kaede

ensfw. 20.

[heesroses]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ʜᴏᴛ? — ꜱ.ᴊʏ

─── ​in which a mandatory company dinner becomes a lot more interesting when the guest of honor turns out to be jake sim, the nobody you went to high school with who somehow spent the last ten years becoming the hottest man you've ever seen.

jake sim x fem!reader ; wc: 7.1k. MDNI. oneshot. smut with plot. fingering. oral (m & f receiving). multiple orgasms. riding. creampie. overstimulation. begging. cum eating. hair pulling. dirty talk. pet names. soft dom/sub. unprotected sex (don't). jake yearns for reader.

inspired by "when did you get hot?" by sabrina carpenter.

my masterlist.

⋆˙⟡ a/n :: i just spent the last 4 hours in a flow state writing this, and i think i got a little carried away lol. this is probably my favorite thing i've ever written. please enjoy ;)

“You’ll never guess who’s going to be speaking at the company dinner tonight!”

You glanced up from your computer screen to your best friend and secretary, Eunkyung, who had just burst into your office. You were working on finishing a report that you needed to have done before you left work for the day, and you took a deep breath to remind yourself that it was not the end of the world to be interrupted.

“Who?” you asked, trying to make yourself sound intrigued. The large corporation you worked for had a few company-wide dinners a year, and they always hosted them in the most elaborate venues in Seoul. You knew from a memo that had been sent out that morning that tonight’s venue was a ballroom inside a five-star hotel. You always expected the worst part of each company dinner to be having to talk to people you couldn’t care less about, but somehow, the worst part was always the speaker they brought in.

“It’s someone we went to high school with.”

This piqued your interest, and you focused your full attention on Eunkyung. “What? Who?”

“Sim Jaeyun.”

You let out an amused scoff at that. “You mean Jake? I haven’t thought about him in ten years.”

“I know,” Eunkyung gushed, stepping forward and sitting in one of the two chairs in front of your desk. “I overheard some interns talking about it in the copy room, and they sounded very excited about it.

“Excited about Jake?” you laughed under your breath, raising your eyebrows before returning your eyes to your computer. “Wasn’t he a huge dork? And I don’t remember him being particularly cute, either.”

“I think he was on the soccer team,” Eunkyung said, placing a finger on her chin as she tried to remember as much about him as she could. “He was definitely smart, but that’s really all I remember. He was never one of the boys that caught my eye.”

“That’s surprising considering that every single boy caught your eye,” you mused, your eyes flicking to your friend’s face.

“Yah! They did not!” Eunkyung exclaimed, standing back up and glaring at you before making her way to the door. “Whatever, y/n. I’ll see you tonight. Wear your black dress–I’m sure Jake will love it.”

“Why the hell would I try to impress Jake Sim?”

“I don’t know, those interns sounded very excited about being able to see Jake tonight.”

“Yeah, well, they’re young. As long as a man has a pulse, they’ll fawn over him.”

Eunkyung cast you an amused look before stepping out of your office. “Whatever you say. Bye.”

You watched her go before returning your eyes to your report. Even if the thought of seeing Jake Sim after ten years intrigued you, you were sure that he was still the same dorky kid he had been in high school. You smirked before beginning to type once more.

–

When you stepped into the ballroom that evening, you paused in the archway to take it in. Vaulted ceilings gave way to tiered crystalline chandeliers, bathing the space in a warm, intimate glow. Spread throughout the room were circular tables, all black and decorated with ornate floral centerpieces that you knew must have cost a fortune. Against the back wall, a stage rose elegantly above the ground, and the space where Jake would speak was framed by even more florals. You wondered if these extravagant decorations would outshine the man who was supposed to be the center of the evening.

“Y/n? Are you coming or not?” Eunkyung whispered in your ear. You turned your head to the right, laying eyes on her. She was dressed in a fabulous gown of deep emerald green, and you gave her a small smile before nodding.

“Sorry, just got distracted,” you told her, allowing her to grasp your wrist in her gloved hand. She tugged you toward the seating chart, and you were pleased to find that you had been placed at the same table as your best friend. However, as you scanned the long list of names, a frown found its way onto your face as you realized who else would be sitting at your table.

Just below Eunkyung’s name, in large gold letters, read: Sim Jaeyun, guest of honor.

It appeared that Eunkyung had noticed the same thing, because she looked at you with wide eyes. “Do you think they did that on purpose?”

“How would they know that we all went to high school together? I doubt we’re paying our event planner enough to discover those sorts of connections.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said, and you both made your way to your table. You weaved through a variety of people, both familiar and unfamiliar, and you gave them all your famous smile and a small bow as you passed. Part of the reason you had been so quickly promoted was due to your ruthless work ethic, but you also knew exactly how to charm whoever necessary to get exactly what you wanted.

Once you and Eunkyung had sat at your table, she glanced around and then smiled. “Do you think he’s here yet?” she whispered.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of the champagne that had just been poured for you by one of the many servers. “Why should I care? I have more important things in my life to think about than Jake Sim.”

“You don’t think it’s exciting?” she asked, continuing to look around at the people milling about the ballroom. “Finally seeing someone you haven’t thought about in ten years at a company dinner? And the difference now is that you’re a sexy, grown-ass woman who was recently made an executive at her company?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Eunkyung, what are you getting at?”

“I don’t know,” she giggled, giving you a slight nudge. “You always talk about how you need to get back out there, and this feels like the perfect opportunity.”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. However, a small hint of a smile found its way onto your face. “Even if I did want to meet someone, why the hell would I want it to be some guy that I went to high school with?”

Just as you finished speaking, you noticed that Eunkyung’s gaze was now focused on something just behind you, and her eyes widened. Before you even had the chance to speak, you heard a smooth voice come from behind you. One that had just a hint of an Australian accent that you could’ve sworn sounded familiar.

“Is this seat taken?”

You turned toward the voice, lifting your gaze. Once you laid eyes on him, your breath caught in your throat.

The man staring at you now was perhaps the most handsome person you had ever seen. Plump lips, black hair styled just enough to look effortless, a chiseled jawline, a black suit perfectly tailored to highlight the broad shoulders and muscular frame of his body… and the thing that enticed you the most: his confidence in the way he held himself.

You couldn’t look away. 

“No,” you said breathlessly. “It’s all yours.”

He gave you a pert smile before raising a hand to pull out the chair, and your lips parted slightly at the defined veins you found there. As you watched him sit down, his movements more graceful than you knew possible, you noticed that there was something slightly familiar about him. You frowned as you watched him, and you shook your head slightly. There was no way you would forget someone like him.

Who the hell was this man, and how had you never met him before? You wished you had spent more time looking at the names of those you would be sitting with instead of worrying about Jake Sim.

“Is this glass mine?” he asked as he gestured toward a champagne flute, and you realized with embarrassment that you had been staring at him. You cursed internally, begging yourself to pull it together. Nobody made you react like this. Ever.

“Yes,” you told him, your voice cool. “I believe they poured it just before you came over here.”

“I see.” He grasped the delicate glass in his slender fingers, and you forced yourself to look away, lest you look like a fool again. “I don’t usually care for champagne, but when in Rome.”

“I don’t either,” you responded, your own perfectly manicured fingers still wrapped loosely around the stem of your own glass. “But I feel like I’ll get judged if I don’t drink it. You never know who's watching.”

He eyed you curiously as he lifted the flute to his lips and took a sip. You watched the column of his neck as he swallowed, and your gaze lingered on him for a moment too long. Once he set the glass back down, he tilted his head slightly and looked you up and down. “Have we met before?”

“Not that I know of,” you responded with a shrug. You hoped that you still appeared detached—uninterested. “But it’s a pleasure to finally meet you—ah, I never asked your name.”

He looked as if he were about to speak, but at that moment, an older man approached him and murmured something in his ear. He nodded and stood before looking down at you. “I apologize, I’ll have to get your name later. There’s something I need to do first.”

You nodded, and you watched him adjust the cuffs of his suit before he disappeared into the crowd. Once he was gone, you glanced at Eunkyung, who looked as if she were about to burst with excitement. You gently kicked her under the table, shaking your head almost imperceptibly.

“He is totally into you!” she hissed, clapping her hands together quietly. “The way he looked at you… Jesus Christ, if someone looked at me that way, I’d be pulling them into the closet.”

“Eunkyung, this is why I can’t take you anywhere,” you said, but you knew you were smiling. She grasped your shoulder in her cool hand and shook you slightly, and you let out a small huff of a laugh.

“When he gets back over here, I expect you to lay your claim on him immediately,” she said, glancing at the people who were beginning to take a seat at your table. “You and I both saw how fucking hot he is. You don’t want anyone else getting to him before you.”

“I know, I know.”

You noticed that the talking that had filled the room just a moment ago had quieted into a soft murmur, and you craned your neck to see if Jake had made his way to the stage yet.

“Do you see him?” Eunkyung whispered to you as the lights in the ballroom dimmed.

You could tell that a figure was now standing on-stage, but the spotlight had not yet turned on. A few curious voices filled the air, wondering why the speaker had been left shrouded in darkness—and mystery.

Then, the spotlight slowly turned on, illuminating the man who now stood on the stage.

“Good evening, everyone,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile at the crowd. “My name is Sim Jaeyun, and I am honored to be here with you all.”

Sim Jaeyun. Your eyes widened as the realization hit you.

“When I was invited by the Young Group to speak here tonight, I was flattered. To be featured as the guest of honor at an event hosted by a prestigious company such as the Young Group is a wonderful gift. If I'm being honest, I spent too many hours figuring out exactly what I wanted to say to a group of lovely people such as all of you.”

Scattered laughter sounded throughout the room, but you didn’t even notice–you were still frozen.

“As I rewrote this speech more times than I care to admit, I realized that, ten years ago, I did not think that someone like me would ever be the one to speak at an event like this. I was never the person that anyone expected to be here. I was never the loudest in the room growing up, and I actually struggled to feel as if I belonged in any room at all. However, I learned quickly in my career that you don’t need to be the loudest in any room–you just need to be the most consistent.

“And that is what I would like to speak about tonight: consistency. As I’m sure you’re all aware, our life in business is never linear. There will always be setbacks, unexpected challenges, and hurdles that you must be able to combat. Now, you may ask, how do we respond to these complications?”

Jake smiled, and you could have sworn that his eyes landed on yours for just a moment. “With a company as successful as the Young Group, I’m sure you have all figured out the answer to this question, but I would like to share my thoughts with you regardless. If you were to ask me, I would say that the key to success is being consistent and tenacious in the way that you face each challenge. In my six years in the industry since I graduated top of my class from Seoul National University, it has been my consistency and discipline that has gotten me into rooms such as this one.”

He paused for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips, and you could almost feel the draw of the audience as they waited for his next words.

“In business, failure is inevitable. If you’re not failing, you’re frankly not trying hard enough. Everything we do is a calculated risk, and there will always be errors. What truly matters at the end of the day is what you do with those errors. Will you allow them to define you? Will you allow them to make you give up? Or will you use them as a stepping stone to eventual success?

“Now, I won’t speak for much longer, as I’m certain I just heard someone’s stomach growl–” more laughter echoed through the room. “But I want to challenge you to reflect on something tonight: what do you do when you face setbacks? Do you give up, or do you allow it to hone you into the best version of yourself you can be? Thank you, and enjoy your evening.”

Thunderous applause immediately broke out throughout the ballroom as he exited the stage, but it was as if you couldn’t hear it. Your eyes were still glued to the spot where Jake had just been standing, and you couldn’t formulate a single thought. Your mind flashed back to the Jake Sim you had last seen ten years ago, and you couldn't fathom that he had turned into the man who had just spoken on stage. Evidently, a lot could change in ten years.

“Your speech was incredibly well done,” you heard a voice say. You shook your head slightly in an attempt to return to reality, and you noticed that Jake had effortlessly slid into the seat beside you once again. As those at the table around you congratulated him on a job well done, servers began to place steaming entrees on each table. There was so much going on around you that you couldn’t focus—a rare loss in composure that you weren’t used to. You noticed that Eunkyung had excused herself to use the restroom, which forced you to focus on something besides the swirling thoughts inside your head.

After a moment, Jake turned to you and gave you a small smile. “Well, you now know my name. Do I get the pleasure of knowing yours in return?”

You took a breath and collected yourself before sitting up straight and raising the corner of your mouth. “My name is Kim Y/n.”

You watched as he tried to place the familiar name, and once he did, his lips parted into a warm smile. “Y/n? We went to high school together, didn’t we?”

“I believe we did,” you responded, tracing your finger along the rim of your champagne glass. “If I’m being honest, I didn’t recognize you until you were up on stage.”

Jake’s gaze tracked the movement of your finger, and you saw a slight twitch in his neck. “I didn’t recognize you, either. I suppose we’ve both changed a lot, haven’t we?”

“I guess we have.”

You simply stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking, before Jake glanced away and grabbed his fork. “So, y/n, how have you been? What do you do for Young Group?”

“I was actually just promoted to be the Director of Corporate Strategy last month," you said, taking your own fork in your hand. “It’s been an interesting shift, but I truly love what I do. Where are you working now?”

“I recently became the Managing Director of Lee Group’s Asia-Pacific operations.” He carefully pierced a piece of tender steak with his fork before lifting it to his mouth. “I spend a lot of time abroad due to my position, but I love being able to travel across the region freely. It’s been a great way to combine work as well as pleasure.”

As the word pleasure left his lips, you felt a warmth spread through your chest. You watched as he ate the piece of steak, his jaw flexing each time he chewed, and you found that you couldn’t look away.

“I’ve always wanted to travel for work,” you said, looking down at the salad in front of you. “I’ve been given the opportunity to visit the States a couple times, but that’s it. I think it would be enthralling to be able to travel as much as you do.”

“It definitely broadens your horizons, which is especially helpful after a sheltered childhood,” he said. “Growing up both here and Australia was fun, but there’s so much more to the world. I pity anyone who hasn’t gotten to experience it.”

“Do you pity me, then?” you asked, cocking your head to the side. “Compared to you, I’ve seen so little.”

“I don’t know, y/n—would you like to be pitied?” he asked, his words tantalizing to you in a way that was unfamiliar. “Because you don’t strike me as the type of woman who does.”

“If being pitied gets me what I want, then I don’t mind at all.”

“And you strike me as someone who always gets what she wants.”

At that moment, Eunkyung returned from the restroom—interrupting the increasing tension of your conversation with Jake.

“Jaeyun, I don’t know if you remember me, but I also went to high school with you,” she said, smiling warmly at him. “My name is Park Eunkyung.”

“Eunkyung? No way!” he laughed, his perfect teeth showing yet again. “We had biology and chemistry together, didn’t we?”

“I think so,” she responded. “Have you two been catching up while I was gone?”

Jake eyed you, and your heart throbbed at the way his gaze lingered on you. “Something like that.”

As the three of you finished your dinner, you all continued reminiscing on your awkward high school years. Everything Jake said seemed effortless, dripping in charisma and humor that drew you to him more with every word he spoke. After dinner concluded, the plates were cleared away, more champagne was poured, and the mingling that you usually avoided began.

“Would you like to make the rounds with me?” Jake asked you, standing and offering you a hand. “I have a list of people I need to greet, but I honestly hate getting stuck in conversations without someone to help me escape if I need to.”

You let out a laugh at this and glanced at Eunkyung, who had a huge smile plastered on her face. You nodded, grabbing Jake's hand and allowing him to pull you to your feet. As you stood, you were wobbly on your stilettos due to the alcohol coursing through your veins, but Jake quickly steadied you by placing a hand on your lower back. His touch was more intoxicating than any drink you had ever consumed, and you tried to pretend that the small gesture did affect you as much as it did.

As Jake made his way through the ballroom with you by his side, you realized more and more just how respected he was within your company. He was congratulated on his new promotion as well as declared the target of much admiration, and as you watched him converse with ease, you couldn’t help but admire him, too. This was not the Jake Sim you remembered, but you were extremely grateful that you had been given the chance to see him again after all this time. He was magnetic, and you were drawn to him more than you cared to admit.

As the evening inevitably marched towards its conclusion, Jake stopped by the back wall and gazed at the sea of people in front of you. “Well, I think that was everyone.”

“That was… impressive,” you said as you watched people slowly say their goodbyes before filtering out of the ballroom. “I usually leave right after dinner, but you managed to talk to every single person in this room.”

Jake gave you a small smile. “You know, I only did that because I was the guest of honor. They’d never invite me back if I spoke and left.”

“Good point.” You shrugged, glancing up at Jake’s face. Despite the intense nature of the evening, he still looked as effortlessly handsome as he had the first moment you had laid eyes on him hours ago. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

He eyed you curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know,” you started, searching for the right words. “You’re just so… different now. So accomplished. It’s impressive, I guess.”

“Are you one of the people I mentioned in my speech who doubted me ten years ago?”

You reddened, looking away. “Of course not! We were just so different back then, I guess I never imagined… this.”

“Y/n, I’m kidding,” he said. He grabbed your chin lightly and tilted it upward so that you were looking at him again. “Even if you had been, I don’t care. You heard what I said up there–I never needed anyone to tell me they believed in me or thought I could do whatever I wanted. I’ve always believed in myself, and that’s always been enough.”

Your head swam at the intensity in Jake’s eyes, the way his glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose and how he had rolled the sleeves of his suit up at some point during the night. Nothing turned you on more than a man who was confident and self-assured. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the fact that you hadn’t been with anyone in awhile, but your body lit up with Jake staring at you the way he was. Like you were something to be devoured.

“Y/n,” Jake breathed. “I’m glad I ran into you tonight.”

“Me too.” A pause, and you wondered if you would regret the boldness of your words. “Until tonight, I never realized how badly I wanted you.”

You could tell from the way that he looked at you that his entire body was taught with desire, and he took a deep breath before taking your wrist in his hand and pulling you into the empty corridor just beyond the ballroom. You glanced behind you, checking that nobody had seen you disappear, before Jake dragged you into an empty, dimly lit supply closet.

“Jake?” you whispered as he locked the door behind you. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can’t wait any longer, y/n,” he exhaled, backing you against the door and leaning down to connect your lips. His kiss was hungry–hungrier than you knew to be possible, and his hand immediately found its way to your chest. The black satin gown you were wearing was low-cut yet elegant, with a deep v that went down to your ribcage. When his fingers found your hardened nipples, he let out a low groan before biting your lip.

You let out a soft cry, wrapping your arms around Jake’s neck. You parted your lips to allow him to explore your mouth with his tongue, and he took no time at all to accept the invitation. Your tongues clashed in a passionate dance, the sweet taste of the champagne finding its way onto your tongue. He kissed you with reckless abandon, and every cell in your body screamed your desire.

As you and Jake continued to kiss feverishly, you slowly rocked your hips into his. You were encouraged by the hardness you found there, and you gripped his lower back in an attempt to draw him even closer to you despite the layers of clothing between your bodies.

“Oh, baby,” Jake groaned against your mouth. His hips moved against yours roughly, both of you breathing heavily as you rubbed your most sensitive parts against each other. “Feels so fuckin’ good when you grind against me like that.”

Jake’s hand found its way beneath the top of your dress, and he grasped your right breast in his warm hand. You quickened the rolling of your hips, throwing your head back so that it hit the door behind you. “J-jesus!” you forced out. “Jake, p-please, I need you so bad.”

The intensity of Jake’s moves only increased for just a moment before he suddenly paused. You were both panting heavily, your body still pressed flush to his. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” you breathed, running your hand through Jake’s hair as you gazed up at him.  He already looked so wrecked for you.

“I can’t fuck you for the first time in a supply closet,” he said, swallowing. “I want to do this right.”

“Where do you want to go instead?”

“We’re in a hotel, y/n,” he said before kissing you briefly. “Let’s just get a room for the night.”

“What if someone notices?” you asked, worry etching its way across your face.

“Who cares?” he whispered, his eyes earnest. “I need you so fucking bad, baby. Please.”

You thought for a moment, weighing your options. Your body sang with desire for Jake, and you didn’t think you would ever forgive yourself if you didn’t spend the night with him, and from the way he looked at you, you knew he was desperate for you to say yes. You sighed before pushing him away lightly, running your fingers through your tousled hair. “Fine. But I’m waiting by the elevators while you get the room.”

Jake grinned at you. “Deal.”

You both made sure the other looked presentable before stepping out of the supply closet. Mercifully, the corridor was empty, and you allowed Jake to lead you toward the lobby. Once you reached the gorgeous room, you stepped away from Jake and made your way to the elevators while he worked on reserving a room. You leaned against the cool marble of the wall, hoping you weren’t still flushed from your escapade in the supply closet. You gave a small, cool smile to everyone who passed by.

As Jake walked over to you, room key in hand, you pretended to not know him. You smoothed your features into unimpressed boredom, and as you and Jake stepped into the elevator, you made your way to the opposite side as him. A few people were still mingling in the lobby, and the last thing you needed was for your carefully constructed demeanor to be jeopardized by your late-night rendezvous with Jake Sim.

Once the doors had closed and the elevator began to ascend, your eyes flicked to Jake. Before you even knew what was happening, he had closed the gap between you, his lips on yours again. Your eyes fluttered closed as he palmed your ass through your dress, letting out a soft moan against his mouth. As the elevator shot up to the top floor, you and Jake entwined yourselves again, and it was almost torturous having to separate again as you reached your floor. 

Once the doors opened, you took a deep breath and stepped into the beautifully decorated corridor. Jake gestured for you to follow him, and you looked around briefly before following him. Luckily, the floors were covered in a surprisingly plush carpet, which muffled the sound of your heels as you followed him to your room. Jake unlocked the door quickly and pushed it open so that you could enter.

When you stepped into the room, you realized that Jake hadn’t just gotten you any room. He had booked the notorious Presidential Suite, with a kitchen, sitting room, conference table, and massive bedroom. It seemed as if every wall of the suite was covered in windows that allowed you to see the extensive skyline of Seoul as it stretched out before you.

“Jake, this is crazy,” you said, turning around so that you could see him. “You really want me that bad?”

Your eyes landed on Jake to find that he had already removed his shoes, and he was in the middle of loosening his tie before stripping off his suit jacket.

“You have no fucking idea,” he growled, stalking towards you with a look in his eyes that made you even more wet than you already were. His lips captured yours again, but his kiss was different now. Instead of being in a supply closet, Jake had you alone in the nicest hotel suite in Seoul, and he was going to make use of every square inch of space to show you just how badly he needed you.

Jake’s mouth only lingered on your lips for a moment before he made his way down to your neck, and you gasped sharply as he immediately began to suck on the soft flesh there. You grasped his muscular bicep, arching you back from the hunger with which he ravished you. It was only another second before Jake’s hand found its way into the slit of your dress, and his fingers grazed the wetness between your thighs.

“So wet for me,” Jake’s ragged voice came, his fingers slowly beginning to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves at your apex. “Fuckin’ love how wet you are for me, baby.”

You whimpered at the variety of different sensations, from Jake biting and sucking on your neck to his fingers working between your legs. It had been so long since you had been with someone in this way, allowing someone to see you at your most vulnerable. You spent all your time focused on your career, as you had set your sights on your current position years before it even became available. You were cunning, ambitious, and you had completely neglected this side of you–the side that loved to spend a night having your body worshipped by someone else. You had never expected the first person you slept with in a year to be Jake Sim, but you had always loved surprises.

Jake’s fingers continued to stroke against your clit before he slowly pushed two of his fingers inside you. You let out a cry at the feeling of him inside you, his digits curling and rubbing just right against the spot that had you seeing stars. His fingers worked within you for a moment, your breath repeatedly catching in your throat, before he pushed you onto the couch with his fingers still inside you. As your back hit the plush leather, Jake leaned forward and continued to mark your chest and neck as he fucked you with his fingers.

You had half a mind to feel embarrassed for how quickly you felt your orgasm rising in you, but you realized you didn’t care. Jake was doing everything he could to pleasure you, and he somehow knew all the spots that would send you over the edge faster than you could blink. You began to writhe underneath him as your orgasm threatened to crash over you.

“Baby, I’m g-gonna cum,” you whined, your body convulsing from the pleasure of everything Jake was doing to you.

“I need you to cum for me, angel,” Jake said against the fresh love bite that he had just left on your breast.

That was all it took. You found your peak against Jake’s fingers, and the shockwaves that rocked through your body had your vision going black at the edges. However, as you rode out your climax, Jake did not stop pumping his fingers inside you. He continued on with the same ferocity.

“Jake,” you gasped. “It’s too much. Baby, it’s too much.”

However, Jake kept going. You had never experienced anything like this before, and you cried out from the overstimulation of Jake’s relentlessness.

“B-baby, holy fuck!” Your legs spread even wider, your hips lifting into the air as wet noises filtered into your ears. “I can’t–Jaeyun, baby, p-please! I can’t take it!”

Before you knew it, another orgasm wracked your body. You screamed as it tore through you, and you roughly pushed Jake off of you as you continued to tremble.

“Jesus Christ,” you panted, sitting up and raising your eyes to Jake’s.

“Jaeyun?” Jake smirked. “Nobody ever calls me that unless I’m in a meeting.”

You stood, grabbing Jake’s tie and tightening it against his neck. “That’s what you get for overstimulating me, you asshole.”

“Don’t lie–you loved it. You could’ve stopped me.”

You snarled at how proud he seemed of himself, but you knew he was right. Even if it had been a lot, you loved every fucking second of it. Nobody had ever dared to take control of you in the bedroom like that, and it turned you on more than you cared to admit. “Fuck you, Sim Jaeyun.”

“That’s the goal, isn’t it?” he smiled. You narrowed your eyes at him before stripping his tie off and quickly unbuttoning his dress shirt. He raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Is this something you do often? You seem to have a lot of practice.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you growled, pushing him into the bathroom. You flicked the light on carelessly before shoving him against the wall so that he was looking into the mirror, taking in the curve of your back and hips in the reflection.

“What are you gonna do now, princess?” Jake hummed.

“Are you always such a cocky asshole during sex?” you asked, tearing his belt away. “Because at the dinner, you were quite the charmer.”

“I already did the hard part of charming you, so now I get to enjoy how pissed off you get when I tease you.”

You glared at Jake as you lowered yourself to the floor, your face directly in front of his bulge. You tugged his pants down before gazing up at him through your lashes and using your teeth to remove his underwear. He swore viciously, his length springing free. His cock was already flushed and glistening, and you slowly dragged your tongue along it as you continued to stare at him.

“This is what you get for being an asshole,” you said before taking his twitching cock into your mouth. You hummed in satisfaction at the noises that left his lips, as they were so different from his growled commands. With your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, sucking and licking every inch of him, a string of high-pitched whimpers filled the air.

You traced your fingers up and down Jake’s bare chest, your mouth sloppily moving around him. You used your other hand to grasp the part of his cock that your mouth couldn’t reach, and you pumped slowly up and down as you continued to fuck him with your mouth. His moans were music to your ears, and they only encouraged you to continue.

As your movements grew sloppier, Jake gathered your hair into his fist and bucked his hips into your mouth. You gagged slightly at how far his cock went into your throat.

“You look s’ fucking good takin my cock like that, angel,” Jake whimpered, hand still tightly grasping your long hair. The sensation of him pulling your hair made your pussy throb, and you knew that you couldn’t wait much longer to have Jake inside you. You removed your lips from his cock with a pop before standing up. Jake immediately grabbed your hips and turned you around, pressing you to the sink and grinding his wet cock into your still-clothed ass as he pressed a hot kiss to your mouth.

“This dress needs to go,” he murmured against your lips, using one hand to undo the zipper. It dropped to the floor in one fluid movement, resting in a beautiful pool of black satin surrounding your feet. The second you felt the cool air hit your skin, Jake’s hand smacked your ass. He grasped your left tit with his other hand, and he brought his mouth to your ear. “How badly do you want me to fuck you, baby?”

“So bad,” you mumbled, your words barely audible between your moans. However, it seemed that this did not satisfy Jake, as he turned you around and grasped your jaw lightly.

“What’d you say, princess? I couldn't hear you.”

“I want you to fuck me so bad, Jaeyun,” you ground out.

He smirked, and you could tell that he adored it when you called him by his Korean name. You could also tell that he was satisfied with your answer, as he picked you up and tossed you on his shoulder before carrying you out of the bathroom. He smacked your ass a few more times before plopping you down atop the conference table, pressing a hungry kiss to your lips.

“Gonna fuck you on this conference table, baby.”

“Ah–f-fuck!” you cried as he thrust into you in one swift motion. He buried himself deep within you, not moving for just a moment before he began to roll his hips into yours. Every time the tip of his cock rubbed against your gummy walls, you let out a broken noise. His cock was bigger than his height suggested, and you regretted the last ten years you had spent not fucking Jake Sim every chance you got. You were already addicted to the feeling of him inside you, and you had no idea how you had survived for so long without him.

Jake’s pace was rapid, relentless, and you didn’t even realize that you were scratching up his back with your freshly manicured nails. The only thing you knew was the feeling of his body pressed against yours and the sensation of his cock snapping into you repeatedly. He was even more turned on by you scratching him, which only led to him quickening his pace.

“Pussy s’ fuckin’ good,” he groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure. “I fuckin’ love this pussy so fuckin’ much, angel. You’re never gonna sleep again–I’m g-gonna fuck you forever.”

Stars swam across your vision as Jake repeatedly hit your cervix, and the sensation accompanied by the way his hand still played with your nipples made you nauseous. You pressed your eyes closed, whimpering.

“Mmmph, fuck.” Jake’s voice was a rumble that came from deep within his chest, and you knew he was getting close. From the way his movements became more vigorous, goosebumps erupting across his chest, it was only a matter of time until he went over the edge.

“Cum inside me, Jaeyun,” you gasped out, your body rocking as Jake continued to thrust into you. “I-I’m on the pill, so p-please fill me with your cum baby. I need it s-so fuckin’ bad. I need all your cum.”

Jake placed both hands on your shoulders, holding you steady as he thrust into you harder than you knew to be humanly possible. Clipped cries left your lips, and it only took a moment before Jake began moaning your name.

“Y/n, fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he whimpered, and he let out a loud moan as his hips stilled, pumping you full of his cum. His body pulsed with each ejaculation, and you couldn’t help but gasp as he came deep within you.

“That was... crazy,” you breathed, gazing at Jake through half-lidded eyes. He nodded, still trying to regain his breath. After a moment, his eyes found yours.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

You didn’t even have time to ask what he was doing before Jake had you pressed against the window behind the conference table, your leg hooked over his shoulder as he licked your pussy. The area between your thighs was an absolute mess, covered in remnants of saliva, your arousal, and his cum, but Jake didn’t care. He sucked at your folds like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

You rocked your hips against Jake’s tongue as it flicked against your clit, and you lifted a hand above your head before pressing it to the window. Your other hand found its way into Jake’s soft hair, and he gazed up at your fucked-out face as he worked his tongue against and inside you. If Jake’s goal had been to give you a night you would never forget, he had exceeded all of your expectations. Over the past ten years, nobody had made love to you like Jake, and you never wanted another person in your bed but him.

As you reached your third climax of the evening, Jake kept his mouth clamped to your pussy to ensure that he didn’t miss any liquid coming out of you. He lapped up every drop before swallowing it hungrily, and he made sure your orgasm was fully over before standing and kissing you.

“Holy shit, Jaeyun,” you said, your body feeling completely limp. “That was fucking insane.”

“I’ll be ready to go again in fifteen minutes,” Jake murmured, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes flew open, and you huffed a laugh. “Seriously?”

“I would never joke about anything as serious as this.”

You stared at him in disbelief for a moment before you realized he was entirely serious. “Where do you get your stamina from?”

“It comes from remembering that I lost out on ten years of fucking you, and now I need to make up for lost time.”

You laughed, truly laughed, and pressed your forehead to Jake’s. You weren’t sure if you and Jake were ever going to make up for the ten years together that you had missed, but you were certainly going to try.

taglist is open: @fawnwonie @collywobblvs @lawnzzn @thatfeelingwhenn @kristynaaah @rikicoolpuma @hoonguin @bluepains @annaaaaanguyenn @betagalactose @irisvrse @nvinannn

[stwryun]

Hii! Is there any chance that you have a good recommendation for a long Jake fic? I really want to read something but just can‘t find anything long enough 😓💔

YESSS !!!!

➤ complementary — the physics of your body , part two | jake loved physics as much as he loved you [ brothers best friend ]

➤ out of luck , part two | In which Sim Jaeyun becomes the only genuinely good, unfairly lucky thing that’s ever happened to you… and just like everything else in your life, good things have a way of slipping right through your fingers. So now you have to figure it out, fix it, or risk losing the only thing that ever felt right before you run Out of Luck [ roommates au ]

➤ anti hero | "You need to get laid," his roommates pointed out one day, ruining his perfectly planned college life. Thinking that his roommates were just looking out for him, Jake found himself in a world that he seems to be unfamiliar with — having a fuck buddy, and that's with a little help from you, Decelis University's "golden girl." [ friends with benefits ]

➤ volume 3 ☆ jake sim — the first love trope | you, a quiet girl who is the introvert of all introverts, never thought you would befriend the most popular boy in school by having the same music taste. what songs are you going to show him next? [ first love trope ]

➤ two peas in a pod | You love Jake, but believing you are a Beta who can never truly satisfy his Omega nature, you push him away only to realize during a dramatic twenty-first birthday presentation that you were his fated Alpha all along [ friends to lovers ]

➤ a real man | Jake Sim, son of one of the most wealthiest CEOs in Australia. Who also happens to be the man your parents set you to marry at 20 years old, and now—five years later, the father of your child. You and Jake have a..rocky relationship to say the least. The real question is, who’s going to be the first to break? [ arranged marriage ]

➤ the bet , bonus | Jake sim, one of the most popular boys in school makes it his goal to have you fall for him, a simple bet with his friends. Little does he know, he’ll be the one falling to his knees for you [ bet au ]

➤ the summer i got horny | nerdy sim jaeyun is sweating buckets when the baddie he's been crushing on sits in his lap on a two-hour road trip. [ friends sister ]

➤ AW SHIT, HERE WE GO AGAIN | IN WHICH jake keeps telling himself he’s fine with whatever this thing between you is, so he decides that a friends with benefits situation with his best friend's girlfriend's best friend, who also happens to be his other best friend's older sister, is a completely reasonable idea. until he wakes up alone for the nth time and realizes that this friends with benefits situation is not benefiting him at all. [ friends with benefits ]

➤ eat me up | in which jake knows you’re bad for him, but he just can’t help himself. after all, in the end, the answer is always you. nobody else matters. not even the guy you’re seeing, his friend, sunghoon [ friends with benefits ]

➤ give me tough love | Jake's always liked pretty things, and you're the prettiest he's ever seen. Another thing about Jake? He always gets what he wants [ omegaverse ]

➤ tension theory | You were just Heeseung’s girlfriend’s cousin—quiet, polite, a little too naive for your own good. Then you met his friends. Now you’re in the middle of a spiraling mess of jealousy, bad decisions, emotional whiplash and two boys who treat boundaries like suggestions. Oops. [ love triangle ]

➤ friction principle | You thought things would calm down after the confessions, the crying, the sex. After fists were thrown and secrets dragged out into the open. But Jake is still mean, Sunghoon is still quiet, and now you're still stuck somewhere in the middle—aching for something that feels like love but tastes like possession. [ love triangle ]

➤ preacher's daughter | in the early 2000s, in some small, rural town, your religious and restrained life collides with jake sim, who makes you doubt everything you know and want to explore more of the world [ outsider!jake x preachersdaughter!reader ]

➤ the fifth floor theory , part two | in which jake sim, the campus golden boy and star soccer captain, isn't supposed to find anything on the fifth floor of the library except a quiet place to study. but instead? he finds you, the wallflower who refuses to treat him like everyone else does. [ soccer captain!jake x wallflower fem!reader ]

➤ of all the people in the world | You know you should be ecstatic about the invitation to Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s wedding in your mailbox, but you can’t help the nerves gnawing away at your stomach. There are too many things you’ve left unresolved after moving to Seoul—your aunt, your friends, and most of all Sim Jaeyun, the boy you’ve never let yourself love. [ childhood friends to lovers ]

➤ sunflower | You have lived in apartment 3B for two years. You know your neighbors the way you know background characters — familiar, unremarkable, just part of the scenery. Which is why it’s strange that you’ve never properly noticed the man in 3A. Until 6:58 on a Tuesday morning when someone knocks on your door and you open it to find not him, but her. Small. Round-cheeked. Duck pajamas. Absolutely certain of herself. You fall for his daughter first. Jake is just the complication that comes after. But god, what a complication [ single dad au ]

➤ things i know that i can't have | jake's life was hard enough before he fell for you—balancing uni, football, and being a good christian son. in some cruel twist of fate, sleeping with you has only made things harder—and, according to sunghoon (and scripture), damned him to hell the first time he thought about it. [ fwb to lovers ]

➤ under the table | you and sim jaeyun have been academic rivals for as long as you can remember, competing intensely to beat the other in every class you've ever shared. for years, you've hidden your feelings for him, burying them deep down where jake can't find them, and you're hellbent on ensuring he never discovers your secret [ academic rivals to fwb to lovers ]

➤ bruises [ strangers to implied lovers ]

➤ manchild | you’re trouble, and jake sim knows it. you flirt like it’s your job, wear sin like perfume, and make men beg without even trying. he’s the only cowboy who doesn’t chase you. so naturally, he’s the only one you want. [ cowboy jake ] this fic changed the trajectory of my life no cap 🤞🤤

➤ RULE NUMBER 1: DON'T FALL IN LOVE | your ex getting a girlfriend after just two weeks of breakup was enough to infuriate you to the point where you had to step up and make him regret breaking your heart. solution? fake date his best friend and make him jealous! [ fake dating ]

➤ Love, Lies, and Sim Jake, part two | You were the quiet girl with the not-so-quiet crush on Jake Sim—campus heartbreaker, smooth talker, and everything you should’ve stayed away from. But when a bet turns your name into a game, the rules change fast. He didn’t expect to fall for you… and you didn’t expect to find out. Now it’s your move—and this time, you’re not playing nice. [ campus heartbreaker ]

➤ call me when you hate me less | Jake Sim was a walking academic hazard—hot, broody, and failing just about everything that wasn’t football. Enter you, his new tutor: organized, overachieving, and absolutely not here for his attitude or his annoyingly perfect lips. But between late night study sessions, petty insults, and one very inconvenient almost-kiss, things start spiraling—fast. He’s supposed to be you project. You are supposed to hate him. Instead, you both are one sarcastic comment away from either a breakdown or a makeout, and honestly, it could go either way. [ enemies to lovers ]

➤ off limits, part two, part three, epilogue | your older brother has always told you “no boys” and his friends “sister is off limits”, which always worked until everyone comes back home from college and you see how grown up his best friend has become [ brothers best friend ] this was soo fucking good, read this in one sitting , peak 🔛🔝

➤ just one more taste | Jake considers himself the luckiest man alive. After turning his deepest breeding fantasies into reality, filling you raw night after night until you were pregnant again and again, he built the big, perfect family he always dreamed of. With the family complete, he finally slips a ring on your finger vowing forever to keep you happy, adored, and being the man who’d give you the world just to see you smile. [ impregnator jake ] just smut

➤ the great valentines heist , part two | jake sim has been your best friend your entire life–even longer if you count the months spent in your mothers’ wombs. your moms (also best friends) have been hoping, praying, and not-so-discreetly begging for you and jake to be a couple for as long as you can remember. after eighteen years of dealing with it, you’ve had enough. you pitch your solution to jake: pretend you finally are a couple, only to prove the point of how you’re better off as friends. but as the line between what’s real and what’s fake blurs, you start to wonder… are you really? [ friends to lovers ]

➤ frenzy , part two | Jake is experiencing real love for the first time in his life. He’s so infatuated with you that he would do anything to make you understand. And you? Oh, you are in no place to argue with a man who appears to be perfect. 

➤ loyal puppy | Ever since your boyfriend Jake transformed from his nerdy high-school self into the university's star football player, you've become everything you thought you’d never be. Jealous. Anxious. Clingy. But Jake really doesn't mind your newfound possessiveness. He encourages it, even. So when he defies expectations again to star in a musical with a stunning costar, you spiral. Now, the “lowkey” relationship you once insisted on gets jeopardized under the weight of your own insecurities. [ secret!relationship au ] anothee one of my favs , im going to re read it :p

➤ no doubts | struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you. [ idol jake ]

[jaehyp]

𝖥𝖡𝖮𝖸𝖲 𝖳𝖴𝖳𝖮𝖱 𝖡𝖤𝖲𝖳 ─ 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗃𝗒.

!! pairing: jake sim x fem. reader

!! synopsis: you don't need help. ever. then you fail a class and get stuck with jake sim the campus fuckboy, and your new tutor. he's cocky. he's in your space. and you're about to learn that fuckboy's tutor best.

!! warnings: smut (mdni), dom jake, sub/bratty reader, oral, fingering, pet names, dirty talk, spanking, piv, unprotected sex (dont!), praising, semi public

!! wc: 9.5k

!! a/n: pics of jake always awake something in me, sry this took forever i debated hard on the flow of this story so sorry if it feels rushed, ENJOY!

The red F on your midterm was actually offensive.

Not because you'd worked hard. You hadn't. You'd skimmed the readings, showed up to class hungover twice, and submitted a study guide you'd filled out while watching a movie. The F was fair, the problem was it bruised your ego.

Professor Lee didn't even wait for the rest of the class to leave. She caught you at the door, hand on your arm, voice low enough that only you could hear.

"A word." You followed her to her desk, she held up your exam."38 percent." she said.

"I know, I'll study harder."

"You've been skating by on charm and curve points, and now the curve can't save you." She slid a piece of paper across the desk. "Peer tutoring. Mandatory. Twice a week until your average is above a C."

You picked up the paper. One name written in blue ink.

Jake Sim.

"Jake Sim?" you said.

"He's the best tutor I have. Top of the class last semester. Top of the class now.

You knew Jake Sim. Well, you didn't know him. You knew of him. Everyone did. The guy who showed up to every party with a new girl and left with whoever he wanted. The guy who never raised his voice but always got the last word. The guy who'd held a door open for you once and looked at you like he was already bored.

"He's a fuckboy," you said not thinking she heard.

Professor Lee didn't blink. "He's also the only reason six people are passing this class right now. You start Monday. His schedule is at the bottom."

You walked out of that office with your 38 percent and a new low.

Karina and Giselle were waiting for you outside, perched on a bench, phones in hand, looking like they'd been there for hours.

"Your face says disaster," Karina said.

"I have a tutor."

"Okay?"

"Jake Sim."

Giselle's head snapped up. "Jake Sim?"

"Unfortunately."

Karina burst out laughing. "The Jake Sim?"

"Yes."

"The one who went through three sororities in one semester?"

"Yes."

"The one who corrected Sunghoon's drink order at a party and then made out with his date an hour later?"

"Karina." you screamed.

"I'm just saying!" She was grinning now. "Damn. Not Jake."

"I know."

"But also..." Giselle tilted her head. "Damn. Jake is kinda hot."

"I don't care if he's hot. He's a walking red flag with good bone structure."

"And he's your tutor." Karina wiped a tear from her eye. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I'm going to fail."

You sat down between them and put your head in your hands. "He's going to be insufferable. You know he's going to be insufferable. He's going to sit there with that stupid smirk and explain basic statistics like I'm a child and I'm going to have to pretend I don't want to throw my textbook at his head."

"Or," Giselle said, "you could just let him be hot and enjoy the view."

"I'm not going to enjoy anything."

"You've never even talked to him."

"I don't need to talk to him to know I hate him."

Karina patted your back. "That's the spirit."

Jake was mid-bite into his sandwich when Sunghoon kicked his foot under the table.

"You got assigned a tutoring student?"

Jake chewed. Swallowed. "Yeah."

"Who?"

"Does it matter?"

Jay leaned forward. "It matters cause we are nosy."

Heeseung was already scrolling through his phone. "Professor Lee's class? She sent out the list this morning."

Jake took another bite. He'd seen the name. He'd read it twice. He'd spent maybe longer than necessary staring at it.

He knew who you were. Everyone did. The girl who walked into parties like she owned them. The girl who never asked for help. The girl who'd looked at him just once across a crowded room, and then looked away like he wasn't worth a second glance.

"You're being weird," Jungwon said from the end of the table.

"I'm not being weird."

"You're not talking. That's weird for you."

Jake set his sandwich down. "It's Y/N."

Silence.

Then Sunghoon choked on his drink.

"The one who told Professor Kim to his face that his lecture was boring?"

"That's her."

Jay whistled. "She needs a tutor? I thought she had everything figured out."

"Apparently not."

Jungwon shrugged. "She's going to hate it."

"She's going to hate me."

"Probably."

Jake thought about that. Thought about your face the one time you'd looked at him. You hadn't smiled. Hadn't blushed. Hadn't done any of the things girls usually did when they looked at him.

You'd just looked. And then you'd walked away.

"I don't know," Heeseung said slowly. "She's hot. Like, really hot. Independent. People come to her for help. This might be interesting."

"Interesting how?" Jake asked.

"I don't know. Just... interesting. She's not going to fall all over you like everyone else does."

Jake picked up his sandwich. "I'm not trying to make her fall all over me."

"Sure you're not."

"I'm just tutoring her. That's it."

Sunghoon snorted. "Famous last words."

Jake didn't respond. But he couldn't stop thinking about your name on that paper.

Y/N.

He wondered if you'd text him first or if he'd have to reach out.

He wondered if you'd show up on Monday with that same look on your face like you had nothing to prove to anyone.

He wondered what it would take to make you look at him twice.

Three days before your first session, Karina dragged you to a party.

"I need to get out," she said.

"You need to get out. I need to study."

"No babes you need to drink."

The party was at some guy's house you didn't catch the name to and you didn't care. The music was too loud, the cups were sticky, and within twenty minutes, you'd lost Karina to the dance floor and Giselle to a guy who looked like he played club sports.

You were on your third drink when you saw him.

Jake.

He was on a couch in the corner, and there was a girl in his lap.

Not sitting next to him. Not leaning against him. Fully in his lap, her legs draped over his thigh, her lips hovering near his ear. His hand was on her waist. He wasn't kissing her but it was clearly heading there.

You recognized the girl. Wonyoung. She was in your psych class. She'd spent the entire semester batting her eyelashes at every guy within a ten foot radius.

Of course it was Wonyoung.

You looked away. Drank. Looked back.

His hand had moved lower.

"Ew," you said to no one.

Karina appeared at your elbow. "What?"

"Jake Sim. With the one and only."

Karina followed your gaze. "Oh. Yeah. That's Wonyoung. She's been trying to get his attention for weeks."

"He's letting her."

"That's what he does." Karina shrugged. "He's always like that. A different girl every week. Sometimes every night. It's his whole thing."

"His whole thing is gross."

"His whole thing is effective. Look at her. She's practically melting."

You took another drink. "I have to let him teach me statistics."

"Poor you."

"I'm serious. How am I supposed to sit across from someone who acts like that?"

"You could try not staring at him."

"Shut up."

Karina grabbed your hand. "Come on. You're too sober. We're dancing."

She pulled you onto the floor. The music shifted something with a bass you could feel in your chest. You let yourself move. Let yourself forget about the F and the tutoring and the way Jake's hand had looked on Wonyoung's waist.

A guy found you. Tall. Dark hair. Cute in a forgettable way. He smiled at you and you smiled back because why not, and then his hands were on your hips and you were dancing with him.

It was fine. It was nothing.

But across the room, someone was watching.

"She's here," Sunghoon said.

Jake didn't have to ask who. He'd seen you the second you walked in. The way the room shifted when you entered. The way people looked at you like you were the main character and they were just extras.

"Yeah," Jake said. "I saw her."

Wonyoung was still in his lap. He'd forgotten she was there until she shifted and pressed closer. He should focus on her. She was pretty. She was interested. She was easy.

But his eyes kept finding you.

You were dancing with some guy now. Some random guy who'd probably never talked to you before tonight. His hands were on your hips. You were laughing at something he said.

"Why is she dancing with him?" Jake asked.

Sunghoon looked. "Because she's at a party? Because he asked? Why do you care?"

"I don't."

"You're staring."

"I'm observing."

"Heeseung called it." Jay appeared on Jake's other side. "He said you'd be interested."

"I'm not interested."

"You've looked at her twelve times in the last ten minutes."

Jake pulled his eyes away. Wonyoung was looking at him expectantly. He'd missed something she'd said.

"Sorry," he said. "What?"

"I asked if you wanted to go somewhere quieter."

The implication was clear. A month ago, he would have said yes. A week ago, he would have said yes. But tonight, for some reason, the word stuck in his throat.

"I have an early class," he said.

Wonyoung's face flickered. "Oh."

She didn't look convinced, but she got off his lap. Walked away without looking back.

Sunghoon raised his eyebrows. "You just let her go."

"She's not going anywhere."

"She's going to find someone else."

"Good for her."

Jake stood up. He needed water. Or air. Or something that wasn't watching you dance with someone else.

He pushed through the crowd toward the back of the house. The hallway was quieter. The bathroom door was cracked open, light spilling out.

He was about to walk past when you stepped out.

You nearly collided with his chest.

"Oh-" You looked up. Your eyes were glassy. You were tipsy. Maybe more than tipsy. "You."

"Me."

"I was just thinking about you."

"Good things?"

"I was thinking about how much I don't want to see you on Monday."

Jake leaned against the wall. Arms crossed. Calm. "That's funny. I was thinking about how much I'm looking forward to it."

"You're lying."

"I don't lie."

"Everyone lies."

"Not me." He tilted his head. "You're drunk."

"I'm tipsy. There's a difference."

"You're going to be hungover on Monday."

"I'm going to be fine on Monday."

"We'll see."

You stepped closer. Pointed a finger at his chest. "You're my teacher now. That's so weird."

"I'm your tutor. Not your teacher."

"Same thing."

"Different thing."

"You're correcting me already?" Your eyes narrowed. "We haven't even started."

"I'm just preparing you."

"For what?"

"For me."

You stared at him. He stared back.

"I hate you," you said.

Jake smiled. Slow. "Monday. Library. Third floor. Seven o'clock. Don't be late."

"I'm never late."

"You were late to Professor Kim's lecture three times last semester."

Your mouth opened. Closed. "How do you know that?"

"I pay attention."

You blinked at him. Then you shook your head and pushed past him, stumbling slightly on your way back to the party.

Jake watched you go.

He was definitely looking forward to Monday.

You showed up at 6:58 because you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of being late.

The library was mostly empty on a Monday night. Third floor was silent except for the hum of the vending machine and the squeak of your shoes on the floor.

Jake was already there. Of course he was.

He was sitting at a table near the window, laptop open, textbook out, pens lined up perfectly. He looked up when you approached.

"You're early," he said.

"I'm on time."

He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit down."

You sat. Dropped your bag on the floor. Crossed your arms.

"So." He closed his laptop. "Show me your exam."

"No."

"I can help you by explaining why you failed."

Your jaw tightened. "I didn't fail. I got a 38. That's not technically failing. That's... adjacent to failing."

"38 is failing."

"It's a soft fail."

"There's no such thing."

"There is if I say there is."

Jake leaned back in his chair. Studied you. "You're going to be difficult, aren't you?"

"I'm not difficult. I'm particular."

"Same thing, different font."

You almost smiled. Almost. "Fine." You pulled the exam out of your bag and slid it across the table. "There. Happy?"

He picked it up. Read it. Didn't react. "Okay," he said. "Here's the problem. You don't know how to study."

"I know how to study."

"You know how to memorize things the night before and hope for the best. That's not studying."

"It's worked so far."

"Has it?" He held up the exam. "Because this looks like your luck ran out."

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

"Here's how this is going to work," he said. "You're going to stop pretending you're too good for this. I'm going to stop pretending you're not smart. And we're both going to get through this without killing each other."

"That last part isn't guaranteed."

He almost smiled. "Deal."

He stood up. Walked to the whiteboard the library kept in the corner. Picked up a marker.

"Come here."

You didn't move.

"I'm not going to bite." He looked over his shoulder. "Unless you want me to."

"Enough with the games Sim."

"Then come here so I can actually teach you something."

You stood up. Walked to the whiteboard. Stood as far away from him as possible while still being able to see.

He drew a curve. Labeled it. Started explaining. And he was good at it.

Not condescending. Not slow. Just clear. He asked questions and waited for answers. He didn't fill the silence when you were thinking. He let you struggle until you got it.

A hour in, you understood p-values.

"This shouldn't make sense."

"But it does."

He capped the marker. "Same time Wednesday."

"Yeah."

"Try not to be so angry next time."

"I'm not angry. You grabbed your bag. Walked toward the stairs.

"Hey," he called. You turned.

Jake was leaning against the whiteboard, arms crossed. "You're not stupid. You just don't like being bad at things. There's a difference."

"That's like the second time you've said that."

"Because you keep needing to hear it."

You left. But you thought about it the whole walk home.

The sessions blurred together. Two weeks. Four sessions. Then six.

You stopped fighting it somewhere around session three. Not because you'd given up but because you'd started to actually get it. The material made sense when Jake explained it. He had a way of breaking things down that didn't make you feel like an idiot.

He was still cocky. Still insufferable. Still looked at you like he knew something you didn't.

But you weren't snapping at him anymore. You were learning.

"You're different," Karina said one day at lunch.

"I'm not different."

"You smiled at your phone. Three times. In a row."

"I was looking at memes."

"You were texting Jake."

"I was texting Jake about homework." You threw a fry at her.

Giselle watched the exchange with amusement. "She's not wrong. You've been in a good mood lately."

"I'm in a normal mood."

"You failed a midterm and you're being tutored by a fuckboy. You should be miserable."

"Maybe I've accepted my fate."

You were mid-bite into your sandwich when a shadow fell over the table.

"Hey."

You looked up. Jake was standing there. Holding your jacket.

The jacket you'd left at his apartment two days ago after a session that ran late. The jacket you'd completely forgotten about until this exact moment.

"You left this," he said. "You keep leaving things at my place."

"I don't do it on purpose."

"Sure you don't."

He set the jacket on the table. His fingers brushed yours. Too long to be accidental.

Everyone was watching. Not just Karina and Giselle, who had both gone completely still. But the tables around you. The people walking past. The girl at the fountain who'd been trying to get Jake's attention for weeks.

Wonyoung. She was standing near your table, coffee in hand, eyes locked on you. On the jacket. On the way Jake was looking at you.

"Thanks," you said, pulling the jacket toward you.

"See you Thursday," Jake said. He walked away.

The second he was out of earshot, Karina slammed her hands on the table and screamed.

"What the fuck was that!?"

"Nothing."

"That was not nothing. That was something. He brought you your jacket. He remembered your jacket. He came to find you to give you your jacket."

"He's polite."

"He's not polite. He's a fuckboy. Fuckboys don't return jackets. They keep them as trophies."

Giselle was staring at you. "You've been to his apartment."

"For tutoring."

"You're lying."

"I'm not"

"Y/N." Karina grabbed your wrist. "Look at me. Are you sleeping with him?"

"No!"

"Are you going to sleep with him?"

"I don't- I haven't- I don't know."

Karina and Giselle exchanged a look.

"Oh my God," Giselle whispered. "She likes him."

"I don't like him."

"You like him."

"I tolerate him."

Across the courtyard, Wonyoung was still watching.

She found you after class two days later.

You were walking across campus, earbuds in, not paying attention, when a hand grabbed your arm.

You spun around. Wonyoung.

"What the hell?" you said, pulling your arm back.

"Sorry." She didn't look sorry. "I need to talk to you."

"About?"

"Jake."

You sighed. "I don't have time for this."

"It'll take two minutes."

You looked at her. She was smaller than you remembered. Prettier, too, in a polished, intentional way. Her nails were done. Her hair was curled. She looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine.

"Fine," you said. "Talk."

"What's going on with you and Jake?"

"Nothing."

"He brought you your jacket."

"He's my tutor. He was being nice."

Wonyoung's eyes narrowed. "Jake isn't nice."

"Then why do you want him so badly?"

The question caught her off guard. Her composure cracked, just slightly.

"I've been trying to get his attention for months," she said. "Months. And he's never looked at me the way he looks at you."

You didn't know what to say to that.

"I'm not trying to be mean," Wonyoung continued. "I just want to know. Are you together? Is that a thing?"

"We're not together."

"But you want to be."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

She stepped back. Crossed her arms. "Fine. Whatever. Just... don't waste him. If you're not serious about him, let him go."

"I don't think Jake Sim is the kind of guy you need to protect."

"Maybe not." Wonyoung turned to walk away. Then stopped. "But you're not the only one who sees something in him."

She left.

You stood there for a long moment.

Then you pulled out your phone.

You: Some girl just cornered me about you.

Jake: Which one?

You: Wonyoung.

Jake: Ah.

You: That's all you have to say?

Jake: She's harmless.

You: She wants you.

Jake: A lot of people want me.

You: Cocky.

Jake: Honest.

You: Same thing.

Jake: Different font.

You almost smiled.

Jake: See you Thursday.

You: See you Thursday.

You brought it up during your next session.

Not on purpose. It just slipped out.

"So Wonyoung," you said, not looking up from your notebook.

Jake didn't look up either. "What about her?"

"You two have history?"

"Define history."

"I saw her at that party cuddled up with you."

He paused. Then set his pen down. "That was before we started tutoring."

"So?"

"So, nothing. She was there. I was there. It didn't mean anything."

"It looked like it meant something."

Jake leaned back in his chair. Studied you. "Are you jealous?"

"I'm not jealous."

"Your face is red." Jake smiled. Slow. "You're jealous."

"I'm not jealous. I'm... curious."

"About my romantic history?"

"About whether you're going to keep doing that while you're supposed to be tutoring me."

"Would it bother you if I did?"

You looked at him. Really looked."Yes," you said.

The word hung in the air.

Jake didn't smile. Didn't tease. He just looked at you, and something shifted in his expression. Something softer.

"Good," he said.

"Good?"

"Good that it would bother you." He picked up his pen. "It would bother me too. If it were the other way around."

You didn't know what to say to that. So you looked back down at your notebook and pretended to study.

But you could feel him watching you. And for the first time, you didn't hate it.

It happened after a late session.

You'd been studying for three hours. Your brain was fried. Your eyes were tired. And Jake had been looking at you all night like you were something he wanted to eat.

"You're staring," you said.

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"About how you bite your lip when you're concentrating."

Your pen stopped moving.

"Don't," you said.

"Don't what?"

"Don't say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because we're supposed to be studying."

"We've been studying for three hours. Take a break."

"I don't need a break."

"You do." He stood up. Walked around the table. Leaned against it, right next to your chair. "You've been tensing your shoulders for the last hour. You haven't blinked in thirty seconds. You need a break."

"I need to pass this class."

"You will. But tonight you need to relax."

You looked up at him. He was close. Too close.

"And how do you suggest I do that?"

Jake's hand came up to your face. Slow. Deliberate. His thumb brushed your lower lip. "Let me," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I want to."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you need."

You should have said no. You should have packed your bag and walked out and gone home and thought about this in the morning. Instead, you kissed him.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't tentative. It was hungry and frustrated and tasted like every argument you'd been having for weeks. His hands were in your hair. Your hands were on his chest. He pulled you up from the chair and pressed you against the table.

"There she is," he murmured against your mouth.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

You kissed him harder.

He laughed. Then his hands were under your shirt and your hands were in his hair and you had never wanted anyone the way you wanted him right now.

"Bedroom," he said.

"Yeah."

He took your hand.

His bedroom was dark. The sheets were rumpled. It smelled like him, clean, with something underneath that you couldn't name. He pushed the door closed and turned to look at you.

"Last chance," he said.

"For what?"

"To change your mind."

"I'm not going to change my mind."

He kissed you again. Slower this time. His hands slid under your shirt, palms flat against your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra. You gasped against his mouth.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

"I want you to stop talking."

"That's not how this works." He pulled back. Looked at you. His eyes were dark. Serious. "I need to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you want this. Say you want me. Not because you're stressed. Not because of the tutoring. Because you've been thinking about this as much as I have."

Your heart was pounding.

"How do you know I've been thinking about it?"

"Because you're here. Because you kissed me first. Because you're looking at me right now like you want to climb inside my skin." He tilted his head. "Am I wrong?"

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him close.

"I want you," you said against his mouth. "I've wanted you since the party. Since the first session. Since you said good girl like it meant something."

"It meant something."

"Then show me."

He took his time. Unhurried. Every touch deliberate. Every kiss slower than the last. You tried to rush him. You grabbed at his belt, tugged at his shirt, tried to flip him over. He caught your wrists. Held them above your head.

"Not yet," he said. Voice low. Firm.

"Jake-"

"I've been waiting for this." His lips brushed your ear. "I'm not going to rush. You're not going to rush. You're going to take what I give you. Understood?"

You glared at him. "You're not the boss of me."

"Tonight I am."

"That's cute."

He squeezed your wrists. Not hard. Just enough. "You want to test me? Go ahead. But you're not going to win."

"You're insufferable."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

He smiled. Then he released your wrists and his mouth was on your neck, your collarbone, lower. He kissed down your stomach, your hips, your thighs. He took his time there too, mouthing at the sensitive skin, breathing hot against you.

"You're so tense," he murmured.

"I'm not tense."

"You're shaking."

"I'm cold."

"You're not cold."

He looked up at you. Held your gaze. Then he lowered his mouth where you wanted him most.

You gasped. Your hands flew to his hair.

"That's it," he said against you. "Hold on."

He worked you slowly, deliberately, watching your face the whole time. Every time you got close, he pulled back. Every time you whined, he smiled.

"Please," you finally said.

"Please what?"

"Please don't stop."

"Good girl."

He didn't stop.

His mouth was everywhere tongue flat against you, then pointed, then circling exactly where you needed him most. He groaned against your skin like he was the one getting pleased, like tasting you was his reward, not yours. His hands pinned your hips down when you tried to squirm away, holding you open for him, taking his time. He wasn't in a rush. He wanted to watch you fall apart.

When you came, you came hard, back arching off the bed, his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer. He didn't let you recover. He kissed up your body, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

You reached for him, pulled him up, tried to flip him onto his back.

He didn't move.

"Not yet," he said.

"Jake-"

"You think we're done?" He pressed his forehead to yours. His breath was hot. His voice was low. "We're just getting started."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

He smiled. Slow. Dangerous.

"Pop quiz."

You blinked. "What?"

He pulled back. Sat up on his knees. Looked down at you spread out beneath him flushed, wet, still shaking from your orgasm.

"You've been learning a lot in our sessions," he said. "But I want to make sure you're paying attention."

"To statistics?"

"To me."

He reached for his belt. Unbuckled it slowly. Pulled it free from the loops.

"This is a different kind of lesson," he said. "But the rules are the same. I ask a question. You answer. If you get it right, you get rewarded."

"And if I get it wrong?"

He folded the belt in half. Tapped it against his palm.

"You get punished."

You moaned, your stomach flipped. Heat pooled low in your belly.

"What kind of questions?"

"We'll start easy." He leaned down, kissed your neck, bit softly at your collarbone. "What's the formula for a confidence interval?"

"You're joking."

"I never joke about education."

You stared at him. He stared back. His eyes were dark. Serious. Waiting.

"Sample mean," you said slowly, "plus or minus the critical value times the standard error."

"Good job."

He kissed you. Deep. Rewarding. His hand slid between your legs, fingers finding you already wet, already ready.

"That's one," he said against your mouth. "Want another?"

"Yes."

"Then pay attention."

He flipped you onto your stomach. Pulled your hips up. The belt was still in his hand.

"What's a Type I error?" he asked.

"False positive," you said quickly. "Rejecting a true null hypothesis."

"Good."

He pushed into you from behind. No warning. No slow build. Just full, deep, stretching you open. You cried out, fingers gripping the sheets.

"Jake- fuck"

"That's one point." He pulled out almost all the way. Held there. "What's a Type II error?"

You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. He was barely inside you, just the tip, and you could feel yourself clenching around nothing.

"Jake, please-"

"Wrong answer."

The belt came down on your ass. Not hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to sting. You gasped.

"Type II error," he said calmly. "False negative. Failing to reject a false null hypothesis." He pushed back in, slow, torturous. "Try again."

"Type II-" You couldn't focus. He was moving now, shallow thrusts, not enough. "Type II is false negative-"

"Full sentence."

"Type II error is failing to reject- fuck- failing to reject a false null hypothesis."

"Good fucking girl."

He snapped his hips forward. Hard. Deep. You moaned into the pillow.

"You want another question?"

"Yes Jakey please"

"What's the difference between a one-tailed and a two-tailed test?"

You knew this. But he was fucking you now, really fucking you, and every thrust pushed the answer further out of your brain.

"A one-tailed-" He hit a spot that made your vision white out. "A one-tailed tests in one direction- two-tailed tests both-"

"Both what?"

"Both directions-"

"And when do you use each?"

"I don't- fuck, Jake- I can't-"

The belt came down again. Harder this time.

"Incorrect," he said. His voice was colder now. Disappointed. "You're not even trying."

"I am trying-"

"You're distracted." He pulled out. Flipped you onto your back. Stared down at you. "You're so fucked out you can't even answer basic questions."

Your face burned. From the sex. From the shame. From the way he was looking at you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Sorry isn't good enough."

He grabbed your chin. Forced you to look at him.

"You wanted this. You wanted me. Now you're going to take what I give you and you're going to earn it."

"Yes Jake"

"Shut up."

He pushed back inside you. Harder than before. Faster. His hand closed around your throat not squeezing, just holding, just reminding you who was in charge.

"I've been patient," he said, fucking you with each word. "I've been nice. I've let you be bratty and difficult and act like you're too good for this. But right now? Right now you're just a girl on her back, taking my cock because she can't handle a few simple questions."

Your eyes watered. From the sting. From the heat. From the way his words were making you feel things you didn't want to name.

"Say it," he said.

"Say what-"

"Say you're mine. Right now. In this bed. You're fucking mine."

"Mmm I'm yours-"

"Louder."

"I'm yours Jake, all yours."

He kissed you. Bruising. Claiming. His hand moved from your throat to your hair, pulling, tilting your head back.

"One more question," he said. "Get it right and I'll let you cum."

"Okay-"

"What's the probability that I'm going to stop until you've cum at least three more times?"

You blinked at him.

"That's not a real question-"

"Wrong answer."

He pulled out. Flipped you over again. Pulled your hips up and drove back in, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.

You came without warning. Without permission. Your body just broke, clenching around him, sobbing into the pillow.

He didn't stop.

"That's one," he said. "Two more to go."

"Jake- I can't-"

"You can. And you fucking will slut."

He fucked you through it. Through the oversensitivity, through the tears, through the way your arms gave out and your face pressed into the mattress.

When you came again, it was on his command. His voice in your ear. And your body obeyed.

"You're learning," he said.

He pulled out. Rolled you onto your back one last time. Stared down at you all wrecked, crying, completely undone.

"One more," he said.

"Fuck I can't-"

"You can."

He pushed back inside you. Slow this time. Gentle. His thumb found your clit and circled softly, coaxing, not demanding.

"Look at me," he said.

You looked at him.

His face was different now. Softer. His eyes were dark but not cold. He pulled you on top of him while watching you like you were something precious.

"Cum for me," he said quietly. "One more time. Nice and slow."

You came apart rolling your hips, letting it wash over you. He followed right after, buried deep, forehead pressed to yours.

Neither of you moved.

His hand came up to your face. Wiped your tears.

"You did good," he said.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No," you agreed. "I don't."

He pulled out. Pulled you against his chest. Wrapped his arms around you.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

"For tutoring?"

"For whatever you want."

You laughed. It came out weak.

"Yeah," you said. "Same time tomorrow."

After that first night, something shifted.

Not dramatically. Not with words or labels or awkward conversations. It just happened. Slowly. Naturally.

Tutoring sessions still happened. Twice a week, sometimes three times. Jake still explained statistics with that infuriating calm, and you still rolled your eyes and snapped at him when he got too cocky. But now, when the session ended, you didn't leave right away.

The first time you stayed, it was because you were tired. Really tired. You'd been up late studying for a different exam, and when Jake finished explaining p-values for the third time, you put your head down on the table and didn't pick it back up.

"You can't sleep here," he said.

"I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes."

"You're snoring."

"I don't snore."

"You're snoring right now."

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. He was smiling with a shine to his eyes.

"Come on," he said. "The couch is more comfortable."

That was the first night you fell asleep on his couch. He threw a blanket over you and sat on the floor next to you, grading papers by the light of his laptop. When you woke up at 2 AM, he was asleep sitting up, head tilted back, mouth slightly open.

You should have gone home.

You didn't.

You pulled him down onto the couch next to you, and he wrapped an arm around you without waking up, and you fell back asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

After that, it became a thing.

Some nights you slept together the real kind, the messy kind, the kind that left you breathless and sore and smiling into the dark. Other nights you just watched movies. He liked action. You liked horror. You compromised on thrillers and spent most of the time arguing about the plot.

He made you popcorn on the stove, not the microwave, because he was "not a savage." You made fun of him for it. Then you ate three servings.

You never talked about what you were.

Not once.

You were tutoring. You were sleeping together. You were cuddling on his couch at 1 AM, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm, your head on his chest.

But you weren't together.

Or maybe you were. Neither of you said it.

Karina asked. Of course she did.

"So," she said one day at lunch, "are you guys like... together together?"

"I don't know."

"How do you not know?"

"Because we haven't talked about it."

"You've slept together multiple times."

"I'm aware."

"You cuddle?"

"...Yes."

"You text him good morning?"

"That's private."

"That's a yes." Karina leaned back. "You're together. You just haven't admitted it yet."

"We're not not together."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means I don't know what it means."

Giselle snorted. "That's the most non answer I've ever heard."

But they weren't wrong. Something had changed. You felt it every time Jake looked at you. Every time his hand found yours under the table. Every time he said good night like he meant stay.

You just didn't know how to name it.

Neither did he.

Jake's friends noticed before he did.

Or maybe they noticed first. He'd been different lately. Softer. He laughed more. He checked his phone more. He left parties early without explanation.

"You're whipped," Sunghoon said.

"I'm not whipped."

"You left Jay's party at 10 PM because she texted you."

"I was tired."

"You've never been tired at parties."

Jake didn't have an answer for that.

They were at their usual table on campus, halfway through lunch. Jay was picking at his food. Heeseung was scrolling on his phone.

"So," Jay said, "are you going to ask her out or what?"

"We're already... doing things."

"Doing things isn't dating."

"We watch movies."

"That's not dating either."

"We sleep together."

Jay raised his eyebrows. "Okay, that's closer. But still not dating."

Jake ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what we are."

"Then ask her."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

Because he was scared. Because he'd never done this before. Because every time he looked at you, he felt something he couldn't name, and naming it made it real, and real meant he could lose it.

"Because," he said.

"Great reason."

Heeseung looked up from his phone. "You like her."

"I know I like her."

"Then do something about it."

Jake was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up.

"Where are you going?" Sunghoon asked.

"To find her. She has class in twenty minutes. I'm going to walk with her."

Jay cheered. "That's adorable."

"Shut up."

"You're blushing."

"I'm not blushing."

Jake flipped him off and walked away.

Behind him, he heard Sunghoon say, "Told you. Whipped."

He didn't turn around.

You were sitting on a bench near the science building, Karina on one side and Giselle on the other, when the topic of Jake came up.

It always came up lately.

"So," Karina said, kicking your foot, "have you guys talked about it yet?"

"Talked about what?"

"About what you are."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know what to say."

Giselle leaned in. "You could start with 'I like you.'"

"I don't even know if he wants that."

Karina stared at you. "Are you serious?"

"What?"

"He cuddles you. He makes you popcorn. He walked you home in the rain last week. He looks at you like you hung the moon."

"He looks at everyone like that."

"He absolutely does not. I've seen him look at other girls. He looks at them like he's deciding what to order for dinner. He looks at you like he's already eaten and he's still hungry."

Giselle nodded. "She's right. He's down bad."

"He's not down bad."

"He texted you good morning every day for two weeks."

You laughed. "You guys are insane."

"We're realistic. You're the one who's in denial."

"Fine. Maybe I like him."

"Maybe?"

"Okay. I like him."

"And?" Karina prompted.

"And... I don't know what to do about it."

"You could start by not hiding it."

"I'm not hiding it."

"You literally just whispered 'I like him' like it was a secret."

"It's not a secret."

"Then say it louder."

"I like him," you said, normal volume.

"Louder."

"I like him!"

"And?"

"I like Jake Sim!."

"And?"

"And I want him to be my boyfriend!."

The words echoed across the courtyard.

You froze.

Because standing ten feet away, right at the edge of the path, was Jake.

He had his hands in his pockets. His head was tilted. And he was smiling.

"Is that so?" he asked.

Your face went red. Karina and Giselle dissolved into giggles behind you.

"Jake-" you started.

"I like you too, by the way." He walked closer. Stopped in front of you. "And I want to be your boyfriend."

"You heard that?"

"Everyone heard that."

You looked around. A few people were staring. Someone was openly filming.

"Oh my God."

"Yeah." Jake was still smiling. "So. Boyfriend?"

"Shut up."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a shut up."

"I'll take that as a yes."

He leaned down and kissed you. Right there. In front of everyone. Karina whooped. Giselle clapped.

When he pulled back, your face was somehow even redder.

"I hate you," you said.

"No, you don't."

"You're right," you agreed.

"Good. Now walk me to class."

"You walk me to class."

He laughed. Took your hand. Pulled you up from the bench.

"See you later," he said to Karina and Giselle.

You didn't look back. Jake's hand was warm in yours.

"So," he said. "Boyfriend."

"Don't push it."

"Too late. I'm pushing it."

"You're insufferable."

"Your insufferable boyfriend."

You stopped walking. Looked at him.

"My boyfriend," you said.

"Yeah."

"Like, officially?"

"Like officially."

You kissed him again. Quick. Soft.

"Wow that was easy hmm okay," you said.

"Okay?"

"Okay, boyfriend."

He grinned.

"Now walk me to class," you said.

"Yes, ma'am."

He didn't let go of your hand the whole way.

You were exhausted.

Not because you hadn't slept. You had. But you'd slept with Jake, which meant you'd stayed up late talking, then not talking, then talking again. By the time you actually fell asleep, it was almost 3 AM.

Now you were in Professor Lee's lecture, and your eyelids were winning the war.

You rested your head on your hand. Blinked. Blinked again.

Your eyes closed.

"You're falling asleep," a voice whispered.

Jake. He was sitting next to you. He'd started sitting next to you in every class you shared, which was three. He said it was "strategic." You said it was "clingy."

"I'm not falling asleep," you murmured. "I'm resting my eyes."Your head slipped off your hand. You caught yourself just before it hit the desk.

Jake laughed quietly.

"Go away," you mumbled.

"No."

"Then let me sleep."

"You can't sleep in class."

"Watch me."

You put your head down on the desk. Your eyes closed. The professor's voice faded into background noise.

You were almost there. Almost asleep.

Then you felt it.

Jake's hand on your thigh.

You didn't move. Didn't react. Maybe he was just...

His hand slid higher. Your eyes opened.

"Jake," you whispered.

"Shh."

"What are you doing?"

"Keeping you awake."

"This isn't keeping me awake."

His fingers found the button of your jeans. Your breath caught.

"Stop," you whispered.

"Do you want me to stop?"

You didn't answer. He took that as a no.

Jake's fingers worked the button of your jeans open. Slow. Deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world.

You should have stopped him.

You were in class. In the third row. Professor Lee was ten feet away, droning on about statistical significance. There were people on either side of you. People behind you. People who could look up at any moment and see exactly what was happening.

You should have stopped him.

You didn't.

His hand slipped inside your jeans. Past the waistband of your underwear. His fingers were warm, fingertips rough against your skin, and he moved with the confidence of someone who already knew exactly where to touch.

"You're wet," he murmured, so quiet only you could hear.

"Jake."

"You've been thinking about this?"

"No."

"Liar."

His finger circled your clit. Once. Twice. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound.

"Look at me," he said.

You turned your head. His eyes were dark. Focused. That stupid smirk was gone, replaced by something hungrier.

"Don't make a sound," he said.

"I won't."

He slid a finger inside you.

Your hand flew to your mouth. You pressed your knuckles against your lips, breathing hard through your nose. The professor kept talking. No one looked back. No one knew.

Except Jake.

He added a second finger. Curled them. Hit a spot that made your vision blur.

"Jake," you breathed.

"Shh."

"Someone's going to see."

"Then you'd better be quiet love."

He pumped his fingers slowly, deliberately, watching your face the whole time. His thumb pressed against your clit with every thrust. You were gripping the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles were white.

"So tight," he murmured. "You're going to cum already?"

"No."

"You're close. I can feel it."

"You can't-"

"I can feel everything." He leaned closer. His lips brushed your ear. "I can feel how much you want this. How much you want me. You're dripping down my fingers princess."

Your face burned. Your body burned. Everything burned.

"Please," you whispered.

"Please what?"

"Please don't stop."

He didn't.

His fingers moved faster. Harder. His thumb pressed down. You were shaking, legs trembling under the desk, teeth sinking into your knuckle to muffle the sounds.

"That's it," he whispered. "Cum for me. Right here. In class. With everyone watching."

It ripped through you, sudden and violent, your back arching, your eyes squeezing shut. You bit down so hard on your hand you left marks. Jake's fingers kept moving, working you through it, prolonging it until you were nothing but static.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was smiling.

"I hate you."

"You just came on my fingers in the middle of class."You're going to thank me later."

He pulled his hand out of your jeans. Slowly. Deliberately. And then still watching you he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.

One by one.

His eyes never left yours. You forgot how to breathe.

"Jake," you said. Your voice came out strangled.

"Yeah?"

"We need to leave."

"Class isn't over."

"I don't care."

"You don't?"

"No."

You stood up. Grabbed your bag. Your legs were still shaking. Jake watched you with that infuriating calm, like he knew exactly what was coming next.

"Y/N," he said.

"Get up Jake."

"Where are we going?"

"Bathroom. Janitor's closet. Your car. I don't care. Get up."

He stood. Sling his bag over his shoulder. His hand found the small of your back as you walked toward the door. Professor Lee didn't even look up.

The second you were in the hallway, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the stairwell.

"Impatient," he said.

"Shut up."

"You dragged me out of class."

"Shut up."

"You must really want-"

You pushed him against the wall of the stairwell and kissed him. Hard. His hands went to your waist. Yours went to his belt.

"Someone could come in," he said against your mouth.

"Then you'd better be quiet."

He laughed. "Learning from me?"

"You started it in class."

"I was keeping you awake."

"You think you're funny," you said while dropping to your knees.

Jake's breath hitched.

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah. Oh."

Your hands found his belt. Unbuckled it. Pulled it open. His jeans came next, then his boxers, and he was already hard, already leaking, already looking down at you like he couldn't believe this was happening.

"You've been thinking about this," you said.

"Every day."

"Every session?"

"Every single one."

You wrapped your hand around him. Stroked once. Twice. He groaned, head falling back against the wall.

"Shh," you said. "Be quiet."

"You be quiet."

"I'm not the one who's going to make noise."

"You're about to be."

You leaned forward. Took him in your mouth.

His hand flew to your hair. Not pushing. Just holding. Just feeling.

You started slow. Teasing. Tongue flat against the underside, then pointed, then circling the tip. He tasted like salt and soap and something else you couldn't name.

"Jesus," he breathed.

You pulled off. Looked up at him.

"If I can be quiet during class," you said, "you can be quiet in a stairwell."

"That's different-"

His grip tightened in your hair. "You're evil," he said.

"You like it."

"I hate it."

"No, you don't."

You took him again. Deeper this time. He groaned, low and rough, and you felt it in your chest.

You set a rhythm. Slow. Deliberate. Every time he got close to the edge, you pulled back. Let him cool down. Started again.

He was a mess in your hands. Leaning against the wall, head back, jaw slack, breathing in short, sharp gasps.

"You're killing me," he whispered.

You took him deeper. Swallowed around him. His hips jerked.

"Fuck-"

A door opened above you.

Footsteps. Echoing down the stairs.

Someone was coming.

Jake's eyes flew open. He reached for your shoulders, tried to pull you off.

"Stop," he whispered. "Someone's-"

You didn't stop.

"Y/N-"

You looked up at him. Didn't let go. Didn't slow down.

His face was going through all kinds of emotions. Fear and pleasure and something darker, something hungrier. He was frozen, torn between pushing you away and holding you there.

The footsteps got closer.

Jake clamped a hand over his own mouth.

You smiled around him.

The footsteps passed. A door opened. Closed.

Silence.

Jake pulled you off by your hair. Not hard. Just enough.

"You didn't stop," he said.

"And?"

His eyes were black. His chest was heaving.

"You're going to regret that," he said.

"No, I'm not."

He grabbed you by the jaw and pressed you against the wall, back to concrete, his body flush against your chest.

"You think you're in control," he said into your ear.

"I know I am."

"You're not."

His hand fisted in your hair. Tilted your head back.

"Open," he said.

You opened your mouth.

He pushed inside. Not gentle. Not slow. Rough and deep and exactly what you'd been waiting for.

"You wanted to play," he said, thrusting into your mouth. "Now you're going to finish what you started."

His hand held you in place. His hips snapped forward. He fucked your mouth like he'd been holding back the whole time and he had finally snapped.

You gagged. Tears pricked your eyes. You didn't pull away.

"That's it," he groaned. "That's my girl."

He was messy. Sloppy. Spit dripped down your chin. He didn't care. Neither did you.

"I'm close," he said. "You're going to take all of it like a champ right?"

You looked up at him. Nodded as best you could.

He came with a choked sound, buried deep in your throat, and you swallowed everything. Didn't miss a drop.

He pulled out. Stepped back to admire you.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Looked up at him.

He was wrecked. Hair a mess. Chest still heaving. Looking at you like you'd just ruined him for anyone else.

"Good girl," he said, voice hoarse.

You stood up. Fixed your clothes. Fixed his.

"We're going to be late for class," you said.

"I don't care."

"You should care. You're a tutor."

"I'm your tutor." He kissed you. Soft this time. Almost sweet. He took your hand. Led you back toward the door.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

"Same stairwell?"

"Same stairwell."

You laughed. Pushed the door open.

The hallway was empty.

No one knew what had just happened.

That was the best part, it was yours and Jakes dirty secret.

Parties weren't your thing anymore. Or maybe they were, but you'd rather be on Jake's couch, wrapped in his hoodie, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin while some terrible action movie played in the background.

But Jake had asked.

"Come with me," he'd said, tugging on the sleeve of his black button down. The one that made your brain short-circuit.

"Why?"

"Because I want to show you off."

"You want to show me off?"

"Yeah." He said it like it was obvious. "You're hot. I'm hot. We're hot together. People should know."

So now you were here.

The music was loud enough to feel in your teeth, and the lights were low enough that you could pretend no one was staring.

But they were staring.

Because you walked in with Jake's hand on your lower back, his fingers pressed into the curve of your waist, and everyone noticed.

That's Jake's girl.

Damn, they look good together.

You danced with Jake. You drank something sweet that he handed you. You met his friends properly met them, not just the passing introductions from before.

"I'm going to grab a drink. You want one?"

"Yeah. Same thing."

"Be right back."

He disappeared into the crowd.

That's when she found you.

"You think you're so special."

You turned. Wonyoung.

She was standing a few feet away, drink in hand, eyes sharp. She looked good she always looked good but there was something brittle about her tonight. Something desperate.

"Wonyoung," you said.

"Don't say my name like you know me."

"I don't know you. That's the point."

She stepped closer. "You think you've won."

"I'm not playing a game."

She stepped closer. Close enough that you could smell her perfume. "He's going to get bored of you," she said. "He gets bored of everyone. You're not special. You're just the one who said no first. That's all this is. A challenge. Once he wins, he'll move on."

"You already tried that line."

"Because it's true."

"It's not."

"How do you know?"

You tilted your head. "Because I'm here. And you're not."

Her face twisted. "You're such a bitch."

"And you're obsessed with my boyfriend. Which one's worse?"

"You're not even-"

"I'm not even what? His girlfriend?" You smiled. "I am. He asked. I said yes. Sorry you had to find out like this."

Wonyoung's face went red. Then white. Then red again.

"You're lying." She looked like she wanted to throw her drink in your face. You almost wished she would. At least then you'd have an excuse.

But before she could move, a hand landed on your waist. Jake.

"I leave for five minutes," he said, voice calm, "and you're already causing trouble."

"I'm not causing anything. She started it."

Jake looked at Wonyoung. His expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes went cold.

"Wonyoung," he said. "We've talked about this."

"Have we?" She laughed. "You've been ignoring me for weeks. You don't return my texts. You don't even look at me anymore."

"Because I have nothing to say to you."

"You had plenty to say before."

"That was before." He stepped closer to you. His hand stayed on your waist. "Before her."

Wonyoung's eyes flicked to you. Filled with something ugly.

"I'm going to say this once," Jake said. "Stay away from her. Stay away from me. If I hear about you coming near her again, talking to her, texting her, even looking at her I'm going to make sure everyone knows exactly what you've been doing."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Wonyoung stared at him. Then at you. Then back at him.

"I loved you," she whispered.

"No." Jake shook his head. "You wanted to win me. There's a difference."

She didn't respond instead she turned and walked away.

Jake's hand was still on your waist. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, she's not worth my energy."

He watched your face for a long moment. Looking for cracks. Finding none. You let the silence stretch. Let your heartbeat slow. Then you looked up at him.

"I've been meaning to tell you something."

"I got a 95 on the test."

Jake blinked. "What?"

"The exam. The one you've been tutoring me for. 95 percent."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Show me."

You pulled out your phone. Opened the grade portal. Turned the screen toward him.

95. Right there. Jake stared at it. Then at you. Then back at the screen.

"You did that," he said.

"We did that."

"No." He shook his head. "You did that. I just explained things. You did the work."

"Jake-"

"95 percent." He was smiling now. The one that made your chest ache. "That's my girl."

Your face went warm. "Don't."

"My girl with the 95."

"Jake."

"My girl who's going to pass the class with flying colors because she's smarter than she gives herself credit for."

"Okay, okayyyy"

"My girl."

He kissed you.

Not hard. Not desperate. Soft. Slow. Like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

"I'm proud of you," he said. "Like, really proud."

"I know."

"Like, I'm going to tell everyone how proud I am."

"Please don't."

"Too late. I'm already texting Sunghoon."

"Jake!"

He was already typing. Grinning. You laughed. Hit his chest. He caught your hand and held it.

"Same time tomorrow?"

You looked at him. The cocky tutor who'd gotten under your skin. The guy who remembered your coffee order and mopped on Mondays and looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

"Yeah," you said. "Same time tomorrow."

He kissed you again. And the party kept playing.

But neither of you noticed.

[i2sunric]

SAVE ME (I think I’m lost again) — (s.jy) PART 2

PART 1 (19k) ; PART 2 (7k)

PAIRING: nerd!jake x popular!reader (f)

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.

WC: 26k (part 1: 19k - part 2: 7k)

PUBLISHED: 29th May 2026

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14 @mintchocoddeonut @lostgirlysstuff @firstclassjaylee @jazz7gnab @cyutecoree @hooniluhv @soullesslien @chowonasblog @heartmira @keeeholic @skz-enha @swehee @all4moi (fiction) @jiwonniethepooh @chaostudee @andieekosmos @lawjakesim @jaybswife @saamaoaiwyq @starggukies @ily4hoonity @heeverseblog @wickedbutlovely @fairystudio (50/50) CLOSED.

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.

──── ──── ──── 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.

THE END.

[hoondrop]

a/n: nth to do at work and my system has gone to the IT dept so I'm stuck here with a lot of free time on my hands. so here is a jake hard thought based on a gif shared by loml @jaylaxies

the cool metal of his pendant clinking against his collarbone is always the first sound that tells you you’re completely at his mercy. jake is looming over you on the mattress, his dark hair falling forward into his eyes, obscuring the intensity of his gaze as his hand works relentlessly between your thighs.

his long, thick fingers are already deep inside your dripping pussy, pumping in a way that has your hips helplessly twitching up against his palm. the room is quiet save for the wet squelch of your own juices being churned around his knuckles. you are completely drenched, your breath coming in short ragged pants through your parted lips.

jake looks down at you, his chest heaving, eyes dark and blown out as he watches your face twist with pleasure. a deeply perverted smirk touches his lips when he notices your gaze flicking up to the silver pendant dangling just inches above your nose.

"you want it already, don't you?" jake purrs, his voice dropping into a low gravelly rasp that vibrates straight down to your core. "you're so greedy for it whenever you're this horny.... it's all in your eyes, baby"

without pulling his fingers out of your soaking cunt, he reaches up with his free hand and unclasps the chain from around his neck. he holds the heavy metal pendant right in front of his lips, his eyes locking onto yours as he lazily licks his tongue across the iron, coating it in his warm saliva, before leaning down to press a soft, bruising kiss directly to the metal.

"let's make it taste even better for you" he whispers, eyebrow cocking, matching the way the corner of his mouth lifts up.

he drags the chain down your torso, the cool metal sending a violent shiver through your overheated skin, until he presses the heavy pendant directly against your drenched and pulsing folds.

"ahh.. jake...nggh..cold- it's s'cold"

a sharp, hiss breaks from your teeth, your back arching off the bed. the contrast of the semi cool metal pressing directly onto your hyper-sensitive clit has your thighs twitching. "ahh.. jake...nggh..cold- it's s'cold" jake lets out a guttural groan, smearing the pendant aggressively up and down your wet slit, deliberately coating the entire piece of metal in your thick, sticky arousal until it’s glistening under the dim light.

"fuck, look how much you're leaking all over it" he slurs, his fingers inside you giving a sudden deep lunge that bottoms out, forcing a whimpering sob from your lips. "it's completely covered in your sweet juices, baby... looks so fucking delicious for me"

he pulls his drenched fingers out of you with a loud and wet pop, leaving your hole gaping and throbbing for him. he quickly clasps the wet, sticky necklace back around his own neck, the cool iron now dripping with your own pussy juice against his chest.

before you can even catch your breath, jake hooks your knees over his broad shoulders, his large hands clamping onto your waist with a white-knuckled grip. he aligns the thick heavy head of his cock right against your drenched opening and pushes his hips forward, burying his entire length inside you in one thrust.

"jake, ple- fuck" you cry out, your fingers instantly digging into his biceps as your walls stretch wide to accommodate his full girth.

"yeah, take it all... haah... take your man's dick, good baby" jake gasps into your neck, losing all control as he picks up a frantic pace, hammering into you with a deafening, wet slap-slap-slap noise.

as he hovers directly over you, his chest rising and falling in heavy gasps, the silver necklace swings wildly with every single thrust. the pendant dangles right in front of your dazed, glassy face, glistening under the light, your own sticky arousal dripping off the cold metal and landing directly onto your parted, panting lips.

the sight and taste of it messes with your remaining sanity. you wait for the exact moment his hips lunge forward, and shamelessly, desperately,, your tongue darts upwards, catching the wet iron pendant perfectly between your lips and pulling it down into your mouth.

you suck on it heavily, your tongue swirling around the metal, tasting the intoxicating mix of his previous spit and your own taste. "look at me..you like that jakey...? feels so good baby"

jake looks down and freezes for a split second, his expression completely shattering into one of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. his eyes roll back into his head, a growl tearing from his throat as he sees you looking up at him with ruined and glazed eyes, your mouth completely wrapped around his necklace while he continues to stuff your pussy.

"f-fuck... baby...nggh" he whimpers, his voice cracking as your pussy clamps around his dick from the sheer intensity of the act. "you look so fucking dirty like this. sucking on my chain while i ruin your cunt... such a good slut for me, aren't you baby..."

he drops his heavy chest flat against yours, his mouth crashing down onto your jawline, leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses while his hips pick up an even faster, more animalistic pace, desperate to lose his entire warm load inside you while you keep his pendant locked tight between your teeth.

[hoonguin]

mr. and mrs. ✿ ⁠ . ۫ · 심재윤

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊

✷ a week of soft mornings, newlywed chaos, and falling even harder for your husband, sim jaeyun !

pairings ⸝⸝ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎husband!jake ✿ f!rea ‎ ‎ ✉️‎ ‎ ‎ wc ⸝⸝ 19.9k

🗯️ 内容‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ established relationship, newlywed dynamics, suggestive content, emotional intimacy, domestic fluff, slice of life, honeymoon shenanigans, comfort, three different smut scenes woven throughout the story (too much is going on sorry) !

EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : world, be kind ! don't have much to say for this because i do like it . . this request right here, thank you so muchi (i’m sorry, i practically missed the whole gist of the request 😭) > < anyways i miss jake so much i need him bad faaaah

"Guess who's Mr. and Mrs. now?!"

The voice bursts out of your MacBook speakers with a brightness that doesn't belong in a quiet hotel room at half past midnight, and it takes you a full three seconds to realize the voice is yours. 

There you are on the screen, glowing and breathless and slightly blurry, holding the camera at arm's length with one hand while the other clutches a bouquet that's already started to wilt at the edges, and next to you is Jake, your Jake, grinning so wide it looks like his face might split in half, his tie loosened and his hair falling across his forehead in that effortlessly messy way it does after he's been running his hands through it for hours. 

Behind you both, through the car windows, the city lights smear into long, streaking lines of gold and white, and faint but unmistakable, the opening chords of Heaven by Bryan Adams are playing from the car's speakers, filling the vehicle with that impossibly earnest, soaring melody that Jake had quietly added to the playlist three weeks ago and pretended he didn't know how it got there.

On screen, you shake the camera a little, bouncing in the passenger seat. "Say hi to the camera, husband."

Husband. The word lands on the recording like a sparkler going off, bright and crackling and slightly unbelievable, and Jake leans into the frame and presses a kiss to your cheek so hard your whole body tilts, and you shriek with laughter, and the camera wobbles, and the moment is chaos and joy and so perfectly, messily alive that watching it now, hours later, sitting cross-legged on this hotel bed with your wedding dress finally off and your makeup finally washed away and your hair finally free of the forty-seven pins that had been holding it up since this morning, you feel your eyes well up all over again.

Goodness gracious.

You were married.

You were actually, legally, irreversibly married to the man on that screen, the one who was currently in the bathroom brushing his teeth with his shirt half-buttoned and his suit jacket abandoned on the back of a chair, the one who had slipped a ring on your finger not eight hours ago and meant every word he said while doing it, the one who had been yours for years and was now yours in a way that was different, deeper, more permanent, more terrifying and wonderful than anything you'd ever known.

You pause the video. The frame freezes on both of you mid-laugh, your head thrown back, his arm around your shoulders, the city lights frozen behind you like a constellation that existed just for this moment. You stare at it for a long time, at the curve of his smile and the crinkle at the corners of his eyes and the way your hand is resting on his chest like it's the most natural thing in the world, and something enormous and warm and almost unbearable swells in your chest until you have to press your palm flat against your sternum like you can hold it in.

The MacBook sits on the hotel desk, cables connecting it to the camera your father had given you just a month before the wedding. He'd handed it to you over dinner at your parents' house, a small, neat box wrapped in silver paper, and when you'd opened it and seen the camera inside, a beautiful, top-of-the-line digital camera with a lens that cost more than your first car, you'd looked at him with confusion, because you already had a camera, a perfectly good one that you'd been using for years, and he'd cleared his throat and said, "It's for your last month as my little girl. I want you to document everything."

And you'd called him dramatic, because you'd always be his little girl even when you were married, even when you were eighty years old and gray and using a walker, and he'd gotten that look on his face, the one that meant he was trying very hard not to cry, and he'd said, "I know. But it's different now. Let me have this."

So you'd documented everything. The final dress fitting, the bridesmaids scrambling to get ready, the rehearsal dinner where Jake's best man had given a speech so funny and so touching that there wasn't a dry eye in the room. The morning of the wedding, your mother helping you into your dress with hands that shook slightly, your father standing in the doorway watching with an expression you'd never forget. Every moment, captured, preserved, locked into a memory card so that you could revisit it whenever you wanted, so that the day would never fade or blur or lose its shape.

You click through the import progress bar. Eighty-three videos. Five hundred and twelve photos. Each one a fragment of the most important day of your life, stacked neatly in a folder on your desktop like evidence that any of this had actually happened.

You click on the next video.

This one is from earlier in the evening, still at the reception, and the camera is propped up somewhere, maybe on a table, capturing the room from a slight distance. The dance floor is full, the members of Jake's group are doing something elaborate and slightly ridiculous that involves a lot of spinning and one near-collision with the cake table, and in the foreground, you and Jake are sitting at your table with your chairs angled toward each other, his hand on your knee, your hand on top of his, and you're not even watching the dancing. You're watching each other. He's saying something, leaning close, his lips near your ear, and whatever he's saying makes you press your face into his shoulder and laugh, and then he kisses your temple and pulls you closer and you stay like that, tucked against each other, the noise and the music and the celebration swirling around you while you exist in your own small, private orbit.

You remember what he'd said. He'd leaned in and whispered, "I can't believe I get to keep you forever," and it had hit you so suddenly and so completely that you'd laughed, not because it was funny but because your body didn't know what else to do with that much happiness, and you'd buried your face in his shoulder and felt his chest shake with silent laughter too, and for a moment, just a moment, the entire world had shrunk down to the warmth of him and the steadiness of his heartbeat and the unbelievable, unshakeable certainty that this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

The next video. The drive.

