stop deciding whats best for your idols. (heeseung + belift conflict)
i just wanna come on here and speak out about this situation with belift and heeseung leaving enhypen. please read and comment if you have any opinions on this.
i have been an engene since manifesto era, enhypen pulled me out of my darkest times. that being said, i completely support heeseung and the enhypen members with whatever their futures hold for them, including future activities, music, contracts, etc.
i'm honestly so furious and so overwhelmed. i've never seen a fandom be so ignorant and delusional when it comes to their idols.
engenes all over the world have decided to dissect and investigate every single word spoken in heeseungs and belifts statements, they've shared rumors about heeseung in the building and screenshots of "unofficial" statements made by people with "official" statuses like jungwon on weverse and yuki from an anonymous account on twitter.
WHY ARE WE BELIEVING EVERY THING WE SEE. this is absolutely NOT how we should be sharing our support.
regardless of belifts, hybes, and hitman bangs shady behavior, it is so clear that heeseung did in fact have at least somewhat say in the final decision of his standing in the company. taking things like "as per the companys suggestion" and running with it DOES NOT MEAN WE KNOW EVERYTHING.
what do you guys know about running a kpop group? oh nothing? so WHY are we assuming whats BEST for heeseung and the enhypen members? why are we attacking belift and heeseung for this decision that has already happened??? why are we attacking when maybe this could all be a good thing instead?????
people sending trucks and sharing pictures that are allegedly yuki and heeseung and other staff members, saying, "oh my god they've seen the trucks!" gang, there is like 10 of them outside. you think they cant see? OH MY GOD THEY HAVE EYES!!! WHATT??
and i'm sick and tired of the comparisons going on. heeseung is NOT MARK and hybe is NOT SM. heeseung is NOT YEONJUN and enhypen is NOT TXT. just because we've seen successful solo careers from other idols while still remaining in group activities DOES NOT mean that any idol from any company can achieve that. it is THAT simple.
comment sections, reels, tiktoks, twitter, facebook, tumblr, god i've even seen on ao3 everyone saying #bringheeseungback and all of this bullshit. how do you think heeseung feels??? one million+ signatures on the petition to PUT HIM BACK IN THE GROUP he isnt in anymore???? this is his SOLO CAREER WE ARE TALKING ABOUT.
and you all need to forget the fact you do NOT personally know heeseung.
"i just know he wouldve picked the boys over going solo"
"this isnt like heeseung, the company definitely forced him."
if heeseung chose this himself, then what would he think?? imagine millions of your fans not wanting you to go solo.
heeseung is not your bestfriend, he is not your boyfriend, your husband, your cousin, sibling, mutual, he is NONE OF THAT. so stop acting like you know him like that. we've all seen the horrible secrets that idols can hold whilst the fans obliviously support them. none of us know REALLY know him.
this is exactly what parasocial behavior looks like.
enhypen has been a group for almost 6 years and the way this has been handled just makes me so disappointed in so many engenes. i have maybe seen 10 engenes show their support to the other members, did everyone else just forget about them? about their possible feelings?
YOU ALL NEED TO WAKE THE FUCK UP. this is not some lucid dream where YOU ALL get to decide what happens to our boys. this is fucking reality, you guys need to ACCEPT whats happened and support heeseung and the enhypen members by RESPECTING their decisions and looking forward to their promotions and future activities as a soloist and group moving forward.
i hate being disappointed in my own fandom. please reblog and spread this message. thanks for your time.
please do not scroll, this is a very important message that ALL ENGENES must do if we want heeseung back.
as most of you might know, heeseung has "decided" to leave the group to focus on his solo career. BUT, this is not true.
heeseung DID NOT decide to leave the group, he was forced to. he was apparently seen crying and "crashing out" in a hybe hallway which CLEARLY shows it was not his decision. to add on, just a few days ago he was speaking about the world tour coming up, and participating in activities and events LIKE NORMAL. it was be so weird just for him to leave like that.
ENGENE, we are a team. we can bring heeseung back. for example, MARK FROM NCT. he left the group exactly like this but came back due to the FANS PROTESTS. WE CAN DO THIS FOR HEESEUNG ASWELL! PLEASE DO THIS SO OUR HEE CAN COME BACK.
THIS IS NOT FAIR! OTHER ARTISTS LIKE: YEJI FROM ITZY, TWICE MEMBERS, TXT MEMBERS, BTS MEMBERS AND MANY MORE ARTISTS ARE ALLOWED TO PURSUE THEIR SOLO CAREER WHILE BEING IN A GROUP. BUT NOT HEESEUNG??
we all call for heeseung's return while ALLOWING HIM THE FREEDOM TO PURSUE HIS SOLO CAREER.
To everyone else, you’re Jake’s girlfriend and picture of innocence—soft spoken, always with a smile, the type to bake cookies and kiss him goodbye on the cheek. His friends are sure he’s not getting what he needs, and they don’t hold back their advice for him to cheat, flirt, find someone who’ll actually put out. Jake doesn’t even bother correcting them, cause not only are they wrong, they’re wildly off the mark.
nsfw warnings: SMUT, toxic male friendship dynamics, back-talking, gaslighting, multiple rounds of sex, overstimulation, oral (m & f receiving), creampie, fingering, light breathplay, praise kink, mild degradation, anal play (established dynamic), light powerplay, hair pulling, dirty talk, cockwarming, light possessiveness, squirting, soft dom/sub elements, and begging.
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Jake Sim is...hard to explain.
If you ask around, you'll hear a thousand different versions. Jake Sim is hot. Jake Sim is an asshole. Jake Sim is the sweetest guy you'll ever meet. Jake Sim is the guy who'll flirt with you all night, fuck you into the mattress, and then forget your name before the sun even rises. Jake Sim is a player, a charmer, he's the guy everyone warns everyone about always a little too late.
And to be honest? they're not exactly wrong. Jake is the kind of guy who makes a mess just to see if someone else will clean it up. The kind who smiles like he knows all the answers to everything and doesn't care to share them. Jake's never had to try hard for anything—not attention, not girls, not the kind of casual popularity that clings to people like him for no reason other than sheer gravity.
He floats through life on charm and instinct, making trouble look too effortless.
Well, not until you.
You never belonged in Jake's world, like not even a little bit. You didn't chase parties or post thirst traps. You weren't loud, or flashy, or easy to figure out. But you were soft spoken and self contained, always in those oversized knit sweaters and delicate little necklaces. You said "pardon?" instead of "what," and you never once looked at Jake like you wanted anything from him. In fact you never looked at him at all.
Maybe that's why he couldn't stop staring, because you didn't orbit around him like everyone else did. You truly just existed in your own world and you didn't give a toss that he was attractive in the way that made people act stupid. You were genuinely kind, irritatingly kind Jake would say, and it made him feel like a walking glitch in your perfect little universe.
He was the kind to ghost girls. You were the kind to remember everyone's birthdays. He blew off midterms sometimes. You sent people your notes when you noticed they weren't in class.
You weren't his type in any sense and he sure as hell wasn't yours. But that didn't stop him from going after you anyway.
It didn't stop the way he'd linger outside the library when he knew you were in there, with his eyes low and his fingers twitching. It didn't stop him from getting your number from someone he'd never even spoken to in his life but he saw them speak to you once and that was enough for him. It didn't stop whatever this became—this quietly consuming, slow burn kind of obsession that made Jake Sim, the most unserious, nonchalant boy in the world, go dead serious when it came to you.
So dead serious that he made you his girlfriend quicker than you could think to even consider saying no, and goddamn if you didn't love him and the intensity of it all too.
The promise ring he asked you to be his girlfriend with was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. You remember how red in the face he was, a little awkward too, holding out a tiny velvet box.
You'd slipped it on without hesitation, and now it lives on your finger, always warm from your skin and twirled endlessly whenever you're anxious or shy or thinking a little too hard. Jake watches you do it sometimes when you're talking to him, or even when you're not. It makes his chest tight in the best way possible.
You're still not officially living with him. But your things are everywhere, all over his apartment. Your makeup clutters the edge of his bathroom sin, your slippers sit beside his sneakers at the front door, your clothes even hang in his closet, slowly but surely taking over, and your lacey panties end up in his laundry pile more often than not—a discovery Jake reacts to every time like it's Christmas morning.
He swears he loves it, all of it, all of you.
He loves the way you hum to yourself when you cook, loves how you taste everything off the spoon and make him do the same thing. He loves waking up to the smell of something sweet in the oven, loves hearing you sing along to songs you think he can't hear from the other room. He loves the softness you bring into his space, it’s like his whole apartment exhales when you're in it.
And right now, he's trying not to smile like an idiot as you leave the tray of cookies fresh from the oven on the coffee table for him and his friends, they’re still warm and rich with the scent of vanilla and browned butter. The boys dive in immediately, tearing into them like they've been starving all day.
"Dude," Sunghoon mumbles with his mouth full. "What does she put in these?"
"Crack," Heeseung says, reaching for another. "Crack cocaine, I’m so damn sure."
Jake just smirks, watching you tidy up in the kitchen with your hair pulled back, phone in hand before heading toward the living room again, eyes already on him.
"I'm heading to the mall with my friends," you tell him sweetly, swinging your purse over your shoulder and leaning down to kiss one cheek, then the other. "Don't eat all the cookies before I get back." You tell them even though you know it’ll all be gone by the time you’re back.
Jake smiles up at you. "No promises."
You glance at the guys. "Enjoy, boys."
"Thanks, sweetheart," Sunghoon replies automatically, and Heeseung raises his cookie in salute.
The door to the apartment shuts behind you and the silence gets loaded.
Jake barely has time to reach for another cookie before Heeseung squints at him over the edge of his glass and says, "Okay but like...how often do you jerk off?"
Jake blinks. "What?"
"You know," Heeseung gestures vaguely. "When she's not around. Or even when she is. Like, how bad's the drought?"
Jake frowns. "What are you even—"
"Come on dude. She bakes, she cleans, she kisses your cheeks like a fucking disney character," Sunghoon says, shaking his head like he's genuinely concerned. "And she's got you wearing a promise ring, bro. Be serious."
Jake raises an eyebrow.
"She's your girlfriend, not your chastity coach," Heeseung adds, mouth full. "It's okay to like her, man. Be whipped or whatever, but every guy's got needs." He does air quotes with his fingers at whipped.
"Exactly," Sunghoon nods. "You're telling us you haven't cracked once? Eight months and she's still playing house instead of playing with your dick?"
Jake laughs.
It's low and easy as he tosses a cookie up in air, catching it in his mouth like he doesn't have a care in the world. "You guys don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
"Oh, come on—"
He doesn't let them finish.
Just shrugs, wipes a crumb off his jeans, and leans back against the couch cushions with that same frustratingly calm grin. Not confirming anything or denying either and definitely not offering a damn thing more.
And maybe that's what gets them most. Sunghoon is about to continue with his drilling but the apartment door bangs open and Jay barrels in like he was trying to break the door open.
"I had to park three fucking blocks away—why are there so many delivery trucks on your str—" He stops question when he spots the half empty cookie tray and Jake's face. "Ah. What’s going on?"
Heeseung and Sunghoon exchange a look that says perfect timing.
Sunghoon jerks a thumb toward Jake. "We're staging an intervention. Lover boy here claims he hasn't touched himself for eight months because little miss betty boop apparently doesn't—"
"Dude," Jake warns, voice flat.
Heeseung dives in anyway. "We're just saying every guy's got needs, and she's not exactly—" he twirls a hand, searching for a polite word and failing—"open access."
Jay slumps into the couch slowly, suddenly wary. "Okay, first? Why is this our business? Second, she literally did my laundry when I was half dead with the flu last month. She's an angel—"
"Exactly," Sunghoon interrupts, irritated that Jay isn't backing him. "She's too angelic. Jake's basically wasting away. I know a girl who wouldn't care that you’re taken—she'll rock your fucking world, no strings."
Jay's eyebrows shoot up. "Bro, are you actually telling him to cheat? That's fucked up."
Heeseung waves him off. "Look, pastor Jay, spare us the sermon. We’re being practical."
Jay crosses his arms. "Practical? Or fucking sleazy?"
Sunghoon's jaw tics. "Fine, keep your halo. I'm trying to help our boy here."
"Help?" Jay snorts. "You're insinuating his girlfriend's a prude and pushing him toward some side piece because you can't fathom a relationship that isn't twenty-four/seven fucking."
Heeseung lets out a low laugh. "Prude? She's sweet, yeah—but let's be real, she's a little stuck-up. Bet she makes him say please and thank you before he even—"
"Enough."
His voice isn't loud, but it's close to lethal and it make the room still. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on Heeseung. "Don't talk about my girlfriend like that."
The silence is as thick as caramel.
Heeseung opens his mouth, thinks better of it and just shrugs instead. Sunghoon raises both hands in a mock surrender. "All right, all right. We're just looking out for you, man."
Jake sits back, expression unmoving except for the tight belt of muscle along his jaw. "Appreciate the concern but drop it."
Jay exhales, tension easing from his shoulders as he snags a cookie. "Cool. Crisis averted. Let's talk about literally anything else—basketball, stocks, the weather—"
But the mood has unfortunately shifted too far. Under the warm scent of sugar and butter, something colder threads the air, like a line drawn or a warning given.
Jake breaks off a crumb, flicks it onto the tray, and doesn't say another word.
The hangout's pretty much dead, even though they try to shift the conversation, try to joke but nothing lands. Not with Jake sitting there, stiff as a statue, jaw tight, barely looking up. Heeseung's chewing slower, the cookies don't taste as good anymore, and Sunghoon keeps checking his phone like there's somewhere else he needs to be.
Because there is.
Anywhere but here that’s for sure.
Jake's not even yelling, but does he have to? The way he's gone quiet should be enough. He's not laughing at their dumb jokes, not biting back with sarcasm like usual. He’s just sitting there on his own couch like he doesn't even recognize it.
Jay finally clears his throat. "Uh...I should probably get going. Early shift tomorrow."
Heeseung stands. "Yeah. Same." He doesn’t even have a job.
Sunghoon mumbles something about traffic, already halfway to the door. No one says it, but they all feel it, feel the vibe shot and Jake's silence holding the smoking gun.
Jay lingers a little longer near the door. He glances back, eyes softer than before. "Hey...sorry, man. I’m sure they didn't mean for it to go there."
Jake doesn't look at him. Just rubs the heel of his palm into one eye. "Yeah. Whatever."
Jay nods once and doesn't push. The door clicks shut behind them, and Jake's left alone in the quiet. He slumps back on the couch, eyes drifting to the half empty cookie tray on the coffee table.
You made those for them.
And they still had the audacity to talk about you like that. To reduce you to some outdated stereotype of some sweet, doting, sexless girlfriend he must clearly be suffering through.
The door creaks open a moment later, and you waltz bouncing with happiness, arms overflowing with shopping bags. You toe off your shoes at the door, grin still plastered on your face as you make your way inside, the scent of your perfume trailing behind you like sunshine.
"Babyyy," you call out cheerfully. "You will not believe the sale I hit today."
You find him on the couch, slouched deep into the cushions, hoodie up, face shadowed by the TV glow and a silence that immediately makes you feel like something is wrong.
Your grin falters. "Jake?"
He turns his head toward you, offers a weak smile that’s just a twitch of his lips, not the real one that crinkles his eyes and melts your stomach.
You pause at the edge of the couch, looking at him, then the table, at the cookie tray that’s half full. There’s not a crumb in sight on the cushions or floor, which is odd because the boys always devour them like wolves.
Your heart sinks a little.
Something is wrong.
Without a word, you gently set your shopping bags down and crawl into his lap, settling your weight carefully over him, but his hands stay limp at his sides. He doesn't even tuck them around your waist like he always does. Doesn't nose into your neck or murmur a "missed you."
You touch his face, frown deepening. "Jakey..." you whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Talk to me. What happened? You were fine when I left."
He shrugs once and his eyes stay distant, so you lean in and kiss his cheek, then the other, then his forehead, then the corner of his mouth but still nothing.
You press a soft slow kiss to his lips and his eyes flutter shut for a second.
He finally breathes out a sigh at that, like you've loosened something that was wrapped too tight in his chest.
"Just..." he mumbles, pulling you in by the waist now, finally holding you, finally here with you. "Some stupid shit with the boys."
You lean your forehead against his. "Hmm…what kind of stupid?"
He shakes his head, exhaling through his nose, jaw still ticking. "Doesn't matter."
"It matters if it makes this face," you say, gently pinching his pout. "Talk to me, baby."
He sighs again, but this time it's softer and a little less bitter. For a second, he just holds you, arms snug around your waist, your fingers in his hair, the scent of fresh cookies and the ghost of something ugly lingering in the air between you.
But at least you're here now and he’s already starting to feel better.
"They were just..." He swallows, jaw clenched. "Saying shit. About you. About us."
You pull back just a little, just enough to look into his eyes, head tilting softly. "Like what?"
He doesn't answer at first, he just presses his lips together like the words taste unpleasant on his tongue.
"That you're too sweet," he says finally. "Too innocent. That I must be struggling. That I'm not getting...what I need." He can't even say the rest while looking at you so his gaze drops to your collarbone. "Sunghoon even suggested that I should cheat. That he knew some girl who wouldn't care if I had a girlfriend."
“Jay was different though, he wasn’t having any of it.”
Your breath stutters just a little, but it’s enough that he notices and enough that it makes his stomach drop.
There it is—your face crumpling, it’s not dramatic, it’s like your heart folded in on itself for a second, and you're working quickly to iron it flat again.
Jake hates himself for putting that look there.
But then—God, your smile. It comes immediately after and it’s soft and unshaken.
"That's really shitty," you say, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. "But it doesn't matter what they think."
Jake's eyes flick up, searching yours for any signs of insincerity.
"You know that's not true," you continue. "Right?"
He nods, slowly. "Of course I do."
"Then that's all that matters," you whisper. You lean in and kiss his forehead again, warm and reassuring. "Maybe you just need to reevaluate your little bro club. Pick the ones who don't suggest cheating on your girlfriend over cookies she baked for them."
Jake exhales a breath of a laugh, tension starting to ease from his shoulders.
You smile again, a little sly this time. "Honestly, I always liked Jay more than the rest, anyway."
Jake huffs through his nose. "Yeah?"
You nod. "He defended my honor. What a man."
Jake finally smiles, real and wide and completely helpless. "I love you."
"I know, baby. I love you too." You kiss the corner of his mouth. "Now help me carry in all my bags. I got new panties." You say and push off him and that shuts him up fast, he’s already standing and following you into the bedroom like a possessed man, with eyes that gleam and hands that twitch, absolutely thrilled to see what you spent his money on.
You're already pulling out bags, giggling as you place each one on the bed like a dramatic little fashion show.
"Okay, ready?" you ask, grinning as you kneel on the mattress, surrounded by tissue paper, paper bags and receipts.
He flops down beside you, eyes wide, nodding like this is the first time you’ve done this, it’s not.
You hold up a dainty little silk top. "Cute, right?"
"That’s so hot, princess."
Followed by a miniskirt. "Too short?"
"No such thing."
He leans back on the bed, hands behind his head, watching you with an easy smile as you sift through your shopping bags, showing him more of what you got. He doesn't even bother hiding how proud he is watching you flaunt everything you bought.
You hold up a cute little white dress next. "This one was kinda expensive..."
Jake hums, eyes raking over you. "Worth every cent if you're wearing it."
You snort, but you're smiling as you slip it over your head. You smooth the fabric down and twirl once. "Do I look like someone's sugar baby?"
"You are someone's sugar baby," Jake grins, "you just cook too well for it to be obvious."
You giggle, tugging the hem down before sighing. "Okay, I'm not about to stain this with lipstick or lotion—hold on."
You casually peel the dress back off and toss it onto a nearby chair, standing fully naked in front of him without a second thought.
He lets his gaze drag slowly down your body, the same way it always does when you’re naked in his presence, so lazy but heated and familiar. Like he knows every inch of you by heart and never gets tired of seeing it.
