, but as soon as your eyes met his bare chest, you did.
Your breath hitched at the sight of a wide scar all across his chest, looking like half a cross.
“Sunghoon…” You whispered, your fingers trailed over it. He flinched but quickly relaxed under your gentle touch “What happened to you?”
His eyes were so vulnerable and he looked like a lost boy, not like the sergeant of a legion. “I will just say that I had a close contact with a blade, back when I was still training to become a knight.”
He gulped “I understand if I repulse you—“
“No,” You quickly took his face in your hands “No. You’re beautiful.”
He frowned, as if not understanding what would you ever find beauty in such a scar.
Seeing that he wasn’t believing you, you laid on your back and wrapped your arms around his neck, taking him down with you.
Your hand reached to pump his shaft and it was as if he died and came to life again, nothing like those nights he touched himself thinking about you, could prepare him from this.
You slowly aligned him with your folds and nodded, wanting him to make the first move.
He let out a pained sigh and gripped your waist, finally pushing in you.
You were still wet from the foreplay and as well as your cum, but it didn’t mean you didn’t feel some pain from his thickness.
He moved slowly, his breath fanning your cheeks while he brushed his nose against your skin.
“How does it feel?” Sunghoon whispered in your ear “Mh? Tell me, Y/N.”
Your skin was sweaty and hot, “So good.” You murmured back, tightening your hold on his neck “Faster, please.”
You begged him so sweetly and politely he couldn’t refuse, his hips moving against yours slightly faster “You want to make love?” He questioned “Or do you want me to take you like how I’ve wanted since I laid my eyes on you?”
“Take me.” You choked out, your eyes squeezing from the pleasure “Hard, I don’t care.”
Sunghoon circled your waist with his arm and held you tightly against him, you could feel the shadow of his scar on your chest.
His hips snapped on yours so fast even the bed started creaking, and you secretly hoped no servant was walking by to hear your show.
“Open up.” Sunghoon said and you obliged, opening your mouth.
He gathered some saliva in his mouth before spitting in yours, watching as it went down your throat.
You hummed, gulped it, tasting him “Jesus Christ.” He shook his head, his cock twitching inside of you.
“I don’t think I can last longer.” He squeezed his eyes, his fingers digging in your hips as he tried to restrain himself.
“Don’t you dare unless I cum again.” Your fingers went to stroke your bundle of nerves fast “Together.”
Sunghoon hummed, his own movements getting sloppy but never faltering as he chased his high.
“Y/N.” He groaned, one of his nails piercing your skin, adding just the right amount of pain to send you over the edge.
“Now!” You cried out, your body shaking with your second orgasm of the night.
Sunghoon let out a deep growl and emptied his seed in you, coating your clenching walls.
“So perfect.” He kissed the top of your head, his voice soothing after the intensity of the night “You’re perfect.”
He got up and took a napkin from your table, carefully cleaning your legs while also prepping kisses on your inner thighs.
You were sure that if your body wasn’t tired you would’ve mounted him.
Sunghoon reached into his clothes but your hand darted out to stop him “Stay.”
His eyes softened, pondering between staying or leaving. He opted for the first.
You had never felt happier than falling asleep with the sound of his heartbeat next to your ear, aimlessly hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.
But your relationship made it so that he was forced to peel himself away from you when he thought you were asleep, gathering his clothes and quietly slipping out of your room.
And it was the best decision, soon, you would’ve had to find a husband, make an heir for your real, rule it with all your attention.
Good thing, late night was made to unwind, and it never happened if nobody knew… did it?
SUMMARY: who knew an email sent in a moment of range could spark a burning desire between you and your boss?
WARNINGS: 95% smut 5% plot. fingering, dirty talk, reader is burnout, semi public sex, oral (m receiving), blowjob, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), sex while on the phone, pool sex (not really narrated), missionary, riding, creampie, office sex; fluff, established relationship, reader wears a tiny bikini, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
a/n: i’m so fucking sleepy i just wan to go to bed but hey! i’ve been dead on this app for sometime so lemme drop this. hope y’all like it and please LIKE & REBLOG to share + lmk your thoughts 🩷🩷 (enjoy my calligraphy in the picture).
It was one of those days.
The kind where your inbox filled up faster than you could breathe, the phones wouldn’t stop ringing, and the breakroom coffee had been left to die a slow, cold death in the pot since 8 a.m.
You hadn’t even had a chance to take more than two sips of yours— barely enough to take the edge off the brutal headache crawling behind your eyes.
Noon had come and gone, and your lunch sat forgotten in your drawer, untouched and already lukewarm.
You rubbed at your temples as you stared at the latest email that had just come in from her again— your personal tormentor for the past three weeks.
Mrs. Kim.
There she was, requesting the same impossible order you had already refused.
Not once. Not twice. Eight goddamn times.
You counted them.
You explained patiently and then less patiently that the items she wanted were discontinued, had been discontinued for two fiscal years now, and were no longer in the company’s catalogue.
You linked her to alternatives. You CC’d the product manager. You called her, even, and yet here she was again—
"Dear,
Following up again. I don't understand why this is taking so long. I’m requesting the original order from 2021. Can you process this today?"
That was it. The last thread of your patience snapped.
Your fingers flew across the keyboard, possessed, every keystroke a satisfying clack of indignation.
You didn’t care.
You were soaked in stress and caffeine and the fading hope of ever having a quiet afternoon.s
"Mrs. Kim,
For the last time: we do not carry that product anymore. I have told you this eight times. Eight. I don’t know if you’re ignoring me on purpose or just incapable of reading full sentences, but either way, I’m not wasting any more time repeating myself. Maybe go get yourself checked.
You are welcome to refer to the updated catalogue I sent you four emails ago. If that’s too difficult, I’d be more than happy to point you to someone who does have time to coddle unreasonable requests.
Kindly, please, stop emailing me about this.
— Y/N"
You clicked "Send" with a sense of righteous satisfaction.
A victorious breath left your lungs as you leaned back in your chair, folding your arms.
It wasn’t until ten minutes later that you saw the reply ping.
And then you saw who it was from.
Lee Heeseung
— Re: Mrs. Kim order.
Your blood turned to ice.
You forgot.
You completely forgot about the BCC—the default blind courtesy copy to your boss, a setting meant for transparency, accountability, and gentle professional oversight.
You’d set it up months ago during performance review season and then never gave it a second thought.
You clicked on the thread like you were opening your own coffin lid.
"Hi Y/N
Well… that was certainly a passionate response.
I think she noted on the product being discontinued.
Let’s circle back to this client later. maybe I can take over if needed.
For now, step away from your inbox and grab a coffee. Deep breaths. :)
— Heeseung"
Your stomach dropped so fast it might as well have hit the basement.
He didn’t even sound mad. That was the worst part. There wasn’t a single reprimand, not even a passive-aggressive comment.
He was giving you a chance to fix it yourself.
You stared at the screen for another full minute, then slowly stood, your legs weak as you grabbed your employee badge and took the elevator upstairs.
The executive floor was always eerily quiet compared to the chaos below.
Carpeted hallways absorbed all sound, and the scent of fresh espresso floated from the machine that Heeseung insisted on using himself every morning— never the breakroom sludge.
You walked past the glass meeting rooms, the sleek decor, until you reached the wide double doors that marked his corner office.
You paused. Knocked.
"Come in," came the voice. low, smooth, always relaxed in a way that somehow made it more intimidating.
You pushed the door open and stepped in, trying to keep your posture from crumpling into guilt.
Heeseung sat behind his desk, blazer off, sleeves rolled, laptop open. His eyes flicked up to you.
"Hey," he said, not unkindly. "Surprised you didn’t run straight to the fire escape."
You swallowed. “I… I’m so sorry, sir.”
His brow arched slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the edge of the desk.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just waited, giving you enough silence to make your own words echo back at you.
“I didn’t mean for it to go out like that,” you rushed, nervous now, your throat tight. “I was just so— so overwhelmed, and she’s been driving me insane for weeks, and I know that’s no excuse, I just… I completely forgot the BCC was still on. I wasn’t trying to be unprofessional… well, okay, I was, a little, but I didn’t mean for you to see it, and that’s not better, I know, but—”
"Take a breath," he interrupted gently.
You did.
Inhale. Exhale.
He tilted his head, looking at you with a calm you were desperately trying to borrow.
"You clearly didn’t mean for me to see it," he said with a hint of dry humor. "That was obvious by the way you said, ‘incapable of reading full sentences.’"
You winced. “I know. I know, I’m so sorry, that was… I was just frustrated.”
"Yeah, I got that part loud and clear." He smiled faintly. "You know, if you’d added one more insult, I think the server might’ve flagged your email as harassment."
You dropped your face into your hands. “Oh my god.”
He laughed quietly.
It wasn’t cruel.
It was soft. Understanding.
Which only made the heat crawl up your neck worse.
"I’m not mad," he said, and you looked up, cautiously.
He stood, walking slowly around the desk to lean against the edge.
His arms folded casually across his chest as he looked at you.
"I’ve seen worse. Much worse. Hell, I’ve sent worse. You’re not the first employee to lose it on a client who doesn’t listen, and I doubt you’ll be the last."
"That doesn’t make it okay," you murmured.
"No, it doesn’t. But it makes it human. And it tells me you care enough to be pissed.”
That surprised you. You blinked up at hiem.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I don’t need perfection. I need people whoho get frustrated when things go wrong. But I also need people who can recognize when they’ve gone too far and come up to say what you just did."
You looked at the floor. “Still… I should’ve handled it better. She might report me.”
"She might," he agreed, not sugarcoating it. "But I’ll handle it if she does. I’ve got your back."
You swallowed hard. His voice was calm, but firm. Final. He meant it.
"Thank you," you said quietly. "Really."
"You’re welcome. And hey…" He pushed off the desk, walking toward the espresso machine behind him. "You didn’t have lunch yet, did you?"
Your stomach growled traitorously. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.
"Didn’t think so. I’m ordering in. You’re having a rough day, so I’ll let you pick the place."
You blinked at him. “Are you… rewarding me for that email?”
He smirked. "No. I’m rewarding you for surviving the week without quitting or combusting, consider it a boss’s mercy."
You laughed, finally, the tension bleeding from your shoulders.
He handed you his phone with the food apps already open, the glow of the screen warm against your palm.
And as you scrolled through the options, still feeling the flush of embarrassment under your skin, you thought— maybe it wasn’t the worst day after all.
☆.
Today was the worst day.
It had already gone to hell by the time it hit 6:45 p.m.
You were the last person left on your floor. again.
The office was a graveyard of abandoned coffee cups and empty swivel chairs, the windows dim with evening light as the sun dragged itself under the horizon.
Everyone else had mysteriously developed urgent appointments or nonexistent deadlines that somehow meant they couldn’t stay late to help with the mountain of archival reports dumped unceremoniously onto your desk.
You were hungry.
Tired.
Your back ached from leaning over outdated filing codes, and your fingers were permanently smudged with printer toner and dust.
Your last message in the team group chat asking “anyone still around to help scan the last batch?” had been left on read.
Of course it had.
You swore under your breath, stuffing another stack into the ancient office printer that had already groaned at you three times.
The stupid thing was older than your internship
. It made this grinding, death-rattle sound every time you asked it to scan anything double-sided. You were halfway through cursing at it when the overhead lights flickered once.
Twice.
And then the power cut out completely.
A sharp click of darkness. Then silence.
You stood frozen in place, fingers still on the edge of a document feeder. A beat passed. Then another.
You stared into the void, blinking, the only sound the faint tik-tik-tik of the unplugged printer slowly powering down like it was dying dramatically in your arms.
You sighed. “You have got to be kidding me.”
You waited. Surely the backup would kick in.
It didn’t.
The battery emergency lights flicked on around the hallway, casting everything in a soft red glow like the inside of a submarine.
Your entire floor looked apocalyptic.
It would’ve been funny if you weren’t thirty pages away from finishing and aching to get home.
"This is so stupid," you muttered to yourself. You paced around your desk, cracked your knuckles, and then, because the universe clearly had it out for you, tripped slightly on a cable.
You whirled around, eyes narrowing at the printer like it had personally insulted your intelligence.
You weren’t usually violent, but something about the whole day had ignited a very specific brand of frustration in your chest— the kind that made you want to break things. Or cry. Or both.
So when the lights buzzed for a brief second and the printer beeped at you with a snide error code for the fifth time in a row, you snapped.
“Alright, you boxy little demon,” you hissed. “Let’s dance.”
You kicked it.
You meant it to be symbolic. A warning. An expression of just how done you were.
Unfortunately, your foot caught the corner of the machine.
And because karma is very real and very punctual, your boot slid awkwardly through the paper tray, lodging itself inside the machine with a humiliating clunk.
“Shit,” you whispered, staggering forward and grabbing the desk for balance. “No, no— come on.”
You tugged. Nothing.
You yanked harder..
“Are you kidding me?” you groaned, now bent awkwardly sideways over the printer, one foot completely jammed in the lower tray, arms flailing for something to grab.
The evil machine wobbled, and you grabbed it to keep from tipping it over, your hair falling into your face as you tried to wiggle your leg free.
The overhead lights snapped back on all at once.
Power returned with an electric hum.
Machines came alive. Computers rebooted.
The lights flickered to life overhead like judgmental gods bearing witness.
And at that exact moment, you heard a door open down the hall.
You froze.
Slow footsteps. Leather shoes on carpet.
You knew that walk. You’d memorized it over the last few months without meaning to— those long, easy strides. That quiet confidence.
Lee Heeseung.
Of course he was still here. Of course he chose now to emerge from his corner office.
You tried to untangle yourself, but the paper tray refused to budge, your boot stuck in such a cursed angle you briefly considered removing your entire leg.
Heeseung’s voice was much too close when he finally spoke.
“…Am I interrupting something?”
You froze, eyes wide.
You didn’t even need to look at him to hear the amusement dripping off every syllable.
“I—” You cleared your throat. “No. I mean, yes. I mean— I’m fine.”
you finally risked a glance up… and there he was, standing a few feet away in his usual dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled halfway to his elbows, tie loose, a sleek laptop tucked under one arm.
His dark hair fell across his forehead in a way that was just unfair. And he was smiling. Very clearly trying not to laugh, but smiling.
“Should I even ask how this happened?” he said, gesturing vaguely at the situation.
You, half-folded over a printer like a modern art sculpture. One foot swallowed alive by outdated office equipment.
You groaned and dropped your head against the top of the machine. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He chuckled under his breath, moving forward. “Alright.”
Your head snapped up. “Really? You’re not gonna ask why I did this?”
He raised an eyebrow. “It’s clear you have some anger management issues.”
You blinked at him. Well, he ain’t wrong.
He crouched down beside the printer, setting his laptop carefully on the floor. “Let me take a look, don’t move.”
“Oh yeah,” you deadpanned. “I’ve got so many options.”
He shot you a grin. “Careful. Keep being cute and I might leave you here.”
You flushed, instantly. “Sorry, Sir.”
“What?” he said, clearly enjoying this too much. “I’m just saying, I’ve never had an employee try to merge with office machinery before. It’s a new milestone.”
You buried your face in your hands as he gently maneuvered the paper tray open from the opposite side, humming softly to himself.
“Alright,” he said after a moment. “I see the problem.”
“Is it me?”
“Mostly.” He grinned, grabbing onto the corner of the tray and wiggling it slightly. “But also, this machine is trash. You were absolutely justified in assaulting it.”
You bit back a laugh. “Don’t tell HR.”
“HR’s gone home. And besides, I’m the one you report to.”
You paused. “So you’re saying I could commit minor office crimes and get away with it?”
He glanced up at you from under his lashes, dark eyes amused. “I’m saying if anyone’s going to report you, it won’t be me.”
The tray finally released with a snap, and your boot came free all at once, nearly sending you toppling backward. Heeseung caught your arm before you could fall, his grip warm and steady.
“There we go,” he said, helping you balance. “Foot intact?”
“Barely,” you mumbled, brushing your hair out of your face. You looked down at your scuffed boot, then back up at him. “I think we might need a new printer.”
He smirked. “I think you need a break.”
You hesitated. The words hit harder than they should’ve.
Because he was right.
You’d been drowning lately, taking on every overflow task, every weekend shift, picking up the slack whenever someone else dropped the ball.
You hadn’t complained. Not out loud.
But your body was exhausted, your head full of static, and your foot was living proof that you were about five seconds from completely losing your mind.
Heeseung must’ve seen it in your face, because his expression softened.
“Hey,” he said gently. “You don’t have to keep doing everything on your own.”
You looked away. “It’s fine. Everyone’s busy. I can handle it.”
“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”
There was a silence. A long one. He stepped a little closer.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said softly. “Not in a creepy way— just… I see how hard you work. How you take on more than you’re asked to, how you stay late every night, even when it’s not your responsibility. You think that goes unnoticed?”
You swallowed. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me,” he said. “You don’t have to burn yourself out to prove you belong here.”
The words hung between you, heavy and warm and real.
You finally looked up at him and found him already watching you, his gaze steady, thoughtful.
You felt something in your chest shift. Something small, quiet, and undeniable.
Heeseung smiled gently. “Come on, I’ll buy you dinner, you’ve earned it.”
You blinked. “You’re bribing me with food.”
“I’m rescuing you from this cursed printer,” he corrected. “It’s part of the job description.”
You laughed, a real one this time, and let him lead you away from the graveyard of scanned archives and haunted machinery.
His hand brushed yours as you walked side by side out of the office, and neither of you moved away.
☆.
You hadn’t expected anything beyond some greasy takeout and maybe a few jokes to soften the edge of your embarrassment.
But somewhere between the second round of dumplings and Heeseung trying to guess what playlist you put on when you're really mad, something shifted.
You found yourself laughing more easily than you had in weeks.
He was funny in a sly, dry sort of way— casual but sharp, with this low warmth in his voice that made everything he said sound like it had a double meaning.
Not that he was flirting.
Not exactly.
But there was something in the way his eyes lingered on yours a second too long after every shared joke, something in the way his thumb brushed too casually along the rim of his cup when you took a sip of yours and left a glossed fingerprint behind
And you weren’t exactly not leaning in when he talked.
When you came back to the building, it was after an hour, There was a kind of stillness that made your footsteps echo across the marble floors and made the flicker of vending machine lights look cinematic.
He’d offered, half-jokingly, to let you finish up your work in his office, because his A/C actually functioned, and his desk chair didn’t creak like it was on the verge of collapse.
You said yes. Obviously.
Heeseung unlocked his door and held it open for you.
His office smelled faintly like citrus, due to the candle lit in the corner, and something a little woodsy, probably the cologne that clung to his shirtsleeves.
The overhead lights were dimmed low, and the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows behind his desk stretched out into the city, glittering in the dark.
You stepped in and paused, suddenly aware that you were somewhere very personal. It was tidy, precise.
You turned to thank him, but he was already watching you from the doorway, his hands in his pockets.
“Take the desk,” he said, smiling softly. “I won’t even be mad if you kick it.”
You smirked and dropped your bag onto the guest chair. “Don’t tempt me.”
He moved past you, loosening his tie the rest of the way and tossing it onto the coat rack.
The click of his laptop followed, and then music— something R&B and low enough that it almost felt like background noise to the silence around you.
You settled behind his desk, relishing the cool burst of air from the functioning A/C vent. The chair was absurdly comfortable.
You kicked off your boots and leaned back with a soft sigh of relief.
“Better?” he asked from his corner.
You nodded. “Miles better. I might not leave.”
He raised a brow. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
There it was again— that something.
just enough weight behind the words to make you pause. His voice had dropped half a note lower.
You reached for the folder you’d been working on earlier that you brought there, suddenly conscious of the faint buzz under your skin.
You tried to focus on your work, but your mind kept slipping.
The room was warm now, and so was the space between you, too heavy with something unsaid. Every glance he gave you seemed a little longer, like he was debating something in real time.
You looked up from the folder and found him leaning against the edge of the window, arms folded, watching you.
“You’re different when you’re not in the middle of a crisis,” he said.
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You’re quieter, but in a good way. Like you finally have room to breathe.”
Your heart gave a small, unwanted flutter. “Is that your way of saying I’m usually too stressed out to function?”
“No.” He stepped closer. “It’s my way of saying I like seeing you like this.”
The space between you collapsed by inches.
He was standing just on the other side of the desk now, one hand resting lightly on the polished wood, eyes locked on yours.
The city lights outside were a soft blur behind him. Your breath caught, stuck in your chest.
“Heeseung…” you started, uncertain. Because somewhere between fries and dumplings, he gave uou the green light to call him by his first name.
“I’m not trying to mess with you,” he said softly, cutting you off without force. “But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about this… about you.”
You swallowed. The tension had shifted into something tangible now.
It pooled in your belly, a tightness threaded with heat. You felt it in the curl of your toes against the carpet, in the quick, darting beat of your pulse.
“I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it,” you murmured.
“You weren’t.”
You stood slowly, the chair gliding back with a soft scrape.
He didn’t touch you yet.
“I meant what I said,” he said, voice low and even. “I’ve seen how much you carry. You work so damn hard, and no one ever makes space for you to just be. I want to do that, even if it’s just for tonight.”
There was something deeply sincere in his voice. Like this wasn’t just wanted. It was something more careful. Something he’d been holding back.
You stepped into his space, breathing shallow, and said, “Then show me.”
The moment he touched you, it was with a reverence that made your knees weak.
His fingers grazed your jaw, tilting your face up.
He paused, just long enough to make sure— long enough to let you lean in first. And when you did, he kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been waiting.
His mouth was warm and slow against yours, lips parting gently, breath mingling. His hands found your waist, grounding and sure, pulling you closer.
You curled your fingers into the collar of his shirt, the soft cotton warm from his skin. He deepened the kiss gradually, coaxing you into it, tasting the hesitation out of your mouth until you melted into him.
When you finally broke apart, you were breathless.
He leaned his forehead against yours. “Still okay?”
You nodded. “More than okay.”
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not done.”
He walked you backward toward the desk, hands steady on your waist, until you were pressed against the wood.
He kissed your neck softly, then more deliberately, leaving a slow trail to your collarbone as his hands skimmed under the hem of your blouse.
You gasped when his fingers touched your skin, warm and unhurried, exploring every inch like he wanted to memorize it.
You reached for his belt, nerves trembling with anticipation.
He caught your wrist gently “Let me take care of you,” he said, voice like velvet.
You nodded.
He moved with purpose now, pulling your blouse off with a soft sound of approval, eyes dark as they raked over you.
He leaned you back over his desk, fingers gliding down your hips, lifting you slightly onto the surface. The wood was cool under your thighs, the air sharp against your skin.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
His mouth returned to yours with renewed urgency, hands trailing over every curve, every line, until you were sighing against him, your fingers tangled in his hair.
When he finally undressed you fully, it wasn’t rushed.
It was deliberate. Worshipful.
He pressed kisses to the inside of your thighs, your hips, your ribs, like he was chasing every sigh that left your mouth.
And when his hands finally slipped lower, when his fingers teased and stroked and coaxed you into a slow, building pleasure, you arched under him, gasping his name.
“Heeseung— oh—”
He smirked, slipping a finger inside you, and then a second one.
You were so worked up already, your thighs trembling around his waist as he pressed kisses on your neck.
“Fuck,” you sighed, “Faster.”
“Milady.” he complied, hurrying his fingers, curling them right where you needed them.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Let me hear you, let go.”
And you did.
You came undone with your back arched off his desk and his name on your lips.
Later, as he tucked you into his chair with your shirt back on and a glass of water in your hand, he knelt beside you, brushing your hair gently from your face.
“Still okay?” he asked again, voice soft.
You nodded, eyes fluttering closed. “Better than okay.”
He smiled, his thumb brushing your cheek.
“I meant it, you know,” he murmured. “Whatever happens after this— I want to be the one who makes space for you.”
You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his.
“I think you already are.”
☆.
It had started with an email. And it continued with an email now too.
You were half-conscious, running on your second cup of coffee and buried in quarterly reports, when your inbox pinged with that familiar chime.
Most emails in your morning queue were mind-numbing— reminders from admin, updates on broken copy machines, requests to “circle back” on things that no one ever wanted to circle forward in the first place.
But this one was from Heeseung.
The subject line read:
urgent file request – please review ASAP
Your stomach twisted the way it always did now when his name popped up on your screen. A quiet, breathless little flip.
You clicked it open, expecting a report or some scanned doc he wanted reviewed.
Instead, you found:
From: Lee Heeseung
To: You
Subject: urgent file request – please review ASAP
Can you come to my office and check if the file I’m thinking about is tucked between your thighs?
Might need to examine it closely.
Very closely.
– H.
You nearly choked on your coffee.
Heat rushed to your cheeks and your neck as you jerked your head up— he was in his office, of course.
Glass walls, the blinds open. He was pretending to be on a call, holding the phone to his ear, nodding, totally composed.
But when your eyes met his, he winked.
The phone probably wasn’t even on.
You sunk a little lower in your chair, your thighs tightening automatically.
That look he gave you set off a ripple down your spine.
It had been three weeks since the first time he pulled you across that desk and showed you just how good things could feel.
Since then, everything between you had changed.
You still worked. Still got things done.
but now, when he passed by your desk, he let his fingers brush your shoulder a little too casually. When he asked you to stay late for “filing,” the door always locked behind you. And now, apparently, he was taking it to email.
Sorry, that file is confidential. You’ll have to check with your hands. or tongue.
I’m available in five.
— Y/N
You slipped into his office with a folder in your hands purely for cover.
He was seated behind his desk, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The city glared behind him in the afternoon light, and his laptop was open— but he barely glanced at it when you stepped inside.
He leaned back, dark eyes dragging over you from head to toe.
“Lock the door,” he said quietly.
You did. And closed the curtains for privacy.
When you turned back around, he was already on his feet. He crossed the room in a few slow steps, standing in front of you, taking the folder out of your hands and setting it blindly on the shelf.
He cupped your face, tilting it up, and kissed you without hesitation.
It was slow at first, teasing— his lips soft, mouth coaxing yours open as if he had all the time in the world.
You sighed into it, your hands going instinctively to his waist, curling into the soft cotton of his shirt.
The kiss deepened, his tongue stroking over yours, and you whimpered softly when he slid a hand down your back and pressed you against the door.
“Lord,” he murmured, mouth brushing against yours, “you taste like cinnamon today.”
You swallowed hard. “Too much coffee.”
“Perfect amount,” he whispered, and kissed you again.
He backed you toward his desk, trailing kisses from your mouth to your jaw, down the line of your neck.
Your hands fumbled with his buttons, needing him closer, needing something to fill the ache that had been growing ever since that first email.
When he sat down in his desk chair, he pulled you into his lap without asking.
You straddled him, your skirt already hiked up. His hands settled on your thighs, slow and warm, thumbs stroking upward.
“You always get so worked up when I tease you,” he murmured against your ear. “You like getting those emails?”
You nodded, breath hitching. “You’re going to get me fired.”
He laughed softly, low in his throat. “No one’s firing you. Not when you do such a good job to me.”
You kissed him again and rocked forward just enough to hear the sharp inhale he tried to swallow down.
His grip on your hips tightened. You could feel him through his slacks, warm and firm beneath you, and the pressure of your body against his made your skin feel hot all over.
He tried to pull your blouse open, but you caught his wrist.
“Let me,” you said, voice just above a whisper.
His breath stilled.
You slipped off his lap, slowly, sinking down between his legs.
His brows lifted, mouth parted, but he didn’t say a word.
Just leaned back in the chair, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with heat.
You reached for his belt with shaking hands, fingers slow and deliberate.
The clink of metal filled the quiet room, followed by the soft drag of his zipper. Heeseung exhaled hard when you brushed him through his boxers, already hot, already thick.
“You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” you said, looking up at him as you lowered his waistband.
He let out a breathy laugh, voice tight. “Are you really going to make me beg?”
You smiled.
“No.”
And then you took him in your mouth.
He groaned instantly, his hips twitching up, one hand flying to your hair but stopping short of gripping it.
Always waiting for you to take the lead. Always making sure.
You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, tongue gliding along the underside, savoring the weight and heat of him. He cursed, low and raw, his other hand tightening around the edge of the chair.
“Fuck—” he breathed. “You’re too good at this.”
You hummed around him in response, and he shuddered.
The thrill of having him like this, head tipped back, jaw clenched, breath uneven, sent sparks through your veins.
His thighs flexed under your palms, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were half-lidded and glazed, locked on you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“Baby, wait—” he said suddenly, voice cracking. “You keep going like that, an I’m not gonna last.”
You pulled back slowly, your mouth wet, lips swollen. “Isn’t that the point?”
He blinked hard, laughing breathlessly, and pulled you to your feet.
“I’m going to owe you for that,” he said, voice rough, still out of breath.
You climbed back onto his lap, letting him tug you close. His hands found your hips again, holding you there like he never wanted to let go.
“You already do,” you whispered against his mouth.
And when he kissed you this time, it was slower. Deeper.
Less urgent, more full. Like he wasn’t just thanking you with his mouth, but promising something.
His fingers slipped beneath your skirt again, and this time you didn’t stop him.
He pulled your panties to the side and you sank down on him with a sigh.
“Holy shit,” he groaned, already thrusting up into you “You feel like heaven, baby,”
You hummed, already squeezing around him “You’re so big.” you murmured, resting your head in the crook of his neck.
You felt him twitch inside you “You can’t say things like that.”
Heeseung glanced at the clock on the wall. “We have three more minutes before someone gets suspicious.”
“Then you better hurry.” as those words left your lips, Heeseung thrusted up fast and hard, chasing both of your highs.
He planted a hand on your mouth and held your waist with the other, so tight a bruise would probably form the following day.
You squeezed your eyes shut as white washed over you, a particular deep thrust getting you over the edge, tightening to the point of pain around him.
“Fuck.” he groaned and pulled out to jerk off, but you quickly slapped his hand away and put him back inside you.
The mere action caused his hot release to spill, coating your walls.
“You didn’t have to do that.” he said, breathless as you got up on wobbly legs and put your panties into place.
“Oh please.” You fixed your hair “You’d rather me havig to explain why there’s a white stain on my skirt?”
He smirked, tucking himself back in his trousers, “Touché, baby.”
☆.
California sunlight spilled golden through the glass balcony doors, bathing the entire suite in that soft, lazy kind of warmth that made your skin glow even when you weren’t trying.
You were floating in the center of the hotel room’s private pool, limbs stretched out on the flamingo inflatable mattress, sunglasses slipping slightly down the bridge of your nose.
Your legs dangled in the cool water, barely kicking, your only real effort being adjusting your position every few minutes to stay in the shade of the swaying palm tree outside.
It had taken you exactly one hour on the first morning of the trip to finish the task Heeseung had “urgently” brought you to California for: color-coding and organizing his meeting schedule and dinners with clients.
One hour.
Sixty minutes of tapping at your laptop while sipping overpriced coffee from the mini bar and watching your boyfriend move shirtless around the suite while on a call.
Then, nothing.
The rest of the two-week “business trip” had been one long, uninterrupted vacation— for you, at least.
You weren’t entirely sure if Heeseung had ever actually needed your help or if he just wanted an excuse to bring you along without raising eyebrows at the office.
Either way, you weren’t complaining.
He was in the bedroom now, getting ready for another meeting with suppliers, while you basked in complete, indulgent peace, a mango drink resting on a floatie beside you.
The silence was broken only by the soft splash of water and the hum of light music playing from the speakers in the corner of the suite.
“Baby,” Heeseung called from inside the room, his voice slightly muffled.
You lifted your sunglasses with one hand, squinting toward the balcony door. “Hm?”
“Where’s my tie? The navy one.”
“You mean my navy one,” you corrected, smirking. “The one you let me use for my aesthetic outfit.”
He emerged into view then— black slacks hugging his legs, crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and his hair still wet from the shower.
He looked at you, at the pool, the view, the drink, and let out a breath that sounded halfway between a sigh and a laugh.
“You’re telling me you brought it just to never actually use it; since you’ve been floating for a week.”
“No,” you replied, raising your drink. “I brought it for aesthetic purposes. I was actually planning on using it today.”
He shook his head with a grin, disappearing for a couple of minutes before reappearing with the tie in hands.”
“You’re the most spoiled assistant I’ve ever hired.”
“I’m not technically your assistant,” you pointed out.
“You were for an hour.”
“And I was excellent.”
He crouched down beside the pool, tying the silk around his neck with practiced fingers.
The way he stood in the sun, looking so put-together and elegant while you floated in a barely-there swimsuit, made the corners of your mouth twitch up in appreciation.
He caught the way you were looking at him and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
You tilted your head, letting your fingers drag through the water. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Just remembering how I was supposed to be working on this trip.”
Heeseung stepped closer, knelt down again so your faces were almost level. The sun lit up his eyes, made the edges of his smirk gleam.
“You did,” he said. “You organized my entire schedule in an hour and got me a better restaurant reservation than the company’s PR manager could. You're essential.”
You scoffed. “Please, you just wanted an excuse to have me in a bikini while you take calls.”
He smiled wider, unapologetic. “Guilty.”
You watched him adjust his tie, watched how he paused to smooth his shirt over his stomach before finally stepping back with a low whistle.
“How do I look?” he asked.
You pulled off your sunglasses, dragging your eyes from head to toe and back again.
“Like you’re about to cheat on your fiancée with your poolside mistress.”
Heeseung let out a bark of laughter. “Good thing my girlfriend is also my poolside mistress.”
He walked over to your float and, with no warning, shoved it gently with his foot.
You yelped as the mattress tipped slightly, water splashing over your legs.
“Rude!”
“You started it,” he said, lips twitching with amusement.
You kicked water at him in retaliation. He dodged it, barely, and pointed at you like he was scolding a child. “Do not make me cancel this meeting.”
“I dare you.”
He gave you one last look, long and deliberate, like he wanted to say something but was holding back, then sighed and backed away.
“I’ll be back in two hours,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Three tops.”
“Don’t hurry on my account.”
“You saying you won’t miss me?”
“I’m saying you should make it up to me for dragging me across the country and making me do sixty minutes of labor.”
He chuckled again, stepping into his loafers by the door. “Oh, baby, I plan on making it up to you every night.”
You raised your glass. “I’ll hold you to it.”
Then the door closed, and he was gone.
You sighed deeply, happily, as you turned your face toward the sun and whispered, “Best fake job ever.
☆.
The sun had shifted from blazing overhead to a slow, golden creep across the hotel balcony, casting palm leaf shadows over your stretched-out body on the poolside chaise.
The water made soft sloshing noises nearby, and the air carried the sweet, heady scent of chlorine and sun-warmed skin.
Your cocktail glass sat empty on the tile. Your fingers had gone limp around your sunglasses, which had slid just enough to let one eye peek through.
But you didn’t move. You were somewhere between sleep and heat-drunk bliss, limbs too heavy to care.
The faintest breeze kissed your thighs, cooling the warm sheen of sun on your bare legs.
The strap of your bikini had shifted slightly. Your breasts curved gently out of their fabric prison, unnoticed by you in your half-dozing state.
The suite’s private pool was wrapped by stone walls and the tallest hedges you’d ever seen. The kind of privacy only the wealthiest or most mischievous sought after. No one could see in. And you didn’t expect anyone to be watching.
But someone was.
You stirred when you heard the creak of the glass door sliding open behind you.
Then footsteps.
Then a pause.
“Jesus Christ,” came a voice “This is what I come home to?”
You cracked one eye open, squinting up into the dusky light.
Heeseung stood by the edge of the pool, jacket off, tie loosened, top two buttons undone, a grocery bag of overpriced room snacks in one hand.