This one you'd already glimpsed, the one that had played when you first opened the folder, but now you watch it properly, letting it unspool from the beginning. Jake had handed you the keys after the reception, a playful little gesture, and you'd looked at him like he was insane because you'd been wearing heels for six hours and could barely walk let alone drive, and he'd laughed and taken the keys back and guided you to the passenger side with a hand on the small of your back, opening the door for you like he'd been doing all night, like he'd been doing for years, like he'd presumably keep doing for the rest of your life because that was just who he was.

The camera had been sitting on the dashboard, propped against the windshield, capturing the two of you in profile as the city moved past outside. You'd pressed play on the playlist before you even pulled out of the venue parking lot, and the first song that came on was Heaven, because of course it was, because Jake had queued it there on purpose and then feigned ignorance, and you'd both burst out laughing at the sheer audacity of it, the cheese of it, the perfection of it.

"Guess who's Mr. and Mrs. now?!" you'd shouted at the camera, and Jake had whooped from the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel and the other reaching for yours, and the joy was so big and so loud and so present that it felt like it might burst out of the car and fill the entire street.

"We're married," Jake had said, and his voice was full of wonder, like he was saying it to convince himself, like the reality was still settling in and every repetition made it more real. "We're actually married. You're my wife."

"I'm your wife," you'd repeated, and the word was new and strange and thrilling in your mouth, a shape your tongue wasn't used to forming but wanted to say over and over. "You're my husband."

"Your husband," he'd said, and he'd lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles, right above the wedding band that was cool and new and still slightly foreign on your finger, and the gesture was so tender, so Jake, that your eyes had burned and you'd had to look out the window for a second and blink rapidly at the passing streetlights because you were not going to cry on your wedding night, you'd already cried approximately four hundred times today and that was enough.

At a red light, he'd turned to you fully, and his eyes were so soft, so warm, so full of something that looked like disbelief and gratitude and love all tangled together, and he'd said, "Hi, Mrs. Sim," and you'd said, "Hi, Mr. Sim," and then you'd both cracked up because it sounded absurd and wonderful and like the name of a couple in a sitcom, and he'd cupped your face in both hands and kissed you, slow and deep and tasting like champagne and cake and forever, and the car behind you had honked because the light had turned green, and you'd broken apart laughing and he'd stepped on the gas and his hand had found your thigh and stayed there for the rest of the drive.

You pause the video again.

His hand on your thigh. That was a constant, a fixture, as reliable as gravity. Jake had this thing where he always needed to be touching you when you were next to him, not in a possessive way, not in a controlling way, but in a grounding way, like he needed the contact to remind himself you were real, like the warmth of your skin under his palm was proof that this, all of this, wasn't a dream he was about to wake up from. A hand on your thigh while driving. An arm around your waist while walking. Fingers interlaced with yours across the center console. A palm pressed flat against the small of your back in crowded rooms. Always touching. Always near. Always there.

And you loved it. God, you loved it so much it made your chest hurt sometimes, the way he reached for you without thinking, the way his body oriented toward yours like a compass finding north, the way he made you feel like you were the most solid, most real, most important thing in whatever room you were standing in.

You close the video folder for a moment and lean back against the headboard, pulling your knees up to your chest, and let yourself think about the day. The whole day, from beginning to end, every overwhelming, overstimulating, joy-saturated second of it.

The wedding had been held at a garden venue just outside the city, a place with old stone walls and climbing roses and a lawn that stretched down to the edge of a lake that caught the late afternoon light and turned it into something out of a painting. Your families were there, all of them, your parents and your siblings and your aunts and uncles and cousins and the family friends you'd known since childhood. Jake's family had flown in from Australia, his parents and his older brother, and the way his mother had hugged you when she arrived, tight and long and with tears already streaming down her face, had made you realize that you weren't just gaining a husband today, you were gaining an entire family, and the thought was so enormous and so overwhelming that you'd had to sit down for a moment and breathe.

The members were there too, all of them, dressed in matching suits that they'd picked out together and immediately started complaining about the moment they put them on. They'd been your friends for years now, long before you and Jake started dating, and they'd watched the two of you circle each other with a kind of fond exasperation that only people who loved you both could manage, and when you'd finally gotten together, they'd reacted with a mixture of relief and vindication that was almost insulting in its unanimity. "Finally," one of them had said, and the others had nodded so vigorously you'd thought their heads might fall off.

The ceremony itself was a blur of emotion and light. You'd walked down the aisle on your father's arm, and he'd been fighting tears the entire way, and when he'd placed your hand in Jake's and stepped back, he'd given Jake a look that was part warning and part blessing and entirely love, and Jake had nodded once, a small, serious, certain nod that said I understand and I will and I promise, and your father had stepped back and sat down and you'd watched him press his palm over his eyes and knew he was crying.

The vows were where you'd lost it completely. Jake had written his himself, because of course he had, because Jake did everything with his whole heart or not at all, and he'd stood there in his suit with his voice shaking and his eyes bright and told you that you were the bravest person he'd ever known, that loving you had taught him what it meant to be brave in return, that he would spend every day for the rest of his life trying to be the man you saw when you looked at him. And you'd stood there with tears streaming down your face and your carefully prepared vows completely abandoned in favor of just talking, just saying whatever came out, because the words you'd written didn't feel big enough anymore, nothing felt big enough to contain what you felt for this man, and you'd told him he was your home, that wherever he was was where you belonged, that you'd choose him in every lifetime if you got the chance.

And then the officiant had said it. The words you'd been waiting to hear since the moment you met him, since the first time he smiled at you across a crowded room and the entire world rearranged itself around the axis of his face.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Jake had pulled you in before the officiant had even finished the sentence, before the last syllable had fully left his mouth, and you'd both been laughing, laughing through tears, laughing through the kiss, laughing like the joy was too big to contain and had to come out somewhere, and the sound of everyone cheering and clapping and crying was washing over you in waves but all you could hear was his breath against your lips and his voice, rough and wet and incredulous, saying "we did it, we actually did it," against your mouth.

The reception was a fever dream of dancing and toasting and crying and laughing and cake and champagne and moments that you'd never remember clearly but would never forget the feeling of. Jake's best man speech. Your maid of honor's speech. The members performing a surprise song that they'd written for you both, a sweet, silly, earnest ballad that had the entire room in tears by the second verse. Your first dance, Jake's hand warm and steady on your lower back, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, the two of you swaying in the center of the floor while everyone watched and you didn't care because the only person who existed in that moment was him.

And now here you were. Married. Sitting in a hotel room at half past midnight, watching yourself live the best day of your life on a laptop screen, feeling like your heart might actually burst from the sheer, impossible weight of being this happy.

The bathroom door opens, and Jake emerges in a cloud of steam, his hair damp from where he'd splashed water on his face, his suit shirt now fully unbuttoned and hanging open, revealing the lean lines of his chest and the soft skin of his stomach. He looks tired, genuinely tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from being on your feet for twelve hours straight while experiencing the most emotionally intense day of your life, but underneath the tiredness there's something else, something warm, glowing, and constant, and when he sees you sitting on the bed with the laptop, his face softens into an expression so fond that it makes your throat tighten.

"Watching the videos already?" he asks, crossing the room to sit beside you on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight and he leans into you automatically, his shoulder pressing against yours, his hand finding the curve of your waist like it's magnetic.

"I couldn't not," you admit. "Look at us."

He looks at the screen, at the frozen frame of the two of you in the car, mid-laugh, and his smile is so immediate and so genuine that it takes your breath away. "God. We look so happy."

"We are so happy."

"We are," he agrees, and he turns his head and kisses your shoulder through the thin fabric of the robe you'd thrown on after taking off your dress. "We really, really are."

You lean into him, resting your head against his, and for a moment you both just sit there, watching the frozen frame, breathing each other in.

"Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't believe we're married."

He laughs, soft and quiet, and his arm tightens around you. "I know. I keep looking at your hand and seeing the ring and being like, that's real. That actually happened."

"It happened."

"It happened." He lifts your left hand and presses a kiss to your wedding band, and the gesture is so tender, so unconscious, that your eyes burn for the hundredth time today. "My wife."

"My husband."

"Mmm." He nuzzles into your neck, pressing a soft, warm kiss just below your ear. "I like the sound of that."

"Which one? Husband or wife?"

"Both. Either. All of it. You being mine and me being yours and this being forever." His voice is muffled against your skin, drowsy and content and so completely open that it makes something crack in your chest. "I've wanted this for so long. I kept thinking, during the ceremony, I kept thinking about how long I've wanted this and how I'd almost convinced myself it might not happen and then there you were, walking down the aisle, and I couldn't breathe."

"Jake..."

"I'm serious. I saw you and my whole chest just... kind of stopped. Everything stopped. I was like, that's her. That's the person I'm going to spend my entire life with. And I started crying before I even had a chance to stop myself and then the guys were making fun of me after but I didn't even care because you were walking toward me and you were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and I knew, I just knew, that I was the luckiest person alive."

You turn your face into his hair and breathe him in, and your eyes are definitely burning now, definitely wet, and you don't even try to stop the tears because it's your wedding night and you're allowed to cry as much as you want.

"Do you remember the proposal?" you ask, your voice thick.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and there's a knowing, slightly sheepish grin on his face. "The hiking one?"

"The hiking one."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Jake, you brought me hiking to a really tall mountain peak. A beach proposal would've been fine. A nice restaurant would've been fine. My living room would've been fine. Instead I had to climb a mountain in sneakers."

"I had to bring you closer to heaven to ask," he says, and the line is so earnest, so completely sincere, so utterly Jake that you can't even be annoyed about the three days of sore calves that followed. He says it like it's the most obvious logic in the world, like of course he'd haul you up a mountain at dawn because where else would you ask someone to spend eternity with you but as close to the sky as you could physically get.

"Damn you," you say, and your voice cracks. "Damn you for still knowing how to make me feel like a dumb teenager in love."

He pulls you into a hug. A real one, full-bodied, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you against his chest, and you bury your face in the curve of his neck and let yourself be held. His hand cradles the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, and his chest is warm and solid and rising and falling with breaths that are slightly shakier than they were a moment ago, and you realize he's getting emotional too, that this is hitting him just as hard as it's hitting you, and the knowledge makes you hold on tighter.

"I love you," he says into your hair. "I love you so much. I'm going to love you for the rest of my life and that's still not enough time."

"It's enough," you whisper. "It's more than enough."

He pulls back and looks at you, and his eyes are red-rimmed and bright and so full of love that it's almost hard to look at directly, like staring at the sun, and he cups your face in his hands and wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, gentle, so gentle, like you're something precious and irreplaceable.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Hey."

"Let me help you get ready for bed, okay? You've been in this dress all day and your hair must be killing you."

It is. Your scalp is throbbing dully from the weight of the pins and the spray and the elaborate updo that had taken two hours to construct and had looked stunning but had felt like wearing a helmet made of bobby pins. Your dress is off, finally, you'd managed to wiggle out of it an hour ago with a lot of wriggling and a few choice words about the structural integrity of boning, but your hair is still up, still pinned, still holding on like it's afraid of what it might find when it comes down.

"Okay," you say.

He stands up and offers you his hand, and you take it, and he leads you to the vanity in the corner of the hotel room, settling you on the little stool and standing behind you. You watch him in the mirror as he starts to carefully, so carefully, remove the pins from your hair, one by one, setting each one on the counter with a soft little click. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and the tenderness of the image, your husband carefully undoing your hair on your wedding night, makes something in your chest swell until you feel like you might float.

"You're so good at this," you murmur.

"I've had practice," he says, pulling another pin free. "You fall asleep on my shoulder during movie nights and I have to undo your hair clips so they don't stab me."

"That's different. That's self-preservation."

"Maybe. But my methods are gentle either way." He pulls the last of the pins and your hair tumbles down in a dark, heavy wave, and he combs his fingers through it slowly, working out the tangles, and you close your eyes and let yourself feel it, the scratch of his fingernails against your scalp, the pull of the strands between his fingers, the way he's touching you like you're made of something fragile and valuable.

He moves to your jewelry next. The earrings first, tiny diamonds that had sparkled like stars against your neck all evening, and he sets them on the counter next to the pins. Then the necklace, a thin gold chain with a small pendant that he'd given you for your second anniversary, and his fingers are warm against the nape of your neck as he unclasps it, and you shiver.

"Cold?" he asks.

"No," you say honestly.

You feel his smile against your hair as he presses a kiss to the back of your head.

When the jewelry is all off and your hair is down and your face is bare and you're sitting in front of him in nothing but the robe, he steps back and you stand and turn to face him, and the look in his eyes shifts. Softens into something deeper, darker, more intent.

"Take off the robe," he says, and his voice is quiet, not a command but a request, gentle but with an undercurrent of something that makes your pulse quicken.

You undo the tie at your waist and let the robe slide off your shoulders, and it pools at your feet in a whisper of silk, and you're standing in front of him in the ivory lingerie set he'd bought for you. The one he'd surprised you with a week before the wedding, a small, elegant box left on your pillow with a note that said "for after," and when you'd opened it and seen the lace, the silk, and the delicate, ivory color that was so soft and so pretty and so deliberately chosen, you'd pressed your face into the note and laughed until you cried because even his gifts were thoughtful, even his surprises were considerate, even his lingerie was selected with the kind of care and attention that made you feel seen and wanted and loved.

The bra is delicate, sheer ivory lace that cups your breasts and barely conceals them, the nipples visible through the pattern of flowers and scrollwork. The underwear is matching, high-waisted and elegant, the same ivory lace, a small silk bow at the front that he'd definitely picked specifically because he knew it would make you smile. The set is beautiful, objectively, but it's the fact that he chose it, that he imagined you in it, that he went to a store or a website and picked this exact shade and this exact cut because he thought you'd look perfect in it, that makes you feel more beautiful than any piece of clothing ever has.

Jake looks at you.

For a long, charged moment, he just looks.

His eyes move over your body slowly, taking in the lace and the silk and the skin underneath, and his throat bobs as he swallows, and his hands, which had been steady and careful while removing your pins, are now gripping the back of the vanity chair hard enough that his knuckles are white.

"You're wearing it," he says, and his voice is rough.

"You bought it for me to wear," you say.

"I know, I just—" He stops. Starts again. "God. You look... I can't even... you're so beautiful. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my entire life and I'm going to say that every day for the rest of our lives and it's never going to be enough."

Heat pools between your thighs, slow and warm and insistent, and you watch his eyes darken as he looks at you, watch the way his chest rises and falls a little faster, watch the way his hands flex at his sides like he's fighting the urge to reach for you.

"Jake," you say softly.

"Yeah?"

"You already know what I’m about to say."

“And that would be…? What?”

“Touch me.”

A sheepish grin tugs at his lips, and he moves.

Two steps and his hands are on your waist and his mouth is on yours and the kiss is slow and deep and full of everything neither of you has words for. His lips are warm and familiar and they move against yours with a tenderness that makes your eyes sting, and his hands slide up your sides, his thumbs tracing the edge of the lace where it meets your skin, and you shiver and press closer and open your mouth against his.

He walks you backward, step by careful step, until the back of your knees hits the edge of the bed, and he lowers you down onto it with a gentleness that makes your heart ache, settling over you, his weight balanced on his forearms, his body a warm, solid line above yours. He kisses you again, softer now, his lips brushing your jaw, your cheekbone, the bridge of your nose, and then he pulls back and looks at you, and his eyes are so dark and so warm and so full of love and want that you feel seen in a way that goes beyond the physical, like he's looking at every version of you that has ever existed and loving all of them equally.

"Hi, wife," he whispers.

"Hi, husband," you whisper back, and the words are still new, still startling, still sending a little thrill through your chest every time you say them.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours, and his hands find the clasp of your bra and undo it with a practiced ease, peeling the lace away from your skin and tossing it somewhere in the direction of the floor. His palms find your breasts, warm and careful, and he cups them gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you gasp into his mouth and arch into his touch.

"Perfect," he murmurs against your lips. "You're so perfect. I've been thinking about this all day. Every time I looked at you during the ceremony, every time we danced, every time someone made a toast about us, I was thinking about getting you back here and getting my hands on you."

"Jake—"

"Is that bad?" He rolls your nipples between his fingers, gentle but firm, and the sparks of sensation shoot down your spine and pool hot and urgent between your legs. "Thinking about my wife like that during our wedding? Can't help it. You walked down that aisle and I was gone. I was a goner. I've been half-hard since you said I do."

You whimper, and the sound is small and needy and you'd be embarrassed if you had any capacity for embarrassment left, which you don't, not with him, not with Jake, who has seen every version of you and loved every single one.

"Look at you," he breathes, and he dips his head and drags his tongue across one nipple, slow and flat and wet, and your spine arches off the mattress like he's pulled a string attached to your back. "I've been dying to do this all night. You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you during the reception. Every time you leaned over the table, every time you laughed and your dress shifted, I could see the outline of this set through the fabric and I almost lost my mind."

He takes your nipple into his mouth fully now, sucking with a slow, deliberate pressure that has your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling, and he groans against your breast, the vibration of it humming through your chest and settling deep in your belly. His other hand isn't idle — it's palming your other breast, kneading the soft flesh, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling and tweaking and working you into a state of such acute sensitivity that every touch feels like it's being transmitted directly to the throbbing heat between your legs.

"Jake, please—" You don't even know what you're asking for. More. Everything. Him.

"Shh," he says against your skin, and he switches sides, his mouth finding your other breast, his tongue circling the areola before latching onto the nipple and sucking hard enough to make you cry out. "I'm getting there. Let me have this first. Let me worship you the way you deserve."

His hand slides down your stomach, fingertips tracing the silk bow at the front of your underwear, and he hooks his fingers under the waistband and tugs, just slightly, just enough for you to feel the pressure against your hip bones. "I picked this set because I knew the ivory would look insane against your skin. I was right. God, I was so right. You look like you were made for this. Made for me to take apart."

He kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts, and his mouth is hot and wet and deliberate, each kiss placed with the same care he used when he was removing your hairpins, like he's cataloguing every inch of you, like he's mapping the territory of your body and memorizing it for future reference. His hands slide down your sides, hooking into the waistband of your underwear, and he looks up at you from between your breasts with a question in his eyes.

"Can I?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes."

He pulls them down slowly, dragging the lace down your thighs, over your knees, off your ankles, and then he settles back between your legs and looks at you, really looks at you, and the expression on his face is one you'll never forget. Reverent. Hungry. Overwhelmed. Like he can't quite believe that this is real, that you're real, that you're his.

"My wife," he says, and his voice is thick and rough and reverent. "All mine."

"All yours," you confirm, and your voice comes out breathier than intended.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, one and then the other, and the position opens you up to him completely, vulnerably, and you feel the cool air against your slick, heated skin for barely a second before his mouth is on you.

The first touch of his tongue against your cunt tears a sound from your throat that you don't even recognize, something raw and broken and desperate. He licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, and the heat of his mouth and the wetness of his tongue and the scratch of his slight stubble against your inner thighs is so much, almost too much, and your hands fly to his hair and grip hard.

"Jake—oh my god—"

He groans against you, and the vibration of it pulses through your core and makes your hips buck, and he presses his palms flat against your hips to hold you still and does it again, another long, slow lick, and then another, and another, each one deeper and more thorough than the last. His tongue circles your clit, then dips lower, pressing inside you, then drags back up, and the rhythm he sets is devastating, relentless, a slow and steady unraveling that has you trembling and gasping and saying his name like it's the only word you remember.

"Feel so good," he murmurs against you, and his voice is muffled and rough and the words vibrate against your sensitive flesh and make you jerk. "Taste so good, baby. My wife. My perfect wife. I could do this for hours."

"Please—"

"Please what? Use that pretty mouth."

"More. Please. Don't stop."

He doesn't stop. His tongue finds your clit again and circles it in tight, firm strokes, and two of his fingers slide inside you, curling upward, pressing against that spot that makes your vision blur, and the dual sensation of his mouth and his fingers working in tandem is so overwhelming that you feel the orgasm building already, a hot, coiling tension that's gathering speed and intensity with every passing second.

"You know what I kept thinking during the ceremony?" he says against your clit, and his lips brush the swollen bud as he speaks, and the graze of them is enough to make your thighs shake against his shoulders. "I kept thinking about how I was going to have you like this later. Spread out underneath me. Making these sounds. Being this wet for me. I wrote my vows with your taste still in my mouth from last night and I couldn't even concentrate because all I could think about was doing this to you on our wedding night."

"Jake, I'm close, I'm—"

"Come for me," he says against your clit, and the words are filthy and reverent and the permission is all you need. The orgasm crashes through you in waves, your back arching off the bed, your thighs shaking against his shoulders, your walls clenching around his fingers, and he works you through it, his tongue and his fingers never stopping, drawing it out until you're oversensitive and trembling and pulling at his hair and gasping his name.

He doesn't pull away immediately. He stays between your legs, pressing soft, wet kisses to your inner thighs, to the crease where your thigh meets your hip, to the swollen, sensitive flesh that's still pulsing with the aftershocks. His fingers slide out of you slowly, and he drags them through your slick, feeling the mess he's made, and he looks up at you with his chin wet and his eyes black and his lips swollen, and he says, "I want to do that again. I want to live between your thighs. I want to fall asleep with my mouth on you and wake up the same way."

"You're too goddamn greedy."

"For you? Always." He presses one more kiss to your clit, feather-light, and you jolt from the overstimulation, and he grins, this crooked, devastating grin that makes your stomach flip even though you just came hard enough to see stars.

He crawls back up your body and kisses you, and you can taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet and obscene, and the intimacy of it, the rawness of it, makes you whimper against his lips. His bare chest is pressed against yours, skin to skin, and you can feel his heart hammering against your ribs, feel the heat radiating off him, feel the hard, insistent length of him pressing against your stomach through his unbuttoned shirt.

"I love you," he says, and his voice is rough and wrecked and so full of feeling. "I love you so much. I'm going to make you feel so good tonight. I'm going to make you feel so good for the rest of our lives."

"Jake, I need you inside me. Please."

"Not yet." He shakes his head, and there's a dangerous glint in his eyes, something playful and dark. "I'm not done with you. That was just the appetizer, baby. I've been waiting all day for this. I'm taking my time."

He sits back on his heels and looks down at you, sprawled out and flushed and trembling on the hotel sheets, and his gaze travels from your face to your breasts to the wet, glistening mess between your thighs, and he licks his lips, and the gesture is so unconscious and so filthy that you feel yourself clench around nothing.

"Look at you," he says, and his voice has dropped into that register that makes your stomach tighten and your breath catch. "My wife. All spread out for me. You're shaking. You came so hard and you're still shaking. I love that. I love knowing I can do that to you. That nobody else gets to see you like this. That you're mine."

"I'm yours," you whisper. "All yours. Only yours."

"Only mine." He reaches out and traces a fingertip down the center of your chest, between your breasts, down your stomach, and dips into your navel, and then lower, through the slick, wet mess of you, and he doesn't push inside, just trails his finger through it, feeling how wet you are, how ready, how desperate. "God, you're drenched. I made you this wet. I did this. I turned you into this trembling, soaking mess just with my mouth and my fingers."

"Jake, please—"

"Please what?" He circles your clit with the lightest possible pressure, and you buck up into his touch, chasing more, chasing him. "Use your words, lovely. Tell me what you need."

"You. Inside me. I need you inside me. Please."

"Since you asked so nicely." He reaches over to the nightstand, and you hear the rustle of a wrapper, and then he's settling between your legs again and you feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and he pauses, looks down at you, and the look on his face is so open and so full of love that it steals your breath.

"Ready?" he asks softly.

"Ready."

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, and the stretch of him fills you so completely that you both groan, his low and guttural, yours high and breathless. He stills when he's fully inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts against your lips, and you can feel him trembling, feel the effort it's taking him to hold still, to be gentle, to not just take.

"You feel so good," he whispers, and his voice cracks on the last word. "You feel so good, princess. I can't—I'm not going to last long, I've been thinking about this all day, you have no idea—"

"It's okay," you say, and you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. "I don't need you to last. I just need you."

He starts to move. Slow at first, deep and rolling, each thrust measured and deliberate, his body pressing into yours with a gentleness that makes your chest ache. His hands find yours, interlacing your fingers above your head, and he holds them there, pinned against the pillow, and the intimacy of it, the closeness of it, the way he's surrounding you and filling you and loving you all at once, is so much that you feel tears prickle at the corners of your eyes again.

"I can't believe you're mine," he says against your neck, his hips snapping forward a little harder, a little faster, and the shift makes you gasp. "I can't believe I get to have you forever. I can't believe you chose me."

"I'll always choose you," you whisper, and your voice breaks on it.

"Fuck—" His rhythm stutters, his hips jerking, and you can tell he's close, you can feel it in the way his cock pulses inside you, in the way his breath comes faster and more ragged, in the way his hands grip yours so tight it almost hurts. "You feel too good, I can't—I need—"

"Go faster," you tell him. "Don't hold back. I want all of you."

And he does. He lets go. His hips snap forward with a force that drives the breath from your lungs, his pace turning from measured to desperate in the space of a single thrust, and the sound of it fills the room, skin against skin, wet and sharp and urgent, and his moans are broken and raw and so fucking hot that you feel another orgasm building already, the pressure coiling tight and hot in your stomach. He shifts your legs higher on his waist, changing the angle so that every thrust drags against that spot inside you, the one that makes your vision blur and your nails rake down his back and your mouth fall open in a sound that isn't even a word anymore, just pure, unfiltered sensation given voice. The headboard is knocking against the wall now and neither of you cares, let the entire hotel know, let the entire world know that Sim Jaeyun is making love to his wife on their wedding night and neither of them can think about anything else.

"God, you take me so well," he groans, and his voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. "You're so tight around me. I can feel you squeezing me. You're close again, aren't you? I can feel it."

"Yes—baby—"

"I want you to come on my cock," he says, and the words are a command and a plea and a prayer all wrapped into one breathless gasp. "I want to feel you fall apart around me. I want to feel you milk every drop out of me. Come on, baby. Give it to me."

"Close," he gasps, and his voice is wrecked, barely a voice at all, just breath and sound and need. "I'm close, I'm—are you—mmgh—"

"Close too. Keep going. Don't stop."

He doesn't stop. He drives into you harder, faster, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips, and you feel the orgasm cresting, feel the tension winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, and you come with his name on your lips, your walls clenching around him in pulsing waves, and he follows a second later with a sound that's almost a sob, his hips jerking erratically as he spills inside you, hot and deep and overwhelming.

Even after, he doesn't pull out immediately. He stays buried inside you, his cock twitching with the aftershocks, his hips making tiny, involuntary thrusts that make you both shudder and gasp each time, oversensitive and overwhelmed and incapable of stopping, and he kisses your face — your forehead, your eyelids, the bridge of your nose, the wet tracks on your cheeks that you hadn't even realized were there. His hands release yours and come up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears, and he's looking at you with an expression of such absolute, overwhelming wonder that you feel your chest crack open all over again.

"Hey," he says, and his voice is wrecked and raw and so full of love it's almost hard to hear. "Hey. I've got you. I'm right here."

"I know," you whisper. "I know you are."

He pulls out of you slowly, carefully, and you both wince at the sensitivity, and you feel the wetness of him leaking out of you, dripping onto the sheets, and the obscene intimacy of it makes you flush hot all over. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment and returns with a warm, damp towel. He sits on the edge of the bed and cleans you up with the same gentleness he used when he was removing your hairpins, the same care he used when he was unclasping your necklace, the same attention he gives to everything that involves you, and the tenderness of it makes your eyes sting because this is what your life is going to be now, this is what it means to be married to him, this quiet, steady, unwavering care that doesn't diminish with repetition or time or familiarity.

"Come on," he says, tossing the towel aside and offering you his hand. "Bath."

He leads you to the bathroom, and you'd drawn the bath earlier, the massive hotel tub filled with warm water and the complimentary bath salts that smelled like lavender, and he steps in first and then helps you in after him, and you settle between his legs with your back against his chest and the warm water lapping at your shoulders. His arms wrap around your middle, his chin hooks over your shoulder, and the two of you sit there in the steam and the quiet and the aftermath of everything, and it's so peaceful that you could fall asleep right here.

"Jake?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we do a virtual photobooth? On my laptop? I saw a filter earlier and I really want to take pictures with you."

He's quiet for a moment, and then he laughs, that full, warm, surprised laugh that you love more than any other sound in the world. "You want to take photobooth pictures right now? We're naked in a bathtub."

"So? The filter works on our faces. We'll angle it up. Please?"

"We look exhausted."

"We are exhausted. It'll be authentic."

He laughs again, and the way his chest shakes against your back makes the water ripple around you, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Okay. Let's do it."

Twenty minutes later, you're both sitting on the bed in your bathrobes, your laptop propped on the desk, the photobooth app open, and you're scrolling through the results of your impromptu photoshoot and laughing so hard your stomach hurts. There's one where Jake is making an exaggeratedly serious face while you're mid-blink, one where you're both doing finger hearts with bedhead and smudged under-eyes, one where he's kissing your cheek and you're grinning so wide your eyes are barely visible, and one, your favorite, where you're both just looking at each other, foreheads almost touching, the exhaustion clear on your faces but underneath it, unmistakable, that warm, steady glow of two people who have never been more certain of anything in their lives.

"I look dead," Jake says, peering at the screen.

"You look beautiful," you correct him.

"I look like I haven't slept in three days."

"You look like a man who just married the love of his life. Same thing."

He grins, and it's lopsided and sleepy and so endearing that you reach out and cup his face and kiss him, just because you can, just because he's yours, just because the ring on your finger says so.

You save the best photo and send it to yourself, already thinking about making it your phone wallpaper, already thinking about printing it and framing it and keeping it on your nightstand for the rest of your life. Because that's what this is now. The rest of your life. And every boring, ordinary, exhausted moment of it is going to be extraordinary simply because he's in it.

Sleep comes fast and heavy after that. You crawl under the covers, and he pulls you against him, your back to his chest, his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm and slow against the back of your neck. The last thing you register before consciousness slips away is the weight of his arm and the steadiness of his heartbeat and the impossible, improbable, overwhelming fact that you are married, you are his wife, he is your husband, and tomorrow you're going to wake up and it's still going to be true.

You sleep for five and a half hours.

It's the alarm that does it, a chirping, insistent thing that you'd set the night before and immediately regretted, and Jake groans and buries his face in the pillow and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like "five more minutes" but might also be "I quit," and you laugh and shake his shoulder and tell him that your flight to Greece leaves in four hours and if he misses it you're going without him.

He sits up so fast he nearly headbutts you.

"Greece," he says, his eyes wide and sleep-rumpled. "Our honeymoon. Today. Right. Right?"

"Right."

"I'm up. I'm awake. I'm—" He yawns so wide his jaw cracks. "I'm mostly awake."

You manage to get ready in record time, a whirlwind of packing and checking suitcases and arguing about whose toiletry bag is whose and whether you really need three pairs of sunglasses for a week-long trip and yes you do, Jake, because they go with different outfits, and he shakes his head but he's smiling, he's always smiling, and the giddy, electric energy of being newly married carries you through the exhaustion like caffeine.

At the airport, you check in at the business class counter, and the agent looks at your tickets and then at your faces and then at your hands, and her eyes land on the wedding bands and she smiles and says, "Congratulations," and Jake grins and says, "Thank you, we just got married yesterday," and the agent's face softens and she upgrades you to first class, and you nearly cry right there at the check-in counter because apparently this is what the rest of your life is going to be, people being kind to you because you're so obviously, radiantly happy that it's contagious.

In the first class lounge, Jake insists on taking a photo of you with your boarding pass, and then another one of you with your coffee, and then another one of you looking out the window at the planes, and you roll your eyes but you let him because you know by now that Jake documents things the way other people breathe, naturally and constantly and without thinking about it, and you also know that in approximately three days he's going to pull up these photos and show you one and say "look how pretty you look" and you're going to pretend to be annoyed but actually you're going to melt.

On the plane, you settle into your seats, wide and plush and more like armchairs than airplane seats, and Jake immediately reaches for your hand and interlaces your fingers and holds on, and the simple, constant gesture makes your chest warm. The cabin is quiet, the lights dimmed for the overnight flight, and the flight attendant brings you champagne because you're honeymooners and that apparently means free champagne everywhere you go, and you clink your mini glasses together and Jake says, "To us," and you say, "To forever," and you both drink and then make faces because neither of you actually likes champagne but it's the principle of the thing.

You lean your head on his shoulder and he leans his head on top of yours, and you're both so tired that the exhaustion is a physical weight on your limbs, and you close your eyes and feel the rumble of the engines through the seat and the warmth of his body against yours, and you're drifting off when you feel his lips against your ear.

"You know what I keep thinking about?" he murmurs, and his voice is low and quiet, meant only for you.

"What?"

"You in that ivory lingerie set."

Your eyes open.

"Jake."

"I'm just saying. I've been thinking about it since you took the robe off. The way the lace looked against your skin. The way your nipples showed through." His fingers trace idle patterns on the back of your hand, and his breath is warm and ticklish against your ear. "I'm going to buy you so many pretty things. I'm going to dress you up in lace and silk and take my time taking it all off."

"Jake, we're on a plane."

"I know. I'm not doing anything. I'm just telling you what I'm thinking about." His lips brush the shell of your ear, feather-light. "Is that a crime?"

"You're impossible."

"Impossible to resist?" He grins against your ear, and you can hear the mischief in it, the playful, teasing edge that he deploys like a weapon.

"Impossible to deal with," you correct, but you're pressing your thighs together under the blanket, and he notices because of course he notices, and you feel his hand slide under the blanket and rest on your thigh, warm and heavy and not moving, just resting there, a promise and a tease all at once.

"Go to sleep," he whispers. "I'll behave."

"You'd better."

"I will. For now."

The emphasis on the last two words follows you into your dreams.

You wake up somewhere over the Mediterranean, the plane beginning its descent, and you look out the window and see the sea below you, a blue so deep and so vivid and so impossible that it doesn't look real, and you elbow Jake awake and point and he rubs his eyes and stares and says, "That's where we're going to be for the next week," and you say, "I know," and he says, "I can't believe I get to spend a week in Greece with my wife," and there's that word again, wife, still new and thrilling and still sending a jolt through your chest every time he says it.

Santorini is everything you'd dreamed of and more.

You've wanted to come here for as long as you can remember, ever since you saw a photo of the white-washed buildings and the blue domes and the caldera stretching out toward the horizon like the edge of the world, and you'd mentioned it once, offhandedly, years ago, back when you and Jake had first started dating, and he'd filed it away somewhere in that meticulous, loving brain of his and pulled it out the moment you'd started talking about honeymoon destinations, because Jake is a sucker for you in every possible way, and if your dream destination is a Greek island with sunsets and hot tubs and wine, then that's where he's going to take you even if it means coordinating logistics across eight time zones and two international flights.

The hotel is perched on the edge of the caldera, a cluster of white buildings cascading down the cliffside, and your room is the one at the very bottom, the one with the private terrace and the outdoor jacuzzi and the view that makes you stop in the doorway and forget how to breathe because the sea stretches out below you like a painting, blue and gold and shimmering in the late afternoon light, and the sky is so vast and so clear that it feels like you could reach up and touch it.

Jake comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder, and you both stand there in the doorway of your honeymoon suite, looking out at the most beautiful view you've ever seen, and he says, "Worth the five-hour flight?" and you say, "Worth anything," and he kisses your neck and holds you tighter and the sun is warm on your faces and the sea is glittering and you're here, you're really here, you're in Santorini with your husband on your honeymoon, and the happiness is so big and so present that you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin.

The first afternoon dissolves into a lazy, sun-soaked haze. You unpack in fits and starts, distracted by the view and by each other and by the bottle of wine that was waiting on the nightstand with a handwritten note from the hotel staff congratulating the happy couple. You drink it on the terrace, your feet dangling over the edge, the caldera spread out beneath you like a love letter written in water and stone, and Jake takes approximately four hundred photos of you with the view, of you with your wine glass, of you with the sunset turning your skin golden, and he shows you each one and says, "Look how pretty," and you say, "You're biased," and he says, "I'm objective. You're the prettiest person on this island and I have the photos to prove it."

You explore the town in the evening, winding through narrow cobblestone streets lined with shops and cafes and jewelry stores, and you stop in a little boutique and try on a linen dress that flows like water and makes you feel like a Greek goddess, and Jake watches you spin in front of the mirror and his eyes go soft and dark and he says, "Buy it," and you say, "I don't need it," and he says, "I didn't say you needed it. I said buy it. I want to see you in it again." So you buy it, and he buys a matching linen shirt, and you take a selfie together in the shop mirror like the couple you are, the couple who wears matching clothes in Greece on their honeymoon, and you look at the photo afterward and think, we're those people now, and the thought fills you with a warm, sheepish delight.

You buy gifts for everyone you love. A hand-painted ceramic plate for your mother, a leather journal for your father, a set of olive oil soaps for your sister. A tiny blue evil eye charm for each of Jake's members, because you'd discussed it and agreed that matching keychains would be perfect, and you find a shop that sells them in a row of different colors and you pick one for each of the guys and the shop owner wraps them individually in tissue paper and you tuck them carefully into your bag. Jake buys a set of worry beads for his grandfather, a silk scarf for his mother, a bottle of local wine for his father, and you watch him deliberate over each choice with the same seriousness he brings to everything and you think, not for the first time and not for the last, that you married the most thoughtful person on the planet.

Dinner is at a restaurant perched on the edge of the cliff, a candle on the table, the stars coming out over the sea, and Jake reaches across the table and takes your hand and says, "I want to remember this forever," and you say, "That's what the camera is for," and he says, "The camera can't capture how I feel right now. Nothing can." And you lift your phone and take a photo of him anyway, candlelit and starry-eyed and so handsome it hurts, and he rolls his eyes but he's smiling, and later that night you look at the photo and think he's right, the camera can't capture it, but it can remind you, and that's almost as good.

That first night in Santorini, after dinner and wine and a long, meandering walk through the lit-up streets of the town, you find yourselves on the terrace of your room, the jacuzzi bubbling and steaming in the cool night air, the sea a vast, dark expanse below you, and Jake looks at you with that look, the one that says he's thinking about something specific and it involves significantly fewer clothes than you're currently wearing.

"Jacuzzi?" he asks.

"Jacuzzi," you agree.

You change into your swimsuit, a simple black two-piece that you'd bought specifically for this trip, and when you step onto the terrace, Jake is already in the water, leaning against the edge with his arms spread along the rim, and he looks up at you and his eyes darken and his jaw tightens and you watch him bite his lower lip, a quick, unconscious gesture that sends a sharp pulse of heat straight to your core.

Jake is obsessed with your body. This is not new information. He has been obsessed with your body since the day you met, in various ways and to varying degrees, but the obsession has always been there, simmering beneath the surface of every glance and every touch and every lingering look he thinks you don't notice. He loves your breasts, loves them, can't keep his hands off them, can't keep his eyes off them, is constantly finding excuses to touch them or look at them or rest his head against them like they're pillows designed specifically for him. And he loves your ass, too, loves it with a devotion that borders on religious, is always touching it when you walk, grabbing it when you bend over, pressing himself against it when you're standing in line somewhere, and in Greece, in the heat, in the swimsuits and the shorts and the thin linen dresses that cling to every curve, the obsession has dialed up to a level that is honestly flattering and slightly inconvenient.

Like right now, for instance. You're standing on the edge of the jacuzzi in a black bikini, and Jake is looking at you like you're the sunset and the sea and the stars all compressed into a single person, and his teeth are digging into his lower lip, and you can see the hunger in his eyes, the raw, unfiltered want, and the sight of it, the knowledge that you do this to him, that you make him look like that, makes you feel powerful and desired and so, so hot.

"Get in here," he says, and his voice is lower than it was a moment ago.

You step into the water, the warmth enveloping you, and you settle across from him, letting the jets pulse against your back, and the two of you sit there for a moment in the steam and the starlight, the only sounds the bubbling of the jacuzzi and the distant crash of the sea below. Then his foot finds yours under the water, a casual, deliberate touch, and his toes trace up your ankle, your calf, and you look at him and he's looking at you with that crooked, knowing smile, and you feel the heat building between your legs that has nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

"Come here," he says.

You cross the jacuzzi and settle in his lap, your knees on either side of his hips, your arms around his neck, and he pulls you close and kisses you, and the kiss starts soft but doesn't stay that way. His hands find your waist, your hips, the curve of your ass under the water, and he squeezes and pulls you closer and groans into your mouth, and you feel him hardening beneath you, his cock pressing up against you through his swim trunks, thick and insistent.

"Feel what you do to me," he murmurs against your lips. "One look at you in that bikini and I'm gone. I'm a mess. I've been a mess all day."

"You've been staring at my tits all day."

"Your tits have been out all day. That dress you wore to lunch? The white one? I could see everything. I was hard through the entire meal. I had to put my napkin in my lap."

A laugh escapes you, and you bury your face in his neck and feel his chest shake with silent laughter too, and then his hands slide up your sides and cup your breasts through the bikini top, and the laughter dissolves into a sharp intake of breath as his thumbs find your nipples through the fabric.

"Jake—"

"Let me touch you. Please. I need to touch you."

His hands make quick work of your bikini top, untying it and tossing it somewhere behind him, and his palms find your bare breasts and he cups them, weighs them, squeezes them gently and then not so gently, and his thumbs circle your nipples until they're tight and aching, and you're grinding down onto him without meaning to, chasing the friction, the pressure, the feeling of him hard and ready beneath you.

"You have the most perfect tits," he says, and his voice is reverent and hungry and almost angry about it, like it's a personal offense how much he likes them. "I think about them constantly. During interviews. During rehearsals. During literally any moment when I should be focusing on something else, my brain just goes—" he squeezes again, harder, and you gasp "—right back to these. I'm not even exaggerating. It's a problem. I have a problem and I don't want to fix it."

"Baby—"

"Let me—" He doesn't finish the sentence. He leans in and takes one nipple into his mouth, hot and wet and relentless, and you gasp and grip his hair and arch into him. His tongue works the bud in tight, dizzying circles, then he sucks hard enough to make your spine curve, and you feel the sensation shoot straight down to your core, hot and electric and so intense that your thighs squeeze around his waist. His other hand isn't idle — it's on your other breast, rolling and pinching the nipple between his fingers, pulling and tweaking and working you into a state of such acute sensitivity that every touch feels amplified by a thousand.

"My wife," he breathes against your skin, switching to the other breast, his mouth hot and greedy. "My beautiful wife. I can't get enough of you. I'm never going to get enough of you."

His hand slides between your bodies, under the water, and his fingers find the waistband of your bikini bottoms and slip underneath, and his fingertips drag through your slick, swollen flesh, and the sound you make is somewhere between a gasp and a whimper and a plea. He circles your clit with a slow, deliberate pressure, and you rock against his hand, your body moving on instinct, chasing the pleasure, and his other hand is still on your breast, kneading, rolling your nipple, and the dual sensation is making you dizzy.

"You're so wet," he groans against your chest. "So wet for me. I've barely touched you and you're already this wet."

"It's been like this all day," you admit, and your voice is ragged. "Every time you looked at me. Every time you touched me. Every time you bit your lip."

"I know," he says, and there's a dark, satisfied edge to his voice. "I could tell. I can always tell. Your pupils get dilated and your breathing changes and you press your thighs together and I know exactly what it means because I'm the one who caused it."

His fingers slide inside you, two of them, and you clench around them and moan his name, and he groans in response, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through his chest and into yours. His fingers curl inside you, pressing against that spot, and his thumb finds your clit again, and he starts a rhythm that's steady and deep and absolutely devastating.

"Jake, I need you. I need your dick—fuck, please."

"Not yet." He shakes his head, and there's that dark, playful glint in his eyes again, the one that tells you he's going to drag this out as long as he can because he loves watching you squirm. "Let me make you come like this first. I want to feel you fall apart on my fingers before I fuck you. I want you so desperate that you can't even think straight."

"I'm already—" Your voice breaks as his fingers crook inside you, pressing hard against that spot, and your hips jerk involuntarily, water sloshing around you. "Jake, I'm already—"

"Not desperate enough. Not yet." He adds a third finger, and the stretch is delicious, the fullness just shy of too much, and he starts fucking you with them in earnest now, long, deep strokes that make you grip his shoulders and dig your nails into his skin. "I want you shaking. I want you begging. I want you so far gone that the only word left in your head is my name."

"You're—ah—you're such a—"

"Such a what?" He twists his fingers, and the new angle makes you see white. "Finish your sentence, baby."

"You're such a tease," you manage, and it comes out breathless and fractured and completely unconvincing.

"Am I?" He grins, and it's wicked, it's devastating, it's the smile of a man who knows exactly what he's doing to you and is enjoying every second of it. "Then tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop right now."

"Don't you dare stop."

"Then I'm not a tease, am I?" His thumb presses hard against your clit and circles it in a slow, tight motion, and the combination of that with his fingers curling inside you, pressing that spot over and over, is enough to make your thighs clamp around his hand and your breath come in short, desperate pants. "I'm giving you exactly what you need. I'm making my wife feel good. There's nothing teasing about that."

The words, the raw, filthy honesty of them, push you closer to the edge, and you grind down onto his hand and feel the tension winding tighter and tighter, and his fingers are inside you and his thumb is on your clit and his mouth is on your breast and it's all too much, too much, too much, and the orgasm crashes through you in waves that make you tremble and gasp and say his name over and over like a prayer.

When you come down, he's looking at you with those dark, burning eyes, and his fingers are still inside you but still now, just resting, letting you feel the fullness as your walls pulse around him. He slides them out slowly, and you whimper at the loss, and he brings his hand up out of the water and licks his fingers clean with a slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue, and the sight of it makes your cunt clench around nothing.

"You taste like the sea," he says, and his voice is low and rough and fond. "Appropriate, given where we are."

"You're ridiculous."

"You're the one who just came in a jacuzzi in Santorini on your honeymoon. I think that makes you the ridiculous one."

"I hate your insufferable ass so much."

"No you don't." He grins, and it's so self-satisfied that you want to kiss it off his face, so you do, grabbing his jaw with both hands and kissing him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue, and he groans into your mouth and his hands grip your waist and pull you flush against him, and you can feel how hard he is through his swim trunks, the thick, hot length of him pressing against your core, and the kiss shifts from playful to desperate in the space of a single breath.

"Your turn," you murmur against his lips, and you reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around him through the fabric of his trunks, and his hips jerk up into your touch and he groans, low and guttural and desperate. "You've been so patient. Let me take care of you."

You tug at the waistband of his swim trunks, and he lifts his hips and you pull them down just far enough to free him, and his cock springs up, flushed and hard and leaking at the tip, and you wrap your hand around the base and squeeze, and the sound he makes — this broken, breathless, helpless thing — goes straight to your core and makes you throb even though you just came.

"God, your hand," he chokes out, and his head falls back against the edge of the jacuzzi, his throat exposed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "I've been so hard for so long. You have no idea. You kept bending over in that dress today and I thought I was going to die."

"Poor baby," you say, and you start to stroke him, slow and tight, your grip firm as you slide your hand from base to tip and back again, spreading the wetness at the head down his length. "All that suffering. Let me make it better."

"Fuck—" His hands grip the edge of the jacuzzi so hard his knuckles go white, and his hips are moving, tiny involuntary thrusts up into your fist, and you watch the pleasure move across his face like weather, the furrow between his brows, the way his lips part, the flush spreading down his neck and across his chest, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, your husband falling apart in your hand.

"You know what I love?" you say, and you twist your hand on the upstroke, your thumb dragging across the sensitive ridge beneath the head, and his whole body shudders. "I love that I'm the only person who gets to see you like this. All those people who want you, who scream your name, who think they know what you look like—ugh, they have no idea. They've never seen you desperate. They've never heard these sounds. They've never felt you shake under their hands like this. This is just for me. Only me." You tighten your grip just slightly, twisting on the upstroke, and watch his abdominal muscles clench and his toes curl against the floor of the jacuzzi. "And I'm never sharing."

"Only you," he gasps, and his voice is wrecked, barely coherent. "Only ever you. I'm yours. Every part of me. All of it—ah—all of it yours."

"Good." You tighten your grip and speed up, stroking him faster, harder, and his moans are getting louder, more fractured, his hips snapping up to meet your hand. "I want you to come for me, Jake. I want to feel you spill in my hand. Can you do that? Can you be good for me?"

"Yes—fuck—yes, I'm—" He's trembling now, actually trembling, his thighs tensing under the water, his hands reaching for you and gripping your hip, your waist, anything he can hold onto. "I'm close, I'm so close, please—"

"Then come," you say, and you lean in and bite his earlobe, gentle but sharp, and that's all it takes. He comes with a broken moan of your name, his cock pulsing in your hand as he spills hot and thick over your fingers, his hips jerking erratically, his entire body taut and shaking, and you stroke him through it, slowing your hand as the aftershocks fade, milking every last drop out of him until he's gasping and oversensitive and pulling weakly at your wrist.

"Stop, stop, I can't—" He's laughing, breathless and overwhelmed, and you release him and bring your hand up and examine it with a theatricality that makes him laugh harder. "Don't you even think about stoppi—"

You lick a stripe up your palm, tasting him, salt, skin, and something so unmistakably Jake — and his laughter cuts off abruptly, replaced by a groan so deep it sounds like it's being pulled from the soles of his feet. You hold his gaze as you do it, deliberate and slow, letting your tongue drag across your skin, and you watch his jaw go slack and his chest heave and his cock twitch against his stomach, already filling again, already hard, because apparently the sight of you tasting him is enough to override every recovery period his body has ever known. His eyes are black, pupils blown so wide there's barely any brown left, and he's looking at you with an expression that's equal parts disbelief and desperate, rekindled want.

"If I die, I’m going to blame you," he says.

"Honestly, that sounds like a nice way to go." You grin, and you're about to say something else, something cheeky and self-satisfied, but then his hands are on your waist and he's lifting you and repositioning you, and you feel the hard, insistent press of him against your core — already half-hard again, already recovering, because Jake at twenty-something-years-old has the refractory period of a teenager and the stamina of a man who's been waiting his entire life for this.

"Get these off," you say, tugging at the waistband of his swim trunks, and he lifts his hips and you pull them down and his cock springs free, hard and flushed and thick, and you wrap your hand around him again and stroke him slowly, feeling him pulse in your palm, feeling the heat and the weight of him. You shift your position, settling over him, and you reach down and move your bikini bottoms to the side and guide him to your entrance, and you sink down onto him in one slow, devastating movement.

The sound he makes is wrecked. A broken, breathless moan that echoes off the terrace walls and dissolves into the night air, and his hands grip your hips so hard you know there'll be marks tomorrow, and his head falls back against the edge of the jacuzzi and his eyes squeeze shut and you watch the pleasure move across his face like weather, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

"Baby," he gasps, and the word is reverent, worshipful. "Oh my god, my wife. You feel so good. You're so tight. So warm. I'm not going to last, I—"

"Simply don't," you say, and you start to move, rolling your hips in slow, grinding circles, feeling him shift inside you, feeling every inch of the stretch and the fullness. "We have all week. Just feel it."

"Easy for you to say," he manages, and his voice is strangled, barely holding together. "You're not the one who's been on the edge for six hours. You're not the one whose wife has been parading around in a bikini all day looking like a goddamn Greek goddess. You're not the one who had to sit through dinner with a hard-on because you kept licking gelato off your spoon like that—"

"Like what?" You roll your hips deliberately, a slow, grinding circle that takes him to the hilt and holds, and his eyes roll back.

"Like you knew exactly what you were doing. Which you did. You absolutely did, don't even—" His breath hitches as you do it again. "Don't pretend you didn't know what you were doing to me."

"You like the bikini?"

"I'm going to buy you ten more. I'm going to buy you a bikini in every color. I'm going to make you try them all on for me like a private fashion show and then I'm going to take them off you one by one—"

"Jake." You roll your hips harder, grinding down onto him, taking him deeper, and his sentence dissolves into a moan that sounds like it's being pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. "Less talking. More feeling."

"I'm feeling," he gasps. "I'm feeling everything. I'm feeling you wrapped around me so tight I can barely think. I'm feeling how wet you are, how warm, how perfect. I'm feeling like the luckiest man alive because I get to be inside my wife on our honeymoon in Santorini and—fuck—and the stars are out and the water is warm and I never want this to end."

You lean down and kiss him, swallowing the rest of his words, and his hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts again, his thumbs brushing your nipples, and he watches you ride him with an expression that's half awe and half desperation, like he can't believe this is real, like he's afraid to blink in case it disappears. The water laps around you, the steam rises into the cool night air, the stars are scattered across the sky like spilled diamonds, and you move together in the warm, bubbling water, your bodies finding a rhythm that's slow and deep and so full of feeling that it borders on overwhelming.

You change the angle, leaning back slightly and planting your hands on his thighs behind you, and the new position lets him see everything, the place where your bodies are joined, the slick, wet slide of him in and out of you, the way your tits move with every roll of your hips, and his eyes are glued to it, hungry and dark and so completely transfixed that you feel a surge of power so potent it makes you dizzy.

"You like watching?" you ask, and your voice comes out lower than you intended, rough with want.

"I like watching you," he says, and his hands grip your hips, guiding your movements, helping you set a pace that's faster now, more urgent. "I like watching my cock disappear inside you. I like watching you take me. I like knowing that nobody else gets to see this. Nobody else gets to have this. Just me."

"Just you," you confirm, and the words come out breathless, fractured, barely more than a moan. "Only you. Forever."

"Close," he chokes out, and his hips are jerking up into you now, his rhythm faltering, his hands gripping your waist. "I'm close, I'm—can I—"

"Come inside me," you say, and the words are barely out of your mouth before he's pulling you down onto him one final time and burying himself deep and coming with a sound that's your name and a moan and something that might be I love you, all of it tangled together into a raw, broken, beautiful noise that you want to record and play back for the rest of your life.

You stay there for a long moment, him still inside you, the water lapping at your skin, the stars above you, and he wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest and presses a kiss to your wet shoulder.

"I can't believe you're mine," he whispers.

"I can't believe you're mine either," you whisper back.

"Good. Then we're even."

You laugh, and he laughs, and the sound of it carries out over the caldera and into the night, and somewhere below, the sea catches the moonlight and turns it into a road of silver stretching toward the horizon, and you think, this is my life now, this impossibly beautiful, impossibly lucky life, and you close your eyes and hold on tighter.

The days in Santorini pass in a haze of sunshine and wine and each other.

You sleep late and wake up tangled together, the Mediterranean light filtering through the curtains in warm, golden bars, and Jake presses kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, until you're blinking awake and turning into him and the morning dissolves into something slow and soft and unhurried. He brings you coffee on the terrace, strong and sweet the way you like it, and you sit with your feet up and the sea below and the nowhere you need to be, and the luxury of it, the rareness of having time and nothing to fill it with except each other, is almost too much to bear.

He takes photos of you constantly. Candid ones, when you're not looking. You ordering at a restaurant, squinting at the menu in the bright sunlight. You examining a row of postcards in a tiny shop, holding one up to the light. You taking a photo of the sunset with your phone, your profile silhouetted against the orange and pink sky. You looking at something in a market stall, your head tilted, your hair catching the breeze. He doesn't say anything when he takes them, just quietly lifts his phone or his camera and captures the moment, and you only discover them later, when he shows you the camera roll with that soft, proud smile and says, "Look how beautiful you are," and you look at the photo, at the way he sees you, through his eyes, and your throat tightens because the woman in these photos is radiant and happy and so clearly, unmistakably in love, and you realize that's how he sees you all the time, not just in these moments but always, and the knowledge is so big and so overwhelming that you have to kiss him just to keep from crying.

"You need a new profile picture," he says one afternoon, when you're sitting on a stone wall overlooking the caldera with gelato melting in your hands. "Let me take one."

"I don't need—"

"You do. The one you have is from eight months ago. You've been a wife for four days now. You need an upgrade."

"A wife upgrade?"

"A profile picture upgrade. Come on. The light is perfect."

He positions you against the wall with the blue domes behind you and the sea beyond that, and he takes a dozen photos, adjusting your hair, tilting your chin, making you laugh until the shots are natural and bright and unposed, and when he shows you the best one, the one where you're mid-laugh with the sun in your hair and the Aegean behind you, you actually tear up a little because you look happy, you look so thoroughly, radiantly happy, and it's all because of him.

"See?" he says softly. "Told you. The most beautiful person on this island."

"You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

"I love you."

His face softens into something so tender that it makes your chest physically ache. "I love you too. So much."

You do all the couple things. All of them. You take matching photos in front of the blue domes, squished together with the wind in your hair, and Jake insists on doing a different pose for each one and you end up with a series that ranges from sweet to silly to borderline inappropriate. You find a photobooth in a tourist shop and squeeze inside and take a strip of photos, making increasingly ridiculous faces, and the last one is just you kissing, soft and real, and you cut it in half and each keep one in your phone cases. You buy the matching keychains for the members, small glass evil eyes in different colors, and Jake writes a little note for each one and you package them up in the hotel room and address them and set them aside to mail when you get home. You buy matching sandals from a shop near the harbor because you're a cliche and you don't care, and you wear them for the rest of the trip and take a photo of your feet side by side and Jake captions it "solemates" and you groan so loud the people at the next table turn to look.

He also stares at you. Constantly. In a way that is extremely distracting.

On the beach, when you're wearing a bikini top and a long maxi skirt, and you're applying sunscreen to your shoulders, and you look up and catch him staring at your chest with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his eyes dark and hungry, and he looks away quickly when you catch him but not quickly enough, and the heat that floods your stomach has nothing to do with the sun.

At dinner, when you're wearing a dress that hugs your curves and you lean forward to reach for the wine, and his eyes drop to your cleavage and stay there for a beat too long, and when you straighten up he's adjusting himself under the table and pretending he's not.

On the terrace in the morning, when you step out in your underwear and a t-shirt, still sleep-soft and rumpled, and he looks up from his coffee and his entire body goes still and his jaw tightens and he says, very calmly, "You're trying to kill me," and you say, "I'm literally just getting coffee," and he says, "In that? With your legs out? And your—" he gestures vaguely at your entire body, "—everything? It's an attempted murder is what it is."

You laugh every time. Every single time. Because Sim Jaeyun, idol, performer, man who has been photographed by professionals and screamed at by fans and trained to maintain composure in any situation, cannot keep it together when you're wearing a bikini and a skirt and the sun is hitting your skin, and the knowledge that you have that effect on him is the most heady, intoxicating thing in the world.

The second time it happens, the morning of your fourth day in Santorini, is softer than the first.

You wake up before he does, which is rare, and you lie there for a moment watching him sleep, the way his lashes fan against his cheekbones, the way his lips are slightly parted, the way his chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, and the morning light is coming through the curtains in soft, golden slats and painting stripes across the bed and across his skin, and he looks so peaceful, so beautiful, so completely yours, that you feel the familiar swell in your chest, the too-muchness of loving someone this deeply, and you press a kiss to his bare shoulder because you can't not.

He stirs. A small, sleepy sound. His arm reaches for you, pulling you closer, and he buries his face in your neck and mumbles something unintelligible, and you card your fingers through his hair and feel him melt against you.

"Morning," you whisper.

"Mmm. Morning. What time is it?"

"Early. Go back to sleep."

"Don't want to." He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another, then another, a slow, lazy trail up your neck, and his hand finds your waist under the sheet and pulls you flush against him, and you feel him, half-hard against your thigh, and a slow, warm pulse of desire settles between your legs. "Want you instead."

"You just woke up."

"I've been wanting you all night. It just carried over." He grins against your skin, and his hand slides from your waist to your hip, your thigh, and he grips the flesh there and squeezes, and you feel his cock harden fully against you. "Please?"

"You don't even have your eyes open."

"Don't need them. I know where everything is." His hand slides between your thighs, and his fingers brush against you through your underwear, and the touch is light and teasing and enough to make your breath catch. "Feel that? Already wet for me. You're always wet for me in the morning. I love it."

"Jake—"

"Shh. Let me. Let me make you feel good."

He shifts, pressing you onto your back, and he settles between your legs and looks down at you with heavy-lidded, sleep-soft eyes, and his hair is a disaster and there are pillow creases on his cheek and he's so beautiful it makes your chest hurt. He leans down and kisses you, slow and deep and tasting like sleep and morning and love, and his hands push your shirt up and pull your underwear down, and you lift your hips to help him, and the morning air hits your bare skin for just a moment before his warmth covers you again. His fingers find you immediately, two of them sliding inside with an ease that makes you blush because you are wet, you're soaking, and the slick sound of his fingers moving in and out of you fills the quiet morning air and makes you want to hide your face in the pillow.

"There it is," he murmurs, and his voice is rough with sleep, rough with satisfaction, and he curls his fingers inside you and you arch off the mattress with a gasp. "There's my girl. Always so ready for me. I just have to look at you and you turn into this—this pretty, dripping mess—and you think I'm the obsessed one?"

"You are the obsessed one," you manage, and he laughs, and the sound is low and warm and so fond that it makes your chest ache even as his fingers are doing obscene things inside you.

"Guilty." He adds a third finger, and the stretch makes you whimper, and he swallows the sound with a kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in the same rhythm his fingers are fucking you, and the dual sensation is enough to make your head spin. His thumb finds your clit and circles it with a maddeningly light pressure, barely there, just enough to make you chase it, and you buck your hips up and he pulls away, and the loss makes you whine.

"Jake—"

"Patience." He grins down at you, and his eyes are dark and sleepy and so full of affection that it's almost hard to reconcile with the filth his fingers are currently doing. "I want to taste you first. I've been thinking about it all night. Dreaming about it, actually. I woke up with my mouth watering."

Before you can respond, he's kissing down your body, his lips trailing fire across your collarbone, between your breasts, down the soft plane of your stomach, and when he settles between your thighs and breathes against you, the warm air hitting your wet, swollen flesh, you nearly come apart from that alone.

"God, you smell incredible," he says, and his voice is muffled against your inner thigh, where he's pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing the softest part of you just enough to make your hips twitch. "I could eat you out for breakfast every day for the rest of my life and die happy. Forget the coffee. This is what I want to wake up to. You, spread out for me, still half-asleep, making those little sounds—I'd never need another meal."

"You're—unh—you're so—"

"Say it. Tell me what I am."

"Impossible. Infuriating. The love of my life."

His laugh vibrates against your core, and then his mouth is on you, and every thought in your head evaporates like morning mist. He licks into you with a slow, thorough devotion that makes your thighs shake, his tongue flat and wide against your clit before narrowing into a point that circles and flicks and teases until you're writhing against the sheets, your hands fisted in his hair, your hips chasing his mouth. He hums against you, a low, satisfied sound that says he knows exactly what he's doing, and the vibration of it zips through your nervous system like electricity and settles in a molten pool at the base of your spine.

"You know what drives me crazy?" he says, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips brushing your clit with every word, and the graze is so light and so devastating that you can barely process what he's saying. "The sounds you make. These little—" he mimics the breathy whimper that just escaped you, and hearing it in his voice, rough and morning-low and so completely fond, makes you flush from head to toe "—I could record them and listen on repeat. I'd never listen to music again. I'd just listen to you falling apart for me over and over and it would be the only song I'd ever need."

"Jake, please—"

"Please what? Tell me. I want to hear you say it."

"Make me come. Please. I need—"

"You need what? My mouth? My fingers? My cock?" He laps at you again, one long, slow, devastating stroke that has your back bowing off the bed. "You have to tell me, princess. Use your words."

"Your mouth. Your mouth, please, I need—"

He doesn't make you ask again. He seals his lips around your clit and sucks, and the pressure is firm and rhythmic and so precisely calibrated to your body that you wonder sometimes if he has a map of you tattooed on the inside of his eyelids, and two fingers slide back inside you and curl against that spot, and the combination is lethal. It hits you fast and hard, the orgasm rolling through you in waves that make you cry out and clench around his fingers and grip his hair so tight he groans against you, and he works you through it with the same steady, devastating rhythm, not stopping until you're pushing at his head and gasping from the overstimulation.

He crawls back up your body with his chin wet and his eyes dark and that crooked, self-satisfied grin that makes you want to smack him and kiss him in equal measure. "Good morning," he says, and his voice is so casual, so conversational, like he didn't just rearrange your entire nervous system with his tongue.

"Good morning," you manage, and your voice is wrecked and your body is trembling and you feel like you've been turned inside out in the best possible way. "Get up here. I want you inside me."

He settles between your legs and you feel the head of his cock against your entrance, and he pushes in slowly, so slowly, and the stretch and the fullness and the tenderness of it makes you whimper against his lips. He's still for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the fullness of him, the heat of him, the weight of him, and then he starts to move.

"Feel so good," he murmurs, and his voice is rough with sleep and rough with want, and his hips roll into yours in a slow, lazy rhythm that feels more like breathing than fucking, like your bodies have found a pace that they can sustain forever, unhurried and deep and so full of feeling that it makes your eyes sting. "My wife. My perfect, beautiful wife. I love being inside you. I love being close to you. I love you so much it hurts."

"I love you more," you whisper, and you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer, and his face is pressed into your neck and his breath is warm and ragged against your skin, and his hips are moving faster now, a little harder, a little more desperate, and the shift from gentle to rough happens in degrees, each thrust a little deeper than the last, each breath a little more ragged.

"You know what I love about missionary?" he says, and his voice is a low, rough rumble against your ear, and the question is so unexpected, so absurd, that you almost laugh. "I love that I can see your face. I love that I can watch every single thing you're feeling. I love that when you come, I get to see it happen right in front of me, these beautiful expressions that nobody else will ever get to witness." He rolls his hips deep, grinding against your clit on the downstroke, and your eyes flutter shut. "No, don't close your eyes. Look at me. I want to see you."

You force your eyes open, and his face is inches from yours, so close that his breath is your breath, and his eyes are so dark and so full of love and want and reverence that looking at them feels like staring into the sun. He's moving faster now, his thrusts deeper, more deliberate, and each one punches a small, helpless sound out of your throat that he catches with his mouth, kissing you between gasps, swallowing your moans and feeding you his.

"I'm close," you whisper, and your voice breaks on it.

"I know. I can feel you squeezing me." He shifts his angle slightly, and the new position means he's hitting that spot with every thrust, and the pleasure is building so fast and so intense that you can barely think. "Come for me. Come on my cock. Let me feel you."

The orgasm crashes through you like a wave breaking, your walls clenching around him, your back arching off the mattress, his name tearing from your lips, and he watches you, he watches, just like he said he would, his eyes on your face, drinking in every expression, every gasp, every flutter of your eyelids, and you feel him follow you over the edge a moment later, his rhythm turning erratic and desperate as he spills inside you with a groan that's half your name and half something broken and wordless.

He stays inside you, still half-hard, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard, and the morning light is painting gold across your tangled bodies and the crumpled sheets, and he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your eyelid, and murmurs, "Good morning for real this time."

You laugh, soft and breathless, and card your fingers through his disaster of hair. "The best morning."

He pulls back suddenly, and before you can question it, he's rolling you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees, and his hands are on your hips, steadying you, positioning you exactly how he wants you, and the casual authority of it, the way he handles your body like he knows every inch of it, makes a fresh pulse of wetness slick between your thighs. You feel the head of his cock, still hard, still ready, because Jake at this age has the recovery time of someone who's been waiting their whole life for a week of unlimited access to you, pressing against your entrance from behind, and he runs the tip through your slick, teasing, just once, before he pushes in.

"Again?" you ask, and your voice is breathless with disbelief and want.

"Again," he confirms, and he pushes in with one smooth, deep thrust that punches a gasp out of your lungs. The new angle is deeper, different, hitting a spot inside you that makes your arms shake and your moans go higher and needier, and his hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks that you'll find later in the shower and press your fingertips to with a smile so wide it hurts. He doesn't start slow this time; he sets a pace from the first thrust that's hard and fast and relentless, like he's been waiting for this, like the first round was just the warm-up and now he's taking what he really wants, and the sound of it, the wet slap of his hips against your ass, fills the room along with your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bed frame.

"God, you feel so good like this," he groans, and his voice is wrecked, barely holding together. "Your ass—I can see everything—the way you take me—fuck—you're so perfect—I'm obsessed with you, you know that? I'm completely obsessed with every part of you—"

"Jake—harder—please—"

He obliges, his hips snapping forward with a force that makes the bed creak, and his hand comes around to your front, finding your clit, circling it in tight, firm movements, and the dual sensation of him inside you and his fingers on you is too much, it's all too much, and you feel the orgasm building fast and hard and unstoppable.

He reaches up with his other hand and gathers your hair to one side, exposing the back of your neck, and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss there that sends a shiver cascading down your entire spine, and the combination of his mouth on your neck and his cock hitting deep and his fingers working your clit is so overwhelming that your elbows buckle and your chest drops to the mattress, and the new angle lets him sink impossibly deeper, and you hear him curse behind you, low and fractured and reverent, like he can't believe how good you feel.

"You know what I think about when I'm on stage?" he says, and his voice is low and rough and right against your ear, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck. "I think about this. I think about being inside you. I think about the way you sound and the way you feel and the way you look when you come. Every single performance, there's a moment where I'm singing and I'm thinking about you and I have to focus so hard on the choreography because otherwise I'm going to get hard on stage and that would be a scandal."

"Jake—”

"I'm serious. You have no idea. Every time I do that move in Bite Me, I'm thinking about fucking you. Every time. Every single performance. I've conditioned myself to associate it with the way you clench around me when you come and it's a miracle I haven't embarrassed myself live."

The filth of it, the raw, unfiltered honesty, the image of him on stage thinking about this, about you, about the way your body responds to him, it pushes you right over the edge, and the orgasm tears through you so hard and so fast that your arms give out and your face drops into the pillow and you're moaning his name into the fabric, your walls clenching around him in pulsing waves, and he follows a moment later, his hips jerking erratically, his hands gripping you so tight, his moan of your name dissolving into something raw and broken and so full of love that it makes your eyes sting even through the pleasure.

He collapses beside you, pulling you into him, and you both lie there in the warm morning light, breathless and trembling and so thoroughly, completely happy that words feel inadequate. He presses kisses to your shoulder, your temple, your hair, and you can feel his heartbeat against your back, still racing, still catching up, and his arm tightens around your waist like he's afraid you might disappear.

"Best morning of my life," he murmurs.

"You said that yesterday."

"It's still true. I'm going to say it every morning for the rest of our lives."

"That's a lot of mornings."

"Good. I hope there's a lot of them. I hope there's an infinite number of them and I get to spend every single one with you."

You turn in his arms and kiss him, soft and slow and tasting like forever, and the morning stretches out around you, golden and warm and completely, impossibly full.

"I'm hungry," he announces after a long, lazy moment, his voice muffled against your hair.

"Me too."

"Room service or each other?"

"Jake."

"I'm just saying. Both are valid options." He grins, and it's so boyish and so endearing that you want to bite his face, so you do, leaning in and sinking your teeth gently into his jaw, and he yelps and laughs and rolls you over and pins you to the mattress and kisses you until you're both breathless and giggling and thoroughly, completely, absurdly happy.

You order room service eventually. Greek yogurt with honey and fresh fruit and strong coffee, and you eat it on the terrace in your robes with the sea glittering below you and the sun warm on your faces, and Jake feeds you a strawberry and you feed him a bite of yogurt and it's so domestic and so sweet and so newlywed-coded that you should be embarrassed but you're not, not even a little, because this is your life now, this slow, sweet, ordinary magic of being married to your best friend, and every cliche in the book applies to you and you wear every single one of them like a badge of honor.

The rest of the honeymoon passes in a blur of blue water and white buildings and sun-warmed skin. You take a boat tour of the caldera and Jake gets sunburned on his nose and you take a photo and send it to the group chat and the members respond with approximately seventeen crying-laughing emojis. You try Greek coffee and hate it and Jake loves it and you argue about it for the rest of the day. You buy a painting from a street artist that captures the exact color of the sunset on your first night and you know you're going to hang it in your living room and think about this moment every time you look at it. You dance on the terrace to music playing from Jake's phone, slow-dancing in bare feet with the sea below and the stars above, and he dips you dramatically and you shriek with laughter and he kisses you while you're still upside down and the photo he takes afterward, the two of you disheveled and grinning and so clearly, absurdly in love, becomes your new wallpaper.

On the last night, you sit on the terrace with your feet in the cooling water of the jacuzzi, and Jake is beside you with his arm around your shoulders, and the sunset is painting the sky in shades of orange and pink and gold that look so unreal they might be a filter, and he says, "I don't want to leave," and you say, "Me neither," and he says, "We'll come back. Every year. Anniversary trip. I don't care if we're eighty. I'll carry you up the hill if I have to."

"You'd break your hip."

"Worth it."

You lean into him and watch the sun sink below the horizon and feel the warmth of his body against yours and the weight of the ring on your finger and the fullness of your heart, and you think about the past week, about the lazy mornings and the sunlit afternoons and the starry nights, about the way he looks at you like you're the only person in the world, about the way his hand finds yours without looking, about the way he says "my wife" like it's the most precious phrase in any language, and you think, I am the luckiest person alive, and you mean it with every cell in your body.

On the flight home, you fall asleep on his shoulder within the first hour, and he takes a photo of you sleeping and sets it as his lock screen and doesn't tell you until you're in the car on the way home from the airport and you see it when his phone lights up with a message, and you smack his arm and he laughs and says, "What? You look cute. Peaceful. Mine."

"Jake."

"What? You are mine. Legally. Binding contract. Can't take it back now."

"I wouldn't want to take it back."

His smile softens, and he reaches for your hand and interlaces your fingers and brings them to his lips and kisses your knuckles, right above the ring, and the gesture is so tender and so unconscious and so completely him that you have to look out the window and blink rapidly because you are not going to cry in the back of a taxi, you've cried enough in the past week to fill an ocean, but the tears come anyway because this is your life, this impossibly, overwhelmingly, heartbreakingly beautiful life, and you get to live it with him.

Two days after you get back from Greece, you're sitting on the couch in your apartment, still in the post-honeymoon haze where everything feels slightly unreal and slightly too good to be true, when Jake sits down next to you with his phone in his hand and a look on his face that you recognize as the one he gets when he's about to do something sappy and he knows you're going to give him a hard time about it.

"What?" you ask.

"I want to post something," he says. "About the wedding."

"Okay."

"It's a video. Of the ceremony. When they announced us. And us, you know, being us about it."

"Being us?"

"Laughing and crying and kissing. The whole embarrassing thing."

You smile. "That's my favorite part."

"Mine too. I've watched it like forty times. I'm not exaggerating. My screen time is concerning."

"So post it."

"I want it to be a collab. So it shows on both our accounts." He looks at you, and there's something vulnerable in his expression, something like he's asking for permission, like sharing this moment with the world is a big deal and he wants to make sure you're okay with it. "Is that okay?"

You think about it for a moment. About the fans who have been supportive since the beginning, who'd celebrated your engagement and your wedding with a warmth and a sincerity that had surprised you both. About the friends and family who were there, who lived it, who would love to see it preserved and shared. About the fact that your relationship has never been hidden or scandalous or something to be ashamed of, that it's been out in the open from the start, that the world has watched you fall in love and stay in love and now they get to watch you take this next step.

"Yeah," you say. "It's okay. More than okay. I want people to see it."

He smiles, and the relief and the happiness on his face are so genuine that you have to kiss him, so you do, and he laughs against your lips and says, "Okay, okay, let me post it first, then you can kiss me as much as you want."

He opens Instagram, starts a new post, selects the video. You watch over his shoulder as he trims it, cutting it to the most essential part: the officiant's voice saying "I now pronounce you husband and wife," and then the moment after, the two of you laughing through tears as he pulls you in for a kiss, the raw, unfiltered, overwhelming joy of it captured in fifteen seconds of video that somehow contains the entire universe.

He types the caption.

It was simple. The date and a heart. Simple. Corny. Absolutely perfect.

He adds you as a collaborator, and you watch your name appear next to his in the post settings, and the sight of it, your handles side by side, sharing this moment, makes your chest feel too small for your heart.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Ready."

He hits post.

Within seconds, the notifications start. A trickle at first, then a flood, then a tidal wave of likes and comments and shares that makes both your phones vibrate so hard they nearly vibrate off the coffee table. Comments in Korean and English and Japanese and languages you can't read, all of them variations of the same thing: congratulations, I'm crying, this is so beautiful, you guys deserve all the happiness, MY PARENTS, the screaming crying throwing up emojis, the heart emojis, the ring emojis.

Jake reads them out loud in a running commentary, his voice getting softer and softer as he goes, and when he gets to one that says "I've been following you guys since the beginning and I'm so happy for you," he goes quiet, and you look over and his eyes are bright and wet, and he clears his throat and says, "I'm not crying, you're crying," and you say, "We're both crying," and he laughs, and it comes out thick and wet, and you take the phone out of his hand and set it on the cushion and pull him into your arms and hold him while the notifications keep coming, a constant, warm stream of love from people who have watched your story unfold and are so genuinely, generously happy for the next chapter.

The video plays on a loop in the corner of the screen. The officiant's voice. Your laughter. His tears. The kiss that sealed everything. And underneath it, the date and the heart, the simplest, truest, most Jake caption there could ever be, because what else is there to say about the day your life changed forever except the date it happened and a heart to represent everything that came after.

You hold him on the couch and he holds you back, and the sun sets through the window in a wash of amber and rose that reminds you of Santorini, and you think about the mountain where he proposed and the garden where you married and the island where you loved each other in every way a person can be loved, and you think about the ring on your finger and the man in your arms and the life stretching out in front of you, vast and unknown and so full of possibility that it takes your breath away, and you know, with a certainty that lives deeper than thought, deeper than language, deeper than bone, that you will love him through every single moment of it, and he will love you back, and that will be enough. 

It will be more than enough. 

It will be everything.

⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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💿 ࿐ . . heaven by bryan adams

✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !

[lac4ygal]

Hii I love your writing so bad💞💞 and I've been thinking of a fic idea but I can't write for shit so I thought of you 😭 if it's ok and not out of your comfort zone can I recommend a jake smut where him and y/n are in the middle of doing the do when his roommates jay and Sunghoon walk in on them 😭 idk let whatever happens next be up to you lolol

ty for trusting me with your idea! (which I love btw) hope this is close to it loll also sorry for being so active recently i hope yall like it thoo x

18+ jake x f!rea ft. jay and sunghoon. possessive threesome degration praise dumbfixatjon pussy eating squirting face fucking spit kink

you hear the front door open and you genuinely do not care. you’re too far gone for that — too deep in the dumb, syrupy haze that settles over you when jake has been fucking you long enough, when he’s taken his time with it the way he likes to, slow and thorough and deliberately cruel about it, making you feel every inch every single time he bottoms out. you’re on your back in the middle of his bed with your legs hooked over his shoulders and your hands fisted in the sheets and your mouth open around sounds you’d be mortified by if you had the bandwidth to be mortified about anything, which you don’t, because jake sim has been rearranging your insides for the better part of an hour and your brain checked out somewhere around orgasm number two.

“shit—” jay’s voice, from the doorway. “oh my god.” sunghoon. jake doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even pause. his hips keep rolling into you at that same devastating rhythm, cock dragging against the spot inside you that makes your vision white at the edges, and he turns his head toward the door with the casual ease of a man who has been interrupted doing something he considers perfectly reasonable. “hey,” he says. “hey?” jay’s voice climbs. “jake, what the—” “close the door.”

silence. then the soft click of it shutting. neither of them leave. you can feel that they haven’t left — feel the specific, hot weight of being watched, the way the air changes when there are eyes on your body, on the obscene stretch of you around jake’s cock, on the slick mess of you that you can hear every time he moves. jake feels it too. his next thrust is harder. demonstrative. “she’s been like this for forty minutes,” he says, conversational, like he’s giving a tour. his thumb finds your clit and just holds there, pressure only, no movement, and you clench involuntarily and sob. “been coming since the second one. barely coherent.”

“is she—” sunghoon stops. “she loves it.” jake sounds so pleased with himself it’s obscene. he looks down at you, and there is something territorial in his face, something like ownership. “don’t you.” you make a sound that is not a word. jake takes it as confirmation. “she can hear you,” he adds. “she just can’t really answer right now.”

jay makes a low noise. you hear footsteps. the mattress dips near your head and then jay is there, crouching, looking at your face — your wrecked expression, your wet mouth, your eyes that probably aren’t focusing correctly — and something shifts behind his eyes. “hi,” he says. “hi,” you breathe back, and it comes out destroyed, syllables loose and slurred. “you want them here?” jake asks. his thumb starts moving and the question nearly dissolves before you can catch it. “tell me.” “yes,” you say. “yes, please, i want—” jake pulls his thumb away. punishing. “use your words.”

“i want them,” you manage, “i want more, please jake, please—” “good girl,” he says, and then quieter, almost private, layered with something that curls warm in your chest even through the haze: “mine, though. yeah?” “yours,” you say immediately. he smiles. looks up at jay and sunghoon. “she’s yours for tonight. don’t forget who she goes home with.”

sunghoon moves first. he settles at the foot of the bed and wraps a hand around your ankle and drags his palm slowly up your calf, your thigh, learning you, and when he reaches the inside of your thigh he stops and just watches where jake is fucking into you, the slick mess of it, the way your body takes him. “jesus,” sunghoon says softly. then his fingers move to replace jake’s thumb on your clit and the dual sensation makes you seize up and clench hard and jake groans through his teeth.

“keep doing that,” jake says. sunghoon keeps doing that. jay fists a hand in your hair — not gentle, not testing — and tilts your head back, and you open your mouth on instinct, already trained, already desperate, and he makes a low approving sound. “gonna use this pretty mouth,” he says, “that okay?” “yes,” you say, and it comes out like a plea.

he pushes in slow, giving you time to adjust, and then bottoms out against the back of your throat and holds there while you gag around him, eyes watering, throat working. he pulls back just enough and does it again. sets a rhythm that has nothing to do with gentleness and everything to do with using you, and the sounds you’re making are muffled and wet and humiliating and you love it, you love it so much your hips are rolling up toward sunghoon’s hand without your permission. jake watches you take jay’s cock with an expression like pride and hunger mixed together. “look at her,” he says. “fucking perfect.”

you gag again and your eyes water and spit is dripping down your chin and you can’t do anything about it, can’t move your hands from where they’ve braced against jay’s thighs, and it’s too much, it’s so much, sunghoon has added a finger inside you alongside jake’s cock somehow and the stretch makes you whimper around jay. “greedy,” sunghoon says mildly. “she’s greedy.” “she’s always greedy,” jake says, fond and contemptuous in equal measure. “such a needy little thing. she’d take anything we gave her, wouldn’t you?” he’s talking to you but he doesn’t expect an answer. “dumb little cumslut. made for this.”

the degradation lands somewhere low in your belly and you clench and both jake and sunghoon feel it. “there she is,” jake says. jay pulls out of your mouth and there’s a long strand of spit connecting your lips to his cock and he looks at it, then looks at you, then leans down and spits in your mouth, unhurried. it lands on your tongue and you swallow it without thinking and he makes a sound that isn’t quite a word. “good,” he says.

sunghoon is moving now — repositioning, pulling jake’s hand so that jake shifts too, maneuvering you between them in a way that makes you feel like a doll, like something being arranged, and you go where they put you without resistance because you can’t resist, you don’t want to resist, you want them to do whatever they want with you and then put you back together after.

sunghoon gets you onto your hands and knees and his mouth is on you immediately — licking into your folds, collecting the mess of you, groaning low against your cunt like you taste like something worth savoring, and the sound he makes is obscene and it vibrates through you and your arms buckle. jake is behind you a second later, sinking back in, and the combination — sunghoon’s tongue and jake’s cock and the fact that jay is tilting your chin up again — makes you sob out loud, finally free to. “there it is,” jay murmurs. “let us hear you.”

sunghoon’s tongue moves up. finds a different target. pushes wet and slow against your ass while jake’s cock fills your cunt and you make a sound that doesn’t belong to you, something animal and high, and sunghoon moans against you, pleased with himself. “she likes that,” jake observes. sunghoon hums confirmation. pushes his tongue in further. “jake,” you sob. “i know.” his hips snap forward. “i’ve got you.”

sunghoon works you open slowly, methodically — tongue and then one finger, two, crooking, patient — while jake fucks into your cunt and the feeling of being full everywhere, of being completely used and taken apart, makes your vision blur at the edges. you’re drooling on the sheets. your thighs are shaking. sunghoon crooks his fingers at the same moment jake bottoms out and you squirt, sudden and mortifying and completely involuntary, soaking the sheets and sunghoon’s hand and your own thighs, and the sound you make is barely human. “oh,” sunghoon says, like he’s delighted. “yeah,” jake says, breathless. “she does that.”

jay is lying beneath you now — you’re not entirely sure when that happened — and his cock is pressing up against your lips while your hand works him and you’re too far gone to be coordinated about it, just mouthing at him sloppily, taking what he gives you. he’s threading his fingers through your hair and guiding you, doing the work you can’t, and you let him, you let him use your mouth the way it was made to be used. “swallow everything,” jake says, behind you. he’s close. you can hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his rhythm is losing its precision, getting harder, more desperate. “don’t you dare waste it.” you nod, as much as you can with jay’s hands in your hair.

sunghoon comes first — he’s been grinding against your ass, working himself with his hand, and when he finishes it’s with a low, broken moan, painting across your lower back, and the warmth of it makes you clench again around jake. jake comes inside you a minute later with a rough groan thar he muffles against your shoulder, deep and pulsing, and you feel every wave of it, the flood of him, the mess of it starting to slip out before he’s even done and he pushes forward again like he’s trying to keep it inside you. “keep it,” he grits out. “don’t let it out.”

you clench around him, trying. failing. feel it dripping down your thigh. “christ,” jake mutters, pulling out slowly, watching it. he sounds devastated in the best way. he pushes it back with his fingers, working it back into you, and the oversensitivity makes you whimper. “messy girl. can’t even hold it.”

jay finishes in your mouth a moment later, one hand fisted in your hair, hips jerking up, and you swallow it down like he told you to, all of it, throat working, and he watches your face while you do it with dark eyes. “good,” he says. “good girl.” you collapse. you’re flat on the mattress, facedown, leaking cum onto the sheets, thighs still wet, arms useless. the room is reassembling around you slowly. sunghoon is breathing hard somewhere to your left. jay is quiet.

jake lies down beside you and pulls you against his chest and his hand moves in slow, warm circles on your spine. “okay?” just for you. private. all the possession still there, underneath, but soft now. “yeah,” you breathe. “yeah, i’m good.” “you’re perfect,” he says, and he means it completely differently than when he said it to the room. he presses his mouth to your temple. “mine.” “yours,” you say, already half asleep. from somewhere near the door, jay’s voice, dry as anything: “you’re both insane.” jake doesn’t even dignify that with a response. he just pulls you closer, and that’s that.

[all works by @lac4ygal on tumblr] MY WORKS

taglist, @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @engenewilstaykon @seungiesdoll @rinforu @isa942572 @ride-a-nishimura @florarua @baedreamverse @softblaqn @rikisloverrr @kittyvalr @ellushic @dimples264493 @kimmm02 @kiwicup @jakebitez @mystgene @baek-some-cake @betagalactose @kookiesnkim @honeyvelvetinez @violetteaismyfavourite @meowza1 @abbyssful @yandere-stories @imminentcodexcore @mlink64 @k4y-sh @rubadubdubinthetub @jungwno @k3nza @simjakeyjake @heeseungdada @bbrianawhatt @onlyifusayyesxx @mintchocoddeonut @sillycactus143 @heexyzy @wonkiipiilled @sugarcwtie

[hoonguin]

netflix and chill? ✿ ⁠ . ۫ · 심재윤

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊

✷ your boyfriend, sim jaeyun, is clingy, sleepy, and obsessed with being as close to you as physically possible after rehearsals !

pairings ⸝⸝ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎sub!bf!jake ✿ dom!f!rea ‎ ‎ ✉️‎ ‎ ‎ wc ⸝⸝ 5.5k

🗯️ 内容‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ established relationship, heavy makeout, dirty talk, body praise, soft sub & dom dynamics, cockwarming, riding, creampie !

EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : so so soooo incredibly rushed i’m sorry 😭 too many side quests keep dragging me away from blr . . but this one is for and requested by my fellow filo-engene baby @soltyshshs hehe lawb you !!! enjoy cuties ♡ mwehehehe i love jake

"Mmm, baby, this feels good, feels so nice."

Jake's voice is a warm, drowsy murmur against your chest, the words vibrating through the thin cotton of your oversized shirt and into your skin. His arms are looped around your waist, loose and lazy, his fingers resting against the small of your back like they've always belonged there.

His head rises and falls with the rhythm of your breathing, cheek pressed right above your heartbeat, and you can feel the exhaustion still clinging to him, the kind that settles deep into the bones after twelve hours of drilling choreography until your muscles scream and your brain turns to mush.

You run your fingers through his hair, slow and absent, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you know makes him melt. He hums in response, a tiny, content sound that you feel more than hear, and his arms tighten a fraction around your waist, pulling himself closer, burrowing deeper into you like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and live there.

It had been an impossibly long day.

Rehearsals that started before the sun came up and didn't end until the studio lights were the only thing keeping the room from going dark. Run-throughs and spot-checks and the choreographer saying "one more time" what felt like forty-seven more times.

Your own body was a landscape of aches, your hip flexors burning, your calves tight as piano wires, but Jake had it worse.

You'd watched him during the final full run, the way his landings were just a beat too heavy, the way his arms lagged a half-second behind the count on the last chorus, the way he pressed his palm flat against the mirror afterwards and just breathed for a long, trembling moment before anyone could notice.

He'd pushed through it, because that's what Jake does, because that's what all of you do, but you could see the weariness in the slump of his shoulders on the shuttle back to the hotel, the way his head tipped back against the window and his eyes fluttered shut before the vehicle had even left the parking lot.

So when you'd texted him "netflix and chill?" an hour after you'd both dragged yourselves back to your respective rooms, you'd meant it in the most literal, innocent way possible. A movie. Some company. Maybe he'd fall asleep on your shoulder and you'd let him, because he looked like he needed it and because you liked the weight of him, the trust of it, the way he went soft and pliant and unguarded only around you.

But then he'd shown up at your door not even two minutes later, still in his practice sweats and a worn t-shirt, hair damp from the shower, and the way he'd looked at you, all heavy-lidded and almost helpless, had told you everything you needed to know about what kind of night this was going to be before either of you said a word.

And now here you are.

Propped up against the headboard with your legs stretched out on the hotel bed, some romcom playing on the laptop balanced on the mattress beside you, the volume turned low enough that it's basically just background noise.

Jake is lying half on top of you, his body a long, warm line of weight and heat against your side, his head on your chest, his arms around your waist, and it's sweet, it's so sweet, except for the part where his hands have started to wander.

It happened gradually.

Innocently, even, if you were being generous.

A palm settling on your ribcage that slowly migrated south. A thumb that started tracing idle circles on the curve of your waist and then drifted upward, inch by patient inch, until it was brushing the underside of your breast through your shirt.

Then he wasn't even pretending to be subtle about it anymore, his hand just full-on cupping you, kneading the soft flesh through the cotton, squeezing gently and then a little less gently, his fingers pressing into you with a lazy, possessive hunger that he probably wasn't even fully aware of.

Jake has always been like this.

A freak in the most understated, unassuming way, the kind that sneaks up on you. He doesn't leer or grab or make crude jokes the way some guys do. He just touches, constantly, like he's physically incapable of keeping his hands off you when you're within arm's reach, and the touching always starts soft and then devolves into something more. A hand on your thigh during dinner that creeps higher. An arm around your shoulders that turns into fingers tracing your collarbone. A back hug that becomes his palms sliding up your ribs to cup your breasts while he presses his face into your neck and breathes you in like you're the only oxygen in the room.

You'd clocked it early.

Way back, before you were even together, before you were anything more than two dancers from different groups who kept ending up at the same afterparties, competitions, and late-night food runs. You'd noticed the way his gaze would drift to your body when he thought you weren't looking, the way his hands would twitch at his sides like he was stopping himself from reaching out. You'd noticed the way he'd look at you on stage, during those moments when both your groups were backstage waiting for results, the way his eyes would track the movement of your body like he was memorizing the choreography of your hips for later.

Jake has always been obsessed with your body. That's just a fact, the way gravity is a fact, the way the grass is green is a fact. It's not something he hides well and it's not something he tries particularly hard to hide. He tells you constantly, in words, in touches, and in the way he looks at you like you're something holy, something he can't believe he gets to have. He loves the curve of your waist, the softness of your stomach, the shape of your breasts, the thickness of your thighs. He loves all of it with an enthusiasm that borders on worship, and he's never, not once, made you feel like there was anything about your body that needed changing, hiding, or apologizing for.

Right now, though, his hands are making it very difficult to focus on the movie, which you've already lost the plot of entirely. His fingers are kneading your breast through your shirt with a slow, rhythmic pressure, his palm squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, and every time his thumb brushes over your nipple through the fabric, a tiny spark of heat shoots down your spine and settles warm and heavy between your thighs.

"Jake," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you intended.

"Hmm?" He doesn't lift his head from your chest. His fingers don't stop.

"You're being some freak again."

A pause. Then, very quietly, almost sheepishly: "I know."

His hand still doesn't move. If anything, his fingers squeeze a little tighter, and you feel your nipple pebble against his palm through the thin cotton, and you know he feels it too because his breath hitches, just slightly, a tiny stutter of air against your collarbone.

"Baby," you try again, and there's a warning in it this time, the kind that could go either way, could mean stop or could mean keep going but you better be ready for the consequences.

"I can't help it," he mumbles into your chest, and his voice is muffled and warm and so genuinely pitiful that you almost laugh. "You're just so soft. And you smell good. And you're right here, and I'm tired, and you feel so nice, and I just—I want to touch you."

He says it like a confession. Like it's something he's been fighting against and losing. And you know, you know the solution to this, because you've been here before, many times, in many variations.

When Jake gets like this, when his hands won't stop and his breathing goes shallow and his body presses closer and closer like he's trying to fuse the two of you into one person, there's only one thing that calms him down.

You shift beneath him, and he makes a small, protesting sound at the movement, his arms tightening around your waist, but you're gentle but firm as you guide him upright. He goes easily, pliant, his body following your hands like he'd follow them anywhere.

You position him so he's sitting against the headboard, his back to it, his legs stretched out in front of him, and you watch the way he looks up at you, all dark, sleepy eyes and swollen lips and that particular expression he gets when he's needy and trying not to show it.

"C'mere," he says, reaching for you, and his voice is rough and low and it does things to you that you'll never admit out loud.

You swing your leg over his lap and settle onto his thighs, straddling him, and the position puts you above him, looking down, while he has to tilt his chin up to meet your eyes. The laptop is still playing beside you, the romcom's soundtrack filling the room with something bright and incongruous.

The air conditioning hums overhead, cool air prickling at the bare skin of your arms and the strip of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up, making you shiver slightly, making you aware of every inch of your body and every inch of his.

"We're just going to sit like this for a bit," you tell him, and your voice is steady, controlled, the way it always is when you're taking care of him. "Okay? Just this. To help you calm down."

"Okay," he whispers, and he's already nodding, already agreeing, because Jake never argues when you take charge, never pushes back when you set the terms. He just sinks into it, into you, like you're the only solid thing in a world that's constantly shifting under his feet.

You reach between your bodies and hook your thumbs under the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down just enough, and he lifts his hips to help you without being asked, a small, eager movement that makes something warm and possessive curl in your stomach.

His cock is half-hard already, thick and warm against his thigh, and you wrap your hand around him briefly, just a single stroke, feeling him twitch and swell in your palm, before you guide him toward your entrance.

You're not wearing anything under your shorts, and you push the fabric aside, position him at your opening, and then you sink down.

Slowly. So slowly. Inch by inch, feeling the stretch of him, the thick, hot pressure of him filling you up, and the sound Jake makes is something between a gasp and a whimper, a broken, breathless thing that escapes from his throat like you've pulled it out of him by force. His hands fly to your hips, gripping but not pulling, just holding, like he needs something to anchor him while you take him apart piece by piece.

"Fuck," he breathes, his head tipping back against the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut. "God, you feel—you feel so good, so warm, so—"

"Shh," you soothe, and you're fully seated now, your hips flush against his, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, and you can feel him throbbing, feel the way he's already getting harder, the way his body is responding to the tight, wet heat of you even though you haven't moved. "Just stay still. Just feel it."

He nods, his jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough that you know there'll be little half-moons pressed into your skin like signatures. You can feel him trembling, tiny, involuntary shivers running through his thighs beneath yours, and you run your hands up his arms, over his shoulders, smoothing down the tension you find there, and he melts under your touch, his grip loosening, his breath slowing.

This is literally the thing about cockwarming Jake.

It's not just about the physical sensation, though that's part of it, the fullness of him inside you, the way your walls grip him, the way you can feel every pulse, twitch, and throb of his cock against your most sensitive places without either of you moving. It's about this, the way he goes quiet, soft, and completely, utterly surrendered underneath you. The way he gives you everything, every last scrap of control, and trusts you to hold it for him.

