if you’re uncomfortable on some topics then I suggest for you to skip it! :)))
all of the stories are happy ending!!
JAEHYUN
healing (9 chapters series) romance - ceo! au - single dad - smut in some chapters - IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THIS, GO READ IT NOW!! HHAHAHAH for sure a super good series by @nctream
binding bonds (11 chapters series) - ANOTHER ceo au! - arranged marriage - slight player jaehyun :)) another worth to read series! by @jaedore
just friends (this has two parts) - strangers to lovers - fluff - frat boy kinda type by @ahgase55g7
young - fluff - smut - virgin reader - best friend's litter sister (nothing illegal) by @ithinkilikeit-reactions
only can fate tell - fluff - (side character best friend taeyong x irene) - marriage - slowburn - angst (the best!)by @charmingyong
ordinary people - fluff - slowburn - angst - fake dating - friends to lovers - ceo jaehyun! ~ if you’re looking for more fluff jaehyun (+ mark) stories, visit @ppangjae blog!!! one of my fave writer!
i’m not the only one ( has a second part) - smut - cheating - mentions of divorce, pregnancy and blood. - angsty ~ if you want to cry then visit @theje0ngs blog!!
first times - smut - angst - childhood friend/ ceo! jaehyun (dabest) by @moonctzeny
love me or leave me - marriage au - cheating - (fluff ending) - mentions of sex by @tyongxnct
bad for u - 18+ - unhealthy coping mechanisim - angst - virgin reader - smut - strangers to lovers by @agustdiv1ne
oh baby it’s you - best friends to fwb to lovers - angst - smut - fluff - pregnant sex ~ they are currently on hiatus but @jaehyunfirstlove stories are really amazing!!
promised - childhood friends to enemies to lovers - arranged marriage au - 18+ ~ by @doiebunny
memories (there’s also an alternative ending for this one) - angst - fluff by @jenosdaemi
a lover’s fate - smut - ceo au! - ceo! jaehyun x ceo! reader - enemies to lovers - arranged marriage by @jaevelina
Domaine de la Romanée - rich kid au! - smut - angst - slow burn - fluff ( SUPER LONG BUT LET ME TELL YOU, WORTH TO READ!!) by @heartau
blind date - the wedding - fluff I LOVE THIS SM HSOUFHIU by @luvhaos
a ceo jaehyun short fic - suggestive? - fluff - ceo! au THIS IS SUPER CUTE AAAAAH by @j4ehyunluvr
Our Kids Talk About Us ( this has a second part go check it out on their blog!) - single parents au - angst - fluff - romance - smut ~ if you haven’t read their stories please go check out their blog!! @anashins such an amazing writer!!
Sleep well, Princess - six year age gap - angst - drama - fluff - romance - smut (nothing illegal)
vacation home - brother’s bestfriend jaehyun - smut by @taeyongsfish
Curiosity killed the cat - roommates to lovers - smut by @sunwoosbunny
forevermore - best friend to lovers - college au - fluff by @jenoloqy
You’re the One - smut - fluff - angst - enemies to fwb to lovers - college au by @jaehyunnie77
if we were a movie - childhood friends to lovers - college au - slow burn - angst - fluff
first times - childhood friend/ceo jaehyun - smut - loss of virginity by @moonctzeny
redamancy - arrange marriage - fluff - angst - smut by @icedcappujaeno
I Hate That I Love You - enemies to lovers - roommates au - college au - smut - fluff by @jaehyunnie77
I LIKE ME BETTER ( WHEN I’M WITH YOU) - friend to enemies to lovers -
college au - smut - friends with benefits - fluff
adjancent - alternate universe - golden retriever jaehyun - fluff check moreee in their blog!! by @jae-canikeepyou
no guidance - knocked up - smut ~ check more stories on their blog!! by @yutaholic
DOYOUNG
before I go - arranged marriage - fluff - angst - smut by @yutaholic
change me - fluff - slight angst - smut by @2jaeh
Be My Distraction - smut - office au! - office workers to lovers - angst - fluff by @immabiteyou
soft boyfriend ( has three parts) fluff - little angst - smut by @slightlymore
my soulmate loves wine - soulmate au - fluff - smut - romance
muse - fluff - smut - painter au, bridgerton au by @tyonfs
hardest to love - medical au - surgeon doyoung x surgeon reader - romance - angst - enemies to lovers - smut by @slightlymore
Best friends? - smut with plot by @bl--ankhaeji
lost star - fluff - angst - drama by @endingscenery
To Feel Again - smut by @everlasting-stories
lovefool - established relationship - soft angst to fluff - ceo!doyoung by @kdyism
first (a three part story) - romantic smut - loss of virginity - established relationship by @meowniee
crawl to me - ceo!doyoung - suggestive by @icanhearitcallin
here it is!! alsoo go check out their blog, a lot of them write for more nct members!! <33
GENRE/CW: smut, fluff, attempt at humour, porn with plot, down bad jake, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), lots of kissing, cunnilingus, dry humping, fingering, spit kink, edging, marking, multiple orgasms, crying. mentions of nicknames, jungwon needs to be saved, lmk if i missed anything!
WORD COUNT: 26.7k words!
SYNOPSIS: There are a few things to note about Jake, starting with how he’s a shameless flirt, two—no rejection is harsh enough to stop him from trying (his friends call it his foolishness, but he’s been plenty successful, courtesy of his face), and three, once he falls, he falls completely.
A/N: hihi loves <3 not sure what this is but i js wanted to post sumn on my birthday, also cause i love jake <3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <3
Travel companies are a hoax.
Relatively speaking, when someone books a holiday with their friends, they don’t do it to be ushered into a group of random people because they purchased the same package.