"C'mere," he says, voice so deep, you already know what’s on his mind and you barely take a step before he's already got his hands on your waist, pulling you into his lap so he can have you straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck, and he just leans in, pressing his face into your skin, right at the curve of your neck.
"You always smell so fucking good," he tells you, lips brushing your collarbone. "And you're warm."
"I'm always warm," you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair.
He grins into your skin. "Yeah. Especially when you're on top of me like this, titties in my face and everything."
His lips trail along your collarbone, soft and slow, and his hands stay steady at your waist, thumbs pressing into the dip of your back, holding you in place
You sigh when he kisses your neck, just below your ear, and he feels the way your body softens in his lap, you're melting just for him.
He nips your jaw, then lower, moving his mouth down your throat, so warm and unhurried, open mouthed kisses skating down your chest until he reaches one of your breasts, wrapping his lips around it with a low groan like he's finally getting something he's been craving all day.
You arch into him instinctively, fingers curling in his hair as his tongue swirls around your nipple—lazy at first, then firmer and hungrier.
"Jake," you whisper, breath catching a little.
He hums against you, sucking slow and deep, one hand sliding up to cup the other side, thumb circling with the same rhythm his mouth sets.
Your hips shift without meaning to grind down unto him, and he catches that too, cock already hard beneath you.
"I’m so fucking in love with you," he mumbles into your skin, kissing across your chest to the other side.
His mouth stays wrapped tightly around your nipple, sucking on it so hard you moan a little, then he continues trailing wet kisses over your chest, his lips drag down your sternum before slipping one of his hands between your thighs. He's lazy about it at first, tracing idle circles against the inside of your thigh, like he's in no rush, or like he doesn't already feel how warm and wet you are sitting right on top of him.
You shift your hips, needing more, trying to grind down on him, but Jake just smiles against your skin. "Getting needy already, baby?" he murmurs, moving your panties to the side with two fingers, knuckles brushing deliberately light against your folds, teasing. "You're already wet," he mutters, almost to himself. His thumb grazes just barely over your clit, featherlight. "You know what that does to me?"
You whine and he grins like he's won something. But then his grin falters when you grab his wrist and hold it still.
Your voice is soft. "Jake."
He glances up at you.
"Stop teasing."
Before he can say anything back, you push firmly at his chest with both hands and he lets you. Lets himself fall back onto the mattress with a small gasp of surprise that turns into a breathless laugh.
"Shit," he laughs under his breath, one arm behind his head now, the other resting on your thigh. "You don't even let me pretend I'm in control anymore, huh?"
You raise a brow as you settle over him properly, your hands moving down his torso, nails dragging just enough to make him tense.
He bites his lip, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, already drunk on the way you’re naked above him and so sure of what you want.
Jake's always had game. He's had his fun, knew what it meant to chase and win. But with you? With you, it's never been a game.
Your palm works him over his cock through his sweats, slow and deliberate, your thumb catching the outline of him through the fabric just right, and Jake's head tips back into the pillow with a strangled sound, breath hitching like he absolutely cannot help it.
"F–fuck," he whimpers, hips twitching up into your hand. "I love you. I'm so in love with you."
You lean down, nuzzling your nose against his cheek, voice soft and syrupy as you coo, "Yeah? You love me, Jakey?"
He nods fast, his chest rising and falling hard beneath you, completely gone for you already, and you hum sweetly like you're proud of him, almost like you're indulging a boy who's trying so hard to be good.
You tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, just enough to free his cock, and he lifts his hips obediently, still panting.
And when you finally pull him out, your eyes widen.
"Oh my god," you gasp, like you haven't seen him a hundred times before.
Jake lets out a breathless laugh, flushed and glowing with affection. "You do that every time," he grins.
You wrap your hand around him, giving one firm, languid stroke, eyes still fixed in reverence. "It shocks me every time."
Jake groans, both hands flying up to grip your hips now cause he needs to hold on to something, as if the worship in your voice is just as dangerous as your touch.
"Baby," he breathes, already dizzy, "please..."
His hands tighten on your hips. "My heart," he says, breathless but steady, "can you sit on it for me?"
Your brows lift in teasing surprise. "You asking nicely now?"
He leans up, kisses the swell of your breast before dragging his mouth to your neck. "Please," he murmurs against your skin.
You giggle, glancing down between your bodies where he's hard and leaking pre cum against your stomach. You drag your fingers over his tip and grin when he twitches. "Jakey, I don't know...it's so big. Not sure I can take it."
He lets out a full bodied groan and his hands shoot up to cover his face like your words physically broke something in him. "Fuck—don't say that."
You laugh, warm and wicked, and reach down to line him up with your pussy.
He peeks through his fingers at you, eyes dark and glassy. "You know what that does to me."
You lean in, kiss his jaw and whisper, "I do, baby." Slowly sinking yourself down on his cock, and Jake's mouth falls open around a gasp so needy it makes your stomach flip.
All his confidence and playboy charm melts into raw want for you. And you know he wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world, so when you settle fully on him with you clit nearly brushing his pubic bone, you gasp at the stretch like it's brand new, even though he's been inside you more times than you can count.
Jake watches with blown pupils, biting down on a groan as your walls flutter around him. You're breathless, clutching his shoulders, eyes glazed and already starting to tremble from how deep in your cunt he hits.
But it's still you who says it first, voice all sweet, whiny, and almost demanding. "Please fuck me, Jakey."
That’s truly all he needs and he doesn’t even hesitate, his hands lock under your thighs and he drives his cock up into you, fucking you from below with a pace so sharp it knocks the air from your lungs. The slap of skin on skin fills the room instantly, his hips pistoning up into yours like he's making up for every second he ever spent apart from you.
You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, clinging to him as your head tips back. “Oh!—Just like that, baby!”
"You take me so well," he pants, staring up at you with so much love and adoration. "Always do. So fucking good for me."
You can't even answer cause with every snap of his hips, your body jerking helplessly every time he hits that spot inside you just right and you're jus too far gone, moaning as your thighs start to tremble,
Your moans get higher, needier, and Jake just holds you tighter, fucking you harder like he knows you're getting close. “Ah—Shit! I love this pussy—I love you.”
And the you whimper his name in that high pitched tone, he already knows what’s coming.
"Jake...Jake, please..." He groans, lifting his whole body and head to kiss you through it, breath hot and desperate against your mouth.
His hand slips between your bodies without thinking too much, fingers finding that sensitive little clit and the moment he starts rubbing tight, practiced circles into it, your whole body jolts, your hips stutter as well as your breath.
"Jake—" you cry out, the sound thin and wrecked as your orgasm nears.
"I've got you," he says, voice husky and strained as he keeps thrusting up into you. "Come on, baby. Cum for me."
Your eyes roll back, mouth falling open as your walls clamp down hard around his cock. You never had a shot, not with his cock so deep and thick inside you, not with his fingers rubbing so deliciously at your clit.
Your orgasm slams into you with a force that makes your back arch and your nails dig into his shoulders, shaking as pleasure floods your veins. “Oh my—F-Fuck! Jake! I’m cumming! I’m cumming for you!”
You're moaning his name like it's the only word you know, clenching around him so tight he practically growls.
"Fuck—you're so tight—" Jake's hands grip your hips, fingers digging in. "Gonna cum, baby—gonna fill you up—"
He snaps his hips up one, two, three more times before burying himself deep with a sharp gasp, thick ropes of cum spilling inside you as he lets out a low, trembling groan against your shoulder. “Just like that, take it baby.”
His whole body tenses, as he continues to fuck his cum deeper into your pussy, before melting beneath you and wrapping his arms around your waist cause he needs to come back to earth.
You sit there on his cock, fucked out with your body is still twitching from aftershocks, then he sits up presses a soft kiss to your collarbone and speaks, almost dazed, "I love you. You know that right?."
Your chest heaves just like his as you try to catch your breath as well, your skin is dewy and flushed, thighs still trembling slightly where they cradle his hips. Jake lies beneath you, hair stuck to his forehead and completely ruined and glowing in the aftermath.
His cock stays buried inside you, still thick but it’s starting soften and warm from his and your cum.
Jake's eyes are barely open when you start to move again, just with slow and lazy rolls of your hips, like you're testing him, like you already miss the stretch. His eyes snap up to meet yours, wide and glassy.
"Baby..." he rasps, voice rough with the tail end of his orgasm. "Again?"
You nod, bottom lip between your teeth, hands planted firmly on his chest as you grind your hips just right. He twitches inside you, not fully hard yet again, but your walls squeeze around him like you're coaxing him back to life.
"Need you hard again, baby." You whisper, a little whine slipping into your voice. "Want more."
Jake actually groans but his hands flying to your waist regardless, it’s not to stop you, it’s to anchor himself.
"You're insatiable," he mutters, head dropping back on the pillow. "You know that?"
You giggle breathlessly, grinding down again. "But you like it, don’t you?"
He laughs, weak but wrecked, already feeling himself swell inside you again. "Fuck, of course I do, you know I do."
He’s already giving in, letting you use him, letting you move how you want, letting you chase what you need. Because you always take what you want from him and Jake fucking lives for it.
His finger squeeze your waist as your hips keep rocking against him, slow but hungry and so greedy, so fucking sweet about it, whining for more when he's still soft and sensitive. It has his head spinning.
"God, you're gonna kill me," he groans, voice low and shaky.
But you just smile down at him, hips grinding insistently, eyes all sparkly with mischief and need.
That's what does it.
He sits up with a sudden growl and grabs your thighs, flipping you onto your back in one smooth quick motion that makes you squeal and giggle. Before you can protest, he's sliding your leg up, hooking it over his shoulder and settling between your thighs again, his cock already twitching back to life as it presses against your slick pussy.
"Since you don't know when to stop..." he mutters, leaning over you, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips, "guess I'll have to fuck it out of you."
You gasp, fingers digging into his arms as he ruts forward slowly, stretching you out and you're still so wet and swollen around him from your first orgasm that he slips right back in. A shaky moan tumbles from your lips as he bottoms out, and Jake watches your face melt with satisfaction.
"There she is," he breathes, cupping your jaw. "Always so ready for me."
You try to sass him, you open your mouth with something smug, but then he draws his hips back and slams back in deep, and all you can do is cry out and clutch at his arms. “Jake! Fuck!”
He grins. "Yeah? You like that, baby?"
With your leg slung over his shoulder, every thrust drives his cock in at a perfect, punishing angle, he’s so deep it punches the air from your lungs, makes your head tilt back and your fingers claw down his back.
"Yes Jake—"
He groans low at the sound of his name from your lips, fucking in harder and rougher now, one hand gripping your thigh, the other pressing down beside your head.
"Fuck, baby," he pants, voice wrecked and breathless. "You feel so good—so tight, still?"
You're barely holding on, moaning so high and needy with your eyes fluttering. "Because I want you all the time," you whisper, drunk on the stretch and the rhythm of him. "Wanna fuck all the time."
Jake curses, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. "That's fucking insane," he gasps, his hips jerking for a moment. "You're—Fuck."
You hold him tighter, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as your leg slips from his grip, both feet now planted flat so you can rock up to meet every thrust. Your mouths meet in a messy kiss, full of panting breaths and whispered "I love you"s between the moans as he fucks you into the sheets.
You gasp, "Oh baby, please don't stop," he just nods frantically, already lost in you all over again.
His thrusts slow as he feels your body start to tighten again, that telltale tremble of both your orgasms building. You're gasping his name, legs shaking on either side of his hips, hands gripping at his arms so hard he’s sure you’re gonna leave marks.
"That's it, baby," he pants, breath hot against your cheek as he presses his forehead to yours. "You gonna cum for me again? I can feel it—fuck, you're squeezing me so tight—"
Your nails dig into his shoulders and your voice breaks. "Jake—Jake—I'm—"
He doesn't let up his thrust, he continues to fuck his cock into your cunt deeper and faster. "Make you cum for me. Let me feel it."
Your back arches, mouth falling open in a soundless cry, and then it hits again and your whole body jolts as you gush your release around him, warmth flooding between your legs. Jake groans, deep and raw, watching you as it happens.
"Holy shit, baby—look at you," he breathes, eyes glued to where your bodies meet. His fingers slip down instinctively, sliding through the mess of cum and squirt and pushing two inside you with ease, curling them so deep, you jerk under him, overstimulated, crying out, but he's grinning like he's the one being worshipped.
"Yeah baby," he rasps, fucking his fingers into your cunt so fast and deep, he's coaxing out every last tremble, every aftershock. "You're so fucking perfect—fuck, I love when you do that."
You're whining, twitching beneath him, but not stopping him either and he knows you won't, especially when you don't even pause to catch your breath. You're already pushing up, hands slipping against his sweat-slick skin, eyes glassy and blown wide with lust.
"Baby—" he starts, but you're pushing him on his back again and wrapping your mouth around his cock in one desperate and hungry motion.
Jake chokes on a moan, his head falling back with a thud against the pillow. "F—fuck, baby..."
You're still shaking from your own orgasm, but your mouth sucks him so good with your lips stretched wide and your eyes fluttering shut as you take his cock deeper in your throat that tightens around him. He's still wet from you, slick and throbbing on your tongue, and the mix of it all makes your head spin.
"Jesus—shit," Jake growls, both hands fisting in your hair as he begins thrusting into your throat, fast and controlled, his hips twitching as he groans through his teeth.
"You're—fuck—you're gonna make me cum," he breathes, voice strained, eyes locked on the obscene sight of you between his legs with your cheeks hollowed, looking so fucking pretty even now.
You hum around him, fingers digging into his thighs for balance, tears prickling at your lashes as he hits the back of your throat again and again. He swears under his breath, tightening his grip in your hair, one hand cupping the back of your head as he starts to move a little rougher, chasing that high you're dragging out of him like it's yours.
"Fuck—just like that—don't stop—don't—"
"Y/n—Baby." He groans, jerking into your mouth as he cums hard, hips stuttering, holding your head down on him while he spills down your throat.
His hands fall away, and you finally pull back, swallowing his cum with a soft gasp. Your lips are swollen and your cheeks are flushed but you're smiling up at him cause to you, you've done nothing out of the ordinary.
"Holy shit," he whispers, grinning up as you flop half on top of him and on the bed.
His skin is warm, still damp from sweat, and his voice is soft and sweet when he starts talking.
"We should go to the farmer's market tomorrow," he says through breaths, turning his face toward you with a sleepy smile. "Get that jelly you like. Maybe brunch after...or just come back and stay in bed all day."
You hum in agreement, eyes half-lidded as you turn to face him. "Mhm. That sounds perfect."
He's still talking, "We could also check out that new restaurant you wanted to try—" Then he feels your leg slides over his, bare skin gliding against his thigh as you spread yourself open beside him. His voice stutters, pauses, but he doesn't think much of it until your hand finds his.
Still speaking so sweetly, like he doesn't even notice what's happening, Jake continues, "And maybe get stuff for dinner too. We could try that new reci—"
You take his hand and slowly guide it down your stomach, between your thighs...but instead of stopping on your pussy like he expects, you slide his fingers just a little further back.
He stops talking and his brows knit. "Wait..." he breathes, lifting himself onto one elbow to look down at where you're gently positioning him, not quite shy, but quiet.
"Oh?" His voice lifts a little, soft and surprised, fingers frozen in place.
"Here?" he asks, tilting his head, eyes searching your face.
You nod, biting your lip, pupils wide, cheeks heated, just the tiniest bit nervous but far more excited. Jake's heart patters at the sight.
He blinks, then lets out the softest, most reverent little, "Fuck," as his fingers twitch against your hole.
He goes still for a second before glancing down at you with a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Jake huffs a soft laugh, rubbing his fingers gently where you've placed him. "You really want that again?"
Your lips part in a quiet sigh. "Mhm. Haven't stopped thinking about it."
He grunts in his throat, already adjusting his position to hover over you, his hand still between your thighs. "God, baby...you're unbelievable."
"Please," you whisper.
Jake leans down, kissing your neck with a grin. "Okay, baby."
Jake does exactly what you ask without question, without teasing this time, without dragging it out. Just the steady glide of his fingers, slick with you, working your hole open with practiced care. He knows what you like now. Knows how to curve them just right, how much pressure to apply, when to slow down and when to ruin you.
You're shaking under him, body arching, fists gripping at the sheets. Your eyes flutter back and your mouth falls open but no real words are coming out, just breathy, broken sounds that melt into helpless little moans.
"Fuck, princess," Jake breathes, watching your face like he's obsessed. "Look at you."
You're drooling and you don't even care. Your brain's gone soft and syrupy, babbling nonsense, hiccupping between whines. "So full...s'too good, Jake— I—"
"You can," he murmurs, curling his fingers deeper. "You asked for it, baby."
You whimper hard at that, thighs squeezing around his hand.
Jake leans down, kissing your jaw, your ear, whispering all the filth you crave like praise. "My pretty girl. So greedy for me, huh? Couldn't even wait. Got your fill twice and now you want more."
"Need it," you mewl, "need you— please, please—"
"You have me," he says, voice thick devout as he strokes his own cock back to life, and pushes it in your hole just enough to have you gasping again, moaning as your body clenches hard around his cock.
His thrusts start slow, so deep into you and deliberate, loving the way you squeeze around him and trying not to lose it too fast. Every push forward is a grind of his hips and a filthy exhale against your skin.
But then he hears that sweet little whine you make and he feels your fingers dig into his back, he loses all his patience.
"That's it, baby," His voice is shaking. "Doing so good."
Then his pace starts to speed up, his hips snap harder and sharper. Each thrust makes the pressure mount, your breath hitching as your body rocks forward with every stroke. He holds you firmly, one hand pressing into the mattress, the other one at your hip—dragging you down so his cock can slide deeper and deeper into your ass.
The drag of him against your walls is so intense, even his hips are starting to jerk erratically in their movements, his body slick with sweat, every nerve in him frayed and completely on fire, but he doesn't stop. He can't. Not when you're shaking like this beneath him with tears in your eyes from how good he’s fucking you, so good that you're clawing at him.
He's already come twice and his body sore and overstimulated, but none of it matters cause he has to make you cum one time.
"C'mon, princess," he pants into your neck, his voice is bordering on a little whimper now, "need you to cum for me—give it to me, yeah?"
You nod, your fingers digging into his back. "Jake—I'm—I'm close—"
"I know," he says, sliding a hand between your bodies, thumb immediately circling your clit just the way he knows you like it as he continues to fuck your ass faster and harder, his rhythm never faltering even when his whole body twitches from the overstimulation.
"Fuck—!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut, thighs locking around him.
Jake moans when he feels you start to clench again, the grip of your body making him curse into your skin. "That's it. Just like that. Be good for me, baby—cum for me."
Your body listens to him and you cum so hard and loud, you’re nearly sobbing through it, your whole body shaking as you gush your release around him again.
Jake groans like he's in pain and pleasure all at once, overstimulated out of his mind but still working his thumb through your orgasm, riding it out with you, whispering, "That's my girl. So good for me. So good."
He's trembling too, face buried in your neck, still inside you, still twitching, but all he cares about is the way you're still falling apart in his arms.
"You've got one more in you," Jake whispers, lips brushing your cheek. "I know you do. Be good for me, baby. Just one more, yeah?"
You're still shaking with how hard your third orgasm just rocked you, but you nod, because you know he knows exactly how to touch you that’ll have that fourth orgasm he wants dragged it out of you.
"You know," he says, lips curling into something darker, "the guys still think you're some sweet little thing who doesn't even let me touch her."
Your eyes snap open.
"They really think I'm suffering over here. Poor Jake, dating the world's most innocent girl," he chuckles in your ear, his fingers pressing harder, cock thrusting faster and faster just the way you need. "Wonder what they'd say if they saw you like this."
"Jake—" you gasp, nails raking down his back. "Don't— don't say that—"
"Why not?" he groans, barely holding on himself. "Look at you. Fucking soaked for me. Begging me to fuck your ass. Taking my cock like this—over and over."
You're gone, completely unraveling under him with your hips bucking, your back arching and a scream caught in your throat as you fall apart, wet and messy and uncontrollable.