You pull the blanket from the foot of the bed and drape it over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders, and the warmth of it combined with the heat of his body against yours is immediately, overwhelmingly soothing.

The air conditioning continues its quiet assault, cold air prickling at your exposed shoulders, the top of your head, and the sliver of your ankle where the blanket doesn't quite reach, a sharp contrast to the furnace of him beneath you, inside you.

The movie plays on, forgotten, the laptop's distant hum mixing with the sound of both of you breathing.

For a while, you just sit there. You inside him, him inside you, your bodies fitted together like puzzle pieces, the kind that snap into place with a satisfying finality. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, or maybe it's your heartbeat you're feeling, the two of them so synced up you can't tell the difference anymore.

His hands have migrated from your hips to your waist, his arms wrapping around you loosely, pulling you close, and his face is pressed into the curve of your neck, his breath warm and slow against your skin.

"Mmm," he hums, and the sound is drowsy, content, like a cat that's found the one sunny spot in the entire house. "This is nice. You're nice. Everything is nice."

A laugh escapes you, quiet and fond. "You're so cute when you're like this."

"Like what?"

"All soft and needy."

He makes a small, embarrassed sound against your neck, and you feel his cock twitch inside you, and oh, that's interesting. You file that away for later, the fact that calling him needy makes him harder, makes his hips jerk in a tiny, involuntary thrust that presses him just a little deeper.

"Jake," you warn gently, and he stills immediately.

"Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to move. It just—you feel so tight, I can't—"

"It's okay." You card your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp, and he shivers and sighs and melts further into you. "You're doing so well. Being so good for me."

He keens.

Actually keens, a thin, high sound that he tries to swallow but can't quite manage, and his arms tighten around your waist, and you feel his whole body flex and shudder under you.

Jake has always been a whiny person, you found that out way before you ever got together, back when he'd whine about early call times, sore muscles, and bad catering at competitions, but this specific variety of whine, the one that comes from deep in his chest when you praise him, is something you discovered later and have been devotedly cataloguing ever since.

"Baby," he mumbles into your neck, and his voice is thick, syrupy, like he's half-asleep and half-desperate. "Can I kiss you? Please?"

"You don't have to ask," you say, tilting his chin up with your fingers.

His mouth finds yours like it's coming home.

The kiss starts soft, slow, the way everything has been tonight.

His lips are warm and slightly chapped, and they move against yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, the kind of tenderness that says I love you I love you I love you without a single word.

You kiss him back, your hands cradling his jaw, your thumbs tracing the sharp line of it, and he makes a small, pleased sound into your mouth that vibrates through both of you.

Then the kiss deepens.

His lips part against yours and your tongue slides against his, wet and hot and slow, and the shift in the air is immediate, palpable, like someone turning up the temperature in the room by ten degrees.

You feel his cock pulse inside you, feel him swelling, getting impossibly harder, and a low groan rumbles through his chest and into yours. Your own body responds, your walls clenching around him, your arousal slicking the space where you're joined, and the sensation of being filled while kissing him, of being so completely connected, is enough to make your head spin.

You're kissing him deeper now, hungrier, your fingers sliding from his jaw into his hair, gripping, tugging slightly, and he gasps into your mouth and his hips roll up into yours, just once, a single, grinding thrust that makes you both moan.

The blanket shifts around your shoulders, the cool air rushing in to meet your heated skin, and the contrast, the cold on your shoulders and the heat between your legs, is maddening.

And then your hair falls in your face.

It happens between one kiss and the next, the long strands slipping from behind your ear and tumbling down between you like a curtain, catching on Jake's lips, tickling his cheek, getting in the way of his mouth finding yours.

You huff in frustration, reaching up to push it back, but Jake's hand gets there first.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and hazy and impossibly soft, and his fingers gather your hair gently, carefully, like he's handling something precious.

He sweeps it all to one side of your neck, smoothing it down over your shoulder, and then you feel his other hand at your nape, his fingers finding the hair tie on his wrist, the one he always wears, the black one that's become as much a part of his daily uniform as his practice shoes.

He stretches it between his fingers and then gathers your hair into a low ponytail, securing it with practiced ease, like he's done this a hundred times before, because he has, because Jake is always the one fixing your hair when it gets in your face, always the one with the hair tie when you forgot yours, always the one paying attention to the small things so you don't have to.

"Pretty," he murmurs, and the word is so simple, so sincere, so completely unguarded that it steals the breath from your lungs. He's looking at you the way he always looks at you, like you hung the moon and the stars and every constellation in between, and his thumb brushes your cheekbone once, feather-light, before his hand settles back on your waist.

"Jake," you breathe, and you don't know what you were going to say after that, maybe nothing, maybe everything, but it doesn't matter because you're kissing him again, harder this time, more urgent, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer even though closer isn't physically possible when he's already inside you.

The kiss is messier now, wetter, all tongues and teeth and the slick sounds of your mouths moving together in the quiet room.

You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel his cock twitching and straining, and your hips are moving without your permission, grinding in slow, tiny circles that don't lift off him but shift him inside you, pressing him against different places, making you feel him in different ways.

Each movement draws a sound from one of you, a gasp or a moan or a shuddering exhale that the other swallows.

"Baby," Jake whimpers against your lips, and his voice is wrecked, barely there, just breath and want and need all tangled up together. "I need—please, can I move? I want to move, I need you, I want—"

"I know," you whisper back, and you lift your hips and sink back down, and the sound he makes is devastating, a broken, choked-off moan that he buries in your neck. "I've got you."

You start to ride him.

Slowly at first, torturously slowly, lifting your hips until only the tip of him is inside you and then sinking back down, taking him to the root, feeling every inch of the stretch, every ridge and vein of him dragging against your walls.

The blanket is pooled around your waists now, shifting with every movement, and the air conditioning hits the sweat gathering on your shoulders and the back of your neck, making you shiver, making your skin prickle with goosebumps that have nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the man underneath you.

The sound of it is obscene in the best way, the wet, slick noise of your body taking him in, the soft slap of skin against skin when you bottom out, the creak of the hotel bed beneath you, and beneath it all, the distant, tinny sound of the movie still playing on the laptop, completely ignored.

"Feel so good," Jake gasps, and his head is thrown back against the headboard, his throat exposed, his lips swollen and wet from your kisses. His hands are on your hips, holding, his fingers pressing into your flesh like he needs something to ground him, like he might float away if he doesn't anchor himself to you. "You feel so fucking good, I can't—you're so tight, so wet, oh my god—"

"Really?" You clench around him deliberately, squeezing his cock with your walls, and he yelps, actually yelps, a sharp, high sound that makes heat pool low in your stomach. "You like that, baby? Like how I feel around you?"

"Yes—god, yes—fuck, I love it—I love you—I love you so much—"

"I know you do." You lean in and kiss the hinge of his jaw, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to catch your lips, kissing you messy and desperate and deep. "My pretty boy. My good boy. Taking me so well. Being so fucking patient for me."

He whines into your mouth, a high, keening sound that dissolves into a moan when you grind down onto him, circling your hips, pressing his cock against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

Your hands are braced on his shoulders, your fingers digging into the solid muscle beneath his worn t-shirt, and you can feel the way his entire body is trembling, the effort it's taking him to not just grab your hips and thrust up into you the way he desperately wants to.

"You can move," you tell him, your mouth against his ear, your breath hot on his skin. "Move with me."

And he does.

His hips snap up to meet yours, and the change in rhythm is immediate, electric, his cock driving into you deeper and harder than before, and the sound that escapes you is ragged and startled and so fucking needy.

He's not rough, Jake is never rough with you, not really, but there's a desperation to the way he moves now, an urgency, like he's been holding back for so long and the dam is finally cracking.

"Shit—you feel—feel amazing—mmm—" The words tumble out of him in broken fragments, punctuated by thrusts and gasps and the lewd, wet sounds of your bodies moving together. "So good, baby, you're so good to me, so good —"

"Jake—" Your voice comes out wrecked, barely a voice at all, just breath and heat and the shape of his name. The pleasure is building, a tight, coiling heat in your stomach that spreads outward with every thrust, every grind, every time his cock hits that spot that makes your thighs shake and your cunt clench around him.

"Close," he gasps, and his rhythm is faltering now, his thrusts getting shorter, faster, more erratic, his fingers digging so hard into your hips you know there'll be marks tomorrow and you don't care, you want them, you want every mark and every bruise and every physical proof that you're his and he's yours. "I'm close, I'm—can I—please—"

"Not yet," you say, and your voice is steady even though your body is shaking, even though every nerve ending is screaming at you to let go, to fall, to crash over the edge with him. "Wait for me. Can you do that? Can you be good and wait for me?"

"I'll try," he whimpers, and his eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief, and he looks like he's fighting a war inside himself, every muscle taut with the effort of holding back. "I'll try, I'll be good, I—fuck—you're so tight, you're clenching so hard, I can't—"

"You can," you tell him, and you take his face in your hands, tilting his chin up, forcing him to look at you, and the raw, open vulnerability in his eyes, the desperate, helpless need, makes your heart clench and your cunt clench and both of them are too much. "You can, because you're mine, and you're going to come when I tell you to. Okay?"

"Okay," he breathes, and the word is a surrender, a prayer, the most honest thing he's ever said. "Okay. Yours. I'm yours, baby."

You speed up, grinding down onto him harder, faster, chasing the edge now, feeling it rush up to meet you, and Jake's hands slide from your hips to your thighs, gripping the soft flesh there, squeezing, his fingers pressing into you the way he always does, like he can't believe you're real, like he needs to feel every inch of you to convince himself this isn't a dream. His cock is hitting that spot inside you with every thrust now, relentless, devastating, and the coil in your stomach is wound so tight you think you might shatter.

"Baby," you gasp, and your forehead drops to his, your breath mingling, your noses brushing, so close you can see the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes, the way his lashes are clumped together, the way he's looking at you like you're the entire universe compressed into a single person. "I'm close. Come with me. Now."

He breaks.

A sob tears from his throat, your name and a moan and something that might be I love you all tangled together into a sound you'll never forget, and his hips buck up into you one final, desperate time, and you feel him come, feel his cock pulse inside you, hot and thick, feel him filling you up, rope after rope, the warmth of it spreading through you, and the sensation is enough to push you over the edge right after him.

Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your walls clamping down around his cock in pulsing, rhythmic contractions, and you're moaning his name into the space between your mouths, your fingers fisted in his hair, your body shaking apart on top of him while he holds you through it, his arms wrapped around you so tight, so tight, like he's terrified you'll disappear if he lets go.

The aftershocks ripple through you for what feels like an eternity, your body twitching and trembling against his, his cock still inside you, softening slowly, still pulsing with the last echoes of his release.

You can feel him leaking out of you, the warm, sticky evidence of what you've done pooling where your bodies are pressed together, and it should be messy and inconvenient and probably require a towel, but right now, in this moment, it just feels right. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.

You collapse against his chest, your face pressed into his neck, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His arms stay around you, his hands smoothing up and down your spine, gentle, soothing, and you can feel his heart hammering against your chest, or maybe that's yours, you still can't tell the difference.

"Wow," Jake whispers after a long moment, and his voice is hoarse and wrecked and there's a laugh hiding underneath it, the kind of laugh that comes after something so good you almost can't believe it happened.

"Yeah," you agree, and you press a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck, just because you can. "Wow."

"I love you," he says, and he says it so easily, so casually, like it's the simplest and most obvious fact in the entire world. "Like, a lot. Like, an embarrassing amount. Like, I was literally just thinking about it while we were—you know—and I was like, wow, I really love her, and then I almost started crying in the middle of it, which would have been really weird, but—"

"Jake."

"Yes, pretty?"

"Shut it and hold me."

He laughs, soft, warm, and bright, and his arms tighten around you, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, right at the crown where your ponytail is gathered, and you feel him smile against your hair.

"Okay," he murmurs. "I can do that."

The movie is still playing on the laptop beside you, the credits rolling now, a soft, forgettable pop song accompanying the names of people you'll never think about again.

The air conditioning hums its quiet, constant drone overhead, cool air drifting down over the blanket that's still tangled around your waists, prickling at the bare skin of your shoulders.

Jake's heartbeat is slowing beneath your ear, settling into something steady and calm, and his breathing has gone slow and deep, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that makes you drowsy, that makes you want to close your eyes and sink into him and never come back up.

You shift slightly, adjusting the blanket so it covers both of you properly, and Jake makes a small, protesting sound at the movement before settling again, his face buried in your hair, his arms loose around your waist.

He's still inside you, soft now, warm and comfortable, and you don't move off him, don't want to, not yet, because this, this right here, this feeling of being so completely tangled up in another person that you can't tell where you end and he begins, this is everything.

This is literally the one thing you never knew you needed until Jake showed up and gave it to you without even being asked.

"Hey," he says, quiet and drowsy against your temple.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for texting me tonight."

A smile pulls at your lips, soft and private. "Thank you for showing up quickly."

"I would've been faster but I couldn't find my room key."

"You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously in love with you obviously," he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice, the dumb, cheesy, perfect grin that he always gets when he's about to say something corny and he knows it and he doesn't care.

"Oh my goodness." You lift your head just enough to look at him, at the warm, sleepy, satisfied look on his face, the mess of his hair, the way his lips are still swollen and red. "You're the worst."

"The worst boyfriend or the worst in general?"

"Both."

"Harsh." But he's smiling, that soft, crooked smile that makes your chest feel too small for your heart, and he leans in and kisses you, gentle and slow and tasting like nothing and everything, and you kiss him back, and it's sweet, so sweet, sweet enough to make your teeth ache.

When you pull apart, you rest your forehead against his, your noses brushing, and you just breathe together for a moment, in and out, in and out, the sound of it filling the small space between you.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asks, and his voice is barely a murmur, barely a sound at all, just the shape of the words against your lips.

"Same time tomorrow," you confirm.

He smiles again.

You feel it more than see it, the way his lips curve against yours, the way the corners crinkle, the way his arms squeeze you just a little tighter.

Outside the window, the city hums with a life that has nothing to do with you, and the air conditioning keeps up its quiet, steady drone, and the laptop screen has gone dark, and the only light in the room is the faint, blue-white glow of the moon through the curtains, painting everything silver and soft and half-dreamed.

Jake's breathing evens out beneath you, slow and deep and steady, and you know he's falling asleep, because that's what Jake always does after, he crashes, his body giving out before his mind can catch up, and you let him, you hold him through it, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on the warm skin of his back under his shirt.

You'll move eventually. You'll clean up and change the sheets and complain about the hotel's thread count and steal all the pillows and fall asleep properly, like normal people, instead of tangled together in a pile of blankets and limbs and each other.

But not yet.

Not yet.

⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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💿 ࿐ . . nothing by bruno major

✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !

[heesroses]

ʙᴀᴄᴋʏᴀʀᴅ ʀᴇɴᴅᴇᴢᴠᴏᴜꜱ (1) 愛 ꜱ.ᴊʏ

jake can’t survive a family vacation without fucking you.

(𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢). s.jy x reader. smut. wc: 1.6k. semi-public sex. fluff. idol jake.

──── ୨୧ ──── #25 🌙

elle’s thoughts ❀ hi! i’m playing around with different themes and formatting, so sorry if it’s been changing a lot. anyway, i hope you enjoy this little drabble :) there’s gonna be a part two of them actually getting caught, so stay tuned hehe.

Jake felt like he was going to die.

At least, that’s what you thought when you saw the look spread across his face during dessert. You were at his parents’ house in Australia for the first time, surrounded by his extended family members who had gathered to celebrate Christmas. With Jake’s busy schedule as an idol, it was difficult to find time to visit his family, and you were both so glad to finally be there.

However, because of the large influx of people staying at his parents’ house, you and Jake had been forced to share a room with a few of his younger cousins, which put a damper on your very active sex life. Normally, Jake couldn’t keep his hands off of you, but now? He was lucky if he got the chance to hug you before getting pulled into some random task or game. He looked like the lack of sex was actually going to kill him.

You supposed that was how you ended up in the backyard of his parents house after dark, Jake pressing you against a large eucalyptus tree and kissing you like a man starved. Despite the sun having gone down, it was summer in Australia, meaning it was still incredibly hot outside. You were sweating profusely despite the thin dress you wore, and your steamy make out session with your boyfriend wasn’t helping at all.

You had been worried when Jake had pulled you outside, as you knew that anyone could walk out of the house and find you two there, but you knew how badly Jake needed this. How badly you needed it too.

“It’s been torture not being able to have you to myself,” Jake murmured against your lips between kisses. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next few days before we go home.”

He dove back in, reconnecting your lips. His tongue brushed along your top lip, and you opened your mouth to allow him inside. He explored your mouth with his tongue, a soft moan escaping him as he did so.

“What if someone sees us?” you asked against his lips.

“They won’t,” he responded, his hands desperately grasping your hips. “They’re watching a movie, and you can’t see outside from the house after dark.”

“You promise?”

Jake pulled back slightly, lust clouding his eyes. “Promise.”

“Okay, fine,” you moaned as his mouth made contact with the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “But you have to be quick.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve fucked that I’ll probably cum in less than a minute,” he mumbled, his lips ghosting over your neck. “Is that quick enough for you?”

You groaned in response as Jake’s hand found its way up your thigh. His fingers slipped under the skirt of your dress, and you let out a sharp inhale as his fingers grazed the wetness between your thighs.

“So wet already?” he asked, glancing up at you.

“Did you expect me not to be?” you huffed.

“Not that fast.”

“You’re not the only one who’s been missing sex, you know. Just looking at you makes me wet these days.”

Jake’s eyes flared, a look of possessive hunger flashing across his face before he dove back in. He littered your neck and collarbones with kisses, his fingers slowly rubbing over your clit through your panties. You let out a series of quiet sounds, your hands roaming up and down his back to feel as much of him as possible. It had been too long since you had been able to touch Jake like this, and you would take full advantage of it while you could.

“I wanna be inside you so bad, baby,” Jake said, his breath coming out in hot puffs against your skin.

“What’s stopping you?”

Jake raised his eyes to yours, and he only looked at you for a second before your hands found their way to his shorts, quickly undoing the button and zipper before pulling them down just far enough to release his aching cock. He shuddered as the warm evening air hit him, and he lowered his hand to pump himself a few times.

“I need you,” you whispered, connecting your lips with Jake’s hungrily. The ache between your legs was becoming unbearable, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could wait to be filled by your boyfriend. It no longer mattered to you where you were, or that anyone could find you. Every cell in your body was screaming for Jake, and your patience was wearing thin.

Jake released his cock, instead using his hand to grasp the back of your thigh. He lifted your leg up just enough to allow him to fit there, and he pushed your panties to the side before pressing his tip against your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice wrecked with want.

“Yes,” you breathed, feeling yourself pulsing against his tip. “Please, Jake.”

This was all the encouragement he needed. He slowly slid his cock into your wet folds, and you both let out simultaneous moans as he filled you. Once he was buried to the hilt, he leaned forward and rested his forehead on your shoulder.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned. “I’m not gonna last very long.”

“It’s okay,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as you ran your hand through his soft hair. “We can always sneak out again later and do it again.”

Jake lifted his head, a devious smile spreading across his face. “I love the way you think, y/n. We might just have to.”

After a brief pause, Jake began to thrust slowly inside you, the sound of cicadas in the trees around you almost concealing the sharp breaths and wet noises of his cock sliding in and out of you.

“Feels s’ fuckin’ good,” Jake whimpered, his hand still tightly grasping the soft flesh of your thigh to keep it raised. The bark of the tree was digging into your skin with each thrust, but you didn’t care. The only sensation you could focus on was the delicious pleasure of Jake moving between your legs.

“Oh my god, Jake,” you said, throwing your head back as his thrusts grew faster. With every snap of his hips, he buried himself fully inside you, and you were utterly addicted to the feeling of being filled with each thrust. Waves of pleasure rolled through your body, and you connected your lips with Jake’s, your hot breaths mingling with his as you swallowed his moans.

You were both growing sweatier by the moment, as the scorching summer night air pressing around you only combined with the rapid movements of your bodies rolling together. Jake’s hair was becoming more damp by the second, but you didn’t care. You were having the hottest sex of your life in every way possible.

“I’m getting close,” Jake whined, raising his free hand and bracing it on the trunk just behind your shoulder. With his other hand, he still grasped your leg, and you knew there would be bruises there tomorrow, but you didn’t care. Those bruises would serve as a reminder of just how desperately Jake had needed you, and just the thought turned you on more than you already were.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, his length rubbing against the delicious spot inside you that had you seeing stars. With each wild buck of his hips, you let out a clipped moan, and you could tell that your obscene sounds were driving him even closer towards his release.

“I-I think I’m gonna c-cum with you,” you stuttered, pressing your forehead to Jake’s.

“That’s so fuckin’ hot,” he ground out. “I’m so close, baby. You’re getting me so close.”

You swore viciously as you felt your orgasm rising within you, and Jake could tell you were about to cum. He dropped his hand and began to furiously rub your clit, and that was all you needed. Your orgasm crashed over you, your pussy spasming around Jake’s cock. He immediately began to cum inside you with a loud cry, and he fell forward against you as he emptied his load deep inside.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You were both trying to regain your breath after your outdoor encounter, and after a bit, Jake began to laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” you asked, a slow smile spreading across your face.

“I can’t believe we just did that, that’s all,” he panted, still inside you. He raised his head, looking at you with so much love and affection that you felt your heart swell. “And we’re gonna do it again later.”

You were about to respond when you heard the back door of the house open, and you both froze.

“Jake? Y/n? Are you guys out here?” his dad called.

Jake swore under his breath, quickly pulling out of you and zipping up his pants. You smoothed his hair, trying to make sure it looked as if you hadn’t just been running your hands through it.

“Yeah, we are,” Jake called. He stepped out from behind the tree, allowing you a moment to make yourself decent. “I was just showing her this huge tree. I was telling her all the stories about how we used to fight in the branches as kids.”

“Ah, good memories,” his dad chuckled. “Well, we’re about to put a movie on, and your cousins want you to join us.”

“Gotcha, we’ll be right there.” Jake flashed his world-famous smile at his dad, and you felt your heart flutter. “Gotta finish my story real quick.”

“Take your time, we’ll wait.”

After that, you heard the door close, and Jake slowly turned to look at you. You both burst out laughing.

“Do you think he heard us?” you asked.

“God, I hope not,” Jake laughed. He held out a hand for you. “C’mon, let’s go watch the movie. Then we can come out here for part two when everyone else goes to bed. Deal?”

“Deal.”

taglist is open: @fawnwonie @collywobblvs @lawnzzn @thatfeelingwhenn @kristynaaah @rikicoolpuma @hoonguin @ynnii @wonuziex @wonatlas @wonkiipiilled @choicila @strwbysunoo @bluepains @jimineepaboya @bitemhoon

[blvnt1e]

禁止 forbidden bond — s.jy au 纽带

黑穗病 ─── "Did I distract you, Professor?" Sim Jaeyun is the professor everyone respects. you are the student who has him at your feet, who makes the mask of so much professionalism disappear.

ⳇ 𝓟 airing ╸ professor!jake (24) x student!f!reader (18)

ⳇ w/c: 9.8k

㰙꯭ؚۣۙۗ㰛꯭ؚؔ 𝓦arnings: MDNI, smut, unprotected sex (don't, pls), public sex, oral sex (m! & f!), fingerfucking, creampie, nipple teasing, boob sucking, light degradation/praise, dirty talk, rough sex, overstimulation, cum eating, marking, slut shaming, (ft. Giselle, Sunoo).. lmk if more

𝓡ina's note: im really dead... srry for that, idk what im gonna do next (plz give me ideas, i literally don't have any ;/ i would love reading yours if u have) reblog if u liked it and... that's all.. hope uliked it C:

总清单之家 check my ::⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── 𝓜asterlist 𝓗ome

The air in the lecture hall always felt different when Professor Sim Jaeyun—or Jake, as you called him behind closed doors—stepped inside.

It was a thick, intoxicating cocktail of expensive cedarwood cologne, the scent of whiteboard markers, and a predatory tension that only you truly understood.

At twenty-four, he was the epitome of professionalism, never seen without a perfectly tailored suit, his dark hair swept back, and a gaze so sharp it could dissect a student's logic before they even finished a sentence.

He didn't have a public dating life. he was a ghost in the social scene, save for the rare, whispered sightings of him at exclusive, dimly lit jazz bars or underground clubs where the drinks cost more than your tuition.

He was the ultimate challenge. and little did the world know, you had already broken him.

Behind the closed doors of his luxury off-campus apartment, the "Professor" disappeared, replaced by a man whose hunger was huge.

The midday sun bled through the sheer curtains of your dorm.

You stood before the full-length mirror, evaluating what you had chosen to wear.

The outfit was a calculated provocation. a thin, black zip-up hoodie made of a thin fabric, its hood lined with a thick, plush trim of faux fur.

Below it, a denim mini-skirt, finished with a defiant leopard-print fur border. it was trashy-chic, a direct insult to the academic environment Jake tried to maintain.

it screamed for attention.

it screamed for his hands.

A sharp, rhythmic drumming on your door shattered your focus.

"If you're dead in there, i'm stealing your skin serum!" Sunoo's voice rang out, sharp and dripping with his trademark sass.

You swung the door open. Sunoo was leaning against the frame, he didn't wait for an invitation, stepping inside and flopping onto your unmade bed.

"i'm telling you, that buldak ramyeon from last night was a tactical error" Sunoo groaned, clutching his stomach dramatically.

"i woke up feeling like a bloated pufferfish. my skin? dull. my energy? sub-zero. and don't even get me started on Sunghoon.

he posted a gym selfie all sweaty, veins popping—and then had the audacity to ignore my text for three hours. i should block him. i should literally ruin his life."

You turned back to the mirror, adjusting the hoodie so the zipper sat dangerously low. "maybe he's just busy, Sunoo. not everyone lives on their phone."

"Please. he's obsessed with his own reflection; he's definitely seen my name on his screen" Sunoo retorted, sitting up and squinting at you. he went quiet for a second, his cat-like eyes scanning your outfit from the leopard trim to the sheer fabric of the hoodie.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.

"Ugh, stop interrupting my food-trauma with your... whatever this is" he said, gesturing to your body.

"You look absolutely feral, girl. truly. like you're about to go hunting. who is the unlucky soul today? is this for Professor Sim?"

You felt a spike of adrenaline but kept your voice flat. "why do you always bring him up? can't i just want to look good for myself?"

Sunoo let out a loud, theatrical cackle, rolling off the bed. "For yourself? honey, you're wearing leopard print and a hoodie that's basically a spiderweb,

You look like you're trying to get a failing grade just so he'll keep you for detention. it's a bit much, don't you think? he's twenty-four, he's a genius, and he has the emotional range of a stone wall. he's never going to look at a student that way."

"God, Sunoo, drop the lecture" you sighed, grabbing your bag and checking your reflection one last time.

You had dabbed a heavy, musky vanilla perfume on your pulse points—the scent Jake once told you made him want to lose his mind. "i don't care about Jake. i just like his class. the man knows his science, okay?"

"Sure, babe. and i'm a straight man" Sunoo rolled his eyes, looping his arm through yours.

The air outside was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and the hum of campus life. as you walked toward the main hall, Sunoo didn't stop talking, his voice a constant, comforting stream of gossip.

"i'm serious though" Sunoo said, his tone shifting slightly more serious but keeping that sassy edge. "i've seen girls much more... 'obvious' than you try to get a rise out of him, and he looks at them like they're a math error. don't hurt your own feelings trying to break a man who doesn't have a heart."

"Who said anything about breaking him?" you murmured, a secret smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"Your skirt did. it's screaming it" Sunoo replied, adjusting his sunglasses as you approached the massive oak doors of the science building.

You checked your watch. 12:45 PM. in fifteen minutes, you would be sitting in the front row.

In fifteen minutes, you would watch the way Professor Sim's eyes would darken as they landed on you.

You would watch the way his hands would tremble slightly as he adjusted his notes, and you would know—better than anyone in that room—exactly how it felt when that "stone wall" finally crumbled beneath you.

"Let's go" you said, your heart beginning to thunder in your chest. "i don't want to miss a single second of the new unit."

Giselle was already waiting by the glass doors.

She is a force of nature.

She is your best friend, a woman who lived for the thrill of the chase and the heat of a hookup.

She often joked that if she didn't have a new man to distract her every week, she'd lose her mind.

"Finally!" Giselle exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she saw you. she was dressed in a sleek, tight dress, already vibrating with energy. "i've been standing here for ten minutes. why are you both late?"

"Blame her" Sunoo chimed in, crossing his arms and huffing.

"She spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror perfecting the 'i'm-definitely-not-wearing-a-bra' look. it's a miracle we made it here before the semester ended."

Giselle let out a throaty laugh, pulling you into a half-hug. "if you've got the goods, you sell them, Sunoo. don't be a hater just because your gym-crush hasn't texted you back.

You look incredible, babe. if Professor Sim has a pulse, he's going to be sweating through that designer suit by 1:15."

"He is a teacher, Gi" Sunoo muttered, falling into step as the three of you entered the auditorium. "maybe she should focus more on studying, it's practically a public service at this point."

"Oh, hush, Sun" Giselle teased, her voice dropping as you entered the hall. "we're going out for drinks the second this day is over anyway. We need to be in the right headspace."

The three of you claimed your usual spots—dead center, front row. you were so close to the professor's desk that you could smell the wood.

to your left, Sunoo and Giselle were already deep in a hushed, scandalous argument.

"I'm serious, Giselle! no condom? Again?" Sunoo hissed, his voice a sharp whisper. "in this economy? you're playing russian roulette with your health just because some guy has nice arms. have some respect for your own biology."

"He was hot, Sunoo! and he said he was clean" Giselle countered, rolling her eyes. "besides, it's not like i'm looking for a husband. i just wanted to feel something other than boredom for twenty minutes."

The side door creaked open, and the hall fell into an expectant, heavy silence. Jake walked in.

His suit was buttoned tight, his tie perfectly knotted, and his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose with a sharp, intellectual frostiness.

He didn't look at the class; he looked through them, his aura radiating a cold, untouchable authority. he placed his satchel on the desk.

"Good afternoon" he began, his voice a rich, vibrating baritone that seemed to settle directly in your lower abdomen. "today's session is practical. you have the prompts on your tablets. i expect a full analysis by the end of the next hour. if you find yourself... struggling, my desk is open for inquiries."

The room erupted into the soft sound of clicking keys. you didn't even look at your screen.

You knew this material better than he did some days. you waited five minutes, then stood up, making sure the faux-fur trim of your skirt caught the light.

You approached the desk, leaning over far enough that the zipper of your hoodie hung a bit open only for him to see, revealing a little of the fabric of your bra.

You could smell him—cedarwood, expensive paper, and a faint, masculine musk that made your head swim.

"Professor?" you murmured, your voice a silken thread. "i'm having a bit of trouble with the molecular bonding section. it's so... complex."

Jake didn't look up at first.

His jaw was set so tight you could see the muscle feathering in his cheek.

Slowly, he lifted his head. his dark eyes didn't go to your face; they landed squarely on the exposed skin of your chest. He stayed there for a beat too long, his pupils dilating until his eyes were almost entirely black.

"It shouldn't be complex for someone with your... aptitude, Miss" he rasped, his voice losing its professional sheen.

He reached out, his hand hovering near your own on the desk, his heat radiating through the air. "you need to focus on the core. stop looking for shortcuts."

"I find it very hard to focus when the atmosphere is so... tense" you whispered, looking at him through your lashes.

Jake's hand clenched into a fist on the desk. "back to your seat."

As you walked away, you felt his eyes on your hips, burning holes into the denim of your skirt.

When you sat down, Sunoo leaned over, his face a mask of disbelief. "You are such a liar. you literally tutored me on this last week. if you're going to be a slut for his attention, at least try to be the smart one."

"Sunoo, shut up" you hissed, your heart drumming against your ribs.

"She's being so defensive," Giselle whispered with a smirk. "let her play, Sunoo. look at him. he looks like he's about to explode anyway."

The last fifteen minutes were an exercise in psychological warfare. you sat there, chin in your hand, staring at Jake with a predatory stillness.

You slowly took your pencil into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the wood, your eyes never leaving his. then, you dragged a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to show the pink flesh inside.

Jake was trying to grade papers, but he was failing.

His pen hovered over a page, a drop of ink staining the paper as he stared back at you.

He looked exhausted, his tie slightly loosened now, his professional armor cracked and bleeding. He let out a long, heavy sigh, his gaze sweeping over your body with a mix of resentment and agonizing desire.

You felt stripped bare by that look—naked and claimed right there in the front row.

The bell rang. the students began to scatter, the sound of chairs scraping filling the air.

"Coming?" Giselle asked, packing her things.

"Go ahead" you said, your voice steady. "i have to hand in that extra credit assignment. i'll catch you at the cafeteria"

Sunoo opened his mouth to complain, but Giselle saw the look in your eyes.

She grabbed Sunoo by the arm, dragging him toward the exit. "let's go, Sun. she's busy being a 'dedicated student.'" she gave the heavy doors a firm push, and the click of the lock resonated like a heartbeat.

Silence reclaimed the room. Jake didn't move. he sat behind his desk, staring at the closed doors.

"Do you have something for me, Miss?" he asked, the words strained, his 'Professor' mask barely hanging on.

"God, Jake" you breathed, walking toward him and dropping the assignment on the floor. you leaned against the desk, your thighs brushing his knees. "act like a professional one more time and i'll scream. you were practically undressing me with your eyes for the last hour."

Jake finally snapped. he pushed his rolling chair back, his legs falling open in a wide, dominant V.

He looked up at you, his eyes raw. "i can't tarnish my resume."

He reached out, his hand sliding up your thigh, his palm hot against your skin. "but it is impossible for me to function when you walk in here looking like a total slut. that skirt... that hoodie... you knew exactly what you were doing to me."

"Did i distract you, Professor?" you teased, sliding your hands over his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles.

"You're a brat" he growled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous simmer. "we have thirty minutes before the next hour."

"I can make you cum in ten" you countered, your voice dropping to a seductive purr, already sinking to your knees between his open legs.

"Not in my classroom... god" Jake's head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut as your hands found his belt.

"As if you can wait, you'll just end up in the faculty bathroom touching yourself while thinking about me anyway."

"I never should have told you that" Jake muttered, his head falling back against his chair.

"uhm.. why?" you whispered, unbuckling his leather belt with a sharp clack.

"Because you use it against me like a weapon."

"Because it works." you answered.

Jake let out a ragged breath, looking at the door one last time before sliding his chair forward, tucking you into the dark, private shadows beneath the heavy desk.

He reached down, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so you had to look at him.

"Brat." he whispered, his thumb brushing over your lip with a sudden, aching tenderness. "i love you... now please... hurry up"

Jake's hand remained buried in your hair, his grip firm, forcing your head back so you had to look up at him.

From this angle, he didn't look like the prestigious Professor Sim anymore. his glasses were slightly askew, his tie was a mess of silk, and his eyes were dark with a predatory, hypersexual hunger that made your core throb.

"You've been begging for this since the moment you stepped into my lecture" he rasped, his voice vibrating through the desk you were leaning against. "the short skirt, every 'question' at my desk... you're a manipulative little slut, aren't you, my love?"

"I'm your slut, Jake" you whispered, the words acting like gasoline on a fire.

With a sharp hiss of a zipper, you released him.

He was already fully aroused, straining against the fine fabric of his underwear.

When you finally freed him, the sight of him—thick, pulsing, and already weeping with a bead of pre-cum—made your mouth water.

He was massive, a stark contrast to the refined, controlled man he pretended to be in the light.

"Do it" he commanded, his fingers tightening in your hair, not to hurt, but for you to feel the pressure "show me how much of a 'dedicated student' you really are."

You didn't need to be told twice.

You leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick the length of him, tasting the salt and the heat.

Jake let out a jagged, broken moan, his hips twitching involuntarily toward your face. when you finally took him into your mouth, the heat was overwhelming.

You swirled your tongue around the sensitive head, suctioning him deep into your throat until you hit the back, your eyes watering from the depth.

"God... fuck" Jake hissed, his head thumping back against the leather of his chair. "that's it... use that pretty mouth. you've got so much to say in class, let's see how well you can stay still while you chock on it."

His hands guiding your head in a rhythmic, punishing motion.

Every time you tried to pull back for air, he held you there, forcing you to take every inch, to feel the way his pulse hammered against your tongue.

The sound of your wet, sloppy intake echoed in the hollow space under the desk, a rhythmic slap of skin against skin that made the risk of being caught feel electric.

"You like this, don't you?" Jake whispered, his voice thick "being down there like a good girl, hidden away while the rest of the world thinks i'm a saint. you're the only one who knows what a monster i am, aren't you?"

He reached down, his thumb finding your bottom lip, pulling it down to watch the way you struggled to breathe around him. The sight of your small face filled with him was too much.

He pulled out with a sharp pop, the friction making you gasp as cool air rushed into your mouth, drying the saliva on your lips.

You stayed on your knees, trembling, the shadows of the massive mahogany desk swallowing everything but the two of you. your lungs burned, searching for oxygen, but Jake didn't give you a moment to recover.

His hand, still tangled in your hair, tightened, tilting your head back even further until your spine arched.

His eyes were dark, fixated on your swollen lips and the way your chest heaved beneath the thin fabric of your hoodie.

"You're not done" he rasped, his voice a jagged edge in the silence of the auditorium. "i've spent the last twenty minutes watching you tease me from the front row. you don't get to stop until i've had every fucking bit of what you were promising."

With his free hand, he reached down and gripped the zipper of your black hoodie, dragging it down slowly.

The sound of the metal teeth uncoupling was loud, echoing against the underside of the desk. He pushed the fabric aside, exposing the pale, flushed skin of your chest and the lace of your bra.

He didn't stop there. he unclipped it, freeing your breasts, the cool air making your nipples harden instantly into tight, aching points.

"God, you're so beautiful" he whispered, a rare note of genuine sweetness breaking through his rough exterior. "a beautiful, manipulative little slut."

He didn't make you stand. instead, he leaned forward in his chair, forcing you to stay tucked in the cramped, dark space between his knees.

He grabbed both of your breasts, squeezing them together to create a deep, pillowy cleavage. the sight of his thick, throbbing cock pressed against the soft skin of your chest was a visual of pure sin—the ivory of your skin against the flushed, dark heat of him.

He began to slide himself between them.

The friction was incredible, the slickness of your own saliva and his pre-cum acting as a lubricant as he buried himself in the valley of your chest. every thrust made his cock slap against your chin, the scent of him—musk, salt, and raw desire—filling your senses until you couldn't think.

"Look at me" he commanded, his voice trembling with the effort of holding back. "i want you to see what you do to me."

He began to move faster, his hips pumping in a rhythmic, desperate pace. he moaned while his cock continued to friction against your skin.

You let out a muffled whimper, your hands clawing at his thighs, digging your nails into the expensive fabric of his suit. The overstimulation was staggering— the weight of him between your breasts, and the constant fear of the auditorium doors swinging open.

"Jake... please" you moaned, your head thumping against the underside of the desk.

"Call me Professor" he hissed, his movements becoming more frantic, his breathing a series of ragged, broken hitches. "Tell me how much you love being your Professor’s little secret."

He was close. you could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his muscles locked as he reached his limit. he pulled back from your chest, his eyes blown wide, searching your face for the same level of ruin he felt.

"Open your mouth" he ordered, his voice dropping to a low, primal growl. "take all of it. don't you dare waste a single drop."

He didn't wait. he guided himself back into your mouth, his hands holding your head steady as he delivered the final thrusts.

He bottomed out in your throat, and then he stiffened.

You felt the hot, thick pulse of his release—wave after wave of his heat hitting the back of your throat.

You took it all, your eyes watering, your throat working to swallow the viscous liquid as he filled you.

He groaned, a long, guttural sound that seemed to come from his very soul, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as his body finally went limp.

For a long minute, the only sound was the two of you breathing—heavy, jagged gasps in the dark.

"So good..." he whispered, his thumb swiping a stray drop of cum from the corner of your mouth and bringing it to his own lips. He tasted it, his eyes meeting yours with a dark, satisfied glint.

The shift was almost violent. as soon as the haze of the orgasm cleared, the "Professor" began to resurface. Jake checked his watch—twenty minutes until the doors would unlock for the next seminar.

He stood up, his movements efficient and clinical as he tucked himself back into his slacks.

You remained on the floor for a moment, your legs feeling like lead, the taste of him still coating your tongue.

"Get up, babe, we need to move," he said, though his voice was softer now. he reached down, helping you to your feet.

The next twenty minutes were a meticulous dance of restoration.

Jake stood in front of a small mirror he kept in his desk, re-knotting his tie with steady hands, smoothing the wrinkles in his charcoal jacket.

He looked like a man who had spent his lunch break studying research papers, not a man who had just been unraveled under his own desk.

You, meanwhile, were huddled in the corner of the auditorium, using a pack of wet wipes you kept in your bag to clean the stickiness from your lips.

You re-clipped your bra, zipped up your hoodie, and smoothed down your leopard-trimmed skirt. your face was flushed, your lips bitten and red, but with a bit of concealer and a heavy coat of lip gloss, the evidence was buried.

"Your hair" Jake remarked, stepping toward you. he reached out, his fingers gentle as he smoothed a stray strand back into place.

For a second, the mask slipped, and you saw the man who had whispered i love you amidst the filth. "You look... presentable. almost innocent."

"And you look like you didn't just call me a whore" you countered, a small, triumphant smile playing on your lips.

Jake let out a low, weary breath, the kind of sound a man makes when he knows he's completely at the mercy of the woman standing in front of him. his fingers trembling ever so slightly—the only lingering evidence of the chaos that had just unfolded beneath his desk.

"You really should head to the cafeteria with your friends" Jake said, his voice finally reclaiming that steady, authoritative pitch he used for his lectures.

He didn't look at you yet, busy organizing the scattered papers on his desk. "get something to eat. you have another hour of my lecture in a few minutes, and i don't want you passing out in the front row."

You leaned against the edge of the mahogany desk, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across your lips.

You reached out, tracing the gold nib of his fountain pen with a singular finger. "i don't think i'm very hungry, Jake" you whispered, your voice dripping with honeyed malice. "actually, i think i've already eaten quite enough for one afternoon. it was… a very filling snack."

Jake's hand froze over his leather satchel.

He let out a sharp, ragged sigh, his eyes closing for a brief second as he fought the urge to pull you back into the shadows. the reference to the taste still lingering on your tongue was enough to make the air in the room feel heavy again.

"You're impossible" he muttered, finally looking up. he sat back in his chair and flipped open his laptop, the blue light reflecting off his glasses.

You chuckled softly, pushing off the desk. you leaned down, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to his cheek—right on the jawline where you had left a faint, red mark only minutes before. "see you, Professor. try to focus on the slides, okay?"

He didn't answer, but you saw his jaw tighten as he began to type with a ferocity that suggested he was desperately trying to ignore the scent of your perfume still clinging to his skin.

At the end of the last class of the day, the final bell rang at 7:40 PM, the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.

The campus was bathed in the amber glow of the streetlights as you, Sunoo, and Giselle stepped out of the main building.

The evening air was crisp, carrying the distant sound of city traffic and the excited chatter of students finally freed from their academic chains.

"God, i need a drink so bad i can taste the gin" Giselle groaned, stretching her arms above her head, her movements fluid and cat-like. "there's that new lounge near the station. they have a happy hour that lasts until midnight, and i heard the bartenders are actually competent for once."

Sunoo nodded, adjusting the strap of his designer tote bag. "i'm in. i need to wash away the memory of that lecture. i swear, Professor Sim was extra intense today. did you see the way he was glaring at the whiteboard? it was like he wanted to fight the equations."

He turned to you, his eyes scanning your face with a hint of concern. "come on, you look like you're in another world. let's go get wasted."

You bit your lip, glancing back at the building where you knew Jake was probably still packing up, likely waiting for the halls to clear before he headed to his car. "i… i can't tonight, guys. sorry."

Giselle paused, her eyebrows shooting up. "what? since when do you turn down a friday night drink? you were the one complaining about being bored this morning."

"i know, i know" you said, waving a hand dismissively as you pulled your hoodie closer around you. "but i have to go help my aunt with some stuff. she's moving some furniture and, well, she's been asking for weeks. i can't keep blowing her off."

Giselle stopped walking, her sharp eyes narrowing as she looked at you.

She saw the flush on your neck, the slight puffiness of your lips, and the way you kept glancing at the clock. a slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

She didn't say a word, but her silence was deafening. she knew the 'aunt' was a lie, but she also knew you weren't going to spill the truth.

"Your aunt?" Sunoo broke in, his voice rising in that characteristic sassy lilt.

He stopped dead in his tracks, looking at you like you had just suggested eating dirt. "are you serious? doesn't she have, like, a life? or a boyfriend? or a literal moving company?"

"come on, Sun" you laughed nervously.

"I'm being logical!" Sunoo retorted, rolling his eyes dramatically. "your aunt is twenty-seven. she's basically in her prime. she's young, she's fit, and she's perfectly capable of moving a coffee table without your help. why does she need you at 8:00 PM on a friday? is she incapable of functioning?"

Giselle reached over and gave Sunoo a sharp, playful smack on the arm. "shut up, you brat. if she says she has to go, she has to go. maybe her aunt is going through a breakup or something."

she turned back to you, her expression softening into a look of feigned annoyance. "but you're paying for the first round tomorrow, understand?"

"I promise" you said, feeling a wave of relief. "tomorrow, i'm all yours. i'll make it up to both of you, okay?"

"You better" Sunoo grumbled, though he finally started walking again. "twenty-seven years old and can't move a chair. unbelievable."

"See you tomorrow, Gi. Bye, Sun!" you called out, backing away toward the parking lot.

Giselle watched you go, a small, secretive wave following you. she didn't buy the story for a second, but she respected the hustle.

The parking lot was cold, the shadows stretching long and thin between the rows of cars.

The air had turned sharp with the evening chill, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the lecture hall you'd just escaped.

You walked with a quick, rhythmic stride, your boots clicking against the pavement, until you saw it—the sleek, predatory silhouette of the black Audi parked in the furthest corner.

As you approached, the car's led headlights flickered twice, cutting through the gloom to find you. the windows were heavily tinted.

You pulled the passenger door open and slipped inside, the scent of expensive leather and Jake's familiar cedarwood cologne immediately wrapping around you like a second skin.

Jake was sitting in the driver's seat, the dim glow from the dashboard illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and the relaxed, yet guarded, posture he only held when he was with you.

"I have to pay for tomorrow's outing thanks to you" you grumbled, tossing your bag into the footwell.

You leaned back against the headrest, crossing your arms over your chest in a classic bratty pout. "Giselle and Sunoo are already suspicious, and now i'm the one who has to foot the bill for the 'aunt' excuse."

Jake let out a low, amused huff, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the steering wheel.

He turned his head to look at you, a small, indulgent smile playing on his lips. "if you want to go, you can go. i'm not exactly holding you hostage. and as for the bill… let me pay for it. consider it a convenience fee for my schedule."

"Hm, and in exchange for what?’" you asked, your voice dropping into a playful, knowing lilt. you shifted in your seat, the denim of your skirt riding up just a fraction more.

You knew exactly where this conversation usually led, and the thrill of it was already beginning to thrum in your veins.

Jake's smile faded slightly, replaced by a look that was uncharacteristically soft. "in exchange for nothing you don't want to do. you talk to me sometimes like i'm some predator taking advantage of you."

You softened, the bratty persona slipping away for a moment. you reached out, running a hand over the smooth dashboard. "i don't mean it like that, Jake. it's just… the secret of it all... it puts me in a weird headspace sometimes."

Jake sighed, his expression turning serious. he reached over, his hand hovering in the space between your seats before he finally spoke. "i know. but you know the stakes. if the board found out i started seeing a student in my very first year here… it wouldn't just be a scandal.

it would be the end of everything i've worked for. professors who get a reputation for 'indulging' in their students don't get tenure, love. they get blacklisted. i have to protect this—for both of us."

"I know, i know" you said, waving a hand to dismiss the heavy tension.

You didn't want to talk about careers or reputations; you wanted the sanctuary of his apartment. "i'm not complaining, i'm just reminding you. anyway… are we going to your place? i'm exhausted."

"Mh." Jake hummed in affirmation, his voice vibrating deep in his chest.

He paused, his hand finally moving to settle on your thigh, his palm warm and heavy. "unless you're hungry? we could stop somewhere quiet on the way out of the district."

"No" you replied, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. "i'm fine with just finishing off whatever ramyun you have in your place. i just want to watch a movie and cuddle for once without looking over my shoulder."

Jake's thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle on the skin of your thigh, right at the hem of your skirt.

For a second, his grip tightened, his fingers inching upward as if he were tempted to hike the fabric up right then and there in the parking lot. you held your breath, the familiar heat rising in your gut, but after a lingering moment of tension, he pulled back.

"Fine" he said, his voice a bit raspier than before. "ramyun and a movie it is."

He withdrew his hand and reached for the ignition.

The engine roared to life, a low, powerful purr that vibrated through the floorboards. as he shifted the car into gear and began to navigate out of the lot, the flickering lights of the campus faded into the rearview mirror. for the first time all day, the air felt like it belonged to you again.

"But just so we're clear" Jake added, his eyes fixed on the road but a mischievous glint returning to his gaze, "if we're watching a movie, i get to pick. and i'm not letting you fall asleep ten minutes in like last time."

"We'll see about that, Professor" you teased, finally relaxing as the Audi sped toward the city skyline.

The hum of the Audi's engine was a low, rhythmic vibration that seemed to settle directly into your bones. outside, the city was a blur of electric ambers and cold blues, the towering glass structures of the business district watching like silent sentinels as the car glided through the late-night traffic. inside, the atmosphere was suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint, atmospheric jazz bleeding through the speakers—a sound too elegant for the wreckage of your current state.

For fifteen minutes, you hadn't moved. your forehead was pressed against the cool glass of the window, but your eyes weren't focused on the neon lights.

They were trapped in the memory of the auditorium.

You could still feel the phantom sensation of his hands in your hair and the visceral, heavy weight of him. the problem was that the act had been entirely one-sided. you had been the giver, the submissive vessel for his release, and it had left you in a state of agonizing, physical suspension.

You were hyper-aware of everything. the way the lace of your panties felt like sandpaper against your swollen folds. the way the denim of your skirt was bunched up. you felt heavy, humming with a localized heat that Jake hadn't even bothered to address yet.

Jake's hand shifted from the gear stick, his fingers splaying across your mid-thigh. he didn't look at you; his eyes were fixed on the road, the red glow of the taillights ahead reflecting in his glasses.

"You're being very quiet" he noted, his voice a smooth, low-frequency rumble. "in what world are you right now?"

"Nowhere special" you whispered, your voice sounding thin and ragged even to your own ears. you bit your lip hard, your teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh you'd already punished earlier that day.

Jake flicked his gaze toward you for a fraction of a second—a sharp, clinical scan that seemed to peel back your skin.

He turned back to the road, a slow, dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before he licked his lips—a habit that felt less like a tic and more like a predatory preparation.

"Are you sure? because you're practically vibrating" he said, his thumb beginning to trace slow, deliberate circles on your inner thigh, inching closer to the hem of your skirt. "you're so tense i can feel it through the leather."

"Do you want me to be honest, Jake?" you finally turned your head, staring at his profile—the sharp, aristocratic line of his nose, the way the passing streetlights hollowed out his cheeks.

He looked so collected, so professional, while you were a mess of unfulfilled nerves. "i feel empty. completely and utterly empty."

"Empty?" Jake let out a dry, amused huff. "oh, love... are you already trying to negotiate a new lesson before we've even reached the apartment?"

"I'm serious" you breathed, your legs parting just a fraction as his hand moved higher. "you got exactly what you wanted in that hall. and i'm still… i'm still waiting."

"Mh. i see."

Jake didn't pull over. he kept driving, his left hand steering with an effortless, one-handed grace while his right hand slid beneath the leopard-print trim of your skirt.

His palm was hot, a stark contrast to the air-conditioned cabin.

He didn't go for the skin immediately; instead, he let his middle finger hook into the edge of your lace panties, tracing the seam from front to back. He felt the dampness immediately—the evidence of how much the car ride had been affecting you.

"Look at this" he murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, textured register. "you haven't even been touched and you're already soaked. you've just been sitting here, behaving yourself, while you rot from the inside out thinking about me."

"Jake… please" you whimpered, your head falling back against the headrest.

"Shh. don't be so loud." he chided softly, though the glint in his eyes was anything but kind.

He didn't remove the underwear. he used the fabric as a tool, his fingers pressing the rough lace directly against your clit, circling it with a firm, punishing pressure.

The friction was jagged and intense.

You gasped, your hips bucking instinctively against his hand, but he held you down, his thumb pinning your thigh in place.

"You're so desperate for a little attention" he whispered, his eyes never leaving the road as he navigated a turn. "it's almost embarrassing how easy it is to break that bratty attitude of yours. a little neglect and you're begging for whatever i'm willing to give you."

"I'm not begging" you lied, your breath hitching as he increased the speed of his fingers.

"No? Then why are your legs shaking? why are you gripping my arm like you're drowning?"

He finally slipped two fingers beneath the elastic, diving into the heat of you.

The sudden shift from the dry lace to the blunt, wet intrusion of his fingers made your vision white out. he began to fuck you with a rhythmic, heavy pace, his fingers curling deep inside you, hitting that sensitive spot with every upward stroke.

The sound of it—the wet, rhythmic slap of his palm against your thigh—filled the quiet car, drowning out the radio.

"You're so tight" he growled, his jaw tightening. "and so messy. it's a good thing i have leather seats. i can't have you ruining the car before we even get home."

He was overstimulating you on purpose, his fingers moving with a clinical precision that felt like he was dissecting your pleasure.

Every time you reached the precipice, every time your breath caught in a way that suggested an orgasm, he slowed down, dragging his fingers out just enough to leave you cold and gasping before thrusting back in.

"Jake, i can't… i need to finish" you sobbed, your nails digging into the sleeve of his blazer.

"You'll finish when i decide you've learned some patience" he countered.

He pulled the Audi into the underground parking of his complex, the screech of tires on the polished concrete echoing like a scream.

He killed the engine, the sudden silence making the sounds of your frantic breathing and his wet fingers inside you feel deafeningly loud.

He withdrew his hand slowly, the suction making a sharp, wet pop. he didn't look at the mess; instead, he reached up and wiped his damp fingers across your bottom lip, smearing your own heat over your mouth like a brand.

"Get out of the car" he said, his voice returning to that terrifyingly calm, professional tone as he adjusted his glasses. "and don't you dare touch yourself in the elevator. i want you exactly this needy when I open that door."

The elevator ride was a form of psychological torture that Jake had engineered with clinical precision.

You stood in the corner, your knees shaking so violently you had to lean against the cold metal wall for support. every time you caught your reflection in the polished surface, you saw a stranger—a girl with blown-out pupils and lips swollen.

Next to you, Jake stood as if he were waiting for a faculty meeting to begin.

He hadn't touched you since the car. he didn't even look at you. he stood with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, his gaze fixed on the glowing floor numbers above the door.

The contrast was agonizing; he looked untouched, a pillar of academic decorum, while you could feel the cold dampness of your own skin and the heavy, rhythmic throb between your legs that he had ignited and then abandoned.

"Jake" you whispered, the name a broken, desperate plea that cracked the silence.

He didn't turn his head. he only shifted his weight slightly. "i suggest you find a way to occupy your mind for the next thirty seconds."

"I can't... it hurts" you hissed, your fingers twitching at your sides, wanting nothing more than to reach for him, to tear that perfectly pressed blazer off his shoulders.

"Pain is just another form of focus" he replied, his voice devoid of empathy but thick with a suppressed, dark gravity. "Learn to sit with it."

The elevator chimed—a polite, sterile sound—and the doors slid open. the hallway of his floor was quiet, lined with plush carpeting that muffled the sound of your frantic footsteps as you followed him. he walked with an agonizingly steady pace, the jingle of his keys as he reached his door sounding like a death knell for your restraint.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for you with a politeness that felt like a slap in the face. you stumbled past him into the foyer, the scent of his home—expensive wood, clean laundry, and a hint of aged spirits—rushing to meet you.

The second the heavy door clicked shut and the deadbolt engaged, the "Professor" vanished.

Jake didn't say a word. he didn't even drop his keys on the console.

He simply turned and lunged, his body a solid wall of muscle that slammed you back against the door. the impact made the wood groan, and the air was knocked out of your lungs in a sharp gasp.

Before you could even blink, his mouth was on yours—not with the calculated heat of the car, but with a raw, desperate hunger that bordered on violent.

It wasn't a kiss of affection; it was a reclamation. his tongue forced its way past your teeth, tasting the remnants of himself on you, his hands tangling deep into your hair and pulling your head back to expose the line of your throat.

You groaned into his mouth, your hands frantically grasping at his waist, trying to pull him closer even though there wasn't a millimeter of space left between you.

"You've been a very loud distraction all day" he growled against your lips, his voice ragged and stripped of all composure. "do you have any idea how much i've wanted to do this since one o'clock this afternoon?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

He reached down, his large hands hooking under the backs of your thighs. with a grunt of effort, he hoisted you up.

Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, the denim of your skirt bunching up and leaving your damp skin exposed to the cool air of the apartment. he squeezed the flesh of your thighs, his thumbs digging into your muscles as he carried you through the darkened living room.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, your teeth grazing the skin of his shoulder through his shirt. he was walking with a heavy, purposeful stride, his breathing sounding like a furnace in the quiet apartment.

He reached the bedroom, a space dominated by a large, minimalist bed and the faint glow of the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He didn't set you down gently. he leaned forward and dropped you, your body bouncing against the high-thread-count sheets.

You landed on your back, your hair splayed across the pillows, your chest heaving as you looked up at him. Jake stood at the edge of the bed, his silhouette framed by the skyline, his hands moving to his tie.

He stared down at you with a look of absolute, terrifying intent—the look of a man who was finally done waiting.

Jake stood at the foot of the bed, his silhouette a sharp, jagged edge against the sprawling lights of Seoul beyond the window.

The "Professor Sim" facade didn't just crack; it disintegrated. he reached for his tie, pulling it straight down with a sharp tug that popped the top button of his shirt.

His eyes never left yours—they were dark, blown out, and swimming with a desperate, almost pathetic need that made his previous composure seem like a sick joke.

"You have no idea" he rasped, his voice breaking as he kicked off his shoes and shed his blazer, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. "i've been standing at that podium, smelling your perfume, watching you cross your legs... i've been going out of my mind."

He crawled onto the bed, a predatory but strangely vulnerable movement. he looked like a man starving, and you were the only meal he had ever wanted.

He pinned your wrists above your head, his weight settling between your thighs, and for a moment, he just breathed you in, his forehead resting against yours.

"You're so beautiful it makes me sick" he whispered against your lips. "my perfect little miss. you're the only thing i can think about. i'm a mess because of you."

He didn’t wait for an answer.

His mouth dropped to your chest, his teeth catching the fabric of your hoodie to drag it up and out of the way.

He didn't even bother taking it off; he just wanted access. his tongue lashed out, swirling around your nipple through the lace of your bra before he unclipped it with a frantic dexterity.

When he finally got your bare breast in his mouth, he made a sound—a loud, needy groan that vibrated deep in his chest.

He wasn't gentle. He sucked hard, his tongue rough against the sensitive peak, his other hand reaching down to squeeze and knead your other breast.

He was devouring you, his teeth grazing the pale skin, leaving small, blossoming bruises that would be impossible to hide under a collar the next day.

"Jake... please..." you sobbed, your back arching off the mattress.

He moved his hand down, his fingers diving into your soaking wet heat.

He didn't ease in. He shoved two fingers deep, his thumb finding your clit and grinding with a relentless, punishing rhythm.

He was overstimulating you on purpose, his fingers curling and hitting your G-spot with every jagged thrust.

"Look at you" he growled, his face hovering inches from yours, his eyes frantic. "soaking the sheets for me. you love that i can do this to you. you love that i own you in this room."

His actions were needy. he leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, whining low in his throat like a wounded animal. "please... i need to be inside you. i can't take it... you're so good... so perfect for me..."

Jake's breath was a scorching gale against the sensitive column of your throat.

He sounded pathetic, a stark contrast to the man who commanded a lecture hall of two hundred people. the "Professor" was gone, replaced by a young man drowning in a sensory overload that only you provided.

"Please, i've been thinking about this since the moment i saw you walk in today" he whimpered, the sound vibrating against your skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and dilated, reflecting the flickering city lights. with a frantic, almost clumsy desperation, his fingers trembled as he fumbled with the metal fastening.

He shoved the fabric down his hips, the expensive material pooling around his ankles. he didn't even pause to kick them away, his hands immediately moving to his boxers, shedding them with a singular, fluid motion that left him entirely exposed to the cool air of the room.

The sight of him was staggering—thick, pulsing, and already weeping with a heavy bead of pre-cum that glistened in the dim light. He looked primal, his lean, athletic physique taut with the effort of holding back.

He needed more. He hooked your knees over his shoulders, a move that exposed you completely, leaving you feeling raw and vulnerable under his intense gaze.

He dipped his head again, his tongue finding your clit through the slickness he'd already created with his fingers. he lapped at you with a broad, thirsty stroke, his hands reaching up to capture your breasts, squeezing them together so he could watch the way your nipples peaked.

"You're so wet for me" he groaned, his voice muffled by your thighs. "you've been sitting in my class all day just producing this for me, haven't you?"

He slid two fingers back inside you, but this time they were joined by a third, stretching you open, preparing your tight heat for the girth of him.

You let out a broken cry, your hips bucking as he simulated the friction of what was to come.

"Jake... now. please, right now" you sobbed, your hands catching in his dark hair, pulling him closer.

"I've got you" he whispered, a strange, needy praise. "i've got you, my good girl."

He surged upward, his chest pressing against yours, skin-to-skin.

He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a single heartbeat to savor the heat radiating from you.

Then, with a heavy, unceremonious lunge, he buried himself to the hilt.

The air left your lungs in a silent, high-pitched gasp. he was massive, a solid, burning weight that filled every corner of you, bottoming out against your cervix with a dull, heavy thud. Jake let out a loud, guttural cry—a sound of pure, unadulterated relief—as his forehead crashed against your shoulder. He stayed still for a moment, his body shaking, his muscles coiling like a spring.

"God... you're so tight" he rasped into your ear, his voice breaking. "it feels like heaven. you feel like heaven."

He began to move. it wasn't the rhythmic, academic pace of a man in control. it was rough, jagged, and desperate.

Every thrust was deep and punishing, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, rhythmic clack that echoed through the quiet room.

The headboard hit the wall with a steady, violent force, punctuating the low, needy whines he made every time he pulled out to the very tip before plunging back in.

He reached up, latching his mouth onto your breast, his teeth grazing your nipple as he sucked. he was marking you everywhere—your neck, your chest, your thighs. he wanted you to wear the evidence of this night like a brand.

"Tell me" he panted, his eyes locking onto yours, his face flushed and sweat-slicked. "tell me you're mine. tell me nobody else gets to see you like this."

"I'm yours" you moaned, your voice lost in the friction of the sheets. "only yours, Jake..."

The praise seemed to ignite something even darker in him. he increased the pace, his thrusts becoming frantic.

His movements borderline obsessive as he searched for the exact angle that would break you.

"You love being used by me, don't you? taking everything i have to give" he growled.

The words were barely out of his mouth before the atmosphere in the room shifted from frantic to predatory.

Jake didn't wait for a response; he didn't need one. he could feel the answer in the way your pulse thrummed against his skin and the way your fingers remained locked in his hair.

He moved with a sudden, coordinated strength that reminded you he wasn't just a man of books and equations—he was a man who took care of his body with the same obsessive discipline he applied to his research.

He grabbed your waist, his large hands nearly meeting around your middle, and in one fluid motion, he flipped you over.

The transition was jarring. one second you were staring into his dark, dilated eyes, and the next, your face was pressed into the cool pillows.

"Get up" he commanded, his voice vibrating with a low, gravelly frequency that made your toes curl. "on your knees, i want to see how much of me you can actually take."

You obeyed, your muscles trembling from the overstimulation he'd already put you through.

You pushed yourself up, your palms sinking into the mattress, and as you arched your back, the cool air of the bedroom hit your skin.

Behind you, you heard the sharp, ragged sound of Jake's breathing. he didn't move immediately. he stood there for a heartbeat, his shadow looming over you, cast long and dark by the city lights filtering through the glass.

He reached out, his hands finding your hips again. he didn't just hold you; he staked his claim, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your waist, bruising the skin just enough to leave a memory.

"Look at you" he whispered, leaning down so his chest brushed against your back. "sprawled out in my bed, waiting for me like you don't have a single care in the world besides this.

If your classmates could see their 'diligent' peer right now... the girl who always has the right answer. would they recognize you like this? broken open and begging for her professor?"

"Jake..." you gasped, your head falling forward as his lips found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.

He didn't ease back into you. he positioned himself at your entrance, the broad, scorching head of his cock rubbing against the slickness that was already coating your thighs.

He stayed there for a second, teasing the opening, listening to the hitch in your breath. then, with a violent lunge, he drove himself back inside.

The force of it shoved you forward, your elbows nearly giving way as he bottomed out with a dull, heavy thud.

You let out a strangled moan, your vision blooming with white sparks. he was too deep, too large, and the angle of being on all fours allowed him to reach parts of you that felt like they were being permanently altered by his presence.

"God..." Jake groaned, the sound raw and unpolished, echoing off the minimalist walls of the room. "it's like you were made specifically to ruin me. every time i think i've had enough, you do this... you wrap around me and make me forget everything else."

He began to move, and it was nothing like one minute before. this was rhythmic, punishing, and relentless.

He pulled back until he was almost entirely out, the friction making you whimper in protest, before slamming back in with a wet, visceral clack of his hips hitting your backside.

Jake was loud. he wasn't the silent, brooding figure from the auditorium; he was a man unhinged. every thrust was accompanied by a guttural growl or a broken, needy whine that suggested he was just as overwhelmed as you were.

He reached forward, one hand sliding under your stomach to find your clit, his thumb grinding against you with a frantic speed that matched the pace of his hips.

His other hand stayed locked on your hip, steering you, keeping you pinned as he worked you from both sides.

You started to shake, your breath coming in short, panicked sobs as you felt the orgasm beginning to build like a tidal wave.

"Jake... i'm going to... i'm going to break" you sobbed, your fingers clawing at the sheets.

"Then break" he rasped, his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder, marking you deeply. "break for me. i want to feel your walls crushing me when you go. i want to know i'm the only one who can make you feel this much."

His thrusts becoming jagged and desperate. his body acting on a primal instinct that bypassed all logic.

He wasn't just fucking you; he was trying to merge with you, to disappear into the heat and the mess of the moment.

"I need you" he whispered, the words sounding more like a confession of a crime than a statement of love. "i need you more than anything i've ever wanted in my life. it's pathetic, isn't it? how much power you have over me?"

The confession hung in the air, thick and heavy as the humidity between your bodies.

Jake's hands, usually so steady when he was writing complex equations on a whiteboard, were trembling violently as they gripped your hips.

He leaned forward, his chest slamming against your back, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to yours. his breath coming in short, jagged hitches that sounded dangerously close to sobs.

The rhythm of his thrusts had lost its clinical edge. it was frantic, uncoordinated, and utterly desperate.

He was hitting your cervix with every deep, agonizing lunge, his body shaking with the effort of trying to crawl inside you.

"Please" he whimpered, a sound so raw and pathetic it made your heart ache. "please tell me you won't get bored of me. i'll give you anything... just don't stop looking at me like that."

He reached around, his fingers finding your face, forcing you to turn your head so he could see your eyes.

His hair was a chaotic nest, and his eyes were swimming with a terrifying, liquid vulnerability.

"Am i enough?" he pleaded, his voice breaking. "tell me i'm better than anyone else. tell me you want your professor to fill you up so much that you can't think of another man's name. please, baby... say it. i need to hear it."

"You're enough, Jake-" you gasped, your own voice fractured by the intensity of his movements. "you're more than enough... the only one."

The validation hit him like a physical blow. he let out a loud, strangled cry, his hips snapping forward with a renewed, violent urgency.

He was overstimulating himself now, his movements so fast and deep that the friction was bordering on painful, but he couldn't stop. he was chasing the end with a terrifying singular focus.

"I love you so much it's disgusting" he growled, his teeth sinking into your shoulder again, but this time he wasn't trying to mark you—he was trying to anchor himself. "don't ever leave me. i'll die, i swear to god i'll die if you leave me."

His muscles locking, his entire frame vibrating against yours.

He let go of your hip to reach down, his hand joining yours as you worked yourself, his fingers trembling as they helped guide you to the edge.

He wanted you to go first; he wanted to feel the exact moment you shattered so he could follow you into the dark.

"Cum for me" he whispered, his voice a frantic, begging prayer. "show me how much i've ruined you. break for me, please... let me see it."

As your walls began to clench around him in the first violent throes of your orgasm, Jake let out a sound that was barely human—a high-pitched, guttural wail of pure, unadulterated surrender.

He delivered three final, bone-deep thrusts, his pelvis grinding against yours with a desperate finality.

He stiffened, he buried his face in your hair, his hands clutching at the sheets, as he emptied himself deep inside you. the heat of his release was overwhelming—wave after wave of thick, pulsing liquid hitting your womb, filling you until you felt like you were overflowing.

He didn't pull away. he collapsed onto your back, his heavy, sweat-soaked body pinning you to the mattress.

He was gasping for air, his heart hammering against your spine like a trapped bird. he was still trembling, his fingers twitching against your skin, his entire being spent and broken in the wake of his own desperation.

for minutes, the only sound was the jagged, uneven rhythm of his breathing. he didn't move, didn't speak. he just stayed there, buried deep, clinging to you in the silence of the night, a man who had finally, completely, given himself away.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he began to pull back. the sound of his exit was wet and visceral in the silence, a stark reminder of exactly how much he had just poured into you.

He didn't move away, though. he collapsed onto his side, immediately hooking an arm around your waist to drag you toward him, tucking your back against his chest.

"Don't move" he whispered, his voice so hoarse it was barely a thread of sound. "just... stay. please."

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against the fresh, stinging marks he'd left there. he was still needy, still hovering on that edge of pathetic vulnerability that only ever came out behind these locked doors.

"You're going to have to wear a scarf on monday..." he noted, his fingers tracing the deep, purple bruises on your collarbone. he looked almost proud of them, a smug glint returning to his gaze. "i went too far, didn't i? i always go too far with you."

"You were desperate" you teased, turning in his arms to face him. "you were practically crying, Jake."

He flushed, a deep, handsome red creeping up his neck. he looked away for a second, then sighed, pulling you into a crushing hug. "i was. i am. it's pathetic, i know. i'm a grown man, a professional... and i'm reduced to this because you decided to wear a specific skirt to my lecture."

He squeezed you tighter, his heartbeat steadying against yours.

"But i don't care," he murmured into your hair. "as long as i'm the only one who gets to be this pathetic for you.

As long as you're the only one who knows that professor Sim is actually just a man who can't breathe unless he's inside you."

He stayed like that, refusing to let go, his arms a literal cage of warmth and obsession.

标签列表 — 𝓣ag list: here 4 perm tag

[nisc0]

omg yk what would be rlllyyy hot (pick whichever member goes w this vibe) but like idk how to connect it but hickeys on thighs 😛😛😛😛😛 PLSSSSSSSSS and then like they eat you out on the kitchen counter until you start crying (happy tears ofccc) pls author do it🥹🥹🥹

As everyone knows who the international eater isssss...;))) i know that he likes to be on his knees, like A LOT hehehhe

◟♯ . / eater!jake 𝓍 f!reader . !

genre : smut (MDNI), porn without plot content : dom!jake, swearing, making out, oral sex (f receiving), thigh hickeys, use of nickname : baby wc : 0.9k

Jake pushes you back against the cool marble of the countertop. He's been kissing you for what feels like hours, an exploration that started in the living room and has now migrated here. His lips move against yours with a confidence that borders on arrogance, yet there's a softness to it that keeps you grounded.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he murmurs against your mouth, his voice low and smug. One of his hands slides up your thigh, fingers tracing the hem of your shorts before dipping underneath to skim the sensitive skin there. You arch into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his kisses trail down your jaw, across your throat. He nips at the delicate skin where your neck meets your shoulder, and you feel a fresh wave of desire wash over you.

"Jake," you breathe, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continues his descent.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Patience, baby. I'm just getting started."

His hands work at the button of your shorts, deftly undoing it before sliding the zipper down. You lift your hips to help him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, tossing them aside carelessly. His gaze lingers on the thin lace of your panties, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

"Fuck," he whispers, more to himself than to you. "You're perfect."

He sinks to his knees before you, his hands resting on your thighs as he looks up at you through his lashes. There's something about the sight of him there, on his knees in your kitchen, looking at you like you're the only thing that matters, that makes your heart race.

"Spread your legs for me," he says, his voice still low but now laced with command.

You obey without hesitation, parting your knees as his hands slide up your inner thighs. His thumbs brush against the fabric of your panties, and you can't help but whimper at the contact.

"So obedient," he murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips. "I like that."

He leans in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. His teeth scrape against your skin, and you feel a sharp sting followed by a soothing lap of his tongue. He's marking you, leaving little reminders of this moment that you'll see tomorrow, and the thought sends a thrill through you.

"Oh fuck," you gasp, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as he continues his work on your thighs.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark. "You're okay ?"

You nod, unable to form words as he sucks another mark into your skin, this one higher up, closer to where you really want his mouth.

"Good," he says, his voice smug. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

Finally, his mouth reaches the apex of your thighs. He presses a kiss to your cloth-covered center, and you arch off the counter with a cry.

"Please," you beg, not even sure what you're asking for.

"Please what?" he teases, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. "Use your words, baby. You can do it."

"Please touch me," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smirks, slowly dragging the lace down your legs. "As you wish."

The first touch of his tongue against your bare flesh is intoxicating. He starts with long, slow licks, his hands holding your hips steady as you writhe beneath him. He's methodical in his approach, exploring every fold and crevice with thoroughness.

"Fuck, you taste amazing," he murmurs against you, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Could do this all night."

You can feel the pressure building inside you, a coiling tension that grows tighter with every pass of his tongue. He seems to sense it too, because he changes his approach, focusing his attention on the bundle of nerves that sends jolts of pleasure through your entire body.

"Jake," you cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair as you grind against his face.

He responds by doubling his efforts, his tongue moving faster, more insistently. One of his hands slides up your body, fingers finding your nipple and pinching it just hard enough to send a sharp pleasure-pain through you. That's all it takes. The tension inside you snaps, and you're coming with a cry that's half his name, half pure sensation. Waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you trembling and breathless.

Jake doesn't stop. He continues, his tongue flicking against your oversensitive flesh as you ride out the aftershocks. It's almost too much, but at the same time, you never want it to end.

"Too much," you whimper, tears streaming down your face now. "Please, it's too much."

He looks up at you, his face glistening with your arousal. "Tears?" he asks, his voice softening slightly. "Did I make you cry, baby?"

You can only nod, unable to form words as he gently laps at your folds, cleaning you with his tongue.

"Good tears or bad tears?" he asks, his hands stroking your thighs soothingly.

"Good," you manage, your voice hoarse. "So good."

He smiles, a genuine, unsmug smile. "Good," he repeats, pressing a soft kiss to your center. And with that, he dives back in, determined to make you cry again before the night is over.

[heesroses]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪꜰᴛʜ ꜰʟᴏᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀʏ — ꜱ.ᴊʏ

⟶ part 1 of 2

─── in which jake sim, the campus golden boy and star soccer captain, isn't supposed to find anything on the fifth floor of the library except a quiet place to study. but instead? he finds you, the wallflower who refuses to treat him like everyone else does.

soccer captain!jake x wallflower fem!reader ; part 1 wc: 10.1k. MDNI. college au. smut. fluff. angst. secret relationship. jealousy. yearning. virginity loss. oral (f receiving). p in v. she fell first, he fell harder. other enha members included.

elle's thoughts :: here is part 1 of 2 for "the fifth floor theory!" this story is so incredibly dear to me, as it's the first enhypen fic i ever wrote. i've been working on it for awhile, so i really hope you enjoy it :') also, just know that part 2 has a LOT more angst. and smut. hehe.

my masterlist.

There was something about the way Jake Sim moved through the empty library that enticed you.

You were sitting at a small table, hidden behind a chemistry textbook, your eyes following his every move. He looked around, and you wondered what—or who—he was hoping to find. As he looked in your direction, you quickly diverted your eyes back to your textbook, hoping he hadn't caught you staring at him.

Jake had no idea who you were. After all, he had been the star soccer player at your university since his freshman year. Everyone knew his name, his major, and his friends. He was practically campus royalty.

You, though? You were lucky if your professors remembered your name despite being the top of your class. You kept to yourself, only moving between the library, your classes, and your dorm. You and your roommate were close, but she spent so much time at parties that you almost never saw her. You, however, spent every free moment you had in the solitude of the library, and that was the place where you first saw Jake close-up.

He had appeared for the first time a few months ago, right after you had returned from winter break, but he did not look the way you expected. Instead of his usual cocky demeanor, he seemed... timid. As if, when you removed him from the soccer field and the company of his friends, he became a different person.

You liked to think that you were the only person on campus who knew that this side of Jake existed. After all, it was only ever you two studying on the fifth floor of the library. He had never brought anyone with him, and neither had you. It felt as if the sunny space, with floor-to-ceiling windows and tables nestled amongst towering bookshelves, only belonged to the two of you.

Of course, you had seen Jake before in your years on campus. You were both juniors, and you had been to your fair share of soccer games since you were a bright-eyed freshman. You had spent years watching him from afar, and he always seemed larger than life.

That's why you had been so surprised the first time you saw Jake appear at the top of the stairs. Nobody ever made it up to the fifth floor. It had always been your secret spot—until he came along.

As you watched him disappear down the stairs, you rubbed your face with your hands and loosed a sigh. As much as you loved being able to watch Jake, he was the worst thing that had ever happened to your dedicated study schedule.

"Hey, do you have an extra pencil?"

Your eyes snapped up from your textbook, and you felt your heart drop into your stomach. Standing right in front of you was Jake Sim—you almost couldn't believe your eyes.

It had been over a week since you had last seen him in the library, but you knew that the soccer team had just traveled to play against a rivaling team. The energy on campus had been positively buzzing the whole week leading up to the game, and everywhere you went, you heard people discussing it.

"Did you hear? Jake Sim might not start because they said he strained his calf muscle during practice!"

"Really? But we can't play without him! He's the only reason we won last week."

"I hope he's okay! I was really hoping he'd be at the party my sorority is throwing when the team gets back."

"You know he has a girlfriend, right?"

You shook your head, bringing your attention back to the sunlit library you were sitting in.

"What?" you managed to choke out. You hated the adrenaline that was now coursing through your veins just from being in Jake’s presence.

"My only pencil broke, and I really don't feel like going to get another one," he said nonchalantly.

You still could not believe that he was standing right in front of you, asking you for a pencil as if he wasn't the most well-known person on campus.

"Uh, yeah," you said, managing to pull your eyes away from his enticing face for just long enough to pull a random pencil from your backpack. "Here."

Jake glanced at the pencil as you offered it to him, and a small smile spread across his lips. "Dogs. I like it."

Your cheeks reddened as you realized which pencil you had given him. It was the one your younger sister had given to you as a good luck charm the last time you visited home, and it was covered in a variety of cartoon dogs.

"Oh, sorry," you mumbled, your cheeks reddening. "I have another one if you don't like it."

"No, no, it's fine," Jake said, finally flashing his famous smile at you. "I love dogs."

You allowed yourself to smile back at him. "Me too."

Jake's eyes lingered on you for a second longer before he bowed his head and began to back away. "I'll give it back, I promise."

"Don't worry about it," you told him, waving your hand dismissively. "I've never used it anyway."

"Such a shame" he said, holding it up in the air as he turned on his heel. "It's kinda awesome."

As he disappeared behind the bookshelves that concealed his table, you buried your face in your hands. You managed to survive your first encounter with Jake Sim, and you only kinda looked like an idiot.

You should've asked for the pencil back. Then, you would have an excuse to talk to him one more time before you both returned to your separate worlds.

"Come on, y/n, why don't you come with me just once?"

It was later that night, and you looked up from the book you were reading to stare at your roommate, Sunhee. It was 10 PM on a Friday, and that always meant that Sunhee would disappear to a random sorority or fraternity house for the weekend. That also meant that you had your dorm to yourself for the weekend, and you enjoyed it more than you cared to admit. The room was small, but you and Sunhee had worked hard to make it cozy and inviting when you had first moved in. Despite your opposing personalities, you two immediately became best friends, and your dorm room was a reflection of that.

"I really want to finish my book tonight," you shrugged, turning the page and returning your eyes to the words written there.

"Can't it wait?" she whined. "We only have two months left in the school year, and you have yet to go to a single party with me. Where's your sense of adventure?"

You snorted with amusement. "My sense of adventure? I don't have one."

Sunhee stepped toward your bed, placing her hands on your knees and pouting. "Please? I promise it'll be fun, and if it isn't, then I'll never ask you again."

You sighed, glancing between her and your book. You had less than fifty pages left until you were done, and you had hoped to finally figure out what would happen to the main characters after a long week of prioritizing studying over pleasure. However, Sunhee did have a point. Your third year of college would be over in just a few months, and you had yet to do anything besides study.

"Alright, fine," you groaned, tossing your book onto your duvet. "But I reserve the right to go home whenever I want to."

"Yay!" Sunhee squealed, clapping her hands excitedly as she hopped up and down. "I promise you won't regret it! What are you going to wear?”

You shrugged, sliding off your bed and heading toward your closet. You wouldn’t exactly describe your taste in clothing as “party-ready.” You lived primarily in oversized sweaters and leggings, as that was what you felt most comfortable in. You saw the clothes that Sunhee usually wore to parties, and you could always see just how uncomfortable she looked.

“You can’t wear any of this,” she commented, taking one quick glance into your closet before bounding over to her own. “We’re probably similar sizes, so you should totally wear something of mine!”

“No way,” you mused, glancing over at the tube top Sunhee was holding up. “I think you look amazing in that stuff, but I would die if you made me wear that.”

“Okay, fine,” Sunhee sighed, pulling out a cropped, lacy black top and a pair of low-waisted jeans. “How about this?”

You stared at it for a moment, thinking, before slowly nodding your head. “Yeah, I guess that’s fine.”

After another thirty minutes of Sunhee fussing over your hair, makeup, and outfit, she finally decided that you were ready to face the world. As she pushed you out the door, the smile on her face was almost enough to make the whole experience worth it.

“I can’t believe you’re finally going to have your debut as a college girl!” Sunhee exclaimed as you stepped out into the brisk night air.

“My debut?” you asked, chuckling at her choice of words. “This isn’t Bridgerton, Sunhee.”

“Whatever! It’s still exciting!” she exclaimed, sliding her arm through the crook of your elbow. She dragged you along with her as she skipped happily to the party.

You weren’t entirely sure how long it had been since you last saw Sunhee. After you two arrived at the sorority house, she quickly pressed a cold beer into your hands before bounding off to talk to a few friends from her calculus class. However, despite being left alone almost as soon as you got there, you didn’t mind. The lights in the house were dim, and music blasted through every crevice as people danced, mingled, and drank. It was the perfect environment for you to disappear in.

It didn’t take long for you to find an isolated stool located in the corner of the room, and you sat there happily as you nursed your beer. Your favorite thing to do was people-watch, and you had the best spot to do so. Nobody paid any attention to you, so you sighed contentedly and allowed yourself to blend into the background.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, observing university students in their natural habitat, before you noticed that the noise level of the party increased dramatically. Loud cheers broke out, and you strained your neck to see what was going on.

That’s when you laid eyes on him.

A large group of boys had just entered the sorority house, with Jake at the forefront. You realized that the boys he had arrived with were all on the soccer team, and they were fresh off a victory against their rivals. You hated the way your heart immediately began to race when you laid eyes on him, but what you hated even more was the way a blonde-haired girl strutted toward him and immediately pulled him into a kiss.

More cheers erupted as the partygoers watched Jake kiss this mystery girl, and you suddenly felt as if you were going to be sick. You had heard whispers that he had a girlfriend, but you had never seen her yourself. Now, though, as you watched them make out in front of everyone to endless cheers, you felt like an idiot.

What gave you any right to be jealous? You had only ever talked to Jake once, and it was just him asking you to borrow a pencil. Who were you to resent this tall, beautiful, perfect girl for kissing him? After all, she was his girlfriend. You were no more than a wallflower whose name Jake Sim did not know.

You forced yourself to look away from the kissing couple, and you finished the rest of your beer in one gulp. You immediately stood and made your way back to the kitchen, having to shove through the throng of people surrounding the soccer team to do so. However, no one seemed to pay you any attention, so you continued on.

Once you reached the deserted kitchen, you beelined for the various types of liquor spread across the countertops. You spent a moment looking at your options before grabbing some clear alcohol that you had never seen before, uncapping the bottle, and taking a large swig.

“Damn, it’s not often you see someone knocking back Everclear like that,” a familiar voice came from behind you. You sputtered as the alcohol hit your senses, and you reddened as you coughed. Why couldn’t you get away from him?

You turned around, eyes streaming from the pungent liquor as you gazed at him. He flashed his signature smile at you and held out a hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jake Sim.”

You felt another pang in your chest that made you want to take another swig from the bottle. Did Jake really not recognize you? Did he really not know that, earlier that day, he had asked you for a pencil? Had he never noticed that you were always in the library at the same time during the past few months? You figured he had never noticed you, but it stung to have it confirmed.

You wanted to say something back, but it was as if you couldn’t form any words. You shook your head and stepped past him, bottle still grasped in your hand as you headed back toward the party.

“Wait!” Jake said, reaching out to catch your arm in his large hand. “Did I do something to upset you?”

You shook your head slowly before looking up at him. “No. It’s just… we’ve already met.”

Jake squinted his eyes and looked at you. “Wait a sec, we have?”

You pursed your lips together and shrugged. “Kind of.”

“Don’t tell me,” he said, still holding your wrist. His touch felt electric, and you hated how much it affected you. “I’ll figure it out.”

He stared at you for a bit longer before it occurred to him. “Hold on, are you the girl from the library?”

You gave him a lackluster smile. “The one and only.”

“Oh my god!” he laughed. “I didn’t even recognize you. You look so different!”

You looked down at the clothes that were not your own, and you thought about the makeup and hair that Sunhee had done for you. You felt like an imposter, officially meeting Jake when you looked nothing like your usual self.

“I guess I do,” you commented. You were still acutely aware of his warm hand on your arm.

“If I'm being honest, I kinda thought you lived in the library. I didn’t expect to see you here, so I’m sorry for not recognizing you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, trying to ignore how painfully awkward the conversation felt.

He looked at a loss for words for just a moment, but then his eyes lit up. “I meant to thank you again for the pencil. I was worried that I was going to fail my quantum physics exam, but I think that pencil actually helped me pass.”

At this, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you sure it was the pencil and not the countless hours of studying you did?”

Jake flashed a grin at you. “Positive.”

He looked like he was about to say something else, but at that moment, a few of his teammates burst into the kitchen noisily.

“Jake, dude,” one of them said–a tall senior with red hair that you vaguely recognized. “What’s taking you so long?”

Jake quickly let go of your wrist and grabbed a few cans of the beer closest to him. “Sorry, Heeseung. Got distracted.”

“I see that,” Heeseung said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you. “I won’t tell Lacy, I promise.”

“Tell her what?” Jake huffed, throwing a can at his friend as he made his way toward him. “I’m allowed to talk to other girls without that meaning I’m in love with them.”

“I don’t know, man,” another teammate said. You knew his name was Jay. “You remember what happened last time. She wouldn’t talk to you for a week.”

Jake cringed. “Yeah, don’t remind me.”

As his friends began to herd him out of the kitchen, he turned around and yelled to you, “Thanks again!”

And then you were alone again, the bottle of Everclear still grasped in your fingers and the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin.

You had been in the library for four hours so far. It was the Monday following the party, and you hadn’t seen Jake since he left you alone in the kitchen that night. You had tried to not think about him—about his perfect smile, soft black hair, and his ability to make you feel like the only girl in the world when he was talking to you. However, it seemed that finally meeting Jake only deepened your crush on him, and you hated it. You knew nothing would ever happen between you, so why couldn't you just move on?

You were feeling increasingly frustrated with your unrequited feelings and the organic chemistry assignment that you were working on, so you slammed your textbook shut as you huffed a sigh.

“Are you okay?” an all-too familiar voice came. You lifted your eyes to see Jake appear from behind a bookshelf.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said, rubbing your neck with your hand. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said, taking you in. You looked frustrated, with your glasses slipping down your nose and your hair falling out of your messy braid, and his eyes lingered on you longer than necessary. “What did the textbook do to deserve that?”

You looked down at your textbook and absentmindedly ran your finger across the cover. “I’m just struggling with this topic, that's all.”

“I know how that feels,” Jake said as he stepped toward your table. “Mind if I sit?”

Despite your frustration, you felt yourself redden at his question. You didn't expect to ever talk to Jake again, yet here he was, asking to sit with you at the table that had only ever been occupied by you.

You gestured to the chair and gave him a quick, pursed-lip smile. “Be my guest.”

As he sat down, you caught a whiff of his cologne, and you couldn't help but inhale deeply. You hated the effect that the woody smell had on you, as if you weren't already crushing on him more than you should've been.

“You know, I was very rude to you at the party on Friday,” he said.

This surprised you, and you had a hard time concealing it. “What?”

“I realized that I forgot to ask your name,” he said, resting his chin in his hands. “I don't know how I forgot.”

If you were being honest, it had stung a bit when it occurred to you that Jake had never asked for your name. It was as if it hadn't occurred to him that you were a person, someone who had a name and a major and a life that he knew nothing about. You supposed that, to him, you were just a nameless girl who solely existed in the library.

“Yeah, I guess you did,” you finally responded.

Jake cast a curious look at you. “So, are you gonna tell me your name? Don't make me start guessing.”

You couldn't help but allow the corner of your mouth to turn upward at this. “My name is y/n.”

“So you do have a name after all,” Jake said. “Let me reintroduce myself since a party isn't exactly the best place to meet someone. I’m Jake Sim, and it's very nice to finally meet you.”

“I already know who you are,” you responded casually, still tracing the cover of your organic chemistry textbook with your finger. Jake’s eyes lingered on the movement briefly before his eyes returned to your face.

“How do you know who I am?” he asked.

“How could I not?” you countered, crossing your arms across your chest as you leaned towards him. “Everyone knows who the infamous Jake Sim is around here.”

To your surprise, Jake’s cheeks reddened slightly in embarassment—something you didn't know he was capable of feeling. “I sorta thought that news about the soccer team didn't make it to the library.”

“I do leave the library, you know.”

“I noticed that on Friday. If I’m being honest, it surprised me,” Jake said. You felt as if he were studying you, and it almost made you squirm.

“Why would that surprise you?” you laughed in disbelief. “Do you think I just sleep under the table?”

“I actually figured that you slept on top of the table. Seems like it'd be comfier.”

“Oh, so you've thought about this before?”

Jake smiled at you. “Only when I’m tired of thinking about physics.”

“Is that your major, then? Physics?”

Jake looked down at his hands, and you noticed that he was fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. “Yeah. Not many people know that, though.”

“Why?”

Jake shrugged, and his eyes failed to meet yours. “I dunno, I just… I feel like the guys would make fun of me for enjoying that stuff. That, and nobody cares about me because of my major. They only care about what I do on the soccer field.”

You studied him for a moment, taking in his sudden shift in demeanor—he went from confident to unsure of himself faster than you could blink. “That's dumb.”

Jake’s eyes finally shot up to meet yours. “Excuse me?”

“I said that's dumb,” you repeated, and from the look on his face, you knew you needed to elaborate. “I just mean, it's dumb that your friends would make fun of you for something you're passionate about. Also, if they're real friends, they'll care about every aspect of you—not just the part that benefits them.”

Jake seemed to mull over your words for a second before nodding slowly. “I guess you're right. I just… I don't want to embarrass myself in front of them, I guess.”

“And being smart is embarrassing?”

Jake placed his face in his hands and shook his head. “It sounds terrible when you say it like that. I just like the way my life is going, and I don't want anything to ruin it.”

You stared at Jake for a moment, analyzing him. You had never seen him look so unsure of himself. “I’m sorry that you think being smart is going to ruin your life.”

Jake sighed before pushing his chair back. “Well, it's been nice talking to you, but I really need to—”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” you rushed, grabbing his wrist the same way he had grabbed yours just days ago. “I didn't mean for that to sound sarcastic. I… I don't talk to people very often, so sometimes the things I say don't come across properly. Please, don't go.”

Jake stared down at you for a moment, your eyes pleading with him, before he pursed his lips and sat back down. “So what did you mean then?”

You let go of his wrist and began to absentmindedly play with your braid as you figured out the best way to word your thoughts.

“I was being genuine when I said I was sorry that you think being smart will ruin your life. To me, it just sounds like you're diminishing a part of yourself to impress people who wouldn't understand what it means to have something else in their life besides soccer. Does that still sound terrible?”

The corner of Jake’s lips turned upward slightly as he looked down at the table. “Maybe a little, but I think I know what you're trying to say.”

“That's good,” you exhaled. “I’m sorry for making you think that I was trying to discount your feelings—I know how that feels, and I would never want to make anyone else feel that way.”

Jake eyed you curiously. “You have a lot of interesting things to say, library girl.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that all I am? Library girl?”

“That's what I thought a week ago, but now I'm seeing that there may be more to you than what you show people.”

You leaned towards Jake subconsciously, his words piquing your curiosity. “And what would that be, soccer boy?”

He laughed at your words, and you noticed with a blush that he had also leaned towards you. “It’s hard to describe. You just… say things that surprise me, I guess.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“I like to think that I’m perfectly predictable. That's what makes a good team captain, after all. My boys know what to expect from me.”

“I wouldn't dream of calling you anything as boring as predictable. On the soccer field, maybe. But Jake Sim? You are full of surprises.”

Jake stared at you with a smirk, and a strange feeling stirred in your stomach at the look in his eyes.

“So maybe we can agree on the fact that neither of us are truly who we appear to be on the outside?” Jake suggested, and you noticed that his hand had inched across the table toward yours.

“I don't know, you thought being smart was bad, like, five minutes ago,” you responded.

Jake’s jaw dropped, but you could see that he was fighting a grin. “I did not! Now you're just lying.”

You flipped your textbook open again as you raised your eyebrows. “Sure, sure—whatever you say, soccer boy.”

“Why did I even bother coming over here?” Jake wondered aloud, tapping his fingers on the table. “I wouldn't have done it if I knew that you were just going to misinterpret my words and use them against me.”

“Bad day for Jake Sim,” you said casually, still not meeting his eyes as you flipped through your textbook. “Someone isn't treating him like God’s gift to soccer, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.”

“Ouch!” Jake exclaimed, grabbing his chest and leaning backwards, pretending he had been shot. “You are so mean to me, y/n!”

“And?” you asked, because you detected that there was more that he wanted to say.

“And? It's honestly really fucking refreshing.”

That was not what you had been expecting him to say. “Really? Why?”

“You're so blunt and witty—you’re not afraid to tell me what you really think even though we barely know each other. Not even my best friends do that. They all treat me like I can’t do anything wrong, and that whatever I say is right, but… I’m not infallible. And you seem like one of the only people who sees that.”

“That was very introspective of you, soccer boy,” you teased, but there was a layer of sincerity beneath your words. Jake’s intelligence was often overshadowed by his accomplishments on the soccer field and his effortless charisma, but you knew that there was so much more brewing beneath the surface that most people didn't even realize.

Jake didn't say anything for a moment, and when you finally looked up at him, you noticed that he was gazing at you with a soft smile on his face. You immediately felt as if fireworks were going off in your chest.

“You're unlike anyone I’ve ever met, y/n,” he said finally. He did not remove his eyes from your face, and you wondered if he felt the same pull to you as you felt to him. He so effortlessly engaged in banter with you, but also knew when to allow the conversation to flow into deeper topics.

“And you're a lot more than just a dumb soccer player, Jake.”

At this, a wide smile spread across his face. “I’ll be able to rest well tonight knowing that at least one person in this world thinks that about me.”

He stared at you for a bit longer, and you could've sworn that you saw his eyes flick to your lips before he pushed his chair back and stood. “Well, goodnight, y/n. You should try sleeping on top of the table instead of underneath it tonight. I feel like that'll be more comfortable.”

A genuine laugh escaped your lips, and you clamped your hand over your mouth in surprise. Jake couldn't help but smile at you, and he looked at you in a way that nobody else ever had.

“I’ll be sure to let you know how that goes. Night, soccer boy.”

Jake allowed his eyes to linger on you for just a second longer before he turned around, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. “Night, library girl.”