His eyes were dark. Hungry. Like he hadn’t had a sip of water all day and you were the first drop.
You blinked at him sleepily. “Hi.”
He dropped the bag. “Hi? That’s all you’ve got?”
“I was sleeping.”
“You were melting.” He moved closer. “You were— fuck, your tits are just out.”
You lifted your head, lazily looked down, and shrugged. “It’s your fault for buying me a swimsuit two sizes too small.”
“And I’d do it again,” he muttered, already crouching down in front of you.
You giggled, eyes fluttering closed again. “Good meeting?”
“Don’t care,” he said, brushing a hand up your thigh. “Missed you.”
You felt his fingers, warm and familiar, sliding over your skin.
You sighed. “I got tan.”
“You got delicious.”
You opened your eyes just as he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a slow, sun-warmed kiss.
His lips tasted faintly of mint and something sweet, and when he groaned softly against you, you felt it everywhere. You kissed him back lazily, smiling into it, dragging your fingers through his damp hair.
And then, because you couldn’t resist—
You shoved him.
Hard.
He didn’t have time to react. A yelp of pure, startled betrayal escaped his lips as he tipped backward, arms flailing, hitting the water with a spectacular splash.
You burst into laughter, doubling over on the chair, clutching your stomach as the water rocked with the force of his fall.
His head popped up seconds later, soaked and blinking, his once-perfect shirt plastered to his chest.
“You—” he sputtered, coughing once, glaring at you with water dripping from his lashes. “You menace.”
“I warned you not to flirt near the pool!” you said between gasps, wiping your eyes.
He grabbed the edge of the pool, hair slicked back, mouth twitching in a way that should’ve warned you.
“You’re so dead,” he promised. “I’m gonna end you.”
You squealed and tried to scramble off the chair, but it was too late. his hands gripped your ankles and yanked.
You hit the water with a splash and a shriek, the cold shocking your overheated skin instantly.
You surfaced, breathless and gasping, blinking salt out of your eyes.
“You asshole!”
“You started it!” Heeseung was laughing, fully soaked now, his shirt and pants clinging to his body like a second skin.
He was unfairly hot, even wet. Especially wet.
You swam toward him with furious strokes, water flying around you both, and he caught you around the waist as soon as you got close enough.
“Say sorry,” he said, lips grazing your ear.
“Never.”
His mouth met yours before you could say more, hard and deep
He wrapped his arms around you beneath the water, pulling your body against his like he couldn’t bear the idea of even an inch of space.
The way his hands moved over your skin, palming your ass, your thighs, sliding beneath the useless scraps of your swimsuit, made your breath catch in your throat.
“You feel like summer,” he murmured against your neck. “Warm and soft and fucking perfect.”
You tangled your fingers in his hair and tilted your head back, your breath hitching when his lips traveled lower, kissing a slow trail down your jaw, then your collarbone. The water lapped gently around you, your bodies floating in the privacy of the pool, lost in each other.
When he pulled the top of your swimsuit aside, exposing the bare curve of your breast, you didn’t stop him.
And when he kissed over your nipple, dragging his tongue slowly around it before sucking it into his mouth with a quiet, greedy sound, you moaned, arching into him.
You pressed your mouth against his temple, whispering, “You’re still in your clothes.”
He lifted his head, breathing heavily, his eyes dark.
“You planning to take ‘em off me?”
You bit his earlobe. “Maybe.”
“Fuck,” he breathed, sliding his hand between your thighs underwater. “You’re already so wet.”
“It’s a pool, genius.”
“You know what I mean.”
And you did.
You kissed him again, slow and wet and needy, wrapping your legs around his waist as he held you up, the water making everything feel weightless.
His hand found that perfect spot between your thighs and pressed, rubbing slow, delicious circles that made you tremble in his arms.
The sky overhead darkened into soft pinks and golds, casting both your bodies in sunset glow. The water shimmered. The world blurred.
But all you could feel was him.
All you could taste was his breath in your mouth, his fingers pushing you closer and closer to the edge, and the low, ragged way he whispered your name against your shoulder when you gasped, legs tightening, your body pulsing around his hand.
And then, grinning against your lips, he asked, “Still think I wore this shirt just for business?”
You laughed into his mouth, breathless and drunk on him.
“No,” you whispered. “You wore it so I’d rip it off later.”
He smirked. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”
☆.
And you didn’t.
After his act of pleasure in the pool, Heeseung brought you inside, not caring about you both being damp, and laid you down on the suite bed.
You undressed each other with the kind of fire that ignited sparks between your burning forms.
And then he was inside you.
The city lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, casting sharp golds and deep blues against the curves of his body, his bare chest above you, sheen of sweat at his throat, fingers pressing hard into your thighs as he moved inside you like he owned you.
Like he wanted to prove something.
The only thing you could still feel was how he looked between your legs, the way his voice rasped when he told you, “You’re not leaving this bed until I’ve had every part of you.”
You were already wrecked, your body limp from the last orgasm he’d dragged out of you.
You weren’t even sure if this was the second or third round now. His thrusts had gone deeper, slower, more deliberate. He wasn’t rushing. He was savoring you.
And then his phone rang.
You both froze for half a second. The sound cut through the room, vibrating against the nightstand.
Heeseung groaned into your neck. “Ignore it.”
But then he glanced at the screen. His jaw tensed.
“Shit,” he muttered. “It’s Mr. Dufour, from Paris investors. I have to—” He was still inside you. Still rock hard. “Just… don’t move.”
You blinked up at him, dazed and flushed. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” he said through clenched teeth, swiping to answer with one hand. His other never left your waist. “He’ll lose his shit if I don’t pick up.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but then—
“Bonjour,” Heeseung said smoothly, voice dropping into french, polite and practiced as he settled more firmly between your legs. His hips shifted.
You gasped.
He was still moving.
Not hard, not fast— but deep. Lazy, unhurried strokes, his eyes locked on yours while he spoke like everything was normal.
“Oui, Mr Dufour. Vous allez bien?” (yes, mr. dufour. are you doing well?)
You bit your lip, hard, trying not to moan.
The sheer insanity of it, his voice so calm, words sliding like honey in another language while he kept fucking you, slow and deliberate, hips rolling with obscene precisione
“J'ai envoyé le rapport sur le plan d'investissement hier.” (i sent the report on the investment plan yesterday.)
You dug your nails into his shoulders. He didn’t flinch.
His free hand slid between your bodies, brushing your clit with teasing strokes.
You whined, quietly and desperately but he only smiled.
Not sweetly. No, this was the smile of a man who knew he was driving you insane.
“Oui, je vous serais reconnaissant de me faire part de vos commentaires une fois que vous l'aurez examiné.” (yes, i would be glad if you could give me a feedbacks when you review it.)
You clenched around him, and for a split second, his voice hitched, only slightly, but he recovered fast.
You wanted to scream. Instead, your breath came out in little gasps, your back arching under him, heat rising through you in thick, dizzy waves.
“Heeseung,” you whispered, pleading.
He didn’t break eye contact. Just leaned closer, breath brushing your lips, and whispered back, “Be quiet.”
He was still speaking French into the phone. Still sounding professional. Still thrusting into you like he had all the time in the world.
You were unraveling beneath him.
His fingers found your clit again. Pressed lightly. Rubbed in slow, careful circles.
uour lips parted, and he kissed you hard, swallowing your cries as your climax built dangerously close again.
“Non, il n'y a pas de problème. Je vous contacterai bientôt.” (no, no problem. i’ll call you back soon.)
He ended the call.
There was a beat of silence. You could barely breathe.
Then his voice dropped to a low growl. “You didn’t listen.”
“I—” You were panting now. “I tried.”
He slid out of you slowly, only to slam back in with no warning.
You cried out, loud this time, legs tightening around him instinctively.
“I told you to be quiet,” he said again, but he was grinning now, breathless and wild and just as undone as you.
“You were, fucking speaking another language, what did you expect? That was hot as fuck.”
He grabbed your jaw and kissed you like he’d been starving for you all over again.
“Next time,” he said against your mouth, “I’ll put you on speaker. See how well you stay quiet then.”
You moaned into the kiss. “You’re insane.”
“And you fucking love it.”
And you did. Every slow, punishing thrust he gave you after that call, until you came again, clutching him so tightly he groaned your name like a prayer and finally followed you into oblivion.
Heeseung collapsed over you, breath hot against your shoulder, both of you sticky with sweat and utterly destroyed.
You lay there for a long time, your hand tangled in his damp hair.
“Just so we’re clear,” you murmured eventually, still breathless. “If you ever do that again, I’m going to break your phone.”
He laughed into your neck.
“I’d like to see you try.”
☆.
California wasnt so quiet at night, it still held its chaotic and festive atmosphere; but it was less noisy than day.
Heeseung stood barefoot in the kitchen, phone pressed between his shoulder and cheek, one hand cupped around a steaming mug of coffee, the other resting loosely on the marble counter.
The clock read 3:12 AM, but the supplier he was talking to was halfway across the world in Malaysia, bright-eyed and loud over the line.
“Yes, I got the spec sheets. I’ll forward the revised invoice before tomorrow,” he murmured, trying not to sound like he was barely two hours out of bed, or that he was still aching in every limb from the way you’d pulled him into you earlier that night.
His other hand scrubbed at his face, jaw rough with sleep-stubble.
He wore nothing but a loose pair of gray sweats, the waistband low on his hips, his skin still warm from your touch.
Every time he blinked, he could still see you— flushed, breathless, tangled in his sheets like sin wrapped in silk.
He should’ve stayed in bed. Lord, he wanted to.
But the time zones wouldn’t bend for him.
“Right, just make sure the quantities are adjusted. I don’t want to see another backorder excuse in the next—”
He didn’t hear the sound of you approaching. You always moved soft like that— barefoot, sleepy, half-dreaming when you woke.
It wasn’t until you slipped your arms around his bare torso that he felt you.
You hugged him from behind, face nuzzling into his back, your body covered only by the warm duvet you’d stolen from the bed.
Your skin was flushed with residual heat, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades.
He paused mid-sentence.
Your voice came out soft, “Come back to bed.”
He swallowed, throat tightening around the words he’d meant to say.
“Just a second,” he murmured into the phone, gently pulling it away from his ear. “Hold on.”
You didn’t let go.
In fact, your arms curled tighter around his waist, and he could feel the slow drag of your bare chest pressed to his back, the way you breathed in the scent of his skin like you needed it to fall asleep again.
“You’re cold,” he murmured, not even turning around yet, his hand covering yours where it rested low on his stomach. “You should’ve stayed under the covers.”
You mumbled something unintelligible and a little whiny against his skin, still half-asleep.
“I got lonely,” you finally whispered. “Bed’s too big without you.”
That nearly broke him.
He glanced at the phone still clutched in his hand, hearing the faint crackle of the supplier’s voice on the other end.
He could’ve finished the call. Should’ve.
But your breath was slow and warm against his back, and your fingers were tracing lazy little circles against his abdomen like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.
Heeseung tilted his head toward the phone and spoke quickly. “Sorry, I’ll get back to you in an hour. Something urgent came up.”
The line clicked off. He didn’t care if the supplier was annoyed.
You didn’t say anything at first, not even as he set the phone down on the counter and turned slowly in your arms.
You looked up at him through heavy eyes,, hair a tousled halo around your face, skin lit by the faint blue haze of early morning.
The duvet stayed wrapped around you, but he could see the line of your shoulder, the slope of your collarbone, the flush in your cheeks.
You looked like something out of a dream.
His voice came out rougher than he meant. “You’re dangerous.”
You tilted your head up at him, blinking innocently. “Me?”
“You.”
He ran his fingers through your hair, thumb brushing your cheek. “You do things to me I can’t explain.”
You leaned into his chest again and murmured, “Then stop trying to explain and just come back to bed.”
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Pushy.”
You tugged him gently by the waistband of his sweats. “You like me pushy.”
He did.
Buthe liked you like this, too— soft and quiet, in the middle of the night when the world was paused just long enough to let him hold you without pretending.
So he kissed your forehead and reached down, scooping you up in one smooth motion.
You squealed, the duvet slipping a little, exposing your legs as you curled instinctively into him. “Heeseung!”
“You woke up,” he said as he carried you down the hall, voice mock-serious. “Then interrupted my call. Now you’re going to make up for it.”
“I missed you,” you said, chin tucked against his shoulder, “You’re the one who left me naked and cold in your enormous bed.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t steal all the covers and kicked my back”
He nudged the bedroom door open with his foot and carried you back to bed.
The mattress were still warm where you’d been. He laid you down gently and crawled in beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“You’re such a clingy sleeper,” you mumbled.
“I like sleeping with you,” he said, pulling the duvet higher around you both. “Shut up and let me enjoy it.”
You smiled sleepily, eyes already drifting shut again, your body melting into his.
And there, under the weight of blankets, limbs tangled together, his breath evening out beside yours, you both slipped back into the kind of sleep that only came after passion, laughter, and the slow certainty that neither of you wanted to be anywhere else.
𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙮— enhypen’s hyung line has a big, happy family !
welcome to caseyverse 🩷 this is just a small master list so you can understand better who i thought they would have as children and where to find the fics that contain small family interactions.
i also thought that maybe i could write some drabbles on this, lmk! 🫶
⟡. 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆
JIA is the only daughter of the lee family and she’s around 4 years old. she’s kind but has also a fierce personality, heeseung calls her ‘tin soldier’ while she calls him ‘captain hamster’.
WHERE can you find her? in ‘how i met your mother’ this fluff & crack oneshot is based on heeseung telling her his love story with you.
⟡. 𝐉𝐀𝐘
HANA is the eldest daughter of the park family. she is around eight, she’s smart and has a very lovely personality.
HAILEY is the youngest and she’s around four. despite her young age, she has a sharp tongue and a strong character.
WHERE can you find them? they had a small cameo at the end of ‘still into you’ (fluff and angst) but hana was nameless and hailey was in the womb.
⟡. 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄
JAMES, korean name jihoon, is the first born of the sim family and he is seven. he has a very playful personality and likes to tease his father. but he’s also protective of his sister.
JANE, korean name jiheon, is the second born and she’s two. we don’t know much about her personality, but she’s very energetic and loves strawberries.
WHERE can you find them? in the parent-hood themed oneshot i wrote called ‘brisbane’.
⟡. 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍
HANEUL is the twin girl of the park family. she was born with a little complication but she grew up as fierce as a lion.
YOHAN is the twin boy. he is shy and quiet, he’d rather be on his own but can’t because his sister won’t leave his side.
WHERE can you find them? in the smut oneshot i wrote called ‘mon amour’, they have a small scene at the beginning. and in the parenthood-themed oneshot called ‘double trouble’,
SUMMARY: once the college’s golden girl, you had it all: endless parties, a popular boyfriend, and flawless grades. but behind the spotlight, your mind was slowly unraveling. pretending everything was fine became exhausting, and for the first time, you didn’t recognize the person staring back at you anymore. then came Sim Jake, the awkward, quiet nerd you never thought twice about, who somehow saw through every carefully built wall around you. and the more your world fell apart, the more he became the only place that still felt safe.
WARNINGS: mutual cheating? (y/n on her bf and her bf on y/n), toxic relationship (not with jake), SMUT, virginity loss, subby!jake, switch!reader, riding, car sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, missionary, jake is so sensitive ma babe, mentions of anxiety attacks, panic attacks (slight description), pills consumption, jake is silly (we love him), y/n’s anxiety is mentioned A LOT, alcohol consumption, arguing, fightin (no punches actually), slow burn but they had sex, poor decision making (welp), y/n is in denial, mentions of bullying, this is low-key trash (but don’t we all love a little trash sometimes?), mentions of period, jake is VERY desperate, abandonment issues (🙁), i SWEAR it gets better as y/n breaks up with jacob. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
NOW PLAYING: Skin by Sabrina Carpenter - I THINK I’M LOST AGAIN by Chase Atlantic - Fame is a Gun by Addison Rae - Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae
a/n: as someone who struggles with anxiety i wanted to bring awareness to how much it can shape your life 💔 i’m sorry i had to divide it in two parts but tumblr is a bitch with a word limit!! hopefully you’ll like it anyways 🩷 STAY TUNED for PART 2!
The dorm room buzzed with the quiet hum of preparation as you stood before the full-length mirror, turning slowly to examine every angle of your reflection.
The deep blue dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the glittery lace on the skirt catching the warm light and scattering it like tiny stars across the walls.
You ran your palms down the fabric, smoothing it over your hips, satisfied with how the halter neckline framed your shoulders.
“You look incredible,” Sophia said from behind you, her voice carrying that familiar note of admiration she always had when you got dressed up.
She was already in her light blue dress, a simple but elegant number that made her skin glow.
She was fixing a loose strand of hair in her own mirror, her lips pursed as she applied a final layer of gloss.
“So do you,” you replied, meeting her eyes in the reflection. “That color suits you.”
She grinned, about to say something when a loud, impatient honk cut through the evening air from outside. Three short blasts, then a longer one, the sound jarring against the quiet campus night.
Sophia moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside just a fraction, peeking out. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise “Holy shit. He really rented a limousine?”
You sighed, already feeling the familiar knot of irritation tighten in your chest.
Of course he did.
Jacob (your boyfriend, unfortunately) never did anything quietly. Everything had to be a spectacle, a performance, a way to show off how much money he could throw around.
It had been charming once, in the beginning, when you were both drunk on the novelty of each other.
Now it just felt... exhausting.
“Do you want a ride?” you asked, grabbing your small clutch purse from the bed and checking that your phone and lipstick were inside.
Sophia laughed, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. I love you, but I really don’t want to witness you two making out the whole way there. My girlfriend is coming to pick me up anyway.”
You blew her a kiss, the gesture light and affectionate. “Fair enough. Text me when you get there.”
“Will do. Have fun and try not to strangle him.” She sang-song.
“No promises.” You stepped out of the dorm room and made your way down the stairs, the click of your heels echoing in the stairwell.
The night air hit you as you pushed open the front door, slightly cool for early autumn.
And there it was, stretched along the curb like a white whale, the limousine.
It was absurdly long, the kind of vehicle that screamed look at me from every polished inch.
The driver of the limousine opened the car door for you, helping you step inside with a kind hand.
“There she is.” Jacob said, his voice already carrying that slight slur that meant he’d started drinking before picking you up.
His tie was loose around his neck and his jacket discarded somewhere on the seat beside him. His eyes were glassy, his smile too wide. “My beautiful girl. Took you long enough.”
“I wasn’t aware I was on a schedule.” you said, smoothing your dress back down and settling into the seat across from him, putting distance between you.
The limousine was spacious, with plush cream leather seats that wrapped around the interior, a mini bar stocked with bottles, and a strip of colored lights along the ceiling that cast everything in a soft, muted glow.
The driver pulled away from the curb without a word, and the limousine glided smoothly through the campus streets.
Jacob reached for you, his fingers grazing your knee. “Come here, dont sit all the way over there.”
“I’m fine here.” You replied with pursed lips.
His jaw tightened, but he let his hand fall back. “Suit yourself.”
The ride to the gala was spent in strained silence punctuated by Jacob’s attempts to make conversation that quickly devolved into complaints.
“Want a drink?” He questioned, holding a glass of what seemed to be whiskey. “You know I can’t.” You replied with a stern look
“Party pooper,” he sneered, "Whatever, more for me.”
You stared out the window, watching the streetlights blur past, counting the minutes until you could be surrounded by other people and not have to be alone with him.
When the limousine finally pulled up to the venue, you felt a wave of relief.
The building was an modern building that had been converted into an event space, its stone facade draped in white lights and a red carpet was leading up to the grand entrance.
People were milling about in blue suits and gown as the air filled with the murmur of conversation.
Jacob was out of the car first, offering you his hand with the practiced charm of someone who knew people were watching.
You took it, because appearances mattered, and let him lead you inside.
The ballroom was stunning. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting prisms of light across the marble floors. the tables were draped in white linen, they lined the edges of the room and centerpieces of white roses and candles flickering softly.
A bar stretched along one wall, already busy, and a small orchestra played near the far end, their music floating through the air like silk.
You spotted Sophia almost immediately, standing with her girlfriend near one of the tall windows with a glass of champagne in her hand.
She gave you a small wave, and you smiled back.
For the first hour, things were fine. You mingled, you laughed at the right moments, you nodded along to conversations about internships and family businesses and who was dating whom.
Jacob stayed close, his hand on the small of your back, his presence a constant pressure that you tried to ignore. But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed, his grip grew heavier and his touches more insistent.
He started rubbing your hip while you were talking to a professor, his fingers dipping dangerously low to your backside.
You shifted away, giving him a pointed look, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.
“Jacob,” you murmured, leaning close to his ear. “Stop.”
“What?” His voice was too loud, his breath hot and sour against your cheek. “I’m just showing you off.”
“You’re being inappropriate.”
His expression darkened. “I’m being your boyfriend. When did you become such a prude?”
You felt heat rise to your cheeks with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I’m not doing this here.”
“You never want to do anything anymore,” he said, his voice rising. A few nearby heads turned. “You’re always tired, always stressed, always on your fucking pills—”
“Jacob.” Your voice was sharp, a blade. “Don’t.”
But he was already beyond listening. He downed the rest of his drink, set the glass down on a passing tray with more force than necessary, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m done.”
“Don’t make a scene.” You begged.
“Too late.” he said, and stormed off toward the exit, weaving slightly as he pushed through the crowd.
You stood there for a moment, with your hands trembling and your face burning.
Sophia caught your eye, her expression worried, and you could see her starting to move toward you. You shook your head, mouthing “I’m okay.” and followed Jacob out into the night.
The cool air hit you like a slap. The street was quieter there, away from the main entrance as the sounds of the gala muffled behind the thick walls.
Jacob was pacing near the sidewalk with his phone in his hand. “Jacob.” You called.
He spun around with wild eyes. “What?”
“What the hell was that?” You asked. “What the hell was what? Me wanting my girlfriend to actually pay attention to me?” He scoffed.
“I was paying attention to you, I was standing right next to you all night.” you frowned.
“You were ignoring me. Flirting with everyone else.” Jacob accused.
“I wasn’t flirting, I was making conversation. That’s what people do at these things.”
He laughed bitterly, his expression as cold as ice, “You’ve changed, you know that? You used to be fun. Now you’re just... detached. You never want to have sex anymore, you never want to party, you just want to stand around and talk about boring shit.”
You felt something snap inside you. “I’m taking anti-anxiety pills, Jacob. Do you remember that? Do you remember the panic attacks I’ve been having? Do you remember me telling you that the medication makes me feel different? Or do you just not care?”
He stared at you, his mouth open, but no words came out.
“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, and your voice was steadier than you expected. “I’m not going back inside with you. I’m not getting back in that limousine with you. Go home, Jacob. Sleep it off.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” He looked at you as if you had grown two heads, or as if he had never heard the world ‘no’ in his life.
“I’m not.” You stood your ground.
He looked at you for a long moment, something shifting in his eyes. Then he turned, pulled out his phone, and started walking down the street, his steps unsteady. “Fine. Whatever. Fucking fine.”
You watched him go until he disappeared around a corner, and then you stood there alone, the night silent around you. You took a deep breath, then another, willing your heartbeat to slow.
You didn’t want to go back inside. You didn’t want to face Sophia’s pitying looks or the whispered speculation of the other guests.
You just wanted to go home.
You started walking, your heels clicking against the pavement, heading toward the main road where you could call a ride.
But you honestly didn’t even want to move, so you sat on a bench near the river and let your tears silently fall.
It all hurt, why couldn’t Jacob try to understand you? Why did he have to make everything about him?
“That was very rude, if you ask me.” You gasped as a voice spoke from your left.
You hadn’t noticed someone was sitting on the other side of the bench
You recognized him vaguely. You had seen the guy around at campus, but his face had never stuck in your memory until that moment. He had thick glasses and styled hair, with a gummy smile.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. My mom always tells me I tend to speak at the wrong moment.” He apologised, glancing away.
You sighed and scooted closer, “No, I think you’re very right.” You tuned toward him. “By the way, you go to Saint Cross’s college too, no?”
He nodded with a quick motion that messed his hair. “Yeah…. I’m Jake.”
“I’m Y/N.” You stepped closer, and he seemed to shrink back, his shoulders hunching. “What are you doing out here?”
“I— uh…” he gulped, “I hadn’t read that the dress code was blue, so I wore this suit.” He pointed at his very white suit. “The waiters are wearing white…”
You let the information sink in before letting out a quiet snort at the weirdness of it all. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
He finally glanced at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a fraction of a second before darting away.
In the dim light, you could see the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Do you… uhm, want some of this?” he questioned, raising the bottle he was drinking.
It was a bright orange liquid that looked like a spiked punch. “Sorry, I’m cutting down on the alcohol.”
“Oh, this is not alcohol.” He replied, shaking the bottle. “This is Gatorade, it’s way past my bed time, i needed the energy.”
As you threw your head back and laughed, you caught sight of the white limousine with the back of your eyes.
An idea formed in your mind, reckless and impulsive, the kind of idea you would have talked yourself out of a year ago.
But tonight, sitting there in your glittery dress with your boyfriend’s abandonment still fresh in your chest, you didn’t feel like talking yourself out of anything.
“Do you want to be my buddy for the night?” you asked.
He blinked. “What?”
“The limousine there? My boyfriend forgot it. Let’s take it for a spin.” You shrugged.
He looked at the car, then at you, then back at the car. “I don’t think that’s—”
“The driver’s paid for the whole night. He’ll drive wherever we want.” You walked over to the driver, who had stubbed out his cigarette and was watching you with mild curiosity. “We’re taking the car out. My boyfriend left, but the night’s still young.”
The driver shrugged, his expression indifferent from when he had opened the door for you just a couple of hours earlier. “You’re the boss.”
You turned back to Jake, who hadn’t moved. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, his hands wrapped around the Gatorade bottle like it was a lifeline. “Come on,” you said, holding out your hand. “I promise I don’t bite.” you sang song.
He hesitated for a long moment, and you thought he might say no, might turn and walk away and go back to whatever quiet corner of the gala he had emerged from.
But then he stepped forward, his fingers brushing against yours, and let you lead him into the limousine.
The interior felt even more opulent now, in the quiet intimacy of just the two of you. The colored lights were still on, casting soft greens and purples across the leather seats.
Jake sat down carefully, as if afraid he might break something.
You sat across from him, watching him. “Have you ever been in a limousine before?” You tried as an ice breaker.
He shook his head. “What about the gala? Do you usually go to those?”
“Not really, but I thought I could try.” He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I think I regretted it as soon as someone asked me to refill their champagne flute.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” you said. “Socializing is overrated.”
He looked at you then, a real look, his eyes searching your face as if trying to figure out if you were being genuine or mocking him.
You held his gaze, and something in his expression softened.
The driver’s voice came through the intercom. “Where to?”
You looked at Jake. “Anywhere you want.” He thought about it, biting his lower lip. “I don’t know. Just... around?”
“Around it is.” you said to the driver, and the limousine pulled away from the curb, gliding into the night.
The first few minutes were awkward, filled with the kind of silence that felt heavy with unspoken things.
Jake stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, while you studied him from across the car.
He had nice hands, you noticed. Long fingers, neatly trimmed nails. He was nervous, you could tell, from the way he kept fidgeting with the bottle cap, the way his leg bounced slightly.
“So,” you said, breaking the silence. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”
He turned to you, curious. “What do you mean?”
You reached over and pressed a button on the console. The ceiling lights shifted, changing from soft green to a warm blue.
You pressed another button, and a small television screen descended from the roof. Another, and a panel slid open to reveal a karaoke machine, complete with microphones.
Jake’s eyes went wide. “That’s insane.”
“Right?” You pressed another button, and the mini bar lit up, revealing rows of tiny bottles. “Do you want a drink?”
“I, uh, I don’t really—”
You nodded, “It’s okay, you’re not a drinker.”
He shook his head, looking almost embarrassed. “I’ve never had any alcohol.”
“What?” You sat up straighter, genuinely shocked. “Never? Not even a sip of beer?”
“My parents don’t drink,” he said, shrugging. “And I never really saw the appeal.”
“Well, tonight you’re trying tequila.” You pulled out two small shot glasses and a bottle of Tequila, setting them on the counter. “Consider it a rite of passage… I’ll even have a shot with you, come on.”
He looked nervous, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “Okay.”
You poured the shots, sliding one toward him. He picked it up, examining the clear liquid like it might bite him. “Do I just... drink it?”
“Lick the salt, take the shot, suck the lime,” you said, demonstrating with practiced ease. You set up a small line of salt on the back of your hand, licked it, downed the shot, and bit into a lime wedge, the sourness cutting through the burn.
He watched you, then attempted to copy your movements. His hand shook slightly as he lifted the shot glass, and he winced as the tequila hit his throat, coughing and sputtering. “That’s— that’s strong!”
You laughed, genuinely. “It gets easier. Trust me.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and when he looked at you, there was a smile on his face. It transformed his features and made him look younger. “I feel warm.”
“That’s the alcohol. Give it a few minutes.” You poured another round, then another. The third shot went down smoother, and by the fourth, Jake was laughing at something you said, with his head thrown back and his shoulders relaxed.
The awkwardness had melted away, replaced by an easy, electric energy that filled the limousine like the colored lights.
“Show me the karaoke.” he said, his voice looser now, the words slightly slurred.
You grabbed one of the microphones and handed him the other. “What are we singing?”
He scrolled through the options, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t know any of these.”
“Pick the first one you recognize.”
He stopped on a song, and when the opening chords started playing, you recognized it immediately. Lana del Rey’s National Anthem notes filled the car. He started singing, his voice tentative at first, then growing bolder as you joined in, your voices blending together in a harmony that was probably terrible but felt incredible. It was crazy how much he knew the lyrics, singing his heart out.
At some point, you slid closer to him on the seat, your shoulders brushing, and he didn’t pull away.
When the song ended, the silence that followed was different. The air between you felt thick, heavy with possibility. He was looking at you, his eyes dark in the dim light, his lips slightly parted.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For tonight. I was... I was really nervous about coming here. I almost didn’t.”
“Thank you for being my knight in shining armor for the night.” you said, and you meant it.
He smiled again, that soft, transforming smile, and something in your chest fluttered. Without really thinking, you leaned closer and pressed a small kiss on his cheek.
A broken sound left his throat and he turned around, shielding himself from you.
“Jake?” You asked, your brows furrowing in worry, “I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?”
“No, no, it’s okay…” He said, his voice strained.
You took a better glance at him and… Oh.
His hands were shielding his crotch from your sight and you chuckled, “Are you hard?”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “It’s just that… I’ve never been kissed by a pretty girl.”
“I could eat you alive,” you laughed softly, turning him towards you again, “You are so cute.”
“Thank you.” He blushed, actually blushed, and looked away from you. You suddenly felt a strange sensation, a warmth inside of you. After two years of being treated like an afterthought from your own boyfriend, Jake’s gentle nature was a stark contrast.
“Do you want me to kiss you? On your lips?” You asked quietly, and his eyes widened comically. “I mean, I would like it… But only if you want to? I should probably have a mint first, though.”
“Oh my God.” You laughed, fisted his shirt and pulled him towards you.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, your lips brushing against his like a question.
He responded slowly and unsure, his hand coming up to rest on your arm as if he needed something to steady himself.
You deepened the kiss, your tongue tracing the seam of his lips, and he opened for you with a soft, surprised sound.
He tasted like tequila and lime, and you kissed him until you were both breathless, until his hands moved from your arm to your waist, pulling you closer.
Your hand drifted from his knee to his thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath your fingers.
He was wearing dress pants, the fabric smooth and warm. You traced circles on his thigh, watching his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed and the way his breath hitched.
“Is this okay?” you asked.
“Yes,” he breathed. “God, yes.”
You moved slowly, wanting to savor every moment. Your hand slid higher, until you could feel the heat of him through the fabric, the growing hardness that made your own body respond in kind.
He gasped when you palmed him, his hips bucking slightly into your touch.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured against his neck, pressing kisses along his jaw. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
He shook his head, his hands fisting in the fabric of your dress. “No one’s ever... told me that.”
You pulled back, meeting his eyes. “Then they were blind.”
He kissed you again, hungrier this time, his hands exploring your body with a clumsy, earnest desperation that made your heart ache.
He traced the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the lace of your dress. When his fingers brushed against your breast, he pulled back as if burned.
“Sorry,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay.” You took his hand and guided it back to your chest, letting him feel the weight of you through the fabric. “You can touch me. I want you to.” With one hand, you reached for the ‘Do Not Disturb’ button near the window, so the driver would know not to intrude.
He looked at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, and then his hand moved again, cupping your breast with a reverence that made your breath catch. He was gentle, almost afraid, but there was a curiosity in his touch that was intoxicating.
You reached behind your neck and untied the halter strap, letting the front of your dress fall forward. His eyes went widen as his gaze fixed on your breasts, the peaks that tightened under his stare.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
You laughed softly. “Have you never seen a pair of boobs before?”
He shook his head, his cheeks burning. “I mean, I’ve seen them in movies and stuff, but not... not like this. Not in real life.”
You widened your eyes… fuck! He was a virgin.
“Oh my God,” you said, your body stopping. “We can stop if you want, if you don’t want your first time to be here. I understand.”
“No, no, no.” He begged, nodding his head so much you thought it would fall down, “I want you— want it… please? I’ll be a good boy.”
You searched for his eyes, and when you found sincerity, you guided his hand to your bare skin, and he let out a shaky breath.
His touch was tentative, his warm fingers brushing against your nipple with a featherlight pressure that sent a shiver down your spine.
He looked at you, checking, making sure he wasn’t hurting you. “You’re doing great,” you encouraged. “Just keep going.”
He grew bolder, his hand cupping your breast as his thumb rubbed circles around your nipple until it peaked against his palm.
You leaned into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips, and the sound seemed to spur him on. “Can I...” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to your mouth.
“Yes.”
He kissed you again, his hand still on your breast, and you felt the last of his reservations melt away. He was kissing you like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment, like he was afraid it might disappear if he stopped. And in a way, you realized, he probably had been.
Your hand found his belt, working the buckle open with practiced ease. You smiled, soft and genuine, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “let me take care of you.”
You sank to your knees on the plush carpet of the limousine floor, your dress pooling around you like spilled ink.
He watched you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as his hands gripped the edge of the seat.
You unfastened his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers, and then you saw him.
You sucked in a breath. He was huge. Thick and long, veined and flushed, standing proud against his stomach.
For a virgin, he was packing more than most experienced men you’d been with. You looked up at him, and he was staring down at you with wide, terrified eyes.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” you said, your voice husky. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re just... wow.”
He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so you didn’t give him time to. You leaned forward and took him in your mouth.
He cried out, a high, desperate sound, his hips bucking instinctively. You held him steady, your hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and your tongue swirled around the head.
He was already slick with precum, and you moaned at the taste of him.
“Oh god,” he gasped, his fingers threading through your hair. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”
You took him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate his size. He was so thick that it was a stretch, but you loved the feeling, the fullness of him filling your mouth.
You bobbed your head, setting a rhythm as your hand worked what you couldn’t reach.
He was vocal, more vocal than you expected. Little whimpers and moans escaped him with every movement of your head with his hips twitching and his grip on your hair tightening. He was a mess, and you loved every second of it.
“I’m— I’m close,” he warned, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”
You doubled your efforts, taking him as deep as you could, and he came with a shuddering cry, his release hot and thick in your throat.