Jake watches it all with a dark, fucked out smile, his lips on your cheek as he whispers, "Yeah...real fucking innocent, huh?" His words slam into you like a wave. You arch off the bed, fingers tangling in the sheets, mouth falling open in an enraptured cry.
"Fuck!" you sob, hips bucking involuntarily around his hand and his cock. "Oh god—Jake—"
You're shuddering and everything going white at the edges, and then you cum again, for the fourth time. You squirt around his fingers and cock again, every muscle spasming as you cry out his name again and again, lost in the release.
Jake drops his mouth right where you’re squirting so he can get some into his mouth and suck down on your clit, to guide you through each quaking wave. One of his hands trails back to finger your ass while the other one strokes his cock until he cums into the sheets.
“Yes baby—Oh shit!”
His tongue keeps tracing delicate patterns over your clit and your whole pussy that keep you teetering on the edge even as you ride out your climax before pulling back and looking down at you.
When you look up at him, he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out, then he drapes himself over you, chest slick against yours, breath heavy and shallow as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck.
"Baby..." he starts, boneless and spent. "You're insane."
You giggle, tracing lazy circles along the curve of his spine, still catching your own breath.
He gave you everything, held you down and pulled you apart until your body trembled under his, until he had nothing left to give. And now he's here, lips brushing your collarbone with every exhale, trying to hang on to consciousness.
"We should try double penetration." You say, running your fingers through his hair and feeling his body stiffen at your words as his head lifts slightly to look into your eyes.
"What?"
You grin. "You know. Your cock and a dildo. Just once."
Jake's eyes flutter close and open again, the look he gives you is somewhere between bewilderment and disbelief. His mouth opens like maybe he wants to say something, but doesn't even know where to start.
"Princess," he breathes, collapsing back down on top of you with a dramatic groan. "You might actually kill me one day."
You hum sweetly, threading your fingers through his damp hair. "You'd like it."
"I know I would. That's the problem." He grins against your skin. "Let me survive tonight first."
You laugh, soft and warm beneath him, already thinking about which toy you'll pick and feeling his breathing go even.
He falls asleep like that, with his arms wrapped around you, utterly spent, murmuring something about needing to train for you like it's a sport. And as you run your fingers through his hair, smiling to yourself, one thing's crystal clear.
Jake's friends have no idea just how completely undone he is by you.
➺ a/n: who wants a boyfriend like jake? MEEEEE!!!!
➢ pairing: cowboy!jake x fem!reader … ﹒cowboy au, strangers to lovers, smut \\ ➢ synopsis: 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. a small-town, slow-burn, filthy little game of who breaks first. ➢ word count: 9.5k
➢ warnings: smut!! minors dni. oral sex (f and m receiveing), unprotected sex (dont do it!!), public-ish sex, dirty talk, possessive!jake, softdom!jake, bratty!reader, spanking, cum eating, praise and degradation, cowboy kink™, jake is a menace but so are you, yeehaw but make it slutty
you’re wiping down the counter when you say it, voice low and lazy, like it’s just another tuesday night and not the kind of sentence that rearranges a man’s brain chemistry.
“i like my boys playing hard to get.”
you don’t mean it to land anywhere in particular. you’re just talking, tossing it out there between gossip, your voice sweet, meant only for the girl beside you. so she laughs, nudges you with her hip. “you mean the ones who ghost you after three days?”
“no,” you sigh, stretching like a cat behind the bar. “i mean the ones who pretend they don’t care. the ones too proud to beg. makes it more fun when they do.”
you say it like it’s a joke, but you mean every word. and across the room, jake sim hears you.
he hadn’t meant to. hadn’t even realized he was eavesdropping until the words tangled around him. he’s not the type to pay attention to chatter. he’s been coming to this place for years, knows how to tune out the flirting and the country drawls and the clink of empty glasses. but your voice is different. and he’s seen you around, of course. everyone has.
you’re the kind of girl people build myths around. the kind they write country songs about, because you have a laugh that could ruin a man. and every guy in town’s tried his luck. most ended up a little poorer, a little dumber, and twice as obsessed. and you never even blinked.
so when you breeze past his table, tray balanced on your palm, perfume trailing like a challenge, jake doesn’t move. doesn’t shift, doesn’t look up from his drink. not obviously, at least. he doesn’t give you the satisfaction. and you notice. oh, you notice. because you’re used to stares, to whistles and clumsy compliments and boys who fall over themselves to hand you things you never asked for. you’re used to the way they sit up straighter when you walk by, the way their words fumble out of their mouths like dropped coins.
but this one? this one just sits there. quiet and unmoved.
you catch him watching only once, just once, when you lean forward to grab a bottle from the bottom shelf, and when your eyes flick up, his are already somewhere else. not pretending, not faking it, just gone. and it pisses you off more than it should.
you don’t say anything. you just toss your hair over your shoulder and smile at the other girl again, louder this time. “i like my men all incompetent,” you declare, tucking a dollar into your apron, “and i swear they choose me, i’m not choosing them.”
jake lifts his beer to his lips, slow. doesn’t smile. doesn’t even smirk. and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel in control of the game. you hate that, but you also love that.
but you definitely hate rodeos.
too loud and sweaty. too many men with too little brain and too much cologne. it’s just the same loop every time—horses, hats, hollering, and someone calling you “sweet cheeks” like that’s supposed to make you blush instead of gag. normally, you stay far away. but tonight’s different. because you heard jake sim was riding.
so you show up. late, of course, on purpose. your boots crunch over dirt and beer cans as you make your way through the crowd, hips swinging just enough to remind everyone you don’t walk, you arrive. every man you pass straightens his spine like you might look at him if he behaves, and every woman rolls her eyes in that half-jealous way they always do.
but you don’t care. you’re not here for them. you’re here for the man on the horse.
and when you spot him, out in the pen, one hand gripping the reins, the other resting light against his thigh, you feel that slow, low flutter in your stomach that tastes a little like trouble. because he’s wearing that stupid hat again, the same beat-up one that sits just low enough to make his eyes a mystery and his mouth a promise. his shirt’s rolled up to the elbows, collar unbuttoned, forearms dusted with dirt and sin. he looks like sin. he rides like sin.
you lean against the fence, pop a piece of gum into your mouth, and pretend you’re not watching. but you are, everyone is. but he doesn’t look into the crowd, not once. he doesn’t wave, doesn’t show off, doesn’t even smile. he just focuses—on the gate, on the bull, on the seconds ticking down before the chaos. there’s something precise about it, almost like he’s not here to perform, just to win.
and you hate how hot that is.
when the gate finally opens and he bursts out, body moving like he’s part of the beast beneath him, the whole crowd goes wild. people scream, hats fly, beer spills. but you just chew your gum and watch. he holds on longer than anyone else that night. and when he lands, smooth and sharp and smug, your stomach does a traitorous little flip.
he still doesn’t look at you. not even when he walks past, later, towel slung over his shoulder, shirt sticking to his back, sweat dripping down his neck like something out of a country girl’s fantasy.
you’re standing by the concession stand now, pretending to look at overpriced chili fries when he walks right past you again. and for the first time, maybe in ever, you don’t know what to do with that. because everyone looks at you. everyone wants something from you.
but jake sim? jake sim doesn’t even blink.
you pop your gum again, louder than necessary. he still doesn’t turn. bastard. so you lick your lips, tilt your head, and mutter just loud enough for the girl next to you to hear—just loud enough for him to maybe hear, too— “god, i hate cowboys.”
except you don’t. you really, really don’t.
so you decide to wear red on saturday. not a soft red. not a muted, tasteful, wine-country red. no, this is bright, dangerous, stop-sign red. the kind that glitters when you walk and blasphemes when you bend. you slip it on slow, knowing exactly what it does to your body and your ego. it’s the kind of dress that starts fights and finishes them.
you don’t wear it for him, not technically. but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t check your lipstick twice before heading to the bar, or if you hadn’t spent a good three minutes wondering if jake sim was the type of man who noticed sequins.
(it turns out—he isn’t.)
he’s already there when you walk in, sitting in his usual corner like a piece of furniture carved from patience and denim. same hat, same shirt, same maddeningly blank expression. he doesn’t flinch when you walk by. doesn’t scan your legs like every other man. doesn’t lean over to whisper something to his friend and then laugh too loud. he just looks. once. and then looks away.
you could scream. instead, you smile. you spend the next hour putting on a show—not for him, of course, never that. just for… the atmosphere. you take extra time leaning over the bar. you laugh a little louder, let your fingers trail longer. you flirt, you twirl, you dance like you’re made of sugar and smoke.
and he just sits there. solid. steady and stoic in the face of sin.
when the jukebox shifts to something slow and sweaty, your friend pulls you out from behind the bar and spins you onto the floor. you go willingly, you always do. you dance with her, and then with some other guy, who’s a terrible flirt but a decent dancer. you laugh as you move, hips swaying, hands up, hair stuck to your neck. people cheer, whistles echo. someone shouts your name.
and still, jake sim doesn’t look. he sits there, beer untouched, fingers drumming slowly against the table. his eyes are on the wall, or the floor, or nowhere at all. you want to throw a chair at him. instead, you press your body just a little closer, let your head tip back, your laughter bubble out like champagne.
and for half a second, just half, you swear you can feel his gaze. but by the time you glance over, it’s gone.
you finish the dance anyway, cheeks flushed from effort or ego or something worse, and when you walk past jake’s table again, you pause. just enough. he still doesn’t say anything. but his knuckles are white around the bottle, and that’s something.
and you’re not much of a smoker, not really. it’s more about the image. the ritual of it—door swinging shut behind you, the hum of the saloon dulling into background noise, a lighter flicked slowly. you like the weight of the cigarette between your fingers, the way it makes your mouth look meaner. you especially like the way people look at you when you do it.
on sunday, though, the sidewalk is mostly empty. the neon sign above the door buzzes like it’s dying, and your heels click against the pavement. you’re alone, almost. because he’s there. leaning against his truck—of course it’s a truck, stupid and long and matte black— arms crossed, hat low, chewing on a toothpick like he was placed there by god.
you try not to look. but of course you fail.
“you always stand like that,” you say, taking a drag and blowing smoke sideways, “or is this a special occasion?”
he doesn’t turn, god, he doesn’t even smile. “like what?” he asks, voice low and scratchy, like he only uses it when necessary.
you flick ash toward the gravel and shift your weight, one hip out, just enough to suggest: i am here and i am wearing very little. so you say: “like you’re being painted,” you say. “by someone too obsessed with denim.”
that gets a reaction, barely—a twitch at the corner of his mouth. nothing close to a smile, but you count it anyway. “you don’t like denim?” he asks.
“i like it just fine,” you say, letting your eyes travel up and down. “i just think it likes you a lot.”
he hums, quiet and unfazed. the toothpick shifts from one side of his mouth to the other with devastating nonchalance. “you always flirt like that?” he asks finally, and it’s almost cruel, the way he says it—like he’s calling you out without even looking at you.
you tilt your head. “like what?”
“like you’re bored.”
you take another drag, slower this time. it buys you a second. maybe two. “i’m not bored,” you say. “i’m offended.”
he finally looks at you then. really looks. not a glance, not a flick of the eyes, but a slow, full scan that starts at your boots and ends at your mouth. “offended?”
“yeah,” you say. “you’re the first man in town who hasn’t tried to get a shot with me.”
he raises an eyebrow. your breath hitches, and you curse yourself for it. because god damn it. he pushes off the truck, and he steps forward, just one step, just close enough for you to smell him. smoke and leather and desert heat. “that why you came out here?” he asks. “to collect another admirer?”
“no,” you say, a little too quickly. “i came out to smoke.”
he nods, glances at your cigarette. “you’re holding it backwards.”
you look down, you are. shit.
he walks past you then, amused and infuriatingly tall, back toward the saloon. and just before the door swings shut behind him, he tosses the toothpick into the dirt and says, without looking: “you’ll have better luck with someone who gives a damn, sweetheart.”
you stand there for a minute, blinking smoke out of your eyes, lips parted in disbelief, cigarette still backwards in your hand. you don’t know whether to chase him or marry him. probably both.
the annual summer festival happens a week later, and the whole town’s lost its damn mind. kids run wild, drunk uncles argue, and there’s a man singing country ballads off-key on the main.
and you look stunning, obviously. short dress, boots too clean to be from here, a pair of sunglasses you don’t need but wear anyway. you walk through the crowd like you’re not sweating like everyone else. and your arm? it’s linked tightly through lee heeseung’s. the sheriff’s son. walking cologne bottle. he thinks calling women “sugar tits” is flirtation and not a felony. you smile like he’s the most charming thing this town’s ever coughed up. and across the lot, jake sees everything.
he’s standing near the fence, drink in hand, chewing on his pride. he looks like a warning sign, his arms crossed so tight his biceps look like they’re planning a mutiny. he doesn’t blink, he doesn’t even pretend not to be watching. you glance at him once, and once is enough.
you laugh louder. lean closer to heeseung, who’s talking about god-knows-what—his truck, his workout, his daddy’s badge—and you nod like you care. every move is calculated. every smile is a weapon. because you know exactly what you’re doing. so you excuse yourself after a while, muttering something about needing another drink, slipping away from heeseung before he can say something else that’ll make your ears bleed. you walk through the back, your boots clicking fast.
you’re halfway to the bar when you feel a heat at your back.
“fun night?” his voice is behind you. dry and quiet.
you don’t turn around right away. you let the moment hang. and then you say, “depends,” running a hand through your hair like it’s not dripping down your neck. “you havin’ fun watching?”
he steps in closer. you feel him before you see him, his chest just a breath away from your shoulder. “you always hang off men you don’t like?” he asks, voice low enough to make your knees consider collapsing.
you shrug. “what makes you think i don’t like him?”
“you’re bored. i know what you look like when you’re havin’ fun.”
you hate how that line makes your stomach twist. hate it more that he’s right. so you finally turn to face him, hands on your hips, head tilted with mock sweetness. “what, jealous?”
he laughs. it’s short and dark. “of lee heeseung?” he scoffs. “sweetheart, i’m jealous of his dog before i’m jealous of him.”
you bite your lip to hide the smile, and you fail. “then why are you here?” you ask, eyes locking onto his.
he leans in, just enough to make you dizzy. his gaze dips—down your lips, down your throat, down your dress—and lingers there, shameless. he looks like he wants to say more. or do more. and you kind of wish he would. but instead, he straightens up, steps back, and lets the space between you fill with heat again.
“because, darling, next time you wanna get under someone’s skin,” he says, “maybe pick a man who ain’t wearin’ daddy’s badge.”
and just like that, he turns and walks off. no touch. not even a goddamn smirk. you’re left standing there, pulse racing, drink forgotten, mouth parted like a woman halfway to disaster.
you fan yourself with your hand, mutter to no one, “fuck my life.”
and over the next few weeks, jake sim makes a habit out of losing his mind quietly.
he tells himself he’s just thirsty. that’s the only reason he keeps showing up to the saloon. he tells himself that every night he parks that stupid truck in the same stupid spot and walks through the same door into the same bar where you’re working, and where you, lately, won’t even look at him.
and that’s what kills him. because you used to look. all big eyes and evil little smiles, like you were constantly cooking up something sinful and he was the poor bastard about to taste it.
but now? now you barely glance in his direction. you walk past him like he’s just another part of the furniture. take other tables. pour drinks with your back to him. laugh at other men’s jokes.
and jake watches silently. desperately. he tries not to, he really does. but his eyes betray him every time. they flick to you the second you walk by—legs bare, hair pulled back with a pen, lips glossed to hell. you smell like vanilla and cigarette smoke, and it’s infuriating how much he wants to bite that smell off your throat.
and the worst part is that he knows you’re doing it on purpose. because sometimes, just sometimes, he catches the way your mouth twitches when you pass his table. the way you shift your weight a little slower, lean over a little further when you’re grabbing something. and when he doesn’t look up—when he pretends not to notice—you bite your lip like you’re trying not to laugh.
you’re playing hard to get. which is adorable, really. but it works. fuck, it works.
jake sim, who’s spent most of his adult life being aggressively unbothered, now sits at this bar like a man possessed. he sips beer and imagines things he shouldn’t. he watches your mouth wrap around straws and thinks about how it’d look wrapped around something else entirely. he stares at your hands pouring drinks and thinks about them fisting in his shirt, pressed against his belt, sliding down—
he coughs. shifts in his seat. takes another sip and pretends like he’s not half hard just because you leaned against the fridge five minutes ago.
he doesn’t talk to you. hasn’t, since the festival. because that would mean giving in. and if there’s one thing jake sim is worse at than feelings, it’s losing. but god, the way you walk? the way you smile at the wrong people? the way you drop the occasional “cowboy” into a sentence like it’s not meant to ruin him?
it’s almost sweet, the way you’re trying to get under his skin. but also: it’s working. and he thinks, not for the first time, that if you asked—if you looked at him a certain way—he’d let you wreck his entire life. you could tie him to the back of his own truck, spit on his mouth, call him useless in front of god and the sheriff, and he’d probably thank you.
but you don’t look at him anymore. you just brush past him one more time, close enough for your skirt to kiss his knee, and say to no one in particular, real sweet: “why so sexy if so dumb?”
and jake swears to god he’s gonna start a bar fight just to calm down.
but the moment you step onto the dirt lot of the fairgrounds, sundress fluttering and sunglasses perched high on your nose, his brain short-circuits. he sees you the second you walk in. he pretends not to, of course. jake sim has made an olympic sport out of pretending you don’t exist. but you’re here, again. and he’s fucked.
he’s in the chute, adjusting his gloves, boots already caked in dust, chest strapped down tight like it might explode. he tells himself to focus on the ride, on the bull, on anything but the way your thighs are peeking out from under that goddamn dress.
you shouldn’t be here. he was hoping you’d show up, obviously, but now that you’re actually here, it feels like a setup. like god’s decided to make him fail in front of everyone and look good doing it. so he refuses to look directly at you. not while you’re standing near the fence, leaning against the railing like you’re modeling for the “ruin a man” calendar. not while you’re laughing at something some poor bastard just said, tossing your hair over your shoulder. and certainly not when you suck on that red snow cone.
he adjusts his hat lower. counts backward from ten. tries to remember how to breathe.
he’s still got it under control—mostly—until the moment he’s mounting the bull and glances toward the crowd just once. just a peek. and there you are, watching, with your lip between your teeth and a look that could sterilize holy water.
he slips. just a little. just enough for one boot to miss its mark and his hand to falter on the rope. no one notices. not really. but he does.
the ride still goes fine. better than fine, actually. he makes it the full eight seconds, lands smooth, wipes the sweat off his brow like he’s not a mess on the inside. like he didn’t almost fall off a 1,500-pound animal because you were licking syrup off your finger.
later, after the noise dies down, after the dust settles and the crowd starts dispersing into beer and music and gossip, you find him. he’s near the back of the stables, away from the noise. hat off, hair damp, shirt sticking to his back in places that make your hands twitch.
you lean against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted. he sees you coming. of course he does.
you don’t say anything right away. just look him over like you’re checking for bruises. “didn’t fall this time,” you say.
“not for lack of tryin’,” he mutters.
you raise an eyebrow. “the bull or me?”
he doesn’t answer. you take that as a win. so you step closer, slow. toe the dirt with your boot, pretend to be casual. but everything about you tonight is a performance, and he knows it. the cherry lip gloss. the dress with buttons that strain when you breathe. the way you keep shifting your weight like your thighs are begging for attention. you’re trying to get to him, and you are. but he’ll die before he admits it.
“you always ride that well,” you say, voice syrupy and cruel, “or was that just for me?”
“don’t flatter yourself, darlin’.”