You saw Jake in the library every day for the next two weeks. Normally, he missed a few days each week due to his busy schedule, but it seemed as if he had made sure he would be able to see you each day. He also sat at your table more often than not. At first, he came over to say hi to you on his way in and out of the library, but as the days continued, he asked to sit with you more and more until he was with you the entire time you were in the library together.

Your favorite part about sitting with Jake was that any silence between the two of you was always comfortable. You co-existed peacefully, both of you deeply focused on your assignments as you sat across the table from each other for hours each day. You spent a lot of time conversing, discussing things from the semantics of the English language in his essay to what stupid things his teammates had said during practice that morning. No matter what topic arose, though, you found it easier to talk to Jake every day. Things between you were easy in a way you had never experienced before.

Two weeks after the first time Jake had sat with you, you found yourselves in the library again on a rainy afternoon, sitting across from each other at the same table as always. His eyebrows were furrowed as he typed on his computer, and you couldn’t help but watch him. He had never typed that fast before, and you were curious what had him doing so.

“What are you working on?” you asked, your voice raspy from not being used for a few hours.

Jake continued typing, his eyes still focused on his laptop.

“Jake?”

His eyes flicked up to yours, and he gave you a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, were you trying to get my attention?”

“Yes, but it’s okay,” you said, resting your chin in your hand. “What are you working on?”

Jake sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his face. You hadn’t even known that Jake wore glasses until he walked into the library a few days ago, when he told you that he never wore them around other people because he thought it was embarrassing.

“It’s this stupid lab report,” he said after a moment, sliding his glasses back on. “My lab partner was supposed to have his part done a few days ago, but he literally dropped off the face of the earth. I haven’t been able to contact him, and now the lab report is due tonight, so I’m doing the whole damn thing.”

“That sucks–I’m sorry,” you said. “I think group projects are the dumbest thing ever. There’s nothing you can do if the other people don’t do their work.”

“I guess I could email my professor,” he said, rubbing his neck. “But he’s kinda an asshole.”

This made you smile. “Really?”

“Yes, he’s the fucking worst.” Jake threw his head back and groaned, and you couldn’t help but stare at the muscular column of his neck. “He barely explains anything, and when he does, none of us can even understand it. I’ve just been teaching myself everything because he obviously isn’t going to do it himself.”

“Poor Jakey,” you hummed, and you noticed a hint of pink in his cheeks at the nickname. “That must be really hard on top of your packed schedule.”

Jake smiled at you as he crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “I seriously think you only hang out with me just because you enjoy giving me shit.”

You smirked. “It’s not my fault you make it so entertaining.

“How in the world do I make it entertaining?”

“It just seems like you want someone to put you in your place.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he leaned toward you. “What does that mean?”

You shrugged, and you knew that you had Jake waiting on your next words with baited breath. “Jake, be honest with yourself: you like having someone who doesn’t treat you like the second coming of Jesus Christ himself. I feel like there’s a reason you keep coming to sit with me, and it isn’t because I’m helping you study.”

Jake scoffed, glancing to the side before his eyes returned to your face. “What if I just like sitting with you because it gets boring studying alone all the time? That, and you looked so lonely sitting over here by yourself all the time.”

Now it was your turn to look at him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jake said, gazing at you with an intensity that made your head spin. “You know I’m right. You always stared at me when I was walking by–it’s like you were practically begging me to come keep you company.”

“I was not!” You leaned forward.

“Yes, you were,” he countered, leaning towards you in return. Your faces were mere inches apart.

“Then prove it.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to prove that?” His breath was warm against your face.

“Remember, the burden of proof is yours–not mine.”

Jake’s eyes flicked to your lips, but this time, he didn’t look away.

“You’re really annoying, library girl–you know that?” he said, his voice much quieter than it had been a moment ago.

“Not as annoying as you, soccer boy,” you breathed as Jake slowly closed the gap between you.

“You’re the fucking worst,” he murmured before his lips brushed against your own.

Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening. You were alone with Jake Sim on the fifth floor of the library, the slanting rain hitting the windows beside you in heavy sheets, and his lips were now pressed to yours. Your noses brushed as your eyes fluttered closed, and you found that it was all too easy to kiss him back.

Your mouths worked together effortlessly, and part of you wondered if Jake kissed Lacy as tenderly as he kissed you. He lifted his hand to your cheek and caressed the soft skin there. You groaned softly at his touch–and that’s when he froze.

“What’s wrong?” you whispered against his lips. Jake pulled back, and your eyes flew open as he immediately began to shove his belongings into his backpack.

“Jake?” you rushed. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I have to go,” he said, shaking his head as he stood. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, taking off his glasses and shoving them into his pocket as he turned on his heel.

You stood, trying to grab his wrist, but he was moving too quickly. “Jake? Please just tell me what’s wrong.”

He shook his head as he rounded the corner, disappearing from your field of vision. And suddenly, you were alone. You sank to your chair slowly and placed your face in your hands, trying to stop the thoughts from spinning out of control. You had no idea what you had done wrong, but the thought that you had potentially ruined your friendship with Jake had tears welling up in your eyes.

“Y/n?”

You froze mid-step. You were walking through the deserted, tree-lined grounds of your university after a late-night study session in the library. You had an organic chemistry exam the next day, and you were frustrated at how difficult it had been for you to focus on your studies recently.

It had been a week since Jake had disappeared suddenly after kissing you, and you hadn’t seen him in the library since. You went to the soccer game that weekend just to see a glimpse of him on the field–to reassure yourself that he was okay, and that you hadn’t hallucinated him. You could've sworn that you saw his eyes searching the stands throughout the game, but you wondered if you had simply imagined that just to ease the ache in your heart.

Another thing you were unsure of was whether or not you had hallucinated the budding friendship and eventual kiss you and Jake had shared. From the way he disappeared from your life so quickly, you were starting to think you had dreamt it.

Once you turned around, your eyes landed on Jake, who was standing a few meters behind you.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice revealing just how exhausted you were.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes searching your face. “I fucked up.”

You pursed your lips together and shrugged. “I mean, I get it. You kissed me, realized that wasn’t what you wanted, and left. I can’t be mad at you for that.”

“You can, and you should be,” he said. He swallowed, and you could see his throat bob as he thought about what to say next. “And I do want you, y/n. More than anything.”

You shook your head slowly as Jake finally took a step toward you. “What about Lacy?”

“I broke up with her,” he said, still slowly closing the gap between you. “That’s why I left. I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a cheater, so I went straight from the library to her sorority house and ended things between us that night.”

“Why didn’t you do that before you kissed me?”

“Because I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to kiss you until that night.” He was now standing directly in front of you.

You still had a dozen questions floating around in your head. “So why did you disappear for a week?”

“Lacy is… complicated.” He paused for a moment, gazing down at you. “If I immediately came to you after breaking up with her, she would do everything in her power to make your life hell. I wanted to keep her away from you while she processed her emotions–you’re safer that way.”

“Has this happened to you before?” you asked, a hint of a smile on your lips.

“Not me, but one of my ex-teammates,” Jake said, a distant look crossing his face as he remembered. “When he broke up with her, she did everything in her power to get back at him, which included going after his new girlfriend.”

“Should I be scared?”

“Not as long as I’m around,” he murmured, lifting his hand and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m so sorry, y/n. This last week has been torture without you.”

“I thought you would be fine,” you said, noticing the longing in his eyes. “After all, we just hang out in the library together. Nothing more.”

“Is that all you want us to be? People who just hang out in the library together?”

Your breath caught in your throat at the intensity in his eyes. “No… I don't know. In what world would things work out between us?”

He cocked his head to the side, still playing with your hair. “What do you mean?”

“We come from different worlds, Jake. You're a celebrity on campus—everyone knows your name, but nobody knows mine.”

“But I know your name,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Doesn't that count for something?”

You dropped your gaze to the ground and shook your head slightly. “Of course it does. I just… you're the best soccer player this school has ever seen. You’re the captain, for Christ’s sake. I don't want to jeopardize that for you.”

“What if I want to be more than just a soccer player?” Jake murmured. “What if I want to be yours?”

He gently grabbed your chin and tilted your face upwards so that your eyes met his again. You searched his face, and your heart began to pound even harder as you realized that there was nothing but sincerity there.

“But what if I ruin everything for you?”

“You won't.” His lips were centimeters from yours.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

That was all it took. Your lips crashed into his, all the longing and desire of the past few weeks bursting within you. Jake immediately tangled one hand in your hair as the other drew you closer to him, and the way he kissed you told you that he was in no rush. He knew you were all his, and he was going to take his time getting to know every part of you.

“Oh, Jake,” you moaned against his mouth as his tongue traced the curve of your bottom lip. You had completely forgotten where you were—the only thing you knew was the feeling of Jake pressed against you, his hardness meeting your softness in a way that made your head spin with desire.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do this during the past week,” he said breathlessly. “I haven't been able to get you off my mind.”

And from the way he kissed you, he knew he was telling the truth. It was as if he had run out of air, and you were the breath he needed to bring him back to life. You couldn't believe just how badly he needed you.

“Jake,” you breathed. “Is now a good time to bring up the fact that I’ve never seen where you live?’

A knowing smile spread across his face. “Do you want to?”

“Yes, please.”

The walk back to Jake’s house was torturous. He only lived a few minutes from campus, but every touch and breath felt alive with unspoken want.

“Who do you live with?” you asked, trying to distract yourself from how desperately you needed Jake.

“Some of the boys from the soccer team,” he responded casually. “Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, and Jungwon. Heeseung and Jay share a room, but everyone else has their own.”

“Are they home right now?” you asked cautiously.

Jake cast his eyes to yours as you turned the corner into his street. “Probably not. It's pretty rare that we're all home at the same time.”

You sighed in relief, nodding slightly. “Good.”

The corner of Jake’s lip turned upward, and he gestured toward a large, white house that had ivy creeping up the sides. “Here we are.”

“It's beautiful,” you said in awe, pausing for a moment as you took it in. “I always wanted to get a house off-campus, but I always just end up living in the dorms.”

“You still live in the dorms?” he asked, leading you up the steps to the front door. “Aren't you a junior?”

You reddened slightly. “Yeah, but I don't mind it. I don't have to cook for myself, I don't have to clean my bathroom, and I really like my roommate.”

Jake opened the door of the house, pushing the door open to reveal a spacious living room decorated with plush couches and posters of the soccer team hung up around the space.

“This is cozier than I expected,” you said, looking around briefly before Jake gestured for you to follow him up the stairs.

“Were you expecting some dark, dingy basement?”

You snorted as you trekked upwards. “Kinda.”

“Well, hold your judgments. You haven't seen my room yet.”

You had never imagined what Jake’s room would look like, but you knew that what you saw behind the closed door was not what you had expected.

“Wow,” you murmured, stepping into the room before Jake and allowing him to shut the door behind you. It was not particularly large, but he had made good use of the space he did have. The bed was pressed up against the window, and there were a few different textbooks strewn across it. His desk was covered in even more textbooks, which contrasted the variety of soccer trophies adorning the shelves. The room was perfectly Jake, and you found the slight messiness of it endearing.

“What do you think?” Jake asked, and you detected a hint of shyness in his voice. As you turned around and looked at him, you realized that you were probably one of the only people who Jake had ever allowed to see this part of him.

“I love it,” you said, stepping towards him to close the gap between you. “It's very you.”

He snorted. “What does that mean?”

“It's the perfect mix of soccer boy and physics boy. Just as I expected.”

“If that's the case, then what does your dorm room look like? A library?” Yet again, your mouths were almost touching.

“You'll just have to come over sometime and find out, won't you?” you suggested, pretending your heart wasn't hammering away in your chest at being alone with Jake in his bedroom.

“I guess I will,” Jake said against your lips. You leaned forward slightly, pressing your mouth to his in a hungry kiss. His hand immediately found its way to the small of your back, drawing you closer to him so that your bodies were flush.

As much as you hated to admit it, you had no sexual experience. You liked to think that you knew more than the average 21-year-old, but you were woefully unaware of what exactly happened in situations like this. You had always been so focused on your studies that you never even considered dating, so you had no idea what to do or what to touch.

This became evident to Jake after a moment. He must have realized that you didn't know what to do with your hands or body, because he pulled back slightly and ran a hand through your hair.

“Have you ever…” he started, and you quickly shook your head.

“No,” you whispered, looking down. It occurred to you that Jake was probably very experienced in all things sexual, and here you were, only having ever kissed one boy back in high school. You felt yourself turn hot with shame.

“Y/n, you shouldn't feel embarrassed,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

You slowly gazed up at him, his eyes full of tenderness. “I’m sorry.”

He kissed your lips softly. “There is absolutely nothing to be sorry for. If you don't want to do this, we don't have to. I want you to feel comfortable. We can take this as slow as you want.”

You swallowed as you brought your hand to his cheek. “I want it—more than anything. I just have no clue what I'm doing, that's all.”

“Poor library girl,” Jake chuckled, but his eyes radiated with affection. “I guess this wasn't something you could study in a textbook, huh?”

You couldn't help but smile. “I guess not.”

“Well, luckily for you,” Jake began, placing his hands on your hips and slowly backing you toward the bed. “I happen to be an excellent teacher.”

You felt the heat crawl up your neck, an unfamiliar feeling spreading between your legs. “Guess you'll have to teach me, then. I happen to be an excellent student.”

“Guess so, library girl,” Jake said, connecting your lips. You noticed that his movements were slower, more intentional, now that he knew the weight of this moment. He would be your first, and you knew that he was going to do it right. Your heart swelled as you placed your hand low on his chest.

A low groan rumbled from his chest at this, and you felt your thighs clench. The fact that you had made Jake Sim make a noise like that seemed impossible, but here you were.

“I’m going to take your shirt off,” Jake mumbled against your lips. “Is that okay?”

You nodded, and Jake grabbed the bottom of the soft fabric and lifted it over your head, revealing the red bralette you were wearing underneath. He then slowly pulled off your bralette, leaving your top bare. He inhaled sharply as he took in the curve of your breasts and waist, and he simply stared for a moment before lifting his eyes to yours. “You're perfect.”

“Says you,” you responded. “You should take your shirt off, too. I've been aching to see what you look like without it.”

Jake gave you an amused grin. “You've really been imagining me shirtless?”

“What?” you asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I know how hard you guys work out. Of course I’ve been imagining you shirtless.”

“Suit yourself, then,” Jake shrugged, tugging his shirt off. Your eyes widened as you took in the muscles there, each perfectly defined from his neck all the way down to where his sweatpants hugged his waist.

“Can I… touch them?” you asked, still entranced.

Jake let out a genuine laugh. “What kind of question is that, library girl?”

You pouted as your hands ghosted over the lines of his stomach. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Fair enough,” he said, his breaths becoming slightly more shallow as your cold fingers met his skin. “You can touch whatever you want, you know.”

“Really?” you asked, trying to convey a confidence you did not feel. “Anything? Even this?”

Your hand found its way down to the bulge in his pants, and Jake groaned softly at your touch. You were intrigued by how his length felt beneath your hand.

“You're already so hard,” you observed, lightly tracing your fingers over him. You watched as his lips parted slightly, and you thoroughly enjoyed the effect you had on him.

“What else did you expect?” he breathed, moistening his lips with his tongue. “You have no fucking clue what you do to me, y/n.”

“I would love to find out,” you said, your fingers still tracing the outline of his cock.

“I’ll show you—but not yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, but Jake was already tugging your pants down your legs. You immediately felt completely exposed, and you had half a mind to cover yourself up. Nobody had ever seen this part of you, and it was the most intimate thing you had ever experienced.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” Jake said, his words verging on being a moan. He paused for a moment, still drinking you in. “Have you ever… touched yourself?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Yes.”

“So you know how good it can feel?”

You nodded again.

“Good, because I really want to see what you taste like, but I didn't want it to be too much.”

You felt your muscles tighten. “That sounds really fucking hot.”

“Then let me do it,” he whispered. You nodded before Jake slowly pushed you onto the bed, crouching down in front of you. Yet again, you felt utterly exposed, but you didn't mind it. Jake kept looking at you as if you were a goddess, and it helped alleviate some of the anxiety you felt from your first sexual experience.

“Spread your legs for me, y/n,” he murmured, and you obliged. Jake’s mouth neared your center slowly, and he looked into your eyes as his tongue made contact with your folds.

An intense wave of pleasure made its way through your body, and you immediately let out a moan that you had never heard before. This seemed to encourage Jake to continue, and he flicked his tongue over your clit repeatedly.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed, immediately digging your hands into Jake’s ruffled hair. He continued sucking and licking you, and you were amazed by how long you had lived not knowing how amazing it felt to have someone worshipping you between your legs. You were almost worried that you would never let Jake do anything else after this.

“Why does it feel so f-fucking good?” you stammered, your thighs squeezing involuntarily around Jake’s head. He hummed happily against your folds before he moved downwards slightly, allowing his tongue to penetrate you. The unfamiliar sensation made you see stars, and you cried out from the intensity of it.

“H-holy fuck,” you whimpered, bucking your hips into Jake’s face. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs to keep you still as he continued to fuck you with his tongue, and it took everything in you to not lose control. “Jake, p-please. Please, baby, please—”

Jake continued to watch you as he worked on you, and you could tell from the way his fingers tightened against your thighs that he was enjoying every second of it immensely. With his tongue inside you and his nose rubbing against your clit with every movement, you could do nothing but cry out repeatedly and dig your fingers into Jake’s scalp.

After another moment, you felt as if you were going to burst. A pleasurable feeling built between your thighs before spreading to your chest and neck, and you screamed Jake’s name as you came on his tongue. He lapped up every bit of the liquid that gushed from you, and his tongue did not stop until your body stilled.

“Did it feel good?” he asked, moving so that he was now hovering over you. You wrapped your hand around the back of his head and pulled his lips toward yours, tasting the saltiness that was now on his lips.

“Better than I knew possible,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don't know how it can get better.”

Jake flashed a mischievous grin. “Wanna find out?”

You nodded, your eyes widening as Jake stood before you and pulled his pants down, allowing his full length to spring free. You swallowed, taking in the way his toned abdominal muscles yielded to a deep-set v that led straight to the hardness you couldn't take your eyes off of.

“Jake, I—” you started, beginning to feel a familiar pang of nervousness in your stomach. “I’ve never done this before. Ever.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, crawling onto the bed so that he was above you again. “I’ll take it slow and talk you through everything I do. If you want me to stop, just say the word and I will.”

You gave him a small smile, and you noticed how hungrily Jake scanned your body before kissing you briefly. He then pulled away.

“I’m gonna spread your legs now,” he murmured to you, using his hand to gently pull your thighs apart. “Now, I’m gonna put on a condom and line myself up.”

You craned your neck slightly to watch as Jake grasped his cock in his hand, pumping it a couple times before grabbing a condom and tearing it open with his teeth. He rolled it on before gently placing his tip against your entrance. “Are you ready?”

You nodded, not realizing that Jake was not looking at you. His eyes lifted to yours, a small smile playing on his lips. “You gotta communicate, baby.”

“Sorry,” you breathed, your body aching for Jake in a way you had never felt before. “I’m ready.”

Jake hummed before slowly parting your folds with his cock. “I’m gonna put it in now. Try to relax, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, and you gasped sharply as Jake slowly pushed the head of his cock inside you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, pausing to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice shaky. “Just getting used to it, that's all. Keep going.”

Jake caressed your cheek as he continued to press himself into you, and you felt tears sting your eyes from the sharpness of being filled for the first time. There was pain, yes, but you could also detect the underlying pleasure that was unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

It took longer than you expected for him to be fully buried inside you. You let out a breath you hadn't even realized you had been holding, and you continued to stare at the part of you that Jake’s length had disappeared inside. You could barely fathom the fact that Jake Sim was inside you.

“Relax, baby,” Jake murmured, pressing another kiss to your temple. “Let me know when you're ready, and I’ll start moving.”

“Okay,” you breathed, and you noticed that Jake was taking deep breaths as he gazed at you to help you do the same. You followed his breathing pattern, feeling your muscles relax slightly, before you nodded almost imperceptibly. “I think I’m ready.”

Jake gave you a small smile before he slowly withdrew his hips from you, his cock glistening with your arousal. He then gently pushed back in, and you gasped softly at the sensation of being filled yet again. The sharpness of his presence was still there, but you found that, with each thrust, the pain lessened and morphed into something far more pleasurable.

“How does it feel?” Jake asked, his hips still slowly rocking into you. He didn't dare increase his pace until you gave the word.

“It still hurts, but it also feels really good,” you whispered, scanning his face. You expected to see some sort of impatience there, or some sort of hint that he was irritated with your lack of sexual experience, but you saw none of that. The only thing you could see was his utter devotion to you, and that allowed you to fully relax.

“Go faster,” you said. Jake kissed you briefly before nodding, easing his thrusts into a faster pace. You were embarrassed at the quiet moans that left your lips, but you couldn't stop. It seemed as if relaxing had been the key, and now that you had done so, the pain was almost all gone. Now, you were able to enjoy the sensation of Jake inside you.

“How's that, library girl?” Jake asked.

“Feels alright, soccer boy,” you said nonchalantly, but the look on your face gave away just how much you were enjoying yourself. “Could be better, though.”

“Any study tips?” he asked, still thrusting into you with every shallow breath.

“I’m not sure because I’ve never taken this class before,” you shrugged. “But I feel like going faster would help.”

Jake grinned before increasing his pace yet again, and you couldn't help but cry out with each snap of his hips into yours. You clamped a hand to your mouth to stifle the sounds, but Jake shook his head.

“I wanna hear you, Y/n,” he groaned, his eyes half-lidded from pleasure. “I wanna hear how well I fuck you.”

You removed your hand from your mouth and allowed yourself to let go. You closed your eyes briefly as the broken sounds left your lips, and you could tell from Jake’s wild movements that he was reaching his climax. His low grunts turned into high-pitched whines as he continued moving inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” Jake whimpered, leaning down to kiss you. “I’m so fucking close.”

“I want you to cum for me, Jake,” you moaned against his lips. The sound of skin hitting skin as well as Jake’s pants met your ears, and you could only watch as Jake finally found his release. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a series of ungodly sounds that almost made you orgasm again. His hips slowly rolled inside you as you felt his cock twitch repeatedly, and when he was finally finished, he collapsed on top of you.

“How was it?” he asked, breathless. He lifted his head slightly and pressed a series of lazy kisses across your face and neck.

“Better than I thought possible,” you responded, wrapping your arms around his muscular back. “Can we do it again?”

Jake laughed—really laughed, and you couldn't help but join him. “Of course, but maybe give me a few minutes first.”

“The soccer captain doesn't have the stamina to go multiple rounds in a row? That's sad.”

Jake narrowed his eyes at you. “I have the stamina, but my dick doesn't. Give it a second.”

You giggled, lifting your head to press a kiss to Jake’s soft lips. “Fine. But I expect at least two more rounds tonight, got it?”

“Absolutely.”

And as many times as Jake made love to you that night, there was always one question lingering in the back of your mind that you could not shake. How many times had Jake had sex with Lacy in the exact same spot where you had just lost your virginity to him? You hoped you never found out.

©️ heesroses 2026

series taglist: @ccoristu @marghe-22 @kristynaaah @supahintohoon @k3nza @narnianqueen28 @jaeyvnsaurus @zielyous @lunac01 @hirablackcat @jakeyyyjakexoxo @cutehoons02

gen taglist: @fawnwonie @collywobblvs @lawnzzn @thatfeelingwhenn @kristynaaah @rikicoolpuma @hoonguin @ynnii @wonuziex @wonatlas @wonkiipiilled

[lac4ygal]

heavy oral sex with jake 🤤🤤 ( since ur req is open!! )

TASTES LIKE HONEY ・❥・ sim jaeyun

# in which. . . you and JAKE have been ‘reliving eachothers stress’ for months, yet he’s still so fucking gone for your cunt

parings. . . munch!dol!simjaeyun x idolfemale!reader

wc. 1.7k

༻content warnings. . . fingering, cunnilingus, squirting, creampie, snowballing, pussy eating, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praise kink, semi-clothed sex, penetrative sex (PIV), overstimulation

༻now playing. . . TBH by PARTYNEXTDOOR

Lacey’s note // hope this is close to what anon requested above! This is a little oneshot to tide yall over for tomoz night when I drop SECRETS THROUGH PASSAGEWAYS — you can read here and get tagged if you want just ask! Anyway pls enjoy and have a good Friday tomoz! Xx

The award was sitting on the hotel desk, catching the lamplight.

Neither of you were looking at it.

Jake had you spread out across the king bed, your black lace slip dress rucked up around your waist, and he was between your thighs with his suit jacket long discarded, his white dress shirt untucked and half unbuttoned.

This had started three months ago. A late night in a practice room, stress and proximity and some quiet mutual agreement that had never quite been spoken aloud. Stress relief, you’d both said. Convenient. Just between us.

What neither of you had said was I think about you constantly. You were both very carefully not saying that.

What Jake was currently saying, murmured against your inner thigh, was: “Perfect. You’re so perfect. Look at you.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time.” He looked up at you from between your thighs with those warm, devastating eyes. “She’s begging for me, baby. You see that? Look how wet your pretty cunt is. Look how much she wants it.”

The filth of it in that gentle, earnest voice wrecked you every single time.

“Jake.”

“Mm.” He turned back to you like a man entirely at peace with where he was. His tongue moved slow and thorough along your folds and he made a quiet, involuntary sound against you — like you tasted godly and he simply couldn’t help it.

He’d made you come once already tonight.

The first had been fast — his fingers while you were still in your dress, your back against the hotel room door barely thirty seconds after it closed. Sharp and urgent, his low warm voice talking you through every second of it while you shook against him.

Now he was building the second, and he was taking his time.

But he was also — you noticed — grinding slow against the edge of the mattress. His hips rolling in a restless, barely-conscious rhythm, his cock pressed to the firm edge of the bed, seeking friction while his entire focus stayed trained on you. Like he was so consumed by your pussy that his body had taken matters into its own hands.

It was the most flattering thing you’d ever witnessed.

“Jake.” You tugged his hair. “Are you — are you humping the bed?”

He didn’t have the decency to look embarrassed. He looked up at you with dark eyes and said simply, “You’re dripping on my tongue, baby. What do you want from me.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

He went back to work.

His tongue worked your clit in slow, deliberate circles, two fingers pushing into your hole and curling deep, and you forgot entirely what you’d been about to say. Your thighs tightened around his head and he groaned against your cunt, that helpless muffled sound, his hips still rolling lazily against the mattress edge.

“Close,” you gasped. “Jake — close—”

“Yeah,” he breathed against your folds. “Yeah, give it to me.” His fingers curled harder. His lips sealed around your clit and sucked and something shifted — something built sharper and higher than before and you barely had time to register it before it crashed through you different than the first, your body seizing, a rush of warmth, your thighs clamping around his face and Jake made a sound that could only be described as grateful as he drank down everything you gave him, his mouth working through every wave, his fingers slowing but not leaving your hole.

When you came back to yourself the sheets beneath you were soaked and Jake was pressing reverent, dazed kisses to your inner thighs, his chin slick, his eyes completely blown.

“Was that—” you started.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He looked like he’d just had a spiritual experience. “Yeah, that was.” He pressed another kiss to your thigh. Then he looked up at you with that warm, slightly demolished expression. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“You’re the one who—”

“I know.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I know. I don’t care. Come here.”

He kissed you slow and deep and you tasted yourself on his lips and felt nothing even adjacent to embarrassment about it. His hips settled between yours and you felt him hard and wanting then he shifted back.

“Not yet,” he murmured, more to himself than you.

He wrapped a hand around himself and you watched — propped on your elbows as he stroked himself slow, his jaw tight, eyes on your pussy like he couldn’t look anywhere else. Your cunt still clenching around nothing, still dripping onto the sheets.

“Jake—”

“Just the tip,” he said quietly. “Want to feel you. Just for a second.”

He pushed just the head of his cock into your hole — barely, just enough — and groaned so low it was almost silent. Then he stroked himself the rest of the way, his fist working fast now, his thumb pressed just inside your entrance feeling his own pulse, and when he came he pushed slightly deeper so it spilled inside you his whole body shuddering, forehead dropping to your knee.

“God.” His breathing was wrecked. “God, look at that.”

He was looking at your cunt. His cum just barely tucked inside your hole.

“Push it out,” he said softly.

“Jake—”

“Baby.” He looked up at you. Warm eyes. Completely serious. “Push it out for me.”

You did. And before it could go anywhere his mouth was there — he devoured it, messy and thorough and making sounds against your pussy that made your fingers twist in his hair, licking your folds clean and then pressing back inside your hole with his tongue like he was looking for more, like he wanted every last trace of it.

“Jake,” you gasped. “Jake—”

He surfaced looking entirely too satisfied. He kissed your inner thigh. Then he looked up at you from between your legs and said with complete sincerity: “She’s still begging for me.”

You stared at the ceiling.

“You’re insane,” you told him.

“You taste insane,” he said agreeably, and then he was building the third.

This one he took apart slowly. Methodically. His tongue on your clit while two fingers worked your hole open, then three, his free hand pressed flat on your lower stomach. He murmured against your folds — good girl and she’s so pretty when she’s dripping — the praise was doing as much as his mouth was.

Your wetness was everywhere. He was obsessed with it. Every time you clenched around his fingers he made a whimpering sound against your cunt like you were the one doing something to him and maybe that was the most devastating part of all of this — Jake, golden and warm and effortlessly charming, completely undone and whimpering against your pussy like a man with no dignity and zero desire to recover it.

“Close again,” you managed. “Jake, I’m—”

“Stay with me.” His fingers curled. “Stay right there, baby, come on.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” He sealed his mouth over your clit and the fingers inside your hole pressed up and your back left the bed completely.

It hit you like a wave breaking — your whole body seizing, your cunt clenching hard around his fingers, and then the rush — more than before, even more than before — and Jake made a sound against your folds that was nothing short of reverent as he pressed his mouth fully against you and drank. Like a man dying of thirst. Like you were something he’d been waiting for. His tongue worked through every pulse, catching your wetness, fingers still buried in your clenching hole, not stopping until you were pulling his hair and shaking and calling his name in pieces.

He pressed one last, slow kiss to your cunt.

Then he was moving up your body, and his eyes were dark and warm and completely wrecked, and he kissed you so deep you felt it in your spine.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” you managed.

He smiled. Then his hips settled between yours and he pushed inside you fully — that long, slow, aching slide — and both of you went still.

He always did this. Held there for a moment, jaw tight, eyes closed, like you undid him just from this.

“Every time,” he breathed. “Every single time you feel like—” He stopped. Pressed his lips to your temple. Started to move.

Long and deep and steady, his face at your neck, your dress still bunched at your waist, his shirt hanging open. His hand slid between you to where your clit was swollen and oversensitive and you whimpered.

“One more,” he murmured. “You’ve got one more.”

“Jake I genuinely cannot—”

“You can. You always can.” Still warm, even now. Still him, underneath all of it. “My girl. Stay with me.”

His pace built, his control unraveling degree by degree, and his fingers on your clit were relentless and his cock was hitting somewhere deep that made your vision blur and you heard yourself making sounds you didn’t recognize.

“Think about you all the time,” he breathed against your neck. “All the time, baby. Can’t stop.”

“Jake—”

“I know.” Like you’d said something you hadn’t. Like he was answering the thing neither of you had said out loud yet. “Me too.”

The fourth one didn’t so much arrive as detonate. Your cunt clenched around him so hard he groaned and his rhythm stuttered and then he was pressing deep — as deep as he could go — and spilling inside you with your name in his mouth and his forehead against yours and his hand still cupped soft against your pussy like he was holding all of you together.

For a long time neither of you moved.

His weight settled half onto you. His fingers found yours on the sheets and laced between them without comment. His breathing slowed. The lamplight caught the award on the desk.

Then he shifted, and you knew before it happened.

“Jake—” You laughed weakly. “You really don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He kissed below your navel. Then lower. “Let me.”

His mouth found your cunt again — soft and slow, cleaning you up, his tongue pressing into your hole after what he’d left inside you, making those quiet reverent sounds against your folds like you were his favorite thing. Like you’d always been his favorite thing.

You stared at the ceiling with your fingers in his soft brown hair.

We are so far past stress relief.

He looked up at you from between your thighs. Warm eyes. Slick mouth. The most gentle, devastating expression.

Yeah.

So far past it.

taglist;; @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @engenewilstaykon @yumi-yearns @seungiesdoll @rinforu @isa942572 @ride-a-nishimura @florarua @baedreamverse @softblaqn @rikisloverrr @kittyvalr @ellushic @dimples264493 @kimmm02 @kiwicup @jakebitez @mystgene @baek-some-cake @betagalactose @kookiesnkim @honeyvelvetinez @violetteaismyfavourite @meowza1 @abbyssful @yandere-stories @imminentcodexcore @mlink64 @k4y-sh @rubadubdubinthetub @jungwno @k3nza

[hoonguin]

꒰﹕﹒beergin ❀ sim jaeyun

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊

⌗ in which . . . you and your drinking buddy, sim jaeyun, have spent months ignoring the tension between you, but one frat party makes something in jake finally snap

流星 ໑ . . fratboy!jake ⋆ fem!reader

⌗ includes . . . smut (18+), alcohol consumption, frat party chaos, mutual yearning so intense it’s actually embarrassing, strong language, jealousy, possessive behavior, drunken confessions, both reader & jake are intoxicated, loss of virginity, inexperienced sex, unprotected sex (don't), fingering, oral (m. receiving), face fucking, nipple play, dry humping, praise kink, slight dirty talk, hickeys, emotional sex, pull out, cumshot ➜ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ♡ purely a work of fiction, none of this reflects reality | wc: 4.0k

⟶ featuring ⋮ jihyo (twice) ₊ mingyu (seventeen)

♪ el’s bubble: smut to kick off the event, how wonderful! literally sprinted to my laptop after seeing a fratboy jake x tumblr girls edit on tiktok and this was the result 😭 thank you very much, anon, for the request, this was so fun to write ! enjoy — likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are open if you want to see me write something specific ۫ ׅ

now playing . . . guilty as sin? by taylor swift

The bass thrums through the soles of your sneakers, a rhythmic heartbeat that vibrates in your teeth and rattles the cheap frames of the windows.

The air in the house is a thick, humid soup of spilled Natty Light, overly sweet vape clouds, and the metallic tang of too many bodies pressed into a space designed for four people, not forty.

You lean against the peeling wallpaper of the hallway, your shoulder brushing against a stranger who smells like citrus cologne and desperation, but your eyes are locked on Jake.

He is in his element, centered in a circle of guys in oversized jerseys and girls with glitter on their cheeks.

His backwards cap is tilted slightly, a few stray dark hairs poking out from the brim. He's laughing so damn loud, the kind of loud, booming sound that always seems to carve out a space just for him, but his gaze flickers to you every few seconds.

It's a magnetic pull, really, a tether that has been tightening for months.

You take a long pull from your red solo cup, the lukewarm beer tasting like tin.

You catch his eye, and for a split second, the frat-boy mask slips. The confidence vanishes, replaced by a raw, hungry sort of longing that makes your chest do a somersault. Then, a girl in a tiny navy blue dress leans into him, her hand sliding up his chest, and the mask snaps back into place.

He grins at her, but he doesn't move closer. He stays rooted, his eyes still searching for yours across the crowded room.

"You're doing it again," a voice shouts in your ear.

You blink and look at Jihyo, who is grinning mischievously, her eyes darting between you and Jake.

"Doing what?"

"The longing look. The 'I want to rip his clothes off' stare. Just go over there and kill him already, you pussy."

You scoff and roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks isn't just from the alcohol.

"We're just friends, Jihyo."

"Uh-huh, and you're still a virgin," she cackles, disappearing back into the fray.

You try to ignore the tightness in your chest, but the party seems to shrink around you. Every time you move, you feel him tracking you.

When you go to the kitchen to refill your drink, he is suddenly there, blocking the path to the fridge.

He literally smells like laundry detergent and beer, a scent that has become your favorite thing in the world.

"You're avoiding me," Jake says. His voice is a low rumble, slightly slurred but still carrying that effortless edge.

"I'm not avoiding you. I'm hydrating right now, see?"

He chuckles, stepping closer. The space between you vanishes, and you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your forearm. His hands are always warm, a constant heat that seems to sear through your skin.

"Liars get punished," he teases, his grin widening, though his eyes are scanning your face with an intensity that feels like a touch.

What the actual hell, you think. How many cans of beer has this bitch downed already?

Before you can respond, a guy from the rowing team, some blond specimen named Mingyu, slides in beside you. He puts a hand on the small of your back, leaning in close enough that you can smell the mint on his breath.

"Hey, I haven't seen you here before," Mingyu says, his voice a smooth, practiced drawl. "I'm Mingyu. Kim Mingyu."

You start to offer a polite smile, but you feel Jake stiffen beside you. The air shifts instantly. The playful energy vanishes, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension. 

Jake doesn't say a word, but he shifts his weight, stepping into Mingyu's space and effectively cutting him off. He doesn't push him, but the sheer physicality of his presence is a warning.

"Calm your dick down buddy, she's with me," Jake says.

It isn't a question or a suggestion. It lands like a claim.

Mingyu blinks, looking from Jake's hard expression back to you. He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and slides away into the crowd without another word.

You stare at Jake, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Since when am I 'with you'?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper over the blaring music.

Jake doesn't look at you. His eyes stay fixed on spot where Mingyu had been standing, his jaw tight.

"Since I decided I didn't like the way he was looking at you," he mutters.

He reaches out and grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He doesn't explain. He just pulls you away from the kitchen, navigating the sea of bodies with a focused determination. 

“Hey, Jake,” you start, stumbling slightly as you follow him. “Where the fuck are you—”

“Just come with me,” Jake says over his shoulder, tone flat, leaving no room for argument.

You follow him, the world blurring into a smudge of neon lights and shouting voices. He leads you up the narrow staircase, the noise of the party beginning to muffle as you reach the second floor.

“You’re not answering me,” you mutter, trying to catch your breath.

“Am I obligated to? I don’t think so,” he says simply.

The hallway upstairs is dimmer, the air cooler. A few people are passed out on the oversized beanbags in the lounge, but otherwise, it is quiet. Jake stops in front of a door with a faded sports poster taped to it. He pushes it open and pulls you inside, clicking the lock shut behind him.

The silence of the room hits you like a physical weight. The bass is still there, a distant, rhythmic thudding from downstairs, but it feels like you've stepped into another dimension. The room smells of old gym socks and expensive cologne. A few empty beer cans sit on the nightstand next to a cluttered desk.

“Seriously,” you say at last, turning to him. “What is this? Are you kidnapping me now?”

Jake finally looks at you then. Slow. Unbothered.

“If I was kidnapping you,” he says, voice lower now, “you wouldn’t still be talking.”

Jake lets go of your wrist and leans back against the door, his chest heaving. He looks at you, and the confidence is gone. 

He looks absolutely terrified.

"My god, what even is this about, Jake?" you ask, your voice trembling. "You can't just drag me up here because you're feeling territorial."

"I'm not," he lies, though his eyes are wide and frantic. "I just... I needed to… you know, talk to you. Away from everyone. Away from whatever tornado is stirring downstairs."

"Talk about what?"

He takes a step toward you, his movements clumsy. He reaches up and rips the backwards cap off his head, tossing it onto the bed.

"About how I can't fucking stand it," he says, his voice cracking.

"Stand what?"

"This! This thing we do!" He throws his arms up, his voice rising. "The movie nights where we're sitting so close I can feel your breath on my neck. The way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. The way I spend every single fucking party wondering who the hell is talking to you and why they're touching you."

You stand frozen, your breath catching in your throat.

Your thoughts don’t quite line up, like they’re slipping through your fingers before you can grab any of them properly. The beer doesn’t help either; everything is a little too soft at the edges, a little too loud in your chest. 

"You... you feel that too?"

Jake lets out a harsh, jagged laugh. He closes the distance between you in two long strides, pinning you against the wall. He doesn't touch you with his hands, but his body is a warm wall pressing against yours.

"Feel it? I'm dying over here. I've wanted to do this for six months."

"Do what?"

He doesn't answer with words. He crashes his lips against yours, and it is not a gentle kiss. It is a collision, to say the least.

The kiss is messy, desperate, tasting faintly of beer and everything he hasn’t said out loud until now. 

You groan into his mouth, your hands flying up to clutch at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you could merge your bodies into one.

He tastes like a fever dream. His tongue slides against yours, searching, demanding, pushing deep into your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless. You can feel the heat of him everywhere, the press of his thighs against yours, the hard line of his chest against your breasts. He makes a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat, a sound of pure frustration and relief.

Then, as suddenly as he started rough, he softens. His hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, gentle and reverent. The kiss slows, becomes tender, exploratory. He tilts your head, licking into your mouth like he's memorizing the shape of you, the taste of you.

"God, you have no idea," he whispers against your lips, his breath hot and erratic, his forehead resting against yours. "No fucking idea how much I've wanted this."

He breaks the kiss just long enough to bury his face in the crook of your neck. His lips press soft, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. 

Then his teeth graze your skin, a gentle scrape that makes you shiver. He sucks a bruise into the curve of your throat, his tongue soothing the spot after, and you arch your back, a moan escaping your lips.

"Jake," you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"I've got you," he whispers, his voice thick. "I've finally got you."

He lifts you up, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, the denim of your skort grinding against the rough fabric of his jeans. He carries you the few steps to the bed, but instead of dropping you, he lowers you slowly, carefully, onto the tangled sheets. The mattress groans under your combined weight. He follows you down immediately, his weight a welcome pressure that pins you into the cheap polyester comforter.

But his hands are slow, deliberate, as he pushes a strand of hair from your face. His eyes search yours in the dim light from the window.

"You're shaking," he observes, his voice soft.

"I'm nervous, dummy," you admit, a flush creeping up your neck. Your thoughts feel slightly delayed, like they’re catching up to everything that just happened. "I’ve never… I mean, this is my first time,” you say, swallowing hard.

“I’m a virgin, Jake. You know that, right?”

His eyes widen slightly, and you see a flicker of something, surprise or maybe tenderness, cross his face. He kisses your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose.

“Man, me too,” he whispers, and there’s a vulnerability in his voice you’ve never heard before. “I’ve never done this either. Not really. Not like this.”

“So we’re both just clueless drunks,” you say, a nervous laugh slipping out before you can stop it.

He grins, crooked, boyish, softer than before, and it makes something in your stomach flip.

“The best way to be,” he says.

He leans down and kisses you again, slower this time, more deliberate. His tongue slides against yours, still tasting of beer and something sweet. His hands wander down your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips. He takes his time, like he's mapping every inch of you through the fabric of your clothes.

Then he breaks the kiss and sits up, looking down at you. His fingers find the buttons of your blouse. He fumbles with the first one, his drunk fingers sliding off the plastic twice before he gets it undone. You laugh, a breathless, giddy sound, and reach up to help him.

"I’m sorry," he mutters, a flush spreading across his cheeks. "I'm a little buzzed."

"It's okay," you say, your voice soft. "We've got time."

He gets the rest of the buttons undone, pushing the fabric aside to reveal your bra. His breath catches. He runs his thumb over the lace edge, tracing the curve of your breast.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so beautiful."

He leans down and presses a kiss to the swell of your breast, just above the bra cup. Then he hooks his fingers under the strap, pulling it down your shoulder. He does the same with the other side, and you reach behind to unhook the clasp, letting it fall away.

He looks at you, his eyes dark and hungry, but his hands are gentle as he cups your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, which have peaked into hard points from the cold air and the heat of his gaze. He watches his own hands, transfixed, as he traces the curves.

"Can I...?" he asks, his voice hesitant, his eyes meeting yours.

You nod, and he leans down, taking one nipple into his mouth. He's careful at first, licking around the areola in slow, deliberate circles, his tongue flicking the tip. You gasp, your back arching, your hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. He takes it deeper, sucking gently, then harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak.

"Shit," you moan, your hips rocking instinctively.

He switches to the other breast, giving it the same slow, worshipful attention. His hand kneads the one he just abandoned, palming the soft weight, squeezing just enough to make you moan. The wet sounds of his mouth on your skin fill the quiet room, mixed with your soft cries.

When he pulls back, your nipples are glistening, stiff, and pebbled from his attention. He traces a finger down your sternum, over your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your skort.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, his voice low, almost shy.

"Yes," you whisper. “Please do.”

He unbuttons your skort, his fingers fumbling with the zipper. He tugs them down in one rough motion. The cold air hits your exposed skin, and you shiver, watching him as he sits back on his heels, his eyes fixed on the damp spot darkening the fabric of your undergarment.

"God," he breathes, his gaze raking over your body. "You're so fucking pretty."

He doesn't dive down to taste you. 

Instead, he lowers himself over you, his body pressing against yours, the rough denim of his jeans grinding against your bare thighs. The friction is electric, the seam of his pants rubbing against your clit through the thin cotton of your panties. He rocks his hips, a slow, deliberate grind, and you feel the hard line of his cock pressing against your center through the layers.

"Fuck," he mutters against your neck, his breath hot and uneven. "Just wanna feel you for a second."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groans, his hips picking up a steady rhythm. The dry humping is maddening, the pressure, the heat, the way he grinds against you like he can't get close enough. His hands slide down to grip your ass, squeezing, pulling you tighter against him.

But then he stops. He pulls back, his chest heaving, and looks down at where your bodies meet. His fingers find the waistband of your panties, and he pushes them aside, exposing your slick, glistening folds.

"God, you're so fucking wet," he says, his voice thick with want. "Is this all for me, pretty?"

"Hell yes," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He slides a finger through your folds, gathering your wetness, and then he pushes it inside you, slowly and deliberately, watching your face as your lips part and your eyes flutter.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so tight."

He adds a second finger, stretching you, and you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand. He curls them, pressing against that rough spot inside you, and you cry out.

"Tell me you want this," he says, his voice low, firm. "I need to hear you say it."

"I want this," you say, your voice breaking. "I want you, Jake."

He doesn't let up. He starts pumping his fingers faster, harder, the wet squelch of your arousal filling the room. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles, and you arch off the bed, your hands fisting the sheets.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck you with my fingers?" he asks, his voice a low growl. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"I want—" you start, but the words get lost in a moan as he curls his fingers again.

"What do you want?" He presses, his thumb grinding against your clit. "Say it."

"I want you inside me," you gasp. "I want to feel your cock so, so bad."

He groans, his fingers plunging deeper, faster, a relentless rhythm that has you climbing higher, your thighs trembling around his hand.

"You want me to fuck that tight little pussy?" he asks, his voice rough. "Make you feel good?"

"Yes," you moan. "Please, Jake."

"I want to hear you say it again," he says, his fingers never stopping. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"I want you to fuck me," you cry out, your voice desperate. "I want your cock inside me. Please."

"That's it," he murmurs, his fingers curling, pressing, pushing you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashes through you, sudden and sharp, your pussy clenching around his fingers. You cry out, your back arching, and he keeps pumping, working you through it, his thumb still circling your clit until you're a trembling mess beneath him.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, and you whimper at the loss. But he doesn't give you time to recover. He grabs your hips, flipping you onto your stomach, and you hear the rustle of his belt buckle, the unzipping of his jeans.

He straddles your thighs, his knees on either side of your head, and you feel the head of his cock brush against your lips. He's thick, hard, the tip slick with precum.

"Open your mouth," he says, his voice low, commanding but not harsh.

You obey, and he guides himself inside, not all the way, just the head past your lips. You taste the salt of his precum, the warmth of his skin.

"Take it," he says, and he pushes deeper, filling your mouth, not stopping until the head hits the back of your throat.

You gag, your eyes watering, but he holds there for a moment, letting you adjust. His hand comes to rest on the back of your head, gentle but firm.

"I know," he murmurs. "I know. Just breathe through your nose."

He starts to move, slow thrusts, shallow, finding a rhythm that doesn't choke you. His cock slides over your tongue, the taste of him spreading across your palate. The room is quiet except for the wet sounds of his movements and your muffled moans.

"That's it," he breathes. "That's so fucking good. Your mouth is so warm."

He picks up the pace, his thrusts deeper now, his hips meeting your face with a wet slap. You take him as best you can, your hands gripping his thighs, your jaw aching, but the sound of his groans, the way his fingers thread through your hair, makes it worth it.

"Fuck, I'm close," he warns, but he pulls out before he can come, a string of saliva connecting his tip to your lips.

He flips you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs. He looks down at you, his cock slick and glistening, his chest heaving.

"Now," he says, his voice soft again, almost tender. "I want to feel you."

He guides himself to your entrance, the head pressing against you, just barely. He looks into your eyes.

"Tell me if it's too much," he says.

You nod, and he pushes in, slow, agonizingly slow, inch by inch. The stretch burns, a fullness that makes your eyes water. You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"Okay?" he asks, his forehead beaded with sweat.

"Just... give me a second," you manage.

He stops, buried halfway, and presses soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, murmuring quiet reassurances.

"Take your time. I've got you."

When the burning fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness, you nod. He pushes the rest of the way in, a slow, heavy slide that fills you completely. You both let out a synchronized moan as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours.

"Fuck," he whispers, his eyes wide. "You feel so tight. So wet."

He starts to move, slow and deep thrusts, his hips rolling against yours. The pace is languid, almost lazy, each stroke burying him to the hilt. He watches your face, your parted lips, your fluttering eyes.

"Look at me," he says softly.

You meet his gaze, and he thrusts deeper, a slow grind that hits somewhere deep inside you.

"Like this," he murmurs. "Nice and slow. I want to feel every inch of you."

The room is filled with the wet sounds of your bodies meeting, the creak of the bed frame, your soft moans mixing with his heavy breaths. The bass from downstairs is a distant thrum, barely audible over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

He keeps the pace slow, deliberate, each thrust a measured, deep invasion. His hand slides down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow circles in time with his movements.

"You feel that?" he asks, his voice low. "Feel how deep I am?"

"Yes. God, yes, I do," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He speeds up just slightly, his thrusts still deep but with more urgency. The wet slap of his hips against yours fills the room, obscene and rhythmic.

"I'm close," he warns, his voice strained. "Where do you want it?"

"In me, please," you breathe, the words tumbling out before you think.

But he shakes his head, a soft, drunken smile on his lips.

"Not this time," he says. "First time. I'm pulling out."

He picks up the pace, his hips slapping against yours, his breathing ragged. You feel the pressure building, your own climax coiling tight in your belly.

"Come for me," he says, his voice a low command. "I want to feel you come around me."

His thumb presses harder on your clit, and that's all it takes. You shatter, your pussy clenching around him, a cry ripping from your throat. He groans, pulling out in one swift motion, and you feel the hot, thick pulses of his seed spilling across your stomach, your chest, the warmth spreading over your skin.

He collapses beside you, his chest heaving, his eyes closed. For a long moment, neither of you moves. The room smells of sex and sweat, his cum cooling on your skin.

He finally opens his eyes, turning his head to look at you. A lazy, drunken grin spreads across his face.

"Holy shit," he breathes.

You laugh, a tired, giddy sound. "Yeah."

He reaches out, his fingers tracing a line through the cum on your stomach, smearing it across your skin.

"That was... I don't even have words," he says.

He props himself up on an elbow, looking down at you. His eyes are soft, hazy.

"I love you," he says, the words slurred but heartfelt. "I've loved you for so fucking long."

You reach up and cup his cheek, feeling the stubble on his jaw.

"I love you too, you idiot," you whisper.

He leans down and kisses you, slow and sweet, his tongue sliding lazily against yours. When he pulls back, his eyes are already drooping.

"Tomorrow's going to be awkward," he mumbles.

"Probably," you agree.

"We should shower. And maybe burn these sheets."

You laugh softly. "Definitely."

But neither of you moves. He settles beside you, pulling you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin. His hand rests on your stomach, his fingers tracing lazy patterns through the cooling cum on your skin.

"Best fucking party ever," he whispers.

You smile, your eyes drifting closed.

"Best fucking night ever." 

⭐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

tags: @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @psychicdazestrawberry @kristynaaah @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess @stwryun @hooniluhv @rikisn @hazeheart12 @exclipszz @melancholatte @bluepains @gojopolo @jasmineeee1009 @ming1luvr @ni-k1ttie @enzsstuff01 @ixnotmee @emvss @simjaeyunslut | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙

[heejamas]

AW SHIT, HERE WE GO AGAIN; ‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤsim jaeyun

IN WHICH jake keeps telling himself he’s fine with whatever this thing between you is, so he decides that a friends with benefits situation with his best friend's girlfriend's best friend, who also happens to be his other best friend's older sister, is a completely reasonable idea. until he wakes up alone for the nth time and realizes that this friends with benefits situation is not benefiting him at all.

⤷ pairing: jake × fem!reader | ⤷ genre: friends with benefits; college au; romcom; slow burn; situationship dynamics; mutual pining; smut (mdni) | ⤷ playlist: sally, when the wine runs out - role model | casual - chappell roan | calling after me - wallows | whistle for the choir - the fratellis | ⤷ word count: 32k

!! smut warnings: power play / switching; sub jake, switch jake, brat taming, fingering, oral (m receiving), handjob, creampie, cum eating, anal play, spanking, spit kink, praise kink

⤷ ronnie's notes: this fic was originally a birthday gift i wrote for my girl addie @jakesimfromstatefarm <3 even tho her birthday was over a month ago already but a few things happened in between that kept me from finishing it earlier aka i deactivated this blog and also managed to break my thumb lolll but now it’s finally done and i’m posting it here. i know i deactivated my blog and i’m not really active here anymore and this doesn’t mean i’m coming back or anything, i just really wanted to post this as a little love letter to one of my best friends ever !!! addie i love you so much pls come back already, i miss u like crazy and i really hope you like your present 🫶

YOU ALWAYS THINK YOU'RE SMARTER THAN YOU REALLY ARE AT 21, AND THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT JAKE SIM THOUGHT HE WAS. Jake was the kind of guy who had everything figured out before anyone else even realized there was something to figure out. And honestly, for the most part, he was right, even though that was annoying, because Jake had this easy kind of confidence, which made it infinitely worse for everyone around him, because you can't even be mad at someone who's not even aware of how charming they are. Or maybe he was aware and just pretended not to be. Either way, same result.

Jake was doing well, Jake was having fun. He was, by every reasonable metric, absolutely fine. I mean, he was fine – until he decided to be on this friends-with-benefits situationship with you.

Here's the thing about friends with benefits, and you know how this goes, don't you? You've been there, or you know someone who has, or you've watched enough movies to understand the basic architecture of the disaster. It feels logical at the beginning, it feels like two adults making a mature, reasonable decision with full awareness of the consequences, which is almost always a sign that neither person has the faintest idea what they're actually getting into. You tell yourself you can keep things clean, you tell yourself you're not the kind of person who catches feelings over something casual. You tell yourself a lot of things at 21, and most of them are bullshit, but the thing is: you can see all of that coming, you can name every single red flag while it's happening in real time, and you still can't keep it in your pants. That's just the human condition, babe. And obviously, Jake Sim was not immune.

You were a year ahead of him, which at 21 felt like a significant and meaningful gap in the same way that six dollars feels like a lot of money when you're eight years old and then completely irrelevant the moment you grow up. But at the time it meant something, or at least, Jake told himself it did, because he needed a reason to keep things simple, and "she's older and she's got her life more together than I do" was a convenient enough excuse to file away in the back of his head and never really look at again. That should've been his first warning sign. Jake ignored it, because he was 21 and smart, remember?

He knew, on some level, that this was not going to be uncomplicated. And maybe that was the most honest thing about Jake – he didn't pretend he didn't know. He just decided he didn't care. Which, to be fair, is a very 21 year old thing to do, and also, if we're being honest, a very Jake thing to do.

But Jake is not 21 anymore. He is 24 now, which sounds like it's not that different, and in the grand scheme of things, it really isn't – three years is nothing. But the frat parties had lost their charm somewhere around year three of college, when he realized he'd been to enough of them to recognize the exact same playlist and the exact same drama playing out with slightly different people every single time. His liver had filed a formal complaint sometime in junior year and he'd actually listened to it, which was personal growth, honestly. He cared less about being in every room, cared less about showing up to every event, and less about performing the version of himself that he thought a 21 year old was supposed to be. He is a little bit more settled. Jake is still charming (still annoyingly so) but in a way that felt more like his actual personality and less like a habit.

The only thing that hadn't changed – and this is the part where Jake would probably prefer we didn't talk about, but we're going to anyway – was you. Specifically, this weird, comfortable, elastic thing that existed between the two of you that neither of you had ever sat down and properly defined, because defining it would require a conversation, and having that conversation would require one of you to be brave enough to go first, and neither of you had managed that yet. The dynamic was still the same: friends, technically, with all the benefits and none of the labels, which worked great on paper and was actively insane in practice.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's go back to the beginning.

Because the beginning is important and also kind of embarrassing, and Jake would tell you himself if he wasn't so committed to maintaining a certain image. The beginning starts when he was nineteen, maybe twenty, fresh enough into college that everything still felt enormous and consequential in a way that it really, objectively, wasn't. You ran in the same friend group, which sounds like it should make things easier except it didn't, because you had this presence about you that was not intimidating exactly, but more like the kind of person that everyone in the room was a little bit aware of without quite being able to explain why. Jake would later come to understand that this was just because you were genuinely funny and kind and the sort of person who remembered small details about people and asked about them later, honestly you just had a good personality, but when you're nineteen everything gets mystified beyond reason. 

But, there was also the small, significant detail: you had a boyfriend. 

His name was Yoongi, and he was older – a senior, maybe already graduated, the timeline was fuzzy – and at the time Jake had constructed an entire mythology around this guy based on approximately four interactions and one very intimidating eye contact across a crowded hallway. In reality, Yoongi was probably fine. In Jake's 19 year old brain, Yoongi was the final boss of a video game. You know how it is when you're that age, everything is heightened, everyone seems more powerful and more permanent than they actually are, and a slightly older guy dating the girl you've been trying not to stare at in group hangs becomes this enormous, immovable fact of the universe. Jake was not going to be weird about it. Jake was totally normal about it, actually.

The first time you two actually talked was at a party, of course. A proper college party, and Yoongi was there doing his whole thing (being mysteriously cool or whatever) and somehow he had ended up near Jake with a shot glass in hand and the very specific energy of someone who finds it entertaining to watch freshmen suffer. It was a hazing thing, one of those dumb tradition adjacent rituals that everyone knows is stupid and participates in anyway because the social pressure of a crowded room is genuinely one of the most powerful forces known to man. Yoongi handed Jake the shot with this completely unreadable expression, and Jake, because he was an idiot and also because you were somewhere nearby and nineteen-year-old boys will do genuinely unhinged things when they're trying to seem cool, took it without even asking what was in it.

Big mistake. Historic mistake. The kind of mistake that becomes a bit in the retelling. Because whatever was in that glass was absolutely not meant for human consumption at that volume, and Jake knew it approximately four seconds after swallowing, when the room did a thing rooms aren't supposed to do. He found a wall. He became one with the wall. And then suddenly there was a hand on his arm and a cup of water appearing in front of his face and a voice saying, "you need to drink this right now and also sit down, oh my god, are you okay?"

It was you. You stayed with him for a while, you got him water, you made him eat something, you were practical and a little exasperated in a way that felt weirdly maternal except not weird at all, and Jake sat there feeling like absolute garbage physically while also, somehow, feeling like the luckiest idiot at the party. You left when he was clearly going to survive the night and you gave him this look on the way out, the kind of look that says I saw this coming and I will not be elaborating further – and that was it. That was the whole interaction.

And Jake, because he was a disaster wrapped in a very appealing exterior, developed a crush immediately. Which, great, great news! Really excellent timing, since you were dating someone and that someone had just handed Jake the drink that nearly killed him, so the whole situation was already a little Shakespearean without adding unrequited feelings into the mix. 

Having a crush on someone who's taken is its own specific kind of hell. You see them in group settings and you have to be normal about it. You hear their name and your brain does this annoying little thing. You watch them laugh at someone else's joke and you think, I could've said something funnier, which is insane and also definitely not the point. It's not heartbreak, it's more like a splinter small enough to ignore most of the time, present enough to be really fucking annoying. So Jake ignored it, mostly. He was good at that for a while, at least.

And when I say you think you're smarter than you really are at 21, I mean it in the most specific way possible, because Jake genuinely believed he was smart enough to just decide not to have a crush on you anymore. Like it was a setting he could toggle off or like feelings operated on some kind of rational opt-in system where you could just look at the situation, assess that it was inconvenient and counterproductive, and choose to feel something else instead. He told himself he'd gotten it out of his system, he told himself it was just a moment, just the water and the kindness and the fact that you'd looked at him like he was simultaneously the most pitiful and most entertaining thing you'd seen all week, and that was just a normal human response to someone being nice to you when you felt like death. Totally understandable and completely manageable. 

Jake thought he was over it. Well, no, Jake was not over it. But he was, to his credit, respectful about it, which deserves acknowledgment, because being respectful about a crush you're pretending not to have while the person is in a relationship is genuinely harder than it sounds. 

He didn't do anything weird or didn't hover. He was just Jake, friendly and easy and exactly the right amount of present, and the friendship between you two grew slowly and naturally in the way that friendships do when you share enough people and enough spaces that proximity eventually just becomes familiarity. Part of it was architecture, honestly – you were Jay's older sister, and Jay was close with Heeseung, and Heeseung was one of Jake's closest friends and his roommate and was also dating one of your closest friends, which is the kind of social tangle that somehow becomes the entire foundation of your social life for three years because that's just how friend groups work when you're in college and everyone is always in the same five locations.

So, yeah, Jake saw you around a lot. He got to know you better, the actual you, not the mythologized untouchable version he'd invented in his head in freshman year. And Jake liked you, genuinely, actually liked you, which was its own separate problem from the crush because it made the crush worse in a way that simple attraction never would have. He also, occasionally, saw you with Yoongi, which, well, he didn't love that. He wasn't going to make it a whole thing, but he didn't love it. Yoongi was fine, probably, Jake just thought he was deeply, profoundly wrong for you in ways he couldn't fully articulate and definitely wasn't going to examine too closely.

But Jake didn't spend those two years pining into the void. He had a life. He went out, he met people, he kissed girls at parties and went on dates that were sometimes good and sometimes awkward and sometimes both in quick succession. He even dated someone for four months and she was lovely, and it ended badly in the way that things end badly when two people are both doing their best but ultimately want completely different things and wait too long to admit it. He learned some things about himself and moved on with his life, which is what you're supposed to do, and he did it. He was genuinely actually doing it.

And then, on a completely unremarkable thursday afternoon when Jake was sitting on his couch doing nothing, something miraculous happened. You posted a photo. It was, and he means this with full awareness of how he sounds, a thirst trap of the highest order. 

Jake saw it, sat with it for approximately three seconds, and then his brain did the thing brains do when they've been quietly keeping a file on something for two years – it connected the dots immediately and instinctively. Because you and Yoongi had been very much a unit for a long time, and this photo had a very specific energy that did not read as "person in a happy relationship," and Jake noticed, because he was paying attention in the way that people pay attention when they've been pretending not to pay attention for so long that the pretending has become its own full time job.

He went to your profile just to check out of curiosity. Because he was a normal person doing a normal thing. And every single photo with Yoongi was completely gone, which meant it wasn't an accident and it wasn't recent, it was deliberate. Jake put his phone down. He picked it up again. He put it down. He texted Heeseung.

The conversation that followed was, in Jake's own words, purely informational. He was just asking questions because he was curious, in a totally casual way. Heeseung, who had been friends with Jake long enough to see directly through every single layer of that framing, answered anyway, because he was a good friend and also because watching Jake try to be chill about something he was extremely not chill about was genuinely one of his favorite pastimes. Yes, you and Yoongi had broken up. No, Heeseung didn't know all the details. It had happened a few weeks ago, apparently. It was a quiet breakup, you know when long relationships sometimes end, in a mutual understanding that it had run its course, and then one day it's just over and you're taking photos off your instagram and posting thirst traps? Yeah, in that way.

Jake absorbed this information calmly and maturely. But then he also texted Jay, which was insane because Jay was your brother and therefore the least neutral possible source, but Jake had entered a particular mode of information gathering that had suspended his better judgement. Jay's response was approximately four words long and communicated very clearly that this was not a conversation he was interested in having with Jake specifically, which honestly is fair enough. Sunghoon was more helpful, he gave Jake exactly the information he asked for: yeah, you broke up because Yoongi was being a dick. And then Sunghoon looked at Jake for a long moment and said, "so what are you going to do about it," and Jake said, "nothing, I'm just asking," and Sunghoon made a face that communicated profound disbelief without saying another word.

But then, Jake realized something terrible but also incredibly awesome happened: You were single now. And you know what happens when a pretty girl is single, right? The radius expands overnight. Guys who had been perfectly respectful and well behaved for two years suddenly remembered that they had personalities and things to say, and they started saying them, loudly, in your direction, with this very specific energy of people who had been waiting for their window and were not going to waste it now that it had opened. 

And you – and this is the part that was making Jake's life genuinely difficult – you were nice about it. You were nice about everything, that was the problem, you had this way of making people feel like they had a shot without ever actually saying anything that confirmed they had a shot, which is both an art form and a form of psychological warfare and you deployed it completely unconsciously, which somehow made it worse.

The conclusion Jake was slowly, painfully arriving at was that everyone had suddenly decided you were interesting, and he had been here, he had been here respectfully for two years, watching from a completely appropriate distance, and now all of a sudden it was fashionable. It felt deeply unfair in a way he couldn't logically justify and felt anyway. He'd been paying attention since before it was the thing to do, and now half the people he knew were acting like they'd just discovered something he'd been sitting with for ages, and it made him irrationally, disproportionately annoyed in a way that he expressed by being slightly quieter than usual and, also, going to the gym more.

So he watched, from his very appropriate and not-at-all-pathetic distance, as you went about your newly single life with the energy of someone who was doing genuinely great and wanted everyone to know it. And he didn't do anything about it, because what was he going to do? Walk up to you and say hey, so I've had a crush on you since you gave me water at a party two years ago while I was actively dying, want to grab coffee? No, obviously not. Jake Sim had many qualities and complete emotional recklessness was not traditionally one of them. So he did nothing, he just observed and he did nothing, and he told himself this was wisdom and not cowardice, and maybe it was a little of both.

He even ran into Yoongi once in the corridor, and the guy looked – well, not bad exactly, but he had that specific kind of distracted, slightly hollow look that people get when something ended and they haven't fully metabolized it yet. Jake recognized it because he'd had it himself after that one girl, and he felt a brief, involuntary flash of something that might have been sympathy before his brain reminded him of the context and he moved on. He did think, privately, that if he had somehow managed to have you and then let that go, he would probably also look like that in a university corridor on a wednesday. Honestly, Jake'd look worse, so he understood completely, he wasn't even mad at the guy. Well, actually, no – he was a little mad at the guy.

And then there was a party because of course there was a party, there's always a party. Nobody ever makes a monumentally stupid life decision at the campus library or over a quiet coffee place, because if they did this would be a romantic kind of story. And this story is about a lot of things but it is not a romance, and the fact that it consistently takes place in environments with bad lighting and worse decisions and 2000s pop hits should tell you everything you need to know about the choices being made here.

Jake was fine at this party. He was having a good time, talking to people, being his usual self, doing great. And then he saw you across the room talking to Sangwon, and something in his chest did something extremely inconvenient.

Sangwon was – okay, look, Jake could be objective about this. Sangwon was objectively attractive in this very specific way that Jake personally found annoying: the delicate, effortlessly pretty kind of attractive that read as completely unthreatening and therefore somehow more threatening than anything else. Tall-ish, soft looking, the kind of guy who probably had nice handwriting and remembered to water his plants. Girls today would call it twink energy – Jake wasn't entirely sure he was using that word right but he was about sixty percent confident it applied here, and the point was that Sangwon had it, and you were currently laughing at something Sangwon had said, and Jake was standing across a party watching this happen and feeling something he was not proud of feeling.

Jealousy is such a stupid emotion. It doesn't feel like the movies make it look! It's not this hot, dramatic surge of passion, it's more like a deeply irritating pressure behind your ribs that you can't breathe out properly. It makes you look across a room too many times and then feel embarrassed about looking and then look again anyway. It is, in summary, the worst, and Jake was full of it, and he was twenty-one years old and smart, so he made the extremely smart decision to do something about it.

He found the tequila.

If you have ever done tequila at a college party, you already know how this goes, I don't need to tell you. Tequila has this specific evil quality where it gives you confidence that feels completely real and is entirely fabricated, and the worst part is it feels indistinguishable from actual confidence until you're already three shots in and saying things out loud that were supposed to stay in your head. It's warm and it's fast and it makes you feel like the version of yourself that has everything figured out, which is exactly what Jake wanted to feel, and it worked, in the sense that he stopped feeling the jealousy quite so sharply and started feeling like a person with a plan. (Jake did not have a plan. Jake had tequila. These are not the same thing.)

He found you on the balcony, you were alone, leaning on the railing with your drink, looking out at nothing in particular. Jake walked over and stood next to you, and you glanced at him, and he opened his mouth and said:

"Do you think I'm a twink?"

You turned to look at him fully, almost choked on your drink. "I'm sorry," you said, "what?"

"A twink," he repeated, with the confidence of someone who had rehearsed this in his head and it had gone differently. "Do you think I am one."

"I heard you the first time, I just –" you stared at him for a second. "Where did that come from?"

"I'm just asking," he said. "I feel like it's a thing right now. Like girls are really into it."

You looked at him for a long moment with an expression that was doing several things at once. "Some girls," you said carefully, "are into that, yes."

"Are you?"

You tilted your head. "Why does that matter to you?"

"It doesn't," he said, very quickly, which was a terrible answer. "I'm just curious. About the demographic. Generally."

"About the demographic," you repeated.

"Yeah."

"Jake," you said, slowly, like you were choosing each word with intention, "you are the least twink person I have ever seen in my life."

"Okay but is that a bad thing."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing."

"You didn't say it was a good thing either."

You made a face that was fighting very hard not to become a smile. "What is happening right now? How much have you had to drink?"

"A normal amount," he said, which was a lie and you both knew it. "I'm just making conversation."

"You opened the conversation by asking me if you were a twink."

"It's a valid question."

"It's genuinely not," you said, and lost the fight with a smile, and there it was, that thing you did where your whole face shifted and Jake's brain momentarily stopped doing its job. You shook your head. "What are you actually trying to ask me, Jake?"

"I'm asking what you're into," he said, and it came out more direct than he intended, tequila smoothing over the part of his brain that normally installed a filter between what he thought and what he said. "Like. In general. What your type is."

You looked at him over the rim of your cup. There was something in your expression now that was different from the amusement, like more measured and more deliberate, like you were deciding something. "You're asking about my type," you said.

"Yeah."

"At a party."

"Yeah, we're at a party."

"After asking if you were a twink."

"I'm trying to get context," he said, with great dignity.

You laughed then, and looked away from him out in the dark, and Jake stood there next to you feeling like an idiot and also like things were going slightly better than he deserved given the circumstances. You were quiet for a second and then you said, without looking at him, "I don't really have a type."

"Come on, everyone has a type."

"Then maybe mine is just –" you paused, and glanced at him sideways, "– interesting."

Jake's brain was working on a response but the tequila had reorganized his priorities and for a second he just stood there looking at you looking at the city and thought, with extraordinary clarity: I am going to make so many bad decisions. "It's just," he started, and then stopped, and decided to just say it, because the tequila had apparently also reorganized his sense of self preservation. "You were talking to Sangwon in there and I kind of assumed you were into him. Like, into the whole twink thing he has going on."

You stared at him for a second then you laughed, and you tried to cover with your hand when it surprised you. "Jake," you said, "Sangwon is not only a twink. Sangwon is actually gay."

"Right," he said immediately. "Yeah. Obviously."

"Did you think he was hitting on me?!"

"I mean." He shifted his weight. "There's been a lot of that going around lately. It's not an insane assumption."

You turned toward him a little more, and there was something in your expression that was enjoying this more than was necessary. "You've been paying attention to who talks to me at parties?"

"No," he said, and then, because the tequila had completely destroyed his ability to maintain a coherent lie, "I mean. It's hard not to. You know, pay attention to you. Generally. That's – that's all I'm saying."

You were quiet for a second, looking at him with this expression he couldn't fully decode, and he became acutely aware that he had just said that out loud to your actual face with his actual mouth and there was no taking it back now. "Are you hitting on me?" you asked, and your voice was genuinely curious, not teasing, just asking.

"I think I might be," he said, "but I should be transparent that my execution is suffering because I've had a lot of tequila and I feel like I could've come at this with a much better angle sober."

You bit your lip and chuckled, and Jake watched you do it, and his brain said several things in quick succession that he chose not to act on. "You're cute, Jake," you said, and your voice had shifted into something more deliberate. "You're really cute."

And here's the thing – Jake had been called cute before. He had been called significantly more than cute before, by people who meant it and he had received it normally, like a human being. But something about you saying it, on this specific balcony, after this specific conversation, with that specific tone, completely short circuited whatever normal wiring he had for receiving compliments and he just stopped. Jake just stood there and just looked at you. His brain presented him with approximately three possible responses and then quietly took all of them off the table and left him with nothing, just this blank, slightly overwhelmed stillness, because he couldn't tell if you meant it or if this was just the thing you did, this friendly, warm, effortlessly charming thing that made everyone in your orbit feel special without any of them actually being special, and the possibility that he was just another guy on the list of guys you'd smiled at this month was enough to freeze every single instinct he had.

You watched him not respond for what was probably five seconds and felt like significantly longer. And then you laughed again and looked at him. "Okay," you said. "But you're clearly very drunk, so I genuinely can't tell if you're actually hitting on me or if this is just tequila being tequila."

"I'm trying to hit on you," he said, with more clarity than he'd managed in the last five minutes, because that part at least he was sure of. "I've been trying to for – that's a separate conversation. But I'm hitting on you. I'm just not being very good at it right now."

"No," you agreed pleasantly, "you're really not."

"Yeah I know."

You smiled at him, and then you looked down at your drink for a second, and when you looked back up there was something more open in your expression, like you'd made a small decision. "I've been posting on instagram for like three weeks," you said, very casually, "and I was kind of hoping you'd say something. Or do something. Or literally anything." You paused. "You never did."

Jake's brain processed this sentence. Then it processed it again. Then it took it apart and looked at each individual word to make sure he was understanding correctly. "Those photos were –"

"I mean, they were for me too," you said fairly. "But also a little bit for you to notice."

"I noticed," he said, immediately and with feeling.

"Well, I could see when you watched my stories." You said it without any particular accusation, just stating a fact, and Jake made a mental note to turn off his read receipts on instagram stories 30 seconds after they were posted. "I just thought you weren't interested. I figured you'd seen them and moved on."

There were so many things Jake could say to that, starting with the fact that he had absolutely not moved on, had not been moving on, had been doing the opposite of moving on for a frankly embarrassing amount of time, and also that he had literally asked Heeseung and Jay and Sunghoon for information about you like some kind of deranged private investigator, and none of that was going to come out of his mouth right now in a way that sounded good.

"Next time," you said, picking up your drink and pushing off the railing, "maybe drink a little less first and we can figure this out in a way that's slightly more coherent, yeah?"

You said it like it was simple, like it was already decided. Like the next time was a given, a scheduled thing, something that existed in the future that you were both just waiting to arrive at, and then you gave him one last look, the one he was starting to understand was specifically designed to make him lose his train of thought – and went back inside.

Jake stood on the balcony alone. He stood there for a while, by the way. She was posting for me, he thought, with the slow, dawning comprehension of someone receiving information his body couldn't immediately process. She was posting for me and I watched every single story and did absolutely nothing and she thought I wasn't interested. The tequila, which had felt like such a good idea two hours ago, was now sitting in his stomach like a personal insult. There had been a very clear, very explicit open door just now and he had stood in front of it and stared at it like an idiot while you held it open and eventually you'd gotten tired of waiting and closed it and gone back inside, and he had done nothing, nothing, chickened out completely, frozen up like someone had unplugged him.

The next morning, Jake was sitting on his kitchen floor with his back against the cabinet and a glass of water he'd been working on for forty minutes, trying to convince his body that survival was worth pursuing, when he told Heeseung and Sunghoon what happened. They laughed, hard.

"Wait, wait, wait," Heeseung said, holding up a hand, because he needed a second to process. "You opened with – you asked her if you were a twink."

"I was establishing context, dude," Jake said.

"What context? What context requires you to ask a girl if you're a twink?"

"I thought she was into Sangwon–"

"Bro, Sangwon is gay!"

"I know that now!"

Sunghoon had been quietly losing it since the twink part and had not fully recovered. He was sitting against the opposite cabinet with his legs stretched out, shaking his head slowly like a man confronting something he hadn't expected to encounter on a Saturday morning. "So you saw her talking to Sangwon," he said, walking through it, "got jealous, did tequila shots about it, went out to the balcony, and the first thing you said to her was do you think I'm a twink."

"When you say it like that–"

"How else is there to say it?"

"I was building up to something."

"To what? What was the twink question building up to?"

Jake drank his water and said nothing, which was answer enough. "And then," Heeseung continued, because apparently they weren't done, "she told you – she literally told you, with her mouth, using words – that she'd been posting on instagram for three weeks to get your attention. And you stood there."

"I was processing."

"Jake, what the hell is wrong with you, she handed you everything, she did everything except write it on a sign," Heeseung said.

"I panicked, dude, okay?" Jake said, with the quiet dignity of a man who had accepted his losses. "I didn't know if she meant it or if she was just being like that."

"Being like what?"

"You know how she is. She's like that with everyone. She makes everyone feel like–"

"She told you she was posting for you," Sunghoon said flatly. "That's not her being like that with everyone. That's her telling you specifically a thing about you specifically."

"I know."

Heeseung had migrated to the kitchen counter at some point and was sitting on it eating Jake's cereal, which he'd helped himself to without asking, which was normal, which was just what Heeseung did. He pointed the spoon at Jake. "Okay but what are you gonna do now."

"I don't know," Jake said. "Die, maybe."

"Tempting, but no," Sunghoon said. "You should text her."

"And say what?"

"Literally anything. Hey, sorry I malfunctioned, I like you, let's try this again."

"I can't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's–" Jake gestured vaguely at the air. "It's embarrassing."

"More embarrassing than asking a girl if you're a twink at a party?" Heeseung asked, genuinely curious.

Jake had no answer for that. Sunghoon stretched his arms above his head and said, in the tone of someone remembering something important, "also, unrelated, but I really hope she doesn't tell Jay about the twink thing. Or any of it, honestly. I don't know what he'd do with that information."

Oh, right. Yeah. That was also another thing entirely: your brother.

Look, Jay was one of Jake's closest friends. They had the kind of friendship that runs on shared history and the specific comfort of knowing someone well enough that you don't have to explain your references, and that is genuinely one of the most valuable things a person can have. Jake loved Jay. Jay was great. Jay was also, when it came to you, a little bit insane.

Jay wasn't the kind of brother who made issued warnings or anything that overt – he was too self aware for that, and also you were older than him, which he was fully cognizant of, and bringing up the age thing would've gotten him absolutely demolished and he knew it. But there was this thing Jay did, this very specific thing, where if someone made a comment about you – like if someone in the group said something offhand, like oh your sister's pretty funny or hey your sister was at that thing last night – Jay's face would do this extremely subtle shift, this microscopic recalibration, like running a quick background check on the speaker's intentions before deciding how to respond. He never said anything directly. He didn't have to, because the shift was enough.

Jake had witnessed this shift several times over the years and had been extremely careful to never be the cause of it, which meant he had spent a non-trivial amount of energy making sure that nothing he said about you, ever, in Jay's presence, could be interpreted as anything other than completely neutral. He had not said you were funny in a way that implied anything. He had not said your name with any particular emphasis. He had been, in this specific arena, disciplined in a way Jake was almost never disciplined about anything else.

The fact that he had been nursing a crush on you for two years was information that Jay did not have and that Jake had every intention of keeping that way, because the version of that conversation he played out in his head never ended in a way he liked. Jay wasn't irrational about it – he knew you were a grown woman who could do whatever you wanted – but there was a difference between knowing that intellectually and finding out that your close friend had been quietly down bad for your older sister since freshman year and had just drunkenly asked her if she found twinks attractive at a party. That was a specific combination of information that Jake did not feel ready to present to Jay at this time.

So when Jake saw Jay again later that evening, he was operating on two simultaneous hangovers: the physical one, which was tequila doing what it was supposed to, and the moral one, which was the specific psychic weight of having had an entire moment handed to him on a silver platter and having dropped the platter, the moment, and his dignity all at once. 

The reason he had to look Jay in the face that evening was because Heeseung – his best friend, his roommate, the person who knew everything and had spent the morning laughing at him – had invited everyone over to play NBA 2K, because Heeseung had the emotional intelligence to understand that the best thing for Jake right now was probably to be around people and not sitting alone in his room refreshing your instagram profile, and also because Heeseung just genuinely wanted to play NBA 2K and this was a convenient excuse. Both things were true. That was Heeseung.

Jay showed up at seven with beer and absolutely zero indication on his face that he knew anything about twinks or balconies or his sister telling Jake she'd been posting for him for three weeks. They played for a while and talked shit, the party came up because parties always come up the day after, there's always a debrief, always someone who saw something or heard something or made a decision that needs to be collectively processed.

"Honestly solid party," Sunghoon said, not looking up from his controller. "Better than the last one."

"The last one was terrible," Jay agreed. "Fucking Beomgyu didn't even mind opening the window before making his apartment feel like a hot sauna after smoking 3 tons of weed."

"There was a balcony at least," Heeseung said. "Too much tequila, but a balcony."

Jake said nothing. Sunghoon did not look at him. Heeseung did not look at him. They were both being very normal about this. "Oh, Jay, by the way," Heeseung said, with the casual tone of someone who had absolutely planned this segue, "my girlfriend told me your sister was excited to go, said she seemed like she was having a good time."

Jay made a sound that was half acknowledgment, half something more affectionate that he would've denied if you'd pointed it out. "Yeah, she needed it, honestly. She's been kind of in her own head since the Yoongi thing, I think it was good for her to just go out and not think about it."

"How's she doing with all that?" Heeseung asked, with the perfectly calibrated innocence of a man doing Jake an enormous favor and knowing it.

Jake kept his eyes on the screen. Jay shrugged, the loose kind of shrug that means I've thought about this enough to have an answer ready. "She's good, actually. Better than I expected," he paused. "As far as I know she hasn't hooked up with anyone or whatever, she told me she didn't want anything serious for a while and honestly, I'd be the same way."

"Totally makes sense," Heeseung said, nodding like this was a general philosophical point and not targeted intelligence.

"Mm," Jake said, contributing nothing, which was the correct amount. Sunghoon glanced at him for exactly half a second and then back at the screen. Jake felt it anyway.

Jake lay on his bed that night staring at the ceiling with the specific stillness of someone whose brain is moving very fast. Okay, you didn't want anything serious. And well, you'd said it yourself, to your own brother, which meant you meant it, as an actual position you'd taken on your own life after thinking it through. That's okay, that's valid, honestly. But you had also told him, on a balcony, twelve hours ago, that you'd been posting on instagram for three weeks hoping he'd notice. Which meant you'd noticed him, at some point, enough to want him to notice back, which meant something. He wasn't sure exactly what shape that something was, but it existed, it had been confirmed by your own mouth, and it sat alongside the other thing (the not wanting anything serious thing) in a way that felt less like a contradiction and more like information. Like two coordinates that, taken together, pointed somewhere specific.

Jake'd spent the whole weekend in this horrible intermediate state of wanting to text you and talking himself out of it on a loop, going back and forth, and eventually he'd landed on not texting you, which was a decision he'd made approximately eleven times and kept having to remake every hour or so. He would text you eventually but that was a problem for future Jake. Future Jake would handle it. He had no idea when future Jake was showing up exactly, but present Jake was not equipped and needed more time and also more water.

Future Jake, he thought, was going to have to get his shit together pretty soon. And future Jake saw you on Wednesday, which he had not planned and was not ready for in any capacity. He'd just come out of basketball practice, which, okay, look, Jake played recreationally with a group of guys and it was one of his favorite parts of the week, except for right now, because right now he was standing in the corridor outside the gym in a sweaty tank top with his hair doing something he couldn't see but could feel, smelling like a person who had just done significant physical activity in an enclosed space. He was, by every possible measure, not looking like someone who was prepared to have a conversation with a girl he'd almost-but-not-quite made a move on four days ago while drunk on tequila at a party.

You were coming from the other direction, you saw him before he had any real chance to do anything about how he looked, which was fine, it was totally fine, it was just – he would've liked a second, that's all. "Hey, Jake," you said like nothing was weird, like you were just two people who ran into each other in a corridor, which technically you were but also, come on.

"Hey," he said, and shifted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, which did nothing for the overall situation but gave his hands something to do.

You slowed down without fully stopping and your eyes did this thing where they went from his face down to – look, he was wearing a tank top, that's just context, that's just what he was wearing, but the way you looked at him was not nothing, and he clocked it immediately, and then he clocked that he'd clocked it, and he had to work very hard to keep his face doing something normal. "Basketball?" you asked.

"Yeah. Just finished."

"I can tell," you said, pleasantly.

"Is that a nice way of saying I smell."

"I didn't say that." You were smiling, just a little. "You look good though."

The thing about you was that you said things like that completely straight, not like a joke and not like a big deal, just as a casual, factual observation, and that was so much more effective than if you'd made it into a thing, and you probably knew that, and that was genuinely evil of you. Jake decided the only reasonable response was to match your energy and not make it weird. "I feel disgusting," he said.

"That's fine. You don't look like it."

"You're being very nice to me considering the last time we talked I asked you about twinks."

You laughed at that, a quick one, and stopped walking properly, which meant this was now a real conversation and not a corridor pass-by, and some part of Jake's brain quietly celebrated while the rest of him stayed focused on being a normal human person. "I've been thinking about that," you said, "and I've decided it's one of the best things anyone's ever opened with."

"That's a low bar."

"It really is," you agreed. "But you cleared it." He laughed despite himself, because that was the thing about talking to you – it was just easy, even when it shouldn't have been, even when there was all this other stuff underneath it. "So," you said, head tilting slightly, "you never texted me."

"Should I have texted you?"

"Well, I thought you were going to."

"I'm a thorough person. I was figuring some stuff out."

You looked at him for a second with that expression that meant you were deciding how far to push it, and then you said, "and did you figure it out?"

"Getting there," he said, which was true in the sense that he was standing here having this conversation instead of watching your stories from a safe distance, which was progress, technically. And look, Jake was not exactly proud of what he said next. I mean, he was proud of it, very much so, he just couldn't believe he actually had said it without thinking about it first, but he said it anyway: "Are you free tonight?"

You blinked at him in the way of someone who had been expecting the conversation to go one direction and watched it go another, and were recalibrating in real time. There was a second, just a beat, where you looked at him and then something in your face settled and you said, "yeah, I am."

"Okay, cool," he said, with a confidence he was mostly performing. "Give me like twenty minutes to shower and we can do something, if that's fine."

"Sure," you said, and the corner of your mouth did the thing. "I'll wait."

So you waited outside while Jake went back into the locker room, and yeah I know, the locker room situation was not ideal, because it was still mostly full of guys from his session who were in various stages of packing up and being loud about it, and Jake had to navigate all of that while also internally processing the fact that you were standing outside waiting for him, which was a sentence he hadn't expected to be true today when he woke up this morning. He found a free shower, turned it on, and stood under it trying to organize his thoughts into something resembling a plan.

Jake had no plan. He had asked you if you were free tonight with the energy of someone who had a plan and he absolutely did not. He didn't know where you were going, didn't know what doing something meant in this specific context, didn't know if this was a hang or a date or something in between that didn't have a clean name yet. He was showering at a speed that was not fully compatible with actually getting clean and he was also having what could generously be described as a mild internal crisis, which was a lot to do simultaneously.

He was out in eleven minutes, and that was a personal record and also probably not great for his hair but there was nothing to be done about that now. You were where he'd left you, on your phone leaning against the wall, and you looked up when he came out and you looked at him for just a second before saying anything. "There's a bar near the east exit," he said, because he'd spent eleven minutes in the shower and that was the one concrete thought he'd produced. "They have good beer and it's not too loud."

"Yeah, I know that place," you said, pushing off the wall. "Let's go."

That was the whole planning process, Jake had produced one idea and you'd accepted it and now you were walking side by side toward a bar on a wednesday evening and he still had no idea what this was.

Here's the thing about a first whatever-this-was with someone you've been down bad for – you spend the whole time doing two things at once, which is actually being there and having a good time, and also running this constant background process trying to figure out what category the evening falls into. Like, is this a date? It felt like a date in the sense that you were there and he wanted to be there and there was a thing between you that both of you were aware of. But it also felt like two people getting a beer after running into each other, which is just a normal human activity with no inherent romantic weight. The not knowing is its own specific kind of torture because you can't calibrate how to act. If it's a date you can be a certain way. If it's not a date you have to be a different way. If it's somewhere in between you just have to pick one and hope. Jake picked somewhere in between and hoped.

You talked, and it was good, it was easy in the way that talking to you was always easy even when it was also making him insane. You talked about the semester, about a class you were taking that you hated but couldn't drop for scheduling reasons, about something stupid that had happened in your friend group that week that he'd heard a partial version of from Heeseung and now got the full story on. He told you about basketball, about a guy on his team who took recreational sports way too personally and made everyone's day slightly worse for it. You laughed at that and added something from your own experience and the conversation just kept going the way good conversations do where you don't feel the time passing until you look up and realize it has.

The whole time, his brain was doing the background thing. Because on one hand you were sitting across from him at a bar table being funny and warm and looking like that, and on the other hand Jay had said clearly that you didn't want anything serious, and you'd said it yourself apparently, to your own brother, which was not a thing you say casually. And this was a beer on a Wednesday. Was a beer on a Wednesday serious? By most definitions, no. But you'd also posted thirst traps for him on instagram and told him about it to his face, which was not something you did with someone you thought of as just a friend getting a beer on a wednesday. So what was it then? What was the correct interpretation of all available data? Jake ran the numbers and kept getting different answers and at some point gave up and just looked at you instead, which was the better use of his time anyway.

You were on your second beer when you nudged his foot under the table with yours, just lightly, and said, "you know, you really did just completely ignore every single photo I posted."

"I was being respectful."

You looked at him with an expression that was somewhere between amused and genuinely baffled. "Respectful," you repeated.

"Yeah, you know, I didn't want to just slide into your stories two weeks after you broke up with someone, that feels weird, that's a weird thing to do."

"Okay but who told you I wanted respectful?"

Jake opened his mouth and then closed it because that was a very good question and he didn't have a great answer to it. You were looking at him with this expression that was patient in the way that people are patient when they've already made a decision and are just waiting for the other person to catch up to it, and Jake sat there for a second genuinely recalibrating, because there was a version of you he'd built in his head over two years and it was accurate in a lot of ways but apparently had been missing some information. Specifically this information. The who told you I wanted respectful information.

"I was trying to read the situation," he said finally.

"And what did the situation tell you?"

"That you'd just gotten out of something long and probably needed time."

"I'd had plenty of time," you said, easy as anything, taking a sip of your beer. "The last few months of that relationship were not exactly great, Jake, I wasn't as blindsided as everyone assumed."

Jake was doing a full system reboot. Because there was the version of this he'd been preparing for, and that involved being careful and measured and not pushing too fast because you'd just ended something serious and probably needed space, and then there was the version that was apparently actually happening, which was you sitting across from him telling him that you'd had plenty of time and nobody had asked him to be respectful about it. And those were two very different versions with very different implications and Jake was standing at the crossroads between them trying to figure out which road he was actually on.

What he landed on, quietly, in the back of his head, was that he'd maybe underestimated you a little. He'd been so busy being careful around the idea of you that he hadn't fully accounted for the actual you, who was sitting here being pretty straightforward about what she wanted and had been this whole time, and he'd been the one making it complicated. Which was funny, sort of. Kind of embarrassing, sort of. Did it make things better or worse, knowing that? He genuinely didn't know. Better, probably, in the sense that it clarified things. Worse, possibly, in the sense that he now had significantly less reason to stall and significantly more reason to do something about this, which meant the next move was on him and he was going to have to actually make it.

He looked at you across the table. You looked back at him, completely unbothered, like you had nowhere else to be and no particular investment in how long this took. And then Jake did something he genuinely hadn't planned, which was becoming a theme with you. He looked at the space next to you on the booth seat, looked at you, and said "can I sit there?" with the energy of someone who had made a decision approximately one second before the words came out.

You looked at the space, looked at him, and said "yeah, sure" like it was a stupid question.

So he sat down next to you, close enough that your arms were touching, and he put his arm along the back of the booth behind your shoulders in the way that is technically not putting your arm around someone but is absolutely putting your arm around someone, and you let him, and you turned your head to look at him with this expression that was patient and a little amused and something else underneath that that Jake was trying very hard not to read too much into. He looked at you for a second. Then he said, "what do you want, Y/N?"

You raised an eyebrow. "I thought I'd made that pretty clear."

"You have," he said. "I just want to hear it."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, please."

You looked at him for a moment with the expression of someone deciding whether to find this charming or annoying, and Jake held the eye contact and did the thing – he knew he was doing it, he was fully aware, this was a conscious deployment – where he looked at you like that, a little helpless, a little earnest, the face that had gotten him further in life than he was entirely proud of but that worked, consistently, empirically, and he was not above using it right now.

You saw it, and he could tell you saw it because something in your expression shifted. "Well," you said, and your voice had dropped just enough that he felt it, "I want you."

Jake's brain received that sentence and did several things with it at once, the main one being a kind of full-body recalibration that he had to keep off his face, and then it handed him back one clear thought which was: okay, do something, do it now, you have been waiting two years for a version of this moment and she just handed it to you on a plate so for the love of god do not stand there like an idiot again.

He didn't. Jake closed the distance and kissed you, and Jake had kissed people before, he had a functional amount of experience, this was not new territory, but the first second of kissing you was still enough to make his brain go briefly offline in a way that was embarrassing and also completely out of his control. And then your hand came up and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling slightly, like you knew exactly what you were doing and were in no particular hurry about it, and that was – yeah, okay, that was new information, that was the kind of thing that reorganized a person's entire understanding of a situation. You kissed him back like you'd thought about it, which apparently you had, which was a concept Jake was going to need some time to fully process.

Your lips parted against his and Jake felt the soft slide of your tongue just barely teasing the seam of his mouth. He made a low, helpless sound he didn't even mean to make and opened for you, and the second he did you took it, kissing him deeper, hotter, like you'd been waiting two years too and you were done being patient. The booth was small and the angle was awkward and none of it mattered because you were kissing him hard, harder than Jake thought you would. Jake's hand found your waist, sliding under the hem of your top without thinking, and you made this little approving hum against his mouth that short-circuited half his brain.

You smiled into the kiss, clearly pleased with yourself, and then one of your hands left his shirt and slid up the side of his neck with your fingers threading into the hair at the back of his head, nails scraping lightly. The shiver that ran through him was so obvious there was no hiding it. Jake pulled back after a moment, not far, just enough to look at you, because he'd waited long enough that he felt like he'd earned the right to look at you for a second. "Fuck," he said. "Okay."

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "What?"

"I wasn't expecting this today," he said. 

You looked at him for a second with that expression that was doing several things at once and then you said, "well, it's still better than the time you asked me if I thought you were a twink."

Jake laughed, and so did you, and then somehow you were kissing again and the twink conversation was the last thing either of you were thinking about.

You kissed a lot that night. And then, because apparently one night was just the beginning of a much longer pattern neither of you officially agreed to, you kissed a lot over the next three years. That's not a metaphor for anything, that's just literally what happened: you and Jake kissed in a lot of places over a lot of time and it never quite resolved into something clean and it never quite went away either, and that combination of things is basically the entire story, condensed.

But let me give you the highlights, because the highlights are worth it.

There was the time in the library, second floor, which should've been a terrible idea and was, but the terribleness of it didn't occur to either of you until after, which is usually how it goes. There was a rooftop at a party and it felt significant enough that Jake remembered what clothes you were wearing, there was also a cab home from somewhere, and you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder and he'd stayed completely still the entire time like an idiot so he wouldn't wake you up. There was his kitchen at seven in the morning, you in his hoodie, him making coffee badly, and the specific kind of easy that existed between you two in the mornings that he tried very hard not to think too much about because thinking about it led places he wasn't sure he was allowed to go.

And it wasn't just kissing, to be clear. This is a story about friends with benefits and we're all adults here, so, yeah. It was more than that, it was a lot more than that, and it was good, consistently, annoyingly good, the kind of good that makes it harder to keep things in the category you've agreed to keep them in. Jake was aware of this problem. He noted it. He filed it away and took it out occasionally and looked at it and put it back, because what else was he going to do with it?

Because here's where it got complicated, or more complicated, or a different flavor of complicated than it had already been: every time things got a little more real, a little more weight to them, a little more like something that had a name and a shape and a future – you disappeared. One day the texts would slow down, or you'd be busy, or you'd show up to the same group hang and be perfectly warm and perfectly normal and perfectly distant in a way that only he could tell was distance because he knew the other version of you, the close one, and the difference was noticeable if you were paying attention and he was always paying attention.