You swallowed it all, every drop, and when you pulled back, he was panting, his eyes glassy, his body trembling. “Fuck,” he whispered, the word falling from his lips like a prayer.
You wiped your mouth and climbed back onto the seat beside him, your body humming with arousal. He looked at you, and there was something new in his eyes. Wonder, maybe. Or worship.
“That was...” He shook his head, at a loss for words. “It gets better,” you said, reaching for the zipper of your dress. “Trust me.”
You stood, shimmying the dress completely down your body until it pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but a scrap of lace that barely covered you. He stared, his mouth open, his spent cock already beginning to stir again.
“Can I touch you?” he asked, his voice reverent.
“I was hoping you’d ask.” You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, your thighs bracketing his hips. He was hard again, pressing against your stomach, and you reached down to guide him to your entrance. You were wet, so wet, your body ready for him.
“Look at me,” you said, and he did. “I’m going to go slow. Tell me if it’s too much.”
He nodded, his hands finding your waist, his grip gentle but firm.
You sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch. He stretched you, filled you, and you cried out at the sensation, your head falling back.
He was so big, hitting places inside you that you had forgotten existed. He groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as his eyes squeezed shut.
“You feel so good,” he gasped. “So fucking good.”
You began to move in a slow, steady rhythm, your hips rocking against his. He met your movements, his own hips rising to meet you, and soon you found a groove, the two of you moving together like you had been doing this for years.
He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss, sloppy and desperate, his tongue tangling with yours.
“Is there something that might make you feel good?” He asked, pulling away and watching you with his big, dark eyes.
You smiled, gripped his hair and gently guided his lips to your breast. As if in command, he parted his lips and took your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the tip.
You moaned softly, the sensation combined with his cock inside you almost too much.
He gently bit the swollen skin, making you arch your back and whelp.
“Did I hurt you?” He asked, looking up at you again. You shook your head and gripped his shoulders, “You’re doing so good.” You quickened your pace.
“I’m not going to last.” he admitted, his forehead pressed against yours.
“That’s okay,” you breathed. “Come for me, Jake. Let go.”
He did, with a broken cry, his hips stuttered as he spilled inside you.
The feeling of him pulsing, of his warmth filling you, sent you over the edge as well, your own orgasm crashing through you in waves, your body clenching around him.
You collapsed against him, your skin slick with sweat. He held you, his arms wrapped around you and his lips pressed gently to your hair.
The energy drained from you quickly, from the exertion of sex, the alcohol in your body and the drowsiness from the pills.
Your eyelids dropped slowly, until your eyes were fully closed.
In your sleepy state, you murmured, “Thank you, Jacob.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
“I fucked up,” you said, the confession spilling out before you could stop it.
The words tasted like ash on your tongue as you slumped into the chair across from Sophia.
The west library was nearly empty at this hour, the pale morning light filtering through the tall arched windows, casting long shadows across the wooden tables.
Sophia looked up from her laptop, her eyebrows furrowing.
She had been away at her girlfriend’s place for the weekend, and you had deliberately avoided texting her, not wanting to drag her into the mess you had created.
But now, sitting across from her, the weight of the weekend pressed down on your chest like a physical force.
“What happened?” she asked, closing her laptop and giving you her full attention.
You took a shaky breath, your fingers curling around the edge of the table. “I… I deflowered a guy.”
Her eyes widened, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Wait, you finally broke up with Jacob? Good for you—”
“No,” you cut in, your voice sharp. “I didn’t break up with him.”
The smile froze on her face. “What do you mean you didn’t break up with him? You had that huge fight at the gala. I thought that was it.”
“We didn’t officially break up,” you said, your throat tightening. “We just… fought. And then I went and had sex with someone else while we are still together.”
Sophia leaned back in her chair, processing the information. Her fingers tapped against the table, a nervous habit you recognized. “Okay. Okay, I’m not judging you. But… who?”
You shook your head, your gaze dropping to your hands. “I can’t tell you. I’m not sure he wants people to know.”
“Y/N, you have to tell me—”
“I can’t, Sophia. Please.” You cut her off.
She sighed, her expression softening. “Alright. I trust you. But how did it happen? Wait, was it the limo driver?”
“No, no.” You let out a hollow laugh. “It was someone from college. I was angry and hurt, and I just… I invited him into the limousine. One thing led to another.”
You remembered the warmth of his body, the way he had held you afterward, the tenderness in his touch that had felt so different from Jacob’s demanding hands. “I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in my room, wearing my dress. I think he put it back on me. He carried me upstairs and he even bought me Plan B.”
“Aw, he was a gentleman,” Sophia teased, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
You bristled, your jaw tightening. “This isn’t funny, Sophia. I cheated on my boyfriend.”
“Y/N, listen to me.” She reached across the table, her hand covering yours. “Jacob has been a dismissive asshole for months. You two were going to fall apart anyway. This was just the last drop.”
The words stung, hitting a nerve you hadn’t expected. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what we have.”
“I know you’ve been miserable,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “I know you’ve been crying in the bathroom after your phone calls with him, I know he makes you feel small about your anxiety. That’s not love, Y/N.”
You pulled your hand away, anger flaring in your chest. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m just being honest.” She shrugged.
“Well, I didn’t ask for your honesty.” You stood up, grabbing your bag from the floor. “I told you because I needed to get it off my chest, not because I wanted you to trash my relationship.”
Sophia’s face fell. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”
“I have to go.” You stalked toward the exit as your vision blurred with unshed tears.
The library’s heavy oak doors loomed ahead, promising escape, but before you could reach them, you collided with something solid.
The impact sent you stumbling backward, your bag slipping from your shoulder. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry—” you started, bending down to gather your things.
“It’s okay.” The voice was soft, familiar. You looked up, and your heart stopped.
Jake.
He was standing there, dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans, his dark brown hair falling across his forehead.
He looked as startled as you felt, his hands frozen mid-motion, as if he had been about to help you but had stopped himself.
“Jake,” you breathed, straightening up. “I… hi.”
“Hi.” He glanced around, as if looking for an escape route, but that library wing was empty except for the two of you.
“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “About Friday. I shouldn’t have… I mean, I was drunk, and I took advantage of you, and I—”
“You didn’t take advantage of me,” he said, cutting you off. His voice was quiet but steady. “I wanted to. I said yes.”
“But I am in a relationship.” You pressed a hand to your forehead, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “That was wrong. It doesn’t mean you did anything bad— you were actually… very good. Really good. But it was still wrong of me.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I understand.” He paused, then added, “Can I go now?”
“Wait.” You reached out, your fingers brushing his sleeve.
He flinched but didn’t pull away. “Did you… were you the one who took care of me? After we… you know.”
He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked away. “Yeah, I did.”
“Why?” You frowned.
He was silent for a long moment, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. “Because you murmured Jacob's name. You said it in your sleep, and I… I felt guilty. Like I had done something wrong. So I got you dressed, as best as I could. The driver knew your address from the gala pickup. I carried you up to your room and left you on your bed.”
Your heart ached at the image. Him, struggling to zip up your dress, lifting you in his arms and climbing the stairs to your dorm. “You also bought me Plan B.”
He shrugged, a small, self-conscious motion. “I didn’t know if you were on anything. I wanted to be safe.”
“I’m on birth control,” you said. “So you don’t have to worry about that.”
He nodded again, his eyes still avoiding yours. “Okay, good.”
“Can you keep this a secret?” you asked, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Please… I don’t want anyone to know. Especially not Jacob.”
He met your gaze then, and something in his expression softened. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty library, and you watched him go, a knot of guilt and confusion tightening in your stomach.
“Jake?” You called out, and he stopped in his tracks. He turned around, just slightly, letting you know that he was listening. “You didn’t deserve that… me saying his name.”
He gave you a forced smile, “It’s okay.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The afternoon sun was harsh, slanting through the windows of the college cafe and casting everything in a golden, unforgiving light.
You spotted Jacob immediately, standing in line with his friends Juyeon and Justin. He was laughing at something Justin said, his head thrown back with an easy smile.
You walked over, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jacob.”
The laughter stopped immediately. He looked up at you, and the warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, distant expression. “What do you want?”
“Can we talk? Please. Just for a minute.” You begged.
He took a sip of his coffee, deliberately slow. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Jacob, please.” You could feel Juyeon and Justin watching, their eyes boring into you. “I know we fought. I know I said some things, but I don’t want to leave it like this. Can we just… talk it out?”
He set the cup down on the counter with a sharp clink. “You made yourself pretty clear at the gala. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ Those were your words.”
“I was upset and angry. You were drinking, and you were being inappropriate.”
“So it’s my fault?” His voice rose, and a few heads turned. “Everything is always my fault.”
“That’s not what I’m saying—” He cut you off. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it.” He turned back to his friends, effectively dismissing you.
Humiliation burned through you, hot and sharp. You could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.
Not here. Not in front of him.
“Fine,” you said, your voice cold. “Go fuck yourself, Jacob.”
You turned and stormed out of the cafe, the door swinging shut behind you with a bang.
The cool air hit your face, and you took a deep, shuddering breath, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.
You heard footsteps behind you. “Y/N— Y/N, wait.”
Jacob had followed you outside, with his hands in his pockets and his expression no longer cold.
“What?” you snapped, turning to face him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and the words seemed to cost him something. “I shouldn’t have… I’ve been an asshole.”
“You think?” You raised an eyebrow.
He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of agitation. “Justin and Juyeon, they told me to come after you. They said I was being an idiot.”
“Yeah? And now that your friends told you what I’ve been telling you for a while, what so you think?”
He was quiet for a moment, the traffic noise filling the silence until he broke it. “I think I miss you… I miss us. But I don’t know how to fix this.”
You stared at him, and for the first time in a long time, you saw something vulnerable in his eyes. Not the cocky, dismissive Jacob who made jokes about your issues. Just a guy who was scared of losing someone.
“You make me feel insecure,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You make me feel embarrassed about my own issues. I hate when you act like taking my anxiety pills is a bad thing. Yes, they lower my libido. Yes, they make me feel numb sometimes. But at least I’m not waking up in the middle of the night thinking I’m going to choke on my own breath.”
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
You pulled away. “Because you never asked.”
He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just… I miss the fun we used to have. The spontaneous sex, the parties, the laughing. I don’t know how to handle the change.”
“It’s not a change I wanted,” you said, your voice breaking. “It’s just my life now.”
He pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly.
You hesitated for a moment, then melted into his embrace, your face pressed against his chest. His scent was familiar, comforting, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that everything could go back to the way it was.
But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t stop replaying the feeling of Jake’s arms around you that Friday night.
The way he had held you, tender and careful, as if you were something precious. The way he had looked at you, with wonder and awe, as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
You pushed the thought away, burying it deep.
“I’ll try to be more considerate,” Jacob murmured into your hair. “I promise.”
“Thank you.” you whispered, and you held him tighter.
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The living room was buzzing with conversation, voices mixed with the occasional burst of laughter.
Streamers hung from the ceiling, and a banner reading “CONGRATULATIONS MINA!” was taped across the wall above the couch.
Pizza boxes were scattered across the coffee table, alongside bottles of beer and soda.
Mina was glowing, her arm wrapped around Juyeon’s waist with a radiant smile. “I still can’t believe I got it, they really gave me a prize for getting straight As.” she said for the fifth time, and everyone cheered again.
You smiled, raising your can of coke in a toast, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes.
Your mind was elsewhere, fixated on the economic principles test you had tomorrow.
The formulas, the graphs, the theories— they swirled in your head like a storm, and no matter how hard you tried to focus on the celebration, the anxiety crept in, cold and insistent.
Your hands started to tremble.
You set the can down, not trusting yourself to hold it.
Your heart was pounding too hard, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, the laughter grating against your ears.
You needed air. You needed space.
You excused yourself, your voice barely audible, and walked to the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind you, and you leaned against it, your chest heaving.
The mirror reflected a pale, frightened version of yourself with wide eyes, flushed cheeks and hands shaking so badly you could barely unzip your purse.
The pills bottle rattled as you fumbled with the cap. Your fingers felt like clumsy sausages, and you nearly dropped them twice before finally managing to twist open the lid.
You tapped out two small tablets, brought them to your mouth and cupped your hand under the faucet to drink the water directly.
The pills went down with a struggle, and you gripped the edge of the sink, waiting for them to take effect.
But the panic was still there, clawing at the edges of your consciousness.
The bathroom door creaked open.
Sophia stood in the doorway, her expression soft with concern. She had always known when something was wrong, had always been able to read you like a book. “Oh… my poor baby.”
She crossed the small space and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.
You broke down, the tears spilling over, your body shaking against hers. You cried for the guilt you carried, for the confusion, for the way you felt torn between two worlds and undeserving of either.
Even if you had been mad at her, even if you had stormed off a couple of days before, she still held you.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, stroking your hair. “I’ve got you.”
It took a long time for the sobs to subside. When they did, you pulled back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry. I ruined the party.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. Are you okay now?” She asked, worried.
You nodded, though the lie was obvious. “I think so.”
“Do you want to go home? Mina won’t mind.” Sophia offered.
You glanced toward the door, thinking of Jacob out there, laughing with his friends. “If I leave, Jacob will get mad. He’ll say I’m ruining his night.”
“He can fuck himself,” Sophia said firmly. “I’ll drive you home, mh?.”
You hesitated, but the thought of staying in that noisy room, surrounded by people who didn’t understand, was unbearable. “Okay.”
You washed your face, the cold water soothing your flushed skin.
Sophia handed you a towel, and you patted your face dry, trying to look more presentable. Together, you walked back into the living room.
“Hey, guys,” you said, forcing a smile. “I’m not feeling great, so I’m going to head out. Congratulations again, Mina.”
Mina’s face softened with sympathy. “Oh, Y/N, I hope you feel better. Get some rest.”
Jacob looked up from his conversation with Justin. He didn’t ask if you were okay and neithr did he reach out to touch you. He just leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to your lips, and turned back to his friend.
Something inside you cracked.
You walked out of the house without looking back.
The car ride was silent, the streetlights casting shifting shadows across the dashboard.
Sophia didn’t push you to talk, and you were grateful for that. When you reached your dorm, she waited while you changed into your pajamas, then hovered by the door.
“Do you want me to sleep beside you?” she asked, her voice gentle. “We can have a pajama party, just like in junior year.”
You shook your head. “I just need to be alone.”
She nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m right next door.”
“I will.” You promised.
She left, and you climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin.
The room was dark, the only sound being the faint hum of the heater.
You closed your eyes and tried to sleep, but the guilt followed you into the darkness, a shadow you couldn’t escape.
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The library was quiet, as you were hunched over your laptop at one of the corner tables, the glow of the screen illuminating your tired face.
A cup of cold coffee sat beside you, untouched for the last hour. Your eyes burned from staring at the same paragraph about macroeconomic indicators, the words blurring together until they lost all meaning.
You had barely slept in three days.
Every time you closed your eyes, the weight of upcoming exams pressed down on your chest, and your mind would start racing about formulas, deadlines and expectations.
You would toss and turn, check the clock, calculate how many hours of sleep you could still get, and then panic because it was never enough.
By the time dawn crept through your curtains, you gave up, dragging yourself to the library before the sun was fully up.
Now it was mid-afternoon, and exhaustion clung to you like a second skin.
Your phone buzzed, the notification sharp in the quiet room. You glanced at the screen, expecting a text from Sophia or maybe Jacob.
Instead, you saw the college email app, a new message marked with a red exclamation.
You tapped it open and your heart plummeted.
It was from your professor, he had scheduled another test. A quiz for your economic theory class. The date was in four days, right in the middle of the week you had already dedicated to three other finals.
You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your throat.
A full week of tests.
You had been cramming for the ones you already knew about, and now this.
How were you supposed to cover everything? How were you supposed to keep your grades up? It was barely November, and you were already drowning.
Your hands began to tremble.
The spiral came fast, vicious, and merciless. Your mind raced through worst-case scenarios: failing the class, disappointing your parents, watching their proud faces fall into confusion and shame. They bragged about your straight As to their friends, to your relatives back home.
If you failed, what would they say? What would they think?
Your chest constricted, the air turning thick and unbreathable. You tried to take a deep breath, but it caught somewhere in your throat with a strangled gasp.
Your vision started to tunnel, the edges of the library fading into a dark blur.
You needed your pills.
You grabbed your backpack with clumsy fingers and unzipped the main compartment. You fumbled inside, your hand searching desperately for the familiar plastic bottle.
But all you found were notebooks, a pen case and a half-eaten granola bar. No pills.
You had left them in the kitchen cupboard. You remembered now— you had taken your morning dose, and then you had been in such a hurry to get to the library that you had forgotten to put the bottle back in your bag.
Panic surged through you, hot and suffocating. You slammed the backpack shut, tears already pricking at your eyes.
You couldn't stay here. You couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in, the silence too loud, and the fluorescent lights too bright.
You abandoned everything and stumbled out of the library. Packing up would take too long. Every second felt like an eternity, and you needed air, space, somewhere quiet where you could fall apart without an audience.
The hallway stretched before you, long and empty, the floor tiles a dizzying pattern of white and gray. Your footsteps echoed, uneven as your vision blurred at the edges.
You walked, then stumbled and then fell to your knees, your hands pressing against the cold floor.
Your lungs were being crushed. Each breath was a battle, your chest heaving abs a high-pitched wheezes escaping your lips.
The world tilted, the walls swirling around you. You couldn't hear anything over the roaring in your ears.
Then, through the chaos you heard a voice. Distant at first, like someone calling from the other end of a long tunnel. “Y/N? Y/N!”
It was warm and familiar, but you couldn't place it, you couldn't focus. Your body was shaking too hard and your mind too tangled in panic.
Strong arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the floor. You felt yourself being guided, your feet dragging and your weight leaning against a solid chest. The voice kept talking, soft and steady, but the words were muffled, lost in the static of your panic.
You were sitting now, your back against something hard and your knees pulled up to your chest.
The voice was clearer now, right in front of you. “Y/N, look at me. Follow my breathing.”
You blinked as your vision slowly cleared.
A face emerged from the blur: dark hair falling across a worried forehead, glasses slightly askew, and brown eyes full of concern.
Jake.
He was crouched in front of you, his hands gentle on your shoulders. He took a slow, deliberate breath in, then let it out, long and even. “Breathe with me. In… out. In… out.”
You tried, but your breath hitched, stuttered. He didn't rush you. He just kept breathing, slow and patient, his eyes locked on yours. He reached for your hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart. You could feel it beating, steady and strong, a rhythm to anchor yourself to.
“Feel that? Just follow it. You're safe.” You focused on the warmth of his chest under your palm, the rise and fall of his breathing. You matched it, in and out, each breath a little deeper, a little slower.
Your vision cleared completely, now you could make out that you were in a storage room, surrounded by shelves stacked with boxes and old filing cabinets. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light over you both.
Jake was still crouched in front of you, his face very close to yours. He was watching you carefully, with brows furrowed with concern. “You’re back?” he asked softly.
You nodded, then shook your head, frustrated. Tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and unstoppable. “I'm such a mess,” you choked out, your voice cracking.
You brought your hands to your hair, pulling at the strands, as if you could punish yourself for your own weakness.
“Hey, hey, don't,” Jake said, gently prying your hands away from your head. He held them in his, his long fingers warm and steady, unlike your cold and trembling ones. “It's okay. You're okay.”
But you weren't okay. You were shaking again, this time from the release of tension, from the shame of falling apart in front of him. The tears came harder, sobs wracking your body that you couldn't stop.
Without a word, Jake pulled you into his arms. He hugged you, one hand cradling the back of your head as the other rubbed slow circles on your back.
You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent. You melted into him, letting yourself be held, letting the tears soak into his hoodie.
He didn't say anything. He just held you, his heartbeat steady against your cheek, his arms a safe harbor in the storm.
Minutes passed and slowly, the sobs quieted, your breathing evening out.
You pulled back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled tissue, handing it to you with a small, shy smile.
“Thanks.” you whispered, blowing your nose.
He waited until you had composed yourself, then asked, “What do you need?”
You took a shaky breath. “I want to go home. I can't… I can't be here right now.”
He nodded, already standing up. “I'll drive you. I don’t have any more classes.
Your heart squeezed, once again he was saving you. “I left my backpack and laptop on the table… can you get them for me? The backpack is pink and the laptop has a landscape wallpaper.”
“Got it. Stay here, I'll be right back.” He slipped out of the storage room, leaving you alone in the quiet.
A few minutes later, Jake returned, your pink backpack slung over one shoulder and your laptop case in his other hand. “Found them,” he said, a little breathless. “No one took anything.”
“Thank you,” you said, your voice small.
He offered you a hand, and you took it. His grip was firm, as he helped you to your feet. He stayed close, one hand hovering near your elbow, ready to catch you if you stumbled.
His car was parked in the student lot, an old BMW with a few dents and a faded paint job.
It wasn't fancy, but it was clean inside, the seats worn but comfortable. He opened the passenger door for you, waited until you were seated, then closed it gently.
The drive to your apartment was quiet. He turned on the radio, low, some soft indie station filling the space with gentle guitar strums. You leaned your head against the window, watching the streets pass by, the familiar landmarks blurring together.
When he parked outside your building, he grabbed your bags and followed you up the stairs. You unlocked the door, stepped inside, and he set your things down by the entrance.
“You can stay,” you said, your voice hesitant. “If you want.”
He hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Are you sure? I don't want to intrude.”
“You're not intruding. I… I think I need company. And you just drove here.” You shrugged.
He nodded slowly, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
You led him to the living room, a small space with a comfortable sofa and a coffee table cluttered with textbooks and empty mugs you and Sophia were too lay to clean up. You sat down, and he sat beside you, leaving a respectable distance.
You let out a bitter laugh, rubbing your face with your hands. “God, I'm such a mess.”
“You're not a mess,” he said quietly. “You're dealing with a lot.”
“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked after a pause. “Maybe you’ll feel better. I usually do.”
A real smile tugged at your lips. “A shower sounds nice, actually, thank you.”
“Do you need help?” He asked, then cringed, “Sorry, too much?”
“Thank you for the thought,” you called behind your shoulder. “But I can manage.”
You went to your room, grabbed a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, and stepped into the bathroom.
The hot water was a blessing, washing away the tension and the lingering panic. You stood under the stream for a long time, letting it beat against your shoulders, your mind slowly quieting.
When you came out, wrapped in a towel, you changed into the comfortable clothes. you walked back to the living room, and the smell hit you— chicken noodle soup.
Jake was in your kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. He turned when he heard you, his eyes softening. “You look better.”
“I feel better.” You sat on the sofa, and he brought you a bowl, a spoon and a napkin. He had even set out a glass of water.
You took the bowl, the warmth seeping into your cold hands. “Thank you, Jake… really.”
“It's no problem.” After a few spoonfuls, he asked, “Does this happen often?”
You sighed, setting the bowl on your lap. “In periods of high stress, yes. It got better over the summer. But now I'm a senior, and the pressure is… a lot.”
He nodded, not pushing for more. You finished the soup, feeling the warmth spread through your body. You set the bowl aside and stood up, walking to the kitchen cabinet where you kept your pill bottles. You popped two into your mouth and washed them down with water.
When you turned back, Jake was watching you, his expression unreadable. “I'm sorry,” you said, sinking back onto the sofa. “You had to take care of me again.”
He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “I'm glad I was able to help you. Again. I'd do it again if you needed me to.”
Your heart ached at his words. “You're too kind.” He shrugged, looking down at his hands. “Do the pills have side effects?”
You blinked at the question. It was so practical, so Jake. Nobody had really paid attention to that part of you, except for Sophia and Mina. “They make me drowsy and numb sometimes. The doctor said they can lower also my sex drive.”
He let out a small chuckle, the sound surprising you. “Well, it didn't seem that low in the limousine.”
Your cheeks burned. He caught himself, his eyes widening, and he quickly added, “Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up. I promised you not to.”
“It's okay,” you said, your voice soft. “You're right, maybe being treated with care was a turn-on.”
The air in the room shifted. He looked at you, his gaze lingering on your lips, then meeting your eyes. “I could take care of you…” Jake said, his voice low. “If you wanted.”
Your breath caught and he took it as an invitation to move closer and cup your jaw. Tentatively, he kissed your lips.
You answered by deepening it, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.
As realization dawned, you parted, breathless, and said, “We should stop. I'm still with Jacob.”
He pressed his forehead against yours. “Shush,” he whispered, and kissed you again.
You let yourself be pulled under. He laid you down on the sofa, his body covering yours, careful and gentle. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, then he pulled back, his cheeks flushed and his glasses slightly fogged.
“I watched some tutorials,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “On… eating someone out. Do you want that?”
You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. “You watched tutorials?”
“I wanted to be good at it,” he said, his ears reddening. “For you.”
“Yes,” Your heart melted. “I want that.”
He smiled, a shy, sweet smile, and then he moved down your body. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and tugged them down. he kissed your thighs, down to your hips, and then the sensitive skin of your inner legs, each kiss sending shivers through you.
Then he gently pulled your panties aside, lowered his head, and his tongue touched you.
Your back arched, it had been a long while since someone touched you like that. He was hesitant at first, then more confident, finding a rhythm that had you seeing stars.
His tongue traced circles, dipped inside, then moved up to your clit. He sucked gently, his nose pressing against you, and you cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair.
He moaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. You bucked up, grinding against his mouth, and he groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening. “Is this okay?” He questioned.
“Don’t talk,” you breathed out, “Just lick.”
“Yes ma’am.” And he delved in again. His movements were clumsy, as if he was following a certain pattern in his mind. It felt good nonetheless, uour while body on fire.
The pleasure built, coiling low in your belly, and when you came, it crashed over you like a wave, your body convulsing, a broken cry escaping your lips.
He didn't stop until you had ridden it out, then he lifted his head, his lips glossy and his eyes dark.
You noticed the wet patch on his pants, dark and obvious. “Did you cum already?” you asked, your voice hoarse.
He looked down, then back at you as his cheeks painted of a crimson. “Eating you out was really hot.”
You laughed softly, pulling him up to kiss him again. You tasted yourself on his lips and your hand moved to his waistband, but he caught your wrist.
“Today is about you.” he said, his voice firm but gentle. He kissed you again, slow and deep.
He caressed your body, his hands tracing your curves, your breasts, your waist. He kissed you for what felt like hours, worshipping every inch of you. You guided his face to your neck, and when his lips pressed against the sensitive skin, goosebumps erupted across your body.
He kissed, licked, nipped, and you moaned, the sensation reigniting the heat between your legs.
Time lost meaning. You made out on the sofa, tangled together, his hands exploring you as your fingers threaded through his hair.
But the drowsiness from the pills began to seep in and your eyelids grew heavy.
He noticed, so he pulled back with a soft smile on his face. He fixed his glasses, which had gone askew, and gently pulled your sweatpants back up, tucking your panties into place.
Then he scooped you up, carrying you to your bedroom. He probably remembered it from the night of the gala.
He laid you on the bed and pulled the covers over you. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he tucked you in. “Rest well, Y/N.”
He lingered for a moment, his hand brushing against your forehead, pushing a wild strand of hair away.
Then he turned and left, his footsteps fading down the hall. You were alone, but this time you didn't feel lonely.
The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin, a promise that maybe you weren't as broken as you thought.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
“I did it again.” That was how you greeted Sophia the following morning, your voice still rough from sleep, your hair unbrushed and your eyes carrying the heavy weight of a restless night.
She stood at the stove with a spatula in one hand and a slice of bread dipped in egg mixture waiting in the pan.
The smell of cinnamon and butter filled the small kitchen, which was a stark contrast to the mess of thoughts tangled in your head.
She turned to look at you, her eyebrows knitting together in that familiar expression of concern. “Did what again?”
You dropped onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, reaching for a box of cereal she had left out. You poured yourself a bowl, the sound of flakes hitting ceramic too loud in the quiet morning. “Fuck up? I had a panic attack yesterday.”
Her spatula paused mid-air. She turned the stove off and faced you fully, crossing her arms. “What? Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”
You waved a dismissive hand, even as a small, guilty pang hit your chest. “I’m fine now. I’m fine, but I stumbled in the hallway, and guess who found me?”
She tilted her head, waiting, so you didn’t let her wait. “Limousine Guy.”
Sophia’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Yup, yhe guy I deflowered.” You said it with a wry smile, but the memory of Jake’s hands steadying you and his voice soft in your ear, came flooding back. You looked down at your cereal, stirring it absently. “He helped me, drove me home… and well… it wasn’t with penetration this time, at least?”
Sophia let out a long, low whistle. She turned back to the stove, sliding the French toast onto a plate, and brought it to the island, sitting across from you.
She took a bite, chewing slowly, her eyes never leaving your face. “Wow, okay. You really need to break up with Jacob.”
The words hit you like a cold splash of water. You shook your head, even as your stomach twisted. “It’s complicated, Soph. You know that.”
“I know why it’s complicated,” she said, setting her fork down. “Your parents think he’s the golden ticket. He’s wealthy, he’s got connections, he has ‘high chances in life,’ or whatever your mom likes to repeat every time you call her. But when was the last time he looked for you— not because you’re a trophy on his arm, not because he wanted sex, but because he actually wanted you?”
The question landed hard. You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. You thought about Jacob… about the dinners where he talked about his internships and his networking events.
The way he introduced you to his friends as “my girlfriend, Y/N” but never actually looked at you when he said it. The way he kissed you like it was just lust, never love. The way he reached for you only when he wanted something.
“I used to be happy with him,” you said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. “Maybe… after I get better, we’ll all go back to how it was. And maybe me and Limousine Guy can be friends. Just friends.”
Sophia stared at you for a long moment. Then she sighed, stood up, and grabbed her bag from the counter. “Figure it out, Y/N.”
She slung it over her shoulder and walked toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “I really want to meet this Limousine Guy by the way. He sounds like he actually gives a damn.”
She left before you could respond.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
College felt louder than usual that day. You walked with purpose, your shoes squeaked against the polished floors as your eyes scanned every face that passed.
You were looking for Jake and it turned out to be harder than you expected.
You asked a few people, described him, but nobody seemed to know him.
He didn’t have many friends, apparently. He was something of a ghost on campus, someone you passed in the halls without ever really noticing.
The thought made your chest ache.
You ended up in the engineering wing, a group of students huddled around a table covered in blueprints, but your attention landed on a familiar face near the vending machine.
Lee Heeseung.
You’d seen him at parties before, always with a friendly smile and a drink in hand. He was tall, with sharp eyes and an easy way about him.
You approached him, your heart beating a little faster. “Hey, Heeseung, right?”
He turned, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Y/N, yeah. What’s up?”
“I’m looking for someone. Do you happen to know a Jake?” You asked.
Heeseung tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “Jake Sim?”
You paused… well, you didn’t even know his surname. “Uh… I’m not sure. He has glasses, dark hair, a cute smile? Kind of quiet?”
Heeseung’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah, that’s Jake. He’s in my dorm building. What do you need him for?”
You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “We’re… friends, I just need to ask him something.”
Heeseung studied you for a moment, something unreadable passing through his gaze.
Then he nodded slowly. “He’s probably in the mathematics building, since he’s a statistics major. You’ll probably find him in one of the classrooms on the second floor, he’s always there, working on something.”
You thanked him and started to turn, but he called your name.
As you looked back, his expression had hardened, a hint of seriousness in his eyes. “You’re not pulling a prank on him or something, right?
“What? No.” You frowned.
“Just… don’t hurt him, okay?” he said quietly. “Jake has a kind soul”
The words struck you deep, echoing Sophia’s earlier sentiment. You nodded when a lump formed in your throat. “I know.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The mathematics building was quieter than the rest of campus.
The halls were lined with old photographs of scholars and the air carried a faint scent of chalk dust and old paper. You climbed the stairs to the second floor and peered through the small glass window of each door until you found him.
He was in the last classroom, standing at the chalkboard with his back to the door.
A flannel shirt hung loose over his frame and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms dusted with chalk.
His hair was messy, sticking up in places as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was deep in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he scribbled equations in white chalk— a dense forest of numbers and symbols that looked like a foreign language to you.
You pushed the door open gently, he didn’t t notice you at first. You stepped inside and stood behind him.
“What are you doing?” you asked softly.
He jumped, the chalk in his hand skittering across the board and leaving a crooked line. He turned, his eyes wide behind his glasses, and when he saw you, his face flushed a deep pink. “Y/N! I— uh— I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Clearly.” You smiled, leaning against the edge of a desk. “So?”
He cleared his throat, gesturing awkwardly at the board. “I’m trying to solve a problem my professor gave me. But it’s not turning out. The deadline is in two days, and I’ve been at it for hours.”
You looked at the board again. It might as well have been ancient Greek. “I can’t help you with that, I’m sorry. I don’t know the first thing about statistics.”
He let out a nervous laugh. “That’s okay. Most people don’t.”
You hopped onto the desk, your legs dangling lazily. “I’ll just sit here, then, to keep you company.”
He hesitated, then turned back to the board, picking up another piece of chalk. But his movements were slower now, less fluid. You could feel his awareness of you, the way his shoulders tensed every time you shifted.
After a few minutes of silence, you spoke up. “Hey, Jake?” He turned, chalk pausing mid-stroke. “Yeah?”
“Can I have your number?” You tilted your head.
The chalk snapped in half. He stared at the broken pieces in his hand, then at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Uh… why do you want my phone number?”
You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “To text, duh. So we can hang out sometimes. If you want.”
Guilt flashed in your faced, “Well, minus the eating out part. I’m so sorry to remind you that I am in a relationship.”
His blush deepened, spreading down his neck. He set the broken chalk on the tray and fidgeted with the hem of his flannel. “I— right. Yeah, of course. I’m sorry if I took advantage of you.”
“Jake.” You said his name softly, and he stopped. “It wasn’t your fault. My head is all over the place in this period… But I don’t want to ruin whatever is growing between us. I really like it, and you are so kind to me.”
His expression softened, and he stepped closer, his eyes meeting yours with an earnestness that made your heart skip. “I like it too…”
He pulled his phone from his pocket, an older model with a cracked screen and handed it to you.
You typed your number in, saved it under your name and handed it back. He looked at the screen, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“There,” you said. “Now we’re official. Sort of.”
He pocketed the phone, still smiling. You slid off the desk and stretched, your joints popping. “How about you get out of this classroom and rest your very big brain for a while?”
He blinked. “What did you have in mind?”
“Come with me and you’ll find out.” You wiggled your brows.
He debated for a moment, glancing at th chalkboard, at the mess of unsolved equations. Then he grabbed his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “Okay.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
You led him to the college pool, a sprawling building with glass walls and the faint chlorine smell of the pool.
You signed in at the front desk and rented two swimsuits: a pair of trunks for him and a modest one-piece for you.
You changed in separate locker rooms, and when you met by the pool entrance, you had to stop for a second.
He was already in the trunks, and without his glasses, his face looked different, more open. His chest had abs you hadn’t noticed under his hoodies, and a happy trail disappeared from his belly into his swimming shorts. You fought very hard not to stare.
His hair was still messy, but wet now from a quick shower. He clutched the towel awkwardly, his eyes squinting slightly, shifting his weight from one feet to the other.
“You look good,” you said, and his face went red again.
“I— thanks. I can’t see very well without my glasses, so I’m kind of blind right now.” He chuckled awkwardly. “ You look good too. I mean—“ he waved his hands in front of him, “You always do! I’m not just saying that because you are wearing a swimming suit.”
You smiled, finding his rambling cute, “Thanks, Jake.” You took his hand, feeling the callouses from hours spent writing numbers and led him to the pool area.