“too late,” you grin. “flattered myself the whole way here.”
he laughs at that, but he still doesn’t move. you take another step. now you’re in front of him, barely a breath of air between your bodies. the tension crackles, like something’s about to snap. he looks down at you, his jaw tight, eyes darker than usual. you could kiss him, you could push him. you could drop to your knees and he wouldn’t stop you. but he stays still. and you know what that means. he’s losing it. slowly and deliciously.
so you just smile, all teeth and trouble, and say: “you gonna say thank you for coming, or do i gotta leave and come back so you can do it right?”
he looks down at you and decides—fuck it. if this is a game, he’s gonna play. so his hand lifts. two fingers hook lazily in your belt in your dress, just enough to make your breath hitch and your knees forget how to behave. he doesn’t pull, doesn’t tug, just lets it sit there. you blink up at him like you weren’t expecting him to do this. because you weren't.
“thought you came to watch the ride,” he says, voice like gravel and heat. “didn’t know you were hopin’ to start one.”
you’re stunned for a second, flustered. but you recover fast. your hand comes up, trailing a single finger down the buttons of his shirt, slowly. and you giggle. you say nothing, you only giggle and smile. then you step back, leaving him standing there with nothing but the smell of your perfume and a growing problem in his jeans. he blinks once. twice. and you’re already gone.
a few days later, he sees you again at the gas station. you’re sitting on the hood of your car. your car is pink, of course it’s pink. girly in that deadly way. floral air freshener, fuzzy dice, a sparkly steering wheel cover and a bumper sticker that probably says something like “yee-haw, bitch.”
you’re licking a cherry lollipop. wearing the tiniest pair of shorts known to mankind and a tank top that does nothing to hide your agenda. your legs are crossed, one foot bouncing lazily in the air like you have nowhere to be and every intention of being stared at. and people are staring. two guys walk by, heads snapping so fast they nearly sprain something. an old man in a tractor cap gives a long, disapproving look that lasts until he crashes into a trash can.
you? you smile sweetly. wave. keep sucking on that lollipop like you’re not ruining lives. and jake watches from the far pump, arms crossed, jaw tight, trying so hard not to enjoy the sight of you doing exactly what you do best.
and then, just like you’ve sensed him from across the lot, you slide off the hood, sway your hips across the concrete, and approach him with the most dangerous sentence in your arsenal: “cowboy,” you say, “i think i got a flat.”
he raises an eyebrow. looks at your car. no flat. you grin like the liar you are. “could you check for me?” you ask, voice all syrup and fake innocence. “i’d do it myself, but—” you shrug, twisting a strand of hair around your finger. “i don’t wanna chip a nail.”
he stares at you and you stare back. he knows what this is. you want him on his knees. and god help him—he’s thinking about it.
“you sure?” he says, tone dry. “seems like you’re the type to pop a tire just to see what crawls out the woodwork.”
“you caught me,” you beam.
he sighs, but he walks over anyway. you trail behind, delighted, watching him crouch down in front of your car, like he is your personal cowboy-themed thirst trap come to life. he’s in front of you, all strong hands and dirty jeans, touching your tires like it’s a performance.
you lean back against the hood. cross your legs the other way. suck louder on the lollipop, just to be mean. and jake knows the tire’s fine, he also knows he’s losing. and when he looks up—sweat on his brow, eyes half-lidded, gaze landing right between your crossed legs—you don’t say a word. you just smile and keep chewing. you got what you wanted: him on his knees.
and it happens on a thursday. the saloon’s half-full, sticky with the usual noise, and you’ve got a tray in one hand. you spot him before he sees you. or maybe he lets you think that. he’s sitting at the bar, same stool as always. sipping something dark with his hat tipped low and one leg stretched out like the floor belongs to him. he’s talking to someone, a girl you don’t recognize, leaning in just enough to make your stomach twist.
he’s smiling. he never smiles, at least not like that. and that’s when it hits you: he’s doing it on purpose.
your first instinct is to roll your eyes. your second is to walk over there and ruin both their nights. instead, you drop off your tray at the counter, smooth your skirt, and remind yourself that you’re not bothered. not even a little. so you circle around the bar, busy yourself with orders. chat with a guy in a cowboy hat, laugh too loud, lean too close. and eventually, you feel that static buzz that only comes from being watched.
you turn your head, and of course he’s looking. not just looking, jake is devouring. his eyes trail down your legs, up your hips, pause at your chest like he’s making a list of crimes he’d commit if the sheriff weren’t his boss’s daddy. and your heart stutters, your mouth dries. you take a step toward him before you even realize it.
but then he gets up and walks past you, doesn’t say a word. and you think, what the hell?
but then his hand brushes yours, just barely. like an accident that wasn’t an accident. you whip around to say something sharp, but he’s already halfway to the door. and you follow. you don’t mean to, really, but you do. you catch him near the back hallway, one hand braced against the wall, like he knew you’d come after him.
you open your mouth to say something clever, but he steps in real close. close enough that your back hits the wall and your knees almost collapse. “somethin’ wrong, darlin’?” he asks, voice all silk.
“what was that?” you hiss, trying not to stare at his mouth. “flirting with that girl like i wasn’t in the room?”
he smirks. smirks. “didn’t know i needed permission.”
you cross your arms. push your chest up just enough to be annoying. “you’re playing games.”
he shrugs. “so are you.” his hand lifts, not to touch you (the bastard’s too good for that), but to brush a piece of lint off your shoulder. “you looked a little jealous,” he murmurs, voice dipped in sin. “cute look on you.”
your pulse stutters, but you refuse to show it. “you’re gonna die alone,” you say, breathier than intended.
“probably,” he says. “but not before i ruin you first.”
you suck in a breath. his face is right there, close enough that if you leaned forward, you’d taste the whiskey on his lips. you think he might do it, you think maybe this is it. but he doesn’t kiss you. instead, he leans in slow, his breath hot against your cheek, then presses a kiss right there, soft and warm and maddening. the kind of kiss that doesn’t take anything but still leaves you ruined.
then he pulls back. smirking, so smug and infuriating. “goodnight, sweetheart,” he says. and then he walks away, like he didn’t just light a fire in your chest and leave it burning.
and there’s a party on the edge of town on that week—somebody’s cousin’s birthday or maybe just an excuse to drink next to a fire. there’s music blasting out of speakers in the back of a lifted truck, people doing shots, and you’re there, of course, making every poor bastard lose his mind just by existing.
you’re wearing denim shorts and a little white top that ties in the front, and jake sim wants to fight the concept of clothing for making something that looks that illegal.
he sees you before you see him. and he sees heeseung before you do. pretty boy with too-white teeth and too many opinions about his own biceps. he’s been in love with you since high school and never got the hint. but tonight, you’re letting him talk. you’re laughing, you’re standing close. and you don’t even have to look across the fire to know jake’s watching.
you toss your hair over your shoulder. heeseung says something about his new truck and how it “purrs like a mountain cat,” which isn’t a thing, but you smile anyway. you’re about to make some flirty comment just to push it further when a hand wraps around your arm.
not rough, not mean, just firm. you whip around and there he is. jake. his face is unreadable. calm, almost. but his grip says something else entirely.
you blink. “well, hey there, cowboy—”
“walk,” he says.
you try to act annoyed, dramatic. “what if i don’t feel like—”
“walk.”
so you do. he leads you away from the fire, away from the crowd, toward the gravel lot where his truck is. you expect him to say something, yell, maybe. accuse you of something dramatic and delicious. but instead, he spins you around and presses you up against the passenger door.
his hand is still on your arm. the other braces beside your head. his body doesn’t touch yours, not really, but he’s close enough that you can feel the heat off his skin and the tension coiled under it. you blink up at him, wide-eyed and fake-innocent. “is this how you treat all your women, cowboy? dragging them into parking lots and pinning them to cars?”
“no,” he says. “just the ones who know better.”
you gasp softly, it’s almost a laugh. “oh, so now you’re mad?”
he leans in, mouth inches from yours, eyes dark and hungry. “you wore that top on purpose.”
you smirk. “maybe i was hot.”
he looks down, pointedly. “you are. and you know what you’re doin’.”
“do i?”
he exhales sharp through his nose, like he’s trying not to combust. and when he speaks again, his voice is lower. “you really want him to touch you? that what you’re lookin’ for?”
you blink slow and wet your lips. “maybe i just want somebody who actually does it.”
the look on his face shifts just slightly. then he leans in. you think this time it’ll happen, finally, the kiss, the collapse. the moment the game ends. but instead, his lips graze your jaw, not your mouth. his hand dips low, fingers brushing the hem of your shorts like he’s thinking about it.
“you don’t want ‘somebody,’” he whispers. “you want me.” you’re not breathing. he pulls back again, just enough to leave you gasping in the space between what was almost and what still isn’t. “but you’ll have to beg, sweetheart,” he adds, smirking. “and i don’t think you’re ready to do that yet.”
he turns like he’s going to walk away again, like that’s the last word. like he didn’t just light a match and drop it between your legs. but this time, you don’t let him. your hand shoots out fast and grabs his belt loop. he pauses and stills, and slowly, turns his head back toward you.
“you think i won’t?” you ask, voice low and deadly sweet.
he looks down at your hand, still fisted in his jeans like a challenge. then his eyes flick back up to yours—dark, wild, curious. he steps closer, just one step. then another. until he’s right in front of you again, and this time there’s no space. no teasing, no gaps. just you, caught between a truck door and the worst mistake you want to make.
he leans in. both hands come to rest on either side of your head. caging you in and claiming the air between you. “careful now,” he murmurs, voice rough. “you’re not the only one who likes to play.”
and then his knee presses forward, between your legs. you gasp. it’s not subtle, not even a little. he fits it there, deliberate and slow, until your thighs part just enough to make room for the solid weight of him. his thigh is strong and warm. your breath catches and your fingers twitch where they’re tangled in his shirt.
he’s watching your face. watching your mouth, like he’s trying to memorize the exact second you lose composure. but you don’t, you smile. then, slow and wicked, you roll your hips just a little against his thigh—enough to make him grunt, low in his throat, like he wasn’t ready for it. “you started it,” you say, feigning innocence. “don’t get shy now, cowboy.”
he exhales sharp. one of his hands drops and wraps tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him. your shorts ride up. the pressure of his thigh against you gets sharper, filthier, almost unbearable. “you think this is a joke?” he growls.
“no,” you breathe. “i think it’s foreplay.”
his hand tightens. he shifts his thigh just barely upward, grinding it between your legs, and you have to bite your lip to keep the sound in. he leans in, mouth ghosting over your ear. “i could make you come like this,” he says, voice like a sin you want to confess over and over. “right here, against my truck, with nothin’ but my thigh between your legs.”
you shiver, but you smile. “you talk a big game,” you whisper, lips brushing his jaw. “but so far all you’ve done is flex in tight jeans and give me blue balls.”
he lets out a sharp laugh, dangerous. then his hands drop to your hips, grip possessive, and he rolls you against his thigh again. this time harder and filthier. like he wants to see how far you’ll let it go. your knees almost buckle. your head hits the truck window. but your hands are in his hair now, pulling, tugging, dragging his face closer.
and still he doesn’t kiss you. you pant, flushed and desperate and mad as hell. he just smirks. “look at you,” he says. “makin’ a mess on me and i haven’t even touched you proper.”
you glare at him and your lip curls in frustration. “maybe you’re scared.”
he arches a brow. “of what?”
“of me.” you press down hard against his thigh again—your move now, your game—and you feel him tense. feel him curse under his breath like you’ve just won a round he didn’t even know he was playing. you lean in and whisper against his mouth: “i could ruin you.”
he inhales sharp. you swear you hear him mutter fuck. but still, still he doesn’t kiss you. he pulls back, eyes wild, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.
and then he steps away. leaves you there. aching and panting. blinking like you just came out of a trance. “one of these days, sweetheart,” he says, adjusting his belt like he needs a minute. “you’re gonna be the one beggin’.”
and then he climbs into the driver’s seat and drives away. you stare after him, thighs trembling, heart racing, and mutter:
“i’m gonna set his truck on fire.”
and jake sim spends the week trying not to think about you. which is stupid, because you’re everywhere. in his sheets, in his hands, in his mouth when he mutters fuck at two in the morning and fists his hair like it’ll shake you out of his head.
he sees you in the curve of a beer bottle. in the red of a stoplight. in the fucking grocery store, standing in front of a watermelon display like you invented sin.
he can’t focus. can’t sleep. can’t work. every time he bends over a fence or climbs into the truck, he hears your voice in his ear: i could ruin you. every time he closes his eyes, he sees your thighs wrapped around his fucking leg. he’s losing it. actually, clinically losing it.
and the worst part is that he let it happen. he swore he wouldn’t. told himself he wasn’t like the rest of them—the boys who lined up for your attention like fools in heat. he used to watch you tease and twist and toy with every man in town and laugh. not because he didn’t get it, because he did. but now he’s just another name on your list. and he hates it.
he’s a grown man. a cowboy, for christ’s sake. he should be immune to lip gloss and flirty banter and skirts short enough to send him to jail. but he’s not. and the worst part is that you know, you know what you’re doing. you know exactly how to stand, how to talk, how to glance up with that little tilt of your head like oops, did i break you again?
and he’s fucking gone. he’s a freak for it. a perv. he thinks about your mouth at church. he imagines your legs wrapped around his waist when he’s driving. he’s so far gone it’s pathetic.
so on thursday, when the thought of you cleaning up at the saloon alone hits him like a truck, he doesn’t fight it. he gets in the truck, drives like the devil’s chasing him. when he gets there, the bar is dark, empty. just the faint sound of clinking glasses and a broom dragging across the floor.
you’re behind the counter. sweaty and tired. loose hair falling around your face. still the hottest thing he’s ever fucking seen.
the door creaks open. you don’t look up. “we’re closed,” you call out, distracted.
then you lift your head, and you pause. your lips part.
his boots hit the floor. he doesn’t say a word. just crosses the room in four heavy steps, reaches for your wrist, and pulls you in like he needs you to breathe. and then— he kisses you.
not sweet. not shy, not teasing. hot, open and filthy.
he groans when your mouth opens under his, when your fingers clutch his shirt like you’ve been waiting for this just as long. his hands are everywhere, your waist, jaw, the small of your back. he kisses like he’s mad about it, like this is a punishment.
your back hits the counter. your teeth knock. a glass falls off. and still, he kisses you like he’s trying to erase the space between you.
he pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your cheek. “you win,” he mutters. “is that what you wanna hear?”
you’re panting, flushed. “not yet,” you whisper. “i like my man playing real hard to get,” you whisper, breath ghosting his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to tease.
and that’s the moment he snaps. his hands come up, cup your jaw like he’s trying to memorize it, and he kisses you hard, messy and desperate. and you moan, you can’t help it. he tastes like whiskey and salt and everything you’ve been dreaming about at three in the morning.
his hips press forward, tight against yours, grinding you back into the edge of the counter like he wants to leave a dent in your spine. and you grin against his lips. you reach back blindly, “you gonna keep kissing me like a saint,” you pant, pulling back, “or you gonna bend me over something, cowboy?”
his eyes go dark. “oh, you wanna act like a brat now?” he growls.
you smirk. “what gave it away?”
he grabs you, lifts you right off the floor and sets you down on a table like you weigh nothing. your legs part without hesitation and he steps between them, his hips hard against yours, and his hands gripping your thighs like he’s trying to decide which one he wants to ruin first. “look at you,” he mutters, eyes trailing down your body. “pretty little mouth, dirty little attitude.”
you tilt your head, all fake innocence. “you like it.”
he leans in close, mouth against your ear. “i’m gonna fuckin’ break you.”
your breath vanishes. his fingers trail up your thigh, slow, teasing, maddening. he doesn’t go where you want him, but just next to it, brushing the edges, watching you squirm. “i know what you need,” he murmurs. “you need someone to shut that mouth. teach you some fuckin’ manners.”
you wrap your legs around his waist. “you volunteering?”
he laughs, low and filthy. “baby, i’ve been applying for that job all month.” then he grinds forward, slow and mean, dragging a moan out of you that echoes across the empty bar. you gasp and clutch at his shoulders. he grabs your hips, presses them down, holds you there. “no running now,” he mutters. “you been beggin’ for this.”
you roll your hips up into his. “you liked it.”
he groans, kissing down your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp again. “liked it so much i nearly wrecked my truck thinkin’ about you.” his hand slips under your top. calloused fingers on your skin, rough and reverent all at once. he palms your chest like he’s claiming it. like he’s mad you let anyone else look. you arch into him, moaning. “so impatient,” he teases, voice a growl. “what happened to makin’ me beg, sweetheart?”
“shut up and fuck me.”
he smirks against your throat. “say please.”
you groan, kick your heels against his ass. “cowboy—”
“say it.”
you hiss, then lean in and bite his lip. “please.”
he pulls back just enough to smirk, breath hot against your lips. “please what?” he asks, voice low, gravel rough.
you glare at him, or at least, you try to. but your legs are wrapped around his waist, your hips aching for friction, and his hand is already creeping up your thigh like he’s got nowhere to be but inside you. so you say it, no shame. no power left to pretend. “please, fuck me, jakey.”
he groans loudly, like the words physically hit him. then he mutters something that sounds like jesus fucking christ, and crashes his mouth into yours. and this kiss is different. it is hungry and starving. he grinds against you, slow and hard, pressing you down into the table with the full weight of his body. your shirt rides up. your back arches. the wood creaks underneath like it might give out, and honestly—if it breaks, let it. you’ll thank it for its service.
his hands are everywhere. palming your thighs, squeezing your ass, gripping your waist like he owns it. “look at you,” he rasps, lips trailing down your throat. “fuckin’ dream girl of the county. all these poor bastards lining up for a smile, and here you are—legs open for me.”
you gasp and whimper and dig your nails into his shoulders. he presses his hips harder, grinds right against where you need him most. your head drops back, your moan echoes. “you love this,” he says, panting now. “bein’ up here where anyone could walk in. where anyone could see you gettin’ ruined by me.” you don’t answer, you can’t. “what happened to that bratty mouth, huh?” he growls, dragging his teeth along your jaw. “where’s all that sass now?”
“shut up,” you breathe. “just—please.”
“beggin’ again?” he taunts. “thought you didn’t do that.”
“i’m making an exception.”
he laughs, dark and hot, and grabs your hips tighter, pulling you to the edge of the table. “you should see yourself right now,” he mutters, undoing his belt with one hand. “look so fuckin’ pretty like this. so desperate.”
“you’re the one that came after me.”
“yeah,” he admits, lining himself up, voice breaking a little, “because i’m a goddamn fool for you.”
and then he pulls back. his hand wraps around your jaw, gentle but firm, tilting your face up to look at him. he’s flushed and panting. pupils blown wide. and his voice, when he speaks, is low and dangerous and thick with control he’s barely holding. “get on your knees.”
your heart stops and your grin widens. “you asking or telling me, cowboy?”
he presses his thumb into your cheek, leans down, kisses the corner of your mouth like he’s being nice before doing something awful. “i’m tellin’ you,” he mutters, “be a good girl and make me feel good.”
you blink slow, mouth open, pretending to think about it. “what’s in it for me?”
his hand slips down, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to make you feel it—not choking, just owning. “my cock in your mouth,” he growls. “and maybe if you do it right, i’ll let you come later.”
your knees buckle, but your pride doesn’t. you hum, all fake sweetness. “guess i could use something to suck on.” you drop to the floor, knees hitting the sticky saloon wood like you belong there. he watches you, chest heaving and jaw tight. trying not to come just from the sight of you looking so cute on your knees for him. you look up at him, eyes wide, lips parted. “you nervous?” you tease.
he barks a laugh. “just waitin’ to see if the mouth that talks so much can finally do something useful.”
you pout. then reach for his belt, slow and dramatic, undoing it like it’s the last gift under a christmas tree. and when his cock springs free, hard, flushed, huge, your mouth waters. you glance up again. “you been thinkin’ about this, haven’t you?”
he hisses as you wrap your hand around him, thumb brushing the tip. “every fuckin’ night,” he admits, voice ragged. “jesus, i’d wake up hard just rememberin’ how you looked struttin’ around in those little shorts behind the bar.”
you stroke him once, twice, slow and sweet. then you lean forward, kiss the tip. just a whisper of a touch. he groans. his hand finds your hair, pulling it already. you drag your tongue along the underside, all the way down, then back up again. he swears, low and filthy. “look at you,” he rasps. “knees on the fuckin’ floor, pretty mouth full of me. you know how many men in this town would give their right hand for this?”
you hum around him. smile with your eyes, because you do know. and you love that it’s you doing this to him. so you take more of him in, then more. until he’s deep in your throat, and he’s gripping the edge of the table so tight you think he might snap it in half. “fuck,” he moans. “that’s it, sweetheart. just like that. takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”
his hips twitch forward. just a little, just enough to make you gag—on purpose, and he loves that. he loves the sound. he loves how messy your mouth is for him. so he starts to move in shallow thrusts. hand in your hair, not rough, but claiming. “you gonna let me come in your mouth, baby?” he groans. “gonna swallow it all, show me how good you are?”
you nod and moan, sucking harder, and that’s it. he gasps, his hips snap forward. his whole body shudders. he comes hard, hot and thick on your tongue, fingers tangled in your hair, voice wrecked. you swallow it all, slowly. wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, like a brat.
you’re still on your knees, lips wet, tongue peeking out in satisfaction like you just finished dessert and might go back for seconds. he looks down at you, utterly wrecked. and then he laughs breathless and disbelieving. “jesus christ,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair like you just short-circuited every last nerve. “you’re gonna kill me.”
you grin, smug as sin. but then he leans down, and his strong arms slide under your shoulders, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you squeal, half-laughing, hands flying to grip his shirt. “hey—!”