And every single time, without fail, Jake would feel it coming the way you feel a change in pressure before it rains, and he'd think, with the tired resignation of someone who has been through this enough times to recognize the opening notes: aw shit, here we go again.

Jake could not do this, and he knew it, but he did it anyway. There were moments where he'd lie there and wonder how long a person could exist in something undefined before it started to cost too much. He never landed on an answer. He'd fall asleep and wake up and you'd text him something funny and the question would go back in the drawer where it lived.

But that's all later. That's the three years of it, the accumulated weight of a thing that was never fully named and therefore never fully dealt with. That's twenty-four year old Jake's problem, and we'll get there.

Right now, tonight, it's still that bar, and you've just kissed him for the first time and none of the rest of it has happened yet. And he's not thinking about patterns yet, he just knows that you're here and he finally did something about it and your lip gloss is slightly smudged and you're pretending not to notice and honestly, for right now, that's good enough. It was good enough for a while, actually.

But you know what was really good? What happened between you two later that night.

After the bar closed out and the tab was paid and you were both a little buzzed and grinning like idiots, Jake finally got his shit together enough to say it out loud. He was like, "hey, Heeseung's not home tonight… you wanna come over?" and he said it so casual but his ears went bright red, which was hilarious because you could tell he'd been thinking about it the whole walk to the car. You just raised an eyebrow at him and said "yeah, obviously" and that was it. Heeseung could not find out, like, ever, so the empty apartment was basically a gift from the universe as far as Jake was concerned.

The second the door shut behind you guys he was already kissing you again, hands a little shaky on your waist, but you took over pretty quick. You pushed him back toward his room without even asking which one was his, and the whole time he was muttering stuff like "fuck, this feels good" under his breath. You laughed at him, soft and mean in the best way, and once you got him on the bed you climbed right on top and started peeling his shirt off.

And here's the part that still cracks Jake up when he thinks about it: Jake had always figured he was pretty normal in bed, you know? Take charge, make the girl feel good, the usual. But the second you pinned his wrists down and told him "don't move" he just… folded. Like instantly, eyes wide, breathing all shaky, looking up at you like you'd hung the moon and also maybe ruined him forever. He didn't even realize it was happening until you were grinding down on him slow and he let out this pathetic little whimper and you smiled like you'd won the lottery.

You kept teasing him, hands everywhere but never quite where he wanted, and every time he tried to touch you you'd just push his arms back down and go "uh-uh, ask nicely." He actually whined, and when you finally let him speak he was all cracked voice going "please… fuck, please touch me" and you made him say it again, louder, like he was begging for it. He did. He did it twice. Looked so embarrassed and so turned on at the same time it was actually kind of beautiful. You kept calling him good boy in that low voice and every time you did his brain just shorted out more. He was legit acting like a puppy, pressing up into your hand, following every little movement you made with his hips, mumbling "please, please, I'll be good" while you rode him slow enough to make him lose his mind.

When you finally let him come he buried his face in your neck and shook the whole time, arms wrapped around you so tight like he was scared you'd disappear if he let go. Afterward you just lay there on his chest, both of you sweaty and laughing a little because yeah, neither of you expected it to go down quite like that. Jake kept saying "fuck, that felt so fucking good–" and you'd just kiss him and tell him to shut up and enjoy it.

So the morning after, Jake woke up and reached over without thinking about it, the way you do when you fell asleep next to someone and your body just assumes they're still there, and they weren't. You were gone. The bed was cold on your side, which meant you hadn't just gotten up, you'd been gone for a while, and Jake lay there for a second staring at where you were supposed to be processing that information with the dawning comprehension of someone whose brain hadn't fully booted yet.

He looked for a note. There was no note. He checked his phone, there was no text. He got up and did a lap of the apartment like you might've just migrated to the living room, which you hadn't, and then he ended up in the kitchen where the only evidence that you'd ever been there at all was a glass in the drying rack next to the sink washed. You'd gotten up, gotten dressed, had a glass of water, washed the glass, and left, and Jake stood there in his kitchen at eight in the morning naked looking at a clean glass like it had personally wronged him.

He was, to be direct about it, a little pathetic that week. Not in a way that anyone else would've necessarily noticed, he kept it mostly internal, but he was going over the previous night on a loop with the specific energy of someone trying to figure out if they'd misread something, except he didn't think he'd misread it, he was pretty sure he hadn't misread it, but then why was there a clean glass in the drying rack and no text and no note and nothing. He waited two days, which felt like a reasonable amount of time to not seem insane, and then texted you: hey. had a really good time the other night.

You responded six hours and forty two minutes later. He was not counting, he just happened to notice. You said: me too, sorry been swamped with coursework this week, how are you?

How are you? Okay, normal, friendly, completely unreadable. He stared at that text for an embarrassing amount of time trying to extract information from it that probably wasn't there. You texted back and forth for a bit after that and it was fine, it was good actually, you were funny and easy to talk to like always, but it had this quality of a conversation between two friends catching up, and Jake kept waiting for some acknowledgment of the thing that had happened (you literally had called him a good boy and he came and he couldn't stop thinking about it) so he expected at least some small signal, but it never came. You were warm but you were also just normal, and Jake couldn't tell if that was you being cool about it or you genuinely treating it as a casual thing that didn't require any particular follow up, and not knowing which one it was made him feel insane.

He took a step back after that, more like a self preservation instinct kicking in before he did something embarrassing like double text you about your feelings. He told himself it was fine, casual was fine, he could do casual. He was a 21 year old guy, casual was supposed to be his native language. He was completely miserable about it, but quietly, which he felt was at least dignified.

Heeseung noticed, but Jake had made a decision to keep this one close to his chest for a while, at least until he understood what it was, so every time Heeseung gave him that look Jake just said he was tired or stressed about school and Heeseung let it go with the patience of someone who knew he'd find out eventually and was willing to wait.

Heeseung found out on tuesday. Jake was on the couch doing something on his laptop when he heard the front door open harder than necessary and Heeseung came in with the specific energy of someone who had just received information and had walked home with it at an elevated pace. He looked at Jake. Jake looked at him. "You absolute dick," Heeseung said. "Why didn't you tell me you hooked up with Y/N?"

Jake didn't know how Heeseung got that information. Jake was shocked. Jake closed his laptop. "How did you– I– I didn't know if I was supposed to."

"What does that even mean?!"

"It means I didn't know what it was yet and I didn't want to make it into a thing by telling people."

"I'm not people, I'm me," Heeseung said, dropping his bag on the floor with the energy of a man deeply personally offended. "Also you forgot that she's one of my girlfriend's best friends, so I was going to find out regardless, and instead I had to find out from her like an idiot keeping secrets."

"I wasn't keeping secrets, I was just–"

"You told me about the twink thing in real time," Heeseung said, pointing at him, "like I got a full play by play of the twink conversation the morning after, but then something actually happens and you go completely silent?"

Jake opened his mouth and then closed it because that was a fair point. "I didn't know what she wanted," he said, which was the honest answer. "She left in the morning without saying anything and then texted me like everything was normal and I couldn't figure out if it meant something or nothing and I didn't want to tell you and then have it be nothing."

Heeseung looked at him for a long moment and then came and sat down on the other end of the couch with slightly less aggression than he'd entered with. "Okay," he said. "That's actually a real reason."

"Thank you."

"Still should've told me."

"Yeah, okay, sorry."

Heeseung picked up Jake's abandoned throw pillow and held it for a second and then threw it at him anyway, not hard, more ceremonial. Jake caught it. They sat there for a second in the way that they did when a conversation had finished being an argument and was transitioning into something more useful. "For what it's worth," Heeseung said, in the tone he used when he was relaying information he'd been given permission to relay, "from what my girlfriend said, it sounds like she had a good time."

Jake looked at him. "What?"

"That's what I'm told."

"Did she say anything else?"

"I'm not a messenger service dude," Heeseung said, but he was almost smiling, which meant there probably was more and he was choosing not to give it up yet, which was an absolutely classic Heeseung move. Jake threw the pillow back at him. 

"You're useless," Jake said.

"I'm extremely useful actually," Heeseung said. "You're just impatient."

Which was true. Jake was very impatient, and also still confused, and also still thinking about you calling him a good boy, and also apparently you'd had a good time, which meant something, even if he wasn't sure yet what it meant or where it went from here. It was a start, Jake figured. A weird, inconclusive, slightly maddening start, but still.

The first time Jake saw you after that night was at Jay's place, which was, in terms of ideal settings for navigating whatever the hell was happening between you two, pretty much dead last on the list.

He'd gone over with Sunghoon and Heeseung on the weekend and Jake had shown up expecting a normal saturday, maybe some games, maybe they'd order food later, nothing that required him to be mentally prepared for anything. And then Jay opened the door and Jake walked in and saw you sitting on the couch next to Sunoo, and you were wearing this little top that kept riding up just a little every time you moved and those jeans that sat low on your hips and hugged your ass in a way that made his brain immediately supply very unhelpful memories and very difficult to immediately look somewhere else, which he did, eventually, after approximately two seconds too long.

You looked up at the same time he looked away, which meant you definitely caught him, which meant you knew exactly what those two seconds were, and you just smiled and looked back at whatever you and Sunoo were talking about like absolutely nothing had happened.

The thing was, you were subtle about it in a way that was actually not subtle at all, it was just subtle enough that no one else was catching it. You weren't doing anything obvious, you'd say something to the group and let your eyes land on him a beat longer than necessary. Or you'd laugh at something and angle yourself slightly in his direction. Or you'd reach across the coffee table for something so your top pulled tight across your chest, or cross your legs in a way that made the seam of those jeans shift against your thighs. Every little movement felt deliberate, like you were putting on a private show just for him in a room full of people who had no idea. He'd catch the movement in his peripheral vision and have to actively redirect his attention back to whatever conversation he was supposed to be in. It was a very specific, very targeted kind of casual, and Jake was losing his mind about it while maintaining a completely normal facial expression, which was one of the more athletically demanding things he'd done recently.

At one point Jay said something to him directly and Jake had to ask him to repeat it because he'd been looking at the TV but actually thinking about absolutely nothing related to the TV, and Jay gave him a mildly suspicious look and said "are you good?" and Jake said "yeah, sorry, tired" which was the same excuse he'd been using for weeks and was starting to wear thin. Sunghoon, from his spot on the floor, did not look at Jake. He was very pointedly not looking at Jake in the specific way that meant he was fully aware of everything that was happening and had chosen to be Switzerland about it, which Jake both appreciated and found slightly irritating.

Heeseung was on the other couch next to his girlfriend, who was next to you, and at one point his girlfriend said something to you quietly and you laughed and glanced over at Jake for just a second and he caught it and then had to pretend he hadn't caught it, and he looked at Heeseung with an expression that said please help me and Heeseung looked back with an expression that said you're on your own, buddy.

Eventually you got up to go to the kitchen and on your way back you stopped right next to his armchair, leaned down slowly to grab your phone from the side table, and your body was suddenly so close he could smell your perfume. You looked right at him for a second, lips curved like you were enjoying this way too much, and asked the room in the most innocent voice, "Has anyone decided what we're doing for food?" and Jake stared straight ahead at the TV like a man who had seen god and was not ready to discuss it.

"Pizza?" Sunoo offered.

"Pizza it is. Okay, I'm ordering right now. I'll go down and grab it when it gets here," you said, straightening up. "Jake, you can come with me so I'm not carrying it alone."

It was said so casually. Just a totally normal thing to say. Nobody in the room looked up. Jake said "yeah, sure" in a voice that was completely regular and betrayed nothing and then went back to looking at the TV.

The elevator ride down was eleven floors. Jake stood on one side and you stood on the other and it was fine for approximately four seconds and then you looked at him and smiled, not the group hang smile, the other one, the one that meant something specific, and he looked back at you and thought about the clean glass in the drying rack and the six hour forty two minute text response and how you'd spent the entire afternoon driving him insane in a room full of his friends and your brother.

The doors opened at the lobby and you both went and got the pizza and on the way back to the elevator you were walking close enough that your arms kept almost touching, and he held the elevator door open for you and you walked in and he let the doors close and before the elevator had even started moving he said, "what the hell are you doing?"

You turned to look at him with an expression of absolute, practiced innocence. "What?"

"You know what."

"I really don't," you said, which was a complete lie delivered with complete confidence, and you said sweetly, stepping a little closer even though there was plenty of space. Your eyes dropped to his mouth for a second, then back up and somehow you were still managing to seem like the most irritating and attractive person he'd ever encountered in his life. "I just asked you to help me carry pizza, Jake."

"That's not –" he stopped and looked at you. You looked back at him, waiting. "You've been doing that thing all afternoon."

"What thing?"

The elevator was moving, seven floors to go. "You know what thing."

"I genuinely don't know what you're talking about," you said.

Jake looked at the elevator doors then back at you. "You're going to get me killed by your brother," he said.

"Jay's not going to do anything to you."

"You don't know that."

"I know Jay," you said. "He'll be annoying about it for like two weeks and then he'll get over it."

Jake stared at you. "That implies there's something for him to get annoyed about."

"Isn't there?" you said, and the elevator doors opened on Jay's floor, and you walked out with the pizza like that sentence hadn't just happened, and Jake stood there for a second before the doors started to close and he had to stick his arm out to stop them. 

And what happened between you two that night was, in Jake's words, the best sex he'd ever had.

After everyone said their goodbyes at Jay's and the group started splitting up, you turned to him with the sweetest, most innocent little smile and asked, "Jake, can you give me a ride home? I don't feel like taking an Uber this late." He just nodded, trying to look normal, and said "yeah, sure" while Sunghoon and Heeseung gave him one last knowing side eye. The car ride was quiet at first, but the second you two pulled up in front of your building you looked over at him and said, "Come up for a bit?"

Jake didn't even pretend to hesitate. Your apartment was cute as hell, by the way. Soft lighting, a big comfortable looking puff in the corner that screamed "perfect for sitting and getting straddled," and a whole shelf full of those little Hirono figures lined up like a tiny army watching everything. He was still busy scanning the place, smiling at how it was so you, when you decided you'd waited long enough. The second the door clicked shut you were on him.

You grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and pulled him into a kiss that was anything but innocent, even a little bit desperate, tongue immediately sliding against his. Jake made a surprised sound into your mouth but kissed you back just as hard, hands finding your waist. "I couldn't stop thinking about you since last time," you breathed against his lips, biting his bottom one right after. "Kept remembering how pretty you sounded begging." Jake let out a low chuckle, the smugness creeping in now that he wasn't trapped in an elevator with you. He walked you backwards until your back hit the wall, pressing his body against yours.

"Oh really?" he murmured, voice dropping. His hand slid down to grip your ass, squeezing hard. "You spent all afternoon teasing the shit out of me in front of your brother and now you're admitting you were horny the whole time?"

You grinned, and rolled your hips against him. "Maybe. What are you gonna do about it?"

He kissed you again, slower this time but filthier, tongue licking into your mouth while he pinned you harder against the wall. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushed yours. "I think I'm gonna make you beg this time," he said. "Since you had so much fun with me the other night."

You laughed softly but there was a challenge in it. "Good luck with that, Jakey."

"Yeah?" He slipped his thigh between your legs, pressing up just right, and you couldn't stop the little gasp that escaped. "You've been acting like such a fucking brat all day. You wanted me worked up, didn't you?"

You rolled your hips against his thigh again and looked him straight in the eyes. "Yeah, I did," you said, voice already a little unsteady. "I kept thinking about how you'd look trying to hide it in front of everyone. It was hot."

Jake's expression shifted, something hungrier crossing his face and he didn't answer with words. Instead he grabbed your waist, turned you and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You landed on the mattress with a soft bounce, and before you could push yourself up he was already over you, knees bracketing your hips, one hand catching both your wrists and pinning them above your head against the pillow. He leaned down close, mouth right next to your ear, voice low. "You really like pushing me, yeah?" His free hand pushed your top up slowly, fingers dragging over your skin. 

You tugged at your wrists just to test him, but he held them firm. A shiver ran through you when he kissed down the side of your neck, open mouthed and wet, then sucked lightly under your jaw. "Jake…" you started, but he cut you off by pressing his thigh between your legs again, this time with more pressure.

"Tell me what you were thinking about," he murmured against your collarbone. "When you were teasing me in front of your brother. Be honest."

You bit your lip, trying to keep some control, but your breathing was already getting faster. "I was thinking about how you sounded last time…"

He let out a quiet laugh, almost surprised, and pulled your top the rest of the way off. His eyes moved over you for a second before he lowered his head and kissed between your breasts, then lower, across your stomach. He took his time undoing your jeans, sliding them down your legs along with your panties, leaving you completely bare under him. When he settled between your thighs he pushed them wider apart with his hands, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there. He looked up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and there was that smug little edge in his expression again. "You're already this wet," he said, running one finger slowly up your pussy and spreading the slickness. "Just from teasing me all night?"

You opened your mouth to answer but he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit. Your hips jerked and a moan slipped out before you could stop it. Jake hummed against you, the vibration making your thighs tense. "Fuck… Jake–" He did it again but slower, tasting you properly, then closed his lips around your clit and sucked gently. Your back arched off the bed and you pulled hard at the hand still pinning your wrists, but he didn't let go.

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny. "You taste so fucking good." Then he went back in, licking and sucking with more focus, and every time you tried to roll your hips up to get more he'd press you back down with the hand on your stomach, keeping you right where he wanted. You were breathing hard, little sounds escaping despite yourself.

"Shit– Jake, please…" you gasped.

He lifted his head with his lips wet, eyes dark as he looked up at you. "Please what?" His voice was low, almost sweet. "You gotta tell me, baby. I wanna hear it."

You glared at him even as your cheeks burned, still trying to hold onto that bratty attitude. "Don't stop… keep going."

Jake smiled, slow and knowing. "That's not very specific." He pressed a soft, teasing kiss right above your clit. "You made me beg last time, remember? Fair's fair."

He licked you again, deliberately slow, dragging the flat of his tongue over your clit before pulling away completely. You let out a frustrated sound and tried to move your hips toward his mouth, but he held you still. "Jake, come on–"

"Use your words like a big girl," he said, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh, then biting lightly. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."

"I wanna cum," you whispered. "Please, Jake… make me cum." The smug little smile he gave you was almost unbearable, but then he dipped his head again and there was no more teasing. He licked you like he was starving for it with hungry strokes of his tongue, then focusing on your clit with steady pressure, sucking gently and then harder when your moans got louder. He kept your wrists pinned with one hand and used the other to hold your hip down so you couldn't squirm away from the intensity. "Fuck– right there–" you gasped, head tipping back against the pillow.

The pressure built fast and sharp, and when it finally broke you came hard, thighs clamping around his head, a broken moan spilling out of you as your whole body tensed and then melted. Jake didn't stop right away, he kept licking you through it, slower and softer, until you were twitching and pushing at his shoulder. Only then did he kiss his way back up your body with open mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, up your neck, until he reached your mouth. He kissed you deep and you could feel how hard he was against your thigh.

"You sounded so fucking pretty," he murmured against your lips. "Love when you beg like that."

You let him enjoy his victory for about ten seconds. Then you smiled, sweet and dangerous, and in one quick move you pushed his shoulder and rolled, flipping him onto his back so you were straddling his hips. Jake's eyes widened in surprise, a startled laugh escaping him. You settled on top of him, your hands sliding up his chest, he was still fully dressed from the waist down and you could feel how hard he was under you. You rolled your hips slowly, grinding against his bulge, and watched his breath catch. "Think you can just get away with it?" you asked, leaning down to kiss along his jawline. You sucked lightly on the spot right under his ear, the one you already knew made him weak, and smiled when his hands gripped your thighs tighter.

"Baby–" he started, but you cut him off by palming him through his jeans, squeezing just enough to make his hips jerk up.

You kissed down his neck, biting softly, then whispered right against his skin, "You looked so good between my legs… but I like you like this too."

Jake let out a shaky breath, head tilting back against the pillow as you kept kissing and biting along his jaw and throat. His hands slid up your sides but didn't try to take over, he was letting you have this, and the way his breathing kept stuttering told you he was enjoying it more than he wanted to admit. You popped the button on his jeans and slid your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around him. He was hot and heavy in your palm, already leaking, and you stroked him slowly, thumb brushing over the head. "Fuck…" he groaned, eyes fluttering shut. His hips twitched up into your hand, chasing the touch.

You kept kissing his jaw, his neck, the corner of his mouth, while you worked him with your hand with slow, tight strokes that had him breathing through his mouth. "Look at you," you murmured, voice low and teasing. "You like it when I take over, don't you?"

Jake swallowed hard, cheeks flushed. He opened his eyes and looked up at you, that mix of smug and submissive that made your stomach flip. "Yeah… shit, I do," he admitted, his hands squeezed your thighs like he needed something to hold onto. "Keep going… please."

You smiled against his neck and stroked him a little faster, twisting your wrist just how you knew he liked from last time. He let out a broken sound that went straight between your legs. "Yeah," you whispered, nipping at his earlobe. "Be good for me again, Jakey."

And oh boy, he was good. Jake's head tipped back against the pillow, eyes half closed and his mouth open as every slow twist of your wrist pulled another broken little sound out of him raw and helpless. His hips kept twitching up into your fist, chasing the tight heat of your hand, and you could feel him throbbing, getting impossibly harder, the head of his cock slick and leaking over your fingers. "Fuck– baby, slow down," he gasped, but his body was saying the exact opposite, pushing up harder like he couldn't stop himself. You didn't slow down, you stroked him faster and watched his abs tense, his thighs shaking under you.

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear again. "You close already, Jakey? Gonna cum all over my hand like a good boy?"

He made a strangled noise, hips stuttering. "Shit yeah, I'm– fuck, I'm really close–"

You slowed your hand at the last second, squeezing the base just enough to edge him right there on the brink. Jake's eyes flew open, desperate and glassy. "Tell me," you whispered, still stroking him slowly and torturously. "You wanna cum like this or do you wanna cum inside me?"

"Inside you– fuck, please, inside you, I need it so bad," and it came out so fast and desperate it was almost funny. You laughed softly and kissed him once, quick and dirty, before you sat up and shoved his jeans the rest of the way down his thighs.

You didn't even bother taking them all the way off. You just swung your leg over him, lined him up, and sank down in one smooth motion. The stretch was perfect, it was thick and hot and so deep you both groaned at the same time. Jake's hands flew to your hips, fingers digging in hard as you bottomed out, your ass flush against his thighs. "Oh fuck, yes," he breathed, voice hoarse. "You feel so fucking good baby–"

You didn't give him time to adjust. You started moving right away, rolling your hips in slow, filthy circles at first, then lifting up and dropping back down harder, finding a rhythm that made the headboard knock softly against the wall. Every time you sank down he hit that spot inside you that made sparks shoot up your spine, and you let yourself moan loud and shameless, not caring who heard.

Jake looked wrecked underneath you with flushed cheeks, messy hair, lips parted, eyes locked on the way your tits bounced every time you rode him. But he wasn't completely gone, his hand cracked against your ass with a sharp smack, the sting blooming hot and perfect. "Fuck– yeah, just like that," he groaned, voice breaking. He slapped your ass again, harder this time, and you clenched around him so tight he cursed.

You leaned forward, hands braced on his chest, and started bouncing faster, thighs burning in the best way. "You like it when I ride you like this?" you panted, grinding down deep on every thrust. "Like being good to me?"

Jake whimpered and nodded frantically, hips snapping up to meet you. "Yes shit, yes, use me, I don't care– fuck–"

The switch was so easy between you two now, flipping back and forth without thinking. One second he was slapping your ass and thrusting up like he was trying to ruin you, the next he was looking up at you with those big, needy eyes, letting you pin him down and take whatever you wanted. You rode him harder, grinding your clit against him on every downstroke, the wet sound of skin on skin filling the room. Jake's hands were everywhere – squeezing your ass, sliding up to pinch your nipples, then back down to slap you again when you started slowing down just to tease him.

You felt another orgasm building fast and you didn't fight it. You leaned down close and grabbed his jaw with one hand, forcing him to look at you. "Open your mouth," you ordered, voice rough.

Jake's eyes widened but he obeyed instantly, lips parting, tongue just barely showing. You didn't even slow your hips, you just kept riding him deep and steady while you leaned in and spit right onto his tongue. He moaned like it was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him, eyes fluttering shut as he swallowed without being told. His hips jerked up hard, slamming into you, and the slap of skin got louder, messier. "Fuck, that's so hot," he gasped, voice completely shot.

You kept riding him like that for a few more seconds, hips grinding down deep while he swallowed and looked up at you like he was completely gone. But Jake had clearly reached his limit. "Enough," he said, voice low and rough. He grabbed your hips hard and flipped you over in one fast move, putting you on your stomach. "On your knees, baby. Ass up."

You didn't even think about arguing. You pushed yourself up, arching your back the way he wanted, and felt the mattress dip as he knelt behind you. His hands spread your cheeks almost immediately, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. "Fuck, look at you," he muttered. "All wet and messy from riding me. Such a good girl."

He rubbed the head of his cock up and down your pussy a couple times, teasing your entrance, then pushed in deep in one smooth thrust. You moaned loud into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets. He felt even bigger from this angle, stretching you open perfectly. Jake gripped your hips and fucked you hard with deep strokes that made your whole body rock forward.

"That's it," he growled, one hand sliding up your back to press between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest down. "Take it just like that. Fuck, your pussy is squeezing me so tight." You were slipping fast into that softer, needier headspace, moaning every time he bottomed out. He leaned over you, chest against your back, and spoke right next to your ear. "You like it e when I fuck you from behind, don't you?" He gave you a particularly hard thrust that made you whimper. 

His hand moved down, and you felt his thumb circle your asshole, pressing lightly. You tensed for a second, then moaned louder when he pushed the tip of his thumb inside, just a little, while still fucking you deep. "Yeah? You like that?" he asked, as he worked his thumb in and out slowly, matching the rhythm of his cock. "Want me playing with your tight little ass while I fuck this pussy?"

You nodded frantically against the pillow, pushing back against him. "Yes– fuck, Jake–"

He groaned and gave you more, sliding his thumb deeper while he kept pounding into you. The double sensation was overwhelming, making your legs shake. Every thrust pushed you closer, and Jake could feel it. "You gonna cum again?" he asked, breathing hard, still fucking you deep.

"Yeah," you moaned into the pillow. "I'm so close, Jake. Don't stop– please don't stop."

He groaned at how desperate you sounded and picked up the pace, slamming into you harder. The wet slap of his hips against your ass mixed with the filthy sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy. His thumb pushed a little deeper, stretching you just right, and the overwhelming fullness made your eyes roll back. "Fuck, you're gripping me so tight," he growled. "This pussy is gonna make me cum if you keep squeezing like that."

You were right on the edge, every hard thrust pushed you closer until you couldn't hold it anymore. "Jake– I'm gonna cum," you gasped, voice breaking. "Please cum inside me. I want it. Fill me up please, please cum in me."

The words barely left your mouth before your orgasm hit you like a wave. You cried out, clenching hard around his cock and his thumb, whole body shaking as pleasure crashed through you. Jake cursed loudly, hips stuttering. "Shit– yeah, take it," he groaned, burying himself as deep as he could. "Gonna fill this pretty pussy up."

He came hard right after you, thick and hot, pulsing deep inside while he kept fucking you through both your orgasms. You could feel every twitch of his cock until you were dripping and messy between your thighs. For a moment the only sounds were both of you trying to catch your breath. Then Jake slowly pulled out, his cum already starting to leak from you. He grabbed your hips keeping your ass up and leaned down. "Stay just like that," he murmured.

He spread your cheeks with both hands and dragged his tongue all the way from your swollen clit up to both of your holes, licking up his own cum in one long stripe. You whimpered at how sensitive you were, but he didn't stop. "Fuck, Jake…" you moaned weakly, twitching every time his tongue passed over your clit.

He hummed against you, clearly enjoying himself way too much. "Taste so fucking good together, can't waste any of it."

He kept licking you lazily from behind until you were trembling and oversensitive, then finally kissed the curve of your ass and collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest.

And remember when Jake said that was the best sex he'd ever had? Well, he lied. I mean, he didn't, but the thing is he had the best sex of his life with you multiple times after that, so that meant the bar kept moving, which meant he kept revising the statement, which meant at some point the statement stopped being a useful metric for anything and he just had to accept that you had broken something in his brain that was not going back to its original position.

What that night did, more than anything else, was open a door. And once a door like that is open you don't really close it again, you just kind of agree to keep walking through it whenever it makes sense, and then it starts making sense more and more often, and before you know it you've been doing this for five months and nobody has said a single word about what it is. That's not a criticism, that's just what happens when two people are having a genuinely good time and neither of them wants to be the one to introduce paperwork into the situation.

The thing about having that kind of arrangement with someone in your twenties is that it's good in a way that's hard to explain to someone who hasn't been in it. It's casual in the best sense of the word, there's no pressure, no performance, no having to show up as anything other than exactly who you are on any given day. Jake could text you at eleven on a tuesday and you'd say come over or you wouldn't and either way it was fine, nobody's feelings got managed, nobody had to have a conversation about expectations. You'd show up, it would be great, one of you would leave, and then a few days later it would happen again. Transactional sounds like a bad word but it wasn't, it was clean and easy and it worked.

Except for the parts where it didn't.

Jake kept bumping what was the waking up alone situation, and that never fully stopped being a thing. He'd gotten better at it, in the sense that he'd stopped expecting otherwise, but there's a difference between not expecting something and being fine with it, and Jake was operating solidly in the first category while telling himself it was the second. Because, well, you always left. Sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes early morning, once while he was still technically in the shower, which he found out when he came back to an empty room and a text that said had fun, talk later with a little waving hand emoji that he chose not to analyze too deeply.

There were good stretches and weird stretches and stretches where you'd disappear for a couple weeks and he'd go about his life and not text you first because he'd learned by then that pushing got him nothing, and then you'd come back and it would be like the reset button had been pressed and everything was fine again. He'd had enough of those cycles by month three to recognize them as a pattern. Recognizing a pattern and doing something about it are different skills and Jake had only fully developed one of them.

The moments that got him, specifically, were the ones that didn't fit neatly into the casual box. Like that day you showed up at his and Heeseung's place with no particular agenda and that had never happened before, you'd always had a reason, a direction, somewhere to be after. But that day you just came over and sat on his couch and said put something on, and Jake put something on and you watched a movie and somewhere in the middle of it you ended up sideways with your legs over his and his arm around you and you fell asleep for twenty minutes on his shoulder, and he sat there not moving and watching the rest of the movie and thinking, okay, this is a different thing, this is a new category.

He made dinner after, just pasta because it was what he had and neither of you had eaten, and you sat at his kitchen counter and stole pieces of bread while he cooked and complained about your thesis advisor and he gave you genuinely useless advice that you told him was genuinely useless and you both laughed about it, and it was domestic in a way that nothing between you two had been before. It was easy in a different way than the other easy.

You two did have crazy monkey sex afterwards, obviously, a cozy evening apparently had a very natural endpoint when it was you two involved, but the point is the cozy evening happened first, and Jake went to sleep that night thinking maybe this was shifting into something with more weight to it. Jake woke up alone, of course.

By month six Heeseung had watched enough of this play out from a front row seat to have developed opinions about it, which was inevitable, and those opinions had been accumulating for long enough that they required a formal airing. "We need to talk about the Y/N thing," Heeseung said.

"There's no thing. It's casual." Jake said.

"It has been months of casual dude," Heeseung replied. "You haven't hooked up with anyone else in five months. You cancelled on that girl Jungwon introduced you to because you were, and I'm quoting you directly here, not really feeling it right now. You got quiet at that party two weeks ago when she was talking to that guy."

Jake put his hands down. "I wasn't —"

"You were," Heeseung interrupted, not unkindly. "I'm not saying this to give you a hard time, I'm saying it because you're my friend and I've watched you go through this loop enough times and you've gone there anyway and you need to either say something about it or accept that you're going to keep waking up alone and feeling like shit about it."

Jake looked at the table. Then at his cereal. Then at Heeseung, who was looking at him with the patient, slightly tired expression of someone who had been waiting for this conversation for a while and was just glad it was finally happening. "She doesn't want anything serious," Jake said, which was the thing he always came back to.

"Did she tell you that? Directly? To your face?"

"No but Jay said –"

"Jay said that months ago man," Heeseung said. "That's not the same as her telling you now, those are two different infos and you're using the old one because it's easier than asking about the current one."

Jake had nothing to say to that because it was correct and he knew it was correct and knowing something is correct and being ready to act on it are still two different things. So Jake did what he did best, which was absolutely nothing. He filed the whole thing under "will deal with later" and went about his life with the practiced ease of someone who had been avoiding his own feelings since approximately age nineteen and had gotten very good at it. The situation was what it was and he was an adult and adults could handle ambiguous situationships without imploding, that was just a thing adults did, he was doing it, everything was under control. He managed this for about three more weeks.

Then he saw you with Soobin. Now look, Soobin was – okay, there's no way to say this without it sounding insane but Soobin was objectively one of the most disarmingly attractive people Jake had ever met in his life, and he meant that in the most objective, non threatened way possible. Soobin had this face that looked like someone had put in a very specific request with the universe like big eyes, the guy was massive, tall as hell, and still he had this soft energy that made everyone around him feel immediately comfortable and also vaguely like they wanted to protect him, which was funny because Soobin was not a person who needed protecting, he was just built in a way that made people feel that instinct. 

And there you were standing way too close to each other and you were laughing at something he'd said with your hand on his arm and Soobin was smiling at you like you were the funniest person he'd encountered all semester. It was objectively innocent and it was probably completely innocent. Jake watched it from across the courtyard for about fifteen seconds and felt his entire chest do something unpleasant.

Jake at twenty two was marginally more self aware than he'd been at twenty one, and that meant he knew that what he was feeling was jealousy and that jealousy was his problem to manage and not a logical basis for any decisions. He knew this. He sat with this knowledge for approximately four days and then went and texted Minjeong, which was either proof that self awareness and self control are completely separate skills or just proof that knowing better and doing better have never been the same thing and probably never will be.

Jake dated Minjeong for a few weeks before, not actually dated but more like the kind of thing that had been easy and low stakes and had faded out naturally because neither of them had been particularly invested, which in retrospect made her a terrible choice for what Jake was trying to do, because Minjeong was smart and she knew him well enough to immediately clock that something was off. She responded to his first text warmly enough but when he tried to suggest hanging out she said, with the directness of someone who had no interest in being a supporting character in someone else's drama, "are you doing okay? you seem weird." He said he was fine. She said okay but you seem like you're in your head about something. He said he wasn't. She said she believed him and also that she was busy this week, and that was pretty much that.

Minjeong was not going to be a pawn in whatever this was and honestly, fair enough. Jake deleted the thread and lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling and thought about how even his attempt to be stupid about this had failed, which was a new low.

He'd been doing this for about two weeks, going back and forth and getting nowhere, and then, when he was heading to his car after his last class that week, thinking about nothing except that he hadn't eaten since noon and needed to fix that, he heard his name from behind him and turned around and it was you, slightly out of breath like you'd jogged a little to catch up.

"Hey," you said, falling into step next to him. "You walking to the lot?"

"Yeah," he said. "You need a ride?"

"No I'm good, I'm meeting someone." You paused. "I just wanted to ask you something."

"Okay."

You were quiet for a second in the way that meant you were deciding how to phrase something. "Are you seeing Minjeong again?" you asked, and your voice was totally casual, just a question, except it was not just a question and you both knew it.

Jake stopped walking. You stopped next to him. He looked at you. "Where did you hear that?"

"Around," you said, which was not an answer.

"Around meaning who."

"Does it matter?"

"Kind of, yeah."

You looked at him with this expression that was doing a lot of things at once. "So are you?" you asked again.

Jake looked at you for a second and then almost laughed, not because it was funny exactly but because of the specific absurdity of the situation, of you standing here asking him about Minjeong with that look on your face, after weeks of him watching you with Soobin and saying nothing about it, after months of him waking up alone and saying nothing about that either. "No," he said. "I'm not seeing Minjeong."

"Okay," you said.

"I texted her like twice and she was busy," he said, and he wasn't sure why he was giving you that level of detail except that something about your expression made him want to be honest about it. "It wasn't anything."

You nodded slowly. "How come you texted her then?"

"I don't know," he said, which was a lie, and by the way you looked at him he could tell you knew it was a lie, but you didn't push it, you just stood there with your arms crossed and your head tilted slightly like you were waiting to see if he'd say the rest of it on his own. He didn't, Jake e was not ready for the rest of it on his own.

"Okay," you said again, and there was something in your voice that sounded like it wanted to be more than okay but had decided against it, so Jake filed away to think about later when he was alone and could turn it over properly. You uncrossed your arms. "I'll see you around, Jake."

"Yeah," he said.

You walked off in the direction you'd come from and Jake stood next to his car with his keys in his hand watching you go and thinking, she asked. She came over here specifically to ask me about Minjeong, which means she noticed, which means she was paying attention, which means there is something here that is not nothing and we are both standing right next to it and pretending we can't see it.

Jake got in the car, drove home, and spent the entire ride being quietly, unreasonably annoyed at everything. Not at you specifically, or at least that's what he was telling himself, more at the general situation, at the specific cruelty of the universe for engineering something that felt this close to something real and then consistently making it impossible to get there. He was annoyed at Minjeong for being perceptive, at Soobin for existing and being objectively very pretty, at himself for texting Minjeong in the first place, which he knew was stupid while he was doing it and had done anyway because apparently knowing something is stupid is not sufficient protection against doing it. Twenty two years old. So much growth.

The Soobin thing, to be clear, had no evidence behind it. Jake knew this but he had convictions, not proof, which is the worst possible combination because convictions without proof live entirely in your head and your head is not an objective narrator. He'd seen you together twice and you were touchy with people you liked, that was just how you were, he knew that, he'd watched you do it with your friends a hundred times. The hand on the arm meant nothing, probably. The laughing meant nothing, probably. Soobin was in your friend group adjacent circle and it made complete sense that you'd have a normal friendship with him that involved proximity and laughter and absolutely nothing else and Jake had zero basis for any of the conclusions he'd been drawing for two weeks.

But he wasn't going to say any of that to you. He wasn't going to say anything to you because saying anything to you meant talking about why he'd texted Minjeong which meant talking about seeing you with Soobin which meant explaining why seeing you with Soobin had bothered him which meant having the exact conversation Heeseung had told him to have weeks ago, and Jake was not ready, had not been ready, kept moving the goalposts on when he would be ready, and in the meantime was going to deal with this the way he dealt with everything which was poorly and quietly.

So you two didn't talk, at all. You didn't fight or anything, just because neither of you reached out and the silence settled in the way silence does when two people are both waiting for the other one to go first. It was one of the worst months Jake had had in a while, which embarrassed him slightly to admit because (objectively) nothing had happened. Nothing had been lost that he'd technically had to begin with. You weren't his girlfriend, you didn't owe him texts, the silence was not a punishment and he had no logical claim to feel as bad as he felt about it. But feelings are not interested in your logical framework, they just do what they do, and what Jake's were doing was making him terrible company for approximately five consecutive weeks.

Week one he was mostly just annoyed and told himself he'd feel better eventually. Week two he did not feel better. Week three Sunghoon asked him at lunch why he looked like that and Jake said nothing's wrong I'm just tired, and Sunghoon nodded in the way that meant he did not believe a single word of that but had chosen to let it go.

Week four was genuinely bad. He saw you across the courtyard with a matcha latte and your headphones on, clearly going somewhere, clearly fine, and he had to make a very deliberate choice to keep walking in the other direction and then felt sorry for himself about it for the rest of the afternoon, which was pathetic and he knew it was pathetic and could not stop. He typed a text to you three times and deleted it three times and then put his phone face down on the table and watched TV for two hours without taking in a single thing that happened on screen.

Week five he was sitting in his morning class not paying attention to anything when his phone buzzed with a text from you that just said hey, you good? and Jake stared at it for long enough that the professor made a comment about phones and he had to put it away, and he spent the remaining forty minutes of class with the focus of someone who had something much more important to attend to the second he got out.

He texted back the second he was out the door. Yeah, I'm good. You? and what followed was the most aggressively normal conversation two people have ever had, you talked about nothing for about twenty minutes – something about a class, you mentioned a show you'd started watching and he said he'd heard of it, and that was genuinely it, that was the whole exchange.

The thing was Jake knew what the problem was. He wasn't confused about the problem. The problem was that every time he was actually talking to you his brain split into two tracks – the one that was present in the conversation and the one running in the background doing risk assessment, calculating how much of what he actually wanted to say was safe to say, how much would land okay and how much would make things weird, and by the time the background track finished its calculations the conversation had moved on and the moment was gone. He'd been doing it for years, it was not a new problem. He just couldn't figure out how to turn the background track off.

Jake looked at his phone then. He typed a few things and deleted them, which was a habit he'd developed since you two started hanging out. He typed I miss you mostly just to see how it looked, fully intending to delete it like everything else, and then sat there looking at it for a second too long, and then sent it before the part of his brain that managed his decisions could intervene. He put his phone face down on the cushion immediately after, like creating physical distance from it would somehow change what had just happened. 

You'd seen it – no response. So he put it face down again.

The thing about sending a text and watching it get read and then getting nothing back is that it's one of those experiences that is objectively minor and feels catastrophic for reasons that are hard to explain to anyone who didn't live it. The message just sits there read out in the open. And your brain, which is not your friend in these moments, starts generating explanations for the silence at a pace that is not useful and cannot be stopped. She's busy. She's thinking about what to say. She's showing it to someone. She's not going to respond. She thinks it's weird. She's fine with it. She hates it. She hates me. She saw it and put her phone down to do something else and forgot and she'll respond later. She's not going to respond. She wants me dead. I should never have asked her if she thinks I'm a twink.

Jake went to bed without a response and woke up the next day to nothing (he checked before he was fully awake) so that added its own specific layer of bad to the morning. And somewhere around mid afternoon, having run out of productive options, he made the executive decision to smoke a completely unreasonable amount of weed and play video games for the rest of the day, which was not a solution to anything but was at least a suspension of the problem, and that was good enough for right now. He was deep into it, and when his brain finally quieted, the doorbell rang. He paused the game and sat there for a second like maybe if he waited long enough it would sort itself out, and then it rang again and he got up, slow, and opened the door.

You were standing in the hallway with your bag on one shoulder and this expression on your face that he couldn't immediately read, and you looked at him and then did a quick scan of the general situation – the slightly glazed eyes, the very specific energy of someone who had been horizontal for hours – and said: "are you high?"

"A little bit," he said, which was generous. "What are you doing here?"

"You said you missed me," you said, just like that, straightforward, and Jake stood in the doorway and looked at you and felt his brain (which was not operating at full capacity) attempt to catch up to what was happening.

"I did," he said.

"I didn't know what to text back so I just didn't, and then I felt bad about not texting back, so." You gestured vaguely at the hallway, at yourself, at the general situation. 

Jake looked at you standing at his door at four in the afternoon because he'd said three words and you hadn't known what to say and had shown up instead, and he thought, not for the first time and probably not for the last, that you were the most confusing person he had ever met in his life and he was absolutely crazy about you and those two things were going to be true simultaneously for the foreseeable future. "Okay," he said, and stepped back to let you in.

You dropped your bag by the door and went and sat on the couch like you'd been there a hundred times, which you had, and Jake went to the kitchen and got two glasses of water on autopilot because he needed something to do with his hands and also because he was dehydrated and still a little high and the combination was making him feel like he was watching the situation from slightly outside himself.

He came back and handed you one and sat down on the other end of the couch, not too close, and for a second neither of you said anything. You were looking at your water glass. He was looking at the middle distance. Very cinematic, very unnecessary. "So," you said.

"So," he said.

You smiled a little at that, and then it faded and you went back to looking at the glass. "I've been kind of weird lately," you said. "I know that."

"It's fine," he said, automatic, and then caught himself. "I mean, it's not, like – I noticed. That's all."

You nodded slowly. "The Minjeong thing threw me off."

"There was no Minjeong thing."

"I know that now." You paused. "I didn't know it then. And I didn't really have a right to care about it either way, made it more annoying to care about it."

That was more than you usually gave him, more direct than you tended to be about anything that touched on the actual situation between you two, and he wasn't sure if it was an invitation to say more or just a thing you were putting down and moving past. He decided to treat it like an invitation. "Why didn't you have a right to care," he asked, and it came out more careful than accusatory.

You looked at him for a second. "Because we're not — this isn't a thing where I get to have opinions about who you talk to."

"I have opinions about who you talk to," he said. 

You were quiet, receiving information and sitting with it instead of deflecting immediately, which for you was actually something. "Soobin is one of my best friends, you know, since like sophomore year of high school."

"I didn't know that."

"Well, you didn't ask."

He picked up his water glass and put it down again without drinking from it. "I'm not – I'm not trying to make this into a fight. I just think we've been doing this thing where we're both aware something is going on and neither of us is saying it and I'm kind of tired of it."

You looked at your hands. "Yeah."

"So I'm saying it," he said. "I like you. I've liked you for a long time, like a stupid long time, and I know that's not what we agreed to and I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, I just, I think you should know, because I'm done pretending it's purely casual on my end because it's not, and hasn't been for a while."

The room was quiet. You weren't looking at him and he was looking at you and the weed had not prepared him for this level of conversation but here you were, doing it anyway. You took a breath. "I like you too," you said it plainly. "That's not – that's not the issue for me."

"Okay," he said carefully. "So what is it?"

You were quiet for long enough that he thought you might not answer, and then you said, "I don't know how to do it. Like, how to date someone, not anymore... I think." You said it to the middle distance, not to him, which he'd learned meant you were being more honest than comfortable. "I was in a relationship for a long time and it was fine for most of it and then it wasn't and when it ended I realized I'd spent like two years just, like, going along with something because it was already in motion and I didn't know how to stop it. And I don't want to do that again. And you're –" you paused. "You're someone I actually like being around. Like, outside of everything else. And I don't want to do the thing where we try to make it into something and it goes wrong and then that's gone."

"So it's easier to keep it as nothing."

"It's not nothing, Jake," you said, with a bit more edge, and looked at him properly for the first time since you'd sat down. "It's never been nothing, that's the whole problem."

Jake looked back at you and felt the specific exhaustion of two people who are on the same page about all the wrong things. You liked him and he liked you, but you were both scared of different versions of the same outcome and the overlap between those fears was exactly the space where nothing could grow. He understood it and he hated that he understood it. "So what do we do," he said.

You looked at him for a long moment and he could see you working through it. "I think maybe we should just be friends," you said. "I think we skipped a lot of steps and now everything is – tangled, and I don't know how to... untangle it."

It landed the way he'd expected it to land and it was not great, but not as bad as it could have been either. It wasn't a no, exactly. It was more like a not like this and not right now, so his brain tried to file as encouraging and his chest filed as disappointing regardless. "Okay," he said.

"Okay?"

"I mean, no, not okay, it kind of sucks," he said, and you laughed a little at that, surprised, and he felt the tension in the room drop half a degree. "But I get it. I don't love it but I get it."

So that being said, the whole just friends thing lasted for three days.

In retrospect, it was optimistic of both of you. The conversation had been mature and the intentions had been real and Jake had genuinely gone to bed that night thinking okay, this is the reset, this is the thing that changes the dynamic, we talked about it like adults and now it's going to be different. And then three days later there was a thing at Heeseung's girlfriend's place, just a small group and a few drinks, nothing that should've led anywhere, except you were there and Jake was there and at some point the evening got late enough and the drinks got sufficient enough that the careful distance you'd both agreed to maintain started feeling a little abstract and unnecessary, and then you were in the kitchen alone for five minutes while everyone else was in the living room and that was that.

The night ended the way it usually ended. His place, late, Jake came when you called him a good boy, you two had crazy monkey sex, Jake fell asleep next to you and woke up reaching for something that wasn't there anymore. The bed was cold, the glass in the drying rack was clean. Aw shit, he thought, here we go again.

The difference this time, the thing that made this loop slightly different from the one before, was that Jake had promised himself he wasn't going to pretend. He'd done enough pretending, enough filing things away and leaving them for future Jake and treating honesty like it was optional. So when you texted him two days later like nothing had happened he didn't just go along with it, he said can we talk and you said yeah and you did, and it was fine, it was actually fine, you were both adults about it and nobody cried or slammed doors or said anything they couldn't come back from.

You agreed, again, to be just friends, and that lasted about a week. And then it happened again, and you agreed again, and it lasted less time than that, and somewhere around the fourth or fifth cycle Jake stopped counting because the counting wasn't useful and the cycle was the cycle regardless of how many times it had completed. This was just the shape of the thing. You two were apparently constitutionally incapable of maintaining the resolution long enough for it to stick, which would've been funny if it weren't also slowly making him insane.

The loop went like this, roughly: something would happen, one of you would pull back, there'd be a stretch of weird distance, then a conversation, then just friends, then three to ten days of actually being just friends which was fine except for the part where it wasn't, and then something would shift (you were both horny and crazy for each other) and the whole thing would reset. Sometimes you'd disappear after. Sometimes he would, genuinely, just to see if it felt different from the receiving end, which it didn't, it just felt like he was being petty (he was). Occasionally one of you would get weird about something the other one had done and it would surface in a conversation that started about something else entirely.

Like the time Jake saw a guy dropping you off outside your building and spent two days being normal about it until you came over and he was so aggressively, transparently normal about it that you noticed immediately. "What's wrong with you," you said, not even five minutes in.

"Nothing," he said.

"It's clearly something, I know you."

He looked at you. "Who dropped you off on thursday?"

You blinked. "Yeonjun. He's in my thesis group." You looked at him for a second. "You saw that?"

"I was walking back from the gym."

"And you've been weird about it for two days."

"I haven't been weird?"

"Yes, you have?"

He stopped. "Yeah, okay, I've been a little weird about it."

You sat back and looked at him with an expression that was more tired than annoyed. "You can't do that," you said. "You can't be weird about that if this isn't a thing. That's not fair."

"I'm not saying it's fair. I'm saying it happened."

"So what do you want me to do with that?"

"Nothing," he said. "I'm not asking you to do anything with it. I'm just being honest about it because you asked."

Or the time you showed up at his place at eleven on a week day and you'd clearly had a bad day and you didn't really want to talk about it, you just wanted to exist somewhere that wasn't your apartment, and Jake let you in and didn't ask questions and you watched something on TV for two hours and it was easy and comfortable and at some point you fell asleep on the couch and he put a blanket over you and went to bed, and in the morning you made coffee and you both sat in the kitchen and it felt so much like something.

Or the time it turned into an actual argument. You'd gone quiet for two weeks after a particularly good night together that had felt like more than its usual self, and Jake had waited and waited and finally said something about it and it turned into the kind of conversation that starts about one thing and ends up being about everything underneath it. "You always do this," he said, and he hadn't meant it to come out with that much edge but it did. "You disappear every time it gets close to something real so you just check out. And then you come back and it's fine and we don't talk about it and then it happens again."

"I'm here right now," you said.

"You're here now because enough time passed that it felt okay to come back. That's not the same thing."

You looked at him and he could see the thing that happened when you felt cornered, this slight closing off, and he knew pressing wasn't going to get him anywhere but he was tired, genuinely tired in a way that had been building for months. "I told you from the beginning I wasn't good at this," you said.

"You told me you didn't want anyone to get hurt. Those aren't the same thing."

You were quiet for a long time, long enough that he thought the conversation might just end there unresolved like everything else. And then you said, "I don't know how to change it," and your voice was honest and Jake looked at you and felt the specific ache of two people who want the same thing and keep arriving at it from incompatible directions.

"Okay," he said, softer.

"I'm sorry," you said.

"Stop apologizing."

"I don't know what else to do."

"I know," he said. "Me neither."

You stayed that night. In the morning you were still there when he woke up, which was unusual enough that he lay still for a second just registering it, and when you woke up you didn't immediately reach for your phone or your bag, you just looked at him in the grey morning light and said "hi" and he said "hi" back.

And, well, that kept going for two years.

Two years is a long time when you're in your twenties. It doesn't sound like a long time but when you're twenty two and then you're twenty four it's actually enormous, it's the difference between who you were and who you're becoming, and you can feel it in the way you carry yourself, in the things that stop being funny and the things that start being, in the specific peace that comes from knowing yourself well enough to stop pretending you don't. Jake was not the same person he'd been at twenty one, or twenty two, or even twenty three. It wasn't a sad thing, it was just a true thing.

He didn't go to every party anymore, he'd gotten selective about where he put his energy, which is something nobody tells you happens in your twenties but it does. Jake was, by most measures, doing well. He had good friends (Heeseung), a job he didn't hate (Heeseung helped him get it), an apartment he and his roommate (also Heeseung) had quietly made into somewhere worth coming home to. The bones of a life, assembled slowly and without much ceremony, the way actual lives get built as opposed to the way you imagine they will be when you're nineteen and everything feels enormous and provisional.

The only thing that remained exactly as chaotic as it had always been, the one constant in three years of otherwise gradual maturation, was you. At some point over two years of this loop the loop started to look less like a loop and more like a life, and you both settled into it the way you settle into anything that's been around long enough. So you basically started acting like a couple.

He knew how you liked your matcha latte, you kept a charger at his place, and then a hoodie, and then a toothbrush. When something good happened, he texted you before he texted anyone else, even before Heeseung. You showed up to things together and left together and the space between you in a room had narrowed to something that everyone around you could read even when you were across from each other and not touching.

The arguments had quieted down too, which was maybe the most telling thing. Not because nothing was unresolved (plenty was still unresolved) but because the situation itself had worn down through sheer frequency of contact. Jake knew when you needed space before you asked for it. You knew when he was in his head about something before he said anything. That kind of knowledge doesn't come from a label, it comes from time, and you two had put in the time whether you'd meant to or not.

All of your friends knew, they'd known for a while, they'd probably known longer than Jake had known himself. Heeseung had stopped asking about it, which meant he'd accepted it as a permanent condition of Jake's life and had filed it accordingly. Sunghoon made exactly one comment once, which was just "you know this is kind of obvious, right," and Jake had said "thanks, Sunghoon" in a tone that closed the subject, and Sunghoon had let it stay closed but the look on his face had communicated volumes. Even Jay, who had made his peace with the situation through a combination of being a reasonable person and genuinely not wanting to know the details, had stopped doing the subtle check in thing he used to do, had stopped reading the room when Jake and his sister were in it together, because the room was always the same and he'd adjusted.

Everyone had adjusted and everyone could see it. Your friends, his friends, people who barely knew either of you, anyone who'd been in the same space as you two for more than forty minutes. Everyone except, apparently, you and Jake.

You both had an unspoken agreement to keep not naming it that had outlasted all reasonable explanations and was at this point less a decision and more a deeply ingrained habit that neither of you knew how to break without acknowledging that it existed. There's a specific kind of relationship that exists in the space between what it is and what it's called, and it's comfortable there, in that space, in a way that's hard to explain to someone on the outside because from the outside it looks like avoidance, and it is avoidance, but the reason nobody names it isn't always fear of losing it, sometimes it's just that the naming feels like the least important part when the thing itself is already so thoroughly present in your daily life that a word for it seems redundant. Well, that's what you told yourself, at least.

But accommodation isn't the same as acceptance, and acceptance isn't the same as being done with it, and Jake was twenty four now and not the same person he'd been at twenty one, and the things he was willing to keep accommodating indefinitely were getting fewer. He just hadn't done anything about it yet. Which was, if you'd been following along, extremely on brand. Somewhere in those two years a lot of small things accumulated that neither of you addressed directly because addressing them would've required acknowledging what they were, and you two had gotten very practiced at not doing that.

There was the running thing, which started because you had a route along the river near your apartment that you did a few times a week, and Jake had mentioned once that he'd been wanting to run more and you'd said come tomorrow then, casual, and he'd shown up the next morning and then the morning after that and then it just became a thing. He was faster than you over distance and slower than you on hills, and you'd figured out pretty quickly that the route worked better if you didn't try to talk for the first twenty minutes and just ran, and then the last stretch you'd slow down and talk about whatever, and it was one of the most genuinely easy things between you two, which was saying something. He started keeping a spare pair of running shoes at your place but neither of you mentioned it.

Every time he went home to visit his family he came back with food. Dumplings once, vacuum sealed, with a note from his mom that you were pretty sure was in part addressed to you even though Jake claimed it wasn't. He'd hand it over like he hadn't specifically told his mom what you liked, like his mom hadn't specifically made extra of it because her son had mentioned you enough times that she'd started cooking for two. You ate it and didn't say anything about the implications and neither did he.

Jay was around more, which was its own thing. Not because anything had been said between Jake and Jay about the situation – as far as you knew that conversation had never happened – but just because Jake and Jay had gotten closer over those two years in the natural way that happens when someone becomes a consistent presence in your life and you start to actually know them. Heeseung's girlfriend had started referring to the four of you as the four of you, which was something she'd done so naturally and so early that by the time anyone might've pushed back on it the window had passed. Movie nights at the apartment happened at least twice a month, board games that got competitive enough that Heeseung's girlfriend once threw a card across the room, dinner sometimes, the four of you at a table, splitting the bill, walking home in pairs. Heeseung and his girlfriend held hands. Jake and you walked close enough that your arms touched and sometimes his hand would find yours and you'd let it and you'd walk like that for a block before one of you found a reason to need that hand for something else. It was a whole thing, everyone could see it was a whole thing. 

You'd started staying over more, and that happened gradually enough that there was no single moment where it became the new normal, it just did. And then you started staying the whole night, not leaving before he woke up, which he noticed the first few times and tried very hard not to make obvious because he didn't want to spook you by making it into something. You'd wake up and he'd be in the kitchen and you'd come out in whatever you'd slept in and he'd hand you coffee already made the way you took it, and it was domestic in a way that should've felt strange given the official status of things and somehow just felt like tuesday. He stayed at yours too, more than before. Your roommate had stopped asking who he was approximately three weeks into this pattern and had started just saying hi Jake when he came in the door and offering him whatever she was eating.

The hand holding happened without ceremony too, his hand would find yours and you'd be holding hands and that would be that. You went to a farmers market once and walked around for an hour and a half and held hands the entire time and talked about produce and absolutely nothing else, and on the way back he'd bought you something you'd looked at twice and you'd told him not to and he'd already paid for it. 

You'd gotten into this habit somewhere along the way of always being in the same car. If you were going to the same place, which happened more often than it probably should have given that you weren't technically together, Jake drove or you drove and the other one got in and that was it. It was efficient and practical, he told himself. Good for the environment, even. Spring break came around and it turned out you were both heading back toward the same general direction of the country, your hometown was about forty minutes from his, and the route passed through his anyway, so the road trip thing made sense logistically, he told Heeseung, who did not ask about the logistics and also did not bother hiding his expression. "Have fun," Heeseung said.

You left on a friday morning, your bag in his backseat, matcha latte from the place near your condo because you'd insisted on stopping even though it added twelve minutes and he'd complained about it the entire way there and then drunk half of yours when his ran out somewhere around the first hour. You didn't say anything when he reached over and took it, just handed it to him without looking up from your phone, which was somehow more intimate than most things and he noticed but didn't say anything about it.

The first hour was easy the way things between you two were always easy. You told him about something that had happened with a friend of yours that week, and he asked questions in the right places and you filled in the gaps. Around hour two you'd migrated into the particular road trip intimacy where you'd turned slightly sideways in the passenger seat so you were half facing him. Jake had one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the center console and at some point you put your hand over his, just placed it there, and he turned his hand over so your fingers could settle into his, and you stayed like that for a while without commenting on it.

The playlist cycled through something slow and you sang along under your breath to a part you knew and he watched the road and listened and thought about how this was just a thing that was happening, a normal friday, two people driving to their hometowns for break, nothing remarkable about it, and somehow it was also one of his favorite days in recent memory and he had no idea what to do with that information.

"You missed the turn," you said.

"I didn't miss it, I'm taking the other way."

"The other way adds like twenty minutes."

"Yeah but the other way has Weendy's."

You stared at him. "You're taking a twenty minute detour for Wendy's."

"Wendeez nuts."

"Jake." You tried not to laugh.

"You want some or not, pretty?"

"Deez nuts or Wendy's?” You asked, smirking playfully.

"Wendy's.” Jake answered, laughing. “Unless…”

You laughed out loud, and you did want some. You both got chips and sat on the hood of his car in the rest stop parking lot for twenty minutes eating them and watching other people's road trips pass through, and you stole from his bag even though you had your own, and he let you because he always let you. The last hour he had his hand on your knee for most of it, not consciously, just where it ended up, and you had your head tipped back against the seat looking out the window at the trees and you were quiet in a good way, and he drove and thought about nothing in particular and everything loosely related to it.

He pulled up in front of your house and your bag was already in your lap and the engine was still running and you sat there for a second without moving. "Thanks for the detour," you said.

"Best Wendy's in the state," he said.

You smiled and looked at him and he looked at you and there was a moment, a couple seconds long, where neither of you said anything and the car was quiet and it would've been very easy to just stay there. Then you leaned over and kissed him, soft and unhurried, one hand coming up to his jaw and he kissed you back. You pulled back and he could still feel the warmth of it. "Drive safe," you said. "Text me when you get there, okay?"

"I will," he said. You got out and shut the door and he watched you go up the front path, your bag on your shoulder, and he lowered the window because there was something – he didn't plan it, he didn't think about it, it came out the same way things sometimes come out when you're not monitoring yourself closely enough –

"Love you," he said.

And then he drove away.

He was at the end of the street before his brain fully processed what had just come out of his mouth. He kept driving. He went through a green light. He merged onto the main road. His hands were on the wheel at ten and two like a person who was being very normal about something.

Jake had not waited to see your face. He had not waited for anything, he'd just said it and put the car in drive like he could outrun it if he moved fast enough, which was insane, which was possibly the most insane thing he'd done in three years of consistently insane behavior, and that was a high bar. His phone was in the cupholder but he did not look at it. He drove for twenty minutes before he accepted that he was going to have to look at it eventually and pulled into a gas station and sat in the parking lot and picked it up. No messages, thank God. Thank.. God?

Okay, Jake thought. Okay. That happened. He'd said it and you'd heard it clearly and he'd driven away before you could respond and now he was in a gas station parking lot forty minutes from his hometown and twenty minutes from yours and he had no idea what came next and his heart was doing something loud and inconvenient in his chest. So he called Heeseung. "Hey," Heeseung said, background noise of the TV behind him. "You get there okay?"

"I told her I love her," Jake said.

A pause. "You did what?"

"Yeah and I drove away before she could say anything."

Silence. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Heeseung said.

"You gotta be more specific," Jake said.

"You said I love you and then you just –"

"I drove away, yes, I'm aware, I was there –"

"Why would you do that, you absolute moron?"

"I don't know, dude!" Jake said, which was true. He genuinely did not know. It had come out and his foot had hit the gas and now here he was in a gas station parking lot having the worst and best moment of the last several years simultaneously. "What do I do now?!"

Heeseung was quiet for a second. "I mean," he said, "you could start by driving back."

Jake did not drive back. He sat in the parking lot for another ten minutes being a coward about it. But eventually he drove the rest of the way to his hometown with the radio on and his phone in the cupholder and the specific stillness of someone who has done something irreversible and is still in the process of understanding what that means. His family's house looked the same as always, his mom had left the porch light on, and he sat in the driveway for a minute before going in, kinda expecting his phone to buzz and it didn't, and he went inside and ate dinner and was normal about it with his family in the way that you're normal about things when you have no other option.

He texted you saying he got home. Delivered. He checked his phone before bed to see if you had texted back, nothing. Woke up the next morning, still nothing. Day two? Yeah, nothing. Aw shit, here we go again.

The thing about being home is that it does something to your memory, it pulls things up from storage without asking permission. Jake lay there on day two and day three with nowhere particular to be and found himself thinking about things he hadn't thought about in years.

He thought about being fifteen and having a crush on a girl in his class who'd looked at him exactly once with any particular intention and he'd spent three months treating that one look like a compass, orienting everything around it, which was a lot of weight for a single look to carry. Nothing came of it but he'd survived. He thought about being seventeen and thinking he understood what it meant to care about someone, the specific confidence of that age where you feel things enormously and interpret that enormity as depth when sometimes it's just volume. He'd been loud about his feelings at seventeen without being particularly honest about them, which is a thing that takes a while to notice about yourself.

He thought about his ex (yeah, sad, I know) who had been genuinely good and genuinely wrong for him in equal measure, and how the ending of that had been the first time he'd understood that caring about someone and being right for someone were separate questions with separate answers. He'd learned something from that. He thought he had, at least. He'd carried it forward, applied it, tried to be more careful about the difference.

And then he thought about you, which was where everything kept ending up regardless of the route it took to get there.

Jake'd spent three years worrying about the shape of what you two were, the category, the label, the question of what to call it and what it meant and whether it was going anywhere and whether anywhere was even a place worth going. He'd had that conversation with himself more times than he could count, lying in various beds in various states of having just woken up alone, and it had never resolved because it was the wrong conversation. He'd been so focused on the uncertainty of the situation that he'd spent three years treating his own feelings like they were also uncertain, like they were part of the question instead of the one thing he'd actually known the answer to for a long time.

He thought about a cup of water at a party when he was nineteen years old and everything felt enormous. He thought about how you'd texted first after five weeks of silence and how that had been enough to make the whole week retroactively survivable. He thought about the way you fell asleep in the passenger seat and trusted him to get you there, the way you said things that were true in voices that were quiet like you were only willing to be honest at low volume. He thought about all the times he'd watched you leave and missed you in the mornings with the tired resignation of someone who'd accepted a situation instead of examining it, and he thought about how for three years he'd framed his own feelings as a problem to manage rather than a fact to just live in, and how exhausting that had been, and how unnecessary.

Jake'd said love you out of a car window and driven away and the world hadn't ended. It was still there, he was still there. You were somewhere not texting him, which was familiar territory and not his favorite place to be, but underneath the silence was still the fact that he'd said it and he'd meant it and meaning it turned out to be the most uncomplicated part of all of this by a significant margin.

Jake loved you. He'd loved you for a long time, longer than he'd let himself call it that, long enough that the feeling had become structural. It wasn't the enormous, operatic thing he'd maybe expected love to feel like when he was seventeen. It was knowing how you liked your matcha latte and your favorite Hirono figures, and the face you made when you were about to say something honest and the specific way, how you played The Sims when you were tired of living life or when you went to the movies by yourself when you felt like it. It was the thing that had made him stay in a loop for three years that any rational person would've exited, because the loop still had you in it and the exit didn't, and that was the math he'd been doing without ever writing it down.

He didn't regret saying it. That was the thing he'd been slowly arriving at across three days and two nights in his childhood bedroom. He'd driven away like a maniac and you'd gone silent and he was lying here in the house he grew up in with no idea what you were thinking and he still, genuinely, did not regret it. Which was new information about himself. He'd expected to feel more like he'd made a mistake and instead he just felt like someone who'd finally said out loud the thing that had been true for a long time.

The silence still sucked, though, that part wasn't better with context. But the thing underneath the silence was solid in a way it hadn't felt before, and he lay there on day three and looked at the ceiling of the room he'd slept in since he was a kid and thought, okay, I love her, that's just a true thing, and whatever she does with it is her thing to do, but I'm done pretending it's a question.

So Jake stopped pretending. And I know this sounds clean and decisive, but it was neither of those things. What it actually looked like was Jake sitting at his childhood desk at eleven at night opening a notes app and typing things I could say to her and then staring at the blank page for twenty minutes before writing one bullet point and deleting it. He tried writing a letter, an actual letter with pen and paper, which lasted about four sentences before he read it back and physically cringed at himself and folded it into eighths and put it in the bottom of his bag where it would never see daylight again. The sentences had been fine, objectively, they just sounded like him trying to sound like someone who wrote letters, which was worse than just sounding like himself.

He watched a movie the next afternoon because he had nothing else to do and his mom had suggested it and it turned out to be a romantic comedy, which under normal circumstances he would've been fine with but in his current state of mind he watched with the attentiveness of someone studying for an exam. It was Crazy, Stupid, Love, and he'd seen it before but not like this, not with this level of critical analysis and thought that it would not work for him because the grand gesture thing required a certain kind of confidence he didn't currently have and also a soundtrack, and real life didn't come with a soundtrack, and without the soundtrack it was just a guy standing somewhere looking hopefully at a girl and that was just a regular tuesday. (But if real life had a soundtrack, he would've picked Mistletoe by Justin Bieber, even though it was spring, and not Christmas).

He watched another one the following day because apparently this was his life now. This one was 10 Things I Hate About You, his sister had put on and he'd stayed for because he had nothing better to do, and there's that part where Heath Ledger sends Julia Stiles a delivery of flowers at school, this whole thing, very public, very committed, with Can't Take My Eyes Off You playing in the background – and he thought about flowers with genuine seriousness before concluding that showing up to your hometown with a bouquet for a girl you'd been sleeping with for three years without ever officially dating was so tonally confused that no flower arrangement could survive it. What did the flowers even say? Hey, I said I love you out a car window and drove away, here are some peonies. No, dude, absolutely not. Also Heath Ledger had also paid a marching band to serenade her on a football field and Jake was not doing that either, he had limits.

He thought about texting, but texting felt small for what this was. He thought about a voice note and then immediately dismissed it because he'd once sent a voice note instead of a text by accident and the experience had been traumatic enough that he'd never fully recovered.

Eventually, Jake picked up his phone and stared at the screen for a solid ten minutes deciding what to do with it. Calling had its own energy he wasn't sure he was ready to sustain, you call someone and they pick up and then you have to have something to say in real time with no editing with no backspace, no fourteen minutes to collect yourself first. Facetime was worse because then you'd see his face, and his face lately had the specific quality of someone who had spent four days watching romantic comedies and writing letters he was never going to send, and he didn't think that communicated the right thing.

He sat there long enough that his screen went dark and he had to unlock it again, which felt like a sign that he needed to just pick something and do it. So he called you because the thinking hadn't produced anything useful in four days. It rang twice and you picked it up. "Hey," you said, normal, like nothing.

"Hey," he said, and settled back against his headboard and felt something in his chest unclench slightly just at the sound of your voice, which was embarrassing and also completely out of his control.

"How's home?" you asked.

"Good," he said. "My mom's been cooking every single meal like I've been away for a year, I've had a full lunch and dinner every day since I got here, I physically cannot say no to her."

"That sounds amazing actually." You said, and Jake could sense you smiling on the other side.

"It is, I'm not complaining, I'm just saying my body is not used to this schedule anymore." He shifted against the headboard. "She made her carrot cake yesterday, with the chocolate frosting."

"Oh my god," you said, more invested. "I love that cake."

"I know, she's making another one before I leave so I can take some back with me."

"Yeah you better," you said. "God, your mom," you said, in the tone of someone genuinely fond of a person. "I love everything she makes."

"I told her that, she said she'd cook for you when you –" he stopped. When you what, Jake. When you come over, which presupposes a version of this situation that hadn't been discussed. He of course corrected smoothly enough. "She said she'd make more of it."

You either didn't notice or chose not to notice, and either way you let it go, and he appreciated it. You told him about your days, and your days sounded genuinely good – Jay had arrived the day before and you'd watched movies until two in the morning, which he absolutely tracked as a Jay thing, and you'd taken the family dog out twice a day and apparently the dog had gotten dramatically more chaotic since you'd been at school, and that took up a full three minutes of conversation. You'd gone to the Target near your house because your mom needed things and you'd ended up wandering for forty minutes buying nothing, which was the Target experience. You'd seen two friends from high school, one of whom had a baby now and that fact had done something strange to your concept of time, and one of whom was exactly the same as at seventeen and that had done a different strange thing to your concept of time.

He told you about his days, and that was a creative exercise because his days had consisted almost entirely of overthinking and romantic comedies, so he gave you the surface version like helping his dad with some stuff around the house, going for a run, and seeing an old friend from school for an hour. All technically true. Jake did not mention the letter. Jake would never mention the letter.

And then there was a pause and Jake looked at the ceiling and thought, okay, just say the thing, you've been doing nothing but thinking for days and the thinking hasn't helped, just say the thing. "Hey," he said. "I miss you."

He heard you go slightly quiet. "I miss you too, Jake," you said, and your voice was soft and straightforward about it.

"Can I come through on the way back? I can like, stop and get you and we drive back together." He said it casually because that was the only register he had left, the planned approach having long since been abandoned. "If that's okay."

"Yeah," you said. "That's okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." And there was something in your voice that he couldn't fully name over the phone but that sounded like it had been waiting, like you'd been in your hometown watching movies with your brother and walking a chaotic dog and going to Target and carrying something around the whole time, the same way he'd been carrying it. He didn't know that for sure, but it sounded like that. "And then we can go to the best Wendy's in the state again," you said.

So on Saturday morning, Jake woke up earlier than he needed to, and that was not a thing he did voluntarily under normal circumstances but he was already awake at seven thirty staring at the ceiling and there was no going back to sleep after that so he just got up. He showered, packed his bag, ate the breakfast his mom had made before he could say he wasn't hungry, accepted the tupperware of carrot cake she handed him at the door and got in the car.

The drive to your hometown was about forty minutes and he spent most of it thinking about what he was going to say, which was a thing he'd been doing for a week and which had not produced results yet but his brain was apparently committed to trying one more time. He ran through versions of it like the direct version, where he just said look, I meant what I said, here's what I want, what do you want. The casual version, where he eased into it through normal conversation and let it arrive naturally. The version where he just said nothing and let the drive do whatever it was going to do and trusted that you'd both know what needed to happen.

Jake didn't love any of them, but he was twenty minutes away and the options weren't improving so he was going to have to pick one and commit. He pulled onto your street and saw your house and his brain (that had been running scenarios for forty minutes) went quiet like it just stopped producing options and left him with whatever was actually there.

You were outside already, sitting on the front steps with your bag next to you, and you looked up when his car pulled up and stood and got inside to grab something, and then he saw Jay come out the front door behind you, jacket on, hands in his pockets, and Jake thought, ah. Of course. Obviously.

He got out of the car. "Hey man," he said to Jay.

"Hey," Jay said, and he was doing a thing with his face that was neutral enough to be readable only if you knew him, which Jake did.

"You need a ride back?" Jake asked, because it was the polite thing to ask and also because he genuinely had no idea what else to open with.

"Nah, I got my car," Jay said. "I'm leaving later anyway." He picked up your bag and put it in Jake's trunk. Jake and Jay were standing in the driveway and Jake became very aware of the fact that this was a thing that was happening. Jay looked at him. "She really likes you, you know," Jay said.

Jake felt something land in his chest. "I really like her too," he said.

"Yeah, I know," Jay said, like it was obvious, like it had been obvious for a long time and he was just stating it for the record. "How long has this been going on? Like two, three years?"

"Yeah," Jake said. "Something like that."

Jay nodded slowly. Then he said, "you could've just told me, bro. I'm not an idiot."

"I know you're not."

"You've been acting like I wasn't gonna notice my sister basically living in your place."

"She doesn't live in my –"

"She has a charger and a toothbrush there, Jake."

"That's not –" Jake stopped. "Okay."

Jay looked at him for a second and then did something that was almost a smile. "I'm not gonna do a whole thing about it," he said. "She's older than me, she can do whatever she wants, I'm just saying. Next time skip the three years of sneaking around and just talk to me like a normal human being."

"Yeah," Jake said. "That's fair."

"It's very fair," Jay said. "I had to find out from Heeseung's girlfriend, not ideal, you know."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just –" Jay gestured vaguely at the situation, at the car, at all of it. "Figure it out alright? Like actually figuring it out."

"Yeah, that's the plan," Jake said.

"Good," Jay said, and that was apparently the whole thing, because he picked up his coffee from the porch railing and looked at his phone and the conversation was over in the way that conversations with Jay ended when he'd said what he meant and didn't need to keep going. Jake stood there and thought, that was the most reasonable that interaction could have possibly gone, and also, I probably should have just talked to him like two years ago.

The front door opened and you came back out with your charger in hand slightly out of breath, looking between the two of them with the expression of someone calculating how much had been said in the last two minutes. "What," you said.

"Nothing," both of them said, at the same time, which was not suspicious at all.

You looked at Jake. He looked at you. "Huh, okay," you said slowly, and went around to the passenger side. Jay caught Jake's eye over the roof of the car before he got in, and did the thing with his face that said I mean it, figure it out, and Jake nodded once, and that was that.

He pulled out of your street and you were putting your seatbelt on and pairing your phone to his car's bluetooth with the familiarity of someone who had been a passenger in this car enough times to have opinions about the music, and Jake drove and watched the road and thought about what Jay had said, she really likes you, said like it was a fact he'd been sitting on for a while and had finally decided to put down somewhere.

And then you turned to say something to him and he looked at you for a second before looking back at the road, and he understood, in that moment, with the tupperware of carrot cake in the backseat and Jay's voice still in his head and hours of highway ahead of him, exactly why he'd said it out the car window without thinking. It wasn't a slip, it wasn't the kind of thing that comes out wrong; it had come out exactly right, in exactly the right direction, because it was just true. Jake loved you and every time he saw you it was there, this simple, inconvenient, load bearing fact, and last week it had just gotten out before he could catch it, which was maybe the most honest thing he'd done in three years.

"What did Jay say to you," you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Nothing," he said.

"Come on, I know he said something."

"He just said to drive safe."

"He absolutely did not say that."

"He said that… and other things."

You looked at him for a long moment. He kept his eyes on the road and tried to look like a person who was not thinking about being in love with you, which was a thing he'd been attempting with mixed results for approximately three years and was not about to crack the code on now. "Other things like what?" you asked.

"I'll tell you at Wendy's," he said.

You made a face. "But that's so far away."

"Twenty minutes."

"Jake."

"Twenty minutes, baby," he said, and turned up the music, and you huffed and looked out the window and he drove and thought, okay, twenty minutes, and then the Wendy's, and then whatever comes after that. He could do twenty minutes.

Jake pulled in and you both ordered at the drive through and he parked facing the road and you ate in the car the way you always ate in the car, just the two of you and the food and the radio on low. You stole his fries before you'd finished your own. You were working through your burger when something dripped and he reached over without thinking and wiped your chin with his thumb, and you went slightly still for a second and he didn't move his hand away immediately, just let it stay there against your jaw for a second, and you looked at him with your burger still in your hands and he leaned over and kissed you, soft and easy, and you kissed him back and you tasted like french fries and he didn't care at all.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. You had that expression that you got sometimes, the open one, the one that didn't have the usual layer of deflection over it, and he thought about how much he liked that face specifically, and then thought about how he had approximately a hundred thoughts like that a day and had been filing them away for years. "Okay," you said, settling back in your seat. "Are you going to tell me what you and my brother talked about?"

"He said he already knew," Jake said after a second. "About us. He just wanted me to know that he knew."

You made the face that meant you were not surprised. "Of course he knew."

"He said he had to find out from Heeseung's girlfriend."

"Oh god," you said.

"Yeah." He smiled and reached over and stole one of your fries, you watched him do it with an expression of betrayal that was entirely performed. "He also said something else," Jake said.

"What?"

He leaned back in his seat, looking at you, and let himself be a little smug about it because he'd earned it. "He said you really like me."

You opened your mouth and closed it. "He did not say that."

"He did."

"No, he did not."

"He really did," Jake said, enjoying this more than was strictly necessary. "Very straightforward about it. Just, she really likes you, you know." Jake mimicked Jay's voice.

"Oh my god," you said, turning to look out the windshield, and your ears had gone slightly pink which he was also filing away. "I cannot believe him. Or you."

"What? I thought it was helpful information," Jake said while he grabbed your hand.

"I'm sure you did," you said flatly.

"Very useful," he said. "Really rounded out my morning."

"Jake, I swear to god –"

He laughed and reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and you stopped mid sentence and looked at him, still flustered in the way you rarely let yourself be, and he kept his hand there against the side of your face and felt the conversation shift into something quieter. "But I told him something too," he said. "That was also true."

Your expression changed, just slightly. "What?"

"That I really like you too," he said. "Which you know. But I wanted it on record with your brother, so."

"Jake…" you said, soft, a little warning in it, the way you said his name when you were about to close off, when you felt something getting close and your instinct was to redirect it.

"Let me say something," Jake said, and his voice was easy but he meant it, and you heard that he meant it because you went quiet and looked at him and didn't redirect, so he took a breath. "I've been trying to figure out for a week how to say this the right way," he said. "I wrote an actual letter and it was bad, like it sucked. I watched like three romantic comedies looking for ideas and none of them were applicable, and oh my God, I even thought about flowers –"

You blinked. "Flowers?!"

"I decided against it."

"Oh."

"The point is," he said, "I've been making this complicated for days and it's actually not that complicated. I said what I said last week because I meant it and I've meant it for a long time and I'm done pretending I don't." He looked at you, at your face in the afternoon light, at the open expression you were still wearing despite your best efforts. "I love you. That's it. That's the whole thing. I'm not asking you to say it back right now, I'm not trying to make you feel like you have to do anything with it, I just – I'm done not saying it. It's been true for long enough that it feels stupid to keep it in my head."

The car was very quiet. Outside, a truck passed on the highway. The radio was playing something neither of you was listening to. You were looking at him with an expression he hadn't seen on your face before, or maybe he had but not this clearly, not without the usual layer of armor over it. Your eyes were a little bright and you blinked once and looked down at your lap and then back up at him, and he waited.

"I hate that you said it and drove away," you said finally, and your voice was a little unsteady.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said. "In my defense, it came out before I decided to say it."

"That's not a defense."

"I know," he said, softer. "I know it's not." He reached over and took your hand where it was sitting in your lap and held it, and you let him, and your fingers curled into his. "I'm saying it now though. Properly. To your face." Jake smiled when you looked up at him. "I love you."

You were still a little bright eyed and you said, quiet and plain, "I love you too, Jake."

He heard it and his brain did something that wasn't quite a thought, more like a full system restart, just a second of complete blank before everything came back online at once. You'd said it back, plainly, to his face, in a Wendy's parking lot on a saturday, and he sat there for approximately three seconds just holding that fact in both hands like he was making sure it was real.

And then he kissed you. Not on the mouth first, he kissed your cheek, and then your other cheek, and then your forehead, and then the side of your face, just going at it, and you started giggling, trying to lean back and not quite managing it because he followed you. "Jake –" you said, still laughing. He kissed your cheek again. "What is happening –"

"Nothing," he said, into your cheek.

"You're insane," you said, but you were giggling now, the kind that you couldn't control, and your hand had come up and was sort of half heartedly pushing at his shoulder while the other one was holding onto his jacket, which was contradictory and he appreciated it.

He pulled back enough to look at you, your face all open and laughing, and he felt so straightforwardly happy about it that he couldn't do anything except be honest. "What? I'm in love, bro, damn." he said. 

You stared at him. "So I'm your bro now."

"No," he said, "you're my girl, and I'm pampering my girl with little kisses, those are different things."

"Pampering your girl?" you repeated.

"Yes," he said, and kissed your nose, and you scrunched it and laughed again. "You deserve little kisses. I have three years of little kisses to make up for and I'm very behind," he said, very seriously. "I have a deficit."

"You are so –" you started, and then stopped, and were looking at him with that smile that was softer and he looked back at you and felt the thing in his chest. "Say that again," you said.

"What, that I have a deficit –"

"No," you said. "The other thing."

"That you're my girl?"

"Yeah," you said, quiet.

"You're my girl," he said. "If you want to be." You laughed a little and looked down, and he watched you sit with it for a second, this thing that had been true for so long that naming it should've felt redundant and somehow still felt enormous, and then he said, "Come on, baby, we gotta communicate," because you'd gone quiet and quiet with you could mean anything and he needed to know which kind of quiet this was.

You looked up at him and smiled, and it was the unguarded one. "Yes," you said. "I want to be your girl."

He felt it all the way through. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Jake," you said. "I'm tired of pretending I'm not ready for it. I want you."

He stared at you. "For real? You wanna be my girlfriend?"

"I want to be your girlfriend," you said, a little laugh in it, like you were trying the words on and finding they fit. "I've wanted to be your girlfriend for a really long time and I've been really stupid about it."

"We've both been really stupid about it," he said.

"Yeah but I was stupider."

"I asked you if you liked twinks because I was jealous of Sangwon," he said.

You pointed at him. "Okay, it was even."

Jake laughed and kissed you again, properly this time, and you kissed him back with your hand in his jacket and you were kissing at a Wendy's parking lot, and he couldn't have cared less because you were his girlfriend now and that was the only relevant information. He pulled back and looked at you and you were smiling into the kiss the way people smile when they're too happy to keep a straight face, and he thought, I have been in love with you since I was nineteen years old and you gave me water at a party and I've been an absolute idiot about it ever since and somehow we still ended up here, and somehow here was exactly right.

"Hi," that's all Jake managed to say.

"Hi," you said back.

"Hi, girlfriend."

You covered your face with your hand. "Oh my god."

"Hi, my girlfriend, my baby, my precious," he said again, delighted with himself.

"You're the worst," you said, into your hand.

"You literally just agreed to date me," he said. "You did that. You made this choice."

You looked at him through your fingers, laughing, and said "I know" in the tone of someone who had absolutely no regrets, and Jake thought, aw shit here we go again, but this time he meant it like a beginning.

You always think you're smarter than you really are at 21, and that's exactly what Jake Sim thought he was. And look, he wasn't wrong, not entirely. He was smart enough to know what he was getting into, smart enough to see it coming, the problem was that being smart about something and doing the right thing about it are two completely different skills, and Jake had only developed one of them at 21, and it wasn't the second one.

He's 24 now. And here's what 24 looks like, for the record: it looks like knowing your limits and mostly respecting them. It looks like going to bed at a reasonable hour without feeling like you're missing something. It looks like three years of the most circular, exhausting, wonderful situationship of his life finally becoming something with a name, which happened in a Wendy's parking lot on a Saturday afternoon, which is not how Jake would have written it if he'd been given creative control over the situation, but which turned out to be exactly right anyway.

For Jake, being twenty four looks like you. Specifically, you in his passenger seat, which is where you've always been, except now when you steal his fries he calls you his girlfriend  and you tell him to shut up and he does it again. It looks like your charger in his car and your hoodie on his couch and the specific way you say his name when you're trying not to laugh at something he said, which is a sound he's been collecting since he was nineteen years old at a party with a cup of water and an audience of exactly one. It looks like waking up and you're still there, which still gets him every time, which he suspects will keep getting him for a long time, and which he has decided to just let get him instead of filing it away somewhere.

The thing about being 24 and not 21 is that you stop pretending the things that matter don't matter. You stop performing indifference about the stuff you're actually not indifferent about. You get tired of the gap between what's true and what you're saying, and at some point the gap gets small enough that closing it feels less like bravery and more like just, finally, telling the truth. Jake told the truth out a car window and drove away and it was embarrassing and it was worth it and he'd do it again.

He knew, on some level, that this was always where it was going. Not the Wendy's specifically, but the version where you're his and he's yours and the loop finally closes into something that isn't a loop anymore. He'd known it since he was 21 and smart and absolutely full of shit about what he was and wasn't capable of feeling. He'd just taken the scenic route to get here, which, given that the scenic route included three years of you, he couldn't bring himself to regret.

So yeah, Jake Sim thought he was smarter than he really was at 21. Turns out he wasn't smart enough to avoid falling in love with you, wasn't smart enough to keep it casual, wasn't smart enough to protect himself from any of it. But it was the best thing that ever happened to Jake Sim, honestly.

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[jaylaxies]

BAD IDEA, RIGHT?

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, fluff, porn with plot, slow burn, multiple smut scenes, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), lots of kissing, cunnilingus, blowjob, dry humping, fingering, car sex, mutual masturbation, spit kink, multiple orgasms, marking, crying. mentions of nicknames, pda, messy feelings and bets, subtle mentions of jaywon. lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 30.9k words

SYNOPSIS: Jake is utterly oblivious to the fact that you are well aware how his sudden devotion to you is stemmed from nothing but a pathetic little bet. He is also unaware of the fact that you have been matching his energy, playing your part so convincingly that the line between performance and truth starts to blur, and you are not sure what is real anymore. OR, the classic bet trope twisted into bet inverse.

A/N: hihi loves <3 so i finally used my 2 year old idea and made it into a fic, it was soo fun to write and i could not have done it without doll (ily for sprinting w me always), i hope you guys enjoy it <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <3

CHAPTER ONE: Raised stakes. 

If there was one word to describe Jake, it would be carefree.

Some deeper parts within him would care to disagree, however, he had perfected this art of burying them six feet under layers of easy smiles. At twenty-three, Jake was the hot Physics student pursuing Masters with a killer arm (or leg in this case) on the football field. 

He had always been good at drowning out uneasiness with a bright grin, a well-timed joke that he somehow laughed at harder than the others, the easy way his hand would find the small of someone’s back as he guided them through a crowded party. It worked, it always worked.

Hardworking to a fault, he balanced brutal training sessions, demanding coursework, and still found time to be the social glue of every group he touched. Clumsy in the most endearing ways—tripping over his own feet during victory celebrations or spilling his coffee down his jersey—he’d just laugh it off, turning mishaps into stories. 

So, in a word, Jake Sim was considered to be carefree by any living creature that had the slightest pleasure of meeting him.

And to put it simply, he enjoyed it. He basked in the attention thrown his way, not in a way that would label him as arrogant, it just came to him as easy as, well, breathing. All that effortless energy around him kept him sane, coming from a loving family, to having friends he could call his second family, he truly cherished it to the core. 

Tonight the spring kickoff party in the quad thrummed under strings of warm fairy lights, the bass from the speakers mixing with the scent of grilled corn (to Jay’s absolute delight), spilled beer, and early cherry blossoms. Jake stood right at the center of it all, lean athletic build relaxed as he leaned against the brick pillar, red solo cup in hand, black hair falling in soft tousled waves. He ran his fingers through it absentmindedly while Heeseung gestured wildly mid-story, the group around him already cracking up at the enthusiasm of it all. 

“—and then she just looks at me after the game, all flushed and smiling, and says you looked really good out there tonight. Next thing I know we’re back at her place and I’m thinking, damn, maybe I should score more goals if this is the reward,” Heeseung said, smile wide as he took a swig from his cup.

Jay laughed at that, “you’re too fucking easy,” he mumbled, taking a bite of corn, pairing it up with vodka right after. 

Sunghoon leaned back against the pillar, smirking as he shook his head, “you two are hopeless, now let me tell you guys about what real pleasure is—”

“Spare us the details,” Jeno mumbled, a tad bit tipsy with the amount of booze he’d been consuming, Jaemin holding him up, but his mind was elsewhere, planning something rather crazy to wash out the usual mundane conversation. 

Jake’s laugh rolled out bright, head tilting back and shoulders shaking with genuine amusement, “you guys are practically whores,” he clicked his tongue, “but yeah—nothing beats that post-game high when someone’s waiting for you looking like that. Makes all the bruises worth it.” He bit his lower lip lightly, still grinning as he scanned the lively surroundings, eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. 

Across the grass, you stood with Jungwon and Karina near the low stone wall, Jungwon had dragged the two of you here earlier, insisting it would be lowkey fun because his Jay hyung had invited him and “it’s not like we have to stay forever.” The music played in the background, but your attention stayed on them—sharp little remarks about random campus drama, Karina’s latest story about a disastrous blind date, the usual easy flow that made the noise somewhat bearable. 

Jungwon glanced toward the center of the party, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips as he watched Jake’s group, “Jake’s in full golden-boy mode tonight. Look at him— Jay says he’s the same off the field, always cracking jokes even when everyone’s half-dead from practice.”

Karina nodded, swirling the last of her drink slowly, “It’s almost unfair how he does that, wish i could’ve been that extroverted honestly.”

You followed their gaze without meaning to. Jake was mid-laugh again, black hair falling messily into his eyes as he ran a hand through it. The light catching the sharp line of his jaw, the way his whole body seemed to lean into the moment. Everyone around him was leaning in too, feeding off that bright, effortless warmth. 

It made something tight and irritated coil low in your stomach. Not jealousy, no, just exhaustion at the performance of it all. The way the entire party seemed wired to orbit one guy who never seemed to run out of smiles or energy.

You shrugged, “he’s too loud. Must get exhausting pretending the world’s that fun all the time.”

Jungwon bumped your shoulder lightly, his laugh soft and familiar, “c’mon, he’s not that bad. Jay swears he’s actually decent when you get him one-on-one. But yeah, he looks a wee bit too jolly tonight.”

Karina smirked, eyes glinting with teasing as she glanced at you, “you’d probably shut him down in two seconds flat if he ever tried talking to you. I’d pay to see that.”

You pressed your lips together for half a second, the thought of Jake Sim turning that sunshine smile on you—of him thinking he could just waltz into your carefully guarded space—sent a flicker of pure distaste through you. You weren’t interested in being another notch, another story he told his friends the next day. 

Your life revolved around the quiet satisfaction of getting things right, majorly focusing on, well, studies. Romance, especially the loud, golden-boy kind, had no place in it.

“Exactly,” you said, tone edged with dry sarcasm, “not interested. Let’s grab something from the food trucks and dip before it gets worse. I’ve hit my limit on forced fun for one night.”

You didn’t mind being in the crowd as long as your friends were with you, however, you did mind the exhaustion creeping upon your body. No one but you were to be blamed for it. Going to the gym in the morning, catching up on lectures later, getting groceries, and now being at a party—you’d tired yourself out with the simple mindset of being busy is a blessing. It was true to some extent, albeit not in a way that your friends would agree. The conversation didn’t dull as you started making your way out to eat with your best friends. 

On the other side of the quad, Jake was only half-listening to the guys now, he felt himself getting comfortable in his smaller circle, it was exactly the kind of night Jake usually loved.

But his eyes kept drifting. 

It wasn’t as if it was his first time seeing you, especially when Jungwon was always around too, it was merely the fact that you kept your distance, always. Jake wasn’t blind, he appreciated beauty which you carried around effortlessly. The lack of general courtesy to acknowledge strangers? Not so much. 

You looked like you wished to be anywhere but here (which was true), making him wonder why. He ran his hand through his hair, messing the soft waves before smoothing them back down, a habit he barely noticed anymore.

Jaemin, who had been unusually quiet for the last minute, suddenly leaned in closer, voice dropping low enough that only their small circle could hear over the music, “wanna make things interesting?” 

Jay groaned, knowing his proposal would cause damage in the name of merriment, because that’s how Jaemin thrived. Sunghoon was rather interested in knowing what was gonna be the deal here, and so, he continued. 

“See her? Jungwon’s friend?” The group turned and looked your way, Jay already opening his mouth to stop him, but of course, Jaemin was quicker, “make her fall in love with you in a month.”

“Wait—me?” Jake echoed, the word half-laugh, half-disbelief, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it usually did.

Jaemin leaned in closer. His grin was sharp, almost scary, “yeah, you, in one month. Make Jungwon’s friend fall for you, hard. Like, actually in love with you to the point it gets public.”

Jay’s head snapped up so fast the corn on his plate nearly toppled, “Jaemin, no. She’s not—fuck, she’s not gonna be interested, at all. I literally know her, she keeps everyone at arm’s length, especially guys like Jake, no offence.”

Sunghoon’s smirk didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed, interested now in a way that made Jake’s stomach twist, “stakes?”

Jaemin didn’t hesitate, “If Jake wins—makes her say it out loud, in front of us—he gets the M4. Keys, papers, the whole matte-black beast. Mine for a month, and if he wants to keep it after that, it’s his. No take-backs.”

The circle went quiet for half a second before Heeseung let out a low whistle, cup frozen halfway to his mouth, “your car? The one you won’t even let me sit in without a fucking background check?”

“Yep.”

Jay dragged a hand down his face, shoulders tight, “Jake, this is messed up. You’ll hurt her, and then you’ll feel like shit, and she’ll hate you, and the whole group’s gonna be stuck in the middle because Jungwon’s her best friend. This isn’t a game, It’s gonna blow up in both your faces.”

Jake’s fingers found the back of his neck, then slid up into his hair without thinking. He messed them further, his eyes drifting across the quad again to where you were still walking away with Jungwon and Karina, posture straight, silver ring catching the light as you twisted it mindlessly. 

He should say no. He should clap Jaemin on the shoulder, laugh it off, steer the conversation back to the upcoming football match or the thermodynamics midterm that was currently trying to murder all of them. 

But something stubborn flickered in his chest. The same part that hated the idea of failing at the one thing he was supposedly best at, making people feel seen. You hadn’t even looked at him twice. 

One month, one girl who looked like she probably just needed someone nice to talk to and share her worries—right? 

Jake bit his lower lip for half a second, the way he did when he was locking in on a tricky play. Then the grin came back as bright and effortless, the one that always worked.

“Deal,” he said, not confident at all, though great at hiding it.

The group exploded, clearly not okay with the idea itself. Jay groaned louder, already shaking his head, “you’re both idiots. This is gonna end badly.”

Sunghoon just laughed under his breath, leaning back against the pillar, “I’ll take that bet too. Odds on Jake cracking first?”

Heeseung was already pulling out his phone, demanding proof in the form of media. Jaemin slapped Jake’s shoulder hard enough to make his red solo cup slosh over the rim.

“Day one starts tomorrow, Jakey. Better bring everything you’ve got.”

Jake laughed again, but when it settled, it left something quieter behind. Something that tasted a little (a lot) like doubt.