“It wasn’t even mentioned on the website,” Jungwon’s voice chimes in, and rightfully so.
Maybe the problem could have been bigger had you been stuck around some judgmental families or a group of old men maybe, but your merciful fate said otherwise as you observed the flock moving and chatting in whispers amongst each other.
Well, it certainly is a group to look at—you with Jungwon and Karina, had claimed a shaded corner near the welcome drinks table. Across from you, a trio of guys who looked like they stepped out of a cologne advert and were laughing loudly. Then there was the loudest bunch—four people who seemed physically incapable of lowering their volume, currently arguing over who got the bigger room when they were all the same size.
Perfect, just what you needed. But hey, at least they were easy on your eyes, because you did come here to feast your eyes a little (a lot).
Your tour guide was a jolly man called Chris, he kept on bouncing on his feet as if he was the one on the trip actually, “so nice to have you here! Lovely to see a group full of enthusiasm!” He said, making grand gestures.
Jungwon pursed his lips to prevent a laugh from escaping, which turned into a yelp when you all got shoved into the lobby where more champagne is being served. The next hour is supposed to be like a mixer—get to know each other activity of some sort without any plan.
Chris basically yeets everyone toward a long table loaded with champagne flutes and suspiciously bright (?) tropical snacks. “Share fun facts, become besties!” He cheers before vanishing.
The three groups eye each other like rival gangs at a peace treaty signing that no one actually wants, it was clear that no one knew about this setting but oh well, you suppose it could be peaceful and civil if everyone tries. It did start that way with everyone introducing themselves, before it turns into an icebreaker attack by this guy named Hyuck, his friend Beomgyu vlogging everything for no apparent reason.
So much for things being peaceful, though you are humoured enough when their friend Ningning smacks them on the back of their heads. Yeah, you will be befriending her soon.
On the other hand, three guys were still trying to make sense of things, because obviously, no one expected to get dressed for the pool only to get roped into a low budget gathering. Jake wasn’t complaining though, none of them were actually, they looked rather jolly coming across beautiful females, especially Jake who keept glancing your way with a smirk.
Sunghoon on the other hand was actually attentive as Jay explained the basics of how he can connect his phone to the hotel Wi-Fi. Karina nudged you to look at his biceps, which kept on flexing with each movement of his and you both exchanged a knowing smile—that man was your designated eye candy for the trip now.
“You’re drooling,” Jay deadpans, which is much directed towards Jake, “can’t you behave for once?”
“Can’t blame him,” Hoon adds, much to Jay’s dismay who’s trying his hardest to not make his friends appear ill mannered on the very first day.
“What did I tell you guys about treating women with respect—”
Jake shoved his hand on Jay’s mouth, having heard the same lecture thrice in the airplane where he tried to garner the attention of a flight attendant, to no avail. But there’s a few things to note about Jake, starting with how he’s a shameless flirt, and two, no rejection is harsh enough to stop him from trying. His friends call it his foolishness, but he’s been plenty successful, courtesy of his face.
You catch all of this from the corner of your eye while pretending to scroll on your phone. The dude is clearly on a mission. And unfortunately for him (and hilariously for you), that mission now has a target, you.
Chris eventually rounds everyone up like lost ducklings and marches the whole chaotic group number 3 towards the pool area. Now, this is exactly what you’d paid for, the sun is blazing, the kind of perfect summer heat that makes the water sparkle like it’s showing off. You ditch your cover-up, settle into a lounger with Karina on one side and Jungwon on the other, and finally let yourself relax. God knows you three need it, especially after the brutal week you all had at work.
Jungwon shared his strawberry with chocolates, and you graciously took some, meanwhile the other guys didn’t waste much time in showing off their bodies. Jay pulled his shirt off first, revealing a surprisingly toned chest as he stretched his arms overhead with a sigh. Sunghoon followed quietly, peeling his shirt off in one smooth motion and tossing it onto a chair like it was nothing. Jesus, the man was carved. No wonder Karina had nudged you earlier, a low whistle leaving your mouth as Karina too took off her sunglasses and ogled.
Jake, of course, made a whole production out of it. He grabbed the back of his shirt with one hand and tugged it off slowly, like he was in a damn commercial, shaking his hair out after. He caught you looking (again) and shot you a quick, cocky little smirk, flexing his arms not-so-subtly as he stretched.
You just raised an eyebrow and looked away, biting back a smile. So he’s the delusional kind, interesting.
The deck was loud and alive, probably scaring off some families who too were planning on having a peaceful vacation. Hyuck and Gyu had already started their swimming competition, the one who manages most laps wins apparently, splashing around like idiots while yelling trash talk at each other.
You were still chewing your strawberry when two girls from their group wandered over—Ningning and Yunjin, both looking a little fed up with the noise.
“Hey,” Ningning offered a warm smile, plopping down on the lounger right next to Karina like she’d known you forever, “mind if we crash here? The boys are being a lot and we need a chill zone before I lose it.”
Yunjin sat beside Jungwon, flashing you a bright, friendly grin as she kicked her legs out, “I’m Yunjin. You guys look way more relaxed over here. Plus your snacks look better than whatever the guys are hoarding.” She leaned in a little, voice soft and sweet, “your swimsuit is adorable, by the way.”
Ningning nodded, bumping your arm lightly in that casual, already-friends way. “Yeah, and you three seem normal. We’ve been stuck with Hyuck and Gyu since the airport and I need actual conversation before my brain melts.”
You laughed, already liking them both, “Y/N. And please stay—we were literally just saying the same thing. Welcome to the so called safe zone.”