“shut up,” he breathes. “my turn.”
he sets you down on the table again, right where you were before. but this time, he doesn’t kiss you yet. doesn’t even touch you. he just steps back, eyes dark and hungry. and says, “spread.”
you blink, chest rising. “what?”
he tilts his head, steps back in, hands firm on your knees. “you heard me, sweetheart. open up. now i’m gonna make you feel good.”
you part your thighs slow, watching his eyes drop, watching his breath hitch. you lean back on your elbows, head tilted, and he glances at the wet mark through your shorts. he drops to his knees, his hands grip your thighs, dragging you to the edge like he’s pulling you into hell with him. he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, slow and reverent, like you’re a prayer and a sin at the same time.
“you wet for me already?” he murmurs, hot breath brushing your core through your shorts.
you nod, breathless. “since you walked in.”
he grins. bites the soft skin just above your knee. “should’ve told me. i’d’ve come sooner.”
he yanks your shorts and panties down fast, like he’s impatient. because he probably is. so then—finally—he licks you. one long, slow stroke that makes your back arch off the table. you gasp. grab the edge and moan his name so soft it sounds like a confession.
and he devours you. not gentle, not slow. just hungry and precise, like he’s got something to prove. his tongue works you open, circles and flicks and drives you fucking wild. he hums when you buck your hips, groans when you moan. his grip on your thighs bruises. his tongue never stops. “so fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against you. “no wonder they all wanna taste.”
you whimper. he slides a finger in, then another. crooks them just right. your whole body tightens. your breath catches. “that’s it, baby,” he whispers. “ride my face. let go. give it to me.”
you do. you shatter, legs trembling, back arched, voice gone. you’re gasping his name, tugging his hair, begging him to stop or keep going—you don’t even know. he doesn’t stop. not until your whole body is shaking. not until your thighs twitch and your breathing turns ragged and your hand slaps the table in surrender.
then finally he pulls back with his mouth glistening with you. his smile is wrecked, his eyes wide and wild. he looks up at you like you just handed him the goddamn meaning of life. “holy fuck,” he whispers, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “you came so good for me, angel.”
you try to glare, you really do. but your limbs don’t work. your knees are jelly. your stomach’s still twitching in aftershocks. and then he stands, towering. glowing like he just found religion between your legs. and then he leans down, kisses your jaw, and says—soft and cocky— “think you can take one more?”
your eyes flutter open, you blink at him. “you’re insane.”
he grins and kisses the corner of your mouth. “that ain’t a no.”
you roll your eyes. but you’re already lifting your hips, already turning. and then his hands are on your waist, firm and steady, spinning you around until you’re bent over the table. your cheek presses to the cool wood. your arms stretch forward. “fuck,” you whisper.
he hums behind you, hands sliding up your back, bunching your shirt at your ribs. “look at you,” he mutters. “so goddamn ready. still drippin’ for me.” he leans over you, chest to your back, mouth at your ear. “tell me you want it.”
you inhale shakily. “i want it.”
his hand slides between your thighs. fingers glide through your wetness. “tell me who’s gonna make you come again.”
you gasp. “you are.”
“say my name, sweetheart.”
“you, jakey.”
he groans. lines himself up. and then he pushes in. you gasp, you arch and whimper. his hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, controlling the pace. his hips move slow and deep, dragging a moan out of you every time he bottoms out. “so tight,” he pants. “like you’re fuckin’ made for me.”
you moan his name again, cheek still to the table, one hand reaching back to grab at his wrist. he laughs low and feral. “no runnin’ now,” he growls. “you said you could take one more.”
his thrusts get faster and harder. the table starts to creak. your moans start to sound like pleas. and he’s loving every second. he leans in, bites your shoulder, mutters against your skin, “gonna fuck you so dumb you forget how to sass.” you gasp and grin. you push back against him just to be a brat. he grabs your hips, pulls you back onto him hard. “jesus,” he hisses. “you like this, don’t you? bein’ used like this.”
“i like you like this,” you pant. “all obsessed.”
he grunts, and slaps your ass with a sting that makes your knees wobble. you yelp. and then he laughs, breathless, wicked. “i’m not lettin’ anyone else touch you again,” he mutters, voice cracked open, raw in your ear. his hand comes down to your hip, gripping. “this?” he growls, grinding into you harder, deeper. “this fuckin’ mouth, these thighs, this perfect little pussy— all mine.”
you moan, loud and shameless. he leans in, mouth hot on your neck, and his hand slips around you, fingers finding your clit like they never forgot it. he rubs in tight, fast circles, exactly how your body begs for. “come for me again, baby,” he pants. “show me how fuckin’ pretty you fall apart.”
and you do. you break, and your cry punches through the empty bar, your walls clenching so tight around him it nearly knocks the air from his lungs. your hands scrabble for the edge of the table, your face buried, your voice gone, just moans, sobs, his name like a prayer you can’t stop saying. and then—still shaking, still high on it— you whisper, broken and filthy: “inside. jake. please—come inside.”
he fucking loses it. his hips stutter, his breath catches, his hand grabs your ass roughly. “fuck, baby—” his head drops to your back. his rhythm falters, he’s right there. “you want me to fill you up?” he growls, desperate. “want me leavin’ you dripping with me?”
you nod, frantic. “yes—yes, please—i want it, i want all of it—”
he groans, loud. his thrusts go messy. erratic. wild. “goddamn, you’re gonna ruin me,” he gasps. and then he comes, deep and hard. body shuddering as he spills inside you, hips pressed tight, your name falling from his lips like a sin he’s finally ready to be forgiven for.
his hand stays in your hips. his forehead pressed to your back. both of you panting. shaking. wrecked. and you smile, eyes closed, face against the table, voice barely above a whisper:
“told you you were obsessed.”
he laughs—hoarse, drunk on you—and kisses your spine. “shut up,” he murmurs. “you fuckin’ love it.”
after, at your place, after he wrecked you in every possible way, you watch him fall asleep beside you, arm slung across your waits like he is still trying to stake a claim. cowboy hat on the floor. love bite on his throat. your lipstick on his chest.
you smile to yourself. “i like my men playing hard to get,” you whisper.
lucky for you, he never stood a chance.
author’s note: soooo i saw this edit of jake in full cowboy mode and lost every functioning brain cell i had left. then i watched manchild by sabrina carpenter and went wait what if… so this fic accidentally became the most porn-with-plot thing i’ve ever written. but i regret nothing. cowboy jake has a chokehold on me and the saloon girl in my brain wouldn’t shut up until he was wrecked and begging. anyway, yee-fucking-haw 🤠
SYNOPSIS. if it was possible to see the number of people who would fall in love with you over your lifetime, most people would agree to it in a heartbeat, but some might not. you don't get that choice, labelled by a mysterious system as someone destined to receive no love and threatened to fix this 'error' before it's too late. but who will be your saviour, the social pariah sunghoon, or the school's golden boy sim jaeyun?
CONTENT. f! reader, love triangle, grumpy x sunshine, serious topics (burnout, mental health, etc.), she fell first he fell harder, drama, comedy, slight angst
PLAYLIST. listen here... ! feel free to send in an ask with recommendations
NOTE. this is inspired by true love operation! the premise & the character settings are both based off of it!
++ the love triangle is between you, jake, and sunghoon. which I KNOW a lot of people hate love triangles and tbh i don't love them, but the main reason i think a lot of people don't like them is the main character tends to lead the second lead on and refuses to make a choice. i don't think that happens here! and anyways, not to spoil... but i'm actually going to make this a three part series for each of the 02z so jake will get his happy ending!
++ special thanks to suki ( @fleurre ) for beta reading, you helped me SO much!
WORD COUNT. 16.7 k / 31.2 k
PART TWO. link at bottom, and also here!
when sunghoon thinks back on this moment months later, he’ll shudder in embarrassment at his behaviour. right now, he’s just a bit of an asshole: the kind of guy to see a cat stuck in a tree and simply continue walking.
sunghoon of course, knowns none of this. he’s musing about how much longer he has to spend in the building when a harsh shove jolts him back to reality from the haze his mind had ventured to.
he stumbles slightly, almost falling into a desk, ultimately regaining his balance easily thanks to years of being an ice skater. he levels a glare at the culprit responsible for nearly making him eat tile, raising an eyebrow at the boy’s lurching gait.
his attention remains on the boy, half curious about the boy and half excessively bored from waiting for class to start. the bustle and chatter of sunghoon’s fellow high schoolers serves only to irritate him as he sees the boy slump into his desk and settle his head down onto the worn wood.
must be tired. still doesn’t stop sunghoon from internally chastising him. idiot. as an athlete… as a former athlete, he’s long since hammered it in to have a hearty and enriched breakfast every single morning.
he’s just about to turn away when a moving figure- seemingly headed straight for the desk sunghoon’s attention has been invested in- enters his field of vision.
sunghoon holds back a sigh. it’s you. he knows you yes, but he doesn’t particularly like you. in fact, one might venture as far as to say that you irritate him. piss him off, even. the frown on his face only deepens when you dart a quick glance around the classroom to make sure no one’s paying attention, to which he quickly looks away.
only for his attention to return back to you soon after. sunghoon watches as you, upon a seemingly clear coast, pull a cold coffee can out of your backpack as well as a pastry. he snorts, what an awfully non nutritious breakfast. you seem to falter a little, hands moving carefully so as to not disrupt the boy’s rest. satisfied with your work, you head back to your seat.
he’s noticed that you seem to be wholly friendless. which is odd, considering how you behave when no one’s looking.
now here’s the thing. he doesn’t dislike you because of something you did or still do, well not in the way most people would expect. as horrendously unreasonable as it sounds even to himself, you just don’t make sense.
how could anyone be kind for no reason? he would see you around school just helping people out both without them knowing and receiving no benefit from it. who does that? the reason this bothers him is that it isn’t possible.
love is entirely transactional; this is something sunghoon has observed from the people around him as a child, and that had only been cemented in his circuit as a child prodigy.
people loved him when he was good at what he did. when he ate, slept, and breathed ice skating. they loved how he never missed a day at the rink, never scored lower than the podium at competitions.
fans would do so much for him, but it was all transactional. the second he faltered, made a mistake, stopped being perfect and faltered, so too did their love. when he lost his passion and washed up, so too did their support.
not just love but even kindness is given with the expectation of earning something in return. the fact that you don’t seem to have this motive is incredibly suspicious, and he doesn’t believe it for a second.
there has to be something you’re hiding, and while he might not care enough to set out and find it, he would take extreme pleasure in knowing he was right the whole time when the truth inevitably came out.
you pout as you watch the hustle and bustle of the classroom during your lunch period. you don’t have anyone to speak to, yes, but it isn’t really by choice. you had transferred here this year, only to be slightly taken aback by the cliquey and peculiar culture. your old school was very friendly, enough that your friends knew all about your slightly embarrassing hobby about writing romance stories online even without ever having dated anyone. they would be perhaps 5 out of the 8 likes you’d receive on chapters.
you have never had a problem making friends, but that was back home. this is here. here, the atmosphere is so rigid and chilly that you’d never think for a second about opening up to someone about your pastimes even if you did get friends. in fact, the loneliness had gotten to you so much that you stopped posting full stop, not feeling you understood human relations enough to write about them at all.
so you try helping people, for no reason in particular. it comes entirely naturally to be honest. it’s just that if you can’t make friends with people then this is how you can still be near people.
everyone craves human connection in one way or another, the only difference is if they allow themselves to do so.
now you just watch wistfully as gaggles of teenage boys yell boisterously and raucous laughter fills the air. girls sit with each other, leaning in to hear the hot gossip or simply about each other’s lives.
the sun streaming in through the large windows casts a golden shine over the scene, somehow causing you to feel nostalgic even as you are present in the moment. not to mention the aromas. it’s all you can do to not rob the boy sitting a few desks away from you of his lunch, also alone.
though, once your eyes reach him, they don’t leave. why does he look bored out of his mind? maybe he has no friends like you? actually, that’s highly unlikely. he probably does, they’re just in another class. man, with a face like that, it’s hard to believe people in this class aren’t clambering to hang out around him.
your eyes narrow slightly; considering the wide berth the other students give him, such isolation may be intentional. oh well, not your problem.
not your problem, because what you have to worry about right now is finding friends. it’s harder than it sounds. the noise around the classroom peters out and you settle further into your chair.
oh well. there’s always tomorrow to start making friends.
jake’s eyes are just about to close when the door to the storage room he’s found for himself whips open. great. just when he thought he could get some alone time away from the hordes of people vying for his attention.
now the model genuinely appreciates the dedication people seem to have in supporting him, but. but. there’s this stuffy feeling in his chest he gets whenever he thinks about it nowadays.
he doesn’t like thinking about it, so his solution is just that. don’t think about it.
but now, you’ve arrived into the room and he has a strong feeling his peace will get disrupted.
jake holds his breath as you curse lightly after stumbling in and closing the door behind you. he feels like a field mouse trying to evade a bald eagle’s notice. in both cases it’s useless, of course.
you gasp, and he winces, trying to prepare himself for the ear-splitting shrieks that are surely soon to follow. and then inevitably a horde of excited teenage girls bustling in. so much for a peaceful lunch.
contrary to his expectations, however, your volume remains to be under 60 decibels as you open your mouth, “woah! i didn’t realize anyone else would be in here, sorry!”
jake raises his brows, slightly confused. don’t get him wrong, while he is indeed what you would call famous, he doesn’t expect everyone to love or even know who he is. he’s met many people who were indifferent to him or seemed to possibly dislike him.
it’s just, that had never happened here. now that he has started going to decelis academy, there hasn’t been a single moment he’s alone or unknown. and that’s, well, the nature of highschool. people would find out a model is attending their school and spread it to all of their friends, or that they had seen him in an ad. that kind of stuff.
so considering school would obviously be full of teen aged girls, whilst roaming decelis’ halls he had never encountered a face that lacked recognition the way yours did.
jake speaks cautiously, but still maintaining his friendly air, “that’s alright.”
you blink, somehow this boy is a little familiar, but you can’t pinpoint exactly where you’ve seen him… oh well, again, not your problem! it seems like he’s open to sharing the space with the way he hadn’t immediately shooed you out. you take a cursory glance around the room, noting a broken fountain drink bottle in the corner.
you step further in the room clearing your throat a bit, “so, do you mind if i stay here?”
right now you’re really not looking forward to going outside and facing everyone. hundreds of people, and none of them as lonely as you.
you don’t know how much longer you can take it, going to school every morning and having the hours crawl by painstakingly slow.
internally, jake assesses how likely you are to bother him and be invasive; taking in your frazzled appearance and rather nervous state, he decides you’re most likely hiding out here for reasons entirely unrelated to him.
he smiles warmly and nods, “sure, you should probably take a seat, though.”
say… you could try making friends with this boy sitting on the ground? sure, it might go awfully wrong and he’d be weirded out by you, but considering you’ve never seen him before now, what’s the likelihood you’d see him after?
so you square your shoulders, ignore the way this boy is incredibly handsome– enough to be a model even– and open your mouth.
“why are you hiding out here?”
the words strike the silent air like a whip and even you wince when they exit your mouth. the way you said it sounded just a tad confrontational and you can see an undecipherable emotion fill the boy’s face as his brows furrow and eyes narrow. before he can open his mouth however, you interrupt in an attempt to not sound accusatory.
“that sounded a bit odd, i just meant i’ve never seen anyone other than me eat alone.”
the boy raises his eyebrows, and slightly embarrassed, you speak yet again.
“not that i don’t have friends!”
you pause, before sighing and deflating.
“actually, why am i trying. i don’t.”
by now jake is thoroughly bewildered, this encounter being the furthest thing from what he expected when you had entered through the heavy metal door (speaking of which, how did you have the strength to whip it open anyways?)
the conversation is so out of left field that jake’s perfectly maintained filter slips for a moment, and he asks, “are you new here?”
you blink a few times before sighing, “yes… how’d you know?”
now there are a great number of things he can say at this moment, that it’s unlikely for you to have no friends unless you’re new, that he has never seen you around before, but what came out is more honest.
“you didn’t know me.”
“what?” you raise an eyebrow, immensely surprised at what this boy (you really should ask for a name so you don’t have to keep referring to him as boy in your head) has just said.
jake panics at his admittedly less than courteous words, so he fumbles slightly in hopes of covering them up.
“uh, i just mean, i’ve never seen you! i know a lot of people around the school, but i don’t think i’ve seen you around.”
he scratches his head sheepishly, hoping you take the gesture and words and think about them instead of the slightly arrogant sentence he had uttered prior.
you nod, definitely not forgetting what he had said just now, but accepting the words as valid reasoning.
jake is a bit nervous, this didn’t fit into his usual case of interacting with others. it never took him this much effort to engage in a conversation and get people to like him.
and yes, you need to like jake, because everyone likes jake. he’s that guy.
the model rakes his brain for something to say before realizing a big glaring point he has missed all along.
“what’s your name?” jake levels another friendly smile at you.
you stare at him, focused on analyzing his features and trying to figure out where you’ve seen him before when the words break you out of your reverie.
you’re quiet for a second, listening to the sound of laughter and cheer that seems to encompass free periods, before you answer him with your name.
jake nods, “i’m jake.”
you frown, a little perturbed, that name is so familiar too. you know there’s no way this is the first time you’ve seen that face paired up with that name, “do i know you?”
in turn, he raises his brows, a little surprised at the question.
“not that i’m aware of..?”
he’s in the middle of figuring out how to say he’s a model which may be where you’ve seen him without seeming conceited when you gasp.
“yes, i do!”
jake waits for you to gush over said modelling, only to be slightly surprised when he’s met with a slight glare and pout instead.
“when i first transferred here you ran into me and made me spill my drink all over myself! and then you just made me write my kakaopay and ran away!”
the boy’s jaw drops open, extremely surprised by what came out of your mouth.
. . .
he struggles to find the right words, but there seems to be none in this situation. especially because he does not remember the encounter at all. he’s a busy person who interacts with countless people every day, and there’s no way he’d remember a one-off incident like that.
especially because he seemed to be in a hurry at the time you met him.
“i’m… sorry...”
you raise a brow, “it’s alright, you paid for it anyway. why were you in such a rush though…?”
“i’m not sure,” jake murmurs, but you’re not done with your commentary.
“the most exciting thing going on that day was the math competition, and that’s saying something.”
jake’s eyes light up, remembering, “that’s where i was going then! the math contest.”
your eyes widen slightly, “oh, i wouldn’t have expected that.”
wait.. is this boy pouting? it seems to be a mix between a pout and a grimace.