Later that night, when the place had emptied and the only sound left was the low hum of crickets, Jake lay on his back in his room. The mellow playlist he always played when the noise finally stopped drifted from his phone. His small notebook—the one no one ever saw—was open on his chest, a half-finished football formation doodled in the margin. He wrote one line.

She doesn’t like loud spaces, or crowds. 

He closed the notebook, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, and exhaled into the dark.

“What the fuck am I doing?” He whispered.

Across campus, you were already in your room, bullet journal open on your desk, silver ring still on your finger. You didn’t know about the bet yet. All you knew was that Jake Sim had never looked your way before last night, and something about the way his eyes had followed you across the grass fell off.

You pressed your lips together, biting the inside of your cheek once, then wrote in the tiniest handwriting in the margin of tomorrow’s schedule.

Keep your distance from Jake Sim.

CHAPTER TWO: Bet inverse?

Jake’s alarm went off at 6:47 in the morning like it always did, but this morning he didn’t bother hitting snooze. He stayed there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, the bet from last night practically sitting on his chest. Jaemin’s evil smile and Jay’s warning kept on repeating in his mind.

He should have let it go, instead, he rolled out of the bed, pulled on his black hoodie and shorts, laced up his running shoes after freshening up. He knew where Jungwon lived, the dorms near the science buildings where there was always an influx of food carts nearby. 

The distance wasn’t long per se, but his breathlessness certainly made it seem like it was, and the little hope he had to spot you in the cold of this morning.

The sky was soft gray before the sun decided to show up, and Jake’s lungs were burning in a way that made him feel good, hair sticking to his forehead by the time he slowed to jog near the coffee cart. 

To his absolute luck, he spotted you right there as you thought what you should order from the coffee cart, looking too proper in your jeans that fit you just right as if it wasn’t so early in the morning, and he took a moment to observe you, breathing hard, wiping his face on the sleeve of his hoodie. He stepped up beside you, the scent of your perfume overtaking his senses. 

His friends called him weird for this rather peculiar habit of his where he leaned in too much to get a sniff of, well, practically everything. So, it was hard fir him to control himself at the moment.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low so it wouldn’t startle you, “uh—hey.”

You turned, eyes meeting him before you granted him the smallest nod of acknowledgement, “Jake.”

The barista waited and Jake kept his hands in his hoodie pocket so he wouldn’t fidget, “one Americano for me, and whatever she’s having—I’ll cover it.”

You frowned at this because Jake truly had no reason to be talking to you here, much less paying for your drink, “you really don’t have to.”

“I know.” He offered a half-smile, the real one, “but I want to. We’ve been around each other enough—Jungwon’s parties, that study hall last semester. Felt kinda stupid that we’ve never actually talked.”

You studied him a second longer, like you were trying to decide if this was a line or just politeness. Then you told the barista your usual—vanilla latte, extra shot, and stepped aside while the machine hissed to life.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward exactly, Jake could feel the bet sitting heavy in his throat, but right now it was better—the way your perfume kept drifting over every time the breeze picked up. He wanted to lean in again, but he didn’t.

When both cups came out he handed yours over carefully, no fingers touching, just the warm cardboard passing from his palm to yours.

“Uh—thanks,” you said simply before you started walking.

He fell in beside you, matching your stride without crowding your personal space. The path was empty enough to give you both privacy which you didn’t need as his heartbeat felt a little too loud in his ears, and for the first time, he found himself being nervous to talk to someone. 

After half a minute you spoke again, “so how do you always act all nice for people you barely know?”

His lips curved, “I don’t do that, not really. Usually I’m the one everyone expects to keep things light,” he mumbled, “I saw you last night, you looked—bothered? Made me wonder what it’d be like to actually talk to you instead of just watching.”

You took a sip, wondering how he so casually admitted to staring at you, “and what’s the verdict so far?”

He glanced sideways, the early light was starting to hit the side of your face, “still figuring it out. But the coffee seems like a decent start.”

You didn’t smile, not really. But something in your expression eased, and it made him feel a little accomplished, as if he’d won something small and fragile that could disappear any moment.

The path split ahead, biotech building looming on the left. You slowed, turning to face him fully. For a second the guarded look cracked open, and he caught something underneath it—irritation, maybe, or the faintest flicker of curiosity you didn’t want to admit to.

“I’ve got lab,” you said. 

Jake nodded, the easy warmth still on his face even though his stomach twisted with how badly he wanted to ask one more question, “yeah, of course. See you around, Y/N.”

You gave one small nod then turned and walked toward the doors. He stood there until you disappeared inside, the taste of black coffee bitter on his tongue and the ghost of your perfume still clinging to the air around him. He breathed it in once, almost guilty, then let it go.

Back in his dorm he dropped onto the bed still in his hoodie, the room quiet. The small notebook he never let anyone see was already open on his lap. He stared at the blank page for a long moment, before writing: Vanilla latte with an extra shot, morning lectures in lab 291.

He closed the notebook, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, and stayed like that until the pressure behind them eased.

Meanwhile, you were beyond confused narrating it to Karina later, who gave you a dry chuckle, “yeah, don’t entertain him,” she said, and you scoffed—as if you’d ever do that. 

But three days had passed since the party, and it was as if Jake had made it his personal mission to accidentally run into you whenever you least expected him to. Somehow, he had managed to get your schedule, which is why he was standing outside your lecture on the very next day. 

Jake was a poor actor and highly unaware of the same, so his exclaimed Oh, Y/N, felt rather comical to you, granted he had two coffees in his veiny hands. You chose to ignored him, face pulling into a natural smile for a second, and he stood there shocked, only to realize you were waving at Jungwon who stood behind him.

Jake stood there for a few minutes, not moving even when you had left while Heeseung and Sunghoon stood right there, judging him. Your smile—as brief as it was, had been pretty, too fucking pretty, and doubt crept up Jake. He wondered if he’ll ever be able to coax that smile out of you himself.

The thought followed him through the rest of the day, sharp enough to make him reroute his afternoon lecture so he happened to be near the vending machines right as you stepped out of lab. He was there again the morning after that, leaning against the wall outside the biotech building with a single vanilla latte in hand, the extra shot already marked on the side in the barista’s neat handwriting. Each time he appeared, he kept his voice low, never demanding more, though it felt like a blow to his ego how you actively tried to avoid him. He genuinely wished to talk to you (for the bet, of course).

By the third afternoon the rain had started, insistent against the library windows. You had slipped into the far back study nook, the one buried behind the tallest reference shelves, you needed it—needed to bury yourself in studies and forget how Jake’s persistence was beginning to thread through your days like a melody you couldn’t quite shake.

You pulled out your bullet journal and started annotating protocols for the upcoming lab, pen moving with sharp precision, and you felt a presence behind you. You were most ready to snap at Jake, but it was Jaemin who found you instead.

He dropped into the chair across from you, smirking, like he had been waiting for this exact moment, “Jake’s been hanging around you a lot lately,” he said, voice light but knowing, “you might fall for him.”

You set your pen down slowly, “what makes you think I’ll fall for him?”

Jaemin’s smirk deepened, “well, chances are less but certainly never zero.”

You frowned, irritation rising, “what do you want, Jaemin?”

“I was getting to it.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting, “I wanna propose another bet since I’m bored and I clearly care for you.”

“Another bet?” You asked, brain finally working. Jake was following you around for a fucking bet, you should’ve known. 

Jaemin watched your face change and his grin widened, “I give you thirty days to make him fall for you. And I mean truly head-over-heels kind of fall, then reject him, then you win, since you clearly don’t care about him.”

You stared at him, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, “I don’t want to be involved playing with feelings.”

“If he didn’t care for your feelings, why are you holding back?”

“Cause I’m not like him?” 

“Fair, but here’s the deal—” Jaemin leaned in closer, voice dropping.

“Isn’t he your friend?”

“Yeah.”

“So?”

“It’s fun.”

“You’re insane.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“What is he getting out of this?”

“My car.”

Another scoff left your mouth at this, and Jaemin said he’d give you anything you wanted if you’d win. Nothing was in your mind honestly, but you were too pissed to let it go.

“And what will I get?”

“A chance to absolutely shatter Jake’s ego, and that trip to Paris with your friends, you’ve been eyeing it for a while now.”

“How the fuck did you—”

“I have my ways,” he shrugged, but his eyes, oh his eyes were glimmering with joy. He almost seemed like a Cheshire cat. 

So you agreed. Jaemin only smiled, walking away from you now, leaving you rather disturbed. 

As if the universe itself had been listening, Jake walked past the end of the aisle at that exact moment, eyes scanning the shelves until they landed on you. You met his gaze head-on and gave him the smallest smile you owned, and he paused mid-step, lips parting like he might say something, then you looked away, not bothering with him anymore than you had today.

The game had just begun. And this time, you were the one holding the cards.

CHAPTER THREE: Ignorance isn’t bliss 

You ignored Jake. 

It was rather easy to do so despite all the plans you had brainstormed to make him fall in love with you hopelessly. The day had been too hectic, and to say you were exhausted would be an understatement—even the slightest voice would absolutely make you scream out in frustration given the state of your mind. Which is why you found yourself sitting in the bleachers, all silent and calm. 

Truth be told, you didn’t wish to get into this mess by any means, however, Jake wasn’t one to give up. You scoffed at how he’d trade any stranger’s feelings for a stupid car, and even then he’d be celebrated for winning a bet. 

Jake didn’t know why but the past few days had been weird for him. He couldn’t understand why you smiled at him in the library only to abruptly disappear from the face of the earth next—and yes, it bothered him because the time was ticking by. Maybe Jake was a lucky guy, cause right then, he found you at the bleachers, sitting up there as if trying to hide from the world. 

It was clear you didn’t wish to be disturbed, by Jake of all people, but his feet carried him before his mind could keep up, and that’s how he found himself sitting three seats away from you, prepping to show his absolute best flirt game, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “are you okay?”

“Why are you everywhere?” You exasperated, finally turning to look at him despite knowing he’d found you before. 

For once he didn’t jump in with some easy line. He just sat there a second, elbows on his knees, watching you like he was actually trying to read the mood instead of skating past it.

“I saw you from the path,” he said, “you were up here alone, I figured I’d check if you were okay. That’s it.”

You let out a sharp breath, the exhaustion from your day mixing with the frustration that had been building since Jaemin dropped his little bomb about the bet. This is all fake, you reminded yourself. He’s only here because he wants that stupid car, that bet. 

“Checking in, right. You’ve been turning up at the coffee cart, outside my lectures, the vending machines, now here. I’m not in the mood for whatever this is.”

He shifted one seat closer, jacket creaking a little, but still left space between you, “I’m not trying to push. I know it probably comes off like I’m in your face every day. It’s just—you always seem like you’re carrying a lot and you’re doing it alone. I guess I wanted to see if you were actually alright or if you were just pushing through.”

You turned to face him, eyes narrowing, “pushing through is what students do, Jake. I don’t need an audience for it.”

“Yeah, I see that,” he said, gulping as he stared at your side profile, “you’re pretty resilient about it. Most people would’ve already vented to someone by now—and maybe you did to your friends but yeah.”

“Resilient?” You let out a short laugh, “or just tired of everyone expecting me to perform. Unlike the quintessential golden boy who’s always got a smile ready.”

Jake winced, looked out at the empty field for a second, then back at you, “golden boy—ouch, fair though. That’s the label I got stuck with.”

You crossed your arms tighter, “so, why are you up here trying to talk to me instead of being there with your friends? It doesn’t add up.”

He rubbed his palm over his knee, “uh—with them it’s nonstop noise, like I love my friends but it’s all just football practice, jokes, keeping the energy up no matter what. With you—it doesn’t feel like I have to be that version of me.”

You scoffed, how cliché, “right. So now the guy who’s always the center of everything suddenly wants to sit in silence on the bleachers?”

Jake leaned forward a fraction, elbows on his knees, “there’s this whole dichotomy between what everyone sees and what’s actually going on inside. Talking to you, it’s not like that.”

“Not like that,” you repeated, the words coming out flat, “how convenient, Jake.”

He swallowed again, eyes flicking to your face as you said his name, “It’s not convenient, It’s just true. You don’t expect me to keep the vibe going, y’know? You just say what you think.”

You felt your chest tighten. He sounded so damn eloquent even when he was lying, “you’re really good at this, you know? Making it sound like you actually get it.”

“I’m not trying to be good at anything,” Jake said, voice dropping, “I just keep showing up because every time I do, I see more of the real you. Not the version you show everyone else.”

You let out a breath, he could definitely get a few points for acting, “okay, so listen then—my lab did suck today. Equipment kept failing, I’m behind on three lectures, and I came up here to be alone, that’s it. Nothing exciting.”

“Hey—i didn’t ask for exciting,” he said, staring at the way your fingers still twisted the ring, “my day was shit too—coach rode us hard about tomorrow’s game and I barely studied for my midterm. Sometimes I just want to sit somewhere and not pretend everything’s perfect.”

You stared at him, “so you picked me to sit with? Out of everyone on campus?”

“Yeah,” Jake said simply, meeting your eyes, “because you don’t expect anything from me. You call me on my shit. It’s nice, I guess.”

“Whatever, I’m fine keeping my distance and acting like you care won’t change that, okay?” 

“I do care,” Jake let out too quickly, surprised at his own words, “that’s the part you don’t believe, but it’s true.”

The conversation was getting too real, too fast, and the knowledge of the bet made every word feel like a trap, “It’s exhausting trying to figure out if any of this is real or if you’re just—”

Mid-sentence, just as your voice rose, Jake closed the gap by embracing you into a hug. His arms wrapping around you without hesitation, one hand settling at your back, the other across your shoulders. The dark jacket was soft against your cheek, still warm from the afternoon sun, carrying that clean, steady scent that was just him.

You practically froze as his heartbeat thudded against your ear—fast, as if the move had surprised him too. It was warm, really warm, making everything feel a little less heavy for a second. Even though you knew this was all part of the cursed bet, the gesture was still something, making your eyes sting. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had held you like they actually meant it.

Jake’s own breath caught as he held you. His pulse wouldn’t slow down, guilt and something else he couldn’t pinpoint made his heart seem heavier. For those few seconds he just held on, chin resting lightly against the top of your head, breathing you in like he could somehow make the whole stupid situation disappear.

It was awkward, because you in fact did not reciprocate the hug that well, proceeding to pull back with your cheeks burning. Jake’s hands stayed on your shoulders for half a second longer than they should have before he let go, looking just as thrown as you felt. He closed his eyes, biting on his bottom lip too hard, panicking cause for once, he didn’t know how to handle the situation. 

The anxiety only rose as you grabbed your bag, planning on getting up, however, his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, “I’ve got a game tomorrow—It would mean a lot if you came, no pressure. You don’t have to stay the whole time or cheer or anything. Just come—if you want to for a break.”

You didn’t answer right away, watching him mutter it out all breathless, hair messy and cheeks seemingly red now. You barely caught on to his words, still processing the warmth, but a part of you did wish to reject him on the spot and walk away before the things got more complicated. 

Another part wondered what would happen if you actually showed up, since you did have your own bet to take care of. 

CHAPTER FOUR: Like a rom-com actor 

The next afternoon the stadium was already packed and buzzing when Jake stepped onto the field for warm-ups. He was supposed to be loosening up his legs, listening to the coach bark instructions, getting his head in the game. Instead his eyes kept flicking up to the stands every few seconds. The wind was blowing hard across the pitch, constantly shoving his black hair into his eyes no matter how many times he tried to push it back.

Jay jogged over and bumped his shoulder, “dude, earth to Jake? You’ve been staring up there like you’re waiting for the love of your life to appear. You good?”

Sunghoon, who was retying his cleats a few feet away, let out a low laugh, “he’s been doing it nonstop. Head snapping up every ten seconds. What’s got you so distracted today? You never get like this before a home game.”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a casual laugh even though his stomach was doing flips,  “I’m fine, just looking for someone.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick glance with Sunghoon, “someone? As in a specific someone who’s basically a bet? Damn, this must be serious if it’s got you this antsy within a week.”

Jake didn’t get the chance to answer, because he finally spotted you.

You were sitting a few rows up with Jungwon and Karina, the wind tugging at your hair the same way it was messing with his. The second your eyes met his across the field, Jake’s breath caught hard in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs because—you actually came? For a second he forgot how to move, just standing there staring like an idiot while the wind kept pushing his hair everywhere.

You gave him a small smile and lifted your hand, waving at him softly.

Jake’s whole face lit up before he could stop it. Without thinking, he waved back enthusiastically, arm swinging high and wide as if he was trying to reach you from the middle of the pitch. His hair flew wildly in the wind as he did it, the motion so eager and over-the-top that Jay choked on his water and Sunghoon doubled over laughing so hard he had to grab onto Jay’s arm to stay upright.

“What the fuck—” Sunghoon wheezed, “you just waved like a little kid who spotted his mom after school. I’ve never seen you do that in my life.”

Jay was cracking up too, wiping water off his chin, “yeah he’s absolutely finished. Down horrendously bad and it’s not even been a few days.”

“Guess we know who’s gonna lose the bet,” added Hoon in a singsong voice. 

“He never stood a chance honestly.”

Meanwhile, around you, a bunch of girls in the stands noticed Jake’s dramatic wave and immediately started squealing, waving back excitedly and calling out his name like he’d waved at all of them. A few even stood up, cheering for him loudly.

You raised an eyebrow, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of amusement and slight disbelief, “damn,” you muttered, glancing at the crowd, “he sure is famous.”

“And a player,” added Jungwon. 

“And an asshole,” quipped Karina, arms crossed over her chest. 

You had told them, of course you did, and watching them get so enraged on behalf of you did make you feel tons better, which shouldn’t have been the case since they did threaten to chop Jake’s dick off, but hey, the way Karina said it was quite comical. 

Down on the field Jay spotted Jungwon in the stands and lifted his hand in a casual wave with a clueless grin on his face like nothing in the world was wrong. Jungwon just stared back with his jaw tight, not waving back as he was convinced Jay already knew about the bet and was somehow backing Jake up, and the thought made his expression go hard.

You nudged Jungwon’s side with your elbow, keeping your voice low, “c’mon, be normal, wave back or he’s gonna think something’s weird.”

Jungwon let out a reluctant huff, but he finally lifted his hand and gave a small, stiff wave. Jay’s grin widened like nothing had happened at all, and he turned back to the field, completely oblivious.

Karina groaned beside you, pulling her knees up to her chest against the wind, “I still can’t believe we’re freezing our asses off here when we could be on your couch watching Harry Potter for the nth time.”

You let out a small laugh despite everything, the sound almost swallowed by the growing roar of the crowd as the teams lined up, “you said you’d come for moral support.”

“Yeah, well, moral support is currently questioning every life choice that led me here,” she muttered, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at her lips anyway, “at least the view isn’t completely terrible.”

The whistle blew and the game kicked off in a whirlwind of motion. You tried to follow the ball, the quick passes, the way the players cut across the pitch, but your eyes kept drifting back to Jake. He moved with this radiant energy that pulled focus without even trying, hair whipping in the wind, legs eating up the grass, every sprint full of that effortless, captivating drive. The crowd’s cheers rose and fell in effervescent waves, but you didn’t feel any better, still suffering with that familiar push-pull of suspicion and something warmer you really didn’t wish to name.

The first half was all back-and-forth tension, both teams trading chances without anyone breaking through. Jungwon kept up a quiet running commentary under his breath, trying to keep things light, while Karina complained about the cold seeping through her jacket and how much better butterbeer would taste than the lukewarm soda they were selling. You nodded along, but your attention stayed glued to Jake, much to your friends’ dismay. Every time he glanced toward the stands, even mid-run, your chest did this annoying little flip, which pissed you off. 

Then the second half heated up. The score stayed locked until the final minutes, the air thick with anticipation. Jake got the ball near the edge of the box, dodged one defender, then another as he cut inside. The crowd held its breath as he struck it clean, a powerful curving shot that sailed straight into the top corner, past the keeper’s desperate reach.

The stadium lit up into celebration but Jake didn’t celebrate with the team right away. He turned straight toward the stands, eyes scanning until they found you. Then he pointed, right at you, his whole face breaking into this bright, almost whimsical smile as he jogged backward, arm still extended like he was making sure the entire world knew exactly who that goal was for. His jersey had ridden up in the sprint, revealing the sharp, glistening lines of his abs under the stadium lights, every defined ridge catching the late afternoon sun for a fleeting second before the fabric fell back down.

Your heart raced, oh that traitorous little thing, thudding hard enough that you could feel it in your throat. Heat rushed to your cheeks even as the knowledge of the bet sat heavy in your stomach, whispering that none of this was real. Still, for that split second, with the roar of the crowd and his hair messy in the wind and that radiant look aimed straight at you, it felt too much. Too real perhaps? Too dangerous regardless. The enigmatic pull of him was getting harder to ignore, and you hated how easily your body responded anyway.

Karina snorted beside you, rolling her eyes so hard it was almost theatrical, “oh my god, could he be any more performative? Pointing like he’s the hero in some cheesy romance movie, puh-lease.”

Jungwon chuckled quietly, but his eyes flicked to you with that same protective glint from earlier. You didn’t say anything, just stared down at the field as Jake got swarmed by his teammates, the final whistle blowing and the win sinking in. The crowd was still cheering wildly, but all you could feel was the lingering echo of that pointed finger and the confusing satiation it left within your chest.

Jungwon turned to you, voice low so only you could hear, “so, you’re actually going through with the plan?”

You let out a long sigh, shoulders dropping as you pushed yourself up from the bleacher. The metal was cold under your palms, “yeah, I kinda have to now. It’s the only way to beat him at his own game.” 

Karina stood too, brushing off her jeans with a dramatic huff, “let’s get out of here before I turn into an icicle, you better make him drop down on his knees, babe.”

You nodded, hugging them both, but instead of heading toward the exit, your feet carried you toward the locker room area. You hated this part already, leaning against the brick wall, arms wrapped around yourself against the biting wind, you waited, every second dragging like you were standing there on purpose just to prove a point to yourself.

The door eventually did swing open and you watched Jake stepping out, hair still damp from the shower and curling softly at the ends, a fresh black hoodie hanging loose over his frame. He was laughing at something one of the guys said behind him when his eyes landed on you, causing him to stop mid-step.

For a second he just stared, surprise flickering across his face before it melted into this softer, brighter, almost disbelieving expression. His lips parted, and then he broke into the biggest, most genuine smile you had seen on him yet. It was radiant, boyish in how uncontained it was, his eyes lighting up like you were the best part of his entire day, and it made your throat go dry.

“Hey—you’re still here,” he said, voice warm and a little breathless as he walked straight over to you. 

You pushed off the wall, trying to keep your expression casual even as your heart picked up speed, “you played really well out there. That last goal was incredible, it was the first time I experienced the whole stadium going crazy,” you said, completely ignoring the part where he dedicated that goal to you.

Jake’s smile grew even wider, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He ran a hand through his damp hair, still looking at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there, “you really stayed for the whole thing. God, that means a lot. I kept looking up into the stands and there you were. I—it motivated me, I can’t even explain it.”

He looked so happy, so openly thrilled, his eyes bright and captivating under the fading stadium lights. The way he was looking at you, like your presence genuinely made his day, made something dangerous flutter in your chest despite the reality of it all. You stepped a little closer, heart hammering, and did what you had to do.

You rose onto your toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, letting it linger for a second, “Uhm—I’ll see you around,” you murmured against his skin, starting to pull back.

But Jake’s hand gently caught your wrist, stopping you. His touch was light, almost careful, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he held on too tight, since this did seem like a dream to him. Behind him, Heeseung had paused in the doorway, watching the whole exchange with an amused little smirk he wasn’t even trying to hide.

“Wait,” Jake said softly, still processing the kiss, his thumb brushing once over your skin, “you’re leaving already?”

You swallowed, “yeah. I have an assignment I need to finish tonight.”

He nodded, but didn’t let go right away, “right, of course.” Then, a little shyly, he added, “there’s a party at the house tonight—but if that doesn’t work, we’re having a smaller one at the dorm in a few days. Just the guys and whoever shows up. You should come, I promise I’ll make it worthwhile for you.”

You hesitated, the warmth of his fingers and the hope in his eyes making it harder than it should have been, “I’m not really a party person, Jake.”

“I know,” he said quickly, voice gentle, “that’s why I’m telling you it’ll be chill. No pressure at all, just come hang out for a bit. I’ll even make sure there’s something better than cheap beer. Please?”

The way he looked at you, so earnest and a little nervous, made you feel guilty just a smidge. You could feel Heeseung’s amused gaze on the both of you, but you kept your focus on Jake.

“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, offering a small smile.

Jake’s eyes lit up like you’d already said yes. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

You gave him one last nod before gently pulling your wrist back and turning to leave, but Jake’s hand caught your wrist again, gentle in his action, like he couldn’t let the moment slip away just yet. He gave a light tug, drawing you back toward him until your back pressed against his chest. For a heartbeat you felt the solid warmth of him behind you, the faint dampness of his hoodie, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then he leaned down, one arm slipping loosely around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

His lips were plump and soft, warm from the shower, staying there for a second longer than necessary. The touch was rather unhurried, sending a quiet shiver through you that had absolutely nothing to do with the wind.

“Jake—”

When he pulled back, he bit his lower lip, eyes bright and a little shy as they met yours, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, voice hopeful, like the words were a promise he was already holding onto.

You managed a small nod, heart still stumbling over itself, and finally stepped away. The spot on your cheek stayed warm long after you turned the corner, and you wondered how this game was gonna end. 

CHAPTER FIVE: Soaked and blue balled. 

She gets cold so fast, shoulders hunch up the second wind hits.

She keeps twisting the rings on her index and ring finger.

She has a faint dimple on her right cheek.

She fits perfectly in my ar—

Now, Jake had not the faintest clue where he was going with this, yet he kept on writing under the pretence of keeping all the minute observations in a precise manner for his advantage. He stared at the page for another moment, then shut the notebook and tossed it onto his desk. 

The ever so unforeseeable rain had started hammering against his window, and he watched one single raindrop cascading down the surface before he sat right up, grabbing an umbrella to head out without any destination in his mind. Well, he did have to bring Jay back from Jungwon’s dorm (who was facing this taxing challenge of acting normal around his hyung). It didn’t go beyond that really.

He wasn’t used to this silence and peace, he never really went out in the rain, calling it the perfect time to just play games with his friends. However, it was truly hard to pinpoint what made him rush out like this, only coming back to reality once he reached the lecture hall area. He was about to keep walking when he saw you pushing through the doors with Haechan beside you. Jake knew him, he was Jeno’s friend and also one of the dude who fucked around a lot.

Jake wasn’t any better by any means, but he hadn’t even thought of such a thing in the past eleven days. He simply stopped, watching how your umbrella showed no signs of cooperating in this windy weather, and your shoulders were starting to hunch in the same way Jake had noticed during his half time game yesterday. 

He jogged to you, dismissing any other thought, especially the one that sounded a lot like Jay’s voice laughing at him for being too involved, “hey—wait up!”

You turned around, rain evident on your lashes already, and in that fleeting second, your mind was quick to admit his beauty under the dimness of the evening. 

He lifted his umbrella higher, covering you completely as you lowered yours, the wide canopy shutting out the worst of the storm and pulling the two of you into a small, private bubble.

“Jay’s over at your dorm with Jungwon right now,” he said, a little out of breath, water dripping from the ends of his hair. “He needed some notes or something. I was heading there anyway to pick him up. Come on, my umbrella’s bigger.”

You glanced at your own umbrella, which was flapping uselessly, “I have one.”

“Yeah, but it’s not doing you much good,” Jake replied, stepping closer so the shelter stayed perfectly over you. His shoulder brushed yours as you started walking, “seriously—you’ll be soaked before you even get halfway. Let me walk you.”

Haechan gave you a quick, amused look and muttered something about seeing you in lab tomorrow before disappearing down another path with a wave, making you roll your eyes as he made missy faces, which Jake noticed.

The two of you fell into step under the umbrella. Jake kept it tilted toward you even when it meant his own left side kept getting wet. The closeness was apparent, his arm warm against yours, the faint clean scent of his shampoo mixing with the wet earth and rain. Every time you stepped around a puddle, his sleeve brushed your wrist, sending a small spark up your arm.

For a minute the only sound was the rain. Then Jake spoke, voice low and a little playful, “you know, I was halfway convinced you’d avoid me today after yesterday.”

You let out a small breath of laughter, “I thought about it, then I remembered I don’t own a boat and the campus flooded.”

He grinned, glancing down at you. The way the rain made your lashes look darker, the little droplets clinging to your skin, made his stomach flip, “lucky for me then. I would’ve been stuck walking alone, getting soaked, feeling so sorry for myself.”

“You’re still getting soaked,” you pointed out, noticing how his left shoulder was dark with water. Without thinking you shifted a little closer under the umbrella, your arm pressing more firmly against his.

Jake bit down his smile, “worth it. Besides, you’re warm and It’s nice.” His voice dropped a fraction, “are you always freezing or is it just me that brings the chill?”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved despite yourself, “It’s the rain, genius. Though you do have a habit of making normal things seem complicated.”

“Complicated in a good way, I hope,” he said, the words light but his eyes searching yours for a second longer than necessary. His free hand brushed yours again as you both avoided another puddle, and this time his fingers lingered for half a second before he managed to pull himself back.

The rain kept falling, steady and heavy, but under the umbrella everything felt smaller, rather warmer, you noticed how steady his breathing was, how the warmth of him seemed to chase away the chill seeping into your bones. He bit the inside of his cheek because in that moment, he wasn’t really acting, the wanton ease you provided him with was too real.

“You’re weird,” you muttered, clearly not meaning any bit of it, and he knew the implication behind it, or maybe it was his maladaptive daydreaming.

The dorm building appeared through the silver curtain of rain. Jake slowed deliberately, drawing the last few steps out as if the walk could stretch forever. When you reached the small covered overhang by the entrance, he lowered the umbrella but didn’t step away. Instead he moved in closer, guiding you gently until your back met the cool brick wall. The overhang sheltered you both from the downpour, but the world narrowed to the narrow space between your bodies and the solid wall behind you.

He was close now, so close you could see the tiny freckles across his cheek, the way his damp hair curled softly at the temples yet again, the faint flush across the bridge of his nose from the cold. His gaze moved over your face with quiet hunger, taking in every detail—the way rain glistened on your skin, the soft flush on your cheeks, the faint dimple that appeared when your lips parted slightly. You looked so pretty like this, natural and glowing in the dim light, and the sight made his throat tighten.

You raised your eyebrow, heart hammering against your ribs, “Jake?”

He only smiled, slow and unsteady, biting down on his bottom lip as he leaned in closer, closer, until the space between you was almost gone. His eyes dropped to your mouth, dark and wanting, then lifted again to meet yours. In that suspended second neither of you were thinking about the bet, about the car, about the game you were both playing. There was only the rain, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the dizzying pull that made everything else disappear.

Right then the dorm door swung open with a loud metallic scrape.

Jay stepped out, nearly walking straight into the moment. He stopped short, eyes widening as he took in how close you and Jake were standing against the wall.

“Whoa, Y/N?” Jay said, a smirk already spreading across his face, “am I interrupting something?”

Your eyes widened in realization and you slipped sideways, ducking under Jake’s arm without a word. You pushed through the door and disappeared inside, cheeks burning, the echo of the almost-kiss still buzzing hot in your mind.

Jake stayed frozen, then groaned hard. He turned and leaned back against the same brick wall, eyes falling shut as the rain continued to fall around him, umbrella now lowered. His heart was still racing, loud and unsteady, the ghost of your warmth lingering against his chest. 

He let out a slow breath, jaw tight. I’m going to kill Jay.

CHAPTER SIX: Jaemin the instigator. 

Jake had only read a few books in his life, only one of which had a plot that truly stuck with him as someone who was never an avid enjoyer of reading literature. There was a line that kept replaying in his mind lately, more often than he cared to admit.

As soon as I saw you, I knew an adventure was going to happen.

Funny enough, it was from Winnie the pooh. 

It isn’t a romantic line, not even remotely, but he manages to fit it into his narrative perfectly, especially during the quiet. Mind drifting back to when the rain had been dripping from the eaves and your back had been against the brick and he’d leaned in close enough to feel the warmth of your breath. The bet had started as a stupid game. Now it felt like the kind of quiet adventure he hadn’t seen coming.

Unfortunately, the distraction followed him to the practice field. 

During a simple change-of-direction drill, his mind slipped again. The ball came low across the turf and Jake planted his left foot to cut inside, making his ankle roll with an ugly twist. It wasnt anything dramatic, just a sharp flare of pain that shot up his calf and dropped him to one knee, breath hissing between his teeth.

Jay reached him first, crouching down fast, “shit, Jake, what the hell? You good?”

Heeseung slowed beside them, still breathing hard, “dude, you’ve been completely zoned out all week, like—really zoned out. This bet is fucking with your head too much, just call it off, man. For real.”

Sunghoon hung back a step, arms crossed, watching quietly, “coach is gonna notice, y’know? It’s not worth it.”

Jake sat back on the grass, testing the ankle with a careful flex, the place already swelling under the sock. Minor, probably, but it hurt enough to make his eyes sting for a second,“It’s fine,” he muttered, forcing the usual half-smile, “just a tweak—I’m good.”

From the edge of the drill Jaemin let out a soft, pleased laugh, “or this is actually perfect timing. Wounded-puppy Jake? She’s gonna eat it up.” He clapped Jake on the back once, “I’ll handle it. You just stay looking all soft and grateful.”

Jay shot him a sharp look, “Jaemin, I swear to God—”

But Jaemin was already jogging off to find you. 

You were stepping out of your last lecture when Jaemin fell into step beside you, which was kind of scary. 

“Jake’s in the medical room,” Jaemin said casually, making your eyes go wide at the sudden voice, “twisted his ankle pretty bad at practice. Trainer’s got him taped up with ice, might even sit out the next game if it swells.”

A flicker of worry did pass through your head, but then you shrugged, “hm, kinda sounds minor.”

Jaemin’s smirk was small, “c’mon, this is perfect for the bet. He’s all vulnerable right now, best time for you to go and play nurse, make him fall a little harder. You’re already halfway there anyway.” He bumped your shoulder lightly. 

You sighed, the worry sitting heavier than you wanted to admit. Pretty bad, he’d said, “fine—I’ll check on him.”

Jaemin grinned, satisfied, “atta girl.” He peeled off toward the dorms.

You told yourself you weren’t going to bring anything. But the cafeteria line was short, and the smell of warm rice and simple broth pulled you in anyway. You ended up with a container of congee, a cold can of the original red bull, and two slightly squished steamed buns. Your hands stayed steady, but your pulse? Yeah, it didn’t.

The medical room door was halfway open. You knocked once with your elbow and stepped inside.

Jake was on the padded table, left leg propped up, ice pack soggy at the edges. His practice jersey hung open, undershirt damp against his chest, dark curls still messy and sticking to his temples. He looked tired—shoulders a little slumped, the usual bright energy dialed way down. For a second you just stood there in the doorway, and Jake’s eyes lifted to meet yours.

He gulped at the sight of you, the way a few strands of hair had slipped loose after class, the small crease between your brows that you probably didn’t even realize was there. You looked pretty like this.

Jay and Heeseung were hovering nearby. The second they saw you with the bag, they exchanged a quick glance.

Jay cleared his throat, lips twitching, “well, look who showed up.”

Heeseung pushed off the wall with a low chuckle, “we were just leaving anyway. Coach wants us back on the field.” He gave Jake’s shoulder a gentle clap. “Don’t be an idiot, yeah?” The two of them slipped out, the door clicking shut behind them and leaving the room suddenly quieter. 

Jake cleared his throat, bottom lip bitten as he observed you walking closer, “I—you didn’t have to come,” he mumbled, flustered all of a sudden. 

“You’re really being shy at me visiting you? Aren’t you the flirt of the campus?” You chuckled, “but yeah, heard you fucked up your ankle pretty bad, figured you’d be hungry.” 

His ears flushed red, “yeah, well—I wasn’t expecting anyone here, least of all you showing up here with food,” he shifted on the padded table, wincing a little, “thanks, genuinely. I was mentally preparing myself to order takeout today.”

You set the bag on the counter, pulling out the container and a spoon, handing them over. Your fingers brushed his, absorbing the warmth of his skin, and he took the food with a grateful smile. 

He peeled the lid back and took the first bite. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second. “God, this is actually really good,” he murmured, “way better than anything I would’ve scavenged later.” He ate quietly after that, the spoon scraping softly against the plastic, but every few bites his gaze lifted to you. 

You dragged the plastic stool closer and sat down beside the table, elbow resting on the edge near his good leg, watching the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the small crease between his brows when he shifted his ankle, the way his damp hair fell across his forehead. He looked softer like this, stripped of the usual energy—which you had grown accustomed to.

“Does it hurt too much?” You asked.

Jake shrugged one shoulder, “throbs like a bitch when I put any weight on it. Nurse said it’s just a swelling, I’ll survive.” He took another bite, then glanced at you again, heart warm at the sight of you going out of your way to be here—even though it stemmed from Jaem’s instigations. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. I know you had a full day.”

“It wasn’t that far out of the way,” you lied, because admitting you’d gone to the cafeteria on purpose felt too revealing, “besides, someone had to make sure you didn’t try to be a hero and walk on it.”

He let out a low chuckle, “guilty, I probably would’ve.” He set the container down for a moment, fingers brushing the edge of the table near your arm. The contact was light, accidental, but it stayed there a second too long, “you’re really something else, you know that?”

You felt the heat creep up your neck but didn’t pull away, instead, you leaned in a little closer, resting your chin on your folded arms on the edge of the table, “eat the rest before it gets cold, idiot. I’m not carrying you anywhere.”

Jake grinned, small and crooked, but his eyes stayed soft on your face. He kept eating, slower now, like he was dragging the moment out. Your eyelids grew heavy. The day pressed down on you all at once—the lectures, the walking, the quiet ache of pretending this was still just part of the game. You let your head rest fully on your arms, cheek against the cool edge of the table, close enough that your breath stirred the fabric of his shirt. Just for a minute, you told yourself.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the warmth of the room, the steady sound of his breathing, the faint scent of ginger and him all mixed together, and your eyes slipped shut completely.

Jake went completely still.

He set the spoon down without a sound and lowered himself back onto the table until he was lying flat, turning his head so he could look at you properly. You were right there—head pillowed on your arms on the edge of the table, breathing slow and even, lashes dark against your skin, lips slightly parted. A strand of hair had fallen across your face. He reached out without thinking, fingertips barely grazing it before he caught himself and pulled back.

Would it make any sense for Jake to feel this unexpected emotion he still couldn’t quite pinpoint? Maybe his friends were right, he didn’t really need to follow through with whatever the bet was about. It really wasn’t worth hurting you, or himself—but then, did you even think of him as someone close to you? Perhaps as a friend at least? 

He let out a slow, shaky breath, and resorted to watching you—the way your shoulder rose and fell, the way your fingers formed a cute fist, how you let your guard down enough for your body to trust itself to fall asleep right next to him. Perhaps it was something small, yet to him, it was grand. 

So, he just lay there, inches away from you, letting the silence settle as his mind spun in circles he couldn’t stop.

CHAPTER SEVEN: Holy stalker

“So, you spent hours sleeping with him?” 

“You’re literally wording it wrong Jungwon.”

“And you almost kissed right outside the dorm—”

“Can you guys stop?” You groaned, but Karina was far from done, she was just getting started actually.

“—you can’t fucking lie to us, like genuinely you were smiling when you came in yesterday and today. What’s next? Fucking him at a party?”

“Oh god—nothing is happening, what is wrong with you both?” You stand up from the couch, turning to stare at both your friends, who sat rather comfortably with their arms crossed.

“This is not nothing, I’m just asking you, what’s the end point? Where would you draw the line, hm? If it requires physicality for him to actually fall in love with you, would you do it?”

Well, Karina did have a point. 

“We’re grown adults with active sex life so, why would that change anything?” You finish, almost defensive. 

Karina’s eyebrows shot up so fast it was almost comical. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, that wicked grin spreading slow across her face, “oh my god, listen to you. Active sex life, babe, you haven’t had dick in months and now you’re out here acting like it’s no big deal if Jake Sim rails you for the sake of the bet? Be so fucking for real right now.”

Jungwon nearly spit out his coffee, “Rina—”

“No, no, let me speak,” Karina cut him off, waving a hand without breaking eye contact with you, “I’m not judging, I’m just saying—if he’s already got you smiling like an idiot and almost-kissing you against a wall in the rain, what’s stopping you from seeing how far it goes? You gonna let him fuck you on the kitchen counter just to watch his ego implode when you ghost him after? Because honestly? I’d pay to see that. But don’t lie to yourself and say it’s all strategy when you’re feeling that way for him.”

You felt your face burn hot, “It’s not like that. I’m not—god, I’m not planning on sleeping with him, okay? I’m still in control.”

Karina barked out a laugh, “look, I love you, but if you’re gonna play this game, at least own it, and you’re allowed to enjoy the ride before you drop him and collect our Paris trip. Just don’t catch feelings and cry to us when the car means more to him than you do.”

Jungwon rubbed the back of his neck, looking equal parts amused and concerned, “she’s got a point, even if she’s saying it like a psycho. Just be careful, I still don’t trust him around you, but you’re always welcome to cry to us.”

You threw a pillow at Karina’s head. It bounced off her shoulder and she just cackled harder, “you two are the worst. Go to class before I actually kick you out.”

They finally dragged themselves up—Jungwon pulling you into a quick, tight hug and muttering, “text me if it gets weird,” before heading out, Karina pausing in the doorway to shoot you one last teasing smirk, “If you do end up letting him hit, at least make him beg first. Love you, bitch.” The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the dorm suddenly, blissfully quiet.

You let out a long breath and flopped back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Your lab had been cancelled last minute—the TA had blown up the group chat at 8:47 with some excuse about electrophoresis set up not working—and now the whole morning stretched out empty in front of you. 

Too much time to think about yesterday, or the day before that, or—

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, thankfully breaking the train of your thoughts. You grabbed it lazily, expecting another spam message from the group chat. Instead it was an Instagram DM.

jake.sim: hey

didn’t have your number so i figured i’d slide in here like a normal person instead of showing up at your door like a creep 

Your lip twitched, just a smidge, because of course Jake would find your instagram and text out of nowhere. 

you: hi and you still managed to sound like a creep anyway

The three dots popped up instantly, like he’d been waiting with his phone in his hand.

jake.sim: fair actually  listen, random question is your oven working? mine’s been dead for two days and i’m craving something sweet

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. Of course he had friends with working ovens. Half the football house probably had better kitchens than you did. But he was asking you, specifically.

you: yeah it works why

jake.sim: can i come bake a cake at your place? i’ll bring everything just wanna spend time with you, if that’s cool

Your stomach did a stupid little flip, and you groaned. What have you even come to?

you: sure door’s unlocked if you’re fast enough

Twenty minutes later there was a soft knock. You opened it to find Jake standing there in his black hoodie and grey sweats, hair still a little damp from a shower, maybe. Arms full of grocery bags, and he looked unfairly good, but when he shifted the bags higher on his arm you caught the tiniest wince in his leg. He hid it fast with that easy grin.

“Hey,” he breathed out, staring at just how comfortable you looked in shorts, “thanks for letting me invade, i come bearing burgers to show my gratitude.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying to ignore the way his eyes dragged down your bare legs for half a second before snapping back up, “didn’t you say you wanted a cake?” You raised your eyebrow. 

His grin turned a little sheepish, “cake’s the whole point, yes. Burgers are just—extra, i saw you eating this with Jungwon two days back so—”

“So you are a stalker—”

“Just observant,” he finished quickly, stepping inside as you moved out of the way. The door clicked shut behind him and he realized that your flatmates were not home, leaving the place to you and him, “not in a creepy way though.”

You just nodded, as if humouring him, eyes fixed on his hands—which were veiny as hell somehow—unpacking the stuff including flour, sugar, eggs, and well, every ingredient needed for a good cake, before giving you a burger (he got two extras, just in case).

Hopping on the edge of the counter, you unwrapped the burger as he took all the bowls out with you pointing around the cabinets. The room itself was silent but his eyes? Pretty shameless, you’d admit, because his focus was more on your ridden shorts than the flour.

Jake caught himself after a second, lips twitching like he knew exactly what he was doing, “you really gonna sit there and not help me?”

You took a bite of the burger, chewing slowly while holding his gaze, “you’re the one who begged to come over and use my oven. Eyes on the bowl, Jake.”

He laughed under his breath, and went back to the flour, but the glance he stole at your legs was anything but subtle, “easier said than done when you’re sitting right there looking like that,” he mumbled to himself as he started scooping ingredients, movements smooth despite the way he kept most of his weight on his left leg, “pass me the sugar?”

You did so without getting down. He reached past you anyway, arm brushing the side of your thigh, and didn’t pull back right away. When you finally slid off the counter to actually help, he didn’t give you much space, he handed you the whisk and stepped right behind you, chest brushing your back as he reached around to adjust your grip on the handle.

“Easy circles,” he murmured, voice dropping close to your ear, “you can be gentle with it, y’know?”

Be gentle with me—is what he wished to say, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit how much he enjoyed your grumpiness as well, and he was almost eager to find what more you had to offer. 

His hand stayed over yours, so warm and steady, the other settled lightly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your tank top to brush bare skin. You could feel every small shift of his body against yours, the clean scent of his hoodie mixing with the butter and vanilla already in the air.

“You’re crowding me,” you said, dry but not moving away.

“Am I?” His thumb traced one slow line along your hip, “didn’t hear you telling me to back up.”

You elbowed him lightly, feeling lightheaded, because it was odd how he actually achieved to bring out your playful side in what? Fourteen days since his bet started. But it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, “focus on the cake, not my legs.”

He leaned in, “trying and failing pretty badly.” His thumb traced one slow circle on your hip, right where your tank top had ridden up, and your pulse jumped harder. The touch was light, but it felt deliberate, like he was testing how long you’d let him stay this close.

The banter stayed easy after that, but every word felt—crazy. He teased you about not knowing how to bake (you actually didn’t). You told him he was being annoyingly precise for a guy who claimed he just wanted to hang out. Finally the batter came together, perfectly thick, smooth, and chocolatey. You scraped it into the pan he’d already greased, and Jake slid it into the oven without a word. He set the timer, then turned to you, leaning against the counter with that crooked grin.

“Twenty-five minutes,” he said, eyes flicking over you again, “think we can behave ourselves till then?”

You raised an eyebrow, still catching your breath from how close he’d been, “you’re the one who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

Before he could answer, you flicked a leftover pinch of cocoa at his cheek—light, almost absentminded, but enough to leave a small dark smudge, shocking yourself at the easiness of it all. 

Jake blinked, then his grin turned wild, “oh, it’s like that?”

He scooped a small handful of leftover flour from the counter and flicked it right back at you. It exploded in a soft white cloud across your tank top and collarbone. You gasped, eyes widening, and retaliated instantly—grabbing more flour and tossing it at his chest. Another puff burst between you, dusting the front of his black hoodie and catching in his hair.

“Seriously?” He laughed, already scooping more, “you started it, babe.”

You tried to duck behind the island, but the kitchen was tiny and he was faster, even with the slight limp. He caught you around the waist mid-step, pulling you back as he flung another handful. Flour went everywhere—exploding in soft bursts across your arms, your hair, the counter. You twisted in his hold, laughing despite yourself, and managed to smear a streak of cocoa down his cheek before he spun you again.

He couldn’t explain it, but having you laugh so freely in his presence—him making you laugh, yeah, it felt pretty damn good, and this smile was way better than you had given Jungwon in the earlier days of Jake chasing you—not that he was comparing (he was).

Your back hit the edge of the counter, both of you breathing harder now, covered in white powder and cocoa streaks. His hands stayed locked on your waist, thumbs pressing in, meanwhile yours ended up fisted in the front of his hoodie, pulling without thinking. Flour clung to his lashes, dusted his hair, streaked across his jaw. Your heart was hammering, butterflies rioting in your stomach, every inch of you hyper-aware of how close he was, how warm his body felt through the thin layers between you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dropping straight to your mouth, “you’ve got flour on your lip.”

“So do you,” you whispered.

Jake didn’t wipe it away. He leaned in slow, giving you every chance to stop him. Your breath caught again, but you closed the last inch anyway.

His lips were just as soft as they appeared to be, but more hungry than you could fathom, or manage. It felt consuming, the way his mouth moved against yours with this urgency but also a silent battle of him holding back. A low sound rumbled in his chest when your lips parted, granting his tongue the excess it so desperately craved. 

It slid in slow, tasting faintly of the bitter cocoa and flour, your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were sure he could feel it. Butterflies erupted low in your stomach, fluttering all around hard enough, it made your thighs press instinctively around his hips. 

Bet. Bet. Bet.  

The words flashed sharp in the back of your mind, but it dissolved rather quickly when Jake’s hand slid higher under your tank top, palm hot and rough against the bare skin of your back, fingers spreading wide as if he was trying to cover the expanse of your skin. His other hand stayed locked at your waist, thumb digging in just enough to anchor you against him while he kissed you deeper—slower, learning the shape of your mouth. 

Everything else was forgotten for both him and you. All that existed was the warmth of his body pressed flush to yours, the faint scratch of his hoodie against your arms, the way his breath hitched when you tugged harder at the front of it.

“Yeah—fuck, like that,” he murmured against your lips, “kiss me back harder, c’mon, pretty.”

And so you did, tongue sliding against his in a messy push-pull that made his breath hitch, “you came over here to bake a cake,” you managed between kisses, sarcastic even as your hips rolled forward to meet his, “not to end up grinding on me in my kitchen.”

Jake laughed low against your mouth, the sound wrecked, and pressed his hips forward harder, letting you feel exactly how hard he was getting through his sweats, “pretty sure you started the flour fight, sweetheart. Don’t act like you weren’t waiting for this.” He kissed you deeper, tongue stroking yours in a filthy rhythm while he ground against you slow and deliberate, the friction pulling a sharp breath from you, “there, yeah. Feel that? That’s what you do to me every time you look at me like that, so fucking pretty.”

“Shut up,” you shot back, nipping his bottom lip hard enough to make him groan, then soothing it with your tongue. You rocked your hips right back into his, matching his pace, “you talk too much.”

He grinned against your mouth, that cocky little curve you could feel more than see, and rolled his hips again, slower this time, dragging right where it made your breath catch, “and you fucking love it.” His hand tightened on your waist, holding you steady as he kept that steady, grinding rhythm, “but keep doing that with your hips—yeah, baby, just like that—fuck.”

The oven timer went off, making you realize exactly how much time you’d devoted to this unholy activity.

You both froze, foreheads pressed together, chests heaving. His lips were swollen, eyes dark and glassy, breath hot against your mouth. Jake let out a rough, breathless chuckle, still holding you close, thumb stroking slow circles on your waist like he couldn’t stop touching you, “cake’s done.”

You dropped your head to his shoulder, a quiet laugh escaping you too, “this is insane.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, lips brushing your temple before he kissed the corner of your mouth once, lingering for a few seconds, then helped you slide down off the counter, hands steady on your hips the whole way, like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment slip away.

It felt too—intimate, not that the act of making out wasn’t on par, it clearly was, but this? It carried more emotion than just your everyday lust. 

While the cake cooled on the rack, he prepared the frosting, letting everything take place before he reached into one of the bags and pulled out a small box of candles, trying to focus on regulating his breathing, and you started with your eyebrows lifted.

“Candles? For a random cake?”

He shrugged, cheeks going a little pink under the flour, “It’s for you, actually. Kinda a thank you? You sat with me after the practice when my leg was fucked, nobody else would’ve stuck around like that. Figured I owed you something sweet.”

You stared at him for a second, because this felt too genuine again, “Jake, that’s—”

“Crazy?” He laughed softly, lighting the candles anyway. They flickered golden in the morning light, “yeah, maybe. But you make me want to do crazy shit.”

You shook your head, the word “dork” slipping out quiet and fond before you could stop it. He just grinned, making you blow the candles, and yet again, you indulged in his theatrics before he managed to cut two big slices, sliding one over to you.

The cake was actually perfect, and it was clear that there wasn’t anything Jake Sim couldn’t do, maybe he couldn’t make you fall for him, but even you weren’t too sure, granted that you’d been smiling, and it wasn’t fake by any means. You took a bite and hummed in surprise, Jake watched you the whole time with a satisfied look on his face.

Then he scooped a bit of frosting onto his finger and held it out, eyes locked on yours, “here—try it this way.”

You leaned in and took it off his finger with your lips, slow. His breath hitched hard, and when you pulled back, he brought the same finger to his own mouth and licked the rest off, shameless and unhurried, tongue dragging over the pad like he was tasting you instead of frosting.

“Fuck,” he murmured, stepping close again, hands finding your waist like they belonged there, “you’re gonna kill me, YN.”

If domesticity with you felt like this, then Jake swears he can give up his parties just to spend an extra minute holding you close to his heart—which never lied. Jake was never dumb, not even now. He had always been quick to acknowledge his feelings, which screamed at him that nothing else mattered in this moment, just him and you. When you started to look in his eyes again, you gulped.

Because all that existed was him looking at you like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

CHAPTER EIGHT: Redbull gives you wings 

“The fuck?” 

Jay frowned, staring at his best friend. 

The sight was diabolical to say the least, the smile on Jake’s face despite it all—idiotic. There was no way to describe it, at least for Jay, who couldn’t fathom what absurd war Jake had gotten into to return back home with flour on his hair and body, and wait was that a Tupperware full of chocolate cake in his hands?

Jake didn’t bother with explanations, simply dropping the box on Jay’s lap, courtesy of you packing some up saying how he’d managed to make way too much for a single person. 

With how loud Jay’s voice had been, Sunghoon and Heeseung managed out come out of their rooms, equally as confused.

“Explain,” Sunghoon muttered, sitting next to Jay and grabbing a piece of cake.

“Nothing really, i just went to bake a cake with Y/N,” he managed to let out, still dazed. 

“And she decided to maul you with flour?” Heeseung winced, brushing some power off of Jake’s hair, “seems like you lost the fight.”

“C’mon, she started it, so of course I didn’t stop at that—and things, uhm, escalated.”

Right then, Hoon took a big bite of the sweet, regret clear on his face, nose wrinkling, “what the fuck, dude—there’s a whole patch of raw flour in the middle.”

Well, that batch was put in after the flour fight, which would explain the quality difference. 

Heeseung, who had already taken a forkful, shrugged and kept eating happily, “tastes fine to me. A bit lumpy, but the chocolate fixes it.”

Jay refused to touch it, not being polite in the way he pushed the whole container towards Heeseung, “yeah, I’m not eating that. And why do you look like you just got laid?”

Jake rubbed a hand over his jaw, the corners of his mouth still curved up, “we may have gotten a little distracted after the cake went in the oven.”

Heeseung choked, “distracted, how?”

Jake shrugged, not even trying to hide how pleased he was, “by kissing—a lot, oh god it felt good.” 

Jay dragged both hands down his face, “you went over there to make her fall for you and ended up making out with her in the kitchen? Jake, what the hell is going on with you? You’ve barely looked at any other girl in weeks.”

Jake didn’t answer right away. He just picked up a piece of the slightly floury cake and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully even though it really wasn’t that great.

“I’m thankful though, I can finally sleep without having to hear moans each fucking night,” Heeseung shudders, mind drifting back to how loud Jake and his night partners used to be. 

Sunghoon barked out a laugh, “yeah, we went from daily noise complaints to peaceful silence. Did you catch feelings or did she put her tear drop into the cake batter?”

“Shut up, it’s not like that,” Jake mumbled, though the tips of his ears turning red said otherwise, “and we’re not in Descendants.”

They all just stared at him, till he managed to huff, sitting down on the couch which offered no space to him, dirtying it in the process, “it’s just—it’s nice, okay? I don’t have to be loud or use up all my energy around her, it feels calm to be there even in silence.”

Jay almost gagged, “calm? Did you just change your whole personality cause you’re in love now?”

Sunghoon was grinning, “next thing you know he’ll be holding her hand on campus and calling her baby in public, and trust, I’ll be documenting every bit of it.”

Jake threw a small piece of cake at him, missing on purpose, “you guys are annoying as hell. Can we talk about something else?”

The boys kept teasing him for a few more minutes—throwing in dramatic predictions about Jake turning into a full boyfriend and suggestions to get him a I’m in my soft era shirt before finally letting it go and arguing about tomorrow’s practice instead. Jake just leaned back on the couch, half-listening, the small smile never quite leaving his face.

Because he knew things had changed, and so did you. It was a gradual shift, from you tolerating Jake’s presence to enjoying it (well, some part of you did at least). The idea of seeing him often didn’t make you groan in agony, it felt like a routine granted Jake had your schedule memorized to his bones, and he made it his mission to randomly appear and fall in step with you without making it awkward. 

“Hey, got you some coffee,” he’d naturally say, always bringing the latte, but he did make you try out an overly sweet drink which he fancied, and somehow, you didn’t hate it. 

It was concerning to say the least, your friends being more concerned than you, but of course no one was blind to the fact that maybe Jake was more deep in this than you were, and that bit was not an act, not anymore at least. 

It only escalated when one afternoon, you showed up at his practice session without him having you ask, a cold can of coconut berry red bull tucked in your bag. When you tossed it his way, his whole face lit up and he stared at you with such warmth, it seemed like his eyes were shining. It wasn’t a big deal, right? 

Wrong. Jake knew it didn’t take a lot to do something for others, but you’d noticed his favourite flavour—you’d managed to remember it despite him having not mentioned it. 

He was glad it was break time, cause he immediately cracked it open, “you remembered?”

You wanted to slap yourself for how hard it was to not smile at him, so you managed a shrug, “yeah, not a big deal.”

He stepped closer, still in his practice jersey, hair slightly damp from running drills, and you noticed how they’d grown longer, the afternoon sun catching on the sharp line of his collarbone. For a second he just looked at you, “it’s a big deal when you do it.”

The way he said it was enough to send a warm flutter through your chest that you quickly tried to ignore. You crossed your arms, pretending to watch the team stretching behind him, “don’t make it weird, Sim.”

“I’m not,” he replied, but the small grin tugging at his lips said otherwise. He took another sip, eyes never really leaving your face, and he swore, it was the best drink he’d ever had.

It almost felt like you were flying in the moment, as cheesy as it might be, maybe you’d blame redbull for giving you wings or whatever. 

There were other small things too. He started saving you the quiet corner seat in the library because he knew you liked your back to the wall. You’d gotten him a hair tie when you noticed the length of his hair again, and the second he tied his hair, even you were rendered speechless for a moment. 

The way it exposed the clean line of his jaw and the sharp cut of his cheekbones made something in your stomach tighten unexpectedly. You quickly looked back down at your notes, pretending you hadn’t noticed, oh but he noticed, and leaned in till his nose brushed against yours, “how do i look?” he’d asked.

“Good,” you remember breathing out, making him smile and lean in further, pressing a soft kiss on your lips before jogging back to the field, where three of his friends stood with their mouths hung open. It was a rather comical sight for anyone who watched from a distance. 

At least to Jaemin, it was. He was always lurking around, and no one knew what he was trying to achieve. Jeno could only shake his head standing beside him, but well. 

Anyway, as if that wasn’t enough, Jake would send you random memes at 2 a.m. when he knew you were still up studying, and you’d reply with a dry “go to sleep” that always made him smile at his phone like an idiot. 

Jake had truly forgotten about the bet.

The whole stupid game barely crossed his mind anymore. He wasn’t playing anymore. He just wanted to be around you.

You were trying to bury the memory of the bet deep inside too. Every time it tried to creep up, you shoved it back down. You told yourself you were still in control, that this was all part of the plan. But the truth was simpler and scarier—you liked having him around. You liked the easy quiet when you studied together. You liked the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. 

And that terrified you more than anything.

CHAPTER NINE: Jealousy allegations?

“Are you like a hundred percent sure?”

You sighed, plopping on your bed with ease as you stared at Karina, who’d asked you this question at least, give or take, a million times. 

“Yes, I am sure—gosh, you gotta stop,” you mumbled, running a hand over your skirt, while Karina shook her head. 

“Trust me I have a feeling that something will happen tonight,” she exasperated for the nth time. 

Jake was finally throwing that party he’d mentioned after his game a few days back, and to Heeseung courtesy, it wasn’t a small gathering anymore, but a full blown party at their dormitory which won’t even fit the amount of people he’d invited. 

“What would happen? C’mon, I’m really okay,” you tried to reason. 

“Okay? Girl, you’re practically beaming, and you got ready before I did, is that not proof enough?” She went on, doing her eyeliner by side, “you look hot as hell in that skirt by the way, I’ll be praying for Jake.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. The black skirt sat high on your waist, paired with a simple fitted top that showed just enough skin, and most importantly—you felt confident about yourself, which just completed the look altogether. 

“Whatever. Let’s just go before I change my mind.”

Jungwon was already ready and waiting outside, and so you three went on as they both kept mumbling warnings in your ear, as if a child going outside alone for the first time. 

“Seriously, if he gets weird just text me,” Jungwon said, half-joking.

Karina bumped your shoulder. “Or I’ll drag you out myself. I’m still not convinced this is a good idea.”

You just shook your head and kept walking.

The dorm was loud when you stepped inside, music playing from the living room and voices overlapping in every corner. The place smelled like pizza and cheap beer (of course), the usual Saturday night mess. People were everywhere—some chilling on the couches, others crowding the kitchen for drinks.

You hadn’t even taken three steps before Jake spotted you.

He was mid-conversation with Jay near the counter, cup halfway to his mouth, when he froze. His eyes locked on you and stayed there, dragging slowly from your face down to the skirt and back up again. For a second he looked completely thrown, like someone (you) had knocked the air out of him. Then he was moving, crossing the room in a straight line without saying a word to anyone, and Jay only shook his head with a small smile. 

The second he reached you he pulled you into a hug.

His arms wrapped around you tight, one hand splaying across your lower back, the other sliding up to cradle the back of your head. He buried his face in your hair for a long moment, breathing you in like he needed it. You felt his chest rise and fall against yours, warm and solid, completely forgetting your friends who tried to process the situation from a respectful distance. 

“Fuck,” he muttered into your hair, voice low and rough, “you look—I don’t even know what to say right now.”

You laughed softly against his shoulder, letting yourself relax into the hug, “hi, Jake.”

He didn’t let go right away. His thumb rubbed a slow circle on your back, almost absentminded, and when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were darker than usual, a little dazed, “you’re actually trying to kill me tonight, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile, “It’s just a skirt.”

“It’s not just a skirt,” he said, voice quieter. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing the edge of the fabric like he couldn’t help it.

You were about to tease him some more when he finally loosened his hold, stepping half a step back so he could actually look at you properly. His eyes flicked down again, then back up, and he let out a small breath like he was trying to collect himself.

That was when Sunoo wandered over from the kitchen, two cups in hand, spotting you both.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sunoo said, voice bright and easy like it always was in lab, “you actually came. I was starting to think you’d bail after that nightmare protocol we had last night.”

You turned toward him with a small laugh, “yeah, I almost did, Karina basically dragged me here,” you lied easily. 

Sunoo grinned, holding out one of the cups, “here, sprite with lime. I know you hate the sweet crap they make in the kitchen.”

Jake raised his brow, almost ready to scoff because you did like sweet drinks, and whoever this man was clearly didn’t know you enough. 

“Thanks,” you said, taking it, “needed that, the last lab almost killed me too.”

“Tell me about it,” Sunoo replied, leaning casually against the wall, “I spent twenty minutes trying to fix my gel after it kept tearing. Thought the TA was gonna cry with me.” He glanced at your outfit and nodded appreciatively. “By the way, that skirt looks really good on you. Way better than the lab coat.”

You let out a soft laugh, “appreciate it. Lab coat does no one any favors.”

Sunoo chuckled, “right? Anyway, how’s your presentation prep going? You were stressing about the lack of research papers ast class—”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Jake’s hand tighten slightly on your waist. He hadn’t moved away completely, still standing close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

Across the room, Karina caught your eye from where she was standing with Jungwon near the couch. She raised her brows in a clear what the hell look, while Jungwon just shook his head slowly, arms crossed like he was already bracing himself. Jay, leaning against the kitchen counter with Heeseung and Sunghoon, muttered something that made all three of them glance over. Heeseung smirked, while Sunghoon shook his head again, amused. Jaemin, kicked back on the armchair nursing a drink, was outright grinning like he’d hit the jackpot.

Sunoo kept talking, completely unaware, asking a casual question about the upcoming quiz. You answered easily, laughing at the right moments because talking to Sunoo was just—simple? He was the same bubbly guy from lab who always offered to share notes honestly. 

Jake’s jaw ticked though, he wasn’t happy with this situation at all.

After another minute of the easy back-and-forth, Jake’s hand slid firmly from your waist to your lower back.

“Hey,” he said to Sunoo, voice calm but edged, “mind if I steal her for a second?”

Sunoo blinked, then gave an easy, unbothered smile, “yeah, of course. Nice catching up, Y/N.”

Jake didn’t bother waiting really. His hand stayed steady on your lower back as he guided you through the living room, weaving between people chatting and laughing. You could feel the tension in his fingers, the way they pressed a little harder than necessary against the fabric of your top. He didn’t say a word the whole way down the hallway. The party noise faded behind you, turning into a muffled hum.

The second his bedroom door clicked shut, Jake turned to face you, eyes dark, stepping in close, backing you up until your shoulders hit the door. His hand came up, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your head just slightly to the side.

“Ignoring me the second he came in to talk, hm?” He asked, voice low as his breath ghosted over your neck as he leaned in, lips barely brushing the skin just below your ear, “looking this good while doing so?”

You swallowed, “Jake, he was just—”

He cut you off by pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss right under your jaw. You felt his teeth graze lightly, then the warm drag of his tongue.

“Answer me,” he murmured against your skin, voice smug, “what was so funny?”

Your breath hitched, “It—it wasn’t anything, just talking about the lab—”

He simply granted you another kiss, slower this time, right by your pulse. His hand slid down to grip your waist, holding you in place as he sucked lightly on the same spot.

“You stuttered,” he said, the words warm against your neck, you could hear the smirk in his voice, “so fucking cute.”

You let out a shaky laugh, even as heat pooled low in your stomach, “you’re actually jealous right now, aren’t you?”

Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, not waiting as he leaned in and kissed you on the mouth—soft at first, almost sweet, like he was trying to shut you up gently. It didn’t last, the kiss deepening fast, his tongue sliding against yours until you were gripping his shirt tighter.

When he broke it, he was breathing harder, “yeah, I am. I don’t like watching you smile at someone else when I’m standing right there.”

You opened your mouth to tease him again, but he kissed you once more, firm, before you could get the words out.

“See?” He muttered against your lips, smirking, “try and be bratty if you want me to kiss you stupid.”

“Jake—” you started, voice already breathy.

He cut you off with another kiss, this one deeper, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours for a second.

“Keep going,” he chuckled, “tell me how ridiculous I’m being.”

You tried, you did, “you’re being ridiculous. Sunoo was just—”

Jake’s mouth was on your neck again, sucking a slow, wet mark right below your ear. You gasped, fingernails digging in his skin now. 

“Wrong name coming out of your pretty lips, baby, try again,” he murmured, kissing the fresh mark.

“You’re fucking jealous,” you managed to say despite his previous confirmation of the same. Maybe you wanted to hear it again, maybe you wanted to feel the conviction of truth behind those words, the reality of it all. 

He kissed your lips hard, swallowing the rest of your sentence, then moved back down to your neck, sucking another mark lower this time.

“Yeah,” he admitted yet again against your skin, “I hate it—hate how easy it was for him to make you laugh like that when it took me days.”

Your head tipped back against the door with a soft thud. He kept going—kissing, sucking, marking you up like he needed to claim every inch Sunoo had made you smile at. Every bratty little comment you tried to throw at him earned you another kiss on the mouth or a deeper suck on your neck until your legs were actually trembling.

Finally Jake straightened up, eyes hungry. Without a word he bent down, hooked his arms under your thighs, and lifted you. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you the few steps to his bed and laid you down.

To have you so close to him was a maddening experience, words leaving his lips with ease, “you’re beautiful, you know that?” 

Somewhere between the bet and the reality, you started getting used to his blatant sincerity he put into words. But this praise? It made you sigh blissfully, eyelids fluttering close despite not wanting to be separated from the sight of Jake getting closer to where you needed him the most. 

He crawled over you, settling between your legs, and kissed you again—slow and deep this time.

“Still think I’m ridiculous?” He asked against your mouth, hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher.

You nodded, breathless, “very.”

Jake grinned, that same smug, jealous little smile, and kissed you once more before moving lower. He took his time with your neck again, sucking fresh marks while his hands worked your skirt up around your hips. When he reached the lace edge of your panties he paused, thumb brushing over the delicate fabric.

“These are pretty,” he murmured, hooking his fingers in them and slowly dragging them down your legs, tossing them aside somewhere, taking a note to pick it up later. 

Then he settled between your thighs properly, spreading them wider. He looked up at you, hair falling messily around his face from the small ponytail, eyes gleaming as he mumbled the praises of your beauty as if he was here to worship your being instead of what seemed to be a punishment for making him jealous. 

“Still got something smart to say?” He asked.

You opened your mouth, but the second his tongue dragged over you, slow and so perfectly warm—the words turned into a broken moan.

Jake groaned at the taste of you, the sound vibrating right against your clit. You reached down without thinking, fingers finding the hair tie at the back of his head. You pulled it out, letting his dark hair fall loose, then slid your hand into it and tugged hard.

Jake moaned louder against you, the vibration making your hips jerk.

“Fuck—do that again,” he breathed, voice wrecked. 

You did, tugging on his hair as he ate you out like he had all the time in the world—long, deep licks followed by quick flicks of his tongue that had your thighs shaking around his shoulders. Every pull on his hair earned you another low groan that went straight through you. 

“C’mon, tell me how it feels,” he spoke against you, and you groaned merrily. 

It’s not that you didn’t have any experience before, because you did. But never once a guy made you feel like they actually cared about getting you off rather than them chasing their own pleasure. Their flick of tongues did nothing, but Jake? He seemed like even having his whole face pressed against you wasn’t enough, as if nothing could satiate how desperate he was to have not a molecule of space between you two. 

A lot of things were in your mind, but you could only manage to choke out a few words, “so good—baby, it feels so good.”

If Jake hadn’t already lost his damn mind, your nickname certainly made him lose the last few of his working brain cells. The moan he let out was downright pornographic, and you could swear there wasn’t a sound prettier than that. 

You were completely gone, back arching off the bed, fingers tight in his hair, lost in the wet heat of his mouth and the smug little sounds he kept making against you. 

While you were wrapped up in this little bubble of unadulterated pleasure, outside the things were a bit different as Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon stood together, shaking their heads. 

“He really just dragged her straight to his room,” Jay muttered.

Heeseung sighed, “not even trying to be subtle anymore.”

Sunghoon smirked, “a hundred fucking pounds says they don’t come out for a while.”

Karina, standing with Jungwon near the couch, crossed her arms and muttered, “I knew something was gonna happen tonight.”

Jungwon just sighed, looking resigned, “this is exactly what I was worried about.”

Jaemin, on the other hand, was leaning back in his chair with the biggest grin on his face, looking far too pleased with himself.

“This is even better than I planned.”

CHAPTER TEN: Bet versus feelings. 

“Are you out of your damn mind?”

The voice seemed to have echoed, because the same sentence was being uttered at the exact same second inside two different dorms, by two different people. 

First being Jungwon, clearly directed towards you once you were done giving your side of the story to him. 

Jake was undergoing the exact same procedure of questioning, causing Jay to scream in agony. 

Things were clearly going perfectly, Jake was in too deep, you were in too deep, all for the bet, right? Right? 

Because as far as acting was concerned, even it had limits, which certainly didn’t include getting eaten out and fingered all night. Cherry on the top was when you both fell asleep in each other’s arms with Jake caressing your back so gently, you learned the meaning of comfort in its truest scene. 

So, why did it feel so easy when Jake kissed you in the morning, when he walked you back home with ease, talking normally as if everything was fine. Your heart broke a little at the thought of him just using you, and trust was a delicate topic for you. How could you even let yourself think that he actually wanted you when the whole relationship of yours was built on a pathetic bet. Which is why, you let yourself fall in deeper, to feel more of his warmth before it ends.  

Before he could ask what was bothering you, a gentle kiss was placed on his lips, “bye, Jakey.” 

The simple fact that you initiated the kiss had Jake smiling like an idiot before you walked inside your dorm, and he left for his own, heart thumping fast, almost in a way that it was synchronized. 

And now you were here, eyes watering in front of your friends who could only pull you in a deep hug. 

“Y/N, just tell him, just end this I swear,” Jungwon mumbled, and you didn’t know what to say, so you resorted to hugging them both till you fell asleep again. 

Jake on the other hand—he couldn’t stop pacing around as the three watched him like a hawk, eyes moving in sync with every step he took across the living room.

Jay leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, looking way too smug, “I told you you’d fall for her.”

Jake stopped dead in his tracks, spinning around so fast he nearly tripped, “I didn’t fall. I’m not—fuck, okay maybe I did, but shut up.”

Sunghoon let out a loud laugh, slapping his knees “you dragged her into your room in front of everyone. You’re on your knees for her at this point.”

Heeseung was already cracking up, head thrown back, “the way you looked at Sunoo? Pure murder like, he didn’t even do shit.”

Jake groaned, running his fingers through his hair, “you guys are the worst. I was standing right there and she was laughing with him like it was the easiest thing in the world. I hate it.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, “you hate it? Or you’re jealous as hell?”

“Both,” Jake muttered, then dramatically dropped to his knees right in the middle of the living room, forehead hitting the floor with a thud, “I’m so fucked. What the hell is wrong with me?”

Jay let out a loud laugh, leaning forward on the couch, “wrong? It’s literally called love, Jake.”

“On your knees in the living room because a girl, you’re not yours by the way, smiled at someone else? Yeah, you’re fucked.” Sunghoon added helpfully. 

Heeseung clapped slowly, “soft boy Jake is real. We’re witnessing history.”

Jake stayed on the floor for a second, breathing hard, face pressed against the carpet. His mind wouldn’t stop replaying last night—the way you’d gasped his name when he had his mouth on you, the way your thighs had shaken around his shoulders. How he couldn’t stop staring at you even after you came down, all soft and sleepy in his bed, lashes resting against your cheeks, lips slightly parted. You looked so beautiful like that, relaxed and trusting, nothing guarded in your expression for once. He’d kissed your forehead then, slow and careful, while you dozed off against his chest. Later, when he still couldn’t sleep, he’d grabbed his diary and sketched you—just the curve of your cheek, the way your hair fell across the pillow, the small peaceful smile you had even in sleep. It wasn’t weird. It was just—you. He needed to remember exactly how it felt.

He groaned again, louder this time, “I’m so fucked.”

“So you’ve said.”

The boys kept teasing, but Jake was already thinking ahead.

He pushed himself up, hair a mess, cheeks still flushed, “whatever. Laugh all you want, I’m gonna ask her on a proper date.”

The room went quiet for half a second, observing him closely to find out any signs of humour or a joke. 

Jay blinked, “you’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Jake said, grabbing his glasses, “I’m serious.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, still amused but skeptical, “you sure that’s a good idea right now? Things are already messy as hell.”

Heeseung nodded slowly, “moving kinda fast, don’t you think?”

Jake just shrugged, the stupid smile creeping back onto his face, “I don’t care, I want to do it right.”

The problem now was that Jake had never planned a date before, heck he’d never even dated before. He knew that something grand wouldn’t work, not right now at least, so when he woke up the next day, he had a few errands to run. Thankfully, he had only one lecture, after which he found himself running around the campus with a list, more motivated thann he’d ever been. 

By late afternoon he found himself standing outside the biotech building, leaning against the wall near the main exit with his hands in his pockets. He knew your schedule by heart now. When you finally stepped out, backpack slung over one shoulder, he pushed off the wall and walked straight up to you.

You stopped, surprised, but the second he pulled you into a hug your expression softened. His arms wrapped around you tight, one hand rubbing your back like he needed the contact more than air, “hey,” he mumbled into your hair.

You smiled despite everything, pressing your face into his chest for a second, “Jake? What are you doing here? Don’t you have practice right now?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands still on your waist, “I skipped.”

“You skipped?” you asked, eyes widening a little.

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit awkward but determined. “I want to take you out right now, just us, if you’ll let me.”

Your heart skipped. He was being so boldly awkward about it, standing there in the middle of the hallway like skipping practice for you was the most normal decision in the world. 

You teased, trying to keep your voice light, “what if I say no?”

Jake’s face fell instantly, that hurt-puppy look laughed at you right in the heart—big eyes, slight pout, shoulders slumping just a little like you’d actually kicked his favorite ball into traffic. It was funny how you could compare him to puppies so often and he didn’t seem to mind. 

“Then—I guess I’ll go back to practice,” he said quietly, voice cracking at the end, “but you’re really gonna say no?”

You didn’t know what to say, skipping classes wasn’t really something you did, unless you were sick beyond your ability to stand, however, a small voice within you screamed, skipping once wouldn’t hurt, right? 

You reached out and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, sending a shiver up his arm, “lead the way, Sim.”

Jake’s whole face lit up like you’d just handed him the world, and maybe you did. He squeezed your hand once, tight, and started walking, pulling you gently along with him.

You walked side by side across the quad, the late afternoon sun warm on your skin. His thumb kept brushing slow circles over your knuckles, and the simple touch felt so grounding, so comfortable. 

“Where are we going?” You asked after a minute, glancing up at him.

Jake grinned, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, “It’s a secret.”

You raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips, “you’re really not gonna tell me anything?”

“Nope,” he said, voice light and playful, “just trust me, okay?”

From a distance near the science building, Heeseung stood watching the two of you with a small smile, “they’re already acting like a couple,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head fondly.

When you reached the parking lot, Jake stopped in front of a sleek black car you didn’t recognize.

You looked back at Jake, “wait—you drive?”

Jake grinned, a little cocky as he opened the passenger door for you, “yeah, borrowed it from Jay. Figured walking you around campus wasn’t gonna cut it today.”

You slid in, the leather seat cool against the back of your thighs. Jake got in on the driver’s side, started the engine, then turned to you, looking a little nervous but hopeful.

“So, uh, what’s your favourite flower?” He asked, voice casual but his fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel.

You raised your brow, surprised by the question, “Tulip, why?”

Jake let out a small, relieved breath. He reached into the backseat and pulled out three bouquets—a bright bunch of fresh tulips, a classic dozen roses, and a smaller mixed one with daisies and soft white flowers.

He handed them to you carefully, almost shy, “I wasn’t sure which ones you liked, so I got a few options. Just in case, thank god you chose one of those—”

You stared at the flowers in your lap, heart squeezing so hard it almost hurt. He had gone out and bought three different bouquets because he didn’t want to get it wrong, for you.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned across the console and kissed him midway through his nervous ramble. 

It was soft and grateful at first, but Jake melted instantly, one hand coming up to cup your cheek like he needed to hold onto the moment. When you pulled back, his eyes were a little dazed, lips parted, that stupid, lovestruck smile back on his face.

“God,” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek, “you’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

You laughed softly, cheeks warm, and settled back into your seat with the bouquets still cradled in your lap. Jake grabbed your hand again, lacing your fingers together on the center console like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

He started driving, thumb still tracing slow circles over your knuckles, stealing little glances at you every few seconds like he still couldn’t believe you were here with him.

You were so fucked, and now, you didn’t even care. 

The drive was short, just ten minutes out of campus to a quiet spot by the river. You’d passed it a few times before, always packed with students on weekends, but on a weekday afternoon it was practically empty—just the soft rush of water, a few birds, and the warm sun filtering through the trees.

Jake parked and killed the engine, then turned to you with that soft smile you’d grown to love, “wait here.”

He got out, popped the trunk, and came around to your side with a big picnic basket and a folded blanket. You watched him spread the blanket on a sunny patch of grass near the water, setting everything out with careful hands. There were little sandwiches you liked, fresh fruit, the coconut berry Red Bull he knew you’d steal from him, and even a small box of those chocolate cookies you’d mentioned once in passing.

You stepped out of the car, flowers still in your arms, feeling suddenly shy that was very out of your character, “Jake—you did all this?”

He looked up at you from where he was kneeling on the blanket, eyes bright, “yeah. Figured we deserved something nice, just us.”

You sat down beside him, cheeks warm, and he basked in it—the way you ducked your head a little, fiddling with the edge of the blanket, the small smile you couldn’t hide. He loved seeing you like this, unguarded and a little flustered because of him.

The sun got brighter as the afternoon stretched on. After you’d eaten and talked about nothing and everything, Jake stretched out and laid his head in your lap, looking up at you with those pretty eyes. No big smile this time—just quiet, almost reverent.

You reached down, fingers finding the hair tie at the back of his head, and gently pulled it out. His dark hair fell loose around his face. You slid your hand into it, playing with the strands, slow and gentle.

Jake let out a contented sigh, eyes never leaving your face.

“You know I have a dog named Layla?” He said quietly after a while, voice warm.

You smiled down at him, still running your fingers through his hair, “yeah? Tell me about her.”

“She’s a Border Collie. Super hyper, loves chasing balls, but she’s the biggest cuddler when she’s tired. She always knows when I’m having a bad day and just—sits next to me until I feel better.”

You laughed softly, “she sounds perfect.”

He hummed, eyes soft, “she is.”

Time passed easily between you. The river flowed steadily nearby, birds chirped overhead, and the sun warmed your skin. Jake told you how he loved singing but almost never did it in front of people because it felt too embarrassing. You told him how you were terrified of roller coasters and how you liked cats because they were quiet and independent. He almost gasped when you admitted you loved horror movies, cause they scared Jake half to death.

“You ever scream at the screen?” He asked, grinning up at you.

“Never,” you admitted, “do you?”

“A lot,” he mumbled, and you chuckled—that sound becoming Jake’s favourite each passing second. 

Jake’s eyes stayed on your face the whole time, soft and full of something deep. He felt surreal having you like this—so close, so willing, so in love with the version of you that no one else really got to see. The way your fingers moved through his hair, the gentle way you looked down at him, it made his chest ache in the best way. It made no sense how you looked so fucking pretty even from that angle, so perfect. 

At one point he reached up, hand gentle on the back of your neck, and pulled you down for a soft kiss. It was slow, sweet, full of everything you both weren’t saying yet. You got goosebumps all over, your body reacting so perfectly to him, to the quiet love blooming between you.

When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he whispered, “I’m really glad you said yes.”

You kissed him again, softer this time, heart so full it almost hurt.

You could feel how down bad he was—the way his hand rested on your thigh like he needed the contact, the quiet reverence in his gaze every time he looked up at you, the small, content sighs he let out whenever your nails scratched lightly against his scalp. He didn’t say any of it out loud, he didn’t need to, really. It was all there in the way he looked at you.

After a while he sat up slowly, hair messy from your fingers, eyes soft and dark. Without a word he reached for you, hands gentle on your waist as he pulled you into his lap. You settled against him easily, knees on either side of his thighs, and he grabbed your chin with careful fingers, tilting your face down to his.

The kiss was soft at first, full of everything that had been building between you all afternoon. His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, thumb brushing your jaw in the gentlest way.

When he pulled back he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tight against his chest. You held him just as tightly, arms looped around his neck, face buried in the crook of his shoulder. You didn’t want this to end, not the warmth of him, not the steady beat of his heart against yours, not the way he made the rest of the world feel so far away.

Jake pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, slow and lingering. You whispered his name, soft and breathless, “Jake—”

He smiled against your skin, the curve of his lips warm and pleased. Then he licked over the same spot, and your breath hitched.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, cheeks warm, “you’re terrible,” you complained, but there was no real heat in it.

Jake’s eyes sparkled with that smug little glint. Before you could say anything else he pulled you back down into a deeper kiss, filled with everything he felt—the want, the softness, the quiet desperation of someone who was completely, utterly, helplessly in love with you. His hand slid into your hair, the other pressed against your lower back, holding you close as the kiss turned slow and emotional, tongues brushing, breaths mingling, hearts beating in the same unsteady rhythm.

You melted into it, fingers curling into his shirt, losing yourself in the way he kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Foggy façade.

It was the third time Jake had rerouted the car to go away from the campus, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his antics, a pout on his plump lips as you pointed out that he was, in fact, not willing to take you home. 

“I just don’t want the day to end, is that so bad?” He spoke so freely and you wondered how he got the confidence to say things like that without sounding ridiculous, his hand stayed laced with yours on the console. 

“You’re literally driving in circles,” you said, squeezing his fingers, “we’ve passed that same coffee shop twice now.”

Jake glanced over at you, eyes bright even in the fading light, “worth it. Every single time I look at you I forget where I’m supposed to be going.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face gave you away completely, “smooth talker. Take me home, Sim, I have an assignment due tomorrow.”

He made a dramatic whining sound, slowing the car at a red light, “one more hour. Please? I’ll be good. I’ll even let you pick the music.”

You laughed, leaning your head back against the seat, even though you couldn’t deny it yourself, you didn’t wish to go back, “you’re impossible.”

The light turned green and instead of turning toward campus he took another random right, the river still sparkling in the distance behind you. You narrowed your eyes at him, “Jake.”

“What?” He asked innocently, but the grin tugging at his mouth was anything but, “I’m just—taking the scenic route.”

You were still bickering lightly when he suddenly pulled off the main road into a quiet, tree-lined side street and parked under the shade of an old oak. The engine cut off. For a second the only sound was the soft tick of the cooling car and your own heartbeat.

“Jake,” you said again, softer this time.

He turned to you fully, eyes dark and a little desperate, “I can’t stand not kissing you for one more second.”

Before you could even tease him about it, he was leaning across the console, one hand sliding into your hair as his mouth crashed into yours. The kiss was messy and urgent, like he’d been holding back the whole drive. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers curling into his shirt, the taste of the picnic strawberries still lingering on his tongue.

“Backseat,” he mumbled against your lips, already fumbling with both your seatbelts, “c’mon, baby.”

You laughed breathlessly into the kiss, “Jay’s gonna actually murder you if he finds out what we’re doing in his car.”

“Let him,” Jake grinned, nipping at your bottom lip before climbing over the console in that surprisingly smooth way he had. He tugged you with him and you tumbled into the backseat together, legs tangling, laughter bubbling up between more kisses, “totally worth getting murdered for.”

You ended up straddling his lap, your jeans rubbing against the front of his as his hands gripped your waist tight. The humping started almost immediately—slow rolls of your hips that had you both groaning at the friction. Denim on denim felt stupidly good, the thick seam of your jeans pressing right against your core every time you rocked forward.

“Fuck,” Jake breathed, head falling back against the seat as you ground down harder, “even through the jeans you feel incredible.”

You leaned down, kissing him again while you kept moving, slow and teasing,  “you’re so impatient, Jakey,” you murmured against his mouth, smiling when he chased your lips.

“Can you blame me?” He bucked up to meet you, hands sliding under your top to grip your bare waist, “been hard since the river. Watching you play with my hair, looking so fucking pretty, I couldn’t help it.”

The laughter died down into heavier breaths and soft moans, and you fucking loved how vocal Jake was. You kept rolling your hips in lazy circles, feeling how hard and thick he was beneath you. Jake’s hands roamed higher, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, and every little sound he made went straight to your core.

Eventually you slid lower, kissing down his neck, then his chest, until you were kneeling between his legs in the cramped backseat. Your hands worked open his belt and jeans, and when you pulled him out, his cock was so big and thick it made your mouth water.

Jake let out a shaky breath, fingers gently threading into your hair, “baby, you really don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you said, looking up at him. You nuzzled your cheek against the heavy length first, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along it, feeling it twitch against your skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, low and wrecked. “Look at you—nuzzling my cock like that. So pretty.”

You licked a slow stripe from base to tip, then took the head into your mouth, sucking gently. Jake’s groan was loud, head tipping back against the seat.

“Shit—yeah, just like that,” he panted, fingers tightening in your hair but never pushing, “you look so fucking good with your lips around me.”

You took him deeper, tongue swirling every time you pulled back. He was so thick it stretched your mouth perfectly, and you loved the way he filled you.

“Jaeyun,” you moaned around him, the name slipping out soft and needy.

Jake’s whole body jerked hard, “fuck—say it again,” he groaned, voice breaking, “god, I love when you call me that. Say it again, baby, please.”

“Jaeyun,” you whispered, taking him even deeper, eyes watering a little as you looked up at him through your lashes.

He let out a wrecked sound, hips twitching up just slightly before he caught himself. His fingers tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding on like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, the way his thighs tensed every time you hollowed your cheeks.

But then his hand slid down to your shoulder, gentle but urgent, “come here,” he breathed, voice rough, “I need you closer.”

You pulled off with a soft pop, lips shiny, and he didn’t waste a secon—he tugged you up into his lap again, hands already working your jeans open. You shoved his jeans down further, wrapping your hand around his cock, stroking him slow and tight while he pushed two fingers into you without warning. The stretch made you gasp, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he muttered against your neck, curling his fingers just right, “all this for me?”

You nodded, breath hitching as you kept stroking him, thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke. The car was getting warmer, windows starting to fog, the cramped backseat making everything feel even more intense—elbows bumping seats, knees knocking, but neither of you cared. You rocked into his hand while he fucked you with his fingers, messy and uncoordinated and perfect.

Jake’s mouth found your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. You moaned, head tilting to give him more space, and he took it, kissing, licking, biting down gently before soothing the spot with his tongue. Another mark right below your ear, then one on your collarbone. He was claiming you in the quietest way possible, and it made your stomach flip.

His fingers sped up, thumb pressing against your clit, and you squeezed him tighter in response, stroking faster.

“You feel so good,” he panted, voice low and broken against your skin, “I—I can’t even think straight when you’re like this. I think I lo—”

You cut him off with a kiss, hard and desperate, swallowing whatever he was about to say. Your heart was hammering too loud, the guilt and the want twisting together until it hurt. You weren’t ready, not yet. Not when everything still felt like it was built on something you couldn’t admit out loud.

Jake groaned into your mouth, kissing you back like he understood anyway, fingers still moving inside you, thumb circling faster. You kept stroking him, messy and slick, both of you breathing hard between kisses, bodies pressed so close you could feel his heartbeat against yours.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead on yours, eyes dark and glassy, “you’re everything,” he whispered instead, the words thick, “don’t stop, baby.”

You didn’t, kissing him again, slower this time, the act so devastatingly soft, your bodies couldn’t help but react by reaching the peak of unadulterated pleasure you both provided each other with, messy and desperate, but none of you cared in the moment, enjoying the bliss of it all. 

Letting the mess of feelings stay buried under the heat of his mouth.

CHAPTER TWELVE: The forgotten bet

You didn’t know what to do with yourself anymore, and somehow hiding in the library was the best you could do to get away from everything you wanted to be close to. Choosing a seat which you normally didn’t opt for was even worse, and the notes in front of you seemed to be in an entirely different language when your mind was elsewhere. 

But someone had this weird idea about the whereabouts of practically everyone in the campus, which is why Jaemin found you sulking in a corner, his smile as bright as ever as invited himself to sit next to you. 

“Bet not going too well, I presume,” he started, breaking your train of thoughts. 

That shit eating grin on his face infuriated more, and there was nothing more you wished to do than punch him at the given moment. 

“What the fuck do you want?” You snapped, not even bothering to look up from the notes that might as well have been written in ancient Greek.

“Relax,” he said, leaning back like he had all day, “I come in peace. Just checking in on my favorite partner in crime.”

You finally glanced at him, jaw tight, “there’s no bet anymore. So, you can leave.”

Jaemin laughed under his breath, spinning one of your pens between his fingers, “sure looks like there is to me. I saw you two at the party,  the way he dragged you into his room right in front of everyone. Then yesterday? Jay’s car parked on that quiet street for almost an hour, windows completely fogged up. Jake came back to the dorm looking like he’d just won the lottery. He’s been skipping practice, smiling at nothing, telling the guys he’s taking you on a date again very soon. He’s in deep, Y/N. Like, actually gone.”

Your stomach twisted. Of course he knew. Jaemin always knew everything that happened on campus.

He leaned in a little, voice dropping but still smug, “you’ve got him right where you want him. One more good date, a couple more nights like yesterday, and he’s gonna say it. The whole i’m in love with you speech. Then you reject him, take the Paris trip, and we both win. Easy.”

You stared at him, chest tight, “you’re actually serious right now.”

“Dead serious,” he said, grin still firmly in place. “This was your plan too, remember? Make him fall hard, then crush him. Don’t go soft on me just because he bought you three bouquets and looked at you with those puppy eyes. You’re winning. Don’t fuck it up now.”

He stood up slowly, tapping the table once with his knuckle, “think about it. He’s already forgetting the car even exists. Finish the job before it gets too messy.”

Jaemin walked off without another word, even though you did scream your answer, garnering the attention of students who weren’t pleased about it.  But yes, he did leave you alone with the heavy knot in your chest and the notes you still couldn’t read.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Too good to be true 

This wasn’t the plan. 

Sitting in the bleachers, supporting Jake, clad in this jacket as if you were his girlfriend. To make things worse, Jake absolutely preened in showing you off, not one care about embarrassment, not when he was the one who had insisted you wear it before the game even started. 

“Looks better on you than it does on me,” he’d said with that easy grin, tugging the collar straight and pressing a quick kiss to your forehead right there on the sidelines where half the team could see. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, but now, with his name printed across the back in bold white letters, you felt the weight of every curious glance from the crowd.

The game was loud to say the least, Jungwon and Karina agreed, but they also silently agreed that your happiness came first, and at the moment, you looked really happy. Jake was everywhere—stealing the ball with sharp precision, setting up plays that made the stands roar, running like the field belonged to him alone. Every few minutes his eyes would flick up to the bleachers, searching until they landed on you. The second they did, his whole face would change. That bright, boyish smile would break through the concentration, and he’d give you this tiny, secret nod like you two were the only ones who understood what it meant.

“I’m not doing it,” you whispered to yourself. 

Jungwon only smiled, “we know—we’ve always known.”

You turned to look at him, “how?” Somehow the question itself made you seem small, especially the possibility of Jake finding out and losing trust in you—seemed way worse. 

“You try to act all tough, but we know how soft you are,” Karina spoke softly. 

“And with Jake? There was no way we didn’t see this coming, you really can’t fool us,” Jungwon added with a dimpled smile, making you chuckle despite the breakdown you were going to have. 

You didn’t realize how heavy the bet felt till you got it off of your chest, eyes watery as you turned to look at Jake in his element yet again, watching how he moved with ease under the burden of the timer ticking. But Jake was really good at what he did, kicking the ball straight into the net as it curled around in the corner left just as the whistle blew in the background. 

You didn’t even realize you were screaming until your own voice hit your ears. You shot up fully, hands in the air, cheering so loud your throat hurt. “Yes, Jake! Go!” The words just flew out of you, completely unfiltered. Jungwon and Karina were jumping beside you, all three of you yelling like idiots. 

Jake didn’t celebrate with his teammates. He broke away from the pile and ran straight for the stands, jumping the barrier in one smooth motion, and before you could even catch your breath he was right there in front of you, chest heaving, that huge, bright grin on his face.

He grabbed your waist with both hands and spun you around once, fast. Your feet left the ground, the roar of the crowd blurring into one big cheer.

“Jake!” You squeaked, laughing but instantly embarrassed as people around you whistled and shouted, “put me down—everyone’s watching—”

He didn’t listen. He spun you one more time, slower this time, eyes locked on yours like the rest of the stadium had disappeared. “Let them watch,” he said, still grinning like an idiot, “I scored that goal thinking about you, I want them to know it.”

When he finally set you back on your feet he didn’t step back. He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you right there in front of everyone—deep, a little messy, his jersey was damp with sweat, his heart still hammering against yours, but the kiss felt steady. 

Your face burned hot the second his lips touched yours. You could feel hundreds of eyes on you, phones probably out, people cheering and laughing, but Jake didn’t care at all. He kissed you like the crowd wasn’t even there, like this was the only thing that mattered.

When he finally pulled back just enough to rest his forehead on yours, he was breathing hard, eyes shining, “I—I, uh,” he tried to find words, but with you looking at him so sweetly, he just melted, “you’re my good luck charm.”

And gosh, you smiled, pecking him softly, reciprocating the exact feelings he’d been harbouring towards you. His teammates were yelling his name from the field, and so he left with a promise to be back soon. 

It’s normal for any sane person to get scared when things feel too good to be true, exactly how they felt for you and Jake, so the flicker of worry didn’t go unnoticed by Jake after the whole team came out. When they came out of the locker rooms, hair damp and smelling like fresh soap, Jake made a face at the idea of the big victory party happening across campus.

He glanced at you, really looked at you for a second, and caught the tiny flicker of worry that crossed your face, clearing his throat, “guys, I’m tired, let’s just go to the dorm and get some food and drinks ordered in.” 

Jake looked down at you again, voice softer just for you, “that cool? We can keep it small.”

You managed a small smile and nodded, “yeah. That sounds perfect, actually.”

He smiled back, the kind of relieved, soft smile that made your chest feel a little lighter, and pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head, “good, let’s go home then.”