The four of you clicked fast. Karina started swapping little complaints about the surprise group thing, Jungwon shyly passed around more chocolate strawberries, and the conversation flowed easy. Ningning had this dry, funny vibe that had you all giggling within minutes, while Yunjin was genuinely sweet, asking about your jobs and what you were hoping to get out of the trip.
You were mid-laugh at Ningning’s impression of Gyu hyping up the swimming race when Jake decided it was his moment.
He came strutting past your lounger, shoulders back, towel slung cockily over one shoulder, abs out and glistening a little under the sun. He was clearly feeling himself after that dramatic shirt removal, oh and worse, he caught you looking his way.
His whole face lit up with pure, delusional triumph. He stopped right in front of you, not even paying attention to where your eyes were, and did the most ridiculous thing you’d ever seen—slowly wrapping the towel around his waist like a shy maiden protecting her virtue, while still flexing his abs at the same time.
“What’s up, princess?” He called out with a smirk, “can’t keep your eyes off me, huh? C’mon, I don’t mind, you can stare.”
Wow, you’d seen your fair share of men who reeked of confidence, but this was new. Maybe you didn’t appreciate his insinuation of you staring his way, or simply his cockiness, so you rolled your eyes.
You slowly pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, tilted your head, and gave him the most bored, deadpan stare you could muster.
“Sorry?” You said flatly, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, moving your hand in a gesture that basically screams move aside.
Then you proceeded to point your finger right past his shoulder, and it was rather adorable how Jake seemed like a confused little burrito with the towel still wrapped around him as he managed to turn around, his face showing clear implications that he’d be betrayed—betrayed by none other than one of his best friends.
The sight was nice he supposes, Sunghoon in all his glory, casually knocking out pull-ups on the poolside rig like it was the most normal Tuesday activity, back muscles doing their thing without him even trying. The man looked like a sculpture that had decided to work out, a Greek god if you must.
Jake’s expression went from cocky to completely short-circuited in half a second. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again like a fish that just realized it was on dry land. The towel slipped a little lower on his hips but he didn’t even notice. His cheeks flushed this cute, embarrassed pink that spread all the way to his ears.
Jay, who watched the scene unfold, could only muster a slow shake of his head with this long, exhausted sigh. God, he was cute when he did that—the whole gentleman looking guy with a sharp jawline thing really worked for him. You caught yourself staring a beat too long before snapping your eyes back to the main disaster.
“Oh my god, you absolute menace,” Karina wheezed, already tearing up from laughing.
Jungwon tried to hide behind the bowl of chocolate strawberries but his shoulders were shaking so hard he almost dropped the whole thing. Ningning and Yunjin slow-clapped, leaning over to bump your shoulder with a grin.
Jake still hadn’t recovered. Then, in classic Jake fashion, he tried to save face the only way he knew how—with maximum drama and zero brain cells. He spun around dramatically and launched himself backward into the pool like he was auditioning for the Olympics. But, it was not Olympic worthy, much to his dismay. Jake showcased what youd possibly call the most tragic belly-flop you’d ever witnessed in your entire life. Arms windmilling, legs kicking everywhere, the splash so big it drenched you, Karina, Yunjin, and half the loungers like someone had set off a mini tsunami.
When he finally popped up, gasping and coughing, hair plastered to his forehead in wet, messy clumps like a sad golden retriever who’d been denied walkies, the girls around you completely lost their minds. Karina was cackling so hard she had to hold her stomach. Ningning was slapping her thigh. Yunjin leaned into Jungwon’s shoulder trying to breathe through her giggles.
Jay had decided to abandon this big dog and stay by Hoon, telling him exactly what went down on the other side of the pool, and well, Hoon could care less about Jake acting like a loser when he learns that you’d be staring his way.
Regardless, Jake paddled straight over to the edge of the pool right in front of your lounger, folded his arms on the warm tiles, and looked up at you with those big, wounded puppy eyes. Water dripped down his face, but there was this reluctant, sheepish little grin starting to fight its way through all the humiliation.
He groaned, but like we’ve established, he didn’t give up, “I’m Jake, by the way, and I think you just murdered my ego in front of my friends, that’s not too fair, is it?”
You smirked down at him, wiping a few stray droplets off your thigh with the back of your hand. Maybe there were a few good things about Jake too, like his accent, and how he looked so—dramatically endearing in all his loser glory.
“Y/N,” you introduce, tilting your head and taking another sip of your piña colada just to be extra, “honestly, you did that to yourself, and let’s—maybe not assume that every girl looking in your general direction is dying to see your abs. But hey, points for the splash.”
Jake bit his lower lip, eyes narrowing in that playful, competitive way even while he was still dripping wet and thoroughly humbled. He tilted his head right back at you, tongue playing with the piercing he had on the right side of his bottom lip.
“Oh, this isn’t over,” he promises, and you wonder how he even got this confidence back within seconds, “not even close. You’re gonna be staring at me for real by the end of this trip, I swear, consider yourself seduced.”
You raised an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm a little under your gaze, but he took that time to appreciate the beauty of your eyes—which led him to staring at you, shamelessly. Even Hyuck and Gyu had stopped to see this man make a fool out of himself.
“We’ll see about that, Jake.”
He grinned then, and there you gave him another ten points for having a pretty smile, okay maybe he wasn’t bad to look at. He kept the smile, pushing off the edge and swimming backward a bit, still looking at you like you’d just become the highlight of his entire vacation.
You leaned back, the girls still giggling and teasing around you, sun warm on your skin, and tried (and completely failed) to wipe the stupid smile off your face.
Jay shook his head again from a few feet away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “absolute idiot” while shooting you a quick, amused little glance that made your stomach do another tiny flip. Good lord, being surrounded with such fine men was definitely not for the faint hearted. This trip was already a mess.
But damn if it wasn’t the funniest one you’d ever been on.