“why not.”
oh gosh, did you offend him? does it sound like you’re saying he doesn’t look smart?
you wave your hands around frantically, not wanting to be misconstrued, “i didn’t mean anything, it’s just–”
you’re interrupted by a phone notification, and when you glance at your phone it elicits a gasp.
“would you look at the time, sorry, i gotta go!”
you get up and immediately head for the exit without waiting for a response. gosh, this is so embarrassing.
meanwhile jake, is still frozen on the floor, a little upset. you only see him as a pretty face (if you even saw that…) how typical. that's all he is to anyone else, of course.
you’ve always loved the walk home back from school. well, always is a little bit of an exaggeration considering you’ve only moved here a couple months ago.
still, you’ve been watching the leaves fill the trees and spring begin to roll in. your path home is full of life and ardour brimming in the trees and small animals. today is no different of course, you hum slightly as you trek through the journey.
you’re so lost in the tunes pumping through your earbuds that you almost miss the stark pink rectangle on the path in front of you.
‘huh, that’s odd,’ you think as you bend down to examine it more closely, realizing the object is a flip phone with a bright pink plastic backing. now who in their right minds would leave a phone on the floor? although, it most likely slipped out and fell…
and on top of that, having a flip phone in this day and age is slightly bizarre considering how outdated it is. not wanting to block the pathway, you pick the phone up and settle onto the bench.
maybe if you go through the details, you’ll find some information on the owner so you can return it to them. as old as it is, having a phone is still essential for communicating with everyone in your life and you’re sure whoever this phone belonged to won’t be pleased to lose it.
you power on the phone to go through it, and you find yourself able to go to the home screen immediately.
huh. either the owner hadn’t set a pin, or this phone’s so old it lacks the ability to set one.
which is good for you! it makes it easier to find the owner. but when you open up the contacts and try to check the owner contact, there’s no other form of contact there.
you’re just about to open the email app when the phone receives a message! you panic slightly, almost dropping the phone, but ultimately you decide to ignore the message.
but that’s before your eyes focus on the contents, to which you gasp softly.
unknown number: hey you who’s looking at this phone right now.
should you answer it? it might be the owner trying to contact you… a little odd that they would assume someone has it with them, but they could just be peculiar. nothing that would stop you from trying to return this device to the rightful owner.
unknown number: psst… answer me
unknown number: i have something to tell you
you decide to ignore the bizarreness of the message and respond with a quick:
you: hello, is this the owner of the phone?
not even 10 seconds pass by before you receive a response.
unknown number: you could say that. but that’s not important.
unknown number: what’s important here is you, you’re really lonely, huh?
okay, now this is getting really weird. too uncomfortable even for you, who’s always willing to help. but you make one last attempt.
you: sorry, i’m just trying to return this to the owner. if you let me know a meeting place i can give this back to you.
a message pings the phone at the same time yours is sent, causing you to widen your eyes. it’s a photo of you on the bench with a mocking sentence attached.
unknown number: poor little miss y/n. no one’s ever loved her, have they? :(
okay, now this is really fucking creepy. and there’s no way you’re helping them with the phone now. your stomach churns with unease, brain running a mile a minute, and you realize this person is close enough to see you. meaning they most likely left their phone on the road to observe and text whoever picks it up.
like one of those social experiments. except a million times more absurd. whatever. not your problem. you quickly settle the phone on the bench, knowing the owner would eventually come to retrieve it, before continuing on the sidewalk.
it’s only a few paces later when you freeze in your steps and you start to hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
how the actual hell did they know your name? this no longer seems like a (debatably) innocent prank to you.
shivers crawl up your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. suddenly the breeze and peaceful atmosphere don’t seem so nice and the path seems to stretch before you for miles.
just amazing, you curse the world out as you rush home, shoes pounding against the pavement at near breakneck speed.
shit. what the hell is going on?
you lock the door as fast as you can and lean your back against it, breaths coming out as harsh pants.
your mind as an absolute mess right now, severely freaked out by what just happened. you would think someone you know is pulling a messed up prank on you except you had left all your friends several kilometres behind when you moved away.
your hands are shaking even as you make your way to your bedroom and pace around the walkable space. an idea occurs to you and you desperately shoot towards where you had left your backpack.
maybe, without your notice, your mom has labelled your backpack or something, it’s highly unlikely but it’s looking to be your last hope.
knots tie themselves in your stomach as a cursory search of the bag shows it to be the plain thing you have always lugged to school. you sigh, opening the front pocket to get your phone as a natural response, but you freeze.
there, nestled comfortably alongside your phone, is the same pink flip phone you had left on the bench.
your hands tremble uncontrollably as you pick it up. you try to remember if there was an opportunity for anyone to stuff it into your bag, but there’s no way. you were running home at full speed, there was no way you wouldn’t have felt someone try and hold on to you long enough to unzip, insert, and then zip again.
something is wrong, and it’s really fucking with your head that you can’t think of a logical explanation to all of this.
sure enough, when you open the phone, another message has arrived.
unknown number: you didn’t really think you could run away, did you?
unknown number: awww i didn’t take you for a coward, y/n. although maybe that’s the reason no one can seem to love you.
unknown number: a pity.
you can’t decide whether to feel scared or angry, so you settle for a mix of both. it’s probably a good idea to try and find out more about this mystery sender, but that really isn’t something you feel like doing.
so you run back outside your house, bringing a dustpan, and smash the phone on the ground, cleaning up the mess to bring inside and throw out.
now if you see this stupid fucking phone again, it really would be a miracle.
thoughts of mystery senders and bright pink flip phones circle around your head as you get into bed that night, mind forgetting all about boys who spill drinks on you and boys that sit all alone at lunch, oddly isolated for some reason.
you have bigger things to worry about.
your homeroom teacher clearly doesn’t care about your bigger worries, you muse solemnly the next day with a sigh.
here you are, set to spend the next few weeks with the quiet and solitary boy in your class and saddled with extra work. you don’t entirely mind the extra work, but you have an inkling working with ‘park sunghoon’ won’t be fun.
this is what has happened. when you enter class in the morning, everything is going as usual. you haven’t seen that cursed phone again (thank god) and everyone seems to be going about their day perfectly fine.
then your teacher comes in, and begins to speak about a school wide event. she says that other schools are set to be invited, as well as a multitude of other things. all stuff you couldn’t care less about, and so you zone out.
that is, until the classroom goes pin drop silent and you realize maybe you should clock back in.
the teacher, it seems, is asking for volunteers?
“now, i know we have class representatives, but as they already have many other duties, i want to pick two new students for the roles of managing our class’s contribution to the event.”
still not very interesting, but you feign attentiveness. you can hear whispers all around you, people considering if the perks are worth giving up that much free time. ultimately, no one raises their hands for fear of looking eager.
instead, they wait for her to strike.
she calls on park sunghoon, curiously enough, “how would you like to help with the event, sunghoon?”
you can read people, so it’s very obvious a snarky reply might have made its way to his mouth, but you can almost see him swallow it back.
“okay,” he intones instead.
immediately, it’s as if someone has pressed a mute button. all of the potential interest in participating vanishes. you raise a brow, sunghoon seems to be a handsome guy, with no glaringly apparent personality issues, so why does it seem like absolutely no one wants to work with him?
is he a pariah, maybe? perhaps he had caused an incident before you had transferred to the school, and that caused their aversion.
nevertheless, whatever the reason is, interest in working on the school event has dropped into the negatives.
which, of course, means the teacher has to volunteer someone again. and of course, the lucky person has to be you.
“y/n,” the teacher starts, jolting you into attention, “would you like to work alongside sunghoon for the event? you’ll be able to make a lot of friends, and it might help in getting to know the school and its students better.”
you flinch in your seat, a flush settling in your body. this is so damn embarrassing. did she have to call you out like that in front of everyone?
“uh,” your voice cracks slightly and it’s all you can do to not dive under the desk and cry, “sure?”
it isn’t like you have much else of a choice, what with twenty-something pairs of eyes locked onto you expectantly. maybe if you do this they’d actually like you. if they don’t make fun of you for being so obviously friendless first, of course.
you’re still in an almost trancelike state when you and sunghoon are alone in the room with the teacher to receive more detailed instructions after class.
“you two will be in touch often in the upcoming month, so i suggest you exchange contact information, if you haven’t already.” she leaves with a final note.
so now it’s just the two of you. great.
you clear your throat awkwardly, “so, should we exchange numbers?”
the words are uttered with a friendly air as you try to not take his standoffish aura and appearance at face value. never judge a book by its cover, or whatever the saying is.
scratch that- did this bitch just roll his eyes at you? okay, wow, so maybe the other students are totally valid in giving his ass a fifteen foot berth.
“what else?”
and man, it might seem like a given to him, but it isn’t for you? there’s no reason to be so rude to a complete stranger. especially since you haven’t wronged him.
… nothing that you can remember, at least.
you hum, still being civil, of course.
“hmm, social media would work too.”
he levels you with an unimpressed gaze, “i don’t have social media.”
“o.. kay?” not entirely sure how to respond, you hand your phone over to insert his number.
he takes it, and you expect him to hand his phone over to do the same, but he doesn’t.
after around half a minute he just puts the cell phone back into your hands, already packing up to leave.
when he notices you standing there in place, not having moved an inch as he’s all but ready to go, he stares blankly at you.
“just text me so i get your number,” sunghoon mutters as he brushes past you.
wow. either you’ve done something wrong to him and forgotten about it (‘like jake did,’ you thought with a chuckle), or he’s just a grouchy person in general.
you’re leaning towards the second, because then it would also make sense why everyone avoids him.
sunghoon is in a very grumpy mood. sure, he wouldn’t go as far as to call you the bane of his existence but considering how often the corners of his mouth have pulled down into a frown in the past week, you might be close.
‘although,’ sunghoon muses, ‘it’s been getting better…’
most notably, despite your initial interaction and the following few being quite stilted, mostly courtesy of one standoffish park sunghoon, he’s noticed a sort of reluctant peace start to settle between the two of you.
from you, because annoyingly enough you don’t seem to have a mean bone in your body, and also from him because as much as you bother him, you intrigue him.
how are you possible?
and that’s where he is right now. sunghoon discreetly looks at you from his end of the storage room.
this week, the two of you are taking inventory of the school’s supplies in order to see what needs to be ordered. unfortunately, there are a lot of storage rooms across your school buildings. like, an unsettling amount.
the number causes an odd feeling to arise; considering there are so many, what are the odds that you would happen to stumble upon the one that contained jake? funny how things work out, isn’t it?
back to the point, you try to ignore sunghoon’s gaze digging into the back of your head as you rummage through the shelves on your side of the room and make notes on a clipboard.
eventually, though, it’s too much.
“what.” you force out before tracing back to suck any annoyance out of your tone, “i mean, is something the matter?”
sunghoon just stares at you cryptically, a slight smirk arising at your slip up. so you aren’t little miss perfect all of the time. funnily enough, this doesn’t sate him and instead he just grows more keen on seeing you lose your composure.
‘that’s right, you don’t like being nice all the time do you?’
before sunghoon can try and calculate what to say to irritate you, though, the words just slip out, “why are you so nice all the time?”
you raise an eyebrow, “am i?”
he gives you an unimpressed look, but doesn’t bother speaking so you continue.
“i don’t think i’m nice. i get really frustrated at people and i’m not always polite or courteous,” you ramble.
now this is interesting. sunghoon is downright flabbergasted, because what did you mean, you’re not nice?
“i’ve seen you help people out all the time,” sunghoon blurts out, realizing in hindsight he’s exposed himself.
you nod at him, deciding to ignore the fact that apparently you have been getting observed for a considerable amount of time.
“okay, but i consider that basic human decency. kindness, if we’re stretching it.”
his forehead scrunches and you hate that the mannerism gets marked in your head as ‘adorable’ before you reel yourself back and remember he’s been… kind of a dick to you.
although, considering the way everyone avoids him… maybe he’s just kind of a dick in general?
you are pulled from your musing when sunghoon speaks after his extended silence, “what’s the difference?”
you let out a startled, “huh?”
sunghoon shakes his head, his state of utter bafflement temporarily draining the previous irritation out of him, “between kindness and niceness, what’s the difference?”
“well,” you struggle to find a way to put it into words, “being nice is like being polite to others and having manners, like saying please or thank you. being kind… i think it’s more about other people and treating them well. caring.”
when he’s silent, you continue, “you can be kind without being nice, and you can be nice without being kind. the latter… is pretty common, considering how often people want to use others for their own gain.”
a certain light of understanding enters the boy’s eyes and you believe he’s starting to see your point, but sunghoon’s next words prove that wrong.
“kindness doesn’t exist.”
your eyebrows shoot up. what in the world is this guy talking about?
“of course it does, maybe it’s hard to be kind to strangers, but i’m sure you’ve experienced kindness from those that care about you.”
a frown settles on his face, and it’s like all the openness to discussion he had started to gather has vanished in an instant. sunghoon is akin to an ice cold wall.
he turns away from you, back to the shelves on his side of the room, cleanly killing the conversation in a few gruff words, “let’s get back to work.”
you sigh, turning and following suit, before you almost tip the basket you’ve started to peak into at his next words.
they find your ears in a faint whisper, almost as if they had not meant to be said aloud, “if kindness exists, i’ve never felt it.”
the words bring an immeasurable ache into your heart, despite this being your first proper conversation with him.
sure, he’s rude and unnecessarily curt with you, but he hasn’t gone so far as to be unkind. everyone deserves to receive warmth, to be nurtured and cared for.
of course, you sure as hell aren’t going to be the one to try and nurture him, it really isn’t your job.
that still doesn’t stop you from feeling a note of sympathy and sadness for the boy as you continue your inventory.
sunghoon is in a very grumpy mood. sure, he wouldn’t go as far as to call you the bane of his existence but considering how often the corners of his mouth have pulled down into a frown in the past week, you might be close.
‘although,’ sunghoon muses, ‘it’s been getting better…’
most notably, despite your initial interaction and the following few being quite stilted, mostly courtesy of one standoffish park sunghoon, he’s noticed a sort of reluctant peace start to settle between the two of you.
from you, because annoyingly enough you don’t seem to have a mean bone in your body, and also from him because as much as you bother him, you intrigue him.
how are you possible?
and that’s where he is right now. sunghoon discreetly looks at you from his end of the storage room.
this week, the two of you are taking inventory of the school’s supplies in order to see what needs to be ordered. unfortunately, there are a lot of storage rooms across your school buildings. like, an unsettling amount.
the number causes an odd feeling to arise; considering there are so many, what are the odds that you would happen to stumble upon the one that contained jake? funny how things work out, isn’t it?
back to the point, you try to ignore sunghoon’s gaze digging into the back of your head as you rummage through the shelves on your side of the room and make notes on a clipboard.
eventually, though, it’s too much.
“what.” you force out before tracing back to suck any annoyance out of your tone, “i mean, is something the matter?”
sunghoon just stares at you cryptically, a slight smirk arising at your slip up. so you aren’t little miss perfect all of the time. funnily enough, this doesn’t sate him and instead he just grows more keen on seeing you lose your composure.
‘that’s right, you don’t like being nice all the time do you?’
before sunghoon can try and calculate what to say to irritate you, though, the words just slip out, “why are you so nice all the time?”
you raise an eyebrow, “am i?”
he gives you an unimpressed look, but doesn’t bother speaking so you continue.
“i don’t think i’m nice. i get really frustrated at people and i’m not always polite or courteous,” you ramble.
now this is interesting. sunghoon is downright flabbergasted, because what did you mean, you’re not nice?
“i’ve seen you help people out all the time,” sunghoon blurts out, realizing in hindsight he’s exposed himself.
you nod at him, deciding to ignore the fact that apparently you have been getting observed for a considerable amount of time.
“okay, but i consider that basic human decency. kindness, if we’re stretching it.”
his forehead scrunches and you hate that the mannerism gets marked in your head as ‘adorable’ before you reel yourself back and remember he’s been… kind of a dick to you.
although, considering the way everyone avoids him… maybe he’s just kind of a dick in general?
you are pulled from your musing when sunghoon speaks after his extended silence, “what’s the difference?”
you let out a startled, “huh?”
sunghoon shakes his head, his state of utter bafflement temporarily draining the previous irritation out of him, “between kindness and niceness, what’s the difference?”
“well,” you struggle to find a way to put it into words, “being nice is like being polite to others and having manners, like saying please or thank you. being kind… i think it’s more about other people and treating them well. caring.”
when he’s silent, you continue, “you can be kind without being nice, and you can be nice without being kind. the latter… is pretty common, considering how often people want to use others for their own gain.”
a certain light of understanding enters the boy’s eyes and you believe he’s starting to see your point, but sunghoon’s next words prove that wrong.
“kindness doesn’t exist.”
your eyebrows shoot up. what in the world is this guy talking about?
“of course it does, maybe it’s hard to be kind to strangers, but i’m sure you’ve experienced kindness from those that care about you.”
a frown settles on his face, and it’s like all the openness to discussion he had started to gather has vanished in an instant. sunghoon is akin to an ice cold wall.
he turns away from you, back to the shelves on his side of the room, cleanly killing the conversation in a few gruff words, “let’s get back to work.”
you sigh, turning and following suit, before you almost tip the basket you’ve started to peak into at his next words.
they find your ears in a faint whisper, almost as if they had not meant to be said aloud, “if kindness exists, i’ve never felt it.”
the words bring an immeasurable ache into your heart, despite this being your first proper conversation with him.
sure, he’s rude and unnecessarily curt with you, but he hasn’t gone so far as to be unkind. everyone deserves to receive warmth, to be nurtured and cared for.
of course, you sure as hell aren’t going to be the one to try and nurture him, it really isn’t your job.
that still doesn’t stop you from feeling a note of sympathy and sadness for the boy as you continue your inventory.
finally. after a long hard day of, well, avoiding pushy fangirls and brown-nosers, jake has glimpsed some freedom.
he finds himself enjoying the breeze on a local park bench instead. it’s close enough to decelis that he still flinches every time he hears a high-pitched noise, but finding peace is not impossible.
especially when the park is full of families having fun and apparent couples lazing on the grass. it’s not often he gets to experience an atmosphere like this. not often that he’s allowed to pause and allow himself to feel the moment long enough to experience anything at all, actually.
it feels as if most of his time is spent in making connections, modelling, events and the time he does get to spend at school is used up dodging people who want to talk about said activities.
it’s downright exhausting, and it’s to the point jake considers dropping modelling several times a week. the issue, of course, is that he loves it. to him, it’s a form of art, especially when he can see all of the incredible content created from him. it’s like a part of him is permanently out there for people to know and experience and that’s just amazing to him.
an impasse.
but enough rumination, right now is his time to truly feel peace and enjoy the ambiance the fresh air and trees provide.
that is, until someone goes crashing to the ground in front of him.
jake did think that a block of pavement jutting at an angle from the previous would be an issue, but seeing the stray train of thought come to fruition is unfortunate.
what has just happened settles in, and jake scrambles off of the bench, mourning his peace only a little bit after taking in the familiar decelis girls’ uniform.
“oh my god, are you okay?” his hands hover hesitantly, twitching in the air uselessly in response to the girl’s groan filling the surroundings.
when you turn towards the boy to reassure him that ‘yeah, i just got my shit rocked in front of you, but i’m fine!’ you instead end up gasping when you notice who it is, “it’s you! coffee boy!”
jake is a little astonished, since when is he coffee boy? “hey! i have a name.”
you furrow your brow a bit, and he can’t tell if you’re trying to remember said name or that’s pain on your face.