The water was a clear turquoise, rippling gently under the bright overhead lights. The space was mostly empty at that time of the day , just a few people doing laps in the far lanes.
You stopped at the edge of the shallow end. “I always come here to swim when I need to clear my head. It helps.”
He looked at the water, a nervous expression crossing his face. “I’m not really good at swimming.”
“Then I’ll help you.” He smiled at you, a genuine, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. It was the most beautiful thing you’d seen in a long time.
Awww, he had dimples!
The trust in his eyes was so wholesome. So, you pushed him in.
He let out a yelp as he hit the water, splashing and sputtering, and you laughed— a real, full laugh that echoed off the tiled walls. You jumped in after him, the cool water enveloping you, and surfaced right in front of him.
He was wiping water from his eyes with a shocked look on his face. “You pushed me!”
“I did.” You grinned. “Now swim.”
He tried, paddling awkwardly, his strokes uneven and his legs sinking. You swam beside him, guiding his arms and showing him how to kick properly. “Relax your shoulders, you’re so stiff.”
He followed your instructions, improving little by little. Every now and then he would stop, treading water, and watch you swim laps with a quiet admiration.
You caught him staring once, and he looked away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by the tile pattern.
After a while, you both got tired. You swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted yourself up, sitting on the cool concrete with your feet dangling in the water. He joined you, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, the water streaming down his back and drops falling from his hair down his nose.
The silence between you was comfortable, broken only by the soft lapping of water and the distant echo of someone doing laps.
You turned to him. “Tell me something about yourself.” He looked at you, confused. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I always talk about myself when we’re together. I want to know something about you.”
He was quiet for a moment, his fingers trailing through the water. “Well… I have a dog at my parents’ house. Her name is Layla and she’s my best friend.”
You smiled. “She sounds adorable.”
“She is.” He paused. “I’m an only child. It’s just me and my parents and Layla.” His voice trailed off, and he stared at the water. “I’m sorry, I’m not interesting.”
“That’s not true.” You placed a hand on his thigh, feeling the warmth of his skin through the wet fabric of his trunks. He tensed, his breath catching, but didn’t pull away. “What are your hobbies?”
He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I like photography, I have a really cool camera at home and…”
It seemed hard for him to find something to say, “I like… Marvel. I’ve seen all the movies. I even own some of the gadgets..
You blinked. “Really? I’ve never watched any of them.”
He turned to you, his expression shifting into one of utter, comical offense. “Never? Not a single one?”
You shook your head, “Not one.”
He shook his own head now, a new determination settling in his eyes. “We have to remedy that. Immediately.” He hesitated, then added, his voice softer, more tentative, “If you want… you could come over to my place. I have all the DVDs, I even have popcorn!”
The offer hung in the air, fragile and sincere. You felt a warmth spread through your stomach, knowing how much courage it had taken for him to ask.
You squeezed his thigh gently. “I’d love that.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The drive from the college pool to Jake’s place was short, just a few miles through quiet residential streets.
You were still damp from the quick shower you had taken in the locker room, your hair still clung to your neck. Jake had waited for you outside the women’s locker room, his own hair still wet with a small towel draped over his shoulder.
He lived in a modest apartment complex, the kind with beige walls and identical doors. He unlocked the door and held it open for you, gesturing for you to enter first.
The apartment was small, but immaculate. Everything had its place. The couch was a simple gray fabric and the coffee table bare except for a laptop and a remote.
“Make yourself at home.” he said, his voice a little hesitant. He disappeared into the kitchen, and you heard the rustle of a microwave bag, then the hum of the microwave itself.
You took the opportunity to explore. Your feet carried you across the hardwood floor, past the small dining table with two chairs, past a bookshelf filled with textbooks and a few sci-fi novels.
Then you noticed the photographs.
They lined the walls in mismatched frames, a timeline of his life. The first one you saw was a teenage Jake, all limbs and braces, holding a puppy. The dog was licking his face, and he was laughing with his eyes crinkled shut.
You smiled at that. You assumed the dog was Layla, the one he mentioned before.
Next to it was a framed certificate and a photograph of him holding a trophy. He was standing on a stage with a medal around his neck and he was wearing a crisp white shirt.
It was a math contest, by the look of the banner behind him. His face was serious, focused, but there was a hint of pride in his posture.
Another photograph showed him in a cap and gown, a diploma in his hands. You guessed it was his graduation.
He stood next to a woman who must have been his mother, she had the same soft eyes, the same gentle smile. She was hugging him, her hand on his cheek. His father stood on the other side with n arm around his shoulders.
You moved further down the hall, and then you stopped.
This photograph was different, this one was larger, framed in black wood.
Jake was wearing a white taekwondo uniform and a blue belt held in his hands, with a wide smile.
He looked younger here, maybe early high school, but there was a confidence in his stance that you hadn't seen in the other pictures. His fists were clenched, and his chest puffed out, like he had conquered something.
You heard footsteps behind you, soft and hesitant.
“That was when I got my blue belt,” Jake said, his voice quiet. He stood beside you, with his hands shoved into his pockets. He was looking at the photograph, but his expression was distant, lost in memory.
“That’s amazing,” you said, turning to him. “How long did you do taekwondo?”
He shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “From elementary school until sophomore year of high school. My mom signed me up because…” He paused, licking his lips.
He seemed to wrestle with himself, then he let out a slow breath. “When I was in elementary school, my classmates didn’t really like me. Kids can be mean, you know? They made fun of my glasses and my clothes, of the way I talked. I was an easy target.”
Your heart clenched. You watched his profile as he spoke, the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes stayed fixed on the photograph.
“So my mom signed me up for taekwondo. For self-defense.” A small, wry smile touched his lips. “I never actually used it on anyone. But it made me feel powerful, like I could protect myself if I ever needed to.” He shrugged. “And I made friends there, kids who didn’t care that I was weird.”
He glanced at you, his eyes vulnerable behind his glasses. It was the first time he had opened up to you like this, truly opened up about something painful from his past.
You reached out and rubbed his arm, your fingers gentle against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m sorry they treated you that way, Jake. You didn’t deserve that.”
He looked away, blinking rapidly. “It was a long time ago.”
But you could see the memory still stung. You could see how it haunted his eyes. However, you didn’t push. Instead, you let your hand fall, and you gave him a soft smile.
He seemed to shake off the moment, his expression brightening. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He turned and walked to the couch, where two plushies sat on the armrest.
One was Iron Man, the other was the Hulk. He picked up the Iron Man and held it out to you. “Here. For you.”
You took it, surprised. The plush was soft, well-loved with the stitching on the arc reactor slightly frayed. “Are you sure? This seems special.”
“I have the Hulk,” he said, picking up the green plush and hugging it to his chest. “We can watch the movie with them.”
A warmth spread through you, at his innocence. You followed him to the couch, settling down side by side.
The popcorn was ready, he had made it perfectly, buttered and salted, and he set the bowl between you.
He grabbed the remote and navigated to Netflix, pulling up the first Marvel movie.
The opening credits rolled. You took a handful of popcorn, the buttery taste melting on your tongue. Jake was quiet, his eyes glued to the screen, but you could feel his tension, the way he sat stiffly, his hands clasped in his lap.
“It’s okay if you fall asleep during the movie,” he said suddenly with a soft voice. “I know the pills can make you drowsy. I won’t be mad.”
“I only took my daily dose.” You shook your head “It might be fine, but thank you.”
He nodded, but he still seemed uncertain. You were hyper aware of everything around you: you felt the warmth of the apartment, the softness of the couch and the gentle hum of the television. And when your eyelids grew heavy, you fought it.
You wanted to be close to him. So you shifted, leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder.
The fabric of his hoodie was soft, and you could smell the faint scent of detergent and his caramel-like cologne.
He went rigid. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little high-pitched.
“I’m snuggling?” you said, puzzled. “I snuggle with Sophia all the time when we watch movies.”
He blinked, his glasses reflecting the light from the screen. “Oh, right. Snuggling.” He sounded like the word was foreign to him, like he had never experienced it before.
There was a long pause, then, awkwardly, he shifted his position. He lifted his arm with hesitation, and then draped it over your shoulder. It was stiff, his hand hovering in the air, not quite touching you. He looked like he was trying to solve a complex equation in his head.
You suppressed a smile and settled deeper into his side.
After a moment, his arm relaxed with his hand coming to rest on your arm.
He was warm and his heartbeat steady against your cheek.
The movie continued. Jake began to relax, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on your arm. You let yourself sink into the comfort, the simple pleasure of being held.
As the second movie rolled in, Jake found his voice. “Did you know that the actor who plays Iron Man is also in the Oppenheimer movie?”
You hummed, your eyes closed. “No, I didn’t.”
“And in the first movie, there was a scene where he talks with Jarvis, but it was improvised. They kept the scene anwyas.” You opened your eyes, looking up at him. He was staring at the screen, his face animated, a small smile playing on his lips.
“You really know your stuff.” you said.
“I’ve watched these movies a lot,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing. “They’re comforting. The good guy always wins, you know?”
You nodded, resting your head back on his shoulder. The movie played on, and he continued to share little facts, about the bloopers, the references to the comic and the behind-the-scenes stories.
His voice was soft, almost like a whisper, but it filled the room, wrapping around you like a blanket.
By the time the credits rolled on the second film, the apartment was dark except for the glow of the TV.
You stretched, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was past ten pm. Your stomach dropped.
A full day lost. You hadn’t studied, hadn’t prepared for the tests that awaited you next week.
The panic was a slow burn, kindling in your chest, threatening to catch fire.
You took a breath, in and out. You could feel the anxiety trying to take hold, the familiar spiral beginning.
Jake noticed, he always seemed to do that. He shifted, turning to face you, his eyes searching yours. “Do you want to go home?”
You hesitated, then nodded. “I should, it’s late.”
He didn’t argue. He just stood up, offered you a hand, and helped you to your feet.
You gathered your things while he turned off the TV and grabbed his keys.
“I can drive you.” he said, but you shook your head.
“They’ve thankfully invited Ubers. My dorm is not to far.” You smiled, “I’ll be fine.”
He looked like he wanted to insist, but he held back. “Okay, If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” You paused at the door, turning to him. “Thank you, Jake, for tonight. I really had fun.”
His eyes widened, a soft, shy smile spreading across his face. “Me too, I’m glad you came.”
You stepped forward, rose on your tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm, just a little stubbly.
He went completely still, his breath hitching. “Goodnight, Jake.”
You opened the door and stepped out, the cool night air hitting your face.
“Wait!” Jake exclaimed.
He ran outside his door, barefoot and gripping the small Iron Man plushie in his hands. He reached you with a flushed face and that crooked smile, “Here, take this.”
You frowned, “What? Jake, no, it’s yours.”
He shook his head, handing the small gift to you, “Consider it a token of gratitude, for bearing with my constant talking during the movie.”
You smiled, taking it and caressing its furred head, “Alright, I will take good care of it. Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
The Uber dropped you off in front of your dorm building. You unlocked the door to your dorm, stepping inside. Sophia’s door was closed, so you guessed she was already asleep.
You changed into your pajamas, brushed your teeth, and climbed into bed.
But sleep wouldn’t come. Your mind was restless, turning over the events of the evening.
Your phone was on the nightstand, you had placed it there without even checking on it since you went to the pool with Jake. You reached for it, and your heart froze.
Nineteen missed calls from Jacob and dozen of texts from your friends, all the notifications flooding your screen.
You sat up, your stomach twisting.
You had forgotten.
Oh, God. You had completely forgotten. Today was Juyeon’s birthday party. The one Jacob had been talking about for weeks, and also the one you had promised to attend.
You quickly called him back. It rang three times before he answered. “Where the hell have you been?” His voice was sharp and angry.
You could hear music in the background, the noise of a party. “Jacob, I’m so sorry. I completely lost track of time, it totally flew over my head.”
“Everything flies over your head nowadays, Y/N.” His words were like a slap. “I told you this was important. Juyeon asked about you— everyone asked about you! I had to make excuses.”
You swallowed, the guilt pressing down on your chest. “I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well… Juyeon will understand, I’ll give him the gift at college.”
“Stop playing the victim,” he said, his voice cold. “It’s always about you and your feelings. What about me? What about what I need?”
Your throat tightened. “Jacob, I—”
The line went dead. You stared at the screen, the call ended notification blinking back at you. Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and unstoppable. You curled into yourself, hugging your knees, and let the tears fall.
You cried until your head ached, until your pillow was wet. And then, exhausted, you fell into a restless sleep.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The days blurred into a routine of classes, study sessions, and anxiety attacks that came and went as a week passed. But through it all, Jake was there.
You grew closer. He became a constant presence in your life. You had coffee together between classes, sitting in the campus café, with him nursing a black coffee while you sipped a caramel latte.
He would listen to you complain about professors, about the weight of assignments, and he never judged you, never made you feel like a burden.
When you felt the first signs of anxiety creeping in, the racing heart, the shallow breath and the tunnel vision, he would notice before you could even articulate it.
He would make funny faces, crossing his eyes and puffing out his cheeks, until a reluctant laugh escaped you. Or he would take your hand, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your palm, grounding you, bringing you back.
You felt lighter around him. Freer. And Sophia, ever the bestest friend, noticed. She had been bugging you for weeks, cornering you in your dorm room, her arms crossed.
“You’ve been hanging out with Limousine Guy a lot,” she said, her eyebrows raised. “And since then, you’ve looked better. Even though Jacob has been sulking like a child.”
“His name is Jake,” you said for the first time, your cheeks warming. “And we’re just friends.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe you. “Just friends who can’t stop smiling when they talk about each other. And who had sex.”
“Sophia, please. When you meet him, don’t mention that you know about the limousine.” You held out your pinky finger “Promise me.”.
She rolled her eyes, but she relented. “Fine, but only because I love you.”
The day of the hangout arrived. You had arranged to meet at the college bowling alley, a small, slightly run-down place with a few lanes and a snack bar.
Sophia and you waited near the entrance. She was tapping her foot while scanning the parking lot. “So, where is this mysterious nerd of yours?”
“He’s not mysterious. He’s just… himself?" Then you saw him. He was walking across the parking lot, and he looked like he had changed his outfit multiple times.
He was wearing a button-up shirt that was slightly too tight, paired with jeans that were slightly too baggy.
His hair was a mess, like he had been running his hands through it, and his glasses were slightly crooked.
Sophia’s eyes widened. She leaned into you, whispering, “Oh my God… hreally is a nerd.”
“Sophia, be nice.” You nagged and she raised her arms in mock defence. “I am nice..”
Jake reached you. “Hi, Y/N… uhm, hi, Sophia.” He gave a small, awkward wave.
“Hey, Jake,” you said, smiling. “Ready to get destroyed at bowling?”
He let out a nervous laugh. “I’ll try my best.”
You rented the shoes, picked out a ball, and found an empty lane.
Sophia went first, scoring a respectable seven pins.
Then it was your turn. You picked up the ball, lifted it, and threw it down the lane. It veered sharply to the left and landed in the gutter.
You groaned. “I’m terrible at this.”
Jake stepped up beside you. “Here, let me show you.” He hesitated, then gently placed his hands on your shoulders, adjusting your stance. “Spread your feet a little wider, bend your knees… yes, like that. And when you swing, keep your arm straight.”
He guided your arm, his hand over yours, showing you the proper form. His touch was light, careful, and you could feel the warmth of his body behind you.
“Okay, now try.” he said, stepping back.
You took a breath, swung, and released. The ball rolled down the lane, wobbling slightly, and knocked down four pins.
Not great, but better.
“There you go,” he said, a smile in his voice.
Sophia watched the exchange with a knowing smirk.
Then it was Jake’s turn. He picked up his ball, took a deep breath, and started his approach.
But his foot caught on something and he slipped. His legs flew out from under him, and he landed flat on his back with a loud thud. The ball rolled harmlessly into the gutter.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Sophia burst out laughing, a loud, unladylike cackle. You followed, giggling with your hand over your mouth.
Jake lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. After a second, he started laughing too, a genuine, warm sound. He didn’t seem embarrassed, just amused at himself.
“I meant to do that.” he said, still laughing.
Sophia and you helped him up, and the rest of the game was filled with laughter, bad scores, and a few more spills.
After bowling, you walked back to your dorm room. Sophia and you went to the small kitchenette, and Jake offered to help cook.
He was surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with precision and seasoning the chicken perfectly.
Sophia and you mostly watched, handing him utensils and stealing bites of the ingredients.
Dinner was served on the small coffee table. Sophia, ever the interrogator, started asking questions. “So, Jake, tell me about your family. Any siblings?”
He swallowed a bite of food. “No, I’m an only child. It’s just me and my parents.”
“And your dating history? Any crazy ex-girlfriends we should know about?” She wiggled her browse.
You kicked Sophia under the table, but obviously, she ignored you.
Jake’s ears turned red. “Uh, no. I’ve never really… dated before. I’m not good with people.”
Sophia’s expression softened. “But you’re good with Y/N.”
He glanced at you, then looked down at his plate. “She makes it easy.”
The conversation continued, and Jake answered every question, even the uncomfortable ones.
He talked about his childhood and his love for science fiction. He was open, vulnerable, and completely genuine.
When he left, Sophia stood beside you at the door, watching his car pull away.
“He’s the one,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I believe he’s the one for you, babes. He has my approval.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
Jacob’s texts came in like a relentless tide, each notification a small, sharp sting against the quiet peace you had built.
Cobie: Baby let’s make peace
Cobie: Come over, i’ll make u feel better
Cobie: Y/N? Don’t be like that
You glanced at your phone, saw his name flash across the screen, and turned it face down on Jake’s coffee table.
Instead, you focused on the soft scratch of Jake’s pencil against paper and the way the afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds and painted golden stripes across the hardwood floor.
This was where you wanted to be.
There, in his neat little apartment, with his textbooks stacked in perfect alignment and his calculator placed precisely beside his notebook.
You were sprawled across his dining table, your own chaos spread around you like a hurricane: loose papers, highlighters, a half-empty water bottle and a crumpled granola bar wrapper.
Jake didn’t complain. He simply worked around your mess, occasionally sliding a stray pen back into your reach or pushing a glass of water closer to your elbow.
It was nice studying together a.
He was quiet and focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked through some calculus problem.
You had your own assignment, but being there made it bearable. The anxiety that usually coiled in your chest, waiting to strike, was absent.
Your mind was at peace. For the first time in what felt like months, the noise in your head had quieted.
You smiled to yourself. It really seemed as if fate had reserved something nice for you, after all the chaos and heartbreak.
Your meeting with him had been so sudden but you were glad he had stuck with you, even though you were a mess.
He had seen you at your worst, crumbling under the weight of panic attacks, crying in his car and confessing your sins.
And he had stayed.
But then, as if sensing the calmness of the day, a sudden warmth bloomed between your legs, a familiar sensation that made you freeze.
You shifted in your seat, feeling a dull ache in your lower abdomen.
Oh, no.
You knew that feeling all too well. It was your body’s way of announcing the inevitable.
You excused yourself, your voice coming out a little strained. “I’ll be right back, uhm— can I use the bathroom.”
“Of course” Jake looked up, his eyes scanning your face with that quiet concern he always wore. “Are you okay?”
“Just… I need a minute.” You hurried to the bathroom, closed the door, and checked.
Yup, it was uour period.
Great timing, as always.
You sighed, pressed your forehead against the cool mirror, and tried to think.
You had left your backpack on the dining table, and you were certain you had a pad in there… somewhere.
But you didn’t want to walk out and dig through it in front of Jake.
You cracked the door open, just a sliver, and called out. “Jake? Could you check my backpack? There should be a pad in the front pocket. If you don’t mind.”
You heard his chair scrape against the floor, there was a long pause before his footsteps approached the door.
“Uh,” he said, his voice awkward, hesitant. “You can check in the left cabinet under the sink.”
Confused, you opened the cabinet he mentioned. And there, neatly arranged on the shelf, were pads. Multiple packs of them, of different brands and different sizes. A whole arsenal of menstrual products, lined up like soldiers.
You stared at them for a long moment, your mind struggling to process. You picked one, opened it, and took care of the situation.
When you came out, Jake was standing near the table, his hands shoved into his pockets and his ears bright red.
“Jake,” you said, your voice soft. “What are you doing with all those pads?”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. “I, um… I bought them… for you.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “You mentioned once that your cycle was irregular, and that sometimes you got caught off guard. I thought… maybe if you ever needed one, you’d have it here. I didn’t know which kind you used, so I got a few different ones. I’m sorry if they’re not the right ones.”
Your heart swelled to the point of pain. He had bought you pads on the off chance you might need them.
He had thought about you, about your comfort, about something so mundane and yet so deeply personal.
“And they are so expensive!” he added, his voice pitching higher. “I didn’t realize they cost that much. I’m sorry, I should have—”
You crossed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him.
He went rigid, then slowly and hesitantly, his arms came up to hug you back.
“You’re perfect,” you murmured against his shoulder. “You’re so kind. The girl who ends up dating you will be so lucky.”
You felt him tense. For a moment, he didn’t move, and then he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours.
There was a vulnerability there, a rawness that made your breath catch. “Why can’t it be you, that girl?”
The question hung in the air between you, heavy and honest. “What?”
He had never been this straightforward before. Usually, he danced around his feelings, hiding behind awkward jokes and shy smiles. But now, he was looking at you with a clear, unwavering gaze.
You stepped back, your arms falling to your sides. “Jake… I’m with Jacob, I’m happy.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re not happy, Y/N. Everyone can tell, Jacob treats you like garbage.”
The words stung, not because they were untrue, but because they pierced through the carefully constructed walls you had built.
You shook your head, defensive. “We’re just going through a rough patch, that’s all. That’s why things have been tense.”
“A rough patch?” His voice rose, incredulous. “He ignores you when you have panic attacks and he calls you a victim when you struggle.”
“He just doesn’t know how to handle the situation.” You shrugged “We will be fine. I’m the one who treated him like garbage, Jake. we slept together while i was still with him.”
Jake scoffed, a strange and scary shadow crossing over his features, “So he can cheat but you can’t?”
Your blood ran cold. “What?”
Jake’s face paled as he realized he had said too much.
He started pacing, his hands running through his hair and his breathing rapid. “I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t have said anything, it wasn’t my place.”
“Told me what?” You grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. “Jake, what are you talking about?”
He looked at you with eyes full of regret.
Then he sighed, a long, defeated sound, and walked to a shelf.
He picked up a camera woth a large lens, and brought it to the table. He sat down, and you followed, your legs feeling weak.
He scrolled through the camera’s gallery with fingers trembling slightly. “Remember when I said I was paired with a girl for a project? Minjee?”
You nodded slowly. You remembered him mentioning the name, but you hadn’t thought much of it.
“She brought her boyfriend to the meeting,” he continued, his voice low. “I didn’t mind, because I am used to working alone… but they made out the whole time. It was uncomfortable.”
He paused, his throat working. “Then, at the beginning of the school year, the football association asked me to take pictures at their celebration party. Jacob is the captain of the team across town, I didn’t know that until that night.” He explained, “I was just there to take photos, I didn’t talk to anyone.”
He turned the camera toward you, and you saw the image on the screen…. and your heart stopped.
It was a photograph taken at a party, there sitting on a couch, was Jacob. And on his lap, draped over him like she belonged there, was who you thought was Minjee.
She was laughing, with her hand on his chest, her legs crossed over his thighs. He was smiling down at her, his own arm around her waist and his fingers curled possessively over her hip.
You remembered that night, because you had refused to come all the times he insisted.
It was the night you had been stuck in your bed, caught in the throes of a panic attack that had left you breathless and shaking.
You stared at the photograph, your vision blurring. The room spun around you, and you felt the familiar claw of nausea rising in your throat.
“I didn’t know it was him until I saw you two arguing at the gala,” Jake said, his voice barely a whisper. “I connected the dots, I realized who he was. And I knew… I knew you didn’t deserve that. You never deserved a jerk like him, Y/N. You are so much better than he ever gave you credit for.”
You set the camera down, your hands shaking. “I need…” you said, your voice hollow. You gathered your things, shoving papers into your bag with jerky movements. “I need to go.”
“Y/N, please—” Jake’s voice cracked. He reached for you, but you stepped back. “Don’t. I need… I need to think.”
You grabbed your bag and walked toward the door. His voice stopped you, broken and desperate. “Please don’t hate me.”
You turned and saw him standing there with red-dimmed eyes. He looked shattered, like he was afraid he had lost you.
“We’ll talk later,” you promised, and you left.
You walked across the streets, your feet carrying you on autopilot.
The world was a blur of colors and sounds, but none of it registered. All you could see was that photograph.
You sat on a bench near the park, pulled out your phone, and saw Jacob’s texts still flooding your screen.
You: come to the campus park if you want to talk.
He arrived within fifteen minutes, walking toward you with a cautious expression.
He was wearing his usual confident swagger, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Y/N,” he said, sitting down beside you. “I’m glad you agreed to see me. I think we should talk.”
You smiled at him, a sweet, almost pitying smile. And then you said the words that had been forming in your chest for weeks. “We should break up.”
He blinked, taken aback. “What the hell?”
“I did something very horrible,” you said, your voice steady. “When we fought, I was with someone else, I cheated on you.”
His eyes widened, his face flushing with anger. But you continued before he could speak.
“But I found out you cheated on me too, with Minjee. At that party you said you couldn’t miss. While I was at home, having a panic attack, alone.”
His mouth opened, then closed. His hands clenched into fists.
“I’m not excusing what I did,” you said. “I’m telling you that we both betrayed each other. And that shows just how toxic we are. We aren’t happy, Jacob, we are holding each other back.”
He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the pavement. “You’re one to talk. I cheated because you were always stuck in your room, always making everything about yourself! You never gave me what I needed, it was inevitable.”
“And yet you stayed,” you said quietly. “Why didn’t you just leave?”
He glared at you, his eyes cold. “Because you’re mentally ill, you know that?” He scoffed. “You need help, you’re a fucking mess. And you cheated on me, you fucking slut.”
The words hit like a slap, but you didn’t flinch. You had expected worse. “We’re done, Jacob. I’m breaking up with you.”
“No,” he snapped. “I’m the one breaking up with you. Don’t you forget that.”
And with that, he turned and stormed away, his footsteps heavy and angry.
You watched him go, and for a moment, you felt nothing. Just a vast, empty numbness.
Then, slowly, a small wave of relief washed over you.
It was over.
You weren’t sure how you got home, just that one moment you were standing in the park and the next you were in front of your door.
The door clicked shut behind you, and you heard Sophia’s voice from the kitchen. “Hey! I was thinking we could order takeout tonight. Maybe some Chinese? Or pizza? I’m craving—”
She stopped mid-sentence as she turned and saw you. Her eyes widened, her face shifting from cheerful to concerned in an instant. “Y/N? What happened?”
And you broke. The dam inside you burst, and you crumbled, sobs tearing through your chest. Sophia rushed to you, wrapping her arms around you, holding you tight as you cried into her shoulder.
“I broke up with him,” you choked out. “I did it.”
“Oh, honey…” She stroked your hair, her voice soft and soothing. “You did the right thing… You did the right thing.”
She held you for a long time, letting you cry until your throat was raw and your body was limp. Then she guided you to your bedroom, helped you into your pajamas, and tucked you into bed.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” she whispered.
You curled up, reaching for the Iron Man plushie Jake had given you. You pressed it to your chest, burying your face in its soft fabric.
You fell asleep to the scent of him.
A hand on your shoulder gently shook you awake. The room was dim as the light from the hallway spilled in through the crack in the door.
Sophia was leaning over you with a soft face, “There’s someone at the door for you.”
You blinked, groggy and disoriented. “Who?”
“Go see for yourself.” She urged.
You stumbled out of bed with messy hair, your face probably smudged with old mascara. You looked terrible, but you didn’t care.
You shuffled to the front door, opened it, and found Jake standing there.
He looked awful. His eyes were dull and red-rimmed, as if he had been crying. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was a disaster. He looked like he hadn’t slept and as if he had aged years in a single night.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He ran a hand in his already messy hair. “I don’t want to ruin what is happening between us, because I really like it. I really, really like it.”
His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “Even if you don’t like me the way I like you. Even if you only had sex with me because Jacob wouldn’t take care of you, I don’t care. I cherished every moment. Every second with you was special to me.”
He gulped, anxious, “And if you only want to be friends, I can accept that. I just… I can’t lose you. I’ve never had a real friend before, Y/N. You’re the first person who made me feel like I am not invisible… Please don’t cut me off.”
He stood there, with trembling eyes. He looked so broken, so vulnerable, and your heart ached for him.
You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.
He let out a shuddering breath and buried his face in your hair, his hands clutching your back like you were the only thing keeping him upright.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” he said, his voice muffled. “I hurt myself by hoping.”
You pulled back, cupping his face in your hands. “Jake, I don’t want to lose what we have either. But I’m not ready for a relationship again… at least not yet.
You gave him a small smile, “I need to fix myself before I can give you my whole heart.”
He shook his head, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “You don’t need fixing, Y/N. You’re not broken. You’re just… a little lost, and that’s okay. I will wait however long you need, I promise. Just… please don’t cut me off. Please.”
“I promise I won’t.” you said, your voice soft.
You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek and he closed his eyes like he was savoring the moment. “Go home, Jake. We’ll talk better tomorrow.”
He opened his eyes, and for the first time that night, a small, fragile smile touched his lips. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
SUMMARY: once the college’s golden girl, you had it all: endless parties, a popular boyfriend, and flawless grades. but behind the spotlight, your mind was slowly unraveling. pretending everything was fine became exhausting, and for the first time, you didn’t recognize the person staring back at you anymore. then came Sim Jake, the awkward, quiet nerd you never thought twice about, who somehow saw through every carefully built wall around you. and the more your world fell apart, the more he became the only place that still felt safe.
WARNINGS: PLEASE READ PART 1 BEFORE PROCEEDING WITH THIS FIC. mentions of anxiety attacks, panic attacks (slight description), pills consumption, jake is silly (we love him), y/n’s anxiety is mentioned A LOT, alcohol consumption, arguing, fightin (no punches actually), slow burn but they had sex, this is low-key trash (but don’t we all love a little trash sometimes?), jake is VERY desperate, abandonment issues (🙁), i SWEAR it gets better as y/n breaks up with jacob, missionary, (failed) edging, overstimulation, fluff (like, tooth rotting) pet names (baby), lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
NOW PLAYING: Skin by Sabrina Carpenter - I THINK I’M LOST AGAIN by Chase Atlantic - Fame is a Gun by Addison Rae - Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae
a/n: hihi! here is the second part <3 i wanted to add a couple of more scenes but honestly i don’t think i have the energy to do so. still please let me know your thoughts! 🫶
You didn't go back to university for a full week. You simply couldn't. The thought of walking through those hallways, of seeing the library where you had studied with Jake, of passing by the bench in the campus park where you had finally ended things with Jacob— it all felt too heavy.
So you took the week off, told yourself it was a self-care break, and tried to convince your reflection in the mirror that you deserved this time to heal.
Some days were productive: you dragged yourself to the nail salon, settling into the plush chair as a kind woman with steady hands shaped your nails into perfect ovals and painted them a deep burgundy that reminded you of dried roses.
You watched the color transform your fingers, layer by layer, and thought about how strange it was that something so small could make you feel a little more human.
You got your hair cut too, just a trim, a few inches off the ends, but it felt like shedding old skin.
The hairdresser chatted about the holidays while snippets of hair fell around you, and you nodded along, offering polite responses even if your mind was somewhere else entirely.
You went shopping, aimlessly at first, wandering through stores without really seeing the items on the racks.
But eventually, you found yourself picking up things with purpose.
A soft cashmere scarf in forest green that felt warm like a hug. A small leather-bound journal, because maybe writing would help.
A set of copper mugs that reminded you of the ones Jake had in his kitchen…. truthfully you didn't know why you bought them. You just knew they made you feel something other than the numbness that had settled into your bones.
But other days, you didn't leave your bed at all. The curtains stayed drawn as you lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on your chest.
You cried until your eyes were puffy and your throat was raw. You slept fitfully, dreams tangled with memories that left you disoriented when you woke.
You had no energy, no motivation, and certainly no desire to do anything except exist in the fog of your own sorrow.
Jake texted you almost daily. His messages were gentle, never demanding.
jake 🤓💙: Good morning. Just wanted to say hi.
jake 🤓💙: Did you eat today?
jake 🤓💙: I found a funny video of a cat trying to catch a laser pointer… thought you might like it.
And you would reply, sending him little snippets of your days. It was a lifeline, those messages. A thin thread connecting you to the outside world when you felt like disappearing.
When Christmas holidays arrived, you didn't even have to decide whether to go back to university. The break had started, and all your exams were already submitted. You had finished them before everything fell apart, and for that, you were grateful.
Sophia had gone back to her family, and she would stay with them until the 27th. She had hugged you tight before leaving, and made you promise to call her if you needed anything. You had nodded and waved goodbye.
then the dorm was empty.
You had no intention of going back to your own family. You hadn't told them about the breakup with Jacob, but news traveled fast in the way it always did. Jacob's mother had called your mother, and Jacob had painted himself as the victim, of course.
He had spun the story so that you were the villain, the unstable girlfriend who had cheated on him after everything he had done for you. Your mother had called, and you had let it ring until it went to voicemail. Then she called again… and again.… you ignored every single one.
On the morning of December twenty-fourth, your phone buzzed with a call that you almost didn't answer.
But when you saw Jake's name on the screen, something in your chest loosened.
"Hello?" you said, your voice still rough from sleep.
"Hey, Y/N." He sounded awkward, the way he always did when he was nervous. "I know this is really last minute, and you can absolutely say no, no pressure at all. But I was wondering… would you maybe want to come celebrate Christmas with my family? My mom would really like for you to come and— uhm I would too. If you wanted.”
You felt warmth spread through your chest, chasing away some of the cold that had settled there. "Jake, I would love to."
"Really?" His voice cracked with surprise. "I mean— yes! Great. That's great, I'll come pick you up. What time works for you?"
So you packed a small bag, throwing in clothes for a few days, your toiletries, and some last minute gifts you bought during a shopping spree.
You wrapped them carefully, choosing paper that sparkled under the light and ribbons that curled when you pulled scissors across them.
It felt good to do something with your hands, it kept your mind busy.
Jake arrived at your dorm in the early afternoon. When you opened the door, he was standing there with flushed cheeks and a red nose, bundled up in a thick coat and a scarf that was slightly crooked.
He looked so cute that your heart ached. "Hi." he said, his breath fogging in the cold air.
"Hi.” you replied, and you smiled. It was small and fragile, but it was real.
He took your bag without asking, slinging it over his shoulder, and walked you to his car.
The ride was long, about three hours long, but it didn't feel draining.
You talked about everything and nothing. He told you about the Christmas traditions they had.
You told him about your shopping spree and about how you had cried in the shower that morning but felt a little better afterward.
You sang along to the radio, off-key and laughing, and the miles slipped away.
When Jake pulled into the curb of his family home, the front door burst open before the car had even fully stopped. A golden and white blur came bounding out, barking and wagging her tail so hard her whole body wiggled.
"That's Layla.” Jake said, grinning.
He got out of the car and immediately dropped to his knees, letting the dog jump all over him.
She licked his face, smeared her paws on his coat, and knocked his glasses askew.
He laughed, hugging her close, and you felt your chest tighten at the sight.
"Come here, Layla," he said, gesturing for you to approach. "Meet Y/N."