Turns out, a nap was exactly what you needed to get rid of jet lag, and it worked wonders, leading to the group being more energetic than before and deciding to have dinner together at this Italian restaurant they managed to find in the vicinity.
It was a beautiful open terrace spot filled with the scent of garlic bread and wood-fired pizza. Amongst all this, the chatter felt normal like you were all good friends already, but you opted to sit next to Karina regardless, and you were about to sit down when Jake appeared out of nowhere, aiming straight for the empty chair on your right like a man with a mission. He was already sliding in with that cocky little smirk when you planted a hand on his chest and gave him a firm push back.
Quite frankly, it is rude, but it’s also funny to see Jake’s face when he’s presented with rejection of any sort. Jungwon seems to have been on the same wavelength as you, sitting down on your left—the place which Jake wanted.
“Why’s he always around you?” Jake raises a brow, and Jungwon seems to lean closer to you, head touching your shoulder.
“Take a wild guess?” Jungwon not so helpfully asked, making it very hard for you to control another chuckle which was threatening to escape.
It was comical, really. Jake was also very gullible and not good at catching lies, resulting in his eyes going wide, “wait—he’s your boyfriend?” He shrieked, and took a step back.
Jungwon nodded, ever the problem maker, and wrapped his arm around you with an adorable pout. Everyone else had stopped to observe Jake’s reaction, and also caught on to the simple fact that Jungwon was acting with you, but another thing about Jake—he can be oblivious towards the very obvious things. Gullible, yeah.
“Okay, uh—” Jake doesn’t really get to complete his sentence because Sunghoon pulls him back and into a chair, sandwiched between Jay and him, sitting right across from you with a defeated sigh.
Even Hyuck and Beomgyu point out how Jake appears to be a sulky puppy, golden retriever to be more precise, and he only throws two balled up tissues their way, which somehow ends up hitting the target. Then, he goes back to playing with the food on his plate while watching you chat with Yunjin and eating your share of pasta.
“Are you getting the tingles again?” Jay muttered as he stared at Jake.
“I am not spiderman,” he sighs, though he was getting a tingle indicating that something is not right.
“You certainly do have reflexes for it,” Sunghoon adds before turning to wink at the pretty waitress who slid her number his way. Classic Sunghoon.
Jake did end up trusting his reflex, though his ways were concerning. He saw the opportunity when you were indulging in a deep conversation with the girls about the new Met Gala outfits, leaving Jungwon behind with Jay, who’d somehow managed to befriend the younger man.
One second Jay was walking ahead and explaining the origin of Pizza, and the other second he looked back to see that Jungwon had disappeared. Jake was responsible for it, of course, he’d dragged the poor boy into the alleyway despite his protests. Hyuck popped in his head the very moment Jake decided to open his mouth.
“You swing both ways?” Hyuck asked with a smirk, “if yes then join me and Gyu tonight—”
Jake’s face was red as he pushed Hyuck out and returned his focus back on Jungwon, who was hissing like a cat (?), but yeah Jake had more important matters to discuss.
“Are you actually dating her?” He managed to ask with a croak.
Jungwon gave him an unimpressed look, “that’s what you dragged me for? Don’t tell me you fell in love with her at the first fucking sight?”
“Hey! I’m just curious. What’s wrong with love at first sight anyway?” Jake scoffed.
Jungwon only rolled his eyes and proceeded to walk out, only to yelp as Jake put him in a light headlock. The conversation after that was interesting to say the least, leaving Jungwon pissed as he made his way towards your room, which was right across his room.
You opened the door, and Jungwon wordlessly extended a piece of paper your way, “huh?” You took it from his hand.
“God, I swear you always attract crazies,” Jungwon complained, “do you have a thing for eccentricities?”
Well, you couldn’t deny that. The piece of paper had a number scribbled on it, and an equally messy writing that said, you’re single so we can mingle ;).
Zero points for pickup lines truly. You had to apologize to Jungwon and hand him your favourite gummies for the torture he went through in that alleyway, and he was happy saying oh jelly! Despite it all, you felt your face heating up, Jake was truly a dork, and now you had to entertain his advances throughout the trip.
It was adorable too. So, yeah maybe you should get your taste in men checked.
Once Jungwon had retreated to his room for the night, you washed up and changed into your pajamas, mind still fixated upon that pout Jake held as he stared at you throughout the dinner without even blinking. You stood outside in the balcony, staring at the night sky which was blanketed with stars—something you couldn’t find in the city on a usual basis.
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
You almost flinched, because of course it’s Jake’s room right next to you, with his balcony practically attached to yours. He looked beautiful in the moonlight, you could give him that much, yes. Hair a little tousled, a pathetic smile on his face that he deemed to be flirty.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” He asked, leaning on the railing with his hand cupping his face, “or did you just miss me already?”
You let out a quiet scoff, turning back to the stars like they were far more interesting than the walking golden retriever next to you, “bold of you to assume I was thinking about you at all.”
“Liar,” he grinned watching the twitch of your lips, “you were smiling at dinner every time I looked over. I counted. Seven times.”
“I was smiling because Jungwon kept kicking me under the table trying not to laugh at you.” You shrugged, trying your best not to look his way.
He clutched his chest dramatically, like you’d shot him, “ouch, right in the ego. Even after I gave you my number? C’mon I was waiting for a call, or a text.”
You finally turned his way, leaning closer so his breath hitched, eyes dropping to your lips because he couldn’t control himself—you looked so beautiful like this, especially in your comfy pajamas.
“It’s been like half an hour, chill,” you chuckled.
“A lot can be done in thirty minutes, y’know? Like kissing and falling in love and making babies.”