“jake! right?”
he ignores the odd, new feeling of someone having to confirm his name instead of intuitively knowing it before he even says a word and nods, “and you’re y/n.”
he’s not sure if he would have remembered your name were it not for the way your last encounter with him went.
you nod enthusiastically, before frowning at the sting you feel on your knees. it seems the right one is slightly skinned. you frown, contemplating what you should do, still on the floor.
jake clears his throat, “you, uh, should probably do something about that.”
you raise an unimpressed brow, as if to say, ‘what, pray tell, should i do here in the middle of the park?’
but, not one to be discouraged, you reach into your bag, frowning and dumping one of the pockets contents onto the ground in search of what you need. you cheer slightly in triumph, grabbing the handkerchief around your skinned knee for now.
good enough until you get home.
you hear jake chuckle and fix your gaze back on him, confused as to what’s funny in the situation right now.
he smiles, pointing at an item from your backpack, “you’re still carrying a flip-phone around in this day and age?”
the blood evaporates out of your body. you don’t want it to be true, but as you follow his finger with bated breath, your heart stutters as your gaze lands on it.
it, being a bright. pink. flip-phone.
unbeknownst to you, jake frowns in confusion as he notices the drastic change in your demeanour. he remains dumbfounded as you flounder, shoving everything back in your backpack whilst completely ignoring the object.
he doesn’t even have the time to question you before you bolt away, leaving him and the flip phone.
jake’s unable to hold his curiosity back and he picks up the phone. he almost drops it at the message sitting on the home screen that greets him.
unknown number: hey, you’re not supposed to look at this! (¬_¬)
just what the hell is this? jake shrugs off the unnerving feeling and pockets the cell, deciding he’d give it to you eventually when you spoke again. although with the way you ran off, you didn’t seem too keen about it.
the model is utterly confused, but. oh well. he supposes being strange is one of your character traits.
unbeknownst to him, the phone would appear back in your backpack as soon as you arrive home.
jake would not find the flip phone later and would anxiously assume he lost it– or that you took it back without him knowing.
the second thought would lead to a misunderstanding later down the line, but that is currently unimportant.
when you finally burst into your bedroom, you’re hyperventilating. a cacophony of frantic thoughts swim around in your head, trying to find some way, any way, to rationalize this. except there’s no rationalizing it.
while you have always been open to the supernatural, by no means are you a quote unquote believer, or anything near the like.
so this is way beyond your scope.
you pace around your room, trying to consider what options there are. clearly, unless you have a devout and incredibly skilled stalker there is no human possibility for the occurrences so far.
with the hypothesis that what’s haunting you is indeed supernatural, what are your possible courses of action?
well, telling someone definitely won’t work out, not to mention the fact that the only people you could possibly tell are your friends, several kilometres away, who are no doubt busy with their own lives. ignoring it has clearly been going well for you so far.
so your only option is to communicate with the mysterious being on the other side and find out exactly what they want. and then hope they leave you alone. how ideal.
you sigh as you dump your backpack on your bed, hoping the flip-phone won’t be amongst your belongings and also simultaneously knowing you aren’t that lucky.
lo and behold, there it is. who would have known such a small object was capable of causing such immense spite? you flick open the phone, bracing yourself for whatever jeering remark is sure to be awaiting you.
unknown number: long time no see, huh? did you miss me?
you roll your eyes and shoot out:
you: no.
the response is unnervingly quick.
unknown number: you hurt my feelings, love. although I suppose you wouldn’t know much about that, would you?
you furrow your brows, having absolutely no idea what the entity is talking about. but before you could even begin to compose a response, another message arrives.
unknown number: alright let's cut to the chase. you’re unlovable.
what. the. fuck. tormenting you constantly isn’t enough, it has to mock you for being perpetually single as well. frustrated, you message back:
you: what do you mean?
unknown number: oh you know exactly what i mean. has anyone ever liked you, a little playground crush, developed feelings? no, because you’re not destined for love.
you don’t believe a word of whatever bullshit this cell phone is spouting.
you: alright, whatever. what’s the big deal.
the next gap between messages is longer, intriguingly enough.
unknown number: you’re an anomaly. a bug. and you know what happens to errors, we get rid of them don’t we?
your brows shoot up, unable to contain the shock at genuinely being threatened.
unknown number: this phone gives you the ability to see how much romantic affection someone will receive in their life ^ - ^
unknown number: you have 0. most normal people have at least 10. crazy, huh? try it out, take a selfie. this phone’s camera shows and tells all.
you roll your eyes, incredibly annoyed. as if. there are so many issues with that statement that you can’t accredit to supernatural abilities. how would the phone have the power to see the future? unbelievable.
which is precisely why you shut the phone off and toss it somewhere unknown in your room. you can't help the nagging feeling that it may not be the best idea, but what actual power does this phone have?
whatever entity talking to you could message you through the cell and seemingly return it to you endlessly, but you had reason to believe they needed to talk to you for some reason. it doesn't seem like a good idea to just give in and accept whatever it says thoughtlessly.
although there’s no doubt the phone would appear in your vicinity in a little while again and bother you until you open it, right now you just can’t be arsed to care.
what does it mean, ‘incapable of being loved,’ you hadn’t written romance on the internet to other teens for years to be told this. in fact, no doubt your (few) readers are patiently waiting after your final update several months ago.
you reminisce on the succinct author’s note you had left at the time:
hey guys, i’m moving schools! i’m going to be busy for a few months, but to be entirely honest. i haven’t been feeling writing for a while. i feel like i don’t know how to write romance at all. maybe if i had a boyfriend lol. but yeah, i’ll see you when i get the inspiration or motivation to write again! love you guys.
you snort, what’s happening to you right now might be a perfect romance plot.
finally, the two of you have arrived at decelis again, deciding to split up after bussing together here ‘for efficiency’
as sunghoon walks away after saying his goodbye, a thought strikes you. although you despised that damn flip phone with a burning passion, you’re just too curious.
so you pull the flip phone out of your backpack and point the camera at his back, wondering to see what his number would be.
you almost drop the phone, because what the actual hell? why did a high-school boy have thousands of people destined to love him? well maybe he'll be famous in the future? but that couldn’t be, you narrow your eyes, sunghoon has already earned quite a bit of those points.
the label attached to sunghoon reads as:
87k/90k
so sunghoon is already famous? but why is he through so many hearts so early? you don’t get a chance to ponder on it further because you see sunghoon turn around in your camera.
shit, shit, shit.
you make a split second decision to pretend you’re taking a selfie, which should be believable given the fact that you’re standing in front of a flower bush.
you pray he’s unable to discern the fact that the camera in the flip phone hinge is currently rotated to the outside, not inside, and make a pouty face at the hinge to try and sell the fact.
soon enough sunghoon turns back around and you let out a sigh of relief, not noticing the smile that had been on his face whilst observing you. before your brief calm can last though, you get a message.
unknown number: believe me now? you can target anyone, but i recommend sim jaeyun.
hold on, hold on, the stupid phone’s moving too fast. you raise your eyebrows, choosing to ignore the first question in your response:
you: who the hell is that?
the phone’s response doesn’t help at all.
unknown number: oh that’s precious. he’s a model at your school. you can also target park sunghoon i guess.
your brows furrow, not liking the idea of using anyone like that.
you: what’s so special about those two?
by now you're pacing back and forth, the conversation causing a spike in anxiety.
unknown number: they’ve never loved anyone. meaning we have no data on them. who knows, you could be the lucky girl ^ - ^
you sigh.
you: what does that have anything to do with me? can’t you use your powers to fix this all?
the response back is incredibly infuriating.
unknown number: it’s out of my hands. there’s nothing as indomitable as the human spirit.
oh, this bitch.
you: but why me? couldn’t someone else do this, like one of the other anomalies idk..
it takes a few seconds to get anything back, but what you see chills you.
unknown number: because someone who can’t be loved has no place in this world.
you narrow your eyes, more infuriated than hurt.
you: why the fuck should i listen to you
it’s as though the air instantly intensifies and the world quiets around you.
unknown number: i’ll give you a reason. move back
you shoot out a quick:
you: what?
before immediately receiving back:
unknown number: now.
now usually this kind of command would irk you into stubbornly ignoring it, but a seriously dreadful feeling settles into your gut. instantly you scramble backwards, tripping into the flower bush.
and just as well because as soon as you do, a motorcycle zooms past, on the sidewalk, tearing into the sound barrier as it breaks record speeds.
your hands tremble and you stare wide eyed in front of you, not even able to comprehend what just happened at first.
you tend to get absorbed in tasks, yes, but there’s no way even you wouldn’t have been able to hear the engine of a motorcycle approaching.
the thought of what would have happened to you if you hadn’t moved chills you to the bone. or if the phone hadn’t decided to warn you, or if it chose a more severe threat. you shudder.
the message is clear: ‘i can get rid of you anytime i want.’
you sigh.
you: okay fine i'll figure it out you piece of shit.
you slam the flip phone shut, not giving the other side a chance to reply. huh, that’s really satisfying, maybe you should switch your actual phone to one of these for that effect.
you sigh in frustration, the happiness and satisfaction from finally getting to glimpse underneath sunghoon’s stoic exterior now completely gone.
the phone’s words run around in your head, haunting you. there’s still no way you were going to manipulate someone into falling in love with you, but you have to figure something out, and fast.
something has to give, and you hope to hell it won’t be the ground underneath your feet.
you’ve been on edge ever since the motorcycle incident a few days ago, constantly paranoid that someone is following you or set to attack you.
it feels like every day is spent looking over your shoulder, and you are, which is probably why you bump into another student so hard, on the way to find a secluded corner to eat in.
you feel their hands grasp the sides of your waist to balance you before you yelp and jump back, finally realizing who it is when you do.
“oh gosh, i’m so sorry.”
then, remembering your first encounter you laugh, “looks like i’m the one bumping into you now, huh?”
you expect to see a smile or chuckle in response from the usually genial guy, but instead you're met with jake’s expressionless countenance.
you raise your eyebrows, about to ask if everything is alright, but jake interrupts you.
“sorry, but can we talk?”
you’re flabbergasted at the chill permeating his words, but you nod immediately, sensing the mood shift to something more serious.
jake on the other hand is incredibly frustrated as he walks with a brisk pace to the closest storage closet (again, why are there so many?)
you follow, even more confused now that this is apparently a conversation that has to be done in private.
when you turn after shutting the door, jake looks like he doesn’t want to be here at all, which is hilarious because he’s the one who brought you here?
jake inhales deeply before speaking, “be honest, are you stalking me?”
“what?!” your jaw drops, not entirely believing those words actually came out of his mouth. the notion to you is downright insane, because why would you go around stalking jake of all people?
you shake your head, disturbed, “what are you talking about?”
“i keep seeing you around after that first time we met; it looks innocent and coincidental, but you could easily be staging this. not to mention the phone.”
you have no idea what the second part of your sentence means, so you focus on the first part.
“we’re in a high school? we’re probably just in the same place? dude, i promise i’m not following you around, hell i don’t know how you’ve been seeing me when i haven’t been seeing you.”
seeing his unconvinced expression, you continue, “look, while i think being good enough in something to compete is incredibly cool, why would i be stalking a mathlete? i hate math!”
jake looks at you like you have a few screws loose.
“why would you be stalking me?” he repeats incredulously.
you nod.
“i’m a model. if you’re going to pretend you’re not stalking me, at least have a believable defense.”
now this is just ridiculous, you roll your eyes. “yeah sure. and i’ve sold a million copies of a book.”
not done with berating this liar, you continue, “the only model i’ve heard of going to our school is sim jaeyun!”
while jake was initially dead set on confronting you before this turns out like last time, the situation has just gotten bizarre.
“i’m sim jaeyun.”
“what.”
“that’s me.”
you shake your head, feeling like you’re speaking to a child, “no, you’re jake.”
“yes. that’s my nickname,” jake for his part, also feels like he’s speaking to a child.
he snaps himself out of it, “okay fine, i get all that, but that doesn’t change the fact that you forgot that phone with me and i kept it to give it back to you, but all of a sudden it disappeared? i took it with me and then it disappeared. so either you tried to get it back, or someone else stole it.”
a chill runs through you; you know exactly why the flip phone disappeared from jake’s possession. but there’s no way to explain that without sounding absolutely insane.
so you lie.
“i don’t know man, i’ve never seen that phone in my life. i didn’t even know it was in my backpack, which is why i freaked out a bit.”
you shrug, hoping to sell it.
jake stares at you for over a minute, trying to read your expression and determine if you truly were innocent. he must see what he’s looking for, because he sighs, and his shoulders relax.
“sorry, that was a pretty serious accusation. i just, dealt with a similar situation before and i didn’t react quick enough back then and it had severe consequences.”
you shake your head, “all cool. your evidence was mildly incriminating at least.”
he nods, “yeah, but still…”
“i was wondering,” you hesitate, not sure if asking would be going too far, “why are you alone so much? last time i met you, you were eating alone here for no reason.”
and jake could lie. he could brush it off. he could put up a big smile and let this opportunity to open up pass like every other one that’s come his way. and for a split second he’s about to, but then.
jake sighs. It’s not like anyone would believe the world of an odd, bright-eyed girl over him anyways. so even if you did open your mouth and blab to everyone about your conversation, no harm done, right?
“everyone hangs around me because they have something to gain or they’re impressed by some superficial trait i possess. no one sees me. not for who i am.”
you raise a brow, “which is?”
he pauses, not having expected that question and not entirely having an answer, but his mind flicks to one of his biggest grievances. that everyone only saw a pretty face and underestimated his intelligence. constantly.
“... smart?”
you burst out laughing, prompting a flinch from the teenage model. jake frowns at you, sure he doesn’t expect you to understand that even someone like him can struggle, but this is a little cruel isn’t it?
he voices as much, “hey… i bare my heart out to you, and you laugh at me. i know there are worse things, but–”
you interrupt him with wide eyes, not wanting him to get the wrong idea, “no, sorry! it’s just, when you were talking about being seen, i wasn’t expecting you to name something that’s also superficial.
he adjusts against the metal shelf, pursing his lips. “what do you mean?”
“well, intelligence is also something you’re born with, no?”
jake rolls his eyes, surprising you with his increasingly lax demeanour, “that’s something stupid people say to excuse themselves from learning and improving.”
now this actually prompts some derision from you, coming out in the form of an incredulous snort.
“not quite. you can learn things and grow smarter, yes, but some people are gifted with a natural intelligence. i don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right to use that as a metric when it’s not that simple.”
jake hums, contemplating, “what qualities do you look for in people, then?”
“like,” you pause, “loyalty, passion, dedication, kindness, humour, empathy, patience.”
you take a deep breath to continue, but get interrupted by jake, who’s laughing a little.
“i think i get it, that’s interesting. i’ve never thought of it like that before, but… you’re right.”
you smile, a little smug at coming out of this conversation with the upper hand.
jake, in the meantime, runs over what you’ve just said in his head several times. none of the people he surrounds himself with have a nearly similar line of thinking, and it’s exhausting.
hearing from you that the qualities you’re born with are the ones that don’t matter is a breath of fresh air, and jake can’t go back to the smog after experiencing it.
“hang out with me?” jake blurts before he can think about it.
he stiffens immediately and he rushes to clarify, a little upset at himself for being like this.
“not. like, in a date way. i want to be friends.”
you just give him an odd look, “i didn’t think it would be romantic?”
and it’s a little hypocritical, but that mildly offends jake, because why not?
he pouts, “what, why not? are you too good for someone vain like me?”
you laugh and shake your head, “no, no that’s not it. no one’s ever seen me like that, i mean.”
maybe it’s more of the phone’s words ringing around in your head, yelling at you that you’re unlovable, but it’s not like the phone lied. no one has ever confessed to you, or pursued you romantically.
your mind flashes briefly to the boy who left his number for you, but you shoo the thought away. if he was really interested in you, why didn’t he just speak to you? it wasn’t like you had claws or anything scary.
deep in your musing, you don’t notice the dumbfounded expression on jake’s face. how in the world has no one had a crush on you before? sure, it’s not like jake does either, but he isn’t blind, or stupid.
you were kind and pretty. and probably a bunch of those other qualities you had listed earlier. before he can make any sort of response, the bell rings, startling the two of you.
you gasp, looking at jake with a stink-eye, “you took up my entire lunch?”
“sorry, i’ll make it up to you?” jake responds with a sheepish grin.
you shake your head lightheartedly and turn to leave, exasperated but clearly not upset. before you can turn the knob though you feel jake clasp your wrist.
“wait!” he clears his throat, “add my number? so we can talk. and stuff.”
ah, this is so awkward. it’s been so incredibly long since he has made friends authentically.
you smile and agree. your smile only drops abruptly much later, when you’re in your seat and you realize you’re doing exactly what the flip phone wants. guilt fills your stomach and the idea of any of the pair finding out and thinking this is the only reason you became friends almost kills you where you sit.
although unwillingly, you have made progress on target number one. good thing you don’t notice target number two’s intense stare, because it might have truly taken you out.
sunghoon listens patiently as you explain the intricacies of online books versus published books on your way to the weekly event-planning meeting with your teacher.
except, imagine his surprise when you arrive and instead of their teacher there, waiting to cover what they had accomplished in the past week, there’s a bunch of other students?
you stop speaking at the same time sunghoon freezes, also noting the odd situation. simultaneously, the two of you back out to check the room number again.
nope, it’s the right room.
the two of you exchange a cautious glance before venturing to enter the room despite the students occupying it.
seemingly noticing the confusion apparent on both your faces, a boy with bright eyes who exudes a sort of feline air, (if that’s possible?!), speaks to you.
“are you two part of the event-planning committee?”
you nod gingerly, still feeling a bit like you’ve stepped into the twilight zone, “yes?”
the end of the word pitches up, coming across as a question rather than a response. the boy just smiles kindly.
“apparently, we’re having a monthly meeting with every class’s representatives,” he explains.
you feel comfortable enough to lead sunghoon into sitting where the boy is, although there are three others clustered there, not really interested by newcomers. there are also other groups scattered around the empty classroom, but you don’t think inserting yourself in any of them would be a good idea, given that they hadn’t looked up in the least when you entered.
they nod at you when the two of you sit down, but leave the introductions to the boy who spoke. it doesn’t escape your notice that literally all of their gazes hang onto sunghoon for a bit before looking away.
you’re starting to believe there’s some kind of lore, for lack of better words, behind why sunghoon is mildly ostracised amongst the school and yet also has an incredibly high love count.
you tear your gaze away from the other boys, however, when the boy who greeted you speaks.
“i’m jungwon, this is sunoo, this is ni-ki, and this is heeseung,” jungwon gestures to each of the boys respectively, who do some sort of acknowledgement upon being mentioned.
“nice to meet you! i’m y/n,” you pause looking over to sunghoon, who looks like there about a million other places he’d rather be right now, “and this is sunghoon.”
you ignore the gnawing idea that they definitely know who sunghoon is and don’t look too keen on meeting him.
instead, you focus on the bright smile you receive from jungwon, “nice to meet you too, so i guess you’re a second year then?”
he’s most likely referring to the fact that you’re with sunghoon, but you respond without acknowledging it, “yes! i transferred here a couple months ago, though.”
jungwon nods, “makes sense why i haven’t seen you around then, ni-ki here is a transfer too!”
he ruffles said boy’s hair while he says so, ignoring ni-ki’s yelp and complaining that he’s ruining his styled hair. ni-ki doesn’t retaliate though, too absorbed in whatever game he’s playing on his switch right now.
“so,” you attempt to speak casually, “what are we all waiting for?”
this time it’s sunoo, if you remember correctly, who pipes up, “the teacher who initiated this event!”
he continues with an eye-roll, “real classy of him to be running late after emphasizing how important being on time was.”
you smile, endeared by both of the boys' behaviour. it seems jungwon and his group of friends have a lot of personality. even heeseung, who looks to be on another plane of existence thanks to his zoning out.
ni-ki mutters a curse when he loses the level yet again, shoving the switch into heeseung’s chest petulantly, “fine, you can do it for me.”
heeseung just gives a smug smirk back as he gets to accomplishing what ni-ki was unable to do in your short time in the classroom. now that his attention is free, ni-ki finally gives the two of you a good look.
“so how’d you get drafted onto the committee, volunteered or voluntold?” he waggles his eyebrows slightly, and you smile at the clear attempt to be friendly.
you nudge sunghoon’s hand gently, trying to see if he’d like to answer, but when a second goes by, you speak up instead, not wanting the boy to go unanswered.