Layla moved over to you, sniffing your hand with enthusiasm before deciding you were acceptable and licking your palm. You laughed, scratching behind her ears, and she leaned into your touch.
"She likes you." Jake said with a soft voice and eyes that shone.
You walked inside together, bags and gifts in hand. A Christmas tree stood in the middle of the living room, covered in ornaments and twinkling lights while stockings hung by the fireplace.
Jake's mother came out first, a woman with kind eyes and graying hair, and she wrapped her arms around him like she hadn't seen him in years. His father followed, clapping him on the shoulder with a warm smile.
Then their attention shifted to you.
"Oh, you must be Y/N," his mother said, her voice gentle. "Jake has told us so much about you."
You felt your cheeks warm. "It's so nice to meet you. Thank you for having me."
She took your hands in hers, squeezing them. "Sweetheart, Jake told me you've been struggling. But you're brave to try to be better.” She pointed to your chest “That takes real strength."
Your eyes stung with unexpected tears, and you blinked them back. "Thank you.” you whispered.
They showed you around the house, a cozy space filled with family photos and handmade decorations, and then led you up the stairs to Jake's room.
It was exactly what you had imagined. Neat and organized, with Taekwondo trophies lining the shelves and Marvel posters covering the walls.
A shelf of comics sat neatly arranged, under it were a desk with a lamp and a stack of books. His bed, made with precise corners, looked inviting and soft.
"We thought you could sleep here," his mother said. "Jake will take the sofa downstairs."
"I can sleep on the sofa," you said, feeling guilty. truly, I don't mind."
But she waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense, you’re our guest. And besides, it's Christmas."
You were too tired to argue. You took a long, hot shower, letting the steam ease the tension from your shoulders.
You changed into your pajamas and collapsed onto Jake's bed.
The sheets smelled like him, that familiar detergent scent that had become a comfort. You wrapped yourself in his blanket, breathed in deep, and fell asleep.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
Christmas morning arrived with the soft patter of snow against the windows. You woke to a gentle knock on the door, followed by Jake's voice. "Merry Christmas, Y/N."
"Come in.” you mumbled, still half-asleep.
He opened the door, and Layla came bounding in before he could stop her.
She jumped onto the bed, her paws pressing into your stomach, and proceeded to lick your entire face with enthusiastic abandon.
You laughed, sputtering, trying to push her away gently. "Layla, I love you, but please—"
Jake grabbed her by the collar, pulling her off with an apologetic expression. "I'm so sorry. She gets excited."
"It's okay," you said, wiping your face with the back of your hand. "Good morning to me, I guess."
He smiled, and it was bright and genuine. "Good morning, breakfast is ready when you are."
You went downstairs together, Layla trotting behind you.
The table was covered with food of all kinds: pancakes, sausage, fresh fruit and a plate of cookies that looked homemade.
Jake's mother beamed as she set out the plates, and his father poured coffee into mugs shaped like snowmen.
You ate until you were full, the conversation light and easy. They asked you about your studies, about your dreams, about your favorite Christmas movies.
You answered honestly, feeling more at ease than you had in weeks.
After breakfast, you all gathered around the tree. His father handed out the gifts one by one, and you watched as the family exchanged presents with laughter and joy.
Jake's mother unwrapped the knitted scarf you had made, running her fingers over the uneven stitches.
"You made this?" she asked, her eyes soft.
"I tried," you said, embarrassed. "It's not perfect, I was in a rush."
"It's perfect," she said, and she wrapped it around her neck. "I'll wear it every day."
Jake's father opened the miniature car you had found for him, a vintage model that you had seen in a shop window and thought he might like.
He examined it with the careful attention of a collector, then looked up at you with a smile. "Thank you, this will look wonderful in my display case."
And then it was Jake's turn. You handed him a small, neatly wrapped box, and he unwrapped it with careful fingers.
When he saw what was inside, his breath caught.
It was an Iron Man plushie with a little button on its chest. He pressed it, and a voice recording played: "You are special."
His eyes welled up. "Y/N…"
"I recorded it myself," you said, your voice quiet. "I wanted you to hear it whenever you needed to."
He hugged the plushie to his chest, then reached out and pulled you into a hug.
His arms wrapped around you tight, and you felt his breath warm against your ear. "I love it,"
He whispered. "I love you."
Your heart skipped, but you didn't say anything.
Then he pulled back, wiping his eyes, and handed you a gift of his own.
It was a small envelope, and inside were two tickets. You pulled them out, reading the fine print that you recognised, it was the new SPA back in town… the very expensive one.
"I thought you could go with Sophia," he said, his voice nervous. "Just to relax and unwind. I thought it might help."
You stared at the tickets, then at him. "Jake, this is too much. This must have cost—"
"I wanted to do something nice for you," he said simply. "You've been through so much.. and uhm… I just want you to be happy."
You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. "Thank you," you murmured. "Thank you so much."
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The day passed in a blur of food, laughter, and warmth.
You played board games after lunch, and you lost spectacularly at Monopoly.
Jake's mother taught you how to make her famous Christmas cookies, and you got flour on your nose, but you were happy to help.
As evening rolled in, the house grew quiet. His parents went to bed early, tired after the long day, and the lights on the tree were turned off, leaving only the glow of the fireplace.
Jake was about to head to the sofa, but you reached out and grabbed his hand.
"Come with me.” you said.
He looked at you, confused. "But I'm supposed to sleep on the sofa."
"I don't want you to sleep on the sofa," you said. "Come to the room."
He hesitated, but you tugged him along, and he followed. Layla was already asleep in her bed by the fire, fortunately ahe didn’t follow you upstairs.
You closed the bedroom door behind you, the room illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Jake stood there, unsure, with his hands hanging at his sides awkwardly.
"Jake," you said, stepping closer to him. "You've been so kind to me. The tickets, the way you've checked on me every day, the way you let me cry on your shoulder…. you've given me so much."
"It's nothing." he said, shaking his head.
"No, it's everything." You reached up and kissed him. Soft at first, a gentle press of your lips against his.
He made a small sound, and then his hands came up to cup your face, pulling you closer.
You broke the kiss, breathing hard and looked at him. "Lay down." you whispered.
He did, settling onto the bed, and you climbed on top of him. But before you could do anything else, his hands caught your waist.
"Wait," he said, his voice strained. "Are you sure? You asked me to wait…. I don't want to push you into something you're not ready for."
You looked down at him, at his worried eyes and trembling hands.
You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “My body and heart already belong to you… you just have to give my mind time to catch up."
He searched your eyes, looking for any hesitation, and when he found none, he kissed you, deep and passionate, and you melted into him.
You helped each other out of your pajamas, the fabric sliding away, leaving skin against skin. He laid you down, his body hovering on yours.
His hands roamed your back, your hips, your thighs, touching you like you were something precious.
He was already hard, his thick cock pressing against your thigh with a bead of precum glistening at the tip.
You reached down, stroking him, and he gasped.
"Tell me what you imagined," you whispered. "When you were here, alone. Did you imagine being fucked? Or did you imagine fucking someone?”
His breath hitched. "Both."
"Then fuck me," you said. "I want to feel you."
He positioned himself at your entrance, with his eyes locked on yours.
He pushed in slowly, his thick cock stretching you, filling you completely. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
He began to move, thrusting into you with a rhythm that started steady but quickly became sloppy.
He was inexperienced, you could tell, and it was so endearing it made your heart ache. “I— uhm.” He gasped, “I’ve never done this before…”
He was trying so hard, but his hips were uncoordinated.
“I’ve got you.” So you moved your own hips, meeting his thrusts, guiding him.
He groaned, burying his face in your neck. He trailed kisses down your body, until he reached your breasts. He kissed the skin there, then sucked it, marking your skin with purple hickeys.
You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, aware of his parents sleeping downstairs.
"I'm going to come," he gasped, his movements becoming frantic.
"Hold it.” you said, your voice firm but gentle.
He tried. He really did. His muscles tensed and his jaw clenched, but his body was betraying him. "I can't—"
"Stop moving," you said. "Breathe with me."
He froze, his cock still buried deep inside you, and took shaky breaths. You held him, stroking his back, calming him downwards.
"Okay," you said after a moment. "Keep going."
He started moving again, but it was too late. "No, no, no—" he gasped, and then he was coming, deep inside you, his body shuddering as he spilled into you.
He collapsed on top of you, breathing hard, with his face buried in your hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I couldn't hold it."
"It's okay.” you said, stroking his back.
He tried to comtinue, to make you shatter on his cock, but it was too much. He was too sensitive. So he pulled out and looked down at your slick, messy thighs. He swallowed, then leaned down, pressing his tongue against your clit.
You gasped, your hips bucking up to meet him. He ate you out with desperate hunger, licking up the mix of his cum and your arousal, his tongue circling your clit until you were trembling.
“Mh— fuck.” You whispered, grasping his hair and guiding his head.
He moaned, putting a finger inside you, then two, stretching you open. “Yes, right there.” you breathed out.
He took it as a mission to rub agains the spot that made you see stars. And when you came, it was with a broken cry, your body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed through you.
He crawled up, kissed your forehead, and wrapped his arms around you. "Merry Christmas, Y/N," he whispered.
And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe everything was going to be okay.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
You woke in the middle of the night, your eyes fluttering open in the darkness of Jake's room. The digital clock on his nightstand glowed at 2:47 AM, but even if it was late you felt completely awake, your mind churning with thoughts that wouldn't settle.
You turned onto your side, watching Jake sleep. His face was relaxed, his lips were slightly parted, and his chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
His glasses were folded neatly on the nightstand, and without them, he looked younger. You reached out, barely brushing your fingers against his cheek, but he stirred anyway.
"Mm?" He blinked, unfocused eyes opening in the darkness. "Y/N? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," you whispered. "I just couldn't sleep."
He didn't hesitate. He lifted the blanket, making space for you, and you shifted closer to him, settling into the warmth of his body.
He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest and you breathed in the familiar scent of his skin.
You were both back in your pajamas, you in the soft flannel pants and old t-shirt you had worn to sleep, him in a pair of sweatpants and a thin long-sleeved shirt.
"Better?" he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"Better.” you said, and you meant it.
You lay there in the quiet with the rhythm of his heartbeat steady against your ear.
But your mind was still restless, full of questions that had been lingering in the back of your thoughts for weeks.
"Jake?" you said softly.
"Mm?" He murmured.
"Can I ask you something?" He shifted, looking down at you. "Of course."
"What do you want to do after you graduate?"
He was quiet for a moment, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your back. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. "I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually." He paused. "I'd really like to teach Taekwondo to little kids."
You lifted your head to look at him, surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah." There was a soft smile on his face, visible even in the dim light. "My instructor... he was patient. He taught me that strength isn't just about being able to hit harder, it's about discipline, and respect, and knowing when not to fight." He swallowed. "I want to be that for some kid. Maybe help one just like me."
You felt your heart swell, and you pressed your hand against his chest. "That's beautiful, Jake."
He shrugged, embarrassed. "I don't know if I can make a living with it, butt maybe with my major, I could get a part-time job in a company, doing statistical analysis. I just... I want to do something that matters."
"It matters," you said firmly. "It matters so much."
He looked at you then, his eyes soft. "What about you, baby? What do you want to do?"
The nickname made your heart flutter. You were sure it had slipped out in the intimacy of the moment, but you didn’t want to shatter it by pointing it out.
You looked away, staring at the wall, at the Marvel posters that watched over the room.
"I don't know," you admitted. "I'm majoring in Economics, but... truthfully, I hate it."
The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. You had never said them out loud before, not even to yourself.
"I only did it because my parents thought I should get a stable job," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "They said Economics was practical, that I could always get a job with it. That I shouldn't waste my potential on something frivolous."
"But you don't like it." Jake pointed ou.
"I don't," you said. "I hate every single class. I hate the numbers, and the graphs, I feel like I'm drowning in something I don't even care about."
He was quiet, letting you speak. "But I think..." You took a shaky breath. "I think I want to become a kindergarten teacher."
The words felt fragile, like they might shatter if you said them too loudly. But Jake's hand stilled on your back, and he looked at you with an expression so full of warmth it made your eyes sting.
"A kindergarten teacher?" he repeated.
"I want to sing with kids," you said, the dream spilling out of you now. "I want to help them draw, and make little crafts for their parents. I want to teach them the alphabet, and read them stories, and watch them figure out the world for the first time. I want to be the person who makes them feel safe and happy and excited to learn."
You laughed, a little embarrassed. "It sounds stupid."
"It doesn't sound stupid at all," Jake said, his voice firm. "It sounds perfect."
You looked at him, searching for any hint of insincerity, but there was none.
"I'll help you achieve it," he said. "Whatever you need. I'll help you study for the exams, I'll help you find programs, I'll even help you tell your parents if you want me to.” His eyes were full of determination, “Whatever it takes, I'm with you."
Your throat tightened, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "You're already part of my dream, Jake.”
He blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "When I imagine my future, I see a classroom full of little kids. But I also see you, I see you coming home after teaching Taekwondo, and I see us making dinner together, and I see lazy Sundays on the couch with Layla… I see you in every single part of it."
His breath caught. "Y/N..."
"You're not just part of my dream," you said, your voice breaking. "You are my dream."
He kissed you then, soft and tender, and you melted into him. When you broke apart, his eyes were glistening. "I love you.” he whispered.
You didn’t say it back just yet, but you pressed yourself closer, letting him feel it with your body.
You fell asleep in his arms, wrapped up in each other, the future no longer a terrifying unknown but something to look forward to.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The next few days passed in a warm blur.
Jake's mother sent you home with so many leftovers that you had to use two bags to carry them all: tupperware containers of cookies, slices of cake and a whole ham that she insisted you take.
Jake laughed as he helped you load everything into the car, and you tried to protest, but she wouldn't hear of it.
"You look too worn-out," she said, patting your cheek. "Eat."
Time flew by, and before you knew it, it was December thirty-first, New Year's Eve.
You knew what was your plan: Jay, one of Sophia’s friend, was throwing a party, and the invitation extended to you. His parties were always popular, full of drunken college kids, weed, and even a dance floor he had bought from Amazon.
You chewed your lip, glancing at the time.
You had been nervous about asking Jake to come to a party. He wasn't the type for crowded rooms and loud music, but you wanted him there. You wanted to share that part of your world with him.
You spent the whole morning gathering courage, typing and deleting messages, until finally, you sent one.
You: hey! so, a friend of a friend is throwing a party tonight and i was wondering if u wanted to come 🥺
jake 🤓💙: I don't know, Y/N. Parties aren't really my thing.
You: heeseung will be there too! and i'll be with you the whole time, i promise.
You: if it gets too much, we can leave whenever you want
jake 🤓💙: Okay. For you.
You spent the whole afternoon getting ready, you put on a mini glittery skirt that caught the light every time you moved, paired with a black top that showed just enough skin.
You curled your hair, put on a bit of makeup, and looked at yourself in the mirror.
You looked good and you felt even better.
Together with Sophia you drove to Jake's place ajd when he opened the door, your breath caught.
He was wearing dark jeans and a simple button-down shirt, but he looked so handsome it made your heart ache.
He had done something different with his hair, probably added some gel, and then you noticed— he was wearing contacts.
His brownish eyes, usually hidden behind glasses, were fully visible, and they were beautiful.
"You look amazing.” you said. “A total ride.”
He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You look incredible too, Y/N."
Sophia wolf-whistled from the car, and Jake's blush deepened.
"Let's go." you said, grabbing his hand.
The party was already packed when you arrived. Jay's house was massive, with a sprawling backyard and a living room that had been converted into the dance floor.
Sophia disappeared into the crowd almost immediately, spotting a friend across the room and waving at you over her shoulder.
You held Jake's hand tightly as you wove through the crowd, your fingers intertwined.
Almost every person you passed greeted you. "Y/N! Happy New Year!"
"Good to see you!"
"You look great, Y/N!"
Jake looked at you with wide eyes. "You know everyone here?"
"Not everyone," you said, laughing. "But I know a lot of them."
You reached the kitchen, where Jay was mixing shots with Sunghoon and Heeseung. The counter was lined with bottles and plastic cups, and the three of them were laughing about something.
When Heeseung saw Jake, he broke into a grin. "Jake! Man, good to see you here!"
Jake relaxed visibly, and the two of them started talking, falling into easy conversation.
You felt a wave of relief at the thought that he had someone he knew, someone who could help him feel less out of place.
You took a single shot, the burn sliding down your throat, but your friends ganged up on Jake.
"Come on, one shot!" Jay said, pushing a cup into his hand.
"I don't really—" ahe tried to resist.
"Just one!" Jake looked at you, and you shrugged, smiling. He downed it, grimacing. "Another!" Sunghoon said.
"No, I—" Jake waved his hands. "Another!" He took a second. And then a third, because Jay was very insistent.
By the time he was done, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were a little glassy. "I think I'm drunk.” he said, blinking slowly.
"Just a little.” you said, laughing.
Someone dragged him to play beer pong, and you watched as he fumbled with the ping pong balls, missing the cups entirely.
He was out of his comfort zone, but he was trying, and you were so proud of him you thought your heart might burst.
But the room started closing in after a while. The music was too loud and the bodies too close
You felt your chest tighten, that familiar wave of anxiety creeping up your spine.
You slipped away, out the back door, into the cool night air. Despite the winter biting chill, the cold temperature grounded you.
You sat on a small stone wall, wrapping your arms around yourself, breathing in the cold until your lungs ached. The stars were barely visible through the city lights, but you stared up at them anyway, trying to keep your mind occupied
Not even ten minutes later, you heard footsteps coming towards you. "Found you."
You looked up, and Jake was standing there, his silhouette outlined by the glow from the house.
"I'm sorry," you said. "I didn't mean to disappear."
He sat down beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. "It's okay, I noticed you were gone and figured you might need some air."
You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "Thank you."
He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. "You're very popular, you know. Every single person in there knows you."
"I guess so." You shrugged.
"It's not very my crowd," he said, and there was no judgment in his voice.
You were quiet for a moment. "I don't think it's my crowd anymore either."
He looked at you, surprised menus. "Really?"
"Really." You sighed. "I used to love parties. I used to love the noise and the chaos and the feeling of being surrounded by people. But now... I don't know, It just feels exhausting. I'd rather be somewhere quiet.” You smiled up at him “With you."
He didn't say anything, but his arm tightened around you.
You noticed him blinking rapidly, squinting into the distance. You cupped his face, turning him towards you. "Jake?" you said softly. "Are your contacts bothering you?"
He looked sheepish, his cheeks flushing. "I'm not used to wearing them. But I wanted to look cool for tonight."
Your heart ached. "You’re cool even with your glasses and you don't have to change yourself to fit in. You're good the way you are."
He stared at you, his eyes vulnerable. "You really think so?"
"I know so." He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, and you closed your eyes, breathing him in.
And then a voice cut through the night like a blade. "Look, the mentally ill and the nerd together."
You both turned. Jacob was standing a few feet away, with a smug smile on his face.
Minjee was at his side, looking very uncomfortable, her eyes were fixed on the ground.
Jake got up immediately, with a tensw body and fists clenched to his sides. He stepped forward, dangerously close to Jacob.
"Jake, don't," you said, standing and reaching for his arm. "He's not worth it, just ignore him."
But Jacob wasn't done. "What's the matter, Jake? Happy with my leftovers?"
Jake's jaw tightened. "She's not leftovers, she's worth ten of you."
"Oh, is that so?" Jacob laughed. "You're pathetic. After you fucked her, you—"
Jake moved so fast you barely saw it. One moment he was standing beside you, the next he had Jacob on the ground, his arm twisted behind his back, with a knee pressing into his spine. It was a perfect Taekwondo takedown, clean and precise.
Jacob let out a pained grunt, struggling to get up. "Get off me!"
"Apologize.” Jake said, his voice low and dangerous.
"Fuck you!" Jacob spattered.
Jake pressed harder, and Jacob yelped. "Apologize to Y/N."
"Fine! Fine! I'm sorry!" Jake held him for a moment longer, then released him, stepping back. Jacob scrambled to his feet, his face was red with humiliation.
Jake turned to you with his hand outstretched. "Let's go inside."
You took his hand, and he led you back into the party, leaving Jacob alone.
You pulled him onto the dance floor, the music thrumming through your body. Reggaeton played through the speakers, a heavy beat that made you want to move.
"That was very badass.” you said, shouting over the music.
He blushed, the red reaching his ears. "I don't know about that."
"I do." You started dancing together, your bodies moving to the rhythm.
You pressed close to him, your hips brushing against his and your arms looping around his neck. He was a little drunk, his movements were slightly uncoordinated, but he was so cute it made your head spin.
He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "Thank you."
"For what?" You tilted your head, confused.
"For letting me into your world." You pulled back, looking at him. His eyes were earnest, vulnerable, and oh so full of love.
"Thank you for being in it.” you said.
And then you kissed him, right there on the dance floor, with the music pounding and the lights flashing and the crowd cheering around you.
His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, and you melted into him.
The new year hadn't even started yet, but you already knew it was going to be the best one yet.
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May arrived with a burst of warmth and sunshine, painting the campus in shades of gold and green. The trees that had been bare during winter were now full with leaves rustling in the gentle breeze.
The air smelled like freshly cut grass and the faint sweetness of blooming flowers, and everywhere you looked, there were students in black gowns, posing for pictures with families and friends.
You stood in the middle of the quad, your own gown rustling around your ankles. The fabric was stiff and slightly itchy, but you didn't care.
In your hand, you held your diploma, a thick piece of paper with your name on it, proof that you had made it through four years of exams, sleepless nights, anxiety attacks, and moments where you thought you wouldn't survive.
But you did survive. You were there.
You and your friends had taken dozens of pictures already, Sophia fussing over your cap while Mina beamed with pride.
But there was only one person you wanted to find.
You walked across the square, your heels clicking against the pavement. The sun was warm on your shoulders, and you felt light, almost giddy. Months of ups and downs, of fighting and making up, of learning to trust and to let go— it had all led to this moment.
You spotted them near the old oak tree by the humanities building. Jay and Sunghoon were there, both in their gowns and laughing about something. And beside them, talking animatedly with his hands, was Jake.
He was wearing his gown too woth his cap slightly askew and his glasses perched on his nose.
He looked exactly the same as the day you had met him at the gala: nerdy, awkward, and a little bit clumsy.
But his face lit up when he saw you, and that smile, that beautiful, genuine smile, made your heart skip a beat.
"Y/N!" he called out, and he started jogging toward you.
You met him halfway, and before you could say anything, he spun you around.
Your gown flared out, your cap nearly flew off, but you laughed, a sound so pure and joyful it surprised even you.
"We did it!" he said, setting you down. "We're free! No more assignments and no more exams and no more all-nighters!"
"We did it.” you echoed, your hands resting on his shoulders.
"You look really good in your gown," he said, changing the subject. "I have flowers for you. They're in my car, I forgot to bring them to the ceremony because I was running late, but—"
"Jake," you interrupted, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Yeah?" He tilted his head, listening.
You took a deep breath. The words had been building inside you for months, and now they spilled out, unstoppable. "I want us to be real."
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." You swallowed, your hands trembling slightly. "I want us to be a couple, like… officially. I want to call you my boyfriend without hesitating and I want to be your girlfriend too.”
His eyes widened, and he stared at you like you had just handed him the world.
"I'm ready," you continued, the words tumbling out. "I've almost stopped my anxiety medication entirely. The doctor said I'm doing well, and with university over, I'll have less stress. I can focus on us.”
You took his hand in yours. “On our relationship… I want to be with you, Jake, completely. I want you to be mine."
The silence that followed was deafening.
And then Jake's face broke into the widest grin you had ever seen.
He grabbed you, pulling you into a hug so tight it squeezed the air out of your lungs. "Yes," he said, his voice muffled against your hair. "Yes, yes, yes."
You laughed, tears prickling at your eyes. "Is that a yes?"
He pulled back, cupping your face in his hands. "That's a thousand yeses. I've been waiting for you to be ready, but I would have waited forever, Y/N."
"I love you.” you said, the words falling from your lips like they had always belonged there.
His breath caught. "Say that again."
"I love you." You repeated.
He kissed you then, right there in front of everyone.
His lips pressed against yours, warm and insistent, and you melted into him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his gown.
The world around you disappeared, there was only him, and you, and the taste of salt and sweetness on his lips.
When he pulled away, his eyes were glistening. "Say it again."
"I love you, Jake."
He buried his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around your waist. "I love you too," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much it scares me."
You held him, your hand cradling the back of his head. "Thank you," you said softly.
"For what?" He questioned.
"For helping me find myself again."
He pulled back, shaking his head. "You did that all by yourself, Y/N. I just encouraged you from the sidelines."
"No," you said. "You understood me and you never once forced me to be something I wasn't. You never made me pretend to be fine when I wasn't.”
You bit your lip nervously, “You let me be broken, and you stayed anyway. That's not nothing… that’s— that's everything."
He kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips again. "I'll always stay."
Jay cleared his throat. "Okay, you two are making the rest of us single people jealous. Let's go celebrate."
Jake laughed, wiping his eyes. "Yeah, let's go."
You took his hand, intertwining your fingers, and walked off together toward the future.
SUMMARY: once the college’s golden girl, you had it all: endless parties, a popular boyfriend, and flawless grades. but behind the spotlight, your mind was slowly unraveling. pretending everything was fine became exhausting, and for the first time, you didn’t recognize the person staring back at you anymore. then came Sim Jake, the awkward, quiet nerd you never thought twice about, who somehow saw through every carefully built wall around you. and the more your world fell apart, the more he became the only place that still felt safe.
WARNINGS: PLEASE READ PART 1 BEFORE PROCEEDING WITH THIS FIC. mentions of anxiety attacks, panic attacks (slight description), pills consumption, jake is silly (we love him), y/n’s anxiety is mentioned A LOT, alcohol consumption, arguing, fightin (no punches actually), slow burn but they had sex, this is low-key trash (but don’t we all love a little trash sometimes?), jake is VERY desperate, abandonment issues (🙁), i SWEAR it gets better as y/n breaks up with jacob, missionary, (failed) edging, overstimulation, fluff (like, tooth rotting) pet names (baby), lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
NOW PLAYING: Skin by Sabrina Carpenter - I THINK I’M LOST AGAIN by Chase Atlantic - Fame is a Gun by Addison Rae - Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae
a/n: hihi! here is the second part <3 i wanted to add a couple of more scenes but honestly i don’t think i have the energy to do so. still please let me know your thoughts! 🫶
You didn't go back to university for a full week. You simply couldn't. The thought of walking through those hallways, of seeing the library where you had studied with Jake, of passing by the bench in the campus park where you had finally ended things with Jacob— it all felt too heavy.
So you took the week off, told yourself it was a self-care break, and tried to convince your reflection in the mirror that you deserved this time to heal.
Some days were productive: you dragged yourself to the nail salon, settling into the plush chair as a kind woman with steady hands shaped your nails into perfect ovals and painted them a deep burgundy that reminded you of dried roses.
You watched the color transform your fingers, layer by layer, and thought about how strange it was that something so small could make you feel a little more human.
You got your hair cut too, just a trim, a few inches off the ends, but it felt like shedding old skin.
The hairdresser chatted about the holidays while snippets of hair fell around you, and you nodded along, offering polite responses even if your mind was somewhere else entirely.
You went shopping, aimlessly at first, wandering through stores without really seeing the items on the racks.
But eventually, you found yourself picking up things with purpose.
A soft cashmere scarf in forest green that felt warm like a hug. A small leather-bound journal, because maybe writing would help.
A set of copper mugs that reminded you of the ones Jake had in his kitchen…. truthfully you didn't know why you bought them. You just knew they made you feel something other than the numbness that had settled into your bones.
But other days, you didn't leave your bed at all. The curtains stayed drawn as you lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on your chest.
You cried until your eyes were puffy and your throat was raw. You slept fitfully, dreams tangled with memories that left you disoriented when you woke.
You had no energy, no motivation, and certainly no desire to do anything except exist in the fog of your own sorrow.
Jake texted you almost daily. His messages were gentle, never demanding.
jake 🤓💙: Good morning. Just wanted to say hi.
jake 🤓💙: Did you eat today?
jake 🤓💙: I found a funny video of a cat trying to catch a laser pointer… thought you might like it.
And you would reply, sending him little snippets of your days. It was a lifeline, those messages. A thin thread connecting you to the outside world when you felt like disappearing.
When Christmas holidays arrived, you didn't even have to decide whether to go back to university. The break had started, and all your exams were already submitted. You had finished them before everything fell apart, and for that, you were grateful.
Sophia had gone back to her family, and she would stay with them until the 27th. She had hugged you tight before leaving, and made you promise to call her if you needed anything. You had nodded and waved goodbye.
then the dorm was empty.
You had no intention of going back to your own family. You hadn't told them about the breakup with Jacob, but news traveled fast in the way it always did. Jacob's mother had called your mother, and Jacob had painted himself as the victim, of course.
He had spun the story so that you were the villain, the unstable girlfriend who had cheated on him after everything he had done for you. Your mother had called, and you had let it ring until it went to voicemail. Then she called again… and again.… you ignored every single one.
On the morning of December twenty-fourth, your phone buzzed with a call that you almost didn't answer.
But when you saw Jake's name on the screen, something in your chest loosened.
"Hello?" you said, your voice still rough from sleep.
"Hey, Y/N." He sounded awkward, the way he always did when he was nervous. "I know this is really last minute, and you can absolutely say no, no pressure at all. But I was wondering… would you maybe want to come celebrate Christmas with my family? My mom would really like for you to come and— uhm I would too. If you wanted.”
You felt warmth spread through your chest, chasing away some of the cold that had settled there. "Jake, I would love to."
"Really?" His voice cracked with surprise. "I mean— yes! Great. That's great, I'll come pick you up. What time works for you?"
So you packed a small bag, throwing in clothes for a few days, your toiletries, and some last minute gifts you bought during a shopping spree.
You wrapped them carefully, choosing paper that sparkled under the light and ribbons that curled when you pulled scissors across them.
It felt good to do something with your hands, it kept your mind busy.
Jake arrived at your dorm in the early afternoon. When you opened the door, he was standing there with flushed cheeks and a red nose, bundled up in a thick coat and a scarf that was slightly crooked.
He looked so cute that your heart ached. "Hi." he said, his breath fogging in the cold air.
"Hi.” you replied, and you smiled. It was small and fragile, but it was real.
He took your bag without asking, slinging it over his shoulder, and walked you to his car.
The ride was long, about three hours long, but it didn't feel draining.
You talked about everything and nothing. He told you about the Christmas traditions they had.
You told him about your shopping spree and about how you had cried in the shower that morning but felt a little better afterward.
You sang along to the radio, off-key and laughing, and the miles slipped away.
When Jake pulled into the curb of his family home, the front door burst open before the car had even fully stopped. A golden and white blur came bounding out, barking and wagging her tail so hard her whole body wiggled.
"That's Layla.” Jake said, grinning.
He got out of the car and immediately dropped to his knees, letting the dog jump all over him.
She licked his face, smeared her paws on his coat, and knocked his glasses askew.
He laughed, hugging her close, and you felt your chest tighten at the sight.
"Come here, Layla," he said, gesturing for you to approach. "Meet Y/N."
Layla moved over to you, sniffing your hand with enthusiasm before deciding you were acceptable and licking your palm. You laughed, scratching behind her ears, and she leaned into your touch.
"She likes you." Jake said with a soft voice and eyes that shone.
You walked inside together, bags and gifts in hand. A Christmas tree stood in the middle of the living room, covered in ornaments and twinkling lights while stockings hung by the fireplace.
Jake's mother came out first, a woman with kind eyes and graying hair, and she wrapped her arms around him like she hadn't seen him in years. His father followed, clapping him on the shoulder with a warm smile.
Then their attention shifted to you.
"Oh, you must be Y/N," his mother said, her voice gentle. "Jake has told us so much about you."
You felt your cheeks warm. "It's so nice to meet you. Thank you for having me."
She took your hands in hers, squeezing them. "Sweetheart, Jake told me you've been struggling. But you're brave to try to be better.” She pointed to your chest “That takes real strength."
Your eyes stung with unexpected tears, and you blinked them back. "Thank you.” you whispered.
They showed you around the house, a cozy space filled with family photos and handmade decorations, and then led you up the stairs to Jake's room.
It was exactly what you had imagined. Neat and organized, with Taekwondo trophies lining the shelves and Marvel posters covering the walls.
A shelf of comics sat neatly arranged, under it were a desk with a lamp and a stack of books. His bed, made with precise corners, looked inviting and soft.
"We thought you could sleep here," his mother said. "Jake will take the sofa downstairs."
"I can sleep on the sofa," you said, feeling guilty. truly, I don't mind."
But she waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense, you’re our guest. And besides, it's Christmas."
You were too tired to argue. You took a long, hot shower, letting the steam ease the tension from your shoulders.
You changed into your pajamas and collapsed onto Jake's bed.
The sheets smelled like him, that familiar detergent scent that had become a comfort. You wrapped yourself in his blanket, breathed in deep, and fell asleep.
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Christmas morning arrived with the soft patter of snow against the windows. You woke to a gentle knock on the door, followed by Jake's voice. "Merry Christmas, Y/N."
"Come in.” you mumbled, still half-asleep.
He opened the door, and Layla came bounding in before he could stop her.
She jumped onto the bed, her paws pressing into your stomach, and proceeded to lick your entire face with enthusiastic abandon.
You laughed, sputtering, trying to push her away gently. "Layla, I love you, but please—"
Jake grabbed her by the collar, pulling her off with an apologetic expression. "I'm so sorry. She gets excited."
"It's okay," you said, wiping your face with the back of your hand. "Good morning to me, I guess."
He smiled, and it was bright and genuine. "Good morning, breakfast is ready when you are."
You went downstairs together, Layla trotting behind you.
The table was covered with food of all kinds: pancakes, sausage, fresh fruit and a plate of cookies that looked homemade.
Jake's mother beamed as she set out the plates, and his father poured coffee into mugs shaped like snowmen.
You ate until you were full, the conversation light and easy. They asked you about your studies, about your dreams, about your favorite Christmas movies.
You answered honestly, feeling more at ease than you had in weeks.
After breakfast, you all gathered around the tree. His father handed out the gifts one by one, and you watched as the family exchanged presents with laughter and joy.
Jake's mother unwrapped the knitted scarf you had made, running her fingers over the uneven stitches.
"You made this?" she asked, her eyes soft.
"I tried," you said, embarrassed. "It's not perfect, I was in a rush."
"It's perfect," she said, and she wrapped it around her neck. "I'll wear it every day."
Jake's father opened the miniature car you had found for him, a vintage model that you had seen in a shop window and thought he might like.
He examined it with the careful attention of a collector, then looked up at you with a smile. "Thank you, this will look wonderful in my display case."
And then it was Jake's turn. You handed him a small, neatly wrapped box, and he unwrapped it with careful fingers.
When he saw what was inside, his breath caught.
It was an Iron Man plushie with a little button on its chest. He pressed it, and a voice recording played: "You are special."
His eyes welled up. "Y/N…"
"I recorded it myself," you said, your voice quiet. "I wanted you to hear it whenever you needed to."
He hugged the plushie to his chest, then reached out and pulled you into a hug.
His arms wrapped around you tight, and you felt his breath warm against your ear. "I love it,"
He whispered. "I love you."
Your heart skipped, but you didn't say anything.
Then he pulled back, wiping his eyes, and handed you a gift of his own.
It was a small envelope, and inside were two tickets. You pulled them out, reading the fine print that you recognised, it was the new SPA back in town… the very expensive one.