You raised your brow, “okay, let’s say I did text you, and it would take you two minutes to come to my room, then it’d take seven minutes for you to even initiate a kiss, twelve minutes to fall in love and another six minutes to talk about it. So, you’re saying you last three minutes in bed?”
Jake’s eyes widened comically, “what—no! I have good stamina, I can last all night and have you—”
He rambled, and you simply stared at the grand hand gestures that accompanied him in the midst of him trying to tell you how he can fuck you so good you’d lose your voice. You nodded alongside with an amused expression to humour him, but he kept on going explaining his tongue skills and how foreplay is important in a relationship, what?
“Oh god,” you mumbled, grabbing his t-shirt and pulling him closer, which did cause him to stumble and press harder against the railing, but did he care? Certainly not when your lips brushed his enough to move his lip ring, “aren’t you getting way ahead of yourself?”
He breathed out a chuckle, wrapping his warm fingers around yours over his t-shirt, “just getting started. Call it future planning, and trust me, I can do way better than three minutes. Let me prove it?”
You probably would let him, but not so easily, opting to tease him more with your hand sliding up, letting your thumb press against his plush lip where the piercing rested. No one had done that to Jake before, and you could physically feel the shiver that went through him at the touch.
His breath caught sharp in his throat, a quiet, surprised “shit—” escaping before he could stop it. The cocky grin faltered, eyes widening as his grip on your hand tightened. His chest rose and fell faster, cheeks flushing deeper under the moonlight. It was cute how he looked stunned, a little dazed.
You tilted your head, still pressing the piercing just enough to make the ring shift against his lip, “cat got your tongue now, Jakey?”
He let out a shaky breath, eyes half-lidded as he stared at you, “fuck—you’re actually evil,” he muttered, voice suddenly rough and way more breathless than before, “do that again and I’m not waiting for breakfast. I’ll climb this railing right now.”
You only leaned in to press a soft kiss right on top of his lips, however it wasn’t really a kiss when your thumb prevented the touch to happen entirely. Jake was fucked, god he truly was fucked. It was evident that you were not the shy kind, however he also did not expect such display of boldness. He also swore he fell in love a little and it didn’t take him twelve minutes by any means.
On the other hand, your control was hanging by a thread and you couldn’t really blame yourself when the man in front of you had such nice, kissable lips. It is hard to even find men with such features so it really can’t be helped. Control, however, is the key.
“Relax, Sim,” you whispered, almost reminding yourself to calm down as well, “you’re not climbing anything tonight.”
He let out a soft laugh, resorting to placing a peck on the pad of your thumb and holding your hand there, eyes fixated on you, taking in how you bit your bottom lip, “can’t blame a man for trying. Contrary to popular belief, I truly am trying to control myself.”
“Good, keep it up,” you murmured, managing to pull back with your fingers tracing his jaw in the process. Damn, he really is good looking now that you’re actually focusing on him.
His eyes followed the movement, “you’re making it difficult, y’know?” He called out your name again before you could pull back entirely, “i’ll behave, okay? Just have breakfast sitting next to me tomorrow, please?”
He watched your face scrunching into a thinking one, “hm, are you gonna pay for the ice cream later then?”
“Deal,” he spoke in a heartbeat, a full blown smile gracing his face, “so worth it.”
You couldn’t help but smile at how quick he was to agree, “fine, don’t make me regret it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, hope you get dreams of me though,” he said, “cause I know i’ll see you in mine.”
You shook your head as his laugh followed you inside right as you shut the door, leaving him outside.
The breakfast was going to be interesting.
When Jake asked for you to sit next to him, he did not expect Sunghoon to be sitting on your other side.
Of course everyone had gathered for the breakfast together, it was included in the trip package, so skipping it was baseless. Okay, maybe him sitting there wouldn’t have been as bad had Sunghoon just managed to shut up and not divert your attention. But no, he was cracking jokes (which weren’t funny) and you were laughing. Might as well have laughed at Jake’s misery. To add on to it, Jungwon and Karina were glaring his way from across the table. A possible reason would have been him cornering Jungwon last night and tickling him till he confessed that you, in fact, are single.
Either way, he had to get your attention back somehow, and Jake did promise to behave but promises are meant to be broken, right?
Breakfast was basically over, plates were being cleared, chairs scraping, everyone already stretching and chatting about the private boat tour that started in twenty minutes. Perfect timing, Jake decided. While the group was half-standing and distracted, his hand snuck under the table and landed high on your bare thigh, fingers giving a confident little squeeze, and you almost choked on your last sip of cranberry juice.
Jake didn’t even glance at you, pretending to be deeply invested in whatever Jay was saying about the snorkeling schedule and how he hoped the boat would be a good budget one. But that smug, tiny smirk tugging at his lips? Dead fucking giveaway.
Sunghoon, still mid-sentence on your other side, paused, “you good?”
“Yep,” you bit the inside of your cheek, “just realized that breakfast is done and some people have zero sense of timing.”
Jake didn’t mind the jibe as his thumb started tracing lazy circles, “what? Can’t I say good morning properly now?” He leaned closer so only you could hear, “took me a while to get your attention.”
“Yeah, long enough for everyone to stand up,” you pointed out towards Beomgyu who was recording everything (again) and wait—was he zooming in on Jake’s hand?
He was whispering for sure and you caught some words including, “—day two, Jake has finally initiated physicality under the table like a horny teenager—” It was then when Ningning smacked the back of his head and grabbed his phone to delete the recording.
Jake, the absolute menace, didn’t even flinch. He just gave your thigh one last affectionate squeeze before finally pulling his hand away, all innocent smiles, “what? I’m being romantic. Breakfast is over, technically. No rules broken.”
You shoved his shoulder, glancing at how veiny his hands were, clenching around nothing. Great, now your body had started reacting to him, “you’re so dead later.”