“voluntold,” you speak with faux dramatics, satisfied to hear a chuckle from heeseung even as he plays and smiles from the other boys.
you venture a questioning glance towards sunghoon, curious as to why he’s gone back into his shell. noting that the boys have become absorbed into a conversation that you are evidently welcome to join, but does not centre around you, you pull your phone out to send a message.
you: what’s up with you?
when sunghoon feels a buzz in his pocket, he glances at you curiously, putting the dots together. a small smile makes its home on his face when reading, before he responds.
park sunghoon: Contrary to what you might believe, I still don’t like hanging out with people
park sunghoon: This school is unkind
the kindness thing had sort of become an inside joke between the two of you by now, so you could recognize that he’s being playful, but at the same time an undercurrent of truth seemed to run behind it.
instead, you just send a quick response before visibly putting your phone away.
you: they seem nice though, just give it a try.
sunghoon doesn’t respond, knowing you wouldn’t see it anyway. he does, however, consider the suggestion. he’s entirely conflicted. you don’t know what he’s gone through before you transferred here. at the same time, none of these boys are involved with that incident.
maybe you’re onto something.
for now though, he stays silent, content to watch you interact and bond with these people instead. even though he’s seen it before, your ease in human connection is truly something astonishing to witness.
it’s a gift not many have, to be able to recognize boundaries and communicate at a level that matches your conversation partner.
to your surprise, it’s heeseung who’s been relatively quiet compared to the younger boys until now who suggests exchanging social media. sunghoon raises a brow, but says nothing from where he’s leaning against a desk.
after you’ve given the boys your account, you’re about to perhaps try and suggest exchanging numbers as well so you could include sunghoon, but before you can say anything, a teacher walks in.
presumably the teacher sunoo had been shading earlier.
he talks about compiling everyone’s efforts so far, and so the next hour is spent basically catching up the entire committee on the progress each team has made towards the festival.
evidently, this does not go as well as expected, because the man listens to each recounting with a slight frown, noting that several teams had been exploring the same things and basically doing tasks that others had already done.
he shakes his head as he speaks, “this structure is very inefficient, we’re repeating work like this. instead, moving forward i’ll be dividing you into teams targeted towards different aspects.”
the teacher goes on to make several divisions, including accommodations towards different disabilities, vendors, decoration, entertainment, and the like.
he hesitates, seemingly making a choice between two equally conflicting options, “you can all choose your own groups, i suppose. based on the people here, each team will have five or six people.”
your eyes immediately find sunghoon’s, who’s done the same, before snapping to the other boys nearby after a few seconds. the agreement that you’d be a team seems to fall even without any words.
in the end, you go up with jungwon to write down all of your names under the ‘promotion’ task force. it seems the conflict you had earlier has been solved as, being a team, the six of you have to exchange numbers to make a group chat anyways.
you smile, beyond elated at the possibility of actually having friends, and not ones who behave strangely like sunghoon and jake.
more than that, though, is happiness at the possibility of sunghoon gaining more connections as well. maybe it’s not your place, but sometimes you look at sunghoon and you feel an immense aura of loneliness.
and it would make you incredibly happy to see sunghoon happy, to see him learn that kindness isn’t so uncommon. because admittedly, at this point you are friends.
although you’ve started speaking to the other boys more after that fateful meeting, you had reckoned you’re more on the level of acquaintances.
apparently not, because during your wandering (jake had some shoot to go to, leaving you unable to have lunch with him) near the gardens outside, you caught their attention. hell, you didn’t even know they hung out here during lunch time, but you supposed it only made sense considering you had never seen them inside before.
you also hadn’t expected said observation to lead jungwon to calling you to them with a, “hey, y/n, over here!”
you look around in confusion, before pointing at yourself with confusion.
sunoo laughs, “no, the other y/n behind you.”
despite knowing it’s a sarcastic joke, you play along and whip your head to look behind you, and gasp loudly at a supposed second y/n.
a shy smile lights up your face when you hear laughter. so you are funny, you had started to think you had lost it with the way you had remained absolutely friendless for so long.
you make your way over to the group, desperately hoping they won’t notice you’re alone.
of course, this doesn’t happen.
“where were you going?” ni-ki questions, not unkind, but curious.
you cough, a little embarrassed, “the single friend i’ve managed to make so far has other plans today, so i’ve been abandoned…”
heeseung raises a brow, “i think i saw sunghoon sitting alone by the west end entrance earlier though?”
you shake your head, a little embarrassed, “not him, we’re friends, but we’ve never really had lunch together because i don’t know if he wants to?”
jungwon nods with understanding, “he’s always been a bit of a lone wolf, i was surprised to see him so comfortable with you at the meeting.”
“comfortable?” you laugh a bit, thinking he’s making a joke, but no, the boy is serious.
“well, yeah, usually sunghoon’s in a bad mood.”
he mutters an ‘understandably,’ but then raises his voice again, “but he seemed very calm and at peace. i don’t know.”
jungwon shrugs slightly, ending off with, “just my thoughts.”
sunoo watches the exchange with keen eyes, noting your demeanour and reaction to all of this.
he brings out a bright smile to speak, “anyway, forget that for now, sit with us! now heeseung won’t look like a creep hanging out with first years despite being a third year.”
heeseung yelps with indignation, “hey! if i recall correctly, ni-ki over here is the one who begged me to join you guys. i have third year friends too!”
ni-ki rushes to defend himself, “because you’re the captain of the basketball team! if they see me hanging out with you, they’ll think ‘oh, he used to be captain’s friend’ when we’re deciding the captain next year.”
heeseung shakes his head, “see, they just use you.”
you hold your hand out for a fist bump from the teen, laughing at the third year’s scandalized expression, “he’s just trying to be a nepo-baby. i don’t see an issue.”
jungwon laughs, “that’s not– well, i guess.”
you have an incredibly enjoyable lunch with the boys, sunoo making sure to let you know you’re always welcome to eat with them. they’d usually be out here, but if they aren’t you should shoot a text and they’d let you know where they are.
as he speaks, a chime comes from your backpack, and it’s all you can do to stop yourself from pulling the flip phone phone out and smashing it on the concrete.
you know it’s that stupid phone because yours is currently in your pocket. while you’re tempted to see whatever taunt the entity has left you now, you’re not keen on shooting your blood pressure through the roof.
so there it lies, in your backpack, ignored as you laugh along with the boys’ jokes and converse with them.
life at decelis is finally looking good.
despite the boys’ insistence that sunghoon seems to be comfortable with you, you can’t shake off the fear of bothering him.
sure, they think he looks like he enjoys being in your presence, but considering what you know about sunghoon, you’re unsure. which is why the next time jake’s unable to have lunch together (another photoshoot.) and you’re left alone, you hem and haw.
conflicted between sitting next to sunghoon or sending the boys a text like they had encouraged you to do, instead you end up doing neither and glare holes into sunghoon’s lunch.
unfortunately, as anyone would, sunghoon notices the intense gaze being levelled at him and catches your eye, startling you. he raises an eyebrow, both amused and exasperated by your focus.
you shake your head as sort of a ‘it’s nothing, disregard.’
of course, sunghoon doesn’t care and he gestures you over anyways. you sigh, well whether you like it or not the choice is made for you now.
you make your way over to sunghoon’s desk, trying hard not to focus on your fellow classmates’ curious eyes and whispers. yah, sunghoon is such a headache.
he doesn’t speak even when you arrive, staring at you until you pull a chair to sit across from him at his desk.
“so what was the laser focus for,” sunghoon’s tone seems to be teasing, but you can’t exactly discern if you’re right.
you mumble, “was wondering if we should use this time to speak,” and then you notice his blank stare and panic, backtracking a bit.
“i mean. about planning for the festival.”
“planning,” somehow sunghoon doesn’t seem convinced and you don’t want to figure out why that is.
you still don’t meet his eyes, “right.”
“without the rest of our team,” ah, there it is.
you nervously laugh it off though, “yeah, that’s why i was considering it, we’d have to find the others as well.”
you wonder how speaking to sunghoon had seemed so easy before, when now it felt like his eyes are capable of gazing uncomfortably deep into your soul. he looks around the classroom, noticing several people jerk their attention away after being caught, and rolls his eyes.
sunghoon gets up, which wow, you knew maybe you aren’t the best company, but that’s a tad rude?
to your surprise however, he looks expectantly at you when he’s standing.
“let’s go for a walk,” sunghoon finally says when it seems the brain waves he’s sending your way aren’t being received.
you nod dumbly, a little stunned as you follow him out of the classroom.
when you’re a good distance away and now roaming the sparse halls, sunghoon finally speaks.
“there were way too many people paying attention,” he sighs, “i’ll never understand the interest in other people’s business.”
you bite back the retort that it’s less other people’s business, and more his business they’re interested in, fearing this talkative (for him) mood sunghoon’s in will disappear.
and despite your initial reasoning that this interaction is for the event, you don’t bring up the planning at all, instead choosing to mention that your neighbours got a dog instead, and that it kept you up at night.
sunghoon’s eyes widen slightly at your choice of topic being completely unrelated to the festival, but he chooses to simply respond to what you’ve said instead.
and so you make rounds, talking about anything but the event. embarrassingly enough, you even spot your team members at one point, although sunghoon doesn’t notice them and it seems jungwon’s the only one who notices you, sunoo being in an animated discussion with ni-ki and heeseung being missing.
he smirks at the two of you, while you just narrow your eyes, daring him to say something. jungwon shakes his head and looks away, letting you off the hook for now, but definitely planning on bringing it up later.
well. that’s later you’s problem. for now you can relax and enjoy the rich timber of sunghoon’s voice along with the admittedly pleasant decelis atmosphere.
you guess its inherent clique-y-ness isn’t so bad once you actually have people to hang out with.
now that you have sunghoon to hang out with. you’ve spoken and interacted with sunghoon countless times over the past month, but this is the first time you feel that the circumstances with the event planning have nothing to do with it. like sunghoon actually enjoys your company.
so of course you have to open your big mouth and ruin that.
in an attempt to prolong the conversation, even as the toll of the bell looms closer, you say the following:
“by the way, did you know there’s a skating competition happening at the rink near decelis this weekend?”
immediately, it’s as if the vitality has been drained from sunghoon.
he freezes, then when you stop walking as well, he puts on a neutral expression but it looks wrong. forced.
“really? that’s… cool.”
you furrow your brows, “is something wrong?”
and wow, that’s something sunghoon’s wanted someone to care about for years. for just one person to look at park sunghoon and not see an ice skater, incapable of (forbidden from) messing up. for them to see a human being pushed to the brink, desperate to live up to the expectations.
just for someone to ask, even.
he chuckles sardonically, “no. yes. i don’t know.”
“do you want to… talk about it?” you venture tentatively.
sunghoon shakes his head, “no.”
but then he adds on after a few seconds, “not now at least.”
right before you’re set to enter the classroom, sunghoon grasps your shoulder and pulls you back gently to mutter. you stiffen, his mouth is way too close to your ear, it feels intimate.
“thank you for asking,” he pauses, “and caring.”
before you can compose a response, he lets go of your shoulder and brushes past you to rush inside.
you grasp at your ear robotically, eyes wide, and inexplicably flustered. you didn’t know why you felt so affected, but it’s a euphoric feeling.
after several last minute commitments and cancellations, it’s finally time for you to eat lunch with jake again. admittedly, while you want to get pissed off at the guy for blowing you off several times in a row, you can’t.
in your opinion, it’s understandable that he doesn’t have much time to dedicate outside of his literal job. although with how often he’s running off and missing school, you’re surprised it’s still legal.
aren’t there some child labour laws that should be getting enforced?
regardless, it’s been around a week since you’ve last seen jake, and you’re not ashamed to admit you’re excited to see him again.
you wait in yet another of decelis’ storage closets, this time you and jake actually planning to meet there instead of happening to meet or getting dragged there.
while you wait you decide to examine your surroundings with a bored gaze. nothing interesting, except for the fine film of dust coating everything and causing you to sneeze every five seconds.
it seems this closet is especially unused.
unfortunately, jake enters during a loud sneezing fit and it’s evident on his face that it’s all he can do to stop himself from bursting into laughter at your state.
he shakes his head, amused, “i think we should probably go out to eat.”
“wait no, i’m fine! i just–” you interrupt yourself with a thunderous sneeze, “need to get used to it…”
this time the gaze he levels at you is deadpan, as sort of a ‘really…?’
but to save you from embarrassment, jake disregards the blatant lie, “it’s fine, i forgot to pack a lunch anyway. let’s go.”
you sigh, getting off the floor and only mildly cringing at the dirt that’s collected upon you during your stay in the space. maybe jake is on to something; you can only imagine how many diseases you’re possibly contracting.
“so, where were you thinking?” you ask curiously, struggling a bit to keep pace with jake’s speed.
if sunghoon is like the winter: cool, arid, and measured, jake is the summer: energetic, loud, and headlong.
you wonder what would happen if the two were to meet, a friendship for the ages, or an intense showdown? of the unstoppable force versus immovable object kind. you’re pondering who would be which when you’re pulled back to reality by a hand waving in front of your face.
“hellooo?” this doesn’t seem to be jake’s first time calling you.
you respond quickly, embarrassed, “yes, sorry?”
he snorts, “man, i thought you were just quiet because you were hungry, but you were on a whole other planet just now.”
any possible protest is cut off when you realize the two of you have actually arrived at some of the mom-and-pop restaurants that had set up near decelis, attracted by the hub of student activity and guaranteed customers.
you muse, “hmm, will we make it back in time?”
“doesn’t matter,” jake’s smile is something between mischievous and eager, “what’s one skipped class?”
you smack his arm slightly, “you of all people have no right to say that, you’ve probably attended what, six classes so far?”
when jake gasps in mock offense, claiming he’s not that bad, you give him an unimpressed stare.
“do you even know your teacher’s name?” you squint at the boy.
“of course, it’s…” jake flounders, before whining, “you gave me a hard one.”
“sure i did,” you roll your eyes, “have you chosen what you want to eat yet?”
jake’s responding silence tells you everything you need to know, his sheepish gaze meeting yours when you glance at him.
“what’s good here?” he ventures.
you shake your head, exasperated, “i bet you hadn’t even looked at the menu yet.”
“i heard their yangnyeom chicken slaps, though,” you add on, deciding to grant him mercy.
jake hums in acknowledgement, but he looks a bit… hesitant.
then it clicks, “wait, are you not allowed to eat stuff like that?”
he is a model after all…
seemingly caught, jake looks at you in surprise, before rushing to deny, “no! if it’s just once…”
you shake your head, “i was planning on just eating this later, but i had some bibimbap for lunch if you want to eat that?”
it would be considerably healthier after all.
and if you had any doubts earlier, the exhale of relief that jake lets out is enough to tell you that you made the right choice.
(unfortunately you lose in another battle for paying for your food; although this time you genuinely feel you have no grounds as jake insists it's the least he can do after taking your lunch. touché.)
when you eventually receive your order and settle down at an outdoor picnic bench with jake, you pull out your tupperware, a pair of chopsticks, and a spoon to give to him while speaking.
“it’s really not my business, but are you okay with such a strict diet?”
jake shrugs, “it’s alright. it’s not like i never eat anything i want to, but sometimes it is frustrating.”
you look at him curiously, setting up your own food, “you like modelling in general, though?”
jake pauses, thinking it through thoroughly for the first time in a while, “... the verdict is still up. it can be very satisfying. and yet i can’t decide if it’s worth the sacrifices it comes with. this shit tastes so good by the way, did your mom make this?”
you laugh at the dichotomy between his dialogues, only laughing harder when jake sends a confused puppy-esque look your way.
eventually upon calming down, you let him know, “actually, i made it. and by sacrifices do you mean like. missing out on school?”
jake’s jaw drops open slightly, “no way, you made this?”
you narrow your eyes, “what, you don’t think i can?”
he laughs, “no it’s just… you should open a restaurant or something. it tastes like home.”
the wistful light in his eyes leads you to believe you should probably leave the earlier line of questioning alone, so you don’t bring it up.
still, after a few moments of eating in quiet peace, jake speaks up, “it’s less school and more… i miss having friends. i used to be on the football team in middle school, and we would all goof around. i can’t get that anywhere now.”
“nowhere?”
he sighs, “you know, i meant it when i said people only see a pretty face, earlier. if guys aren’t pissed off at me because their crush likes me, they’re jealous that i get good grades. or some other inane bullshit.”
you consider his words, before speaking quietly, “i think you just have to find the right people.”
“believe me,” jake rests his cheek onto one of his palms, leaning an elbow on the table, “i’ve tried.”
and maybe it’s not your place, but you cautiously suggest, “actually, the friends i’ve made here have been nothing but kind and nonjudgmental.”
now jake is looking at you with suspicion, “you’ve only been here a couple months! and just a little bit ago you were saying you had no friends. zero.”
you roll your eyes, “well you don’t have to rub it in. and yeah, i probably don’t know the extent of their character, but sometimes you can just tell. the kindness someone shows you when they have absolutely no reason to, it sticks. and also i’ve been friends with one of them for over a month now!”
the boy mutters, “very impressive,” with sarcasm, but he seriously considers what you’re saying.
sure, you could be wrong, but the feeling you're describing is the same one he had about you. that ‘this is a good person, and i’ll remember them for the rest of my life.’
jake gives in, “alright, introduce me to your friends.”
these are all fem!reader, my apologies !!!!
pLEASE SENF ME RECOMMENDATIONS I LIVE LAUGH LOVE SMAUS
lee heeseung
a stoners guide to starbucks (completed) - @jayflrt
lee heeseung x fem!reader, fluff, strangers to lovers.
this was honestly the funniest thing ive read ever, i was properly laughing out loud.
verboten (completed) - @heesbaby
lee heesung x fem!reader, fluff, smut, kind of an age gap? also kind of angst?
girl this had me so hot and bothered, love love love.
poison (completed) - @onlyjaeyun
lee heeseung x fem!reader, angst, smut, brothers best friend.
my guy this was great i love lee heeseung and i also love user onlyjaeyun
park jongseong
strictly business (completed) - @onlyjaeyun
park jonseong x fem!reader, fluff, smut, ceo!jay x secretary!reader
i love a man in a suit ohmygosh also if you dont follow user onlyjaeyun youre doing it wrong, writing is immaculate.
park sunghoon
cold hearts (on going) - @onlyjaeyun
park sunghoon x fem!reader, fluff, smut, friends to enemies to lovers
i love toxic men unfortunately and sunghoon is mean in this one. i am so invested in this story its crazy.
the pleasure principal (on going) - @moonlighthoon
park sunghoon x fem!reader, crack, smut, strangers to lovers
this has been such a cute and funny read so far. cant wait for the rest.
fuck christmas (completed) - @jayflrt
park sunghoon x fem!reader, crack, fluff, friends to lovers
a quick read, but super sweet !!!
sim jaeyun
after hours (completed) - @heesbaby
rockstar!jake x fem!reader, fluff, slow burn, smut.
this had me hooked man, great writing !!!!!
hybe boy (completed) - @onlyjaeyun
sim jaeyun x fem!reader, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers
jake is honestly so cute in this story i love him so bad.
doctors orders (completed) - @heesbaby
sim jaeyun x fem!reader, angst, fluff, smut.
loved the angst in this one *chefs kiss*
kim sunoo
i havent seen a single smau for my baby, if anyone has recommendations PLEASE send them to me !!!!!
yang jungwon
cupids conflict (completed) - @amakumos
yang jungwon x fem!reader, fluff, enemies to lovers but only one of them knows they're enemies lol
this was sooooo cute
kindred (completed) - @thatfeelinwhenyou
yang jungwon x fem!reader, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers
i binged this story !!! it was soo good and cute and good and cuuuuttteeee
nishimura riki
joah (completed) - @jayujus
nishimura riki x fem!reader, fluff, crack, enemies to lovers??
so cute, theres kind of a love triangle ? tbh this is the only fic ive ever read for niki.
jacobvanloon
germansingergirl
dailybridgerton
janainaart
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
yousharknotpass