"I thought you could go with Sophia," he said, his voice nervous. "Just to relax and unwind. I thought it might help."
You stared at the tickets, then at him. "Jake, this is too much. This must have cost—"
"I wanted to do something nice for you," he said simply. "You've been through so much.. and uhm… I just want you to be happy."
You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. "Thank you," you murmured. "Thank you so much."
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The day passed in a blur of food, laughter, and warmth.
You played board games after lunch, and you lost spectacularly at Monopoly.
Jake's mother taught you how to make her famous Christmas cookies, and you got flour on your nose, but you were happy to help.
As evening rolled in, the house grew quiet. His parents went to bed early, tired after the long day, and the lights on the tree were turned off, leaving only the glow of the fireplace.
Jake was about to head to the sofa, but you reached out and grabbed his hand.
"Come with me.” you said.
He looked at you, confused. "But I'm supposed to sleep on the sofa."
"I don't want you to sleep on the sofa," you said. "Come to the room."
He hesitated, but you tugged him along, and he followed. Layla was already asleep in her bed by the fire, fortunately ahe didn’t follow you upstairs.
You closed the bedroom door behind you, the room illuminated only by the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Jake stood there, unsure, with his hands hanging at his sides awkwardly.
"Jake," you said, stepping closer to him. "You've been so kind to me. The tickets, the way you've checked on me every day, the way you let me cry on your shoulder…. you've given me so much."
"It's nothing." he said, shaking his head.
"No, it's everything." You reached up and kissed him. Soft at first, a gentle press of your lips against his.
He made a small sound, and then his hands came up to cup your face, pulling you closer.
You broke the kiss, breathing hard and looked at him. "Lay down." you whispered.
He did, settling onto the bed, and you climbed on top of him. But before you could do anything else, his hands caught your waist.
"Wait," he said, his voice strained. "Are you sure? You asked me to wait…. I don't want to push you into something you're not ready for."
You looked down at him, at his worried eyes and trembling hands.
You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “My body and heart already belong to you… you just have to give my mind time to catch up."
He searched your eyes, looking for any hesitation, and when he found none, he kissed you, deep and passionate, and you melted into him.
You helped each other out of your pajamas, the fabric sliding away, leaving skin against skin. He laid you down, his body hovering on yours.
His hands roamed your back, your hips, your thighs, touching you like you were something precious.
He was already hard, his thick cock pressing against your thigh with a bead of precum glistening at the tip.
You reached down, stroking him, and he gasped.
"Tell me what you imagined," you whispered. "When you were here, alone. Did you imagine being fucked? Or did you imagine fucking someone?”
His breath hitched. "Both."
"Then fuck me," you said. "I want to feel you."
He positioned himself at your entrance, with his eyes locked on yours.
He pushed in slowly, his thick cock stretching you, filling you completely. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
He began to move, thrusting into you with a rhythm that started steady but quickly became sloppy.
He was inexperienced, you could tell, and it was so endearing it made your heart ache. “I— uhm.” He gasped, “I’ve never done this before…”
He was trying so hard, but his hips were uncoordinated.
“I’ve got you.” So you moved your own hips, meeting his thrusts, guiding him.
He groaned, burying his face in your neck. He trailed kisses down your body, until he reached your breasts. He kissed the skin there, then sucked it, marking your skin with purple hickeys.
You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, aware of his parents sleeping downstairs.
"I'm going to come," he gasped, his movements becoming frantic.
"Hold it.” you said, your voice firm but gentle.
He tried. He really did. His muscles tensed and his jaw clenched, but his body was betraying him. "I can't—"
"Stop moving," you said. "Breathe with me."
He froze, his cock still buried deep inside you, and took shaky breaths. You held him, stroking his back, calming him downwards.
"Okay," you said after a moment. "Keep going."
He started moving again, but it was too late. "No, no, no—" he gasped, and then he was coming, deep inside you, his body shuddering as he spilled into you.
He collapsed on top of you, breathing hard, with his face buried in your hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I couldn't hold it."
"It's okay.” you said, stroking his back.
He tried to comtinue, to make you shatter on his cock, but it was too much. He was too sensitive. So he pulled out and looked down at your slick, messy thighs. He swallowed, then leaned down, pressing his tongue against your clit.
You gasped, your hips bucking up to meet him. He ate you out with desperate hunger, licking up the mix of his cum and your arousal, his tongue circling your clit until you were trembling.
“Mh— fuck.” You whispered, grasping his hair and guiding his head.
He moaned, putting a finger inside you, then two, stretching you open. “Yes, right there.” you breathed out.
He took it as a mission to rub agains the spot that made you see stars. And when you came, it was with a broken cry, your body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed through you.
He crawled up, kissed your forehead, and wrapped his arms around you. "Merry Christmas, Y/N," he whispered.
And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe everything was going to be okay.
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You woke in the middle of the night, your eyes fluttering open in the darkness of Jake's room. The digital clock on his nightstand glowed at 2:47 AM, but even if it was late you felt completely awake, your mind churning with thoughts that wouldn't settle.
You turned onto your side, watching Jake sleep. His face was relaxed, his lips were slightly parted, and his chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
His glasses were folded neatly on the nightstand, and without them, he looked younger. You reached out, barely brushing your fingers against his cheek, but he stirred anyway.
"Mm?" He blinked, unfocused eyes opening in the darkness. "Y/N? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," you whispered. "I just couldn't sleep."
He didn't hesitate. He lifted the blanket, making space for you, and you shifted closer to him, settling into the warmth of his body.
He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest and you breathed in the familiar scent of his skin.
You were both back in your pajamas, you in the soft flannel pants and old t-shirt you had worn to sleep, him in a pair of sweatpants and a thin long-sleeved shirt.
"Better?" he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"Better.” you said, and you meant it.
You lay there in the quiet with the rhythm of his heartbeat steady against your ear.
But your mind was still restless, full of questions that had been lingering in the back of your thoughts for weeks.
"Jake?" you said softly.
"Mm?" He murmured.
"Can I ask you something?" He shifted, looking down at you. "Of course."
"What do you want to do after you graduate?"
He was quiet for a moment, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your back. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. "I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually." He paused. "I'd really like to teach Taekwondo to little kids."
You lifted your head to look at him, surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah." There was a soft smile on his face, visible even in the dim light. "My instructor... he was patient. He taught me that strength isn't just about being able to hit harder, it's about discipline, and respect, and knowing when not to fight." He swallowed. "I want to be that for some kid. Maybe help one just like me."
You felt your heart swell, and you pressed your hand against his chest. "That's beautiful, Jake."
He shrugged, embarrassed. "I don't know if I can make a living with it, butt maybe with my major, I could get a part-time job in a company, doing statistical analysis. I just... I want to do something that matters."
"It matters," you said firmly. "It matters so much."
He looked at you then, his eyes soft. "What about you, baby? What do you want to do?"
The nickname made your heart flutter. You were sure it had slipped out in the intimacy of the moment, but you didn’t want to shatter it by pointing it out.
You looked away, staring at the wall, at the Marvel posters that watched over the room.
"I don't know," you admitted. "I'm majoring in Economics, but... truthfully, I hate it."
The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. You had never said them out loud before, not even to yourself.
"I only did it because my parents thought I should get a stable job," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "They said Economics was practical, that I could always get a job with it. That I shouldn't waste my potential on something frivolous."
"But you don't like it." Jake pointed ou.
"I don't," you said. "I hate every single class. I hate the numbers, and the graphs, I feel like I'm drowning in something I don't even care about."
He was quiet, letting you speak. "But I think..." You took a shaky breath. "I think I want to become a kindergarten teacher."
The words felt fragile, like they might shatter if you said them too loudly. But Jake's hand stilled on your back, and he looked at you with an expression so full of warmth it made your eyes sting.
"A kindergarten teacher?" he repeated.
"I want to sing with kids," you said, the dream spilling out of you now. "I want to help them draw, and make little crafts for their parents. I want to teach them the alphabet, and read them stories, and watch them figure out the world for the first time. I want to be the person who makes them feel safe and happy and excited to learn."
You laughed, a little embarrassed. "It sounds stupid."
"It doesn't sound stupid at all," Jake said, his voice firm. "It sounds perfect."
You looked at him, searching for any hint of insincerity, but there was none.
"I'll help you achieve it," he said. "Whatever you need. I'll help you study for the exams, I'll help you find programs, I'll even help you tell your parents if you want me to.” His eyes were full of determination, “Whatever it takes, I'm with you."
Your throat tightened, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "You're already part of my dream, Jake.”
He blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "When I imagine my future, I see a classroom full of little kids. But I also see you, I see you coming home after teaching Taekwondo, and I see us making dinner together, and I see lazy Sundays on the couch with Layla… I see you in every single part of it."
His breath caught. "Y/N..."
"You're not just part of my dream," you said, your voice breaking. "You are my dream."
He kissed you then, soft and tender, and you melted into him. When you broke apart, his eyes were glistening. "I love you.” he whispered.
You didn’t say it back just yet, but you pressed yourself closer, letting him feel it with your body.
You fell asleep in his arms, wrapped up in each other, the future no longer a terrifying unknown but something to look forward to.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The next few days passed in a warm blur.
Jake's mother sent you home with so many leftovers that you had to use two bags to carry them all: tupperware containers of cookies, slices of cake and a whole ham that she insisted you take.
Jake laughed as he helped you load everything into the car, and you tried to protest, but she wouldn't hear of it.
"You look too worn-out," she said, patting your cheek. "Eat."
Time flew by, and before you knew it, it was December thirty-first, New Year's Eve.
You knew what was your plan: Jay, one of Sophia’s friend, was throwing a party, and the invitation extended to you. His parties were always popular, full of drunken college kids, weed, and even a dance floor he had bought from Amazon.
You chewed your lip, glancing at the time.
You had been nervous about asking Jake to come to a party. He wasn't the type for crowded rooms and loud music, but you wanted him there. You wanted to share that part of your world with him.
You spent the whole morning gathering courage, typing and deleting messages, until finally, you sent one.
You: hey! so, a friend of a friend is throwing a party tonight and i was wondering if u wanted to come 🥺
jake 🤓💙: I don't know, Y/N. Parties aren't really my thing.
You: heeseung will be there too! and i'll be with you the whole time, i promise.
You: if it gets too much, we can leave whenever you want
jake 🤓💙: Okay. For you.
You spent the whole afternoon getting ready, you put on a mini glittery skirt that caught the light every time you moved, paired with a black top that showed just enough skin.
You curled your hair, put on a bit of makeup, and looked at yourself in the mirror.
You looked good and you felt even better.
Together with Sophia you drove to Jake's place ajd when he opened the door, your breath caught.
He was wearing dark jeans and a simple button-down shirt, but he looked so handsome it made your heart ache.
He had done something different with his hair, probably added some gel, and then you noticed— he was wearing contacts.
His brownish eyes, usually hidden behind glasses, were fully visible, and they were beautiful.
"You look amazing.” you said. “A total ride.”
He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You look incredible too, Y/N."
Sophia wolf-whistled from the car, and Jake's blush deepened.
"Let's go." you said, grabbing his hand.
The party was already packed when you arrived. Jay's house was massive, with a sprawling backyard and a living room that had been converted into the dance floor.
Sophia disappeared into the crowd almost immediately, spotting a friend across the room and waving at you over her shoulder.
You held Jake's hand tightly as you wove through the crowd, your fingers intertwined.
Almost every person you passed greeted you. "Y/N! Happy New Year!"
"Good to see you!"
"You look great, Y/N!"
Jake looked at you with wide eyes. "You know everyone here?"
"Not everyone," you said, laughing. "But I know a lot of them."
You reached the kitchen, where Jay was mixing shots with Sunghoon and Heeseung. The counter was lined with bottles and plastic cups, and the three of them were laughing about something.
When Heeseung saw Jake, he broke into a grin. "Jake! Man, good to see you here!"
Jake relaxed visibly, and the two of them started talking, falling into easy conversation.
You felt a wave of relief at the thought that he had someone he knew, someone who could help him feel less out of place.
You took a single shot, the burn sliding down your throat, but your friends ganged up on Jake.
"Come on, one shot!" Jay said, pushing a cup into his hand.
"I don't really—" ahe tried to resist.
"Just one!" Jake looked at you, and you shrugged, smiling. He downed it, grimacing. "Another!" Sunghoon said.
"No, I—" Jake waved his hands. "Another!" He took a second. And then a third, because Jay was very insistent.
By the time he was done, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were a little glassy. "I think I'm drunk.” he said, blinking slowly.
"Just a little.” you said, laughing.
Someone dragged him to play beer pong, and you watched as he fumbled with the ping pong balls, missing the cups entirely.
He was out of his comfort zone, but he was trying, and you were so proud of him you thought your heart might burst.
But the room started closing in after a while. The music was too loud and the bodies too close
You felt your chest tighten, that familiar wave of anxiety creeping up your spine.
You slipped away, out the back door, into the cool night air. Despite the winter biting chill, the cold temperature grounded you.
You sat on a small stone wall, wrapping your arms around yourself, breathing in the cold until your lungs ached. The stars were barely visible through the city lights, but you stared up at them anyway, trying to keep your mind occupied
Not even ten minutes later, you heard footsteps coming towards you. "Found you."
You looked up, and Jake was standing there, his silhouette outlined by the glow from the house.
"I'm sorry," you said. "I didn't mean to disappear."
He sat down beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. "It's okay, I noticed you were gone and figured you might need some air."
You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "Thank you."
He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. "You're very popular, you know. Every single person in there knows you."
"I guess so." You shrugged.
"It's not very my crowd," he said, and there was no judgment in his voice.
You were quiet for a moment. "I don't think it's my crowd anymore either."
He looked at you, surprised menus. "Really?"
"Really." You sighed. "I used to love parties. I used to love the noise and the chaos and the feeling of being surrounded by people. But now... I don't know, It just feels exhausting. I'd rather be somewhere quiet.” You smiled up at him “With you."
He didn't say anything, but his arm tightened around you.
You noticed him blinking rapidly, squinting into the distance. You cupped his face, turning him towards you. "Jake?" you said softly. "Are your contacts bothering you?"
He looked sheepish, his cheeks flushing. "I'm not used to wearing them. But I wanted to look cool for tonight."
Your heart ached. "You’re cool even with your glasses and you don't have to change yourself to fit in. You're good the way you are."
He stared at you, his eyes vulnerable. "You really think so?"
"I know so." He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, and you closed your eyes, breathing him in.
And then a voice cut through the night like a blade. "Look, the mentally ill and the nerd together."
You both turned. Jacob was standing a few feet away, with a smug smile on his face.
Minjee was at his side, looking very uncomfortable, her eyes were fixed on the ground.
Jake got up immediately, with a tensw body and fists clenched to his sides. He stepped forward, dangerously close to Jacob.
"Jake, don't," you said, standing and reaching for his arm. "He's not worth it, just ignore him."
But Jacob wasn't done. "What's the matter, Jake? Happy with my leftovers?"
Jake's jaw tightened. "She's not leftovers, she's worth ten of you."
"Oh, is that so?" Jacob laughed. "You're pathetic. After you fucked her, you—"
Jake moved so fast you barely saw it. One moment he was standing beside you, the next he had Jacob on the ground, his arm twisted behind his back, with a knee pressing into his spine. It was a perfect Taekwondo takedown, clean and precise.
Jacob let out a pained grunt, struggling to get up. "Get off me!"
"Apologize.” Jake said, his voice low and dangerous.
"Fuck you!" Jacob spattered.
Jake pressed harder, and Jacob yelped. "Apologize to Y/N."
"Fine! Fine! I'm sorry!" Jake held him for a moment longer, then released him, stepping back. Jacob scrambled to his feet, his face was red with humiliation.
Jake turned to you with his hand outstretched. "Let's go inside."
You took his hand, and he led you back into the party, leaving Jacob alone.
You pulled him onto the dance floor, the music thrumming through your body. Reggaeton played through the speakers, a heavy beat that made you want to move.
"That was very badass.” you said, shouting over the music.
He blushed, the red reaching his ears. "I don't know about that."
"I do." You started dancing together, your bodies moving to the rhythm.
You pressed close to him, your hips brushing against his and your arms looping around his neck. He was a little drunk, his movements were slightly uncoordinated, but he was so cute it made your head spin.
He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "Thank you."
"For what?" You tilted your head, confused.
"For letting me into your world." You pulled back, looking at him. His eyes were earnest, vulnerable, and oh so full of love.
"Thank you for being in it.” you said.
And then you kissed him, right there on the dance floor, with the music pounding and the lights flashing and the crowd cheering around you.
His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, and you melted into him.
The new year hadn't even started yet, but you already knew it was going to be the best one yet.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
May arrived with a burst of warmth and sunshine, painting the campus in shades of gold and green. The trees that had been bare during winter were now full with leaves rustling in the gentle breeze.
The air smelled like freshly cut grass and the faint sweetness of blooming flowers, and everywhere you looked, there were students in black gowns, posing for pictures with families and friends.
You stood in the middle of the quad, your own gown rustling around your ankles. The fabric was stiff and slightly itchy, but you didn't care.
In your hand, you held your diploma, a thick piece of paper with your name on it, proof that you had made it through four years of exams, sleepless nights, anxiety attacks, and moments where you thought you wouldn't survive.
But you did survive. You were there.
You and your friends had taken dozens of pictures already, Sophia fussing over your cap while Mina beamed with pride.
But there was only one person you wanted to find.
You walked across the square, your heels clicking against the pavement. The sun was warm on your shoulders, and you felt light, almost giddy. Months of ups and downs, of fighting and making up, of learning to trust and to let go— it had all led to this moment.
You spotted them near the old oak tree by the humanities building. Jay and Sunghoon were there, both in their gowns and laughing about something. And beside them, talking animatedly with his hands, was Jake.
He was wearing his gown too woth his cap slightly askew and his glasses perched on his nose.
He looked exactly the same as the day you had met him at the gala: nerdy, awkward, and a little bit clumsy.
But his face lit up when he saw you, and that smile, that beautiful, genuine smile, made your heart skip a beat.
"Y/N!" he called out, and he started jogging toward you.
You met him halfway, and before you could say anything, he spun you around.
Your gown flared out, your cap nearly flew off, but you laughed, a sound so pure and joyful it surprised even you.
"We did it!" he said, setting you down. "We're free! No more assignments and no more exams and no more all-nighters!"
"We did it.” you echoed, your hands resting on his shoulders.
"You look really good in your gown," he said, changing the subject. "I have flowers for you. They're in my car, I forgot to bring them to the ceremony because I was running late, but—"
"Jake," you interrupted, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Yeah?" He tilted his head, listening.
You took a deep breath. The words had been building inside you for months, and now they spilled out, unstoppable. "I want us to be real."
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." You swallowed, your hands trembling slightly. "I want us to be a couple, like… officially. I want to call you my boyfriend without hesitating and I want to be your girlfriend too.”
His eyes widened, and he stared at you like you had just handed him the world.
"I'm ready," you continued, the words tumbling out. "I've almost stopped my anxiety medication entirely. The doctor said I'm doing well, and with university over, I'll have less stress. I can focus on us.”
You took his hand in yours. “On our relationship… I want to be with you, Jake, completely. I want you to be mine."
The silence that followed was deafening.
And then Jake's face broke into the widest grin you had ever seen.
He grabbed you, pulling you into a hug so tight it squeezed the air out of your lungs. "Yes," he said, his voice muffled against your hair. "Yes, yes, yes."
You laughed, tears prickling at your eyes. "Is that a yes?"
He pulled back, cupping your face in his hands. "That's a thousand yeses. I've been waiting for you to be ready, but I would have waited forever, Y/N."
"I love you.” you said, the words falling from your lips like they had always belonged there.
His breath caught. "Say that again."
"I love you." You repeated.
He kissed you then, right there in front of everyone.
His lips pressed against yours, warm and insistent, and you melted into him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his gown.
The world around you disappeared, there was only him, and you, and the taste of salt and sweetness on his lips.
When he pulled away, his eyes were glistening. "Say it again."
"I love you, Jake."
He buried his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around your waist. "I love you too," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much it scares me."
You held him, your hand cradling the back of his head. "Thank you," you said softly.
"For what?" He questioned.
"For helping me find myself again."
He pulled back, shaking his head. "You did that all by yourself, Y/N. I just encouraged you from the sidelines."
"No," you said. "You understood me and you never once forced me to be something I wasn't. You never made me pretend to be fine when I wasn't.”
You bit your lip nervously, “You let me be broken, and you stayed anyway. That's not nothing… that’s— that's everything."
He kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips again. "I'll always stay."
Jay cleared his throat. "Okay, you two are making the rest of us single people jealous. Let's go celebrate."
Jake laughed, wiping his eyes. "Yeah, let's go."
You took his hand, intertwining your fingers, and walked off together toward the future.
SUMMARY: once the college’s golden girl, you had it all: endless parties, a popular boyfriend, and flawless grades. but behind the spotlight, your mind was slowly unraveling. pretending everything was fine became exhausting, and for the first time, you didn’t recognize the person staring back at you anymore. then came Sim Jake, the awkward, quiet nerd you never thought twice about, who somehow saw through every carefully built wall around you. and the more your world fell apart, the more he became the only place that still felt safe.
WARNINGS: mutual cheating? (y/n on her bf and her bf on y/n), toxic relationship (not with jake), SMUT, virginity loss, subby!jake, switch!reader, riding, car sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, missionary, jake is so sensitive ma babe, mentions of anxiety attacks, panic attacks (slight description), pills consumption, jake is silly (we love him), y/n’s anxiety is mentioned A LOT, alcohol consumption, arguing, fightin (no punches actually), slow burn but they had sex, poor decision making (welp), y/n is in denial, mentions of bullying, this is low-key trash (but don’t we all love a little trash sometimes?), mentions of period, jake is VERY desperate, abandonment issues (🙁), i SWEAR it gets better as y/n breaks up with jacob. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
NOW PLAYING: Skin by Sabrina Carpenter - I THINK I’M LOST AGAIN by Chase Atlantic - Fame is a Gun by Addison Rae - Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae
a/n: as someone who struggles with anxiety i wanted to bring awareness to how much it can shape your life 💔 i’m sorry i had to divide it in two parts but tumblr is a bitch with a word limit!! hopefully you’ll like it anyways 🩷 STAY TUNED for PART 2!
The dorm room buzzed with the quiet hum of preparation as you stood before the full-length mirror, turning slowly to examine every angle of your reflection.
The deep blue dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the glittery lace on the skirt catching the warm light and scattering it like tiny stars across the walls.
You ran your palms down the fabric, smoothing it over your hips, satisfied with how the halter neckline framed your shoulders.
“You look incredible,” Sophia said from behind you, her voice carrying that familiar note of admiration she always had when you got dressed up.
She was already in her light blue dress, a simple but elegant number that made her skin glow.
She was fixing a loose strand of hair in her own mirror, her lips pursed as she applied a final layer of gloss.
“So do you,” you replied, meeting her eyes in the reflection. “That color suits you.”
She grinned, about to say something when a loud, impatient honk cut through the evening air from outside. Three short blasts, then a longer one, the sound jarring against the quiet campus night.
Sophia moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside just a fraction, peeking out. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise “Holy shit. He really rented a limousine?”
You sighed, already feeling the familiar knot of irritation tighten in your chest.
Of course he did.
Jacob (your boyfriend, unfortunately) never did anything quietly. Everything had to be a spectacle, a performance, a way to show off how much money he could throw around.
It had been charming once, in the beginning, when you were both drunk on the novelty of each other.
Now it just felt... exhausting.
“Do you want a ride?” you asked, grabbing your small clutch purse from the bed and checking that your phone and lipstick were inside.
Sophia laughed, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. I love you, but I really don’t want to witness you two making out the whole way there. My girlfriend is coming to pick me up anyway.”
You blew her a kiss, the gesture light and affectionate. “Fair enough. Text me when you get there.”
“Will do. Have fun and try not to strangle him.” She sang-song.
“No promises.” You stepped out of the dorm room and made your way down the stairs, the click of your heels echoing in the stairwell.
The night air hit you as you pushed open the front door, slightly cool for early autumn.
And there it was, stretched along the curb like a white whale, the limousine.
It was absurdly long, the kind of vehicle that screamed look at me from every polished inch.
The driver of the limousine opened the car door for you, helping you step inside with a kind hand.
“There she is.” Jacob said, his voice already carrying that slight slur that meant he’d started drinking before picking you up.
His tie was loose around his neck and his jacket discarded somewhere on the seat beside him. His eyes were glassy, his smile too wide. “My beautiful girl. Took you long enough.”
“I wasn’t aware I was on a schedule.” you said, smoothing your dress back down and settling into the seat across from him, putting distance between you.
The limousine was spacious, with plush cream leather seats that wrapped around the interior, a mini bar stocked with bottles, and a strip of colored lights along the ceiling that cast everything in a soft, muted glow.
The driver pulled away from the curb without a word, and the limousine glided smoothly through the campus streets.
Jacob reached for you, his fingers grazing your knee. “Come here, dont sit all the way over there.”
“I’m fine here.” You replied with pursed lips.
His jaw tightened, but he let his hand fall back. “Suit yourself.”
The ride to the gala was spent in strained silence punctuated by Jacob’s attempts to make conversation that quickly devolved into complaints.
“Want a drink?” He questioned, holding a glass of what seemed to be whiskey. “You know I can’t.” You replied with a stern look
“Party pooper,” he sneered, "Whatever, more for me.”
You stared out the window, watching the streetlights blur past, counting the minutes until you could be surrounded by other people and not have to be alone with him.
When the limousine finally pulled up to the venue, you felt a wave of relief.
The building was an modern building that had been converted into an event space, its stone facade draped in white lights and a red carpet was leading up to the grand entrance.
People were milling about in blue suits and gown as the air filled with the murmur of conversation.
Jacob was out of the car first, offering you his hand with the practiced charm of someone who knew people were watching.
You took it, because appearances mattered, and let him lead you inside.
The ballroom was stunning. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting prisms of light across the marble floors. the tables were draped in white linen, they lined the edges of the room and centerpieces of white roses and candles flickering softly.
A bar stretched along one wall, already busy, and a small orchestra played near the far end, their music floating through the air like silk.
You spotted Sophia almost immediately, standing with her girlfriend near one of the tall windows with a glass of champagne in her hand.
She gave you a small wave, and you smiled back.
For the first hour, things were fine. You mingled, you laughed at the right moments, you nodded along to conversations about internships and family businesses and who was dating whom.
Jacob stayed close, his hand on the small of your back, his presence a constant pressure that you tried to ignore. But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed, his grip grew heavier and his touches more insistent.
He started rubbing your hip while you were talking to a professor, his fingers dipping dangerously low to your backside.
You shifted away, giving him a pointed look, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.
“Jacob,” you murmured, leaning close to his ear. “Stop.”
“What?” His voice was too loud, his breath hot and sour against your cheek. “I’m just showing you off.”
“You’re being inappropriate.”
His expression darkened. “I’m being your boyfriend. When did you become such a prude?”
You felt heat rise to your cheeks with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I’m not doing this here.”
“You never want to do anything anymore,” he said, his voice rising. A few nearby heads turned. “You’re always tired, always stressed, always on your fucking pills—”
“Jacob.” Your voice was sharp, a blade. “Don’t.”
But he was already beyond listening. He downed the rest of his drink, set the glass down on a passing tray with more force than necessary, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m done.”
“Don’t make a scene.” You begged.
“Too late.” he said, and stormed off toward the exit, weaving slightly as he pushed through the crowd.
You stood there for a moment, with your hands trembling and your face burning.
Sophia caught your eye, her expression worried, and you could see her starting to move toward you. You shook your head, mouthing “I’m okay.” and followed Jacob out into the night.
The cool air hit you like a slap. The street was quieter there, away from the main entrance as the sounds of the gala muffled behind the thick walls.
Jacob was pacing near the sidewalk with his phone in his hand. “Jacob.” You called.
He spun around with wild eyes. “What?”
“What the hell was that?” You asked. “What the hell was what? Me wanting my girlfriend to actually pay attention to me?” He scoffed.
“I was paying attention to you, I was standing right next to you all night.” you frowned.
“You were ignoring me. Flirting with everyone else.” Jacob accused.
“I wasn’t flirting, I was making conversation. That’s what people do at these things.”
He laughed bitterly, his expression as cold as ice, “You’ve changed, you know that? You used to be fun. Now you’re just... detached. You never want to have sex anymore, you never want to party, you just want to stand around and talk about boring shit.”
You felt something snap inside you. “I’m taking anti-anxiety pills, Jacob. Do you remember that? Do you remember the panic attacks I’ve been having? Do you remember me telling you that the medication makes me feel different? Or do you just not care?”
He stared at you, his mouth open, but no words came out.
“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, and your voice was steadier than you expected. “I’m not going back inside with you. I’m not getting back in that limousine with you. Go home, Jacob. Sleep it off.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” He looked at you as if you had grown two heads, or as if he had never heard the world ‘no’ in his life.
“I’m not.” You stood your ground.
He looked at you for a long moment, something shifting in his eyes. Then he turned, pulled out his phone, and started walking down the street, his steps unsteady. “Fine. Whatever. Fucking fine.”
You watched him go until he disappeared around a corner, and then you stood there alone, the night silent around you. You took a deep breath, then another, willing your heartbeat to slow.
You didn’t want to go back inside. You didn’t want to face Sophia’s pitying looks or the whispered speculation of the other guests.
You just wanted to go home.
You started walking, your heels clicking against the pavement, heading toward the main road where you could call a ride.
But you honestly didn’t even want to move, so you sat on a bench near the river and let your tears silently fall.
It all hurt, why couldn’t Jacob try to understand you? Why did he have to make everything about him?
“That was very rude, if you ask me.” You gasped as a voice spoke from your left.
You hadn’t noticed someone was sitting on the other side of the bench
You recognized him vaguely. You had seen the guy around at campus, but his face had never stuck in your memory until that moment. He had thick glasses and styled hair, with a gummy smile.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. My mom always tells me I tend to speak at the wrong moment.” He apologised, glancing away.
You sighed and scooted closer, “No, I think you’re very right.” You tuned toward him. “By the way, you go to Saint Cross’s college too, no?”
He nodded with a quick motion that messed his hair. “Yeah…. I’m Jake.”
“I’m Y/N.” You stepped closer, and he seemed to shrink back, his shoulders hunching. “What are you doing out here?”
“I— uh…” he gulped, “I hadn’t read that the dress code was blue, so I wore this suit.” He pointed at his very white suit. “The waiters are wearing white…”
You let the information sink in before letting out a quiet snort at the weirdness of it all. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
He finally glanced at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a fraction of a second before darting away.
In the dim light, you could see the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Do you… uhm, want some of this?” he questioned, raising the bottle he was drinking.
It was a bright orange liquid that looked like a spiked punch. “Sorry, I’m cutting down on the alcohol.”
“Oh, this is not alcohol.” He replied, shaking the bottle. “This is Gatorade, it’s way past my bed time, i needed the energy.”
As you threw your head back and laughed, you caught sight of the white limousine with the back of your eyes.
An idea formed in your mind, reckless and impulsive, the kind of idea you would have talked yourself out of a year ago.
But tonight, sitting there in your glittery dress with your boyfriend’s abandonment still fresh in your chest, you didn’t feel like talking yourself out of anything.
“Do you want to be my buddy for the night?” you asked.
He blinked. “What?”
“The limousine there? My boyfriend forgot it. Let’s take it for a spin.” You shrugged.
He looked at the car, then at you, then back at the car. “I don’t think that’s—”
“The driver’s paid for the whole night. He’ll drive wherever we want.” You walked over to the driver, who had stubbed out his cigarette and was watching you with mild curiosity. “We’re taking the car out. My boyfriend left, but the night’s still young.”
The driver shrugged, his expression indifferent from when he had opened the door for you just a couple of hours earlier. “You’re the boss.”
You turned back to Jake, who hadn’t moved. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, his hands wrapped around the Gatorade bottle like it was a lifeline. “Come on,” you said, holding out your hand. “I promise I don’t bite.” you sang song.
He hesitated for a long moment, and you thought he might say no, might turn and walk away and go back to whatever quiet corner of the gala he had emerged from.
But then he stepped forward, his fingers brushing against yours, and let you lead him into the limousine.
The interior felt even more opulent now, in the quiet intimacy of just the two of you. The colored lights were still on, casting soft greens and purples across the leather seats.
Jake sat down carefully, as if afraid he might break something.
You sat across from him, watching him. “Have you ever been in a limousine before?” You tried as an ice breaker.
He shook his head. “What about the gala? Do you usually go to those?”
“Not really, but I thought I could try.” He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I think I regretted it as soon as someone asked me to refill their champagne flute.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” you said. “Socializing is overrated.”
He looked at you then, a real look, his eyes searching your face as if trying to figure out if you were being genuine or mocking him.
You held his gaze, and something in his expression softened.
The driver’s voice came through the intercom. “Where to?”
You looked at Jake. “Anywhere you want.” He thought about it, biting his lower lip. “I don’t know. Just... around?”
“Around it is.” you said to the driver, and the limousine pulled away from the curb, gliding into the night.
The first few minutes were awkward, filled with the kind of silence that felt heavy with unspoken things.
Jake stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, while you studied him from across the car.
He had nice hands, you noticed. Long fingers, neatly trimmed nails. He was nervous, you could tell, from the way he kept fidgeting with the bottle cap, the way his leg bounced slightly.
“So,” you said, breaking the silence. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”
He turned to you, curious. “What do you mean?”
You reached over and pressed a button on the console. The ceiling lights shifted, changing from soft green to a warm blue.
You pressed another button, and a small television screen descended from the roof. Another, and a panel slid open to reveal a karaoke machine, complete with microphones.
Jake’s eyes went wide. “That’s insane.”
“Right?” You pressed another button, and the mini bar lit up, revealing rows of tiny bottles. “Do you want a drink?”
“I, uh, I don’t really—”
You nodded, “It’s okay, you’re not a drinker.”
He shook his head, looking almost embarrassed. “I’ve never had any alcohol.”
“What?” You sat up straighter, genuinely shocked. “Never? Not even a sip of beer?”
“My parents don’t drink,” he said, shrugging. “And I never really saw the appeal.”
“Well, tonight you’re trying tequila.” You pulled out two small shot glasses and a bottle of Tequila, setting them on the counter. “Consider it a rite of passage… I’ll even have a shot with you, come on.”
He looked nervous, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “Okay.”
You poured the shots, sliding one toward him. He picked it up, examining the clear liquid like it might bite him. “Do I just... drink it?”
“Lick the salt, take the shot, suck the lime,” you said, demonstrating with practiced ease. You set up a small line of salt on the back of your hand, licked it, downed the shot, and bit into a lime wedge, the sourness cutting through the burn.
He watched you, then attempted to copy your movements. His hand shook slightly as he lifted the shot glass, and he winced as the tequila hit his throat, coughing and sputtering. “That’s— that’s strong!”
You laughed, genuinely. “It gets easier. Trust me.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and when he looked at you, there was a smile on his face. It transformed his features and made him look younger. “I feel warm.”
“That’s the alcohol. Give it a few minutes.” You poured another round, then another. The third shot went down smoother, and by the fourth, Jake was laughing at something you said, with his head thrown back and his shoulders relaxed.
The awkwardness had melted away, replaced by an easy, electric energy that filled the limousine like the colored lights.
“Show me the karaoke.” he said, his voice looser now, the words slightly slurred.