“Promise?” He whispered, eyes sparkling.
“Oh god,” you mumbled, getting up and linking arms with your best friends as you made your way towards your room to change and grab a bag full of essentials for the day. Maybe there was something in that juicy concoction because your skin was still tingling where Jake had touched (groped actually) you.
In midst of your thoughts being full of Jake, you managed to change into a swimsuit and cover-up, and stuffed your bag with sunscreen, towels, a waterproof phone pouch, and snacks. The concept of time felt weird because one second you were in your room, and the next second Hyuck and Jungwon were dragging you, and you were on a boat. Oh wow, they really did have a great budget given how decent the price was for the trip package.
The private yacht was honestly prettier than the pictures—sleek white hull, wide shaded deck with plush loungers, a small bar already stocked with fresh fruit platters and chilled drinks, and water so turquoise it looked edited, almost. As much as you were skeptical about the group merging, you sure were enjoying watching Karina barking sunscreen orders like a drill sergeant, Ningning and Yunjin claiming the best tanning spots upfront, Beomgyu already setting up his vlog rig, and Hyuck hyping everyone up with a speaker blasting summer hits (he was playing Justin Bieber).
And then Jake came into view as if he’d been waiting to spot you (he was), offering his hand with a deeply exaggerated bow, “milady, allow me to assist you to the bar. Your safety is my utmost concern.”
You weren’t sure whether to laugh or comment upon his theatrics, so you simply took his hand as he walked you for like, ten seconds. He didn’t let go just yet, eyes shamelessly taking your outfit in and only a lewd whistle was left for the scene to be considered as a harassment case.
“Eyes up here,” you said with a raised brow, truly basking in his attention because, come on, who wouldn’t want this especially on a trip?
“Can’t help it,” he said, voice dropping into that flirty rasp as he finally released your hand, though his gaze stayed glued to you a second longer.
With a shake of your head, you sat down on the bar stool which was attached firmly to the floor, Jake followed like a magnet as Jungwon looked at him, not impressed still, before going back to sharing his chipotle with Jay. He was about to claim the seat next to yours to finally talk to you without much disturbance.
Before he could, you patted the stool on your other side and called out sweetly, “Hoon! Come sit with me?”
Sunghoon, who had been quietly leaning against the railing a few feet away applying sunscreen to his ridiculously toned arms, looked up. A slow, amused smirk spread across his face the second he realized what you were doing. Now, Jake was his friend but he wasn’t gonna miss an opportunity to tease him, and so he sauntered over and dropped into the seat you’d offered, long legs stretching out comfortably.
“You can’t be serious,” Jake almost whined, mouth hanging open.
You only stifled your laugh, “what are you planning on drinking?”
He leaned an elbow on the bar, gaze flicking over you appreciatively, “was thinking of some vodka shots, wanna take them with me?”
“Im literally standing right here,” Jake announced his presence, voice pitching higher with disbelief. Jake was shirtless too, he had abs too, and pretty good arms he’d say, which had been appreciated plenty by other girls for being veiny, so why weren’t you looking at him?
Sunghoon didn’t glance his way, flagging the bartender, “three vodka shots please, One for each of us. Unless Jake’s too busy pouting to join.”
Jake made a strangled noise, he was very close to throwing Sunghoon off the boat. Imagine being cockblocked by your own best friend, deliberately at that. The shots were served in no time, and Jake just took the other seat next to you, planning on other ways to woo you. He had been rejected by people before, yes, but to this extent? Especially after that kiss (wasn’t a kiss) last night?
Sunghoon smoothly slid one of the chilled shot glasses your way the second they arrived. His fingers brushed yours on purpose when he handed it over, oh he had nice hands too, “bottoms up, pretty.”
Jake was highly considering pushing Hoon into the water, even more so when he clinked his glass against yours, completely ignoring Jake, then threw his shot back with that annoyingly cool, effortless tilt of his head, groaning like an uncle for some reason. You followed suit, tasting the slight sourness of the liquid, which was pleasantly satisfying on your tongue and throat, “not bad.”
Before Jake could comment upon it, Karina came to your rescue, appearing out of nowhere with Ningning and Yunjin flanking her like bodyguards, “we are stealing her. She came on this vacation with me.”
Ningning didn’t even wait for permission—she grabbed your arm and started pulling you off the stool with surprising strength, “let’s go.”
Yunjin looped her other arm through yours, grinning wide, “sorry, boys. She’s ours for the next forty minutes. Go play with your little ducklings or something.”
You did look back for a second and the sight was genuinely funny with both guys on the floor, Jake had successfully pulled Hoon down into what appeared to be a very weak fist fight, all giggles and laughter. Silly silly boys. Jake looked cute, okay?
The girls didn’t even give you a chance to enjoy the show. Karina yanked you forward harder, laughing. “Nope, eyes front, babe. No more watching those idiots roll around like toddlers.”
“It’s actually funny though, we’ve been watching you guys and it feels like everyone has this unspoken agreement to make this trip insufferable for Jake, but he should not be around you this much,” Yunjin added with a chuckle.
You couldn’t lie, you could already feel a soft spot building in you for the man, “it’s so easy to mess with him.”
It was easy to sit down with them and just chat about their lives. You did learn that Ningning and Yunjin worked in the fashion industry, and how their company paid for this trip, and their flatmates—Hyuck and Beomgyu, simply tagged along.
“So, do you like him?” Jungwon asked, Jay lurking behind him like a worried dad.
“It’s not even been two days, c’mon,” you mumbled, eating another grape and wow, it was sweet, “he’s entertaining for sure, and kinda cute when he’s not hovering around like a menace.”