Jaemin, who had wandered over to join the group at some point, grinned wide. Jeno, standing a step behind him, shot Jaemin a sharp look and shook his head once, trying to warn him without saying anything out loud. Jaemin just smirked and ignored him completely.

Jake didn’t notice. He was too busy lacing his fingers with yours again, already tugging you gently toward the dorms. It was new to you, the feeling of being held in someone’s arms—in front of everyone, as if the concept of personal space was foreign to Jake, but did you actually want him to let go of you? Absolutely not, even if you won’t admit it out loud. 

Jake hadn’t let go of you once. He kept you tucked right against his side on the couch, one arm looped around your shoulders, fingers tracing lazy little patterns on your arm like he couldn’t stop touching you. Every few minutes he’d lean in and press a soft kiss to your temple or the top of your head or the corner of your mouth, completely unbothered by the others being right there.

Was it really that easy to fall in so deep for someone within a month? Take yourself for example, wrapped up in Jake’s embrace, it certainly did seem true to some extent. 

“You okay? You’ve been quiet since we got back, was I too much?” He asked, thumb brushing the side of your neck, a worried pout on his face. 

You shook your head just a bit, “I’m just happy, you did so well out there, Jakey.”

He sighed with happiness, all worries gone in a second, “couldn’t have done it without you.”

Sunghoon groaned loudly, “dude, you’re so gone it’s painful to watch.”

Jake laughed, pressing another kiss to the top of your head, “leave me alone, man. I earned this.”

You were about to tease him back when the door swung open.

Jaemin strolled in with Jeno beside him, grabbing a slice of pizza from the nearest box and dropping onto the arm of the couch across from you, taking a big bite. His eyes flicked over the scene—Jake’s arm still wrapped around you, the way Jake was still leaning into you like he couldn’t get close enough. Jaemin’s grin sharpened.

“Damn, look at you two,” he said casually, chewing, “still going strong, huh? So Jake, did you finally drop the L-word on her yet? Cause you have two days left till the bet ends.”

You stilled, staring at Jaemin with wide eyes, just like everyone else in the room. Jeno groaned at the back cause he did try to stop Jaem, but to no avail. But it was almost as if he couldn’t pick up context cues, and so he continued, “you told her about it right? Since you’re smitten now, that’s why you’re together, right?” 

“Jaemin,” Jake warned him, his hold tightening on you, “shut the fuck up.”

Jungwon and Karina were ready to take you back, almost jumping to their feet, but that’s not where Jaem stopped. Jungwon was already shifting closer on the couch until his knee pressed against yours, one hand resting lightly on your arm like he was ready to pull you out of there the second you needed it.

“What? You didn’t tell her?” He smirked, now staring right at you, “well, too fucking bad cause she already fucking knows you’re playing her for a car,” he smirked, leaning back against the couch, finally letting the drama unfold. 

Your chest tightened so hard it hurt to breathe. You felt the heat rush to your face, then drain away just as fast, leaving you cold. Jay was staring at the floor like it had answers. Heeseung’s hand froze around his beer. Sunghoon looked like he wanted to sink into the cushions. Karina’s eyes were wide, looking at you knowing exactly how you felt right now—especially after the nights you cried with her. Jungwon’s fingers tightened on your arm because of the same. 

Of course his friends had known the whole time.

You pulled away from Jake’s arm slowly, like your body was moving through water. The walls you’d been trying so hard to keep down slammed back up, higher than before. You felt small, exposed, stupid even. Like every soft kiss, every my girl, every time he looked at you like you mattered had been watched and laughed at behind your back.

You stood up, “I knew it the whole time,” you confessed, observing just how panicked he seemed at the moment, “Jaemin told me everything at the very beginning—how you just bet on my feelings for his car,” you tried to stop yourself from getting emotional, letting a shaky breath out as Jake’s shaking hand held on to yours, “so he asked me to do the same, to show you how it hurts to play with someone’s emotions.” 

His face went pale, and even though he opened his mouth, no words came out, just throbbing pain in his heart, and eyes wide as if he’d gotten punched in the gut. 

Maybe him accepting it would’ve made it better, but for Jake, there wasn’t an option between fight or flight, only freezing on the spot. Everyone stayed silent, watching it unfold and Jay tried to shake Jake’s shoulders, but all he could see was your trust crumpling, and his heart breaking. 

“You—you don’t actually like me?” He asked, voice breaking. 

“I do—I fucking do,” your voice cracked as well, “going through with the bet was not my intention, but what about you, Jake?”

Jake’s hand, still reaching for yours, started to tremble. His mouth opened again, but nothing came out. The guilt on his face was so raw it made your stomach turn. He looked hurt—really hurt, and you weren’t sure how to feel anymore, the hypocrisy of it all sinking in deeper, making everything worse. You’d planned to use him too, you were no better. The walls around you shot up even higher at the absence of words, of reassurance. 

So you asked again, “Jake, was any of it real?” 

Jake finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper, broken, “you—you knew the whole time?”

You nodded, a tear cascaded down the curve of your cheek freely, “yeah. I knew.”

He let out a shaky breath, like the words physically hurt him, “and you still—you let me fall for you anyway? You let me get this deep even though you knew I started it for a stupid bet? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

The rise in his voice almost made you laugh, “so now you’re hurt cause I knew? After you started the whole thing for a car? That’s rich, Jake.”

Jungwon stood up right beside you, shoulder brushing yours, protective, “Y/N, you don’t have to explain anything else to him, not right now.”

“No, no—Jake just fucking tell me, is it real?” You waited for an answer, to get absolute silence in return, “Jake?” 

You tried for the last time, just to find tears streaming down his flushed face, but nothing came out of his mouth. He was too in his head, cursing himself, cursing Jaeming for letting it happen, but you? How could he ever hate you? 

Wiping your tears roughly, you let Karina embrace you, who kept glaring at all the boys. It wasn’t awkward for them, they felt guilty too, but knew better than to speak up in between them. 

You stepped back, “fine then—I’m done, we’re done. Don’t follow me, don’t text me. Just stay the hell away from me.”

You turned toward the door. Jake shot up after you, voice cracking, “Y/N, wait—please, just let me explain—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, not turning around.

Karina was already grabbing your jacket, “c’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Jungwon stayed right at your side until you reached the door, then spun around, glaring at Jay, “you should’ve stopped him, you knew what he was doing from the start. You let him play with her feelings like it was nothing. What the fuck, Jay?”

Jay looked wrecked, never expecting Jungwon to get angry, “I tried, man. I told him it was fucked up—”

“You all knew!” Jungwon’s voice rose, “every single one of you sat there and watched her fall and didn’t say a word. That’s fucked up—you couldn’t reassure her after she told you everything, huh, Jake?”

You didn’t wait to hear more, stepping into the hallway, Karina right behind you, her hand gentle on your back,“I’ve got you,” she whispered, “just breathe, okay?”

Behind the closed door, it only got worse, Jungwon’s voice only got louder as Jay tried to explain himself.

As the boys gathered to calm down Jungwon, they completely missed the way Jake got up and headed towards Jaemin. Only the sound of a loud crash got their attention—Jake’s fist connecting with Jaemin’s jaw. 

“You fucking asshole,” Jake snarled, his voice raw and broken. Another punch landed, his knuckles splitting open against Jaemin’s cheekbone. Blood smeared across his hand and dripped onto the floor. Heeseung and Sunghoon tried to pull him back, but Jake was swinging again, tears streaming down his face as he cried freely, angry and devastated all at once.

“Fucking get off me!” He shouted, his voice cracking between sobs, "this is your fault—all of it! You ruined everything!”

Furniture scraped against the floor. Someone yelled for them to stop, but it fell deaf to Jake’s ears. He kept swinging, his knuckles bleeding worse with every punch, tears falling fast down his cheeks, until Heeseung and Sunghoon finally managed to drag him back, both of them breathing hard.

Jaemin didn’t care much, he looked rather amused at the situation as Jeno tried to pull him up in furious whispers of urging him to stop being messy. 

Jake stood there in the middle of the mess, shoulders shaking, blood on his hands and tears still streaming from his bloodshot eyes. He looked completely destroyed.

And you? You didn’t look back.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Salvation

So maybe you did jinx yourself for thinking everything was perfect. However, it made no sense to you, or to anyone for that matter. You weren’t an expert about feelings by any means, yet it was clear to anyone with working eyes that whatever you and Jake had was far from fake. 

Why couldn’t he say it? 

You knew the stakes, you came clean to him, and god knows you couldn’t be mad at him for telling you that it, in fact, started off because of a bit. But the silence hurt. 

“I love him,” you whispered, and Karina hugged you tighter at how raw the confession sounded. 

“I know,” she mumbled, “it’s okay, it’ll be okay.”

You stayed quiet for a while, letting her hold you. The numbness had settled deep, leaving you strangely serene even as your heart ached. There were no more tears left. Just this heavy, enthralling ache that refused to let go.

Karina eventually pulled back and brushed a strand of hair from your face, “I’m gonna make you some tea, okay? I’ll be right back, yeah?”

You nodded mutely and watched her head to the small kitchenette. The soft clink of the kettle and mugs filled the room as you sat there on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. 

Karina was busy with the kettle as a knock came at the door, making her pause her ministrations. She walked over and opened the door just a crack, hoping it’d be Jungwon.

It was Jake.

He looked utterly destroyed. His eyes were bloodshot and had started to swell from crying, cheeks still damp with fresh tears. His knuckles were split open and bleeding, dark red smeared across his hand and the sleeve of his hoodie. He was breathing hard, like he’d run the entire way here without stopping.

Karina’s eyes widened in horror, “Jake—what the hell happened to your hands?”

He didn’t even look at her. His gaze was fixed past her shoulder, desperately searching for you, “please,” he said, his voice hoarse and broken. Without waiting, he slowly lowered himself to his knees right there in the hallway, bloody hands clasped in front of him, “please, Karina, just let me talk to her. I need her to know it was real, I’m begging you.”

Karina stood frozen for a long moment, clearly torn. She glanced back at you, then down at Jake kneeling on the floor, tears still slipping down his face, knuckles dripping blood onto the tiles.

She let out a heavy, reluctant sigh.

“I—come in,” she said quietly, stepping aside, “but if you make this any worse, I swear to God, Jake—”

Jake didn’t even stand up right away. He stayed on his knees for another heartbeat, bloody hands still clasped like he was praying, before he pushed himself up on shaky legs. God, his eyes—they were red-rimmed and glassy, the golden-boy sparkle completely shattered. He looked like he’d been run over by a truck and then backed over again for good measure.

Karina shot you one last warning glance before she slipped into the kitchenette, muttering something about giving you two five minutes and that she’d be right there with a knife if needed. The door to your room clicked shut behind her, leaving nothing but the sound of Jake’s ragged breathing and the faint drip of blood onto your floor.

You stayed rooted on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tight around your middle like you could physically hold yourself together. Your heart was hammering so hard it hurt. A part of you wanted to scream at him to get the fuck out. The other part—the stupid, traitorous part that had fallen anyway—ached at the sight of him like this.

You swallowed hard, voice coming out sharper than you meant, “what the hell are you doing here, Jake? What now?”

Jake ran a shaky hand through his hair, smearing a thin streak of blood across his forehead, “I don’t know,” he groaned, “I really fucking don’t. You said all that shit after the game and I just—I just froze, okay? I punched Jaemin so hard I think I broke something, and it still didn’t make me feel better. Nothing did.”

You looked away, “so you came here?” 

“Yeah, I came here,” his voice was rough, frustrated. He took another step closer, boots scuffing the floor, “what else was I supposed to do? You just walked off, were my actions not enough for you, huh? I sat in my room staring at the wall like an idiot for an hour.”

You let out a sharp laugh, finally looking at him again, “oh, poor you. Must’ve been real hard.”

“Don’t,” he warned, “don’t do that. You told me you knew everything and you fell anyway. And then you just—left. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”

You stood up fast, arms dropping to your sides, “what did you expect? A hug? You started this whole thing. You came after me for a bet. I only played along to fuck you over and now look at us. I’m the dumbass who actually caught feelings, while you couldn’t even admit it in front of your friends.”

Jake’s jaw clenched so hard you saw the muscle jump, “I broke the bet off before the date, Y/N. Before I even took you out. That morning I told Jaemin I was done with the whole thing. He was just stirring shit tonight to fuck with both of us.”

You stared at him, the words hitting like a slap, “you—you what?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I ended it days ago. Because it wasn’t a game anymore, not for me. But you still think I was using you the whole time, don’t you?”

Your hands started shaking, “then why the fuck didn’t you tell me? You let me keep thinking it was all fake while I was falling for you like an idiot? While I was lying to my friends and to myself?”

“Because I was terrified!” His voice cracked, louder now, “I knew the second I said it out loud you’d look at me like this—like I’m the enemy. I didn’t want to lose you and I still fucking don’t. I’m in love with you, okay? Not for the bet or the stupid car.”

You shoved at his chest, hard, but your fingers stayed twisted in his hoodie at the confession. He loves you, and he was never once hesitant to show it till now, “you’re such a fucking coward, Jake.”

“I know,” he breathed, eyes glassy as he pressed closer, forehead almost touching yours, “I’m the biggest coward on campus. But I’m yours if you still want me.”

You yanked him down by the hoodie and pulled him into a deep kiss as Jake groaned into your mouth, hands sliding under your shirt, bloody knuckles rough against your skin, and you could taste the saltiness of his tears on his lips. 

“I love you,” he gasped right against your lips, the words spilling out shaky between kisses, “fuck, I love you—”

You whined into his mouth at how freely he said it now. Jake had always been truthful to his feelings, while you’d been insecure, which is why you couldn’t do much but kiss him back, hoping that it’ll show how you reciprocate the feelings. 

The sharp tang of blood hit your tongue when his injured knuckle brushed your jaw. You pulled back, breathing hard, eyes dropping to his right hand. Only that one knuckle was split open, still seeping a thin line of red.

“Jake,” you muttered, fingers wrapping around his wrist gently and turning it over, “you’re still bleeding.”

He tried to pull you back in, eyes dark and hazy, “don’t care—”

“I do.” You slid off his lap before he could argue, legs a little unsteady as you crossed to the shelf by your desk. Your hands shook slightly when you grabbed the antiseptic wipes, a small tube of ointment, and a strip of gauze. When you turned back he was still sitting on the edge of the bed exactly where you’d left him, watching you with this raw, open look that made your stomach twist in the deepest way—cause gosh, he looked beautiful.

You knelt between his thighs again and took his injured hand. The wipe stung when you pressed it to the cut. Jake hissed softly through his teeth but didn’t pull away. He just stared at your face like the sight of you taking care of him was something he couldn’t quite believe was real.

“You’re really doing this right now,” he said quietly. 

“Someone has to,” you whispered, dabbing the blood away carefully, then smoothing ointment over the split skin. Every small touch felt heavier than it should—the faint tremble in his fingers, the way your own heartbeat was slamming so hard against your ribs it felt like it was echoing in your throat. You wrapped the gauze around his knuckle slowly, and the quiet intimacy of it settled somewhere deep in your chest, warm and aching and terrifying all at once.

When you finished he caught your face with both hands and pulled you up into another kiss as if pouring every ounce of emotions he’d ever felt towards you, his lips slotting perfectly against yours, a bit messy with how reverent he was. He even wish to breathe anymore, just accepting the warmth of your mouth as a way to live. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed against your mouth again, the words vibrating through you, “god, I love you so much it feels like it’s in my bones. Like every time I touch you I remember how close I came to losing this.”

You climbed back into his lap, straddling him, and kissed him harder, hips rolling once against the obvious hardness straining in his sweatpants. The friction made you both moan softly. His bandaged hand slid up your back under your shirt, palm warm against your spine, while the other cupped the back of your neck like he was scared you’d pull away.

He broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. His eyes were glassy, voice cracking when he spoke.

“Do you actually want me?” He whispered, lips brushing yours with every word, “not because we’re both fucked up right now. Just—tell me, if not i’ll just stop. Say it against my mouth, pleasw, I need to hear it.”

Your heart felt too big for your chest, a heavy, aching throb that matched the pulse between your legs. You leaned in until your lips touched his with every syllable.

“I want you,” you breathed right against him, “I want you so fucking bad, Jake. Just you—all of you.”

The second the words left your mouth you grabbed his bandaged right hand and pressed his palm flat to the center of your chest, right over your racing heart. His fingers spread wide, the gauze rough and warm against your skin, and Jake let out this low, broken groan that vibrated straight through you.

“Fuck—baby,” he rasped, eyes fluttering like he was barely holding it together, “for me?”

You’d seen how Jake got during intimate moments, but the way he was acting right now—breathing hard against your skin, you weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to handle without confessing all your feelings for the pretty boy in front of you. The fact that he came running so soon, that he wished to clear things up, it was enough. Staying mad at him wasn’t ever a choice when every single cell within you yearned for him. 

“For you,” you whispered gently, eyes never leaving his face. 

He looked stunning to say the least, perhaps the prettiest crier you’ve ever laid your eyes upon. His face was flushed, this beautiful shade of red gracing it, and you couldn’t help but trace your thumb over his swollen lip, “you’re so pretty,” you whispered without thinking twice.   

In one smooth motion he flipped you both, laying you down on the bed and settling between your thighs, his body pressing you into the mattress. The sudden weight of him, the heat rolling off his skin, the way his pendant swung forward and rested cool against your clavicle—it made you shiver. You looked down and saw it, your initials, small and delicate on the silver chain around his neck, nestled right there against your skin.

A soft, involuntary moan slipped out of you.

Jake’s breath hitched hard against your neck, “you see it, baby?” He whispered, his lips—so fucking soft and plush, brushed your throat as he spoke, “got it the next day after our date, been wearing it since.”

“You’re crazy,” you managed to say, but your eyes were shining just as bright as his own, his usual smile stretching, making your heart race faster than usual. 

The proximity was maddening. His chest pressed flush to yours, heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his ribs. The heat of his body soaked into every inch of you, his breath hot and ragged on your neck. He took his time to take your scent in, shamelessly so, doing exactly what he couldn’t when he first talked to you, and swore he was rather drunk on it. 

He buried his face deeper into the curve of your neck and inhaled again, slow and shaky, like he was trying to memorize you, “fuck—wanted to do this when I first met you,” he mumbled, lips dragging along your pulse point, open-mouthed and wet.

You shivered hard, fingers sliding up into his hair and tugging lightly, “then stop holding back now, Jake. Touch me.”

He groaned, “yeah? You want that?” His bandaged hand slipped under your shirt, palm hot and trembling as it cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it tightened, “like this? Tell me if it’s good, baby. I need to hear you.”

“Feels so good,” you breathed, arching into his touch, “don’t be gentle. I want to feel how bad you want me.”

“Fuck,” he rasped, voice cracking, “I’m gonna show you how sorry I am. Gonna make you feel it with every fucking inch of me until you know I’m yours.” He pushed your shirt higher, mouth following right behind, kissing and sucking down your chest like he was starving, “god, look at you—so fucking pretty under me. Can I take this off? I need to see all of you, baby. Please?”

You nodded fast, lifting your arms. He peeled your shirt off and tossed it aside, then just stared, chest rising fast, “fuck—these tits. Been thinking about them every night.” His mouth latched onto one nipple, plush lips sucking slow and deep while his hand palmed the other one, thumb teasing the peak until you were squirming.

“Jaeyun—shit, that feels so good,” you moaned, back arching.

“Yeah? You like my mouth here?” he asked, switching sides, tongue swirling lazy circles. “Tell me, baby. I need to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“So good,” you whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair, “don’t stop.”

“Won’t stop,” he sighed in pleasure, sucking harder as his teeth grazed just enough to make you gasp, the pendant dragging cool over your skin with every move of his head. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You pushed at his shoulders and flipped you both again, straddling his hips, grinding down slow and filthy against the hard line of his cock through his pants.

Jake’s eyes rolled back, a wrecked groan tearing out of him, “Jesus Christ—yeah, keep going, pretty.”

You leaned down, hair falling around both of you, and kissed him deep, tongue sliding against his, his fingers digging into the flesh of your waist, as if no amount of kissing could satiate his hunger. 

You pulled back just enough to look at him, lips still brushing and his eyes were blown wide, chest heaving under you. Holding his gaze, you gathered spit in your mouth, and let it drip slowly right onto his waiting tongue.

Jake’s whole body jerked hard beneath you. A wrecked, filthy moan tore out of his throat as the warm spit landed on his tongue. He didn’t even hesitate before swallowing it down with a shaky groan, then leaned right up and licked into your mouth like he was chasing the taste of you, tongue sliding against yours again, ever so messy and eager.

The absolute joy of being here, so free and filthy with Jake despite everything, had you getting freakier by second knowing damn well how Jake would be thrilled, and he did. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself if you didn’t accept his apology, or if you’d admit that it was a game to you. But seeing neither was the case, he had to take the next step—to show exactly how much he wanted you. 

“So dirty for me, huh?” He smirked, sucking on your tongue, “fucking perfect, you’re mine, yeah? Made for me.”

“Getting possessive already?” You chuckled deeply, licking up his neck, nibbling on his earlobe, confidence boosting by second at the sight of him shivering with your ministrations, “you like it when I spit in that pretty mouth of yours, Jake? 

He tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, gentle but playful, giving it a light pull before letting it go with a soft pop, “like it?” He murmured, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief even now, “darling, I fucking love it. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to be this comfortable with me—this filthy.”

You grinned, rolling your hips down against the hard line of his cock, “then stop talking and do something about it.”

Jake clicked his tongue, rolling over so you were under him again, pinning you to the mattress with his weight, eyebrow cocked up, “bossy tonight, aren’t you?” He teased, lips brushing yours as he spoke.

You traced your finger up his spine, grabbing the hair on his nape with a tug that had him groaning, “why wouldn’t I be? You’re mine now, aren’t you?” You challenged. 

“Claiming me now, hm? Not mad anymore?” He caught your wrist, pinning it beside your head with his bandaged hand while his other slid down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider under him. 

The weight of him was heavenly, you could feel the faint ridges of his abs through his hoodie, the way his heart was slamming against your ribs like it was trying to reach you. His pendant swung forward, cool metal kissing your skin right between your breasts, and the sight of your own initials resting there made you whine yet again. 

“Want me to be mad?” You pecked his neck, “want me to go ask someone else to please me—”

Jake’s head snapped up so fast it was almost comical, “you fucking dare say that again,” he almost groaned, his grip on your thigh tightening, fingers digging in like he needed to remind himself you were really here, “don’t even joke about that shit, the thought of someone else even looking at you the way I do makes me want to lose my fucking mind.”

You blinked up at him, surprised by how quickly the jealousy hit, “Jake—”

“No,” He he you off, voice rough as he shoved your shorts and panties down your legs in one impatient yank, the fabric tearing slightly at the seam. He didn’t care. He tossed them off the bed and settled between your thighs like he belonged there, his big nose brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he inhaled deep, shameless.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes locked on how wet you were, “you’re actually dripping. All this for me, just for me, hm?”

You tried to answer, but the words died in your throat when he dragged two fingers through your folds, spreading the wetness before pushing them inside you in one smooth thrust. The stretch made your back arch off the bed with a sharp gasp.

“Jake—”

“Yeah?” He curled his fingers deep right away, thumb brushing your clit in slow circles. His nose rubbed against your inner thigh as he leaned in closer, breath hot against your pussy, “keep talking. I wanna hear what you wanna say while my fingers are buried in you like this.”

You clenched around him, hips rolling up to chase the feeling, absolutely enamoured with how possessive he was—maybe that’s what you wanted, him claiming you so freely, “you’re so fucking jealous,” you managed, half-laugh, half-moan, “god—I fucking love you.”

It didn’t take much for you to say it, but to Jake, it was everything. 

His fingers froze deep inside you for a split second. Then he yanked them out so fast you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, but before you could even protest he was surging up your body, cupping your face with both hands, thumbs pressing into your cheeks as he stared down at you like you’d just knocked the air out of his lungs.

“Say it again,” he demanded, chest heaving and eyes wild.

“I love you, Jaeyun,” you whispered, looking straight in his eyes. 

“Fuck—I love you too,” he managed to say desperately, he crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, “i needed to hear that.”

He pressed open mouthed kisses all over your torso, only stopping to take his hoodie off in a go, revealing the faint lines of his abs and the light scatter of freckles across his shoulders. The sight of him all flushed, made heat flood between your legs even more.

He slid back down your body fast, shoving your thighs apart wider. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up even more, his big nose brushed your inner thigh as he inhaled deep and shameless. “Fuck, you smell so good when you’re this turned on,” he groaned, then dragged his tongue in one long, filthy stripe up your pussy, moaning loud when he tasted you, “mine, hm.”

His nose rubbed firm and perfect against your clit as he licked, the pressure making your hips jerk.

“Jake—godd,” you gasped, fingers twisting in his hair.

He looked up at you, lips shiny, eyes dark, “yeah? You like my mouth on you?” He sucked your clit into his mouth, fingers pushing back inside you, curling just right, “tell me, baby, I wanna hear how good I’m making you feel while I eat this pretty pussy.”

“So good,” you moaned, thighs shaking around his head, “your nose—right there, it feels so fucking good rubbing my clit like that.”

He caressed the soft flesh of your inner thighs with his veiny hand, thumb stroking back and forth.

Placing open mouthed kisses on it made it worse (better), and you twitched hard.

Jake’s eyes flicked up to yours, lips curving into a filthy little smirk, “oh? Sensitive here?” He dragged his teeth along the inside of your thigh, then sucked hard, leaving a dark mark right where his thumb had been stroking, “fuck, I love that. Gonna mark every spot that makes you shake for me, yeah? My good fucking girl.”

He didn’t give you time to recover. He buried his face between your legs again, eyes never leaving your face, and just how perfect you looked shaking for him, memorizing every bit of it. 

He sucked harder, fingers pumping faster, nose pressing firm and relentless. “Mhm, cum for me, baby. Let me taste how much you want me right now.”

You came hard, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out his name, pulsing around his fingers while he kept licking and sucking you through it, moaning like your orgasm was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

He didn’t stop until you were whimpering and pushing weakly at his shoulders, over-sensitive and trembling.

Only then did he crawl back up your body, kissing you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue. His cock was straining hard against his pants, the front completely soaked with pre-cum.

You reached down and palmed him through the fabric. “Take these off,” you said, voice hoarse, “I want to see you. All of you.”

Jake sat back on his heels, eyes locked on yours the whole time as he shoved his pants and boxers down his hips, keeping it on the side. His cock sprang free, thick, flushed dark, and leaking at the tip. He wrapped his veiny hand around it and gave himself one slow stroke, watching your reaction.

“Better?” He asked, a smirk tugging at his swollen lips even as his chest still heaved, “this what you wanted?”

You bit your lip, heat flooding through you at the sight of him so flushed and bare, freckles standing out across his nose and shoulders, faint abs flexing with every breath, cock heavy in his hand.

“Better,” you breathed, sitting up just a little, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his thick length. 

He let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan when you stroked him slowly from base to tip, thumb swiping over the leaking head, “love your hand, so fucking pretty,” he mumbled, hips twitching forward into your fist, “been hard for you for so long it hurts. C’mon, get on your back, baby, I need to be inside you.”

You lay back, spreading your legs for him. Jake settled between them, rubbing the thick head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness, being thick enough that the first push made your breath catch.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice strained as he pressed in slowly, making you feel every inch he gave you, “you’re so tight—fuck, just breathe for me. I’ve got you.”

It took time. He worked himself in with shallow thrusts, letting you adjust to the stretch, his jaw clenched tight, sweat already beading on his flushed chest. When he finally bottomed out, buried to the hilt, the fullness made your eyes flutter shut and a broken moan slip out of you.

“Shit, Jaeyun you’re so deep,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

He stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, “you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, “like you were made for me. Tell me when you’re ready.”

You rolled your hips experimentally and moaned, “yeah, yeah—please.”

He started slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, building the pace slowly with steadier strokes that made your back arch and your moans louder. Every thrust pushed the air out of your lungs, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.

“God, look at you taking me,” he panted, eyes locked on where you were stretched around him, “so pretty and full of my cock.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, “harder, Jake. I can take it.”

He groaned and gave you exactly what you asked for, hips snapping faster, the pendant with your initials swinging between your breasts with every thrust. His veiny hand slid down to rub your clit, drawing eights on them. 

You were moaning his name, right on the edge, when you suddenly pushed at his chest, “wait—I want to ride you.”

Jake didn’t hesitate, in fact, he was already drooling at the image of your pretty tits jiggling right in front of him. He flipped onto his back, pulling you on top of him in one smooth motion. You straddled his lap and sank down onto his cock in one go, both of you moaning loudly at the new angle.

“Fuck—ride me, baby,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips as you started moving. His thumbs brushed your nipples, pinching and rolling them while you bounced on his thick length, “so fucking pretty riding my cock like you own it.”

You leaned forward, pressing your chest to his, and started sucking dark hickeys into the side of his neck, right below his jaw, “I do own it, baby.”

Jake’s head fell back, a low moan escaping him as you marked him up.

“You do, just you” he panted, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, holding you against him while the other kept playing with your nipple, “want everyone to see I’m yours.”

He reached blindly to the side, grabbing his discarded pants. From the pocket he pulled out a delicate silver pendant—his initials engraved on it. He had planned on asking you out properly before Jaemin fucked it up, but he didn’t plan on waiting anymore, caressing your neck as he clasped it around you, letting it sit beautifully on your clavicle. 

“Wear this for me,” he said, voice rough as he watched it bounce  lightly with every roll of your hips. The cool metal rested against your overheated skin, a constant little shock that made you shiver, “now say it. Say you’re mine while you’re riding my cock.”

You sat up straighter, rolling your hips deep, warmth blooming inside you at how beautiful the small accessory was, “I’m yours, Jake,” you moaned, looking down at him, “all yours.”

His eyes rolled back for a second, hands tightening on your hips as he helped you ride him harder. “That’s my girl,” he groaned, thumb still playing with your nipple, “keep saying it. I wanna hear it every time you sink down on me, baby.”

You pressed your face into his neck again, sucking another mark there as you rode him faster, both of you lost in each other, sweaty and desperate and finally, completely real.

Jake’s grip on your hips turned bruising, fingers digging in as he thrust up to meet every roll of your body.

“Fuck—baby, I’m so close,” he panted, voice ragged, eyes half-lidded and wild, “I should pull out, shit, I didn’t even ask—”

You shook your head fast, nails digging into his shoulders as you kept riding him, “It’s a safe day,” you gasped, lips brushing his, “I want you inside. Don’t pull out, please.”

Jake’s breath hitched hard, like the words alone almost broke him, “I can’t ever deny you anything, my love,” he groaned, “not when you ask me like that.”

He slammed up into you twice, burying himself deep as he came with a wrecked moan of your name, loud enough to reverberate, hips jerking as he spilled hot and thick inside you. The feeling of him pulsing, filling you, pushed you over right after—you clenched around him hard, thighs shaking, a broken cry of his name leaving your lips.

For a long moment you both just stayed there, trembling. Jake didn’t pull out, wrapping both arms around you and flipping you gently onto your back so he could hover over you, still buried deep, bodies pressed together with no space left. His chest heaved against yours, sweat-slick skin sticking, heartbeat slamming so hard you could feel it through your ribs.

He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you, eyes glassy and a little wide like he still couldn’t believe this was real. Then he started kissing every mark he’d left on you tonight—the dark bruise on your inner thigh, the ones on your neck, the one just above your breast. Each kiss was slow, open-mouthed, his nose caressing your skin, warm breath fanning over the fresh hickeys like he was memorizing them with his mouth.

You carded your fingers through his damp hair, letting him take his time.

“I was so ready to beg on my knees tonight if that’s what it took,” he finally whispered against your collarbone, “don’t ever make me do that again.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, still a little dazed, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you on your knees, actually.”

Jake lifted his head, eyes meeting yours, he leaned in and pecked your lips once, letting it linger before he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed like he needed the contact more than air.

“Brat,” he murmured, the word warm and fond against your mouth, but the way he said it was so full of quiet, desperate attachment it made your chest tighten. He stayed like that, still inside you, arms wrapped around you, one hand gently stroking up and down your back while the other traced lazy circles over the pendant now warm against your skin. 

“I love you,” he finally said, cupping your cheek. 

“I love you,” you smiled, letting him be as clingy as he wanted to be. 

“Wanna make a bet?” Jake asked, eyes gleaming as you raised your brow. 

You laughed under your breath, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “Depends. What are we betting on this time?”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “that I’ll spend the rest of my life proving this was the best bad idea we ever had.”

You smiled against his lips, pretending to think which only made him whine further. But maybe, this one was worth spending time over. 

“Bet.”

MEANWHILE: 

Jay was repenting for Jake’s sins, staring up at Jungwon, who still appeared to be dissatisfied, half pressed against the man who kept on mumbling, “sorry, Wonie. I’m sorry Jungwonie, please?”

Jungwon only huffed, arms crossed tight even as Jay clung to him like an oversized koala, “you knew about the whole stupid bet and didn’t say a word. I had to watch my best friend get emotionally waterboarded for weeks.”

“I tried to stop it!” Jay whined, nuzzling his face into Jungwon’s shoulder, “I told Jake it was a terrible idea at least thirteen times—”

“Fourteen,” Sunghoon and Heeseung deadpanned from the couch.

Jaemin, already sprawled in the armchair rocking a fresh black eye and split lip, let out a smug little snort, “relax, you babies. I was trying to get them together.”

Jeno, sitting on the floor looking two seconds from committing murder, dragged a hand down his face, “they didn’t even fucking know each other, Jaemin.”

Jaemin shrugged, completely unfazed, “but I saw the bigger picture.”

Heeseung threw a pillow at his head, “there were better ways, you absolute menace.”

Jaemin dodged it with a grin, “yeah, but none as entertaining.” He popped a chip in his mouth and asked casually, “now who do I do next?”

The entire room exploded at once.

“No.”

“Fuck no.”

“Touch another person and I’m punching you this time.”

“I swear to God, Jaemin—”

Jaemin just laughed, raising his hands like he was innocent, “fine. Jay’s next.”

The poor guy looked up in horror. 

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Jungwon snapped, yanking Jay behind him like a human shield who only blushed at the display of power, “you stay the hell away from him, Jaemin. End of discussion.”

Safe to say, everything was going to be okay. 

THANK YOU FOR READING

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[mssishipi]

OUT OF LUCK— SJY

Money, sex, and a lifetime of feeling like luck was never really on your side—until the universe decided to fuck with you in the most inconvenient way possible. What started as simple coexisting turned into something more when you paid a little too much attention to your quiet, awkward, painfully responsible roommate—who, on paper, is a complete fucking loser. But, hey, he’s not that bad! In which Sim Jaeyun becomes the only genuinely good, unfairly lucky thing that’s ever happened to you… and just like everything else in your life, good things have a way of slipping right through your fingers. So now you have to figure it out, fix it, or risk losing the only thing that ever felt right before you run Out of Luck.

2: FORTUNE'S FAVOR

content tags and warnings: roommate au! romantic comedy, jake is an engineering student x volleyball varsity player reader, light angst, angst and fluff and fluff and a happy ending! complicated feelings, mentions of SUPERTITIOUS BELIEFS, tarot reading, luck, fate etc! 10k wc of reader avoiding jake and the rest will be jake 's pov (he yap and yap), mentions of social anxiety and self harm, jake is such an awkward introverted baby he needs a hug i swear, jake is yearning :(, embarassment, 2nd hand embarassment, public confession, awkward erm moments, jake is secretly a simp and he's pathetic, slice of life, kissing hehe. ft. heeseung as jake's best supportive friend, 02z as jake's hs friend, kazuha as jake's ex gf, karina, ryujin, other kpop idol as reader's volleyball team, robots and fish as side characters. mild smut: masturbation, still MDNI! (WC:34.6K)

Fate is a power believed to predetermine events, some unavoidable bullshit that people love to hold onto when things go wrong. A little explanation so they don't have to admit that sometimes things just fall apart because people make stupid choices, or because shit just happens for no good reason at all.

And right now? You think fate is complete fucking nonsense.

If fate was real, then maybe you wouldn't have been dumb enough to let things spiral the way they did. Maybe you would've stopped yourself before crossing the line.

Maybe if people weren't idiots, if they just paid attention for one goddamn second, things wouldn't end up worse than they needed to be. Like, for example—if someone didn't decide to throw a basketball straight to your fucking face like they had zero brain cells to work with.

Geez. Fate. Luck. Doom. What kind of bullshit logic even ties those things together? The more you think about it, the more it just pisses you off. People are so fucking dumb sometimes, acting like everything is written in the stars when half of it is just bad decisions stacked on top of each other.

"Hehe... I'm so sorry."

You glance at Karina from where you're sitting on the bench, an ice pack pressed against your already bruised nose, your face still sore from everything that's happened over the past few days. Her hand hovers mid-air, like she wants to check on you but isn't sure if you'll snap at her or brush her off.

She just got back from Japan and of course, Ryujin had already filled her in. Not just about how, three days into recovery of your accident, some dumbass from the basketball team managed to add another bruise to your already fucked-up nose during practice like it was some kind of sick joke.

But also that you got your heart broken. Well. You didn't want to tell her. You didn't want to tell anyone, if you were being honest. Saying it out loud makes it real in a way that just thinking about it doesn't. It turns it into something people can react to, something they can pity, something they can talk about. And you're not in the mood for that shit.

So you just exhale slowly, leaning back a bit, eyes drifting away from her. "It's fine," you mutter. Karina doesn't look convinced. She's not stupid. But for once, she doesn't push immediately. Thankfully.

She lowers her hand slowly, sitting down beside you, her shoulder brushing lightly against yours and you know exactly what she's trying to do—comfort, soften the edges, make it easier for you to crack open and talk. But you don't. You just let out a quiet sigh, leaning back slightly as if nothing about this is affecting you. You let her stay there because it's easier than pushing her away and dealing with the questions that would follow. You've always been good at this anyway—pretending. Acting like you're fine.

And weeks pass like that. Quietly. You make it a point—no, a fucking mission—that you and that man-who-shouldn't-be-named never cross paths.

You adjust your schedule, leaving earlier, coming home later, avoiding the living room at certain hours, listening for any sign that he's around before stepping out of your room. It's exhausting, honestly, but you do it anyway because the alternative—seeing him, talking to him, pretending like nothing happened or worse, acknowledging it—feels ten times worse.

You even considered moving out at one point, scrolling through listings late at night, checking dorm prices, calculating your budget over and over again like maybe the numbers would magically change.

They didn't.

Because you're broke. Like, actually fucking broke. Rent is insane, dorms are worse, and on top of that, your training for regionals has been eating up your time and energy like crazy. Your appetite has doubled—no, tripled—and now you can't go a day without stuffing yourself full or you start feeling like shit. And all your money? Gone. Straight into food. Food, food, and more fucking food.

You click your tongue in annoyance just thinking about it, dragging a hand down your face. Fuck this. Why did that man even cook for you so much before? Why did he set that stupid standard? Now your body's used to actual meals, and you can't even go back to your old habits without feeling like you're dying. It's irritating. It's inconvenient. It's— NO. You cut the thought off before it goes somewhere else.

You swore you wouldn't like anyone anymore. That shit is done. Over! Finished!

And honestly? All those stupid things people made you believe in? Complete bullshit. The grapes you ate during New Year's for luck? Fucking scam. The bracelet they made you wear in February because it's supposed to bring love or whatever the hell? Garbage. You should've thrown it away the moment you got it. And that horoscope reading? "2026 will be your year"—yeah, right. Biggest scam of them all!

"I miss you, please don't be angry at me!"

Karina wraps herself around you from behind, her arms locking tight around your shoulders. The impact makes you jolt forward slightly, your whole body stiffening as irritation immediately flashes across your face. You try to pry her off, fingers digging into her forearms.

"What's with you? I'm not angry, the hell?" you scoff, twisting your shoulder and swatting at her arm, but it does nothing. If anything, she tightens her hold, pressing her cheek against yours.

"I know you would say that," she whines, dragging every word out dramatically, completely unfazed by your resistance. Her voice softens just a little as she nuzzles closer. "But there's some kind of tension you have with me. I can feel it. I promise I'm not gonna push you with some other guy again, just talk to meeee."

"Karina!" you snap. You twist harder this time, trying to break free, your voice rising with both annoyance and disbelief. "I am not angry, what the—?!"

But she doesn't let go. "Really?" she shoots back immediately, her tone shifting to show she's not buying your shit. Her arms stay locked around you as she leans her chin on your shoulder, peeking at your face. "Then why won't you talk to me?"

"I'm not talking to anyone because I'm broken-hearted!" you fire back with sarcasm. You stop struggling for a second, your hands dropping uselessly to her arms as you huff out a breath. "Of course it's normal to be this way! You're the one who pushed me, remember?"

"Huhuhu, I'm so sorry!" Karina immediately wails, completely switching gears as she stomps her foot against the ground while still hugging you. The movement jostles both of you, but she doesn't loosen her grip. "Promise, I'll help you get over him. God, I hate him!" Her voice sharpens, her real irritation slipping through. "Do you want me to sabotage his project?! I heard his club is organizing some event with Architecture. Just say it. I'll definitely do it!"

You finally manage to grab her wrists and yank her arms off you, turning around to face her fully with a look that screams what the fuck is wrong with you. "No—what the fuck?" you snap, staring at her like she just suggested arson instead of whatever the hell that was. You roll your eyes, dragging a hand through your hair as you try to calm yourself again. "I just want to focus on Regionals. Just... don't mention him anymore." Your voice drops a little. "It's better to move on when I don't have updates or news."

Karina watches you for a second, her expression softening as she processes that, then she nods slowly. "Soooo... are we good?" she asks, immediately looping her arm around yours again.

You click your tongue, glancing at her from the corner of your eye. "Of course we are always good. What's with you?"

"You sure?" she presses, squinting at you like she's trying to catch you slipping.

"Yes."

"Then I have a gift for ya!" Her mood flips instantly again, energy shooting back up as she lets go and starts digging through one of her paper bags.

You watch her with mild suspicion, arms crossing over your chest as you wait—and then your expression completely breaks when she pulls out a clear plastic bag filled with water... and a tiny fish swimming inside.

"What the—"

"My guppy gave birth and I don't have a tanks anymore!" she beams proudly, holding it up like it's the best gift in the world. The fish wiggles inside the bag. "Take this as a gift for ya. It will help you clear your mind!"

"No. What the fuck?!" you hiss immediately, recoiling slightly. Your brows knit together in pure disbelief, staring at the tiny creature. "Karina, I'm not taking responsibility for a living thing right now—are you insane?!"

But she just grins wider, already trying to shove the bag toward you anyway.

And that was how you ended up bringing a fish

You are absolutely, undeniably, one hundred percent going to fucking kill Karina.

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, one hand gripping the plastic bag with a tiny fish inside, while your phone is awkwardly wedged between your shoulder and your ear. You open cabinets with your free hand, shoving things aside in search of anything that could pass as a container. It's 3:00 in the fucking afternoon, the heat pressing down on you like you are in hell, sweat already forming at the back of your neck. The aircon hums uselessly somewhere behind you, doing absolutely nothing. Why the hell is it not cooling? Is it broken? Did someone mess with it? Did he— NO.

"The fuck?!" you snap out loud when the call suddenly drops, the silence hitting immediately after Karina's last words—calm down, guppy don't need oxygen——before cutting off completely. You pull the phone away, glaring at the screen. No signal nor an Internet.

Of course! Jake is the one assigned to the internet payment. You remember clearly—you left the damn money on the center table days ago where he couldn't miss it. And now this? No connection, no help, no fucking instructions on how to keep this tiny living thing alive.

"God! The worst roommate ever!" you mutter under your breath, shoving your phone onto the counter with more force than necessary. Worst roommate! Worst fucking roommage! Not paying that damn internet, overheating the air conditioner since he was the one who is staying so damn long in the living room, rejecting your feelings— Hold on. Stop. Moving on remember?

You exhale sharply, like you're physically pushing the thought out of your system, and look back down at the plastic bag in your hands. The tiny fish wiggles inside, completely unbothered by your internal crisis, its small body flicking through the water.

"How am I supposed to know how to build your environment?!" you hiss at it. You let out a long breath, shoulders dropping slightly. "Okay... okay..." you mutter to yourself, trying to calm the fuck down. It's just a fish. A tiny, stupid fish. People take care of these things all the time. You can't be that incompetent.

You finally grab a glass jar from the cabinet, a clean one, at least, and set it down on the counter. It's not ideal, probably, but it's better than leaving it in a plastic bag forever like some kind of moving takeout.

Your eyes wander, and they land on that stupid little robot sitting lifelessly on the edge of the table. An idea sparks, ask Bumble for help! Of course! Jake's little tech toy could totally—well, theoretically—make this easier. You lean down, plastic bag in one hand, glass jar in the other, carefully lowering the fish into the water. The liquid sloshes around, tiny ripples forming, and the fish flicks its tail nervously.

Your fingers hover over the robot, hesitating a moment because the thing looks impossibly flat and dumb, and yet... Jake had somehow made it work before. How? How the fuck did he do that?

"Bumble, open," you command. The robot doesn't move. Not a single servo whir, not even a twitch. You frown, crouching lower to get a better look at it, poking at the flat surface with your fingertip. Nothing. You blink at it, confusion mixing with irritation as the anger starts to simmer back up again, fueled by the memory of that stupid, infuriating boy who made it work so effortlessly. His stupid braces flashing whenever he smiled, that crooked, perfect grin, his stupid, clueless, nerdy self who somehow made everything look so easy. Stupid boy.

You can't help it. You shake the robot lightly, as if your rage can transfer through it, make it activate, make it do something other than sit there mocking you.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" you hiss under your breath, frustration bubbling past the point of reason.

You can almost feel the heat of your blood rising in your cheeks, your heart hammering faster than it should over a stupid fish and a stupid robot. And yet, beneath all that —why are you this bitter? NoOOo! It's valid! He's a fucking idiot. That robot is a fucking idiot. And yet—and yet—you can't stop thinking about him, about the way he made you laugh, the way he made you feel, the way he lingered in your thoughts like a permanent ghost.

"Stupid, useless robot," you mutter under your breath, your grip tightening around Bumble. You shake it again. "Why the fuck won't you open? What, are you trying to act like your owner too? Just shut down and ignore people?"

The sudden creak of the door makes your whole body jolt. You stiffen instantly, your heart jumping straight to your throat as your head snaps toward the entrance. Jake was frozen in place, just a few steps inside, like he didn't expect to see you either. His hand is still on the doorknob, the other clutching his bag loosely. His eyes flicker—first to Bumble in your hands, then to the jar on the counter with the fish awkwardly floating inside, then finally to you. And when his gaze settles on your face, it stays.

You see it happen in real time—the shift. His eyes widen, and it pisses you off. He takes in the fading bruises along your cheek, the slight discoloration near your nose, the healing cut on your chin with its visible stitch. His brows knit together, concern flashing across his face so quickly it almost looks painful, like he doesn't know what to do with it. "W-What happened?" he asks, voice stumbling over itself as his hand lifts halfway, like reaching toward your face before stopping mid-air.

That—that right there—makes your chest twist wrong.

You straighten up immediately, forcing your expression to do it's own neutral controlled thing, dropping Bumble back. You avoid his eyes like they burn, turning your attention back to the fish. Geez. Two fucking weeks. Two weeks of silence, of avoidance, of pretending he didn't exist—and now he wants to ask questions like he still has the right? Like nothing happened?

"When are you planning to pay for the Wi-Fi?" you cut in flatly. You keep your back partially turned to him, fiddling with the jar, adjusting the plastic inside even though it's already fine. "I already left the payment."

There's a pause behind you. You can even feel it without even looking — the hesitation, the shift in his breathing, the way he probably opens his mouth and then closes it again like he always fucking does.

"Uh... I was actually busy... that's why..." he answers as he steps further inside and lets his bag drop to the floor.

You let out a small, humorless scoff under your breath, still not looking at him. Busy. Of course he was busy. Bet he was also busy avoiding you.

"Right," you mumble, eyes fixed on the water in the jar, watching the fish move in slow, careless circles.

"Are you... okay?—"

Your head turns sharply, eyes locking onto him with a glare. "Why the fuck do you even care if I'm not?" you shoot back. But just as quickly, you feel that ugly edge, that bitterness creeping. Shit you hate it. You hate how it makes you sound. You hate how it makes you feel like the one who's losing control.

So you pull back. You look away first, breaking eye contact and reach for your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. The jar with the fish inside the plastic crinkles softly as you pull it close to your chest. "Just..." you click your tongue, your jaw tightening as you force your tone back. "Pay that damn Wi-Fi."

You walk past him without waiting for a response, your shoulder brushing the air near him but never quite touching. Your hand grips the doorknob of your room, pausing for just a second before you push it open.

You inhale deeply, and without turning back, you add, "and fix the AC." Then you step inside and shut the door behind you.

Silence follows immediately. You lean back against the door, eyes squeezing shut. "Stupid boy," you mutter under your breath, your voice cracking just slightly despite your effort to keep it together. You drag a hand down your face, exhaling sharply, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on you. You really wish you could rewind everything. Back to when things were simple. When you were just minding your own damn business, not expecting anything, not hoping for anything. No stupid feelings.

Because what the hell were you even thinking? A fairytale? Really? You let out a dry, almost bitter laugh, shaking your head as you push yourself off the door and move further into your room. "What could possibly go right with a man disguised as a loving prince?" you mutter. "They're all the same. Fucking villains." You huff, running a hand through your hair. "Witches, even. Pretending to be kind, then dragging you down, poisoning you—"

You stop mid-step, blinking at yourself like you just caught your own bullshit. "...Why the fuck are you thinking about fairytales again?" you mutter, almost annoyed.

And you need to place this fucking fish outside your room!

You threw yourself into training as though it was the only thing keeping you from completely losing your shit.

Regionals wasn't just some school-level game anymore, you carried your city's name on your back whether you liked it or not. The drills were stricter, harsher, less forgiving. Coaches didn't care if your legs were shaking or your lungs felt like they were about to collapse; they pushed anyway, barked orders like you were machines instead of people. It was exhausting, and so brutal, kind of relentless—and somehow, you welcomed it. Because every second your body ached, every moment your mind focused on the game, it left less room for him.

Unluckily—luckily—you weren't stuck in one place either. The team moved from city to city, different courts, different environments, different faces. New people, new opponents, new distractions. You met players who were just as aggressive, just as desperate to win, some even worse. It forced you to stay sharp, forced you to adapt.

At night, when your body finally gave out and you collapsed into unfamiliar beds, there was barely enough energy left in you to think. Barely enough energy to remember anything, and yet... somehow, in those quiet moments right before sleep took you, your mind still slipped. Back to him.

One night while packing your things for another early call time, your hands moving automatically as you zipped your bag. Your thoughts drifted. What is Jake even doing right now?

You frowned, shoving your clothes harder into your bag like that would shove the thought away too. Before you left the apartment earlier that week, the fridge was nearly empty. Barely anything inside except leftovers that didn't look touched and random shit that didn't make sense together. It's not like you were cooking. Hell, you barely ate at home anymore. You never even did heathy groceries in the first place. That was always—

You stopped.

Is he eating properly now? Is he still organizing everything like some obsessive little nerd? Or did he just... stop?

Oh, dude. What the actual fuck! You shake your head, physically rejecting the thought. Why the hell do you even care? Why does it matter if he's eating or starving or turning into a complete mess? He made his choice.

"...Yeah, right," you mutter under your breath.

Because the truth is simple, and it pisses you off more than anything—you still like him.

Despite everything. Despite how he looked you in the eye and said he didn't feel the same. Despite how fucking humiliating that moment was. The feeling didn't just disappear. It didn't magically shut off like a switch. It stayed, always clinging to you no matter how much you tried to drown it out with training, exhaustion, or distance. It's normal. Feelings don't just go away overnight. You're not broken for still thinking about him.

...Are you crazy?

Not really. You've always been like this—your mind drifting back to things you once liked, replaying moments like they meant more than they probably did. You remember those stupid, simple days when it was just a harmless crush. When you'd catch yourself staring at him across the room, noticing the way his braces flashed when he smiled, how his eyes would light up behind his glasses whenever he talked about something he liked. It was easy back then. It was safe... nothing is complicated

And yeah—fuck it—you're not blind. He's not ugly. Not even close.

But the moment that thought settles, your expression twists, your own bitterness creeping back in like a bad habit you can't shake. Your mood shifts so fast it almost gives you whiplash. One second you're remembering something soft, the next you're clenching your jaw, your hands curling into fists. "God, how I hate nerds..." you mutter. "Stupid, fucking... face." You let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through your hair as you lean back, staring at the ceiling.

Because no matter how good he looked, no matter how nice he seemed—You still kind of want to punch him. Hard.

"This card represents the burning love that you have right now. The two of you will communicate well, and maybe in the near future, both of you will not take the same path—but it will not be a reason for any separation. Either way, the fire around you will ignite and make your relationship stronger."

"Awww."

A chorus of coos makes your eye twitch. Rei actually sniffs, her hand hovering over her chest as her eyes glued to the three cards laid out in front of her. You stand there, arms loosely crossed, staring at the whole thing with a thinly veiled cringe, your lips pressing into a line as you take in the scene. The setup is just a small booth with a cloth-covered table, a deck of worn-out cards. It's part of the open house happening around Decelis, booths were scattered everywhere — whatever. You only ended up here because your coaches had some sudden emergency meeting, leaving you all with a free hour to waste. And somehow, this is where your team decided to spend it.

"Is that legit-legit?" Winter asks, wiggling her eyebrows as she leans closer to the table. The rest of your teammates crowd around too, forming a semi-circle, their attention completely hooked. You can already tell this is about to go south for you. They look too entertained.

"Take what resonates, leave what doesn't," the tarot reader replies calmly. You bet she said that line a hundred times already today. "I am just reading the cards and interpreting what it says."

"Well then," Winter grins, clearly already plotting something, "I'll pay three dollars and read my friend's love life!" Before you can even react, she drops the money into the jar and without hesitation, shoves you forward into the seat right in front of the table.

"Huh—?"

You barely get the chance to protest before hands are suddenly everywhere. Winter, Giselle, Ningning, and Karina are all close in, clapping their hands over your mouth, pushing you down into the chair as they giggle. "Don't ruin it!" "Just sit!" "We're curious!" they whisper loudly over each other, completely ignoring your muffled protests.

You glare at them, trying to pry their hands off, but they're annoyingly persistent. The tarot reader raises an eyebrow at the display but doesn't comment. Instead, she calmly begins shuffling the deck, her eyes flicking toward you for a brief moment—like she's assessing you, reading more than just your face. The cards slide smoothly between her fingers. Eventually, your teammates let go, though they stay close, practically leaning over your shoulders, their eyes glued to the table like.

Three cards are drawn and placed carefully in front of you. Two upright. One reversed.

You finally manage to sit properly, rubbing your jaw where they had covered your mouth, shooting them one last annoyed look before your attention drifts—despite yourself—back to the cards. You don't even believe in this shit.

"I see..." the girl starts, she leans slightly forward, studying the spread. Her brows knit together just a little, like something caught her attention. "Your partner is a very loving person... with genuine feelings."

Your nostrils flare almost immediately, your lips parting as your face twists into disbelief and annoyance. You don't even bother hiding it, and the way you can already feel the shift around you too—the girls who were leaning in with excitement just seconds ago are now deflating, their interest dropping as fast as it came. There's a collective sigh, obvious with disappointment. Of course. Because what partner? You don't have one. Everyone here knows that. This is exactly why you don't believe in this shit. It's all vague, all bullshit.

"The images around the cards represent someone who pays close attention to you... someone who puts in a lot of effort," the girl continues, unfazed by the obvious shift in energy. Your teammates exchange looks but no one interrupts her. Not yet. Well, there's still that tiny thread of curiosity keeping them quiet.

And then, unexpectedly, she pulls another card.

"Is your partner a Scorpio?"

"Hm." You respond flatly, barely even thinking about it, your attention already drifting as you inspect your nails.

"Right..." she murmurs anyway. "You're lucky. He is intensely passionate and deeply loyal to you—incredibly loyal and devoted. The kind of person who gives everything, but expects the same level of commitment in return."

You let out a short, dry snort at that, the word lucky hitting your ears wrong. Lucky? Yeah, fucking right. Every person who reads zodiac signs, tarot cards, whatever the hell this is—they always say the same shit.

"As expected with this reversed card," she continues, tapping the last one lightly, "it also reflects your partner's nature. Hesitant to open up. Someone who tests potential partners before fully letting them in... That's all!"

"God, I can't believe I wasted my three dollars," Winter mutters under her breath, already turning away with an annoyed huff. "She doesn't even have a boyfriend."

There's a ripple of agreement, the group starting to lose interest completely now, the moment clearly not living up to their expectations. One by one, they begin to shift away from the table, their attention already drifting to the next booth.

You don't move right away. Your eyes stay on the cards, before snorting. You push yourself up to the chair, breaking whatever stupid spell you almost fell into.

"Hope you had a long, healthy, happy relationship. Both of you deserve it. Thank you!" the girl chirps, already reaching for her jar. You watch her fingers flick through the bills. You huff under your breath, shaking your head as you step away.

Loving? Effort? Loyal? Hesitant? And what the fuck was that—Scorpio? You roll your eyes hard enough it almost hurts. You don't even know someone who's a Scorpio. Not a single one. The whole thing was a scam, and somehow people were eating that shit up like it was gospel. Good for them. Couldn't be you.

Your attention shifts fast—thank fuck!—dragged away by something actually worth your time. Wagyu barbecue. Your eyes light up, stepping closer like you're being pulled in. "Holy shit," you mutter under your breath, staring at the display, the marbling on the meat, the way it sizzles on the grill. And then you squint slightly. "That's a black sausage?" you mumble, half-confused, half-intrigued.

Food. At least food makes sense. You shift your weight, already pulling out money, already thinking about how that three dollars should've gone here instead of that tarot bullshit. You take a bite of something you bought, chewing absentmindedly, letting the flavors comfort you.

"What's with ya booth?" you ask casually as you drift along with your team, your voice blending into the noise as you hop from one stall to another, not really caring about anything except eating and not thinking. You clutch your food, biting, chewing, swallowing, moving. The others are loud, curious, energetic, and you are actually keeping up with them, as long as you have your food.

"Oh! The Civil Engineering Booth! What's the catch?!" Winter suddenly calls out.

Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, your throat burning as you cough, eyes watering as you bend slightly forward, one hand clutching your chest. "Shit—" you rasp, trying to breathe,  but it's already too late. Because when you look up, he's there.

Jake was standing right there!

Your mouth falls open slightly, breath catching again but for a completely different reason this time. He looks... different. Not drastically, not in a way that anyone else would probably point out, but you see it. Of course you fucking do, duh. His hair's a bit longer now, falling just slightly differently around his face, softening him in a way that makes your chest tighten. He's wearing this gray long sleeve under a blue polo, something that looks weird, considering the hot weather... Of course it is weird! But it doesn't. On him, it just works. It always fucking works. There's a camera slung over his nape too, resting against his chest.

Fuck. Your heart stutters. It actually fucking stutters. God, why is he so handsome, you wanna cry — STOP!

"Uh... we now have some kind of, you know... furniture and displays around your house?" Jake says, voice a little shaky, and you can hear it even from where you're standing. You hate that you can still recognize every little change in his tone. His eyes flick around, scanning the group, pausing briefly on jerseys, on faces—getting closer, closer—

And when you realize he's about to look at you— You turn your back, shoulders stiffening as you stare straight ahead. Your grip tightens around your food, knuckles whitening slightly as your heart starts pounding like it's trying to break out of your chest.

Stupid. Why the fuck did you turn your back? Your jersey has your surname printed on it! Dumb bitch!

You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second, internally cursing yourself out. Great. Fucking great. Out of all the booths, all the places, all the fucking timing—this is where you end up. You can feel it crawling under your skin, that restless, suffocating awareness that he's right there, that if you just turn your head a little, you'd see him clearly.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Karina whispers beside you. Her eyes are on you and it pisses you off a little because it means you're not hiding it as well as you thought. You don't answer immediately. You just stare ahead, blinking and forcing your breathing to even out.

"—Wow! A zodiac sign bracelet?! Where did you bought it?!" Winter suddenly blurts out, loud as hell. Just like that, the attention shifts, your teammates swarming forward like curious idiots, drawn to something shiny and new.

Jake attention is split. He's opening his lips to answer but his eyes keep dragging back to your turned back.

"I-It's fine. We had an agreement that we stick together so when we go back we don't have to message those who is missing—" you whisper back to Karina quickly. It sounds reasonable. It is reasonable.

"Uh... my friend from the Art Major booth, gave it to me..." Jake answers, still looking back and fourth to you.

"What sign is this again?" Giselle asks, reaching out to touch his wrist and raising it up to observe the bracelet.

"It's a— uh... a Scorpio." Jake replies.

"It's so obvious, babe! God, you are such a dumb sometimes." Ningning snorts.

"Shut it, girls! Well, Mr. uhh..." Rei cuts in, she squints down at the tag clipped to his shirt, leaning just a little too close. "Jake! Mr. Jake," she repeats with a grin, clapping her hands. "Can you take a picture of us as a team? We're off to Regionals in the next few weeks! And we look so fresh. Maybe we could use it for the journalist page if they upload a good luck post!"

Jake's attention was being dragged away again, redirected, and forced into your teammates again.

"Uh... sure..." Jake answers, his voice hesitant, or maybe it's just you hearing it differently now.

You don't turn. You don't dare turn. But you can imagine him nodding slightly, adjusting that stupid camera strap on his shoulder, probably pushing his glasses up out of habit.

"Great! Are you gonna upload it on your page?" Rei continues without missing a beat, already hyped and already moving.

"...The creatives are..." he starts, clearly trying to explain.

"That's great!" Rei cuts him off anyway, not even caring about the details, and turning her attention back to the group.

When is this gonna fucking end?

You shift your weight, foot tapping against the ground in small, impatient movements to distract you from the other thing—the bigger thing—you're trying so hard not to face. God! You can feel your teammates moving, adjusting, forming some kind of formation.

"Hello?! Number 9?!" Rei suddenly calls out, her voice snapping directly at you.

Fuck you! You want to curse out loud.

You inhale slowly, forcing your neutral expression before turning to move, not fully facing him yet, not looking at him, just stepping into position.

You settle at the side, arms crossing loosely, trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable—

"Stop— what are you doing?!" Winter hisses immediately, grabbing your arm and dragging you without hesitation. "You should be in the middle! You're a libero and you had a different color of your jersey!" She pushes you right into the center.

Your feet plant as your body going stiff for a split second. You're right in front now, visible and now exposed. You were absolutely going to kill your teammates.

You don't look at him. You keep your gaze forward, somewhere just above the lens.

Jake bites his lip awkwardly, adjusting his stance behind the camera, fingers fumbling just slightly as he brings it up.

"Okay... uhm..." he mutters, trying to gather everyone's attention. "Just— stay still..."

Your chest tightens. You don't know why this feels harder than confronting him. You've faced him before. You've yelled at him. You've cried in front of him!

Standing here, pretending like nothing happened while he looks at you through a lens— God, this feels worse!

"Smile," he says.

You let yourself look straight at the camera, at the lens, at him behind it. Your lips lift automatically, forming a smile you've practiced a thousand times for games and pictures.

One second. Two. Five. Ten.

There's this weird stretch of silence beneath the noise, like something's off, like the moment isn't ending when it should. You don't move at first, still holding the pose out of habit, but then your brows knit slightly, your smile starting to falter at the edges. He's not lowering the camera. He's just... there. Watching through the lens like he forgot what he was supposed to do next.

"Uh... is it finished?" Ryujin finally asks, confused, a little impatient as she shifts her weight beside you.

That's when Jake seems to snap out of it.

"Oh—... sorry. Yes, we'll just upload it later," he says quickly, his voice stumbling over itself as he lowers the camera in a rush. He doesn't look at anyone because he turns his back almost immediately.

Your smile drops the second the camera is no longer pointed at you.

"Thank you!" your teammates chorus, already moving on, already distracted, their attention bouncing to the next booth.

"He looks so familiar, right? Had he participated or watched on VIP?" one of them asks absentmindedly as they walk.

You glance at Karina, and she's already looking at you. There's a split second where neither of you say anything. Her lips press together, holding it in, not saying shit for once, and you mirror it, your own mouth tightening as you look away first.

You bury it.

You bury him under the loud whistle of your coach that keeps ripping through the air and it's trying to split your skull open. Training hits harder than usual, or maybe it just feels that way because you're forcing yourself not to think about anything else. Your body moves on—run, receive, dive, stand, repeat. You're tired.

The coaches don't give a shit.

"Again!" the whistle blows, and you barely have time to straighten your back before another ball comes flying at you. Your arms sting from the impact, your knees burn from the constant drops, and your breathing is uneven, chest heaving as you try to keep up. They said you already had your break. One whole hour earlier, like that was supposed to be enough to carry you through the rest of this hell. Fucking hell.

You try to sneak a second to grab your water because your throat dry as shit, your hand already reaching for the bottle. You tilt it, barely getting a sip—

The coach slowly called out your name. You freeze mid-action, glancing up slowly. He was staring at you with his arm crossed, an obvious disappointment carried in his eyes.

You lower the bottle immediately, swallowing hard, your shoulders straightening as you put it down. "Sorry," you mutter under your breath, even if he didn't ask for it, even if he didn't say shit. You already know.

You're fucked.

"Oh my God! I can't imagine what will be the training if we actually win that and proceed to National. I'm gonna die," Ningning whines later as she collapses onto the bench like her soul just left her body.

You barely respond. You're sitting there, hunched slightly, pressing an ice pack against your bruised arm, then your thigh, then somewhere near your ribs where it hurts the most. The punishment was stupid. Straight up stupid. The coach made the team aim at you like you were some kind of target practice, all because you slipped up.

Dull throbs spreading under your skin, your body overly aware of every ache, every sting. It's not unbearable. But it's a lot.

"I'm so sorry," Karina says. She wraps her arms around you carefully, her hand hovering before gently touching one of your bruises.

You huff quietly, shifting a little but not pulling away. "It's okay," you mumble with your tired voice. You adjust the ice again, pressing it harder this time. "I just want to go home."

God, your body feels like absolute shit. Every step on the way home feels heavier than the last, like your muscles are dragging behind you instead of actually working with you. Your shoulders ache, your thighs burn, your arms feel like they've been beaten raw—and honestly, they kind of have. All you can think about is food. Then sleep—eight hours minimum, ten if the universe suddenly decides to stop screwing you over with morning classes. Maybe even a massage, yeah, that sounds fucking perfect, you'll drag Karina and Ryujin to a spa, waste money you probably shouldn't, just to feel human again.

By the time you get back to the apartment, your brain is running on fumes. You don't even bother turning on all the lights, just enough to see where you're going before you drop your bag onto the sofa with a dull thud. It's already 7:45 PM, you don't make it any further than the living room before you just... collapse. Your body gives in immediately, sinking into the couch, your head tilting back as you stare blankly ahead.

That's when you see it the jar. It was sitting there on the table like it's been waiting for you this whole time.

"...Oh, shit," you mutter under your breath, pushing yourself up just enough to look at it properly. The guppy swims lazily inside, existing in its own tiny world while you've been out getting your ass handed to you for days straight. You slide down from the couch to the floor, dragging yourself closer until you're sitting there, elbows on the table, your head almost resting against it as you stare at the fish.

"You're getting fat," you mumble, eyes half-lidded as you watch it move in slow circles. Your finger taps lightly against the glass. "Are you eating well?" you ask again, like it's actually going to answer you. You let out a quiet, tired laugh, shaking your head slightly. "Who's feeding you? That nerd is feeding you?"

You keep staring, your gaze softening despite yourself. "You better not have some kind of attachment issues," you add, "or you'll end up swimming in the river." Another quiet huff of laughter leaves you, but it's weak, fading quickly as exhaustion starts to take over again.

Your eyes slowly close. You don't even notice the small movement behind you. Bumble moves slowly, navigating its way toward you. It bumps lightly against your leg.

Bump. You don't react. It pauses, tilting slightly, then nudges you again, a little firmer this time, its rounded head pressing against your calf like it's trying to get your attention.

Bump. Still nothing. Your breathing has already evened out, your body too tired to respond, your mind slipping somewhere between awake and asleep.

"Hi?" it chirps. It waits patiently its little frame angled toward you like it expects something back. But you don't move. Not even a twitch.

After a few seconds of nothing, Bumble shifts, turning its body slowly toward the hallway, toward that door—the one that isn't yours, then it starts bumping into it. Soft, repetitive taps against the wood. The sound blends into your half-conscious state, like it's happening underwater.

The door creaks open.

And everything after that feels... wrong. Or maybe not wrong... just unreal. Your body feels too heavy, like it's sinking or like gravity suddenly decided to double its pull on you. Your thoughts drift in fragments, slipping away before they can form properly. Did you pass out?

It feels like a fever dream. Like you're floating, but also not. Like your body is there, but your mind is somewhere else entirely.

Cold. It's cold. There's something cold against you. It presses gently, carefully, and your body reacts before your brain does, leaning into it without hesitation. Your eyes try to open but they can't. Your limbs are now unresponsive, but the sensation continues, there was something so smooth brushing against your skin. It moves along your hair first, fingers...no, something like fingers—threading lightly through it, pushing it away from your face. Then your temple. Then your cheekbone.

Good. It feels good. You let out the faintest breath, your body instinctively leaning closer, chasing that touch without even realizing it. Your head tilts slightly, giving in, surrendering to the sensation. You need more.

When you wake up the next morning, the first thing that hits you isn't confusion—it's just this dull, heavy awareness that your body still fucking hurts. Your eyes crack open slowly, light slipping in through the curtains, and you blink at the ceiling like you're trying to remember something important... but nothing comes. There's no clear memory of how you got here, no moment of climbing into bed, no dragging yourself under the covers. You just... woke up here. Lying flat on your back, blanket half-thrown over your legs like you'd been placed there instead of settling in yourself.

You stare at it for a second. Then you shrug it off.

God, you don't even have the energy to question it.

What matters is—you actually slept. Your muscles still ache, your bruises still sting when you stretch, but it's manageable. "Fuck... I could've slept more," you mumble under your breath, dragging a hand over your face as you sit up slowly, joints protesting but not as violently as yesterday. You swing your legs off the bed, feet hitting the floor, and just sit there for a moment, letting yourself exist before the day starts kicking your ass again.

Routine pulls you out of your room without much thought.

You end up in the living room, eyes automatically landing on the jar sitting on the table. The guppy swims lazily inside, completely fine. You crouch down, tapping the glass lightly before feeding it, watching it dart toward the food.

"Geez, you're greedy," you mutter, a small huff leaving your nose.

Your gaze shifts slightly—to the side, and there you saw Bumble.  Sitting there quietly beside the jar, completely still.

You stare at it for a second. "...Weird," you mumble under your breath, brows pulling together slightly. Your shoulders lift in a small shrug, brushing it off. "Whatever."

You stand up, grabbing your things, pushing the thought aside as quickly as it came. There's no point overthinking stupid shit this early in the morning.

"Morning!" Rei greets the second you step into the court, her voice bright despite the early hour as she stretches her arms above her head.

"Morning... what's for breakfast?" you ask lazily, dropping your bag onto the bench before stretching your arms out.

"Hm?" Rei glances at you, thinking for a second before her face lights up. "I think 7/11 just restocked their Spam Kimchi Fried Rice, want to get some?"

You pause mid-stretch, considering it for half a second. "Okay... that's tolerable," you say with a small nod. "Let's grab some after stretching."

More of your teammates trickle in, chatter overlapping, energy building as you all go through warm-ups. By the time you finish, the decision is already made—food first.

The convenience store is crowded as usual, cold air hitting your skin the second you step inside, a welcome contrast to the heat outside. You grab a slurpee almost immediately, sipping from it as your teammates scatter around, grabbing whatever they want, talking over each other like always.

"Oh!" Karina suddenly exclaims, pointing toward a standee near the entrance. "They got Park Jongseong standee!"

You glance over briefly, unimpressed, sipping your drink. "Who the fuck is Park Jongseong?" you mutter, already looking away.

Karina gasps. "God, are you that outdated?! Park Jongseong is a rising actor! He's studying in Decelis and about to graduate!"

"Good for him," you mumble, clearly not giving a shit, taking another sip.

"Oh—look, the Engineering posted our photos!" Rei suddenly says, grabbing your attention as she waves her phone around.

All of you crowd around her immediately, squeezing in, shoulders bumping as you lean closer to see. The group photo pops up first. When Winter swipes to the next photo, her thumb dragging across the cracked screen with zero care, Karina gasps. Your brows knit together immediately.

"What?" you mutter, stepping closer, leaning in just enough to see the phone without fully committing to caring. But then you do see it—and... the fuck?

Ningning whined, completely missing the shift in your expression. "It's so unfair! How come you're always the favorite of photographers and sport journalists?!" she complains, nudging your shoulder.

You didn't even answer at all. Your eyes stay glued to the screen, locked onto that photo. It's you. Just you. Not the team, not the formation, not even a candid group moment—it's fucking you. Zoomed in. Cropped so tightly that Karina's arm is barely visible at the edge, Ryujin completely gone. You're smiling in it, relaxed, unaware. It's not a stolen blurry shot either—it's clear, it was focused... Intentional.

"What the fuck..." you breathe out.

Karina leans closer, squinting. "The man who took our photo isn't even a photographer or a sports journalist," she mutters, more to herself now, her voice dropping as her brain starts connecting dots you don't even want to acknowledge. "Oh God..." Her head slowly turns toward you, eyes widening.

"Don't start," you cut in immediately, your glare snapping to her before she can even open her mouth properly. You already know. You fucking know what she's about to say, and you're not in the mood for it.

But of course, Karina being Karina, she doesn't stop. "He likes you!" she blurts out anyway, her finger practically stabbing toward the screen.

Your jaw clenches so tight it almost hurts. "Are you fucking serious right now?" you snap, heat rising up your neck, not even sure if it's anger or something else. "I told you. He literally said he doesn't feel the same. Did you forget that part or—"

"Who likes who?" Giselle suddenly cuts in, sliding into the conversation, eyes bouncing between you and Karina with interest.

"Wait... so you had a talking stage but it failed? Tell us more!" Winter jumps in right after, leaning forward with way too much excitement, completely missing—or ignoring—the way your expression tightens.

Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out at first. It's like the questions start stacking too fast, overlapping, tangling together until you can't even grab one to respond to. The noise builds again—voices piling on top of each other, reactions, assumptions, teasing—and suddenly it feels too loud for something that should've stayed quiet.

"So that guy who took our photo was the one you said that won't talk to you?" Ryujin adds, her brows lifting as she studies your face more carefully, like she's trying to confirm something she already suspects.

"...Wait," another voice cuts through. "You know Jake?" Yunjin asks with confusion as she looks at Ryujin first, then shifts her gaze to you. There's a pause, a beat where her expression sharpens slightly. "You know Jake?" she repeats.

Your mouth goes dry instantly. That name, coming from someone else, hits different. Your thoughts trip over each other, questions forming faster than you can process. How does she know him? Why does she sound like that? Why does it suddenly feel like you're missing a part of the story?

"Who's Jake?" Giselle tries to jump back in, but Ningning immediately slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide like she just realized this isn't just casual gossip anymore.

"J-Just... my roommate," you manage to say, the words coming out more stiff than you intend, your grip tightening around your drink again.

"So you know the guy that took our photo and didn't say anything about him?" Karina presses, throwing her hands up in disbelief.

Before you can even respond, Yunjin lets out a short, disbelieving scoff, stepping in. She raises her brows, one hand lifting slightly as she gestures midair. "It's so random to bring him up, duh?" she says in a mocking tone. "And he's boring as hell. What do you want me to say? How he dated one of my best friends in high school and completely turned into a distant asshole with zero emotional intelligence?"

"Ohhhh," the girls around you gasp almost in sync at the gossip.

Your stomach twists, you remember that conversation the way he mentioned he dated someone before, how it "didn't work out." He didn't elaborate. You didn't push. It felt unnecessary back then.

"Oh my," Yunjin continues, shaking her head like she's already over the topic, even though she's the one who dropped the bomb. "I didn't know you'd fall for that whole nerdy, quiet, introverted charm thing too." Her lips press. "He's a good guy, sure. I'll give him that. But he's not a good partner."

Your fingers loosen slightly around your cup. You find yourself staring at nothing—some random spot past Rei's shoulder, past the glass doors, past everything—because your mind is already somewhere else. Back to the quiet moments, the stupid small things, it pisses you off, because it shouldn't matter this much. It wasn't even anything official. It wasn't even real, right?

"It was just like a one-time thing," you say, forcing your voice to come out normal. You shrug one shoulder, like it's nothing. "He's just my roommate." Your lips stretch into something that resembles a smile. "I didn't like him that much. Don't worry, girls."

The silence that follows lasts barely a second before it gets filled again. "Well, you better not like him!" Ningning cuts in quickly, narrowing her eyes at you. She nudges your shoulder, then slaps your back lightly, the others chiming in with similar reactions. "With Yunjin's side story background, he's not a perfect match for you!"

"Yeah, seriously," Winter adds, shaking her head like she's already made up her mind about him. "We don't support bad decisions."

You nod along anyway, letting them have it, letting them believe it. It's easier that way.

But Karina doesn't let it go. "Wait—no, that doesn't make sense," she hisses, leaning closer to you. "It was obvious that he likes you!" Her finger taps against Rei's phone again, like she needs to remind you of the evidence sitting right there. "I mean, look at that picture alone! That's not normal!"

You roll your eyes. "It's just a picture, Karina. Stop overthinking—"

"And what if he does?" Ryujin suddenly cuts in. She flicks Karina's forehead lightly, making her hiss in protest. "Stop pushing her again if it's just going to hurt her more."

Karina frowns, rubbing her forehead, but she doesn't argue back immediately. Ryujin's gaze shifts to you. "It doesn't matter if he likes her or not," she continues. "He already caused enough damage." She pauses for a second, like she's choosing her words carefully, but the bluntness is still there. "He's not man enough to stand by whatever the hell he's feeling right now."

You let out a small breath through your nose, shaking your head like you're brushing it all off, even if it doesn't actually go away. Whatever. They're right. All of them, in their own loud, messy way—they're right. You shouldn't be this stressed over something that was never even labeled, never even defined. It wasn't a relationship. It wasn't anything serious. It was just... something that happened. Something that ended. That should be it.

He made his point right there, standing in front of you. It shouldn't matter anymore after that. It should've killed whatever stupid hope was growing inside you before it even had the chance to become something real.

So why the fuck does it still hurt like this? You're just lonely. That's it, right? That's the easiest explanation. You got used to him being there—his presence, his voice, the small routines you didn't even notice forming until they were gone. You got used to someone paying attention, even in his awkward, quiet way. Of course it's going to feel empty now. Of course it's going to sting.

It doesn't mean it was love. You're just lonely.

Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train until your legs feel like they're about to give out, drag yourself to class, pretend you're listening, go home, sleep like you're dead. Avoid Jake.

Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train harder, push through the soreness, ignore the bruises blooming under your skin, keep your head down, don't think too much. Avoid Jake.

Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train, study, sleep, avoid Jake.

"I know you're busy but the... uh... water bill payment is due..."

Oh. Right.

Bills. Responsibilities. Actual life shit that doesn't revolve around your messy, unresolved feelings. Not everything is about you spiraling over some guy who couldn't even look you in the eye after fucking you.

You click your tongue softly under your breath and bend down to tie your shoelaces, using the motion as an excuse to avoid looking at him. Your fingers move quickly,  even if your chest feels tight again just from his presence being this close. Without thinking too much about it, you reach into your wallet and pull out crumpled bills, extending your hand toward him without lifting your gaze.

"Here," you mutter, handing him the fifteen dollars.

There's a split second where your hand lingers midair, and you mentally curse yourself for even noticing it. You pull back immediately, wiping your palm against your shorts. Your eyes drop back to your wallet, flipping it open again out of habit—and that's when it hits you. It's fucking empty. Well, not completely empty, but close enough. You stare at it longer than you should, your brows knitting together slightly. All that extra food, all the random shit you've been buying just to distract yourself—it adds up.

You don't even realize Jake's looking at it too. When you finally glance up and catch him staring, your expression shifts instantly. You snap the wallet shut and clear your throat like you've been caught doing something embarrassing.

"That would be enough, right?" you say nonchalantly, like you didn't just expose how broke you are. You sling your training bag over your shoulder, adjusting the strap. "I mean, I'm mostly at the city meet anyway. I didn't even use water for, like, almost two weeks."

Jake blinks behind his glasses. His gaze flickers from your face to your bag, then back again. "Y-Yeah... sure," he answers.

You're the one who looks away first. "Okay," you say quickly, already stepping back. "I'll get going." You turn slightly, ready to leave.

"Actually—"

His voice stops you mid-step. You pause, slowly, you turn your head, glancing back at him over your shoulder, one brow lifting just slightly, your expression already guarded like you're expecting something you won't like.

"N-N-Nothing," he stutters, the word tripping over itself the second your eyes meet his.

He folds into himself again. His shoulders draw inward, his posture shrinking like a snail going back to it's shell. His gaze drops almost as quickly as it met yours.

You purse your lips, holding back whatever reaction tries to surface, and give him a small, absent nod instead. For a brief moment, his eyes linger on your face, like he's searching for something in your expression that isn't there anymore. That's the part that hits him the hardest—that look you used to give him when things were still normal, when you were still figuring each other.

Are you... okay now?

The door shuts behind you. Jake doesn't move right away. He just stands there, staring at the empty space where you were a second ago.

Then suddenly, like something inside him snaps, he steps back and lets his head hit the wall. His breath comes out uneven, his fingers curling into fists before loosening again, like he doesn't even know what to do with his own body. Then he does it again. And again. And again. Each impact a little harder. Why can't he talk? Why the fuck can't he just say something when it matters?

His jaw tightens, teeth grinding as frustration builds in his chest. He pulls back once more and this time hits the wall harder than before, the sting shooting through his skull—and that's when it hits him. A flash of memory flodded into his mind.

Suddenly, he's not here anymore. Suddenly, he's back at high school.

"I know I'm not like the best partner either," Kazuha says. Jake's mouth goes dry as he stares at her, his brain lagging behind the moment like it's refusing to process what's happening.

It's a random Tuesday. And yet here she is, standing in front of him, ending something he didn't even realize was breaking.

"You're a good guy, Jake," she continues, her hands clasped together in front of her. "I appreciate and love every moment we spent with each other. Thank you for that..." She pauses. "But it's better if we part ways."

Her words just... float there, Jake goes completely still. His shoulders draw in, shrinking instinctively, an action he always do if he's trying to make himself smaller. His eyes flicker away from her for a second, scanning the space around them—the hallway, the passing students, the distant chatter. What if they were listening?

His fingers start fidgeting again, restless, rubbing against each other over and over. His heart is beating too fast. His head is too loud. There are too many thoughts forming all at once, piling up, overlapping, choking each other out before they can even become words.

"Are you..." Kazuha starts, her brows pulling together slightly as she looks at him. "...not gonna say anything?"

Jake looks at her then. Her eyes are glossy—not crying, not yet, but close enough. Waiting. Expecting something. Anything.

And fuck, he wants to say something. He wants to ask why. Wants to understand what he did wrong. Wants to tell her he tried—that he followed everything right, didn't he? He carried her bag, walked her home, remembered dates, bought flowers during monthsaries, gave her chocolates even when he didn't know if she liked them. He paid attention. He listened. He stayed. He liked her. Wasn't that... enough?

The words pile up in his throat, pressing, pushing, demanding to be let out—but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes. His mind goes blank.

Completely, fucking blank. Jake swallows, his hands starting to sweat, his fingers twitching uselessly at his sides. Panic creeps in, tightening around his chest as the silence stretches too long. He knows he should speak. He knows this is the moment. He knows if he says nothing, it's going to end like this.

And still, he can't. His lips part slightly, but instead of words, all that comes out is a shallow breath. His gaze drops, unable to hold hers any longer, and slowly, almost helplessly, he shakes his head.

Not because he doesn't care. But because he doesn't know how to say that he does.

"Bro, you fumbled a baddie so bad. Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Sunghoon's leaning back on the bench. The ice rink behind them glows under harsh white lights. It's normal. Everything is normal.

Except Jake. He's sitting there, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. Jay walks in not long after, still dressed from whatever commercial shoot he just wrapped up, dropping his bag beside them. He takes one look at Jake and already knows something's off, his brows pulling together slightly before he exhales.

"You don't even try to chase her?" Jay asks. He leans forward a bit. "You know girls like that. If you show any effort, she might come back."

Jake doesn't respond. His gaze stays locked on the floor. His fingers twitch again, restless, picking at nothing, repeating the same useless motion over and over.

"Actually..." Sunghoon cuts in, shifting his posture as he glances between them. "You know ballet and figure skates train together, right? I overheard something..."

Jake's fingers pause for a second.

"...like uh..." Sunghoon continues, scratching the back of his neck, "she said you don't initiate anything. Like—holding hands, saying stuff... you're just too quiet." He glances at Jake briefly before looking away again. "She said she doesn't feel the 'love'." He even does the air quotes, emphasizing the word.

Jake's chest tightens, but he still doesn't move.

"I mean, I can see you putting in effort," Sunghoon adds quickly, like he's trying to balance it out. He leans over and throws an arm around Jake's shoulder, giving him a brief squeeze. "You do shit. You're there. That counts." He exhales, shaking his head. "Social media standards are ruining relationships, I swear."

"No, don't say that," Jay glares at Sunghoon. "Of course women are sensitive. Sometimes they just... misunderstand actions if we don't say anything. That's normal."

"Yeah, but that's what they call 'words of affirmation', right?" Sunghoon scoffs, pulling his arm back. "What if our Jekjek here just sucks at that? Not everyone's built like that." He shrugs, leaning back again. "They should accept that too. We're not all gonna be talking sweet 24/7. That shit's exhausting."

"Yes, we can," Jay replies without missing a beat, "If we love our girl, we can." His eyes flicker to Sunghoon briefly. "You're just saying that because you're not in a relationship."

"Hey—"

Ever since he was a child, Jake already knew there was something off about the way he spoke—or more like, the way he couldn't. It wasn't that he didn't have thoughts. Fuck, his head was always loud, always full of things he wanted to say, things he wanted to ask, things he wanted to explain. But the moment it had to pass through his mouth, it got stuck somewhere in his throat, tangled, choked out before it could even become words.

He remembers it too clearly, standing in front of the class, small hands clenched at his sides, his teacher smiling patiently while the rest of the room just... waited. Five minutes. A full five minutes of silence just because he couldn't say his own name. He could feel their eyes on him, hear the faint shifting of chairs, the quiet whispers starting to build. His mouth opened, closed, opened again—but nothing came out except shaky breaths. It felt like drowning without water.

And yet... he wasn't bullied.

That's the part he always comes back to. He was lucky. Somehow, he was lucky. The kids didn't tear him apart for it, didn't laugh in his face the way he feared they would. Some of them even waited for him, awkwardly, patiently, like they didn't mind the silence as much as he did. He carried that with him growing up—that quiet kind of relief. By the time he reached high school, he even managed to find people who stayed. Friends who filled in the gaps when he couldn't speak fast enough, who didn't push him too hard when he shut down. He had Sunghoon. He had Jay. He had... something close to normal.

And somehow, somehow, he even got lucky enough to have a pretty girlfriend. Pretty, warm, expressive—everything he wasn't. Someone who chose him despite the way his words always came out broken, incomplete, late. It felt unreal. Like he had somehow skipped steps, like life handed him something he didn't fully know how to hold. But he tried, he really did. In the ways he knew how.

He remembers the Art Therapy sessions clearly too. The therapist had a soft voice that didn't rush him, didn't pressure him into speaking when he couldn't. If you can't say it, they told him once, show it. There are other ways to communicate. And Jake held onto that.

Now it feels like a fucking lie. Because if that was enough... then why does it keep ending like this?

Maybe out of all things, love was the most unlucky thing he'd ever stumble into. Everything else in his life had eventually fallen into place—his academics were solid, his routines were structured, his small circle of friends stayed consistent. He knew what to expect, knew how to function, knew how to exist without fucking things up too badly. It wasn't perfect, but it was stable. He was content with that kind of life, the kind where nothing felt too overwhelming, where nothing demanded more from him than what he could actually give.

And somewhere along the way, after high school, after that quiet, unresolved breakup that still lingered in the back of his head, Jake made a decision without really announcing it to anyone.

He wasn't going to fall in love again.

Not because he didn't believe in it but because he clearly didn't know how to do it right.

"And with that, Number 9 saves the day with her vampire speed! Decelis Academy earns another point!"

Jake remember he was 18, on his 12th Grade. The gym was loud that day, packed with students, and huge energy that Jake wasn't used to being around. He didn't even plan on being there. Jay practically dragged him along, insisting it would be "good exposure" or whatever reason he came up with as the school ambassador. Jake didn't argue. He just followed, sitting stiffly on the bleachers, hands resting awkwardly on his knees as he tried to ignore how overwhelming everything felt.

Until he saw you.

It was sudden. Like his brain just locked onto you without asking for permission. A beautiful you in a white jersey and short shorts.

You were already in motion when his eyes found you, your body low to the ground as you received the ball. Your movements were sharp but fluid, fast in a way that made it hard to follow. One second you were on one side of the court, the next you were diving—literally throwing yourself onto the floor without hesitation, arms stretched out, saving a ball that should've been impossible to reach.

Jake blinked. Then leaned forward slightly without realizing it.

You got back up like it didn't hurt. And then it kept happening. You ran. You slid. You split just to receive the ball with your foot, and the crowd lost it. Your teammates shouted your name, your energy feeding into theirs, your presence pulling the entire court together like you were the center of it all. There was nothing hesitant about you. Every move you made had purpose, had confidence, had this raw, fearless intensity that Jake couldn't even begin to understand.

You looked... unreal. Not just pretty. Not just attractive. You looked alive in a way he had never seen before.

Your hair stuck slightly to your face from sweat, your jersey clinging just enough to show the strain of your movements, your legs marked with faint bruises like proof of how hard you played—and still, you kept going. You jumped, arms raised, eyes locked on the ball like nothing else in the world mattered in that moment.

Jake couldn't look away. It's just admiration. Nothing more. The kind of thing people feel when they see someone good at something, someone... bright in a way that makes the rest of the room feel dimmer. That's all it is.

Jake had no plans to actually talk to you. No plans to get closer.

Because it was funny, almost ridiculous, to even imagine it. You—this gorgeous varsity player everyone seemed to orbit around—talking to him? Someone who usually blended into the background unless someone actively looked at him.

When the game finally ended, the noise of the crowd didn't immediately fade. Jake followed Jay down from the bleachers toward the court level. People were already gathering around, phones out.

And there you were. Right in the middle of it.

Jake remembers that part clearly—not just seeing you, but watching you. The way your eyes moved around like you were trying to process the sudden attention instead of expecting it. You looked slightly confused, as if you didn't fully understand why everyone was crowding you. There was a faint awkwardness in the way you smiled, rubbing the back of your neck as people kept approaching.

"Can we take a picture?"

"Just one more!"

"Hey, great game!"

And you didn't refuse any of it. You just... accepted it. Laughing awkwardly here and there, nodding too quickly sometimes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as your teammates got pulled into other groups of students. You weren't dismissive. You weren't annoyed. You didn't act like it was a burden. You just went along with it, like it hadn't fully registered yet that this level of attention was normal for you.

Little kids tugging at your sleeve. Students from other schools calling your name. Boys—more boys than Jake expected—hovering nearby, waiting for their turn like it was something they had to earn.

Jay nudged him. "Want to take a picture with her?" he asks casually. Jake's eyes almost widen immediately. His entire body stiffens for a second. Heat creeps up his neck as he quickly shakes his head.

"H-Huh?" he stutters, voice cracking slightly, before he shakes his head more firmly this time. "N-No."

Jay just grins at him like he already knows. "Come on," Jay says, tapping his back lightly, dragging him forward with easy confidence. "Let's take a picture. She might get famous internationally one day. Did you see her skills?"

Jake doesn't answer. But his feet still move. His eyes—no matter how many times he tries to pull them away—keep drifting back toward you. It's frustrating in a quiet way, like his focus is being stolen without permission. Every time he looks away, he ends up looking right back again.

"Hey, my name is Jay. Nice game, by the way."

Jay steps forward first as he approaches you, holding out a hand. Jake lingers half a step behind him, suddenly aware of everything—his posture, his breathing, the fact that he probably looks like he doesn't belong anywhere near this interaction. You turn toward them, still slightly flushed from the match. Even like this, even when you're clearly tired, there's something about you that doesn't soften. Beautiful. God, you were do damn beautiful.

"Hi, Jay. Thank you? I guess?" You give a small smile, polite but slightly awkward.

Oh God. Up close, it's worse. Not in a bad way—no, not even close. You're intimidating, so fucking pretty! Jake can feel himself shrinking without moving. It doesn't make sense logically—he's taller than you, standing right there, physically closer than most people in the crowd—but mentally, he feels small, your presence fills the space too easily. Like there's no room left for him to exist normally inside it.

"Mind if we take a picture?" Jay asks again, gesturing lightly between the three of you.

"Sure."

Jay immediately shifts closer, guiding the position. And then it happens, you lift your arm and swing it around Jake's back as you settle into place for the photo.

Jake freezes for half a second. Your hand is warm through the fabric of his shirt, you're completely unbothered. But to him, it feels like something entirely different—like a switch being flipped inside his brain. His posture stiffens immediately, shoulders locking up, breath catching slightly as he tries very hard not to react in a way that would make this weird.

But you don't seem to notice. You're just standing there, in the middle of them, smiling naturally now as the camera is raised. Jay is talking about angles or something, adjusting positions, but Jake can barely process it. His mind is too focused on the fact that you are there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to hear breathe. Close enough that if he turned his head slightly, he would be looking directly at you instead of trying not to.

And somehow—completely out of character for him—Jake finds himself smiling.

The camera clicks.

And for a fraction of a second, everything feels suspended—like the world pauses just long enough for him to exist in that moment without overthinking it.

Afterward, Jay steps back, already shifting into casual conversation again, but Jake stays still for a beat longer. His eyes flick briefly toward you again, then away, then back again like a broken reflex he can't fix.

This is nothing. He will eventually forget you. He is sure of that. This feeling—whatever it is—temporary.

Years passed, and Jake ended up exactly where everyone expected him to be—Engineering, decent grades, still had a stable routine. He had a scholarship that eased the financial pressure on his parents. His life, for the most part, had become structured in a way he could actually manage: classes, assignments, study sessions. His parents were still supportive, calling every now and then, reminding him to take care of himself.

Sunghoon was still skating, still grinding through competitions under Decelis. Jay, on the other hand, had started shifting into modeling, acting, random opportunities that slowly turned into actual industry attention. It was strange watching them all move forward in different directions while still somehow staying within reach. Jake stayed in touch with them.

The only thing that didn't quite fit into place was the dorm situation inside Decelis.

It was strict. Too strict in some ways, and ironically not strict enough in others. There were rules—curfews, schedules, restrictions—but somehow the environment still felt messy. People breaking curfew, doors opening and closing late at night, voices echoing down hallways when he was trying to study. His sleep schedule was constantly getting disrupted, his focus breaking at the worst possible times. He couldn't properly revise after a certain hour, couldn't rest when he needed to, couldn't even sit in silence without someone disturbing it in some way.

The only dormmate he had ever managed to properly communicate with was Heeseung.

They weren't close in a dramatic sense, but they understood each other in a way that made living together tolerable. Same academic field, similar mindset—a little detached from the noise around them. Heeseung was the kind of person who could spend hours building something without feeling the need to fill the silence with unnecessary conversation.

"Apartment complex on the streets of the Avenue," Heeseung said one afternoon, barely looking up from the small robot he was dismantling on his desk. "There's a lot of listings for people looking for roommates. Pros—two to three rooms, so you can have your own space."

Jake listened quietly from his bed, one hand resting on his notes, the other scrolling lazily on his phone without really absorbing anything. He tilted his head slightly at the explanation, already interested at the idea.

"Cons," Heeseung continued, pausing to adjust a tiny wire, "it's expensive. And there's like a ninety percent chance you end up with a girl roommate."

Jake blinked. Then looked up properly. "What's wrong with having a girl roommate?" he asked, genuinely confused, like he had missed a very important piece of information somewhere in the logic.

Heeseung finally glanced at him, expression flat, like this was obvious information that didn't need elaboration. "Tension will be too high," he said simply, shrugging one shoulder as he went back to his work. "You might fuck and then everything gets complicated emotionally."

Jake stared at him for a second."...What?"

Heeseung didn't even react much, just continued tightening a screw. "It happens."

Jake leaned back slightly, processing that in the most literal, disconnected way possible. His brain tried to compute it like a formula—input, output, consequence—but it didn't really connect to anything in his actual life experience. He had never thought about roommates in that way. Never even considered that possibility as something that could happen just because two people shared a space.

All he wanted was simple.