You grabbed one of the microphones and handed him the other. “What are we singing?”
He scrolled through the options, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t know any of these.”
“Pick the first one you recognize.”
He stopped on a song, and when the opening chords started playing, you recognized it immediately. Lana del Rey’s National Anthem notes filled the car. He started singing, his voice tentative at first, then growing bolder as you joined in, your voices blending together in a harmony that was probably terrible but felt incredible. It was crazy how much he knew the lyrics, singing his heart out.
At some point, you slid closer to him on the seat, your shoulders brushing, and he didn’t pull away.
When the song ended, the silence that followed was different. The air between you felt thick, heavy with possibility. He was looking at you, his eyes dark in the dim light, his lips slightly parted.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For tonight. I was... I was really nervous about coming here. I almost didn’t.”
“Thank you for being my knight in shining armor for the night.” you said, and you meant it.
He smiled again, that soft, transforming smile, and something in your chest fluttered. Without really thinking, you leaned closer and pressed a small kiss on his cheek.
A broken sound left his throat and he turned around, shielding himself from you.
“Jake?” You asked, your brows furrowing in worry, “I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?”
“No, no, it’s okay…” He said, his voice strained.
You took a better glance at him and… Oh.
His hands were shielding his crotch from your sight and you chuckled, “Are you hard?”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “It’s just that… I’ve never been kissed by a pretty girl.”
“I could eat you alive,” you laughed softly, turning him towards you again, “You are so cute.”
“Thank you.” He blushed, actually blushed, and looked away from you. You suddenly felt a strange sensation, a warmth inside of you. After two years of being treated like an afterthought from your own boyfriend, Jake’s gentle nature was a stark contrast.
“Do you want me to kiss you? On your lips?” You asked quietly, and his eyes widened comically. “I mean, I would like it… But only if you want to? I should probably have a mint first, though.”
“Oh my God.” You laughed, fisted his shirt and pulled him towards you.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, your lips brushing against his like a question.
He responded slowly and unsure, his hand coming up to rest on your arm as if he needed something to steady himself.
You deepened the kiss, your tongue tracing the seam of his lips, and he opened for you with a soft, surprised sound.
He tasted like tequila and lime, and you kissed him until you were both breathless, until his hands moved from your arm to your waist, pulling you closer.
Your hand drifted from his knee to his thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath your fingers.
He was wearing dress pants, the fabric smooth and warm. You traced circles on his thigh, watching his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed and the way his breath hitched.
“Is this okay?” you asked.
“Yes,” he breathed. “God, yes.”
You moved slowly, wanting to savor every moment. Your hand slid higher, until you could feel the heat of him through the fabric, the growing hardness that made your own body respond in kind.
He gasped when you palmed him, his hips bucking slightly into your touch.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured against his neck, pressing kisses along his jaw. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
He shook his head, his hands fisting in the fabric of your dress. “No one’s ever... told me that.”
You pulled back, meeting his eyes. “Then they were blind.”
He kissed you again, hungrier this time, his hands exploring your body with a clumsy, earnest desperation that made your heart ache.
He traced the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the lace of your dress. When his fingers brushed against your breast, he pulled back as if burned.
“Sorry,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay.” You took his hand and guided it back to your chest, letting him feel the weight of you through the fabric. “You can touch me. I want you to.” With one hand, you reached for the ‘Do Not Disturb’ button near the window, so the driver would know not to intrude.
He looked at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, and then his hand moved again, cupping your breast with a reverence that made your breath catch. He was gentle, almost afraid, but there was a curiosity in his touch that was intoxicating.
You reached behind your neck and untied the halter strap, letting the front of your dress fall forward. His eyes went widen as his gaze fixed on your breasts, the peaks that tightened under his stare.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
You laughed softly. “Have you never seen a pair of boobs before?”
He shook his head, his cheeks burning. “I mean, I’ve seen them in movies and stuff, but not... not like this. Not in real life.”
You widened your eyes… fuck! He was a virgin.
“Oh my God,” you said, your body stopping. “We can stop if you want, if you don’t want your first time to be here. I understand.”
“No, no, no.” He begged, nodding his head so much you thought it would fall down, “I want you— want it… please? I’ll be a good boy.”
You searched for his eyes, and when you found sincerity, you guided his hand to your bare skin, and he let out a shaky breath.
His touch was tentative, his warm fingers brushing against your nipple with a featherlight pressure that sent a shiver down your spine.
He looked at you, checking, making sure he wasn’t hurting you. “You’re doing great,” you encouraged. “Just keep going.”
He grew bolder, his hand cupping your breast as his thumb rubbed circles around your nipple until it peaked against his palm.
You leaned into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips, and the sound seemed to spur him on. “Can I...” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to your mouth.
“Yes.”
He kissed you again, his hand still on your breast, and you felt the last of his reservations melt away. He was kissing you like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment, like he was afraid it might disappear if he stopped. And in a way, you realized, he probably had been.
Your hand found his belt, working the buckle open with practiced ease. You smiled, soft and genuine, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “let me take care of you.”
You sank to your knees on the plush carpet of the limousine floor, your dress pooling around you like spilled ink.
He watched you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as his hands gripped the edge of the seat.
You unfastened his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers, and then you saw him.
You sucked in a breath. He was huge. Thick and long, veined and flushed, standing proud against his stomach.
For a virgin, he was packing more than most experienced men you’d been with. You looked up at him, and he was staring down at you with wide, terrified eyes.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” you said, your voice husky. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re just... wow.”
He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so you didn’t give him time to. You leaned forward and took him in your mouth.
He cried out, a high, desperate sound, his hips bucking instinctively. You held him steady, your hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and your tongue swirled around the head.
He was already slick with precum, and you moaned at the taste of him.
“Oh god,” he gasped, his fingers threading through your hair. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”
You took him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate his size. He was so thick that it was a stretch, but you loved the feeling, the fullness of him filling your mouth.
You bobbed your head, setting a rhythm as your hand worked what you couldn’t reach.
He was vocal, more vocal than you expected. Little whimpers and moans escaped him with every movement of your head with his hips twitching and his grip on your hair tightening. He was a mess, and you loved every second of it.
“I’m— I’m close,” he warned, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”
You doubled your efforts, taking him as deep as you could, and he came with a shuddering cry, his release hot and thick in your throat.
You swallowed it all, every drop, and when you pulled back, he was panting, his eyes glassy, his body trembling. “Fuck,” he whispered, the word falling from his lips like a prayer.
You wiped your mouth and climbed back onto the seat beside him, your body humming with arousal. He looked at you, and there was something new in his eyes. Wonder, maybe. Or worship.
“That was...” He shook his head, at a loss for words. “It gets better,” you said, reaching for the zipper of your dress. “Trust me.”
You stood, shimmying the dress completely down your body until it pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but a scrap of lace that barely covered you. He stared, his mouth open, his spent cock already beginning to stir again.
“Can I touch you?” he asked, his voice reverent.
“I was hoping you’d ask.” You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, your thighs bracketing his hips. He was hard again, pressing against your stomach, and you reached down to guide him to your entrance. You were wet, so wet, your body ready for him.
“Look at me,” you said, and he did. “I’m going to go slow. Tell me if it’s too much.”
He nodded, his hands finding your waist, his grip gentle but firm.
You sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch. He stretched you, filled you, and you cried out at the sensation, your head falling back.
He was so big, hitting places inside you that you had forgotten existed. He groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as his eyes squeezed shut.
“You feel so good,” he gasped. “So fucking good.”
You began to move in a slow, steady rhythm, your hips rocking against his. He met your movements, his own hips rising to meet you, and soon you found a groove, the two of you moving together like you had been doing this for years.
He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss, sloppy and desperate, his tongue tangling with yours.
“Is there something that might make you feel good?” He asked, pulling away and watching you with his big, dark eyes.
You smiled, gripped his hair and gently guided his lips to your breast. As if in command, he parted his lips and took your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the tip.
You moaned softly, the sensation combined with his cock inside you almost too much.
He gently bit the swollen skin, making you arch your back and whelp.
“Did I hurt you?” He asked, looking up at you again. You shook your head and gripped his shoulders, “You’re doing so good.” You quickened your pace.
“I’m not going to last.” he admitted, his forehead pressed against yours.
“That’s okay,” you breathed. “Come for me, Jake. Let go.”
He did, with a broken cry, his hips stuttered as he spilled inside you.
The feeling of him pulsing, of his warmth filling you, sent you over the edge as well, your own orgasm crashing through you in waves, your body clenching around him.
You collapsed against him, your skin slick with sweat. He held you, his arms wrapped around you and his lips pressed gently to your hair.
The energy drained from you quickly, from the exertion of sex, the alcohol in your body and the drowsiness from the pills.
Your eyelids dropped slowly, until your eyes were fully closed.
In your sleepy state, you murmured, “Thank you, Jacob.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
“I fucked up,” you said, the confession spilling out before you could stop it.
The words tasted like ash on your tongue as you slumped into the chair across from Sophia.
The west library was nearly empty at this hour, the pale morning light filtering through the tall arched windows, casting long shadows across the wooden tables.
Sophia looked up from her laptop, her eyebrows furrowing.
She had been away at her girlfriend’s place for the weekend, and you had deliberately avoided texting her, not wanting to drag her into the mess you had created.
But now, sitting across from her, the weight of the weekend pressed down on your chest like a physical force.
“What happened?” she asked, closing her laptop and giving you her full attention.
You took a shaky breath, your fingers curling around the edge of the table. “I… I deflowered a guy.”
Her eyes widened, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Wait, you finally broke up with Jacob? Good for you—”
“No,” you cut in, your voice sharp. “I didn’t break up with him.”
The smile froze on her face. “What do you mean you didn’t break up with him? You had that huge fight at the gala. I thought that was it.”
“We didn’t officially break up,” you said, your throat tightening. “We just… fought. And then I went and had sex with someone else while we are still together.”
Sophia leaned back in her chair, processing the information. Her fingers tapped against the table, a nervous habit you recognized. “Okay. Okay, I’m not judging you. But… who?”
You shook your head, your gaze dropping to your hands. “I can’t tell you. I’m not sure he wants people to know.”
“Y/N, you have to tell me—”
“I can’t, Sophia. Please.” You cut her off.
She sighed, her expression softening. “Alright. I trust you. But how did it happen? Wait, was it the limo driver?”
“No, no.” You let out a hollow laugh. “It was someone from college. I was angry and hurt, and I just… I invited him into the limousine. One thing led to another.”
You remembered the warmth of his body, the way he had held you afterward, the tenderness in his touch that had felt so different from Jacob’s demanding hands. “I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in my room, wearing my dress. I think he put it back on me. He carried me upstairs and he even bought me Plan B.”
“Aw, he was a gentleman,” Sophia teased, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
You bristled, your jaw tightening. “This isn’t funny, Sophia. I cheated on my boyfriend.”
“Y/N, listen to me.” She reached across the table, her hand covering yours. “Jacob has been a dismissive asshole for months. You two were going to fall apart anyway. This was just the last drop.”
The words stung, hitting a nerve you hadn’t expected. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what we have.”
“I know you’ve been miserable,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “I know you’ve been crying in the bathroom after your phone calls with him, I know he makes you feel small about your anxiety. That’s not love, Y/N.”
You pulled your hand away, anger flaring in your chest. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m just being honest.” She shrugged.
“Well, I didn’t ask for your honesty.” You stood up, grabbing your bag from the floor. “I told you because I needed to get it off my chest, not because I wanted you to trash my relationship.”
Sophia’s face fell. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”
“I have to go.” You stalked toward the exit as your vision blurred with unshed tears.
The library’s heavy oak doors loomed ahead, promising escape, but before you could reach them, you collided with something solid.
The impact sent you stumbling backward, your bag slipping from your shoulder. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry—” you started, bending down to gather your things.
“It’s okay.” The voice was soft, familiar. You looked up, and your heart stopped.
Jake.
He was standing there, dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans, his dark brown hair falling across his forehead.
He looked as startled as you felt, his hands frozen mid-motion, as if he had been about to help you but had stopped himself.
“Jake,” you breathed, straightening up. “I… hi.”
“Hi.” He glanced around, as if looking for an escape route, but that library wing was empty except for the two of you.
“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “About Friday. I shouldn’t have… I mean, I was drunk, and I took advantage of you, and I—”
“You didn’t take advantage of me,” he said, cutting you off. His voice was quiet but steady. “I wanted to. I said yes.”
“But I am in a relationship.” You pressed a hand to your forehead, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “That was wrong. It doesn’t mean you did anything bad— you were actually… very good. Really good. But it was still wrong of me.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I understand.” He paused, then added, “Can I go now?”
“Wait.” You reached out, your fingers brushing his sleeve.
He flinched but didn’t pull away. “Did you… were you the one who took care of me? After we… you know.”
He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked away. “Yeah, I did.”
“Why?” You frowned.
He was silent for a long moment, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. “Because you murmured Jacob's name. You said it in your sleep, and I… I felt guilty. Like I had done something wrong. So I got you dressed, as best as I could. The driver knew your address from the gala pickup. I carried you up to your room and left you on your bed.”
Your heart ached at the image. Him, struggling to zip up your dress, lifting you in his arms and climbing the stairs to your dorm. “You also bought me Plan B.”
He shrugged, a small, self-conscious motion. “I didn’t know if you were on anything. I wanted to be safe.”
“I’m on birth control,” you said. “So you don’t have to worry about that.”
He nodded again, his eyes still avoiding yours. “Okay, good.”
“Can you keep this a secret?” you asked, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Please… I don’t want anyone to know. Especially not Jacob.”
He met your gaze then, and something in his expression softened. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty library, and you watched him go, a knot of guilt and confusion tightening in your stomach.
“Jake?” You called out, and he stopped in his tracks. He turned around, just slightly, letting you know that he was listening. “You didn’t deserve that… me saying his name.”
He gave you a forced smile, “It’s okay.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The afternoon sun was harsh, slanting through the windows of the college cafe and casting everything in a golden, unforgiving light.
You spotted Jacob immediately, standing in line with his friends Juyeon and Justin. He was laughing at something Justin said, his head thrown back with an easy smile.
You walked over, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jacob.”
The laughter stopped immediately. He looked up at you, and the warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, distant expression. “What do you want?”
“Can we talk? Please. Just for a minute.” You begged.
He took a sip of his coffee, deliberately slow. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Jacob, please.” You could feel Juyeon and Justin watching, their eyes boring into you. “I know we fought. I know I said some things, but I don’t want to leave it like this. Can we just… talk it out?”
He set the cup down on the counter with a sharp clink. “You made yourself pretty clear at the gala. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ Those were your words.”
“I was upset and angry. You were drinking, and you were being inappropriate.”
“So it’s my fault?” His voice rose, and a few heads turned. “Everything is always my fault.”
“That’s not what I’m saying—” He cut you off. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it.” He turned back to his friends, effectively dismissing you.
Humiliation burned through you, hot and sharp. You could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.
Not here. Not in front of him.
“Fine,” you said, your voice cold. “Go fuck yourself, Jacob.”
You turned and stormed out of the cafe, the door swinging shut behind you with a bang.
The cool air hit your face, and you took a deep, shuddering breath, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.
You heard footsteps behind you. “Y/N— Y/N, wait.”
Jacob had followed you outside, with his hands in his pockets and his expression no longer cold.
“What?” you snapped, turning to face him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and the words seemed to cost him something. “I shouldn’t have… I’ve been an asshole.”
“You think?” You raised an eyebrow.
He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of agitation. “Justin and Juyeon, they told me to come after you. They said I was being an idiot.”
“Yeah? And now that your friends told you what I’ve been telling you for a while, what so you think?”
He was quiet for a moment, the traffic noise filling the silence until he broke it. “I think I miss you… I miss us. But I don’t know how to fix this.”
You stared at him, and for the first time in a long time, you saw something vulnerable in his eyes. Not the cocky, dismissive Jacob who made jokes about your issues. Just a guy who was scared of losing someone.
“You make me feel insecure,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You make me feel embarrassed about my own issues. I hate when you act like taking my anxiety pills is a bad thing. Yes, they lower my libido. Yes, they make me feel numb sometimes. But at least I’m not waking up in the middle of the night thinking I’m going to choke on my own breath.”
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
You pulled away. “Because you never asked.”
He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just… I miss the fun we used to have. The spontaneous sex, the parties, the laughing. I don’t know how to handle the change.”
“It’s not a change I wanted,” you said, your voice breaking. “It’s just my life now.”
He pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly.
You hesitated for a moment, then melted into his embrace, your face pressed against his chest. His scent was familiar, comforting, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that everything could go back to the way it was.
But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t stop replaying the feeling of Jake’s arms around you that Friday night.
The way he had held you, tender and careful, as if you were something precious. The way he had looked at you, with wonder and awe, as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
You pushed the thought away, burying it deep.
“I’ll try to be more considerate,” Jacob murmured into your hair. “I promise.”
“Thank you.” you whispered, and you held him tighter.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The living room was buzzing with conversation, voices mixed with the occasional burst of laughter.
Streamers hung from the ceiling, and a banner reading “CONGRATULATIONS MINA!” was taped across the wall above the couch.
Pizza boxes were scattered across the coffee table, alongside bottles of beer and soda.
Mina was glowing, her arm wrapped around Juyeon’s waist with a radiant smile. “I still can’t believe I got it, they really gave me a prize for getting straight As.” she said for the fifth time, and everyone cheered again.
You smiled, raising your can of coke in a toast, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes.
Your mind was elsewhere, fixated on the economic principles test you had tomorrow.
The formulas, the graphs, the theories— they swirled in your head like a storm, and no matter how hard you tried to focus on the celebration, the anxiety crept in, cold and insistent.
Your hands started to tremble.
You set the can down, not trusting yourself to hold it.
Your heart was pounding too hard, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, the laughter grating against your ears.
You needed air. You needed space.
You excused yourself, your voice barely audible, and walked to the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind you, and you leaned against it, your chest heaving.
The mirror reflected a pale, frightened version of yourself with wide eyes, flushed cheeks and hands shaking so badly you could barely unzip your purse.
The pills bottle rattled as you fumbled with the cap. Your fingers felt like clumsy sausages, and you nearly dropped them twice before finally managing to twist open the lid.
You tapped out two small tablets, brought them to your mouth and cupped your hand under the faucet to drink the water directly.
The pills went down with a struggle, and you gripped the edge of the sink, waiting for them to take effect.
But the panic was still there, clawing at the edges of your consciousness.
The bathroom door creaked open.
Sophia stood in the doorway, her expression soft with concern. She had always known when something was wrong, had always been able to read you like a book. “Oh… my poor baby.”
She crossed the small space and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.
You broke down, the tears spilling over, your body shaking against hers. You cried for the guilt you carried, for the confusion, for the way you felt torn between two worlds and undeserving of either.
Even if you had been mad at her, even if you had stormed off a couple of days before, she still held you.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, stroking your hair. “I’ve got you.”
It took a long time for the sobs to subside. When they did, you pulled back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry. I ruined the party.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. Are you okay now?” She asked, worried.
You nodded, though the lie was obvious. “I think so.”
“Do you want to go home? Mina won’t mind.” Sophia offered.
You glanced toward the door, thinking of Jacob out there, laughing with his friends. “If I leave, Jacob will get mad. He’ll say I’m ruining his night.”
“He can fuck himself,” Sophia said firmly. “I’ll drive you home, mh?.”
You hesitated, but the thought of staying in that noisy room, surrounded by people who didn’t understand, was unbearable. “Okay.”
You washed your face, the cold water soothing your flushed skin.
Sophia handed you a towel, and you patted your face dry, trying to look more presentable. Together, you walked back into the living room.
“Hey, guys,” you said, forcing a smile. “I’m not feeling great, so I’m going to head out. Congratulations again, Mina.”
Mina’s face softened with sympathy. “Oh, Y/N, I hope you feel better. Get some rest.”
Jacob looked up from his conversation with Justin. He didn’t ask if you were okay and neithr did he reach out to touch you. He just leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to your lips, and turned back to his friend.
Something inside you cracked.
You walked out of the house without looking back.
The car ride was silent, the streetlights casting shifting shadows across the dashboard.
Sophia didn’t push you to talk, and you were grateful for that. When you reached your dorm, she waited while you changed into your pajamas, then hovered by the door.
“Do you want me to sleep beside you?” she asked, her voice gentle. “We can have a pajama party, just like in junior year.”
You shook your head. “I just need to be alone.”
She nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m right next door.”
“I will.” You promised.
She left, and you climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin.
The room was dark, the only sound being the faint hum of the heater.
You closed your eyes and tried to sleep, but the guilt followed you into the darkness, a shadow you couldn’t escape.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The library was quiet, as you were hunched over your laptop at one of the corner tables, the glow of the screen illuminating your tired face.
A cup of cold coffee sat beside you, untouched for the last hour. Your eyes burned from staring at the same paragraph about macroeconomic indicators, the words blurring together until they lost all meaning.
You had barely slept in three days.
Every time you closed your eyes, the weight of upcoming exams pressed down on your chest, and your mind would start racing about formulas, deadlines and expectations.
You would toss and turn, check the clock, calculate how many hours of sleep you could still get, and then panic because it was never enough.
By the time dawn crept through your curtains, you gave up, dragging yourself to the library before the sun was fully up.
Now it was mid-afternoon, and exhaustion clung to you like a second skin.
Your phone buzzed, the notification sharp in the quiet room. You glanced at the screen, expecting a text from Sophia or maybe Jacob.
Instead, you saw the college email app, a new message marked with a red exclamation.
You tapped it open and your heart plummeted.
It was from your professor, he had scheduled another test. A quiz for your economic theory class. The date was in four days, right in the middle of the week you had already dedicated to three other finals.
You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your throat.
A full week of tests.
You had been cramming for the ones you already knew about, and now this.
How were you supposed to cover everything? How were you supposed to keep your grades up? It was barely November, and you were already drowning.
Your hands began to tremble.
The spiral came fast, vicious, and merciless. Your mind raced through worst-case scenarios: failing the class, disappointing your parents, watching their proud faces fall into confusion and shame. They bragged about your straight As to their friends, to your relatives back home.
If you failed, what would they say? What would they think?
Your chest constricted, the air turning thick and unbreathable. You tried to take a deep breath, but it caught somewhere in your throat with a strangled gasp.
Your vision started to tunnel, the edges of the library fading into a dark blur.
You needed your pills.
You grabbed your backpack with clumsy fingers and unzipped the main compartment. You fumbled inside, your hand searching desperately for the familiar plastic bottle.
But all you found were notebooks, a pen case and a half-eaten granola bar. No pills.
You had left them in the kitchen cupboard. You remembered now— you had taken your morning dose, and then you had been in such a hurry to get to the library that you had forgotten to put the bottle back in your bag.
Panic surged through you, hot and suffocating. You slammed the backpack shut, tears already pricking at your eyes.
You couldn't stay here. You couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in, the silence too loud, and the fluorescent lights too bright.
You abandoned everything and stumbled out of the library. Packing up would take too long. Every second felt like an eternity, and you needed air, space, somewhere quiet where you could fall apart without an audience.
The hallway stretched before you, long and empty, the floor tiles a dizzying pattern of white and gray. Your footsteps echoed, uneven as your vision blurred at the edges.
You walked, then stumbled and then fell to your knees, your hands pressing against the cold floor.
Your lungs were being crushed. Each breath was a battle, your chest heaving abs a high-pitched wheezes escaping your lips.
The world tilted, the walls swirling around you. You couldn't hear anything over the roaring in your ears.
Then, through the chaos you heard a voice. Distant at first, like someone calling from the other end of a long tunnel. “Y/N? Y/N!”
It was warm and familiar, but you couldn't place it, you couldn't focus. Your body was shaking too hard and your mind too tangled in panic.
Strong arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the floor. You felt yourself being guided, your feet dragging and your weight leaning against a solid chest. The voice kept talking, soft and steady, but the words were muffled, lost in the static of your panic.
You were sitting now, your back against something hard and your knees pulled up to your chest.
The voice was clearer now, right in front of you. “Y/N, look at me. Follow my breathing.”
You blinked as your vision slowly cleared.
A face emerged from the blur: dark hair falling across a worried forehead, glasses slightly askew, and brown eyes full of concern.
Jake.
He was crouched in front of you, his hands gentle on your shoulders. He took a slow, deliberate breath in, then let it out, long and even. “Breathe with me. In… out. In… out.”
You tried, but your breath hitched, stuttered. He didn't rush you. He just kept breathing, slow and patient, his eyes locked on yours. He reached for your hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart. You could feel it beating, steady and strong, a rhythm to anchor yourself to.
“Feel that? Just follow it. You're safe.” You focused on the warmth of his chest under your palm, the rise and fall of his breathing. You matched it, in and out, each breath a little deeper, a little slower.
Your vision cleared completely, now you could make out that you were in a storage room, surrounded by shelves stacked with boxes and old filing cabinets. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light over you both.
Jake was still crouched in front of you, his face very close to yours. He was watching you carefully, with brows furrowed with concern. “You’re back?” he asked softly.
You nodded, then shook your head, frustrated. Tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and unstoppable. “I'm such a mess,” you choked out, your voice cracking.
You brought your hands to your hair, pulling at the strands, as if you could punish yourself for your own weakness.
“Hey, hey, don't,” Jake said, gently prying your hands away from your head. He held them in his, his long fingers warm and steady, unlike your cold and trembling ones. “It's okay. You're okay.”
But you weren't okay. You were shaking again, this time from the release of tension, from the shame of falling apart in front of him. The tears came harder, sobs wracking your body that you couldn't stop.
Without a word, Jake pulled you into his arms. He hugged you, one hand cradling the back of your head as the other rubbed slow circles on your back.
You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent. You melted into him, letting yourself be held, letting the tears soak into his hoodie.
He didn't say anything. He just held you, his heartbeat steady against your cheek, his arms a safe harbor in the storm.
Minutes passed and slowly, the sobs quieted, your breathing evening out.
You pulled back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled tissue, handing it to you with a small, shy smile.
“Thanks.” you whispered, blowing your nose.
He waited until you had composed yourself, then asked, “What do you need?”
You took a shaky breath. “I want to go home. I can't… I can't be here right now.”
He nodded, already standing up. “I'll drive you. I don’t have any more classes.
Your heart squeezed, once again he was saving you. “I left my backpack and laptop on the table… can you get them for me? The backpack is pink and the laptop has a landscape wallpaper.”
“Got it. Stay here, I'll be right back.” He slipped out of the storage room, leaving you alone in the quiet.
A few minutes later, Jake returned, your pink backpack slung over one shoulder and your laptop case in his other hand. “Found them,” he said, a little breathless. “No one took anything.”
“Thank you,” you said, your voice small.
He offered you a hand, and you took it. His grip was firm, as he helped you to your feet. He stayed close, one hand hovering near your elbow, ready to catch you if you stumbled.
His car was parked in the student lot, an old BMW with a few dents and a faded paint job.
It wasn't fancy, but it was clean inside, the seats worn but comfortable. He opened the passenger door for you, waited until you were seated, then closed it gently.
The drive to your apartment was quiet. He turned on the radio, low, some soft indie station filling the space with gentle guitar strums. You leaned your head against the window, watching the streets pass by, the familiar landmarks blurring together.
When he parked outside your building, he grabbed your bags and followed you up the stairs. You unlocked the door, stepped inside, and he set your things down by the entrance.
“You can stay,” you said, your voice hesitant. “If you want.”
He hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Are you sure? I don't want to intrude.”
“You're not intruding. I… I think I need company. And you just drove here.” You shrugged.
He nodded slowly, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
You led him to the living room, a small space with a comfortable sofa and a coffee table cluttered with textbooks and empty mugs you and Sophia were too lay to clean up. You sat down, and he sat beside you, leaving a respectable distance.
You let out a bitter laugh, rubbing your face with your hands. “God, I'm such a mess.”
“You're not a mess,” he said quietly. “You're dealing with a lot.”
“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked after a pause. “Maybe you’ll feel better. I usually do.”
A real smile tugged at your lips. “A shower sounds nice, actually, thank you.”
“Do you need help?” He asked, then cringed, “Sorry, too much?”
“Thank you for the thought,” you called behind your shoulder. “But I can manage.”
You went to your room, grabbed a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, and stepped into the bathroom.
The hot water was a blessing, washing away the tension and the lingering panic. You stood under the stream for a long time, letting it beat against your shoulders, your mind slowly quieting.
When you came out, wrapped in a towel, you changed into the comfortable clothes. you walked back to the living room, and the smell hit you— chicken noodle soup.
Jake was in your kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. He turned when he heard you, his eyes softening. “You look better.”
“I feel better.” You sat on the sofa, and he brought you a bowl, a spoon and a napkin. He had even set out a glass of water.
You took the bowl, the warmth seeping into your cold hands. “Thank you, Jake… really.”
“It's no problem.” After a few spoonfuls, he asked, “Does this happen often?”
You sighed, setting the bowl on your lap. “In periods of high stress, yes. It got better over the summer. But now I'm a senior, and the pressure is… a lot.”
He nodded, not pushing for more. You finished the soup, feeling the warmth spread through your body. You set the bowl aside and stood up, walking to the kitchen cabinet where you kept your pill bottles. You popped two into your mouth and washed them down with water.
When you turned back, Jake was watching you, his expression unreadable. “I'm sorry,” you said, sinking back onto the sofa. “You had to take care of me again.”
He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “I'm glad I was able to help you. Again. I'd do it again if you needed me to.”
Your heart ached at his words. “You're too kind.” He shrugged, looking down at his hands. “Do the pills have side effects?”
You blinked at the question. It was so practical, so Jake. Nobody had really paid attention to that part of you, except for Sophia and Mina. “They make me drowsy and numb sometimes. The doctor said they can lower also my sex drive.”
He let out a small chuckle, the sound surprising you. “Well, it didn't seem that low in the limousine.”
Your cheeks burned. He caught himself, his eyes widening, and he quickly added, “Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up. I promised you not to.”
“It's okay,” you said, your voice soft. “You're right, maybe being treated with care was a turn-on.”
The air in the room shifted. He looked at you, his gaze lingering on your lips, then meeting your eyes. “I could take care of you…” Jake said, his voice low. “If you wanted.”
Your breath caught and he took it as an invitation to move closer and cup your jaw. Tentatively, he kissed your lips.
You answered by deepening it, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.
As realization dawned, you parted, breathless, and said, “We should stop. I'm still with Jacob.”
He pressed his forehead against yours. “Shush,” he whispered, and kissed you again.
You let yourself be pulled under. He laid you down on the sofa, his body covering yours, careful and gentle. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, then he pulled back, his cheeks flushed and his glasses slightly fogged.
“I watched some tutorials,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “On… eating someone out. Do you want that?”
You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. “You watched tutorials?”
“I wanted to be good at it,” he said, his ears reddening. “For you.”
“Yes,” Your heart melted. “I want that.”
He smiled, a shy, sweet smile, and then he moved down your body. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and tugged them down. he kissed your thighs, down to your hips, and then the sensitive skin of your inner legs, each kiss sending shivers through you.
Then he gently pulled your panties aside, lowered his head, and his tongue touched you.
Your back arched, it had been a long while since someone touched you like that. He was hesitant at first, then more confident, finding a rhythm that had you seeing stars.
His tongue traced circles, dipped inside, then moved up to your clit. He sucked gently, his nose pressing against you, and you cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair.
He moaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. You bucked up, grinding against his mouth, and he groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening. “Is this okay?” He questioned.
“Don’t talk,” you breathed out, “Just lick.”
“Yes ma’am.” And he delved in again. His movements were clumsy, as if he was following a certain pattern in his mind. It felt good nonetheless, uour while body on fire.
The pleasure built, coiling low in your belly, and when you came, it crashed over you like a wave, your body convulsing, a broken cry escaping your lips.
He didn't stop until you had ridden it out, then he lifted his head, his lips glossy and his eyes dark.
You noticed the wet patch on his pants, dark and obvious. “Did you cum already?” you asked, your voice hoarse.
He looked down, then back at you as his cheeks painted of a crimson. “Eating you out was really hot.”
You laughed softly, pulling him up to kiss him again. You tasted yourself on his lips and your hand moved to his waistband, but he caught your wrist.
“Today is about you.” he said, his voice firm but gentle. He kissed you again, slow and deep.
He caressed your body, his hands tracing your curves, your breasts, your waist. He kissed you for what felt like hours, worshipping every inch of you. You guided his face to your neck, and when his lips pressed against the sensitive skin, goosebumps erupted across your body.
He kissed, licked, nipped, and you moaned, the sensation reigniting the heat between your legs.
Time lost meaning. You made out on the sofa, tangled together, his hands exploring you as your fingers threaded through his hair.
But the drowsiness from the pills began to seep in and your eyelids grew heavy.
He noticed, so he pulled back with a soft smile on his face. He fixed his glasses, which had gone askew, and gently pulled your sweatpants back up, tucking your panties into place.
Then he scooped you up, carrying you to your bedroom. He probably remembered it from the night of the gala.
He laid you on the bed and pulled the covers over you. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he tucked you in. “Rest well, Y/N.”
He lingered for a moment, his hand brushing against your forehead, pushing a wild strand of hair away.
Then he turned and left, his footsteps fading down the hall. You were alone, but this time you didn't feel lonely.
The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin, a promise that maybe you weren't as broken as you thought.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
“I did it again.” That was how you greeted Sophia the following morning, your voice still rough from sleep, your hair unbrushed and your eyes carrying the heavy weight of a restless night.
She stood at the stove with a spatula in one hand and a slice of bread dipped in egg mixture waiting in the pan.
The smell of cinnamon and butter filled the small kitchen, which was a stark contrast to the mess of thoughts tangled in your head.
She turned to look at you, her eyebrows knitting together in that familiar expression of concern. “Did what again?”
You dropped onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, reaching for a box of cereal she had left out. You poured yourself a bowl, the sound of flakes hitting ceramic too loud in the quiet morning. “Fuck up? I had a panic attack yesterday.”
Her spatula paused mid-air. She turned the stove off and faced you fully, crossing her arms. “What? Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”
You waved a dismissive hand, even as a small, guilty pang hit your chest. “I’m fine now. I’m fine, but I stumbled in the hallway, and guess who found me?”
She tilted her head, waiting, so you didn’t let her wait. “Limousine Guy.”
Sophia’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Yup, yhe guy I deflowered.” You said it with a wry smile, but the memory of Jake’s hands steadying you and his voice soft in your ear, came flooding back. You looked down at your cereal, stirring it absently. “He helped me, drove me home… and well… it wasn’t with penetration this time, at least?”
Sophia let out a long, low whistle. She turned back to the stove, sliding the French toast onto a plate, and brought it to the island, sitting across from you.
She took a bite, chewing slowly, her eyes never leaving your face. “Wow, okay. You really need to break up with Jacob.”
The words hit you like a cold splash of water. You shook your head, even as your stomach twisted. “It’s complicated, Soph. You know that.”
“I know why it’s complicated,” she said, setting her fork down. “Your parents think he’s the golden ticket. He’s wealthy, he’s got connections, he has ‘high chances in life,’ or whatever your mom likes to repeat every time you call her. But when was the last time he looked for you— not because you’re a trophy on his arm, not because he wanted sex, but because he actually wanted you?”
The question landed hard. You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. You thought about Jacob… about the dinners where he talked about his internships and his networking events.
The way he introduced you to his friends as “my girlfriend, Y/N” but never actually looked at you when he said it. The way he kissed you like it was just lust, never love. The way he reached for you only when he wanted something.