Jay let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms, oh his biceps, “that’s one way to put it. I’ve known Jake since we were kids and I’ve never seen him this worked up over someone. It’s actually kind of funny to watch.”
Karina raised an eyebrow, still rubbing sunscreen on her arm, “funny or concerning?”
“Both actually,” Ningning chimed, “from what i’ve seen, Y/N seems to enjoy him making a fool out of himself.”
Jay shook his head with a chuckle, sitting next to you, “yeah, just go easy on him though. He’s harmless, really.”
Jake had decided it was the right time to make an appearance, “I can hear every single word by the way.”
“So you did hear the part where we said you shouldn’t be around her?” Yunjin grinned.
Jake only looked at you, “nah, I only focused on the praises, and I’m very glad to learn that someone finds me cute.”
“You’re impossible,” you added but there was no bite to it.
“Impossible to resist,” he says, and everyone groans in unison, but Jake doesn’t mind when he gets to see you smile, or laugh, or just see you in general really.
Either way, you all managed to converse in a civil manner, talking about the new Toy story movie coming up and how Jake resembled Woody. Also, Jay was really fun to talk to, he seemed to have knowledge about everything, almost like a walking encyclopaedia, dropping random facts about the reef they were about to snorkel and the history of the islands. The conversation flowed easy, the sun warm on your skin, the boat rocking gently underneath you.
Time passed quickly like that, and you saw the cove coming into view, and Chan came into view, how did he even get on here? He greeted everyone with the same enthusiasm, grabbing masks and fins to go snorkeling. Everyone was quick to discard their cover ups, and jump into the water which was slightly cold, and you jumped in with the girls, who were quick to explore the surroundings.
It was as if you were floating on liquid glass, taking a deep breath before ducking your head under the water, which led you to a different world altogether. Soft corals in every shade of purple, pink, and orange swayed gently with the current. Schools of tiny neon fish darted past in perfect formation, flashing silver and yellow. Bigger ones—parrotfish, angelfish, ones you didn’t even have names for, cruised around beautifully. You felt calm, water was always a calming presence for you. Between your usual work and getting no time for yourself, you’d almost forgotten how it feels to just breathe.
Ironically, you felt like you could breathe under water, savouring every breath, every moment of it. And to no one’s surprise, Jake wanted to savour his with you. He appeared by your side, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, especially when you caught him looking at you from behind the masked goggles, eyes crinkling at the corners. He gave a small nod, then pointed down and to the right with one hand.
A little octopus was tucked into a crack in the coral, skin shifting colors as it tried to disappear. You tapped his arm to get his attention and pointed at a pair of electric-blue fish chasing each other around a brain coral. Jake’s grin was obvious even with the mouthpiece in—he nodded hard, then did this smooth little roll underwater, showing off without trying too hard. You couldn’t help watching him more than the fish for a second, because he seemed like a really good swimmer, almost like he lived in water.
Soon enough, you kicked towards the surface to breathe again, yanking the mask off for a bit with Jake before you both joined the group yet again to explore further, and it was lovely, you didn’t wish to leave.
However, your legs were starting to ache from all the kicking and your fingers were properly pruney by the time Chris started yelling from the boat that lunch was ready. You surfaced one last time, pulling your mask off and taking a deep breath of the warm air.
Jake came up right beside you, hair slicked back, water running down his face. He looked at you for a second, “best part of the trip so far,” he said quietly, and he was aware that there had been others around, but for him, it felt like he was exploring another world solely with you.
You nodded, still a little breathless at the honesty in his tone, “yeah, same.”
“Ready to go back?” He asked with a crooked smile, as Hyuck swam past him woohooing.
You nodded, “hm, kinda tired now.”
Jake laughed under his breath and fell in beside you as you both started kicking toward the boat. Karina and Ningning were floating a little ways off, arguing over who found the prettiest fish. Sunghoon was just chilling on his back like a human raft. The whole cove felt alive with noise and laughter.
And when Jake felt your eyes on him, he smirked, “I see now you’re looking my way—”
He should have kept his mouth shut, because it led to a very unfortunate situation where Jake got stung by a jellyfish.
“Ow—fuck!” Jake yelped, yanking his mask off so fast it nearly flew into the water, “something just stung me! Shit, it burns!”
You turned toward him instantly, “wait, what?”
“It’s right here—on my leg!” He was already paddling harder toward the boat, half swimming, half flailing, even though he was a strong swimmer and could’ve easily made it on his own, but to Jake it almost felt like a shark had taken a bite out of him.
Karina started cracking up so hard she swallowed water, “Jake, it’s a baby jellyfish! Chill the fuck out!”
Ningning and Yunjin were losing it too, “oh he’s got the worst luck ever.”
Jay, who had been floating a little further out, kicked over fast with this long-suffering sigh you were starting to recognize as his default Jake-mode, “alright, move over,” he said, grabbing Jake’s other arm while you kept hold of the first, “stop flailing like you’re in the Titanic, man. You’re making it worse.”
“I’m not flailing, I’m dying!” Jake whined, but he let the two of you tow him anyway, legs still kicking dramatically like he was trying to outrun the sting, “it feels like it’s spreading, oh god.”
“It’s not spreading,” Jay deadpanned, voice calm but clearly fighting a laugh, “you’ve had worse paper cuts. Y/N, you got him on that side?”
“Yeah, I got him,” you said, trying not to crack up as Jake leaned into you with a pout, jutting his bottom lip out.
Between the three of you, you basically wrestled Jake up the ladder like a very dramatic, very wet sack of potatoes. He collapsed onto the warm deck the second his feet hit wood, sprawling out with a theatrical moan, water pooling everywhere.