A place where he could breathe. A place where no one slammed doors at midnight, where he could actually study before eight without interruptions, where silence wasn't something he had to fight for. The gender of the roommate didn't matter to him.

"Isn't it better than five guys in a dorm anyway?" Jake muttered after a moment, more to himself than to Heeseung. "At least it's quieter."

Heeseung gave a short hum in response, still focused on the robot in his hands. "Probably."

Oh boy—Jake should've listened to Heeseung's cons.

Because the moment he signed the roommate application, everything somehow spiraled into something wayyyyy more complicated. Peace was all he wanted. That was all it was supposed to be. But then reality hit in a way he didn't calculate for, because he didn't know—he genuinely didn't know—that the roommate he'd been assigned was you, until the interview.

And the worst part was how his eyes kept betraying him. He'd look away too late, glance too long, get caught in places he shouldn't be looking at all. Your body, it was like how visible everything felt to him. And yeah—your ass included.

God, you looked different. It was accumulation. Your arms—stronger, more defined, muscle sitting tight under your skin. Your back was broader, posture solid, like you were always mid-motion even when you were just standing there reaching for something in the kitchen. It made sense. You were an athlete. This was normal. Of course, you train, you look like that. That's just how bodies works.

Every interaction made it worse, not better. There was no adjustment period, no gradual easing into comfort, he was stuck being watched even when you weren't looking at him.

The day you walked into the living room and caught him sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered Lego pieces, he felt the spike of embarrassment that didn't fade. You didn't even say anything weird, just paused, looked, maybe a little curious. But to Jake, it meant too much.

Same with the time your eyes drifted over his Hot Wheels lined up on the shelf. It wasn't judgment, not really, but his brain filled in the gaps anyway.

And then the conversations—if they could even be called that. Something as stupid as the water bill turned into a full-body experience for him. Words sticking, fingers twitching, shifting his weight like he couldn't find a stable position to stand in. He'd rehearse sentences in his head and still mess them up the second they came out. And every time, without fail, there was that lingering thought afterward: You thinks he's weird. Or worse—you knows he's a loser.

No. People could think whatever they wanted; it didn't change anything... But this didn't sit the same way. Not when it came to you. Because for some reason, he didn't want you filing him away like that, reducing him to the guy sitting on the floor snapping LEGO pieces together or lining up Hot Wheels. There was more.

If he could just say it properly, without his words tripping over themselves, he could explain it. He could tell you about his grades, how he ranked near the top without making noise about it, how he could cook actual meals. He could show you something real.

But instead, all of that stayed stuck in his head, piling up into this silent, useless argument that never reached his mouth. And —why did it even matter enough for him to sit there mentally listing reasons like he had something to prove to you?!

"Wow, lucky you."

Heeseung's mouth literally dropping open as Jake pointed toward the massive tarpulin hanging across campus with your face printed on it.

"She's my roommate."

Heeseung looked back at him, then at the tarpulin again. But Jake... Jake didn't react the same way. His posture straightened just a little. His expression shifted without him realizing it, mouth pulling into something that edged too close to pride—almost arrogant, like he had some kind of claim. He didn't even notice it happening. Didn't catch the way the idea of being linked to you—even in something as basic as living in the same apartment—make him feel good.

"So, did you two fuck?" a question that exactly the kind of thing Heeseung would throw out without thinking twice. And just like that, whatever expression Jake had dropped instantly.

"N-No, what the—?!" Jake voice cracking slightly as his face heated up in seconds. The flush spread across his cheeks, down his neck, his brain short-circuiting in the worst way possible because his thoughts betrayed him, flashing something he didn't ask for. He physically flinched, hand coming up to smack the side of his own head like he could knock it out. "What the hell are you even saying?"

"I embarrassed myself because she caught me messing with Whitey," he added quickly as he shot Heeseung a glare, redirecting the conversation to something else. The robot sat unfinished in his mind.

Heeseung didn't miss a beat. "Okay," he snorted, shaking his head with a grin, "good to know you are never gonna get fucked by that girl."

Of course not.

You were intimidating—still intimidating in the exact same way you were the last time he saw you a year ago, except now it felt worse because you were closer. It wasn't just that you were attractive. It was the way it came with presence that made it hard to relax around you. Your eyes didn't help either— too easy to get lost in if he looked too long. And that was the problem. He wanted to look, to hold it for more than a second, to prove to himself he could act normal—but every time he tried, something in him pulled back too fast.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" You ask him too blunt as he just handle you the advance payment.

"H-huh?" His face went red almost instantly, color blooming across his cheeks as he fumbled with the fabric of his pajama pants, wiping his hands over and over. "I—I don't have..." he said quietly, trailing off as if the sentence itself embarrassed him.

Wait—why would you even ask that? Followed by another question. Are you... interested? Or just curious? That didn't make sense. There was no reason for you to be interested. He barely talked to you, barely functioned normally around you. So why ask? Unless it didn't mean anything. Unless he was reading into it again. It was random. You weren't even that close, barely past basic conversations....

Jake tried not to think about it, tried to force his attention onto anything else, but you cut straight through that fragile effort by suddenly starting another conversation, casually asking what you both should order for dinner while he adjusted Whitey. You were so fucking close. It is overwhelming, scrambling his thoughts. Oh fuck. You were too close—it was going to make him lose his goddamn mind, and all he could think, over and over, was how you smelled—sweet, distracting, pretty, pretty, pretty.

He was barely breathing, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder like looking at you directly might short-circuit him. "Uh... I already ate," he repeated, voice dropping smaller.

"Oh."

Before you could say something, he stood abruptly, movement jerky, still refusing to meet your eyes as he pointed vaguely toward his room. "I—I need to, uh... I have something to do," he said, bowing slightly out of pure habit before retreating.

The moment the door shut behind him, Jake nearly let out a broken whine, his hands went straight to his hair, fingers gripping hard. He exhaled shakily, trying to calm himself, but it wasn't working. His dick was fucking hard— it got fucking hard!

And the third time you initiated something, Jake swore he was probably seconds away from going completely brain dead. He'd been crouched over another half-disassembled robot that Heeseung had dropped off earlier. You appeared again, stepping into his space. Jake would never forget the way you set the ramen down beside him with those pretty smile, and how easily you started talking about your life like none of the tension from before had ever existed.

"Sometimes I wish I was smart instead of just... sport-inclined," you admitted with a half-laugh, slumping your shoulders for emphasis. "Like, what the hell am I supposed to do after I decide I'm done with volleyball?"

Jake wanted to respond. He wanted to tell you that being sport-inclined wasn't something lesser, that there was nothing wrong with it, nothing lacking or incomplete about who you were. He wanted to say he envied you, in a way—your strength, the way you moved through things without hesitating, how you seemed fearless and independent in ways he couldn't quite reach. He wanted to tell you that if you ever got tired of volleyball, there were still so many things waiting for you, paths you could take without losing yourself—but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

"I'm done for now," you said abruptly, when you notice he isn't talking, you clacked your chopsticks against the plastic before snapping the lid shut, forcing a smile that felt stiff on your face. You stood, shoved the ramen into the fridge with more force and retreated to your room, closing the door behind you.

Jake stayed exactly where he was, staring at nothing, and again, he let out a frustrated exhale, dragging a hand down his face.

When you stopped talking to him, Jake felt it like something collapsing inward. The last time you asked him anything beyond the bare minimum was when he'd come out of the shower early, and you'd only glanced his way long enough to ask if he was done. And after that... nothing. You slipped back into your usual colder distant self—only asking about rent, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him, cutting off any chance for conversation before it could no even start.

"Well, what do you expect?" Heeseung scoffed from across the room, not even bothering to look up at first as he leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out while he worked on programming the robot in front of him—Bumble, Jake's old Grade 12 project that he'd decided to mess with again. "She's basically just talking to a wall, you want her to keep trying? You think you're that special?" He finally glanced over then, eyebrow raised, unimpressed.

"No! I—I understand her," Jake shot back quickly, his shoulders slumping almost immediately after as if the effort alone drained him. His hands fidgeted uselessly in his lap, fingers curling and uncurling as he struggled to keep his thoughts from tangling. "I just... I wish I could talk about things too... you know... like, actually say stuff... share..." His voice trailed off toward the end, shrinking.

"Booo," Heeseung dragged out mockingly, not missing a beat as he tilted his head back with exaggerated disappointment. "Stop wishing and actually try for once. Jesus, it's not that deep." He flicked a small tool across the desk toward Jake, though it stopped short, clattering uselessly against the surface. "You're just making excuses at this point."

"Why would I?" Jake asked, stubborn in a way that felt more defensive than confident, his gaze dropping to the floor. "It's better this way."

Heeseung's eyebrow lifted slightly at that. And the truth was, Jake had already accepted it—accepted that talking, is... super hard . His social anxiety had settled into him so deeply that the people around him had just adapted, learned to expect less, learned not to wait for him to say anything. Sometimes he wished it wasn't like that, wished he could just... function normally, speak without overthinking every word—but wishing didn't change anything, and he knew it.

So who the hell was he kidding? Himself, apparently.

Because the moment he started working on improving Bumble—adding a small camera, linking it directly to his phone so he could control what it saw and how it moved—he found himself doing something he couldn't even justify. Sitting on his bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen like an idiot while waiting for the front door to open. It was 7:30 PM. You usually got home around that time. The second he heard the faint click of the lock, he straightened up instantly, heart kicking a little harder as his eyes locked onto the live feed.

The door opened, and there you were—stepping inside, unaware and Jake immediately triggered the robot.

"Hi," he said softly into his phone, knowing the word would come out through Bumble in that slightly distorted.

He stayed hidden where he was, safely out of sight, using the robot as a shield between him and you. On the screen, you paused, your expression shifting into confusion as you looked down at Bumble, clearly not suspecting anything, because why the hell would you? To you, it was just a small, harmless robot—not him.

Jake let out a quiet, breathy giggle, biting down on his fist to keep himself from smiling too wide as he watched you respond. Sometimes you greeted it back, and other times you crouched down, kneeling in front of Bumble as your fingers gently brushed over its surface. And every time you did, you ended up looking straight into the camera without realizing it—your eyes filling his screen so suddenly it made his chest tighten. God, your eyes were so fucking beautiful. You were so beautiful. He kicked his feet lightly against the edge of his bed, barely containing the energy buzzing through him, his grin hidden behind his hand as he watched you a little longer than he probably should have.

One time, Jake watched you through his screen as you stepped into your room and quietly closed the door behind you. He lingered there for a moment, thumb hovering over the controls before he slowly guided Bumble away, sending it rolling through the hallway in slow, absent circles.

He kept moving, turning corners, drifting past furniture with no real direction. But then your door creaked open again, and Jake reacted instantly, fingers tightening as he jerked the controls, turning Bumble around so fast it almost tipped before he steadied it and followed you.

The movement was too uncoordinated—he wasn't paying attention to anything except you—and his phone slipped right out of his hand, dropping straight onto his face with a sharp, painful smack.

"Nghh—!" he choked out, the impact rattling his teeth as one of the brackets on his braces snapped loose, sending a jolt of pain through his jaw. But he barely had time to even react, because the screen was still on, angled just enough for him to see.

You were in the kitchen now, dressed in short shorts and a loose crop top that rode up just enough when you moved, exposing more than he'd ever seen before.

You bent slightly over the counter, focused on your phone while absentmindedly eating snacks, completely unaware of the tiny camera pointed in your direction. From that angle—he could see the curve of your body so clearly it made his head spin, the fabric of your shorts riding up just enough to reveal the soft outline of your ass.

"No..." he breathed, his chest tightening as his eyes stayed glued to the screen.

His gaze flickered downward for a second, and that only made it worse, because his body had already reacted before he could stop it. His dick was hard. Fucking hard.

"No—no, no..." he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second like it might erase the image that was already stuck in his mind. His face throbbed where the phone had hit him, his teeth aching from the loose bracket he knew would cost a shit ton to fix, but none of that compared to the way his body refused to calm down.

"I'm sorry," he whined under his breath, almost desperate as he grabbed his phone again with shaky hands. He didn't even look properly this time—just caught a brief, blurry glimpse of you still there on the screen before he fumbled with the controls and shut Bumble off completely. The feed cut to black instantly, leaving him staring at his own reflection instead, wide-eyed and flushed, breathing unevenly.

Jake's hands moved quickly, tugging his pajama pants down in a rush. He hadn't even bothered with boxers, and the cool air hitting his skin only made everything feel more intense than it already was. His toes curled against the sheets as his hand wrapped around himself, eyes squeezing shut like that might dull the image burned into his head—but it didn't, not even a little.

If anything, it made it worse, the memory replaying in fragments, the way you bent slightly, the way your body looked so fucking sexy.

His breathing turned uneven until it was harder to control as his grip tightened on his cock. The thought of grabbing his phone again, to open Bumble, tempting. But it feels morally wrong, of course he has a conscience!

A quiet whine slipping out as the image of you catching him—actually realizing what he'd been doing with Bumble—flashed through his head.

"Oh God," he breathed, the words breaking unevenly as his stomach clenched hard at the thought. Why is he getting off at the thought of being caught?! Now he really felt like a fucking weirdo.

His hand stilled for a second before he reached blindly for his phone, unlocking it with clumsy fingers as he opened his messages with Heeseung. His friend had always had this habit—sending pictures of you from games, from practice, from random moments on the court. Jake used to ignore them, but now, he was actually looking, thumb dragging slowly across the screen as he took them in one by one, most of them taken by sports journalists and reposted on the university page.

He kept scrolling faster now, a restless feeling building under his skin as his patience thinned, his hands are getting faster until his eyes landed on one that made him stop completely.

A selfie. He didn't know where the hell Heeseung got it, but there you were, up close, biting lightly onto your medal with a small, tired smile, sweaty and hair slightly messy like it had been taken right after a game. Jake stared at it longer than he should have, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his fingers working through the tip, spreading the precum. God. He wish you could also bite him, everywhere, his neck, his lips, his nippl— bite WHAT?!

His head tipped back slightly, eyes fluttering for a second as he exhaled through his teeth. "Haaa..." he whispered again, his gaze locked onto the screen as everything else faded out around him.

After a few uneven breaths and one last helpless glance at your photo, his body finally gave in to the overwhelming tension he'd been holding onto for too long, his dick keep twitching as it spurts continous cum on his stomach.

He was slumped there in silence, staring at the screen like he didn't know what to do with himself anymore.

heeseung | lol why'd you ❤️ react now to the picture i've sent 2 months ago????

heeseung | that sweaty picture haha nice taste😏

heeseung | you're welcome

Jake's entire face flushed instantly, the heat crawling up from his neck to his ears. It felt wrong, no it's actually wrong! You and him barely even talked, what the fuck is he thinking?! Jake let out a frustrated groan before tossing his phone across the room without even looking, the device hitting the floor near his desk.

It's just attraction. You were pretty—that wasn't something he could deny, not even if he tried—and his body reacting like that... it wasn't unusual, not really. He knew that. He knew it was a normal response!

Jake grew restless as the days dragged on, a quiet agitation settling into him that he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried to distract himself. He kept checking the time without realizing it, his focus slipped whenever he tried to work on anything else. But also, it didn't still change the fact that he is looking forward to one specific moment every night.

Well, greeting you through Bumble had turned into a routine.

But one day, that routine cracked without warning. The second Bumble rolled into the living room and the camera adjusted, Jake's small, anticipatory smile faded instantly, his entire expression dropping. You were sitting there, not moving the way you usually did, not reacting the way he expected.

You were crying. His hands lifted slightly toward the screen without thinking, fingers hovering uselessly in the air, as if he could do anything at all from where he was.

You leaned back against the sofa, your body sliding down slowly until you were sitting on the floor, shoulders slumped, exhaustion written all over you. "Everyone has someone," you whispered. "Why... am I such a fucking loser?" you let out a short laugh after that.

Jake just sat there on his bed, staring at his phone.  He watched you like this without knowing how to respond.

He wanted to tell you it was okay, that you weren't whatever you thought you were in that moment, that you didn't have to sit there alone like that. He wanted to apologize too—for all the times you tried to talk to him and he shut down, for how absent he must've seemed, how useless he felt now thinking back on it.

Most of all, he wanted to tell you that you had him.

Action speaks louder than words, right? If you thought you were lonely, then he'd prove you wrong—not by saying it, because he clearly couldn't, but by doing something, anything that might reach you in a way his words never could. So he started small, practical, something he could control. If you were hungry, then he'd cook.

"I—I always... uh... cook food f-for dinner..." he managed to say when you walked in. His heart was pounding so loudly it made it hard to hear himself think. He saw the way you paused mid-step before turning your head just slightly, not fully facing him. Jake's gaze dropped instantly, locking somewhere near the floor, his fingers twitching uselessly at his side.

"I-If you want to eat," he added quickly, the words stumbling over each other in his rush to get them out before he lost the nerve entirely, "uh... it's on the table..." His voice faded at the end. He didn't wait for your response and before you had the chance to say anything, he turned and walked off quickly.

By the time he reached his room, he was practically speed-walking, shutting the door behind him a little too fast before leaning back against it with an exhale. "No..." he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to calm himself down, his pulse still racing from something as simple as speaking to you. He paced once, twice, restless energy buzzing under his skin, before grabbing his phone. The familiar motion steadied him a little as he connected to Bumble again, pulling up the camera feed with shaky anticipation.

The moment the screen lit up and he saw you sitting at the table, actually eating eagerly, without hesitation—something in his chest loosened all at once. A wide smile spread across his face. He leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the screen. He had spent hours researching what athletes usually ate, scrolling through articles and videos, and seeing you enjoying it without knowing any of that, made it feel worth it in a way he hadn't expected.

Jake kept cooking for you after that. Sometimes you came home later than usual, the house already dark and settled, and he'd just leave the food covered on the table without saying anything. And every morning, when he stepped into the kitchen and saw the empty tupperware neatly rinsed and the dishes cleaned and set aside, something in him eased just enough to carry him through the day.

"Sooo, you're not actually talking? That's lame," Heeseung said one afternoon, watching Jake from across the scattered parts on the floor. "You're seriously not even gonna try talking to her?" he added, tilting his head slightly, like he was waiting for Jake to say something less disappointing.

Jake paused mid-motion, the screwdriver hovering awkwardly in his hand as he stared down at the loose panel he'd been working on. "Uh..." he started, hesitating as his eyes flicked up briefly toward Heeseung before dropping back down just as quickly. He shifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "I think it's okay...? People don't need conversations all the time," he said.

Heeseung made a face immediately before he pushed himself forward and sat down next to Jake on the floor. "Are you even hearing yourself?" he asked, brows raised as he nudged one of the scattered tools aside with his foot. "You'd rather just... what, keep cooking for her like some silent fucking ghost? That's it?" He leaned back on his hands, glancing at Jake from the side. "Why don't you try something normal for once? Like eating together at the table?"

"I-It's not needed," Jake replied quickly, a bit too defensive as his grip tightened slightly around the screwdriver. "What are you even pointing at?"

"I swear that girl likes you," Heeseung said, sitting up straighter now. "You literally told me she asked if you had a girlfriend, right? People don't just ask that shit for no reason. She wouldn't even bring it up if she wasn't interested."

Jake just stared at him, his mind spinning in slow, uneven circles as he tried to process what Heeseung was saying. It didn't line up cleanly in his head. His lips parted slightly like he was about to respond, but nothing came out, instead, he reached for the water bottle beside him, unscrewing the cap just to have something to do.

"For you to even sit at the same table, you need to ask her to eat dinner with you," Heeseung continued. "And to do that without fucking it up, you need courage—and a script. Yeah, a script," he added, nodding to himself. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee as he spoke, already thinking steps ahead while Jake was still stuck at the starting point.

Jake paused mid-sip, the bottle hovering awkwardly in the air as he slowly turned his head to look at him, eyes narrowing just slightly in confusion. Heeseung, meanwhile, looked completely serious.

"Let's practice some, okay?" he said, already shifting closer. "But when you say it, don't mumble like that—say it straight, no stuttering, and looook..." he dragged the word out, lifting a finger for emphasis, "at the person's eyes when you're talking. That part is important."

Jake swallowed slowly, nodding once. He lifted the bottle again, taking another quick drink but then Heeseung reached out suddenly, grabbing Jake by the shoulder and pulling him just enough to face him directly. "Practice it with me," he said, eyes locking onto Jake's with zero hesitation.

Jake barely lasted a second.

The moment their eyes met, something in him short-circuited completely. The water he'd just taken in stayed in his mouth for a split second too long before it came spilling out in the worst possible way—right onto Heeseung's face.

"You fucker," Heeseung hissed, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, water dripping down his jaw and onto his shirt. He lunged forward, grabbing Jake by the collar and immediately hooking an arm around his neck, choking him.

The next day, Jake decided he should've just ignored everything Heeseung said. All of it. The advice, the assumptions, the stupid "script"—it all felt ridiculous now that he was actually thinking about it on his own. It wasn't necessary. He didn't need to prove anything, didn't need to suddenly change how things were going between you and him. Things were... working, in their own quiet way. He had his routine, you had yours, and there was no risk of him messing it up as long as he didn't push it any further.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face as he tried to settle into that thought again.

Sigh.

You were so fucking pretty.

He clicked his tongue softly in frustration, shifting his weight where he stood in the kitchen. Maybe... maybe inviting you to eat together wouldn't be that bad. He swallowed, his chest tightening slightly as he stared down at the food he'd already prepared, his fingers flexing at his side like he was trying to gather whatever courage Heeseung kept talking about.

"H-Hey."

The word came out before he could stop it. You had just gotten back from practice, heading straight toward your room without really looking around. Jake set the plate down carefully on the table. Eye contact, he remembered. Right. His shoulders tensed slightly as he forced himself to look up when you paused.

And for a moment, he actually held your gaze. Really held it.

The way your eyes locked onto his without hesitation, clear and focused in a way that made his chest tighten instantly. You were even prettier up close! And just like that, it became too much. His gaze broke, darting off to the side as his composure slipped, the brief confidence he had collapsing under the weight of it.

"Let's—I-I cooked dinner," he said quickly, the words tumbling over each other as he gestured vaguely toward the table, his hand a little stiff. "There's a-a lot, so l-let's share."

The moment you sat down and really talk. All of Jake nervousness and loud mind begun to be quiet.

Oh—and it really... felt nice.

Talking to you about random things—music, mostly—like Cigarettes After Sex, of all things, wasn't something he ever pictured himself doing out loud, but it just... happened. And then the next day, you came back holding a bottle of chocolate almond milk, setting it down in front of him, and he just stared at it for a second, genuinely thrown off. For him?! You bought it... for him? there was no way—you knew his favorite drink without him ever saying it!

And fuck, you were cute too. In the little things he kept catching himself noticing more and more. The way you reacted to food, especially the ones he cooked, wasn't something you tried to hide or tone down, and he liked that more than he expected. You weren't picky, didn't hesitate, didn't pretend—you just ate, genuinely, like you enjoyed it without overthinking it. And that smile you always had while eating. Damnnn. You were cute. You were really fucking pretty.

And somehow, without either of you pointing it out, things started to settle into something new. You and him eating together when your schedules lined up, sitting across from each other at the table. Conversations came easier now, sometimes you'd watch movies after, sometimes you'd just sit there, talking about nothing in particular. But most of the time, it circled back to the same thing—eating. You ate, and he cooked. Over and over again. He cooked, cooked, and kept cooking.

Well... of course, with everything he'd been doing lately, someone was bound to question it eventually—even if he hadn't properly questioned it himself yet. From the outside, the things he was doing maybe it didn't look that simple.

"And you're doing all of that because...?" Heeseung asked.

"Because... I'm a... good roommate?" Jake replied almost immediately, the words coming out before he had time to think them through.

"You mean you're doing all of that because... you want to be a good roommate?" Heeseung repeated, his eyebrow lifting even higher as he stared at him. Jake glanced at him briefly, then looked away, his gaze drifting upward like he might find a better answer somewhere above them.

"...Yes?" he said again.

"Dude?" Heeseung's voice jumped, he straightened up, staring at Jake like he'd just said something completely insane. "What do you mean you cook for her all the time, talk with her, watch movies with her—just because you want to be a good roommate? You're literally leading her on."

"Leading her on... on what?" Jake asked, his brows pulling together slightly, the confusion in his voice genuine as he turned back to look at him.

"Leading her on into thinking you like her," Heeseung shot back immediately, his hands coming up as he gestured. "Do you not like her at all?"

...

Jake didn't answer right away. His thoughts slowed, circling around the word. It felt too big, too defined. He knew you were attractive, that wasn't even a question. You were cool, confident in ways he couldn't replicate, and there was a part of him that looked up to you without fully realizing it at first. But stepping past that, into something more specific—it didn't come easily to him.

Was he actually leading you on?

Suddenly he remember his last relationship back in high school. The awkwardness, the pressure, the way everything had fallen apart in a way that left him feeling small, like he'd completely mishandled something he wasn't ready for in the first place. He remembered the expectations he couldn't meet, the quiet disappointment that followed—and how it all ended with him promising himself he wouldn't put himself, or anyone else, through that again.

Maybe that's why he rejected your invite to watch your finals game.

At the time, it felt like the right decision. It was better this way, it would stop you from expecting anything from him, stop things from becoming something more complicated than he could handle. If you didn't hope for anything, you wouldn't be disappointed.

Later that day, after class, when he stopped by to grab food for what he half-considered a small, quiet way to celebrate for you anyway, he saw the ticket. Crumpled in the trashcan . Jake paused mid-step, the takeout bag hanging loosely in his hand as he stared at it.

And just like that, the certainty he'd been holding onto didn't feel so...solid anymore.

What the hell was he even doing? Building you stupid little lego flowers, cooking for you almost every day, sitting across from you and actually talking—even if it took everything in him just to keep the words coming. What was the point of all that? What was he trying to get out of it? Good roommate? That sounds ridiculous!

A good roommate remembers details.

Because Jake remembered things—too many things. He hadn't cared much about sports before, never bothered to look into it beyond surface-level noise, but you... you were something else.

You were everywhere.

Articles, photos, interviews—your name kept showing up in places he didn't expect. A second-year student from Basic Education, sure—but that wasn't the part that stuck. It was everything else. The way sports journalists talked about you like you were something unpredictable, something hard to pin down. The libero who didn't just receive but shut down plays, you who managed to block one of the most well-known spikers from another university! And your high school team? Representing the region at nationals!

Because you never talked about it.

Not once. You never bragged and yet there it was, laid out in front of him in article after article. MVP awards, recognition, comments about your presence on the court—how your looks alone distracted opponents, how your movements were unpredictable enough to throw off entire plays, how you stayed focused on keeping the ball alive no matter what. With the school reputation, you were often called as a Decelis Vampire with your great speed and agility. It didn't sound like the same person who sat across from him eating quietly, smiling over the food he made!

Sports were complicated but you?

You were so fucking cool.

That's why he felt so fucking dumb—so unbelievably dumb for letting things get this far without stopping himself sooner. Every small thing he did stacked up until it stopped being simple and started turning into this mess he didn't know how to handle. Heeseung had warned him and Jake brushed it off as if it didn't apply to him—but now it all circled back.

Living with you, being around you like this, letting things blur—it created tension he wasn't equipped to deal with. Because if he let himself go any further, if he actually gave in to those impulses—to the urge of wanting more, to get closer, to touch, to kiss, to do things he knew he wouldn't be able to take back—he'd regret it. He knew he would.

So avoiding you felt like the only right decision left after having sex. He knows it wasn't fair but Jake has been good at avoiding things, especially confrontation, because he knew how those situations ended for him.

But he underestimated you.

Because of course you weren't just going to let it sit like that. Of course you were going to push, to corner him when he thought he could quietly slip away from it. And that was exactly the kind of situation he wasn't ready to face—the kind where there was no escape, no easy way out.

"Talk to me, fuck it!" you snapped suddenly, your voice breaking as it rose. Jake flinched hard, his shoulders tensing as the sound hit him that made his thoughts scatter even more. Why would you do that? Why would you push him into something he clearly couldn't handle?

Because the truth was—he didn't even fully understand what he felt.

"Sorry... Jake... please," you said again, your voice dropping, almost pleading in a way that made something twist in his chest. Your hands were still there to hold onto him but he moved them gently, guided them off him.

"I like you too much, is that wrong?" you asked.

Yeah.

It is wrong.

You shouldn't feel that way about someone like him, not when he knew he couldn't give you what you deserved. Jake didn't deserve you.

"S-sorry..." he said, shaking his head slightly, his gaze fixed somewhere else, anywhere but your face. "I—I... I don't think I feel the same way, that's why I—I feel guilty... about what happened... sorry."

That's what he felt.

That's what he told himself he felt.

The sound of plastic hitting the floor suddenly made him cut through his thoughts. You got those for him.

And before he could even react—before he could say anything—you were already moving, already turning away and walking out, leaving everything behind.

Jake stood there, frozen, staring at the scattered toys on the floor. His chest felt tight, his thoughts loud and empty at the same time, a heavy stone settling deep in his gut as though he wants to vomit.

Because it felt like his world just... crashed. And the worst part? It felt like he had just lied straight through his teeth...Even though he knew, somewhere deep down, he had tried to be honest.

"You're an asshole." Heeseung didn't even hesitate when he said it. Jake clenched his teeth immediately, his jaw tightening as his eyes shut, trying to ignore everything around him. But it didn't help. All he could see was your tear-streaked face and it kept replaying, over and over again.

Yeah. He knew.

He'd known the moment the words left his mouth, the moment you dropped those stupid fucking toys and walked out without looking back. Guilt stayed in his chest, making it hard to think straight without it twisting everything. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He told himself he was avoiding problems, preventing something worse from happening—but it felt like he just created something worse instead.

Maybe he should just switch buildings again. He was ashamed. He hurt you, badly, and he didn't even mean to—but intent didn't change shit.

But then—

If he left... who the hell would be there for you?

Who would take care of you in the small ways he'd gotten used to? Who would cook, who would notice the little things, who would sit across from you at the table? Would you just find another roommate? Probably. Someone better. Someone who could actually talk without shutting down, someone who wouldn't say the wrong thing at the worst possible moment... What the fuck is he thinking right now?

Did he... actually like you?

Jake frowned slightly, his brows pulling together. Did he like you because you remembered something as small as his favorite milk without him ever saying it out loud? Because you talked a lot, filling spaces he usually left empty, and somehow that didn't annoy him the way it should've? Was it because you were pretty and because people looked at you like you were something hard to reach? Or was it the way you balanced that—how you could be intimidating on the court, but still soft in these quiet, unguarded moments he got to see?

None of it felt... enough.

Or maybe it felt too scattered, too shallow when he tried to list it out like that. Because liking someone was supposed to be deeper than this, wasn't it?

"Hi! We are from Decelis Sport Management! We're handing out flyers to support the Women's Volleyball team—they're leaving the city next month!" A small group stood near the cafeteria entrance, passing out glossy flyers one by one. "If you want to be part of the VIP section with the Decelis Band, feel free to stop by our office!" one of them added, extending a flyer toward a passing student who barely hesitated before taking it.

Jake paused mid-motion, his hand hovering over his notebook as his attention shifted without him meaning to. His eyes locked onto the flyer in someone else's hand—the bold colors, the team name printed across it. Across from him, Heeseung noticed immediately, his brows lifting as he followed Jake's line of sight, then slowly leaned back in his chair, expression flattening.

"What?" Heeseung said, lips twitching just slightly as he tilted his head. "Interested in watching?"

"H-Huh?" Jake snapped out of it quickly, his head turning toward Heeseung as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. He looked back down at his blueprint right after. "No..." he muttered.

"So are we watching Decelis vs. Isabella again?" a nearby student chimed in, leaning over slightly to look at the flyer with interest. "You gonna buy for Day 3?"

"Of course Decelis is making it to Day 3, have you seen their defense?" his friend shot back immediately, already slinging his bag over his shoulder as he stood up. "Come on, let's just grab tickets for all three days now before they sell out." He didn't even hesitate, already walking off with the flyer in hand.

Jake stayed quiet. His eyes flickered up again, catching another glimpse of the flyers being passed around. He doesn't care. He doesn't care.

He found himself standing in front of the Sports Management office later that day, stuck in the middle of a long, slow-moving line. Jake kept his head slightly lowered, shoulders tense, eyes avoiding anyone who might recognize him. Because if Heeseung found out about this he'd never hear the end of it. Probably get smacked in the head too.

"What am I doing..." he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight awkwardly as the line moved forward inch by inch.

To distract himself, Jake glanced toward the bulletin board nearby, his eyes scanning over the countless posters and printed articles pinned up in messy layers. Interviews, game highlights, team features—it was all there. Huh Yunjin—the captain. Aeri Uchinaga. Ning Yizhuo — middle blockers. Faces he'd seen in passing, names mentioned in articles he skimmed through,  most of it—

Most of it was you.

Photos of you mid-play, interviews where your expression looked calmer, more composed than he'd ever seen in person. It filled the space in a way that made it impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend you were just... normal, just his roommate. Jake stared longer, his chest tightening with every second he didn't look away.

Oh God.

Jake likes you.

The thoughts slammed into him, so hard and disorienting, like someone had cracked him across the head without warning— No... something did actually hit his head.

"—Oh! S-sorry!" a guy with glasses and messy brown hair blurted out, his voice pitching up in panic as his bag swung awkwardly and smacked straight into Jake's head, his hand coming up instinctively to rub the spot as he blinked a few times. The guy looked mortified, clutching his strap.

Every weak explanation he used to convince himself otherwise—it all crumbled in that moment. Because no matter how much he tried to deny it, no matter how many times he told himself it wasn't that deep.

It all fell apart the second he showed up here, standing in line like an idiot, pretending this was just curiosity.

It all fell apart the second he decided to go to your game, even though he didn't understand shit about volleyball, even though he had no real reason to be there—except you.

And it completely shattered the moment he saw you cry.

It fucking hurt.

"Y-You're bleeding?! H-How is that possible?!" the guy suddenly stammered, his voice jumping in panic as he pointed straight at Jake's face. Jake blinked, confused for a second before lifting his hand again, only now noticing the faint smear of red against his fingers. His brows pulled together slightly, still slow to react, while the guy behind him gasped loudly, grabbing onto his friend's shoulder.

"W-What the hell?! Did you put this in my bag, Keonho?!" the guy who hit him earlier yelped, frantically unzipping his bag and pulling out a chunk of stone that definitely didn't belong there. The guy turned to the other boy beside him, who immediately started denying it just as loudly. The two of them spiraled into a messy argument right there in line, drawing attention from a few others.

His focus had already drifted.

His eyes moved past them, scanning the rest of the line, taking in the small details he hadn't noticed before. People were talking excitedly about you—your last game, your plays, your reputation. The way they spoke about you wasn't just any casual conversation. It was admiration.

There were so many people here for you.

People who weren't awkward. People who didn't hesitate. People who would actually step forward instead of pulling back.

Jake's gaze drifted back to the boy in front of him, still panicking over the situation, completely unaware of the way Jake was staring right through him. Because even then, his attention wasn't fully there—

There were people better than him.

And wasn't that what you deserved?

Someone who would take care of you properly, not just in small, quiet ways but openly, confidently. Someone who would love you without second-guessing every word, someone who would cherish you without needing to hide behind half-efforts.

If you found someone like that... he'd step back.

He'd admire you from a distance, the way everyone else here probably already did, without expecting anything in return. And yeah, if that person hurt you, it would fucking hurt him too. But if that person treated you right—if they gave you everything... That would destroy him.

Because deep down, he knew—

He could've been that person too.

No—fuck that. He wasn't going to just stand there and accept that kind of ending! That felt worse—way worse—than anything else he'd been afraid of. Now that Jake knew, now that the feeling had a name, there was no way he could pretend it didn't exist anymore. Oh my God—he liked you.

Jake let out a sudden laugh, sound like a little unhinged as he stepped forward without thinking. The boy in front of him barely had time to react before Jake grabbed his shoulder, gripping it, his eyes a little too bright. "Thank you," he said, smiling wide in a way that didn't quite match the situation, ignoring the faint line of blood still trailing down the side of his face. "Fuck—thank you!"

The two guys stared at him like he'd lost it—and maybe he had, a little — Before they could even process what was happening, he reached out, snatched the ticket straight from the boy's hand who he saw at the ID was named as Juhoon, and stepped back.

He pushed through the line without looking back, ignoring the confused voices behind him.

Jake wasn't suddenly different.

He still struggled to talk. Still froze at the wrong moments. Still didn't know how to say things the way he meant them.

And even if he didn't know how to say it yet, even if the words never came out right—he wasn't going to just disappear and let things end like that. He'd have to face you again, one way or another, and deal with whatever came with it.

Not perfectly.

But honestly—this time, for real.

"Why is there always some kind of event in Decelis? And why the hell are we attending another seminar?" you muttered under your breath with clear irritation as you shifted your weight in line. The hallway outside the Audio Visual Room felt suffocating, packed too tight with bodies and noise, the air barely moving as heat clung stubbornly to your skin. You closed your eyes for a second, exhaling sharply through your nose, trying to ignore the way your shirt stuck to your back and how every inch of space felt invaded. Students around you fanned themselves with whatever they had—folders, papers, even their hands—but it barely helped. "For what?" you added under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, your patience already running thin.

"Hey! Hey!"

You cracked one eye open at the familiar voice, already knowing who it was before you even turned your head. Karina stood a few feet away in the opposite line, somehow managing to look energized despite the heat, waving at you like she hadn't just walked into a human oven. Your lines moved in opposite directions, slowly dragging both of you closer until you met halfway. You gave her a look—half disbelief, half annoyance—because honestly, how the hell was she still that cheerful in this kind of weather?

"Did you see Ningning at the end of the line?" she asked immediately.

You blinked at her, unimpressed. "What kind of question is that? It sounds like we're not seeing each other later for training or something," you shot back with sarcasm as you wiped at the sweat gathering near your temple. Your mood had already dipped, and she wasn't helping.

Karina just laughed, completely unfazed, pointing at your face before pulling out her small turbo fan and aiming it straight at you. The sudden blast of air hit your skin instantly. "Come on, smile!" she teased, her grin widening as she watched your expression soften just a bit. "We're heading to Santiago next week! Aren't you excited?!"

You made a face at that, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, mostly because the heat was still unbearable and your patience was already gone. Before you could say anything else, your lines started moving again, pulling you apart just as quickly as you'd met. The cool air from her fan disappeared instantly, leaving you with nothing but the same suffocating warmth. You huffed again, this time breathing through your mouth as you tilted your head back slightly, trying to catch whatever little air you could.

"Oh my—hi! Hey—! That's the legendary vampire of Decelis!"

You groaned quietly, dragging a hand down your face as you already knew exactly who that was before even looking. Turning your head slightly, you spotted Ningning, Giselle, and Winter near the edge of the other line, all of them way too loud, way too energetic for this kind of environment. They waved like they hadn't seen you in years, calling out just enough to grab attention from people nearby.

"What the fuck did you all take to have that kind of energy?" you muttered under your breath as you stepped closer when your lines aligned again. Ningning immediately reached out, offering you a pack of gummy bears.

"The weather's so nice, what do you mean?!" Ningning said, completely serious, which only made you stare at her harder. "We saw the band earlier—I'm excited to see Karina do her serve with them!"

"D-E-C-E-L-I-S! GO! GO! GO! GO!" Winter and Giselle suddenly broke into the university chant, and completely unbothered by the stares they were getting. You looked at all three of them with a flat, unimpressed expression, not even trying to match their energy.

"Come on, have a little life! Fix your face!" Winter said, pointing directly at you before reaching over to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "What if someone confesses to you and you look like that? They'll remember that face forever."

You scoffed lightly, brushing her hand away as your line started moving again, pulling you forward inch by inch with the rest of the crowd. "Then they should've picked a better time," you muttered, rolling your eyes as the heat continued to cling to you. By the time you finally reached the doors of the AVR, your patience was hanging by a thread. But the second you stepped inside, the cool air hit you all at once and you almost groaned from relief. You and your classmates didn't waste time, quickly settling at the back near the AC unit, claiming the best spot before anyone else could. It took a few long, dragging minutes before the seminar actually started.

You leaned your face into your palm, elbow pressed against the armrest as you stared blankly toward the front of the room. The spokesperson clicked through slides that looked painfully dull, filled with text that didn't even try to be engaging. Around you, the quiet wasn't peaceful, broken occasionally by soft whispers or the very obvious sound of someone snoring a few seats away. Your eyelids started to droop slightly, blinking slower as your attention slipped further away from whatever was being said. Your thoughts drifted elsewhere—like food. What would they even have after training later? Something decent, hopefully. Or maybe not. Then your mind jumped again, landing on what Karina said earlier—Santiago. Meals. You wondered what they'd serve there, silently hoping it wouldn't be bland, dry, or just straight-up disappointing. You missed good food. Real food. You exhaled quietly. God, you were so fucking bored.

"I guess all of us believe in horoscopes and luck, aren't we?" the spokesperson's voice cut through your thoughts. There was a scattered response from the audience—some murmurs, a few half-hearted replies—and she let out a small chuckle like she expected it. "I see some of us don't..."

You didn't move, your expression unchanged as you stared forward, barely processing the question.

"I guess we can say that fortune happens for a reason," she went on, gesturing lightly with her hands as she paced a little across the front. "It doesn't necessarily mean it's bad, right? Some people believe that fortune favors good people, or that you have to do certain things to gain luck..." She paused briefly, her smile softening just a bit. "But sometimes, what we call bad luck or misfortune—it's just a way of letting us make mistakes."

She let out a small breath, her expression calm as she looked over the room. "Because what is a person," she added, "without flaws or mistakes?"

God, this is so fucking boring. You shifted in your seat, jaw tightening slightly as you stared at the front, not even pretending to listen anymore. Your stomach twisted faintly—not even out of hunger at this point, but just the need to do something else. So you stood up, already preparing a half-assed excuse about needing to pee, not even caring if it sounded convincing. But instead of just letting you slip out quietly, one of the organizers immediately stepped in, lowering their voice as they gestured toward the side. "You can use the bathroom backstage," they said politely. You blinked at them, unimpressed. What the fuck? Why was everything so damn controlled here?

You let out a quiet huff, resisting the urge to argue as you turned and made your way toward the indicated path. The walk felt longer than it should've, your footsteps muted against the flooring as you passed behind the curtains, the noise from the seminar dulling slightly the further you went. You scratched your head absentmindedly, shoulders a little tense as you caught one of the organizers briefly watching you pass. You met their gaze for a second, giving them a look that said yeah, I'm actually going to the bathroom, relax, before looking away again. It felt stupid, the whole thing—like even stepping out for a second needed supervision.

The moment you pushed past the curtain into the backstage area, the atmosphere shifted. It was quieter here, less suffocating, the hum of equipment replacing the droning voice from the seminar. You immediately reached for your phone, already opening your messages and texting Karina without hesitation—how many fucking hours is this seminar again? Your thumbs moved quickly. You leaned against the wall, exhaling sharply as your thoughts spiraled again. Luck. Fortune. Fate. Why were people so obsessed with that shit?It just felt repetitive. Empty. You'd been unlucky most of your life—so what, was that the universe teaching you something? Letting you "grow"? You almost scoffed at your own thoughts.

"O-Oh."

The voice came out of nowhere that make you freeze mid-thought. Your body stiffened instantly, your head turning slightly to the side as your heart picked up faster than you wanted it to.

Jake was sitting near the technical setup, half-hidden behind equipment, like he'd been there the whole time and you just didn't notice.

"H-Hi," you said quickly, forcing your tone to sound casual, like your chest wasn't suddenly tight for no reason. What the fuck was wrong with you? You already knew how this went. You liked him—fine. But he didn't like you back. He made that clear. So why the hell was your heart still reacting like this? It was annoying! You looked at him for a second too long before forcing your gaze away, but it didn't stop your brain from noticing everything anyway—his messy brown hair, the way his glasses sat slightly crooked, those wide eyes that never seemed to know where to settle, his lips pressed together. Even the way his oversized white shirt sat under that black jacket—it all just... fit in a way that pissed you off.

You huffed quietly, trying to steady yourself as you pointed vaguely toward the other side. "I was about to use the bathroom," you said. "You part of the organizers?" Why the fuck were you even talking? You should've just walked!

"Uh... yeah..." Jake replied, eyes flickering toward you before immediately darting away again. "The whole Engineering department... we're volunteering." His words came out uneven, like he wasn't fully confident in them, and for a brief second, both of you glanced at each other—

—and looked away at the same time.

"Ah..." you responded, as you dropped your gaze back to your phone, your thumb moving aimlessly across the screen just to have something to do. You weren't even reading anything—just scrolling, unlocking, locking it again—anything to avoid looking at him for too long. The silence stretched awkwardly between you, uncomfortable in a way that made your shoulders tense slightly. You could still feel his presence there, just a few steps away, like it was pressing in on you even without him saying anything.

"D-Do you need a-anything more?" he asked, his voice hesitant, uneven, like he wasn't even sure if he should be speaking at all.

You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head quickly without looking up. "No," you replied shortly, already done with whatever this interaction was supposed to be. There wasn't anything left to say—at least, not anything you were willing to entertain right now. So you slipped your phone into your pocket, turning slightly toward the curtain again, reaching for the fabric as you prepared to head back into the AVR. Walking away was always easier.

"W-Wait, please."

You paused, your fingers tightened slightly around the curtain as you stopped, your back still facing him, your body going still even as your thoughts immediately tensed. Shocked by the sudden call.

"I-I—..." he started, his voice catching on itself, like the words refused to come out properly. You heard the faint rustling of paper behind you, something unfolding, shifting in his hands. Slowly, you turned your head, then your body, just enough to look back.

Jake stood there, holding a folded piece of paper that he was now struggling to keep steady. His hands were shaking—actually shaking—as he tried to open it properly, his other hand repeatedly wiping against his pants like they wouldn't stop sweating. He looked... off. Nervous in a way that felt more intense than usual, like he'd been building up to this moment for a while and was now barely holding it together.

"I know I have treated you t-this badly and t-there's no such an e-excuse for that action..." he read, his voice stumbling over the words, each one forced out.

What... the hell was he doing?

Your expression didn't change. Not immediately. You just stood there, staring at him, your face flat, unreadable despite the quiet shock settling in your chest. It didn't match the situation—didn't match the way he looked, the way his hands gripped the paper tighter when he finally glanced up at you.

And when his eyes met your completely unimpressed expression—his fingers tightened even more around the paper, the edges crinkling under the pressure like he might just tear it apart without meaning to. For a second, it looked like he was going to keep reading, like he'd force himself through whatever he had written no matter how bad it got. But then something shifted. His jaw clenched, his grip snapped—and the paper crumpled in his hands. Your lips parted slightly, not quite a reaction, not quite indifference either—just caught somewhere in between as you watched him abandon whatever script he thought would save him.

"I'm sorry," he said. It came out raw this time, stripped of the careful structure he was trying to follow earlier. "I'm so sorry for pushing you away after...that," he continued, the words coming faster now, like he didn't trust himself to stop. "I'm so sorry for hurting you... and I'm so sorry for being a coward." His eyes stayed on yours this time, not darting away, not avoiding like he always did—and that alone felt off, enough to make you stay still without realizing it. But his hands betrayed everything else, wiping over his sides again and again, like he couldn't get rid of the sweat.

"I'm so... sorry for taking too long to realize my feelings for you."

You didn't move. Didn't speak. You just stared at him, your mind lagging a second behind everything he just said. It didn't settle right away—it couldn't. Not when it sounded like something you weren't expecting to hear again, not from him.

"I—I really don't know how to talk without fumbling," Jake continued. He dragged a hand up to his hair, scratching at it in frustration, his shoulders tense in a way that made it obvious how hard this was for him. "My thoughts..." he trailed off, almost whining under his breath, like he didn't even know how to explain what was going on in his head. And that's when you noticed his eyes were glassy now, the faint shine of tears building up faster than he could control.

"It's a lot," he admitted. "I—I wish... whatever my mind says every time you talk, every time you share something..." He sniffed, his nose scrunching slightly as he tried to steady himself, but it didn't really work. "I wish you could hear that instead." His fingers curled slightly at his sides, restless. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

"Because..." he swallowed, his voice dipping just slightly as his eyes stayed locked on yours, refusing to look away now. "I really like you."

Your breath caught immediately, the shift so sudden it almost hurt, your lungs stuttering as if they didn't know how to adjust. Your mouth opened on, ready to respond—ready to question, to say something—but he didn't give you the chance.

"I know it's sudden," Jake rushed out, panic bleeding into his voice as he stepped forward. "I know I hurt you—yes, I hurt you, I-I-I..." His voice faltered, catching on itself as his thoughts tangled, his mouth parting again before nothing came out for a second. He swallowed hard, forcing it through. "I like you a lot, please," he added, more desperate now. "I like you in a way that doesn't... shut up." And then he moved closer again.

"Jake—"

"I want to be your boyfriend!" he blurted out, louder this time, cutting straight through you before you could even finish his name. It was like he didn't even think before saying them. "I want to be the man for you!" he continued, his voice shaking but determined. "I know you're probably thinking I'm not in the right mind for wanting this after everything I did, after all of that—but those things, they just made me realize how much I actually... wanted to be there." His breath came uneven, his chest rising as he tried to keep going. "With you. Around you. Talking—even if I suck at it."

"Wait—"

"You're so pretty it hurts!" he cut in again. "I realized it even before all this—I like cooking for you, I want to be the only one cooking for you. I also like feeding your fish, I—" He paused for half a second, just enough for something worse to slip out. "I love staring at you through Bumble—"

"You're Bumble—?"

"—I love everything about you!" he rushed over you again, not even realizing what he just admitted, completely overriding your question. His face flushed deeper, his hands clenching as he stepped closer again without thinking. "I can be someone you need," he said as though he was trying to convince both you and himself at the same time. "I can take care of you properly, not just... small things, not just hiding behind stuff like cooking or fixing things. I can actually be there, I swear."

His voice cracked slightly, but he didn't stop. "I know I'm late. I know I already fucked this up once," he said, his breathing stayed uneven. "I-I don't have any experience in relationships. I don't even know what I'm doing half the time," he admitted. "But I know I can be someone who shows up to your every tournament—"

Your eyes widened immediately at that, the words hitting you harder than expected. You never told him that. "Jake, I think you need to shut up—"

"I can be someone who listens," he pushed on, cutting over you again, his voice desperate but weirdly hopeful at the same time. "Someone who wouldn't freak out when you're exhausted or pissed or quiet. Someone who'd talk to you through the hard days," he added, a shaky smile forming despite the tears still slipping down his cheeks, his hand coming up to wipe them away messily. "I can learn what you like, what you need—I can—" he stumbled again, words spilling faster again than his brain could filter them. "I'm not experienced at sex at all though, but I—I can learn! I can fuck you hard to knock those stress— I can do that!—"

You moved faster than him this time. Your hand shot up, covering his mouth firmly before he could finish whatever the hell he was about to say next. "Jake..." you said, your eyes locking onto his immediately.

He froze. Completely. His body went still under your touch, his wide eyes staring at you like you just put him in place, a soft and almost stupidly affectionate shining in his stare. And for a second, neither of you moved—your hand still pressed over his mouth, his breath warm against your palm.

"You accidentally pressed the speaker for the backstage, you idiot," you hissed. Your hand was still half-frozen in front of his face, your embarrassment crawling up your neck as the realization fully sank in. From the other side of the curtain, the sudden silence from the spokesperson had already been replaced by laughter, whistles, loud cheering echoing from the AVR like the entire room had just turned into a stadium. Your stomach dropped even further at the thought of everyone hearing whatever Jake had just been saying.

God, you were so embarrassed. Worse than embarrassed—this was catastrophic. You could still hear fragments of reactions outside, like people replaying the moment for entertainment, and it only made your face burn hotter. Jake, meanwhile, had gone completely still for a split second before abruptly pulling your hand away from his mouth like he'd finally rebooted.

"I like you," he said again, suddenly firm, like the embarrassment outside didn't even register anymore. "Let me? Let me prove my feelings to you?" He stepped closer again, not in a rush, but with intent. "Let me prove that I deserve a second chance?"

"Jake, aren't you embarrassed?" you whispered urgently, leaning in just enough to keep your voice from carrying, your eyes darting toward the curtain where the noise was still going. "Press that button and we'll talk later—just stop the audio first—" You were trying to salvage whatever dignity was left in this situation, your tone a mix of panic and disbelief. "It's a yes but press those buttons—"

"I like you!" Jake repeated suddenly, cutting through your sentence again—but this time he laughed right after, like the chaos outside somehow made everything lighter instead of worse. Your eyes shut for a brief second, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of it all, but you couldn't ignore the way your chest tightened at the sound. "I like you so much!" he added, louder than before, like he couldn't contain it anymore.

That was when the door to the backstage swung open.

"Sim Jaeyun." The voice was strict that instantly enough to kill whatever remaining chaos was left in the room. The dean stood there, eyes locking onto Jake like a warning shot. "Office. Now."

You covered your face with both hands, mortified all over again as the reality of everything hit at once. Jake, however, didn't look away from you—not even for a second. He stood there, biting his lip slightly, eyes still fixed on you like the dean wasn't even the main concern. You peeked through your fingers just in time to see it—him still looking at you like that, like nothing else mattered.

And somehow, against all, you smiled. Just a little.

Jake saw it immediately. His expression softened, a small, breathless laugh slipping out of him like he couldn't help it. But then the dean cleared their throat again, sharper this time, and Jake straightened instantly, forcing himself to move. Still, even as he turned to leave, his eyes lingered on you one last time before he finally followed after the dean.

The controversy of what happened spread faster than you expected, like someone had lit a match and thrown it straight into dry grass.

Your group chat blew up almost instantly, messages stacking, names tagging you repeatedly. Even Karina's name popped up more than once, her messages sitting there unanswered alongside everyone else's, but you didn't feel like responding to any of it. When you showed up for training later, you acted normal enough—smiling faintly, shrugging when people nudged you for answers, letting them complain when you stayed quiet. But it was obvious, even to them, that something had shifted in you. You weren't irritated anymore. If anything, you felt... lighter.

By the time you got back home, you slowly pushed the apartment door open, not expecting anything unusual, and paused the moment your eyes landed on him. Jake was in the kitchen, moving carefully between the stove and counter. Soft music played in the background—Cigarettes After Sex. For a second, it felt like déjà vu, like your life had looped back. But this time, it's more real.

"So you give him a second chance and it's all good?" Karina's words echoed in your head. Of course not. It wasn't that simple. It couldn't be that simple after everything that happened. You stayed still near the doorway for a moment longer, just watching him move around the kitchen like he wasn't even aware of how much your world had tilted in the past day. He didn't look up right away. He just kept cooking, focused.

But it wasn't "all good." Not yet.

You were still figuring him out again, piece by piece, like retracing steps you once ran through too fast. There was hesitation in it, still uncertainty. But now there was something else too. An understanding. He likes you. You like him. That much was no longer buried under confusion or denial.

Maybe it wouldn't fall apart the way you once feared. Maybe it wouldn't be as complicated as it looked from the outside. Or maybe it would be exactly that—and you'd still choose to stay in it anyway. The thought of horoscopes, luck, fate drifted back into your mind again. Fine. Maybe they didn't control anything—but they nudged things in directions you weren't always ready for. The universe didn't have to be loud about it. Sometimes it just placed people in your path and let everything else unravel from there.

Without needing certainty yet, you stepped inside anyway.

"Me Gustas Tu."

Jake always like the stars.

He found himself thinking about how they didn't need to be closer to matter—they just existed, shining anyway, without asking for anything back. It reminded him of how some things in life just... stayed.

He likes fire too.

Not the kind that destroyed things carelessly, but the kind that spread slowly, beautifully, like it had intention behind every movement. The kind that didn't just burn—it transformed, left traces, changed the space it touched. He thought about how it looked when it moved, unpredictable but alive, impossible to ignore once you noticed it.

He likes the sea. The rain. Things that never really stop moving.

And if he had to turn all of that into something—if he had to explain what it felt like when you were around—it wouldn't come out neatly. It would probably sound messy, like him. Maybe he'd say you were like the brightest star he couldn't stop looking at. Or maybe he'd say you were like fire—something that made him burn. Or maybe he'd compare you to the sea, endless and overwhelming in the best way, pulling him in even when he should stay back.

Silly Jake—he really couldn't stop thinking about you, could he?

It was almost annoying how constant it had become, like your presence didn't need you physically there anymore to take up space in his head. Every small pause in his day somehow circled back to you, as if his thoughts had quietly rearranged themselves. Realizing that even silence now felt different when you weren't part of it.

The Volleyball Team had already made their way to Santiago City for the Regional Tournament, and Jake found himself trailing behind the group with a distracted mind. He stared down at his phone more than once, rereading your message that said you had arrived safely at your destination. It was just a normal update—but he kept looking at it anyway. You two weren't anything official yet, not even close enough for anything sweet, still stuck in that uncertain thing of figuring each other out. And before you left, things had been awkward again, the kind of awkward that made conversations shorter than they needed to be. Still, despite all of that, he missed you.

And that was the part that frustrated him the most.

Did everything that happened recently make him more desperate, or just more aware? He didn't even know anymore. It was like the absence of you had made everything louder—his thoughts, his habits, even the smallest pauses in his routine. He found himself wanting things he didn't used to think about before, like hearing your voice without a reason, or seeing you just standing there. God, he sounded pathetic in his own head. A total loser, really, the kind he would've rolled his eyes at if it was someone else.

Jake was almost restless for the entire three days, like his body had forgotten how to sit still without thinking about you. At one point, he ended up just staring at your fish tank for nearly an hour, watching the small movements. It was ridiculous, honestly, the way his attention kept drifting back to anything even remotely connected to you. You were busy the whole time—training, interviews, constant schedules—only messaging him late at night right before you slept, and even then it was brief, tired updates. Your phone had even been grounded by your coach at one point, and Jake nearly dropped his own phone in the bathroom when it suddenly rang with your notification tone. Jake was pathetic, and he knew it.

By the time the university bus was heading to Santiago, Jake had already made himself the first one there, sitting far too early with a bag that he kept checking unnecessarily. He dragged Heeseung along too, who looked half-dead already, yawning nonstop while leaning against his neck pillow. The rest of the group was still boarding, but Jake didn't care much about that part—his mind was already elsewhere, looping back to you even as the city started fading behind the bus windows. The road stretched out ahead, scenery shifting in slow motion, but all he could think about was seeing you again in person. It made him sit straighter without realizing it.

Jake is a loser and Jake is pathetically in love with you.

"I-I heard there's a lot of strong offense on the other team," Jake suddenly said as he leaned closer to the window, watching the scenery blur past. "I'm actually worried about her... what if they hit too hard and she gets bruises again?" he added, already picturing things he had no control over.

Heeseung beside him just let out another long, tired yawn, slouching deeper into his seat. "It's part of the competition, Jake," Heeseung replied flatly, voice dry and uninterested, like he'd answered this kind of concern too many times already. (He actually did)

Jake didn't seem reassured.

"Do you think I can talk to her after one of the matches?" he continued anyway, ignoring the lack of enthusiasm beside him. "Do you think they'll let them eat properly? What if the food is bad? I packed extra food too, and a first aid kit—just in case, so I can help if her hands get worse." He said it all in one breath.

Heeseung only yawned again, louder this time, barely even looking at him. "The sports management already said we're not allowed to talk to the team, Jake," he said lazily. "Not even pictures unless they don't make it to Day Three—which, honestly, I doubt."

Jake's lips pressed together slightly, his shoulders sinking just a little at that. By the time the bus finally arrived at the hotel, Jake was already holding his phone again, thumbs hovering over the screen before he typed out a quick message telling you that the university cheering squad had arrived safely and would be ready for the match. The hotel itself was only walking distance from the stadium—close enough that just knowing you were somewhere nearby made his chest tighten stupidly all over again. But your reply never came. Jake stared at the unread message for a few seconds longer than necessary before locking his phone with a quiet sigh. Of course you were busy. It was your first match, your focus should be there. Still, it didn't stop the anxious feeling crawling around in him anyway.

"Stop fidgeting," Heeseung muttered later as they handed over their tickets to the organizers, watching Jake bounce his leg nonstop while they waited to be stamped in. The entire stadium already felt loud before they even reached their seats, filled with students, chants, instruments, and that made Jake's ears ring almost immediately. They ended up seated near the front together with the band and the cheering squad, surrounded by noise that felt overwhelming enough to swallow him whole. Jake rubbed at his ear absentmindedly, trying to adjust to the volume, but the second his eyes landed on the court—on you—everything else faded anyway.

"Dude, sit down! She's not going anywhere," Heeseung hissed under his breath after Jake practically stood up the second he spotted you. He grabbed Jake's sleeve and forced him back into his seat before he embarrassed himself further. Jake awkwardly fixed his posture, shoulders stiff as he looked toward the court again—and then your head turned in his direction.

For one terrifying second, your eyes met his. Jake smiled immediately, awkward, his braces flashing while his entire face heated up from the attention. You only gave him a small smile in return before going right back to stretching like nothing happened. That tiny interaction alone was enough to make his chest feel full.

Heeseung was right about one thing though—the university wasn't exaggerating when they invested so much into Decelis' Women's Volleyball Team. Jake barely understood the game itself, but even he could tell the difference in level almost immediately. The coordination, the defense, the sheer pressure your team put onto the other side. The match didn't even last an hour before it was over, the crowd exploding into cheers while Jake sat there stunned, staring at the scoreboard like he couldn't believe how quickly everything ended.

And then, just as fast as it ended— you were gone again.

The sports organizers immediately started ushering the cheering squads and students toward the exits before anyone could crowd around the athletes. Jake instinctively stood again, craning his neck over people's shoulders, tiptoeing just to catch one more glimpse of you. He spotted you briefly near the sidelines, shaking hands and getting congratulated by the opposing team before staff quickly surrounded your group again, escorting all of you away toward the restricted areas.

Jake's shoulders dropped immediately after. Jake is pathetic. And right now, Jake felt fucking miserable.

That was exactly what happened on Day Two. Jake barely even noticed Santiago City despite everyone else talking about how beautiful it was, how lively the streets were at night, how there were places they should visit before heading home. None of it stayed in his attention for more than a second because his eyes kept falling back to his phone every few minutes. You would appear at the court for a couple of intense hours, completely alive, and then disappear again. Jake wasn't even allowed to properly approach you. Not a greeting. Not a quick conversation. Nothing. He was expected to just sit there like a normal supporter and wait for Day Three like everyone else. But Jake already knew what would happen tomorrow too—maybe you'd win, the crowd would swarm, organizers would rush your team away again, and he'd end up watching your back disappear for another fucking day. The thought alone was enough to make him restless.

By the time they got back to the hotel that night, Jake looked like he was losing his mind slowly. He kept rolling around on the bed, flipping his pillow over, grabbing his phone every two minutes only to stare at the same screen with no new notifications. His leg bounced nonstop, fingers fidgeting against his stomach while his thoughts kept circling back to you again and again. Heeseung eventually got fed up with the constant movement and straight-up kicked Jake's ass from the other bed.

"For fuck's sake, stop moving!" Heeseung groaned, half-asleep and irritated as hell. "You're making the entire bed shake."

Jake only huffed under his breath, glaring briefly before grabbing his bag and quietly leaving the room instead. Staying still clearly wasn't happening tonight.

Jake was determined now. Tomorrow was the finals, and it was already 10:17 PM. There was no way your team was still doing heavy training this late, right? Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe not. Maybe you were still stuck in some team meeting or recovery session. Jake didn't know, and the not knowing was making him itch. So against all common sense, he made his way toward the other venue building where the sports organizers and volleyball teams were staying. He walked carefully, shoulders tense, sneaking around like he was committing an actual crime before crouching near the grassy area outside when he heard voices nearby. He stayed there awkwardly for almost ten whole minutes, slapping mosquitoes and insects away from his arms while trying not to make any noise.

"Did that bitch literally threaten you?" a voice snapped somewhere ahead. "Just because they won last year doesn't mean we can't beat their ass tomorrow!"

"Giselle," another voice sighed immediately after. "Be the bigger person."

Jake instantly lowered himself further into the grass, nearly flattening his face into the ground before carefully peeking upward. Your team!

His eyes immediately found you among them without even trying.

You walked quietly beside the others, wearing oversized training clothes while lazily eating from a cup of ice cream, your expression tired. You scooped another spoonful slowly before lowering it again, staring into the cup like your mind was somewhere else entirely. Even looking exhausted, even standing half-awake— Jake still thought you looked so so so pretty.

"No, because why the hell would they threaten Yunjin and then give you a dirty look too?" Winter complained loudly, pointing at you with disbelief still written all over her face.

You only shrugged one shoulder lazily, taking another bite of ice cream like it genuinely didn't bother you. "Probably because I stared back," you muttered flatly.

"That's not helping your intimidation allegations," Ningning snorted from the side.

Jake had to physically press his lips together to stop himself from smiling too hard into the grass like a complete fucking idiot.

"I can't wait to beat their ass tomorrow!" Rei shouted dramatically, pumping her fist into the air. Jake stayed crouched awkwardly near the bushes, trying to remain hidden while still watching you from afar like a complete creep. His knees were starting to hurt from squatting too long, insects still attacking him from every direction, but he ignored all of it because you were right there. Then, in the middle of shifting his weight slightly—

Crack. Jake accidentally stepped on a dry branch.

Your entire team immediately went quiet. Jake froze so hard he almost stopped breathing, eyes widening as every single head turned toward the dark garden area where he was hiding.

"D-Did you guys hear that?!" Karina squeaked instantly, grabbing onto Winter's arm dramatically while looking around in panic.

The girls started screaming over each other almost immediately, some backing away while others started speed-walking toward the entrance. Jake slapped both hands over his mouth to stop himself from making another sound, shoulders tense while he watched the group scatter in pure confusion.

"T-there's a bear!"

"Shut up, why would a bear be here?!"

"Then what the fuck was that?!"

Jake stayed completely still for what felt like forever after they disappeared inside, barely even blinking as he listened carefully to make sure nobody was coming back with security.

Then suddenly he heard a one pair of footsteps approaching slowly. Jake squeezed his eyes shut briefly, already preparing himself mentally for getting caught by some staff member or organizer.

"Jake," your voice called quietly through the dark. "Did you know that if you get caught, the sports organizers would probably ban you from joining tournament cheering teams forever?"

Jake's eyes immediately opened again. He slowly peeked his head upward from behind the bushes and found you standing there alone now, arms crossed loosely while staring down at him. He stood up quickly, brushing grass and dirt off his pajama pants awkwardly before giving you the most painfully guilty smile possible.

"H-Hi."

"Hi," you replied, a small half-smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Jake scratched the back of his head immediately, avoiding your eyes for a second before forcing himself to look again. "U-Uh... I couldn't sleep," he explained quickly, stumbling over the excuse. "T-That's why I went for a walk... you know..."

You stared at him flatly for a second, eyes slowly moving over his messy hair, oversized hoodie, his bag, and pajama pants that still had grass stuck to them. "How did you even get inside?" you asked finally, brows raising slightly in disbelief.

Jake let out an awkward little laugh under his breath. "Heh..." He rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I... climbed the back gate."

Your lips twitched immediately before you burst out laughing. It caught Jake completely off guard. He stood there frozen, staring at you while your shoulders shook lightly. His chest tightened stupidly at the sight. God, you looked so good laughing at him. Honestly, if this was what it took, Jake felt like he'd climb ten more fucking gates just to hear you laugh like that again.

"Why?" you asked between laughs.

Jake bit the inside of his cheek, his face already turning red under the dim lights. "I..." He hesitated for half a second before forcing himself through it anyway. "I wanted to see you," he admitted quietly.

You blinked at him. "Eh?" Your laughter faded as you tilted your head slightly. "You saw me during the tournament though. Besides, tomorrow's literally the last day. What's the catch?"

Jake immediately started fidgeting again, rubbing his palms repeatedly against his pajama pants like he didn't know where to place his nervous energy. "I miss you," he blurted out quickly before he could overthink it. The second the words left his mouth, his entire face heated up even more. God, that sounded corny as hell. Jake felt like some pathetic high schooler confessing to his crush behind the gym after class.

You stared at him quietly for a moment after that. At the way he kept fumbling with his hands. At the way he couldn't stay still. At the way he looked so genuinely nervous despite already confessing to you in front of an entire auditorium days ago. Cute. So fucking cute.

Your gaze slowly lifted away from him afterward, drifting upward toward the sky above the hotel grounds. The night had settled calmly over Santiago, the stars faint but visible around the huge glowing moon hanging overhead. The breeze was cooler now compared to the daytime heat, soft enough to make the leaves around the garden rustle quietly.

"The moon is beautiful, right?" you asked suddenly, softer in a way that made Jake immediately straighten.

"Huh?" He blinked before quickly following your gaze upward. "Ah—yeah. Right." He nodded awkwardly, staring at the moon, trying very hard to process what was happening.

But while he looked upward, you looked at him instead. At the way the moonlight softened his features, the way his messy hair moved slightly with the wind, the nervousness still written all over his face despite trying to hide it. A small smile slowly formed onto your lips before you finally called his name again.

"Jake."

Jake turned toward you immediately, almost too quickly, eyes wide and attentive as if he'd been waiting for you to say something else.

"I miss you too."

Jake stiffened instantly before the biggest smile slowly spread across his face, so wide it almost looked ridiculous. He looked down for a second, biting his lip like he was trying to stop himself from grinning too hard, but it clearly wasn't working. Even the tips of his ears were red now. God, he looked so stupidly happy over four words.

Somehow, the two of you ended up sitting together on one of the benches in the garden afterward. The awkwardness was still there, but it no longer felt painful. You found yourself telling him random things about your day without even realizing it—complaining about the freezing showers in the athlete dorms, the way Giselle almost started a fight earlier, how your coach yelled at the team because someone forgot their jersey during practice.

Jake listened to every single word carefully.

And somewhere in the middle of your rambling, he suddenly started pulling snacks out of his bag one after another. "W-What?" he mumbled shyly when you stared at the pile forming beside him. "I thought... maybe the food here sucks."

"You packed this much?" you snorted, staring at the ridiculous amount of food. Chips, bread, bottled drinks, chocolate bars, even packed containers wrapped carefully inside towels to keep warm.

Jake only shrugged awkwardly. "I thought you might get hungry."

Now your legs were comfortably stretched across his lap while the both of you shared snacks. Jake sat there quietly rubbing mint oil carefully onto the bruises forming around your calves and hands after today's match, his touch gentle despite how concentrated he looked. His brows furrowed slightly every time his fingers passed over darker bruises.

"Does this hurt?" he asked softly at one point, thumbs carefully pressing against your calf.

"A little," you admitted honestly before shoving another chip into your mouth.

Jake immediately eased the pressure after that. The silence afterward felt comfortable enough that your thoughts wandered again, eyes lifting toward the dark sky while the cold minty feeling spread across your sore skin. "Do you think people lose because they don't train enough?" you asked suddenly. "Or just because that's their fate?"

Jake's hands paused briefly on your leg before continuing slower this time. You huffed softly, tossing another chip into your mouth while staring at the stars. "If we lose tomorrow... does that mean we didn't work hard enough?" you continued. "Or maybe fortune just doesn't favor us."

Jake hummed quietly under his breath, clearly thinking carefully before answering. His eyes lifted toward the sky for a second too before he looked back down at your legs again. "I..." He hesitated slightly. "I guess that's what life is?"

You turned your head toward him while he continued massaging your calf slowly. "Life is unfair," he murmured quietly. "But that's just... how it works sometimes. We don't always hold the fortune. We don't always hold our own fate either." His fingers slowed absentmindedly against your skin. "Some people work hard and still lose. Some people barely try and somehow still win."

The breeze shifted softly around the two of you, carrying the distant sounds of traffic somewhere outside the hotel grounds. You looked at him carefully for a moment before asking quietly— "Do you believe in luck?"

Jake paused for a moment. His hand slowed slightly on your skin before he gave a small shrug of his shoulder. "I don't know?" he admitted honestly. "Sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it doesn't." He glanced down at your leg again while continuing to massage it gently. "But I got my horoscope read once... they said luck favors me," he added with a faint, awkward smile. "Dunno if it's true though."

That familiar half-smile formed on his face again after he said it. You stared at him quietly while he focused back on your bruises, fingers pressing lightly in slow, careful circles. In that moment, something in your chest tightened again. It felt stupid and obvious all at once, like your thoughts had already made up their mind. An unlucky you sitting here beside someone who casually talked about luck like it followed him around. What were the odds of that, really?

Ooooh, you're foolishly in love with this boy.

You exhaled softly. "I guess I just need to stick with you," you muttered with a small, almost teasing smile

The stadium was completely packed, like the entire city had decided to squeeze itself into one arena just to watch this match. The energy felt heavier too, everyone already knew this wasn't going to be an easy game. Jake could feel his ears ringing nonstop from the overlapping chants, drums, and screams echoing from every direction. Compared to Day One and Day Two, today felt sharper somehow. Heeseung, sitting beside him, kept laughing at the absurdity of it all—especially how the Decelis band and Isabella's band had basically turned into competing sound systems, blasting music louder and louder just to outdo each other while waiting for the teams to arrive.

"Today we are here to witness another rough battle in the Region!" the commenator announced through the speakers.

The crowd immediately exploded into noise again, shaking the entire structure. Jake flinched slightly at the volume, but he didn't look away from the court even for a second. The introductions began, one team after another stepping into the court under flashing lights and roaring applause. When Isabella's team was introduced, something about the atmosphere shifted.

"It's them! It's them! Oh my God, it's going to start!" the cheering squad beside them squealed loudly, practically jumping in their seats.

Your team walked out. The moment you appeared with the rest of the players, the crowd somehow got even louder, people waving banners, shouting names, and snapping photos like crazy. You moved confidently across the court, waving casually at the audience.

The moment your eyes landed on his direction, Jake reacted instantly without even thinking. He yanked off his hoodie in one quick motion, revealing the shirt underneath that had your face printed on it. For a split second, the entire section near him went quiet in shock. Your mouth literally fell open on the court, frozen mid-step, while even Heeseung slowly turned his head toward him with disbelief.

Jake caught sight of your lips curling into a bright smile as you stretched on the court, rolling your shoulders and loosening your arms. Without even realizing it, Jake found himself smiling too.

The game started almost immediately after introductions. Isabella's team was exactly what everyone warned about, a way that made every rally feel like a fight for survival. The difference between the two teams was small on the scoreboard, but on the court it felt massive, like every point was being ripped out instead of earned easily. Jake could feel himself tensing up more and more with each exchange, leaning forward in his seat without realizing it, breath catching every time the ball flew too close to your side. And every single time you dove—actually threw yourself across the floor to save a point—Jake reacted like he was the one getting hit. Ouch!

He grabbed Heeseung's arm at one point without thinking, squeezing too hard as he watched you slide across the court to receive a brutal spike. "Oh my God—she's gonna break something!" Jake muttered under his breath. You just got up like it was nothing, brushing your hands off and getting right back into position like your body didn't even register pain the same way normal people did.

"D-E-C-E-L-I-S! GO! GO! GO! GO!" Jake and Heeseung shouted together every time your team scored. He barely even noticed his voice getting hoarse, or the way his hands kept clenching the balloon tighter every time you made a play. All he knew was that you were out there, and everything else in the world felt like it was moving too fast to matter except that.

In the middle of the match break, Jake stayed frozen in his seat, eyes locked on your back as you stood near the sidelines. The number nine on your jersey stood out clearly. Your coach was talking to you at a steady pace, gesturing toward the court while you drank water from your bottle, nodding along with full focus even though your attention still seemed half on the ongoing match. Jake noticed everything—the way your shoulders rose and fell with controlled breathing, the way your grip tightened slightly around the bottle, and especially the way your eyes kept drifting back toward his direction every few seconds.

Something about it made his entire body feel strange.

The atmosphere in the stadium was still heavy, but inside Jake's chest everything suddenly felt... lighter. He didn't fully understand it, just that his thoughts slowed down in the middle of all the noise, like someone had briefly turned the volume of the world down just enough for him to breathe properly. Even his grip on the balloon loosened slightly without him noticing. And then, just as you turned away from your coach and started walking back toward the court, you gave him a soft smile.

Outside of this moment, people might've laughed at him for it, told him he was just being stupidly emotional, maybe just too deep in whatever this feeling was. They'd probably say it was just excitement, or he was just being corny in love. But Jake knew it wasn't that simple. It didn't feel chaotic the way nerves usually did.

It felt like the universe was saying something without using words.

He watched you step back onto the court, adjusting your position, rolling your shoulders once like you were resetting yourself completely. The light caught your face again, the sweat, the focus, the calm intensity in your eyes that made you look even more unreal than before. Pretty wasn't even enough of a word for it anymore in his head—it didn't feel big enough. Jake swallowed slightly, and his chest still felt oddly calm despite everything happening around him.

If passing down luck was possible, he'd give it all to you without hesitation.

But then again... you didn't look like someone who needed it.

Jake leaned forward slightly again, eyes tracking your movement as the whistle signaled the return of play.

Because deep down, he already knew it. One hundred percent. You were going to win.

"Oh ho ho ho! The Decelis Vampire is everywhere!"

The commentator's dramatic voice echoed through the stadium the moment you made another impossible receive, earning an explosion of screams from the audience. Jake breathed out shakily from his seat, fingers tightening around the edge of the banner resting on his lap as he stared at the scoreboard again. The difference between the two teams was still small enough to keep everyone tense, but something had clearly shifted after the last timeout. The second the whistle cut through the court again, Decelis moved like a completely different beast—every point started stacking one after another until even Isabella's side looked rattled trying to keep up.

You barely even felt your body anymore at this point.

The ball flew toward your side again and your feet moved before your thoughts could catch up, reacting after nearly two hours of nonstop rallies. Your hips still throbbed from the brutal spike you received earlier. Your knees burned too. Your shoulders felt heavy. One hour and forty minutes of constant passing, diving, receiving, running—it was exhausting enough to make your vision blur briefly every time the whistle paused.

You wanted to lie down. Just for a little while.

You turned your head for during the rotation shift and your eyes immediately found Jake again in the crowd. He wasn't screaming now like the others. He was sitting there quietly, staring at you with that same soft expression that always made your chest feel strangely warm no matter how exhausted you were. His hoodie was gone, exposing that ridiculous shirt with your face on it while his glasses reflected the lights.

And suddenly, more than resting— you wanted to go home. Home with him.

God knew what Jake probably sacrificed just to be here. You knew how sensitive he was with noise, how he usually avoided crowds because they overwhelmed him too quickly. He probably already missed his strict eight o'clock sleep schedule too, and judging from the dark circles faintly visible under his eyes even from the court, he was definitely running on pure determination alone right now.

Your chest tightened briefly at the thought.

Then the ball came flying toward your side again.

You inhaled sharply through your nose and threw yourself forward immediately, diving hard against the court floor to receive it cleanly before it could touch down. The impact stung violently against your body, but the sharp whistle blowing right after mixed instantly with the deafening screams erupting around the stadium.

"With the score of 58 and 61!" the announcer shouted over the roaring crowd. "Decelis advances their way to Nationals!"

Your teammates screamed immediately, some collapsing onto the floor while others tackled each other into hugs near the net. But while everyone else got swept into the excitement, you pushed yourself upright almost immediately, one hand clutching your hip as the pain shot through your side. Your entire body ached violently now that the adrenaline was wearing off, but you barely paid attention to it. Your eyes were already searching through the crowd.

Searching for one person.

Jake froze in his seat the second he realized you were walking directly toward his section.

At first, he genuinely thought maybe you were heading somewhere else. Maybe toward the cheering squad. Maybe toward your managers. But then you kept coming closer, eyes locked onto him so directly that his stomach immediately flipped hard enough to make him dizzy. Jake stood up hesitantly, nearly fumbling the balloon in his hands in panic.

"H-Hey—what are you—"

One of the sports organizers instantly moved when they noticed you approaching the spectator bounds, clearly about to stop Jake from stepping forward too far. But before they could say anything else, Heeseung grabbed the organizer by the shoulder with a grin already forming on his face.

"About fucking time." Heeseung snorted.

Jake barely even processed any of it, because the next thing he knew— you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.

Hard.

The entire stadium around him exploded louder somehow, a mixture of screaming, cheering, and scandalized reactions crashing together while cameras immediately started flashing toward your direction. Jake's brain completely short-circuited on the spot. His eyes widened for half a second in pure shock before he melted into it almost instantly, hands shakily grabbing your waist despite how badly they trembled.

He kissed you back immediately. Like he'd been wanting to do it forever.

The kiss wasn't neat either. It was breathless and messy. Jake could barely think properly through the pounding in his chest, through the warmth of your lips against his, through the realization that this was actually happening in front of thousands of people. Somewhere behind him, Heeseung was screaming like a maniac while the Decelis cheering squad lost their minds completely.

The moment the kiss broke, reality crashed back into your body all at once. The sharp pain shot through your hips agin, forcing a quiet wince out of you as your hand immediately clutched at your waist. Jake noticed instantly. His entire expression changed from happiness to panic in less than a second, hands carefully moving to steady you before you could lose your balance.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately as he held you closer against him.

"I want to go home," you muttered quietly instead, your forehead falling against the side of his neck as your body sagged closer to him.

Jake's breath caught instantly. The simple weight of you leaning into him like that nearly made his heart stop despite the worry crawling all over him. He adjusted his hold carefully around your waist, supporting more of your weight without even thinking about it.

"Let's get your hips checked by the medic first," he said softly, already glancing around for staff. "Y-You landed hard earlier..."

But before he could keep rambling nervously, you whisper tiredly against his neck. "I didn't expect to feel this much for you, Jake."

Everything inside him went warm, so suddenly that he physically felt it in his chest, that overwhelming fluttering sensation exploding all over again until his stomach twisted painfully with it. Jake swallowed hard, blinking rapidly behind his glasses while trying to process the words properly. God, you were going to kill him like this.

Carefully, almost shyly now despite the public eyes around you, Jake leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead. "Me too...me too." His hand rubbed gently against your side afterward, thumb moving in slow comforting strokes while he silently lifted his other hand to signal one of the medics nearby for assistance.

EPILOGUE

It took you a long time to actually sit down and reflect on everything that had happened.

For years, you kept convincing yourself that luck was random—that some people were simply born under better stars while others just had to survive whatever scraps the universe threw at them.

Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life.

Things never came easily for you. Even when people admired you—your skills, your looks, your confidence on the court—they never really saw the exhausting parts underneath it. The loneliness. The constant feeling that you always had to fight twice as hard just to keep your head above water while pretending you were doing perfectly fine. Maybe that was why you became so cynical about all those stupid talks about fate, fortune, and luck. Maybe it was easier to roll your eyes and call everything bullshit rather than admit that deep down, you were terrified the universe simply wasn't built in your favor.

But maybe luck wasn't random at all.

When you really thought about it, you had spent so much time expecting disappointment that you stopped recognizing the good things while they were happening. You focused too hard on what was missing instead of what stayed. Sure, being broke sucked. It absolutely fucking sucked. And no amount of positive thinking magically fixed empty wallets, bruised feelings, or difficult lives. But somewhere along the way, you realized you had also started carrying your own unhappiness like proof that life owed you something cruel.

Maybe you lacked optimism. Maybe you lacked faith in anything getting better because the universe kept throwing the same shit at you over and over again until you got tired of trying to hope differently. That feeling was valid too. You had every reason to become guarded after everything. Every reason to distrust happiness when it rarely stayed long enough before. But lucky people... they weren't always lucky because life was easier for them. Sometimes they were lucky because they allowed themselves to reach for things anyway. To risk failure. To risk doing something. Even when they are afraid. 

"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"

A long groan dragged out of your throat as the tiny robotic voice echoed outside the bedroom for what felt like the tenth time already. The curtains were still completely shut, the blackout fabric drowning the room in soft darkness despite the late morning sun outside, and you had been enjoying every second of sleeping. The apartment was comfortable and so warm, and honestly, you would rather die than get out of bed right now. But the damn robot kept knocking itself repeatedly against the door with persistence, its tiny speaker chirping louder every few seconds.

"Jake," you mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed as you reached behind you to tap the arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his legs tangled carelessly with yours beneath the blanket. You felt him stir a little, burying his face deeper into the back of your neck while muttering something under his breath, but the knocking outside only continued. "Jake, make Mo stop," you complained softly, but instead of moving, he only tightened his hold around you and pulled you closer against his chest with a sleepy little sigh.

"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"

"Jake, baby," you called again, dragging the word out this time while lightly smacking his wrist. He groaned lowly against your shoulder, clearly refusing to leave the bed, and his hand slowly slipped underneath your shirt just to lazily trace circles against your stomach. The touch made you exhale softly despite yourself.

Outside, the robot continued its relentless banging, but Jake ignored it completely, pressing slow kisses against the side of your neck instead. His morning voice came out quieter than usual, rough and soft all at once as he whispered, "Can I touch?"

You groaned again but gave him a small nod anyway. The second he got permission, his hand slid higher, squeezing gently at your chest while his lips continued wandering across your skin with lazy affection. You tilted your head back slightly, giving him more room, and he took full advantage of it immediately, kissing along your jaw before lifting his sleepy eyes toward you. His glasses were missing somewhere on the nightstand, his brown hair sticking out everywhere. "Kiss, please," he whispered lazily, already leaning closer before you could even answer.

You kissed him just to shut him up.

Jake immediately melted into it with a soft whine. His lips moved slowly against yours, still half-asleep, but it quickly deepened when his hand tightened around your waist and pulled you on top of him. The blanket shifted around your tangled bodies while the robot outside continued yelling about cleaning schedules. Jake kissed like he was addicted to it now, messy and affectionate and greedy all at once. Even after years together, he still kissed you with the same overwhelming softness that made your chest ache.

And honestly, both of you already knew one thing for sure. Jake absolutely loved kissing you.

"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"

You groaned softly against Jake's lips before finally pulling away from the kiss, your forehead still resting briefly against his while you tried to gather enough energy to function properly. "Open the door for Mo," you muttered lazily as you pushed lightly at Jake's chest to make him move. Jake only huffed in protest, clearly offended at being forced out of bed, scratching messily at his hair before reaching around blindly for his glasses on the nightstand.

You stayed sprawled across the bed while watching him stand up with slow sleepy movements. His oversized white shirt hung loosely over his frame, exposing his legs beneath the thin black shorts he had thrown on before sleeping, and you couldn't help staring for a second as he shuffled toward the door. The moment he opened the bedroom door, Mo immediately rolled inside without hesitation, spinning once before beginning its programmed cleaning route across the floor.

"You seriously need to stop adopting Heeseung's robots," you complained while sitting up properly, stretching your arms above your head until your back cracked pleasantly. "We can literally clean by ourselves."

Jake yawned loudly while adjusting his glasses up the bridge of his nose, already turning around to drag himself back toward the bed with clear intentions of trapping you there again. Before he could grab your waist, you quickly stood up and reached for your shorts from the floor. "Jake, it's already nine," you reminded him while pulling them on. "Training starts at one. I still need to fix my stuff and prepare."

A long miserable whine immediately left his throat at that.

Jake had become even clingier than before. Not that you were complaining. Things had changed between the two of you. Jake no longer slept exactly at eight in the evening because most nights ended with both of you curled together on the couch watching movies until late, stealing kisses during slow scenes, or getting distracted halfway through and stumbling into the bedroom instead (sex). You did feel a little guilty sometimes since he used to be so strict with his routines, but Jake always brushed it off immediately whenever you brought it up.

Honestly, the man acted like a giant koala now.

The second you moved too far away from him, he would cling right back onto your side without shame. While you were fixing your hair in front of the mirror, Jake wrapped both arms around your waist from behind again, pressing his face against your shoulder while Mo continued cleaning nearby. "Stay in bed," he mumbled weakly against your skin, still sounding sleepy. You snorted softly at the feeling of him practically hanging his whole weight onto you, but your hand still reached up automatically to fix the messy strands of his hair away from his glasses.

"You say that every morning," you muttered.

"Because every morning you leave me," Jake replied dramatically, tightening his hold around your waist while you laughed quietly under your breath.

Your eyes drifted past Jake's shoulder toward the wall, landing on the collection of medals, framed certificates, and trophies lined neatly across the shelves. Some were old awards from high school, others were from university tournaments, and a few still had ribbons tangled together because you had been too lazy to organize them properly after Nationals. Jake had insisted on displaying every single one of them anyway, even the participation plaques you thought looked ugly. You smiled quietly to yourself before looking back at your boyfriend standing in front of you,. Sometimes it still hit you unexpectedly—how impossible this whole thing used to feel.

Who could thought? You had your six months of sharing an apartment with someone who barely looked you in the eyes.

Back then, you genuinely thought Jake would remain nothing more than the quiet engineering student that have an addiction to legos and hot wheels. And now? Now he stood in your apartment kitchen every morning half-asleep while cooking your meals, whining whenever you left the bed too early, kissing your forehead.

Jake became your person.

You stepped closer and pressed a quick kiss against his lips before walking past him toward the living room. Jake immediately followed after you without hesitation, dragging his feet lazily across the floor while scratching the back of his neck. You crouched beside the fish tank to feed your fish while listening to the familiar sounds of him moving around the kitchen behind you. Jake had developed this habit of cooking both your breakfast and lunch every single training day no matter how many times you told him he didn't have to. He always answered the same way too.

"I want to."

After feeding the fish, you returned to your bedroom to finish packing your things for training, tossing extra clothes and towels into your duffel bag while mentally checking your schedule for the day. You were halfway through folding your jersey when something bumped gently against your ankle. Looking down, you immediately recognized the small robot staring up at you with glowing blue eyes.

Bumble tilted slightly like it was waiting for attention, the tiny camera blinking while its mechanical voice chirped softly. "Hi!"

"Jake, the food," you called out immediately while staring directly at the robot's camera.

You heard his laugh from the kitchen almost instantly.

A few seconds later, Jake appeared in your doorway with that stupid soft smile on his face, walking straight toward you just to lean down and steal another kiss. He adjusted the whistle hanging around your neck afterward, fingers brushing gently against your skin before stepping back. "Ay yay, captain," he teased quietly, earning an immediate scoff from you despite the smile pulling at your lips.

Nationals still sat heavily in your chest sometimes.

Third place. Not first. Not the championship everyone had dreamed about during those exhausting practices and sleepless nights. It had hurt watching the seniors cry after the final match, hurt even more realizing that people like Karina, Winter, Ryujin, Yeji, and Yunjin were really leaving now that graduation had finally caught up to them. Every practice lately carried this strange emptiness that you still hadn't fully adjusted to. You missed them badly if you were being honest. No future teammates, no future victories, no future season would ever replace the bond all of you built together.

But endings did not always mean loss. That was something life had slowly forced you to understand.

After finishing your packing, you wandered out of your room and toward Jake's almost absent one out of pure habit. The door was slightly open already. It had honestly been a while since Jake actually slept here properly considering he spent nearly every night tangled in your bed instead. Still, the room looked painfully like him—organized in his own way and filled with little traces of the things he loved.

Your eyes drifted toward the transparent shelves mounted carefully against the wall. Hot Wheels lined up in neat rows beside completed Lego builds he had spent hours working on during stressful nights, some of them gifts from you, others things he proudly bought himself after passing difficult projects or exams. Mo sat charging quietly near his desk now beside scattered engineering blueprints, and one of your old volleyball wristbands was looped carelessly around its antenna. You smiled softly at the sight before dropping yourself onto his bed with a tired sigh, sinking into the familiar mattress while staring up at the ceiling.

It only took a few seconds before the bed dipped beside you.

Jake crawled in next to you without a word, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rested against your shoulder while his legs tangled with yours. "It's honestly useless renting a separate room when you basically live in my bed now," you muttered with amusement while turning slightly toward him. Jake only hummed quietly in agreement, tightening his hold around you instead of denying it. "And both of us are graduating soon too... oh my God."

No more university tournaments. No more scrambling through deadlines and practices and late-night study sessions with Jake. Life was shifting again, slowly moving forward whether you were ready or not. For a moment the room fell quiet and when you looked back at Jake, you noticed him staring at you strangely.

You frowned slightly under the weight of his gaze. "Is there a problem?"

"I love you," he said immediately, without hesitation, like breathing.

The words came out so naturally now compared to before. No stuttering. No panic. No fumbling over syllables while avoiding eye contact. Jake said it softly but confidently, eyes fixed completely on yours. Your expression softened almost instantly, and you moved closer to wrap your arms around him properly. "I love you too, silly," you murmured while caressing his cheek gently with your thumb.

Jake leaned into your touch immediately.

"Remember when you told me before..." he started quietly. "About not knowing what to do after volleyball?" Your brows lifted slightly at the sudden topic change, but you nodded anyway while continuing to stroke his hair back from his forehead. Jake swallowed before continuing. "I wanted to say a lot back then. I just couldn't." He laughed weakly at himself before looking back at you again. "But you can literally do anything. You could teach, or coach, or maybe start some weird fish business—"

You snorted softly.

"Jake," you interrupted with a smile. "I already told you. I'm planning to continue volleyball professionally. I'm aiming for the league now. I'm not stopping."

"—Or maybe..." Jake suddenly cut in quietly.

His arms loosened around you.

"Live with me."

Your smile faltered slightly in confusion as you slowly pushed yourself upright on the bed. Jake followed your movement immediately, but instead of sitting beside you again, he slid off the mattress completely. Your eyes widened the second you realized what he was doing.

Jake was kneeling on the floor.

"Jake," you said slowly, staring at him in complete disbelief while your heartbeat immediately started climbing into your throat. He looked nervous all over again for the first time in years, hands visibly shaking while he pushed his glasses higher up his nose. His cheeks were already bright red, his breathing uneven, but he still kept looking directly at you despite how terrified he obviously was.

Then he reached into his pocket.

"Oh my God," you whispered instantly.

"I have a proposition to make," Jake breathed out nervously. His fingers shook so badly while opening the small velvet box that you were half afraid he was going to drop it onto the floor entirely. But the second the lid flipped open, your breath caught hard in your throat. A ring rested inside, and the sight of it hit you so suddenly that your eyes immediately started burning with tears.

Jake noticed instantly and panicked a little.

"I-I will support you through everything," he rushed out quickly, voice trembling while he looked up at you from the floor. "Your league, internationals, all of it. I swear I will. I-I'll keep loving you, deeply, openly..." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his own eyes glossy now behind his glasses. "I know you'll probably think this is too early—"

"Jake, no," you interrupted immediately, shaking your head so fast your vision blurred slightly. The tears were already slipping down your cheeks now, but he misunderstood the reaction immediately because of course he did. Jake's face fell for a split second, panic flashing all over his expression before he hurriedly continued speaking again.

"But it doesn't mean we have to do everything immediately," he said quickly, almost pleading now as he shifted closer on his knees toward the bed. "I just... I want a future with you... Live with me? Not as roommates anymore, but really with me. As my lover. My person." His voice softened shakily near the end, his eyes refusing to leave yours despite how emotional he looked now. "And someday... as my wife."

The room suddenly felt too small for your heartbeat. For a second, all you could do was stare at him kneeling there beside the bed—the same quiet boy who once could barely survive a single conversation with you now looking at you like you were the center of every future he wanted. Jake's hands were still trembling around the ring box while he waited, breathing unevenly, clearly trying not to completely spiral if you stayed silent too long.

A wet laugh escaped your mouth suddenly as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand. "You're so fucking unfair," you whispered shakily, which immediately made Jake look even more nervous. His lips parted like he was about to apologize again, but before he could spiral into another overthinking breakdown, you grabbed his face with both hands.

"Jake," you said softly.

He froze completely beneath your touch.

"You are already my home."

Jake's eyes widened so much it almost made you laugh again through your tears. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again uselessly while staring at you like he couldn't process what he was hearing. You smiled weakly before leaning down until your forehead rested against his.

"Yes," you whispered.

Jake blinked once. "...Yes?" he repeated weakly, sounding completely stunned.

"Yes, idiot," you laughed through your tears, and the second the words fully registered in his brain, Jake let out the most broken, overwhelmed noise you had ever heard from him before immediately grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. The ring box nearly fell from his hands from how hard he hugged you, his face burying against your stomach while his entire body shook with relieved laughter.

"Oh my God," he kept mumbling breathlessly against you. "Oh my God, oh my God..."

You buried your fingers into his messy hair while laughing softly yourself, overwhelmed and emotional and ridiculously happy all at once. Jake pulled back just enough to shakily slide the ring onto your finger, his hands still trembling the entire time. The moment it settled perfectly in place, he stared at it like he genuinely couldn't believe it was real.

Then his eyes slowly lifted back toward you again. "My fiancée," he whispered, sounding completely in awe of the words alone.

Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life. The same "bad luck" that used to follow you around had somehow led you here anyway, step by step, mistake by mistake, person by person.

Those were bad luck. And bad luck is temporary.

You smile and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss against Jake's forehead. Ha, you're not out of luck either, aren't you?

You have Jake. Your good bestest luck.

And a good bestest luck lasted a lifetime.

NOTE: you reached the end, yay! thank you for loving the lucky family! (reader, jake, whitey, pinky, bumble, guppy and mo hehe) :) this is not really my best story but i definitely enjoy writing nerd jekjek and building their world! i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoy writing. love lots!!! - shi