“I used to be happy with him,” you said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. “Maybe… after I get better, we’ll all go back to how it was. And maybe me and Limousine Guy can be friends. Just friends.”
Sophia stared at you for a long moment. Then she sighed, stood up, and grabbed her bag from the counter. “Figure it out, Y/N.”
She slung it over her shoulder and walked toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “I really want to meet this Limousine Guy by the way. He sounds like he actually gives a damn.”
She left before you could respond.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
College felt louder than usual that day. You walked with purpose, your shoes squeaked against the polished floors as your eyes scanned every face that passed.
You were looking for Jake and it turned out to be harder than you expected.
You asked a few people, described him, but nobody seemed to know him.
He didn’t have many friends, apparently. He was something of a ghost on campus, someone you passed in the halls without ever really noticing.
The thought made your chest ache.
You ended up in the engineering wing, a group of students huddled around a table covered in blueprints, but your attention landed on a familiar face near the vending machine.
Lee Heeseung.
You’d seen him at parties before, always with a friendly smile and a drink in hand. He was tall, with sharp eyes and an easy way about him.
You approached him, your heart beating a little faster. “Hey, Heeseung, right?”
He turned, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Y/N, yeah. What’s up?”
“I’m looking for someone. Do you happen to know a Jake?” You asked.
Heeseung tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “Jake Sim?”
You paused… well, you didn’t even know his surname. “Uh… I’m not sure. He has glasses, dark hair, a cute smile? Kind of quiet?”
Heeseung’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah, that’s Jake. He’s in my dorm building. What do you need him for?”
You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “We’re… friends, I just need to ask him something.”
Heeseung studied you for a moment, something unreadable passing through his gaze.
Then he nodded slowly. “He’s probably in the mathematics building, since he’s a statistics major. You’ll probably find him in one of the classrooms on the second floor, he’s always there, working on something.”
You thanked him and started to turn, but he called your name.
As you looked back, his expression had hardened, a hint of seriousness in his eyes. “You’re not pulling a prank on him or something, right?
“What? No.” You frowned.
“Just… don’t hurt him, okay?” he said quietly. “Jake has a kind soul”
The words struck you deep, echoing Sophia’s earlier sentiment. You nodded when a lump formed in your throat. “I know.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The mathematics building was quieter than the rest of campus.
The halls were lined with old photographs of scholars and the air carried a faint scent of chalk dust and old paper. You climbed the stairs to the second floor and peered through the small glass window of each door until you found him.
He was in the last classroom, standing at the chalkboard with his back to the door.
A flannel shirt hung loose over his frame and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms dusted with chalk.
His hair was messy, sticking up in places as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was deep in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he scribbled equations in white chalk— a dense forest of numbers and symbols that looked like a foreign language to you.
You pushed the door open gently, he didn’t t notice you at first. You stepped inside and stood behind him.
“What are you doing?” you asked softly.
He jumped, the chalk in his hand skittering across the board and leaving a crooked line. He turned, his eyes wide behind his glasses, and when he saw you, his face flushed a deep pink. “Y/N! I— uh— I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Clearly.” You smiled, leaning against the edge of a desk. “So?”
He cleared his throat, gesturing awkwardly at the board. “I’m trying to solve a problem my professor gave me. But it’s not turning out. The deadline is in two days, and I’ve been at it for hours.”
You looked at the board again. It might as well have been ancient Greek. “I can’t help you with that, I’m sorry. I don’t know the first thing about statistics.”
He let out a nervous laugh. “That’s okay. Most people don’t.”
You hopped onto the desk, your legs dangling lazily. “I’ll just sit here, then, to keep you company.”
He hesitated, then turned back to the board, picking up another piece of chalk. But his movements were slower now, less fluid. You could feel his awareness of you, the way his shoulders tensed every time you shifted.
After a few minutes of silence, you spoke up. “Hey, Jake?” He turned, chalk pausing mid-stroke. “Yeah?”
“Can I have your number?” You tilted your head.
The chalk snapped in half. He stared at the broken pieces in his hand, then at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Uh… why do you want my phone number?”
You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “To text, duh. So we can hang out sometimes. If you want.”
Guilt flashed in your faced, “Well, minus the eating out part. I’m so sorry to remind you that I am in a relationship.”
His blush deepened, spreading down his neck. He set the broken chalk on the tray and fidgeted with the hem of his flannel. “I— right. Yeah, of course. I’m sorry if I took advantage of you.”
“Jake.” You said his name softly, and he stopped. “It wasn’t your fault. My head is all over the place in this period… But I don’t want to ruin whatever is growing between us. I really like it, and you are so kind to me.”
His expression softened, and he stepped closer, his eyes meeting yours with an earnestness that made your heart skip. “I like it too…”
He pulled his phone from his pocket, an older model with a cracked screen and handed it to you.
You typed your number in, saved it under your name and handed it back. He looked at the screen, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“There,” you said. “Now we’re official. Sort of.”
He pocketed the phone, still smiling. You slid off the desk and stretched, your joints popping. “How about you get out of this classroom and rest your very big brain for a while?”
He blinked. “What did you have in mind?”
“Come with me and you’ll find out.” You wiggled your brows.
He debated for a moment, glancing at th chalkboard, at the mess of unsolved equations. Then he grabbed his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “Okay.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
You led him to the college pool, a sprawling building with glass walls and the faint chlorine smell of the pool.
You signed in at the front desk and rented two swimsuits: a pair of trunks for him and a modest one-piece for you.
You changed in separate locker rooms, and when you met by the pool entrance, you had to stop for a second.
He was already in the trunks, and without his glasses, his face looked different, more open. His chest had abs you hadn’t noticed under his hoodies, and a happy trail disappeared from his belly into his swimming shorts. You fought very hard not to stare.
His hair was still messy, but wet now from a quick shower. He clutched the towel awkwardly, his eyes squinting slightly, shifting his weight from one feet to the other.
“You look good,” you said, and his face went red again.
“I— thanks. I can’t see very well without my glasses, so I’m kind of blind right now.” He chuckled awkwardly. “ You look good too. I mean—“ he waved his hands in front of him, “You always do! I’m not just saying that because you are wearing a swimming suit.”
You smiled, finding his rambling cute, “Thanks, Jake.” You took his hand, feeling the callouses from hours spent writing numbers and led him to the pool area.
The water was a clear turquoise, rippling gently under the bright overhead lights. The space was mostly empty at that time of the day , just a few people doing laps in the far lanes.
You stopped at the edge of the shallow end. “I always come here to swim when I need to clear my head. It helps.”
He looked at the water, a nervous expression crossing his face. “I’m not really good at swimming.”
“Then I’ll help you.” He smiled at you, a genuine, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. It was the most beautiful thing you’d seen in a long time.
Awww, he had dimples!
The trust in his eyes was so wholesome. So, you pushed him in.
He let out a yelp as he hit the water, splashing and sputtering, and you laughed— a real, full laugh that echoed off the tiled walls. You jumped in after him, the cool water enveloping you, and surfaced right in front of him.
He was wiping water from his eyes with a shocked look on his face. “You pushed me!”
“I did.” You grinned. “Now swim.”
He tried, paddling awkwardly, his strokes uneven and his legs sinking. You swam beside him, guiding his arms and showing him how to kick properly. “Relax your shoulders, you’re so stiff.”
He followed your instructions, improving little by little. Every now and then he would stop, treading water, and watch you swim laps with a quiet admiration.
You caught him staring once, and he looked away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by the tile pattern.
After a while, you both got tired. You swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted yourself up, sitting on the cool concrete with your feet dangling in the water. He joined you, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, the water streaming down his back and drops falling from his hair down his nose.
The silence between you was comfortable, broken only by the soft lapping of water and the distant echo of someone doing laps.
You turned to him. “Tell me something about yourself.” He looked at you, confused. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I always talk about myself when we’re together. I want to know something about you.”
He was quiet for a moment, his fingers trailing through the water. “Well… I have a dog at my parents’ house. Her name is Layla and she’s my best friend.”
You smiled. “She sounds adorable.”
“She is.” He paused. “I’m an only child. It’s just me and my parents and Layla.” His voice trailed off, and he stared at the water. “I’m sorry, I’m not interesting.”
“That’s not true.” You placed a hand on his thigh, feeling the warmth of his skin through the wet fabric of his trunks. He tensed, his breath catching, but didn’t pull away. “What are your hobbies?”
He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I like photography, I have a really cool camera at home and…”
It seemed hard for him to find something to say, “I like… Marvel. I’ve seen all the movies. I even own some of the gadgets..
You blinked. “Really? I’ve never watched any of them.”
He turned to you, his expression shifting into one of utter, comical offense. “Never? Not a single one?”
You shook your head, “Not one.”
He shook his own head now, a new determination settling in his eyes. “We have to remedy that. Immediately.” He hesitated, then added, his voice softer, more tentative, “If you want… you could come over to my place. I have all the DVDs, I even have popcorn!”
The offer hung in the air, fragile and sincere. You felt a warmth spread through your stomach, knowing how much courage it had taken for him to ask.
You squeezed his thigh gently. “I’d love that.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The drive from the college pool to Jake’s place was short, just a few miles through quiet residential streets.
You were still damp from the quick shower you had taken in the locker room, your hair still clung to your neck. Jake had waited for you outside the women’s locker room, his own hair still wet with a small towel draped over his shoulder.
He lived in a modest apartment complex, the kind with beige walls and identical doors. He unlocked the door and held it open for you, gesturing for you to enter first.
The apartment was small, but immaculate. Everything had its place. The couch was a simple gray fabric and the coffee table bare except for a laptop and a remote.
“Make yourself at home.” he said, his voice a little hesitant. He disappeared into the kitchen, and you heard the rustle of a microwave bag, then the hum of the microwave itself.
You took the opportunity to explore. Your feet carried you across the hardwood floor, past the small dining table with two chairs, past a bookshelf filled with textbooks and a few sci-fi novels.
Then you noticed the photographs.
They lined the walls in mismatched frames, a timeline of his life. The first one you saw was a teenage Jake, all limbs and braces, holding a puppy. The dog was licking his face, and he was laughing with his eyes crinkled shut.
You smiled at that. You assumed the dog was Layla, the one he mentioned before.
Next to it was a framed certificate and a photograph of him holding a trophy. He was standing on a stage with a medal around his neck and he was wearing a crisp white shirt.
It was a math contest, by the look of the banner behind him. His face was serious, focused, but there was a hint of pride in his posture.
Another photograph showed him in a cap and gown, a diploma in his hands. You guessed it was his graduation.
He stood next to a woman who must have been his mother, she had the same soft eyes, the same gentle smile. She was hugging him, her hand on his cheek. His father stood on the other side with n arm around his shoulders.
You moved further down the hall, and then you stopped.
This photograph was different, this one was larger, framed in black wood.
Jake was wearing a white taekwondo uniform and a blue belt held in his hands, with a wide smile.
He looked younger here, maybe early high school, but there was a confidence in his stance that you hadn't seen in the other pictures. His fists were clenched, and his chest puffed out, like he had conquered something.
You heard footsteps behind you, soft and hesitant.
“That was when I got my blue belt,” Jake said, his voice quiet. He stood beside you, with his hands shoved into his pockets. He was looking at the photograph, but his expression was distant, lost in memory.
“That’s amazing,” you said, turning to him. “How long did you do taekwondo?”
He shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “From elementary school until sophomore year of high school. My mom signed me up because…” He paused, licking his lips.
He seemed to wrestle with himself, then he let out a slow breath. “When I was in elementary school, my classmates didn’t really like me. Kids can be mean, you know? They made fun of my glasses and my clothes, of the way I talked. I was an easy target.”
Your heart clenched. You watched his profile as he spoke, the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes stayed fixed on the photograph.
“So my mom signed me up for taekwondo. For self-defense.” A small, wry smile touched his lips. “I never actually used it on anyone. But it made me feel powerful, like I could protect myself if I ever needed to.” He shrugged. “And I made friends there, kids who didn’t care that I was weird.”
He glanced at you, his eyes vulnerable behind his glasses. It was the first time he had opened up to you like this, truly opened up about something painful from his past.
You reached out and rubbed his arm, your fingers gentle against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m sorry they treated you that way, Jake. You didn’t deserve that.”
He looked away, blinking rapidly. “It was a long time ago.”
But you could see the memory still stung. You could see how it haunted his eyes. However, you didn’t push. Instead, you let your hand fall, and you gave him a soft smile.
He seemed to shake off the moment, his expression brightening. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He turned and walked to the couch, where two plushies sat on the armrest.
One was Iron Man, the other was the Hulk. He picked up the Iron Man and held it out to you. “Here. For you.”
You took it, surprised. The plush was soft, well-loved with the stitching on the arc reactor slightly frayed. “Are you sure? This seems special.”
“I have the Hulk,” he said, picking up the green plush and hugging it to his chest. “We can watch the movie with them.”
A warmth spread through you, at his innocence. You followed him to the couch, settling down side by side.
The popcorn was ready, he had made it perfectly, buttered and salted, and he set the bowl between you.
He grabbed the remote and navigated to Netflix, pulling up the first Marvel movie.
The opening credits rolled. You took a handful of popcorn, the buttery taste melting on your tongue. Jake was quiet, his eyes glued to the screen, but you could feel his tension, the way he sat stiffly, his hands clasped in his lap.
“It’s okay if you fall asleep during the movie,” he said suddenly with a soft voice. “I know the pills can make you drowsy. I won’t be mad.”
“I only took my daily dose.” You shook your head “It might be fine, but thank you.”
He nodded, but he still seemed uncertain. You were hyper aware of everything around you: you felt the warmth of the apartment, the softness of the couch and the gentle hum of the television. And when your eyelids grew heavy, you fought it.
You wanted to be close to him. So you shifted, leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder.
The fabric of his hoodie was soft, and you could smell the faint scent of detergent and his caramel-like cologne.
He went rigid. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little high-pitched.
“I’m snuggling?” you said, puzzled. “I snuggle with Sophia all the time when we watch movies.”
He blinked, his glasses reflecting the light from the screen. “Oh, right. Snuggling.” He sounded like the word was foreign to him, like he had never experienced it before.
There was a long pause, then, awkwardly, he shifted his position. He lifted his arm with hesitation, and then draped it over your shoulder. It was stiff, his hand hovering in the air, not quite touching you. He looked like he was trying to solve a complex equation in his head.
You suppressed a smile and settled deeper into his side.
After a moment, his arm relaxed with his hand coming to rest on your arm.
He was warm and his heartbeat steady against your cheek.
The movie continued. Jake began to relax, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on your arm. You let yourself sink into the comfort, the simple pleasure of being held.
As the second movie rolled in, Jake found his voice. “Did you know that the actor who plays Iron Man is also in the Oppenheimer movie?”
You hummed, your eyes closed. “No, I didn’t.”
“And in the first movie, there was a scene where he talks with Jarvis, but it was improvised. They kept the scene anwyas.” You opened your eyes, looking up at him. He was staring at the screen, his face animated, a small smile playing on his lips.
“You really know your stuff.” you said.
“I’ve watched these movies a lot,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing. “They’re comforting. The good guy always wins, you know?”
You nodded, resting your head back on his shoulder. The movie played on, and he continued to share little facts, about the bloopers, the references to the comic and the behind-the-scenes stories.
His voice was soft, almost like a whisper, but it filled the room, wrapping around you like a blanket.
By the time the credits rolled on the second film, the apartment was dark except for the glow of the TV.
You stretched, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was past ten pm. Your stomach dropped.
A full day lost. You hadn’t studied, hadn’t prepared for the tests that awaited you next week.
The panic was a slow burn, kindling in your chest, threatening to catch fire.
You took a breath, in and out. You could feel the anxiety trying to take hold, the familiar spiral beginning.
Jake noticed, he always seemed to do that. He shifted, turning to face you, his eyes searching yours. “Do you want to go home?”
You hesitated, then nodded. “I should, it’s late.”
He didn’t argue. He just stood up, offered you a hand, and helped you to your feet.
You gathered your things while he turned off the TV and grabbed his keys.
“I can drive you.” he said, but you shook your head.
“They’ve thankfully invited Ubers. My dorm is not to far.” You smiled, “I’ll be fine.”
He looked like he wanted to insist, but he held back. “Okay, If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” You paused at the door, turning to him. “Thank you, Jake, for tonight. I really had fun.”
His eyes widened, a soft, shy smile spreading across his face. “Me too, I’m glad you came.”
You stepped forward, rose on your tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm, just a little stubbly.
He went completely still, his breath hitching. “Goodnight, Jake.”
You opened the door and stepped out, the cool night air hitting your face.
“Wait!” Jake exclaimed.
He ran outside his door, barefoot and gripping the small Iron Man plushie in his hands. He reached you with a flushed face and that crooked smile, “Here, take this.”
You frowned, “What? Jake, no, it’s yours.”
He shook his head, handing the small gift to you, “Consider it a token of gratitude, for bearing with my constant talking during the movie.”
You smiled, taking it and caressing its furred head, “Alright, I will take good care of it. Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
The Uber dropped you off in front of your dorm building. You unlocked the door to your dorm, stepping inside. Sophia’s door was closed, so you guessed she was already asleep.
You changed into your pajamas, brushed your teeth, and climbed into bed.
But sleep wouldn’t come. Your mind was restless, turning over the events of the evening.
Your phone was on the nightstand, you had placed it there without even checking on it since you went to the pool with Jake. You reached for it, and your heart froze.
Nineteen missed calls from Jacob and dozen of texts from your friends, all the notifications flooding your screen.
You sat up, your stomach twisting.
You had forgotten.
Oh, God. You had completely forgotten. Today was Juyeon’s birthday party. The one Jacob had been talking about for weeks, and also the one you had promised to attend.
You quickly called him back. It rang three times before he answered. “Where the hell have you been?” His voice was sharp and angry.
You could hear music in the background, the noise of a party. “Jacob, I’m so sorry. I completely lost track of time, it totally flew over my head.”
“Everything flies over your head nowadays, Y/N.” His words were like a slap. “I told you this was important. Juyeon asked about you— everyone asked about you! I had to make excuses.”
You swallowed, the guilt pressing down on your chest. “I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well… Juyeon will understand, I’ll give him the gift at college.”
“Stop playing the victim,” he said, his voice cold. “It’s always about you and your feelings. What about me? What about what I need?”
Your throat tightened. “Jacob, I—”
The line went dead. You stared at the screen, the call ended notification blinking back at you. Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and unstoppable. You curled into yourself, hugging your knees, and let the tears fall.
You cried until your head ached, until your pillow was wet. And then, exhausted, you fell into a restless sleep.
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
The days blurred into a routine of classes, study sessions, and anxiety attacks that came and went as a week passed. But through it all, Jake was there.
You grew closer. He became a constant presence in your life. You had coffee together between classes, sitting in the campus café, with him nursing a black coffee while you sipped a caramel latte.
He would listen to you complain about professors, about the weight of assignments, and he never judged you, never made you feel like a burden.
When you felt the first signs of anxiety creeping in, the racing heart, the shallow breath and the tunnel vision, he would notice before you could even articulate it.
He would make funny faces, crossing his eyes and puffing out his cheeks, until a reluctant laugh escaped you. Or he would take your hand, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your palm, grounding you, bringing you back.
You felt lighter around him. Freer. And Sophia, ever the bestest friend, noticed. She had been bugging you for weeks, cornering you in your dorm room, her arms crossed.
“You’ve been hanging out with Limousine Guy a lot,” she said, her eyebrows raised. “And since then, you’ve looked better. Even though Jacob has been sulking like a child.”
“His name is Jake,” you said for the first time, your cheeks warming. “And we’re just friends.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe you. “Just friends who can’t stop smiling when they talk about each other. And who had sex.”
“Sophia, please. When you meet him, don’t mention that you know about the limousine.” You held out your pinky finger “Promise me.”.
She rolled her eyes, but she relented. “Fine, but only because I love you.”
The day of the hangout arrived. You had arranged to meet at the college bowling alley, a small, slightly run-down place with a few lanes and a snack bar.
Sophia and you waited near the entrance. She was tapping her foot while scanning the parking lot. “So, where is this mysterious nerd of yours?”
“He’s not mysterious. He’s just… himself?" Then you saw him. He was walking across the parking lot, and he looked like he had changed his outfit multiple times.
He was wearing a button-up shirt that was slightly too tight, paired with jeans that were slightly too baggy.
His hair was a mess, like he had been running his hands through it, and his glasses were slightly crooked.
Sophia’s eyes widened. She leaned into you, whispering, “Oh my God… hreally is a nerd.”
“Sophia, be nice.” You nagged and she raised her arms in mock defence. “I am nice..”
Jake reached you. “Hi, Y/N… uhm, hi, Sophia.” He gave a small, awkward wave.
“Hey, Jake,” you said, smiling. “Ready to get destroyed at bowling?”
He let out a nervous laugh. “I’ll try my best.”
You rented the shoes, picked out a ball, and found an empty lane.
Sophia went first, scoring a respectable seven pins.
Then it was your turn. You picked up the ball, lifted it, and threw it down the lane. It veered sharply to the left and landed in the gutter.
You groaned. “I’m terrible at this.”
Jake stepped up beside you. “Here, let me show you.” He hesitated, then gently placed his hands on your shoulders, adjusting your stance. “Spread your feet a little wider, bend your knees… yes, like that. And when you swing, keep your arm straight.”
He guided your arm, his hand over yours, showing you the proper form. His touch was light, careful, and you could feel the warmth of his body behind you.
“Okay, now try.” he said, stepping back.
You took a breath, swung, and released. The ball rolled down the lane, wobbling slightly, and knocked down four pins.
Not great, but better.
“There you go,” he said, a smile in his voice.
Sophia watched the exchange with a knowing smirk.
Then it was Jake’s turn. He picked up his ball, took a deep breath, and started his approach.
But his foot caught on something and he slipped. His legs flew out from under him, and he landed flat on his back with a loud thud. The ball rolled harmlessly into the gutter.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Sophia burst out laughing, a loud, unladylike cackle. You followed, giggling with your hand over your mouth.
Jake lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. After a second, he started laughing too, a genuine, warm sound. He didn’t seem embarrassed, just amused at himself.
“I meant to do that.” he said, still laughing.
Sophia and you helped him up, and the rest of the game was filled with laughter, bad scores, and a few more spills.
After bowling, you walked back to your dorm room. Sophia and you went to the small kitchenette, and Jake offered to help cook.
He was surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with precision and seasoning the chicken perfectly.
Sophia and you mostly watched, handing him utensils and stealing bites of the ingredients.
Dinner was served on the small coffee table. Sophia, ever the interrogator, started asking questions. “So, Jake, tell me about your family. Any siblings?”
He swallowed a bite of food. “No, I’m an only child. It’s just me and my parents.”
“And your dating history? Any crazy ex-girlfriends we should know about?” She wiggled her browse.
You kicked Sophia under the table, but obviously, she ignored you.
Jake’s ears turned red. “Uh, no. I’ve never really… dated before. I’m not good with people.”
Sophia’s expression softened. “But you’re good with Y/N.”
He glanced at you, then looked down at his plate. “She makes it easy.”
The conversation continued, and Jake answered every question, even the uncomfortable ones.
He talked about his childhood and his love for science fiction. He was open, vulnerable, and completely genuine.
When he left, Sophia stood beside you at the door, watching his car pull away.
“He’s the one,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I believe he’s the one for you, babes. He has my approval.”
──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────
Jacob’s texts came in like a relentless tide, each notification a small, sharp sting against the quiet peace you had built.
Cobie: Baby let’s make peace
Cobie: Come over, i’ll make u feel better
Cobie: Y/N? Don’t be like that
You glanced at your phone, saw his name flash across the screen, and turned it face down on Jake’s coffee table.
Instead, you focused on the soft scratch of Jake’s pencil against paper and the way the afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds and painted golden stripes across the hardwood floor.
This was where you wanted to be.
There, in his neat little apartment, with his textbooks stacked in perfect alignment and his calculator placed precisely beside his notebook.
You were sprawled across his dining table, your own chaos spread around you like a hurricane: loose papers, highlighters, a half-empty water bottle and a crumpled granola bar wrapper.
Jake didn’t complain. He simply worked around your mess, occasionally sliding a stray pen back into your reach or pushing a glass of water closer to your elbow.
It was nice studying together a.
He was quiet and focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked through some calculus problem.
You had your own assignment, but being there made it bearable. The anxiety that usually coiled in your chest, waiting to strike, was absent.
Your mind was at peace. For the first time in what felt like months, the noise in your head had quieted.
You smiled to yourself. It really seemed as if fate had reserved something nice for you, after all the chaos and heartbreak.
Your meeting with him had been so sudden but you were glad he had stuck with you, even though you were a mess.
He had seen you at your worst, crumbling under the weight of panic attacks, crying in his car and confessing your sins.
And he had stayed.
But then, as if sensing the calmness of the day, a sudden warmth bloomed between your legs, a familiar sensation that made you freeze.
You shifted in your seat, feeling a dull ache in your lower abdomen.
Oh, no.
You knew that feeling all too well. It was your body’s way of announcing the inevitable.
You excused yourself, your voice coming out a little strained. “I’ll be right back, uhm— can I use the bathroom.”
“Of course” Jake looked up, his eyes scanning your face with that quiet concern he always wore. “Are you okay?”
“Just… I need a minute.” You hurried to the bathroom, closed the door, and checked.
Yup, it was uour period.
Great timing, as always.
You sighed, pressed your forehead against the cool mirror, and tried to think.
You had left your backpack on the dining table, and you were certain you had a pad in there… somewhere.
But you didn’t want to walk out and dig through it in front of Jake.
You cracked the door open, just a sliver, and called out. “Jake? Could you check my backpack? There should be a pad in the front pocket. If you don’t mind.”
You heard his chair scrape against the floor, there was a long pause before his footsteps approached the door.
“Uh,” he said, his voice awkward, hesitant. “You can check in the left cabinet under the sink.”
Confused, you opened the cabinet he mentioned. And there, neatly arranged on the shelf, were pads. Multiple packs of them, of different brands and different sizes. A whole arsenal of menstrual products, lined up like soldiers.
You stared at them for a long moment, your mind struggling to process. You picked one, opened it, and took care of the situation.
When you came out, Jake was standing near the table, his hands shoved into his pockets and his ears bright red.
“Jake,” you said, your voice soft. “What are you doing with all those pads?”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. “I, um… I bought them… for you.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “You mentioned once that your cycle was irregular, and that sometimes you got caught off guard. I thought… maybe if you ever needed one, you’d have it here. I didn’t know which kind you used, so I got a few different ones. I’m sorry if they’re not the right ones.”
Your heart swelled to the point of pain. He had bought you pads on the off chance you might need them.
He had thought about you, about your comfort, about something so mundane and yet so deeply personal.
“And they are so expensive!” he added, his voice pitching higher. “I didn’t realize they cost that much. I’m sorry, I should have—”
You crossed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him.
He went rigid, then slowly and hesitantly, his arms came up to hug you back.
“You’re perfect,” you murmured against his shoulder. “You’re so kind. The girl who ends up dating you will be so lucky.”
You felt him tense. For a moment, he didn’t move, and then he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours.
There was a vulnerability there, a rawness that made your breath catch. “Why can’t it be you, that girl?”
The question hung in the air between you, heavy and honest. “What?”
He had never been this straightforward before. Usually, he danced around his feelings, hiding behind awkward jokes and shy smiles. But now, he was looking at you with a clear, unwavering gaze.
You stepped back, your arms falling to your sides. “Jake… I’m with Jacob, I’m happy.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re not happy, Y/N. Everyone can tell, Jacob treats you like garbage.”
The words stung, not because they were untrue, but because they pierced through the carefully constructed walls you had built.
You shook your head, defensive. “We’re just going through a rough patch, that’s all. That’s why things have been tense.”
“A rough patch?” His voice rose, incredulous. “He ignores you when you have panic attacks and he calls you a victim when you struggle.”
“He just doesn’t know how to handle the situation.” You shrugged “We will be fine. I’m the one who treated him like garbage, Jake. we slept together while i was still with him.”
Jake scoffed, a strange and scary shadow crossing over his features, “So he can cheat but you can’t?”
Your blood ran cold. “What?”
Jake’s face paled as he realized he had said too much.
He started pacing, his hands running through his hair and his breathing rapid. “I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t have said anything, it wasn’t my place.”
“Told me what?” You grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. “Jake, what are you talking about?”
He looked at you with eyes full of regret.
Then he sighed, a long, defeated sound, and walked to a shelf.
He picked up a camera woth a large lens, and brought it to the table. He sat down, and you followed, your legs feeling weak.
He scrolled through the camera’s gallery with fingers trembling slightly. “Remember when I said I was paired with a girl for a project? Minjee?”
You nodded slowly. You remembered him mentioning the name, but you hadn’t thought much of it.
“She brought her boyfriend to the meeting,” he continued, his voice low. “I didn’t mind, because I am used to working alone… but they made out the whole time. It was uncomfortable.”
He paused, his throat working. “Then, at the beginning of the school year, the football association asked me to take pictures at their celebration party. Jacob is the captain of the team across town, I didn’t know that until that night.” He explained, “I was just there to take photos, I didn’t talk to anyone.”
He turned the camera toward you, and you saw the image on the screen…. and your heart stopped.
It was a photograph taken at a party, there sitting on a couch, was Jacob. And on his lap, draped over him like she belonged there, was who you thought was Minjee.
She was laughing, with her hand on his chest, her legs crossed over his thighs. He was smiling down at her, his own arm around her waist and his fingers curled possessively over her hip.
You remembered that night, because you had refused to come all the times he insisted.
It was the night you had been stuck in your bed, caught in the throes of a panic attack that had left you breathless and shaking.
You stared at the photograph, your vision blurring. The room spun around you, and you felt the familiar claw of nausea rising in your throat.
“I didn’t know it was him until I saw you two arguing at the gala,” Jake said, his voice barely a whisper. “I connected the dots, I realized who he was. And I knew… I knew you didn’t deserve that. You never deserved a jerk like him, Y/N. You are so much better than he ever gave you credit for.”
You set the camera down, your hands shaking. “I need…” you said, your voice hollow. You gathered your things, shoving papers into your bag with jerky movements. “I need to go.”
“Y/N, please—” Jake’s voice cracked. He reached for you, but you stepped back. “Don’t. I need… I need to think.”
You grabbed your bag and walked toward the door. His voice stopped you, broken and desperate. “Please don’t hate me.”
You turned and saw him standing there with red-dimmed eyes. He looked shattered, like he was afraid he had lost you.
“We’ll talk later,” you promised, and you left.
You walked across the streets, your feet carrying you on autopilot.
The world was a blur of colors and sounds, but none of it registered. All you could see was that photograph.
You sat on a bench near the park, pulled out your phone, and saw Jacob’s texts still flooding your screen.
You: come to the campus park if you want to talk.
He arrived within fifteen minutes, walking toward you with a cautious expression.
He was wearing his usual confident swagger, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Y/N,” he said, sitting down beside you. “I’m glad you agreed to see me. I think we should talk.”
You smiled at him, a sweet, almost pitying smile. And then you said the words that had been forming in your chest for weeks. “We should break up.”
He blinked, taken aback. “What the hell?”
“I did something very horrible,” you said, your voice steady. “When we fought, I was with someone else, I cheated on you.”
His eyes widened, his face flushing with anger. But you continued before he could speak.
“But I found out you cheated on me too, with Minjee. At that party you said you couldn’t miss. While I was at home, having a panic attack, alone.”
His mouth opened, then closed. His hands clenched into fists.
“I’m not excusing what I did,” you said. “I’m telling you that we both betrayed each other. And that shows just how toxic we are. We aren’t happy, Jacob, we are holding each other back.”
He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the pavement. “You’re one to talk. I cheated because you were always stuck in your room, always making everything about yourself! You never gave me what I needed, it was inevitable.”
“And yet you stayed,” you said quietly. “Why didn’t you just leave?”
He glared at you, his eyes cold. “Because you’re mentally ill, you know that?” He scoffed. “You need help, you’re a fucking mess. And you cheated on me, you fucking slut.”
The words hit like a slap, but you didn’t flinch. You had expected worse. “We’re done, Jacob. I’m breaking up with you.”
“No,” he snapped. “I’m the one breaking up with you. Don’t you forget that.”
And with that, he turned and stormed away, his footsteps heavy and angry.
You watched him go, and for a moment, you felt nothing. Just a vast, empty numbness.
Then, slowly, a small wave of relief washed over you.
It was over.
You weren’t sure how you got home, just that one moment you were standing in the park and the next you were in front of your door.
The door clicked shut behind you, and you heard Sophia’s voice from the kitchen. “Hey! I was thinking we could order takeout tonight. Maybe some Chinese? Or pizza? I’m craving—”
She stopped mid-sentence as she turned and saw you. Her eyes widened, her face shifting from cheerful to concerned in an instant. “Y/N? What happened?”
And you broke. The dam inside you burst, and you crumbled, sobs tearing through your chest. Sophia rushed to you, wrapping her arms around you, holding you tight as you cried into her shoulder.
“I broke up with him,” you choked out. “I did it.”
“Oh, honey…” She stroked your hair, her voice soft and soothing. “You did the right thing… You did the right thing.”
She held you for a long time, letting you cry until your throat was raw and your body was limp. Then she guided you to your bedroom, helped you into your pajamas, and tucked you into bed.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” she whispered.
You curled up, reaching for the Iron Man plushie Jake had given you. You pressed it to your chest, burying your face in its soft fabric.
You fell asleep to the scent of him.
A hand on your shoulder gently shook you awake. The room was dim as the light from the hallway spilled in through the crack in the door.
Sophia was leaning over you with a soft face, “There’s someone at the door for you.”
You blinked, groggy and disoriented. “Who?”
“Go see for yourself.” She urged.
You stumbled out of bed with messy hair, your face probably smudged with old mascara. You looked terrible, but you didn’t care.
You shuffled to the front door, opened it, and found Jake standing there.
He looked awful. His eyes were dull and red-rimmed, as if he had been crying. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was a disaster. He looked like he hadn’t slept and as if he had aged years in a single night.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He ran a hand in his already messy hair. “I don’t want to ruin what is happening between us, because I really like it. I really, really like it.”
His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “Even if you don’t like me the way I like you. Even if you only had sex with me because Jacob wouldn’t take care of you, I don’t care. I cherished every moment. Every second with you was special to me.”
He gulped, anxious, “And if you only want to be friends, I can accept that. I just… I can’t lose you. I’ve never had a real friend before, Y/N. You’re the first person who made me feel like I am not invisible… Please don’t cut me off.”
He stood there, with trembling eyes. He looked so broken, so vulnerable, and your heart ached for him.
You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.
He let out a shuddering breath and buried his face in your hair, his hands clutching your back like you were the only thing keeping him upright.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” he said, his voice muffled. “I hurt myself by hoping.”
You pulled back, cupping his face in your hands. “Jake, I don’t want to lose what we have either. But I’m not ready for a relationship again… at least not yet.
You gave him a small smile, “I need to fix myself before I can give you my whole heart.”
He shook his head, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “You don’t need fixing, Y/N. You’re not broken. You’re just… a little lost, and that’s okay. I will wait however long you need, I promise. Just… please don’t cut me off. Please.”
“I promise I won’t.” you said, your voice soft.
You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek and he closed his eyes like he was savoring the moment. “Go home, Jake. We’ll talk better tomorrow.”
He opened his eyes, and for the first time that night, a small, fragile smile touched his lips. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