“It’s the worst pain of my life,” he groaned, clutching his calf. “I can feel it going up my leg. Someone call my mom. And maybe kiss it better just in case—”
“Absolutely not happening,” Jay said, already grabbing the first-aid kit the crew had left out. He knelt down and dabbed some vinegar on the tiny mark with the patience of someone who’d done this a hundred times, “It’s barely even red, you’ll survive.”
You dropped down beside Jake, still dripping, and poked the speck gently, “it’s literally the size of a dot. You’re such a baby.”
“Still hurts,” he muttered, but his eyes went all soft when he looked up at you, shifting enough to rest on your lap
Chan shrieked from somewhere, “no, no, no—I can’t have a guest dying—”
“He’s literally okay—”
“—what do we do, someone needs to pee on it.”
Wait, what? Jake froze and everyone stopped to stare at the man who was pacing around thinking that Jake was dying (he was okay). The silence lasted for a second before everyone started laughing, and Jake leaned in further to hide his embarrassment.
Beomgyu, who had been filming the whole time, lowered his phone just enough to grin at you. “Y/N should do it. She’s the one he’s been chasing all day. Makes sense, right?”
Jungwon, who had just climbed up the ladder, deadpanned without missing a beat, “why? So she can mark him up as hers?”
You burst out laughing so hard you had to cover your mouth. Jake’s head was still in your lap, and he let out a loud, dramatic groan, covering his face with both hands.
“I hate every single one of you,” he said, voice muffled, “it fucking hurts, okay? And you’re all just—suggesting piss therapy.”
Jay shook his head, capping the vinegar bottles, “we’re not peeing on anyone. It’s already looking better. You’ll be fine in ten minutes, you big idiot.”
Jake peeked through his fingers at you, eyes all big and pitiful even though the corner of his mouth was twitching, “you hear that? I’m wounded and they’re bullying me. You’re my only ally here.”
You brushed some wet hair off his forehead, realizing that you didn’t mind his dramatic ass as much. It was rather funny because Jake was indeed still a stranger, you didn’t know much about him other than the fact that he was loud, shameless, and somehow really fucking good at making you laugh even when he was being an absolute idiot.
“You’re the one who jinxed yourself by bragging two seconds earlier. Karma’s fast, huh?”
He let out a soft laugh, “can’t complain much when it led to this,” he smirked, clearly enjoying the warmth your thighs offered, and he squished his face further into it, content with the setting.
Only for Jungwon to drag him away from you.
Doesn’t it feel like you’re astral projecting when walking on the warm sand while the breeze flows through with a tinge of coldness? Because that’s exactly what you were feeling at the given moment.
Jungwon was walking beside you, shrieking and hissing like a cat each time the cold water touched his feet. Everyone was spread out indulging in their own activities after the lunch—which had been peaceful for a change. You even learned that Hyuck is an amazing singer and Jay is an amazing guitarist as they did an impromptu performance, and Jake hummed alongside them.
When Jungwon jumped again, you laughed and pulled him further away from the water, “it’s cold as fuck,” he whined, hopping sideways now.
“You’re the one who wanted to check the water temperature,” you pointed out with a chuckle, still holding onto his arm so he wouldn’t bolt back toward the dry sand like a startled cat.
Jungwon dramatically flung himself against your side, “I changed my mind, i hate the ocean, i hate everything wet and cold. Why did I think this was a good idea?”
You shook your head, glancing back to notice how Jake was walking a little behind the boys, almost side by side with Karina, brows a little furrowed as if engaged in a deep conversation of some sort. He kept on nodding, serious for once, though his fluffy hair made it seem adorable regardless. You looked forward again before he could catch you staring his way.
A few minutes passed like that as Jungwon made you click his pictures so he could post and boast about this vacation, and the beautiful sunset view, of course. Jungwon’s expression changed as if he already got the phantom feeling that he would be mistreated again, which wasn’t wrong actually because Yunjin and Ningning jumped out of nowhere and dragged him away despite his weak protests.
“We need him for a second,” Karina giggled and grabbed his phone from your hand before rushing away.
“What now—”
To say you were confused would be an understatement, especially with the winks they sent your way. Oh, so this was related to Jake. The man had immaculate timing, because he fell in step with you right that second, turning you around so you’d stop looking at Jungwon. You were about to ask him what’s going on, but he was quick to hold up two ice cream cones with a smile.
“I believe I owe you an ice cream,” he shrugged casually.
It was your favourite flavour. And to your absolute delight, it was just what you’d been craving—something about having a cold treat in chilly weather, y’know?
“How’d you know?” You asked, genuinely surprised, reaching out to take it.
Jake’s fingers brushed yours as he passed it over, the cold from the cone mixing with the warmth of his skin for a second. It was such a small thing, but enough for you to notice how soft his fingers were.
“Took a wild guess,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he knew he’d been caught.
You narrowed your eyes at him, and then realized. Well, the timing of Karina winking and the girls dragging Jungwon away was arguably the dead giveaway, “you asked Karina, didn’t you?”
Jake’s grin turned guilty, he didn’t even try to lie, “maybe.”
“You asked my best friend?”
“Had to make sure I got it right,” he said, bumping your shoulder lightly as you started walking again, a small smile stretching at the cute gesture.
The sand was cooler now under your feet, the breeze carrying that nice evening chill against your sun-warmed skin. Another thing you learned about Jake, that he kept his promises despite this one being a small promise. Another ten points for that, and five points for the flavour, which seemed heavenly on your tongue, making Jake stare at you, mind definitely elsewhere. Don’t get him wrong, he was more than happy to be the recipient of your smile, but he was only a man, eyes dropping to your mouth, the way your tongue licked a streak off your lower lip.
You raised an eyebrow, “what?”
He only leaned, thumb brushing against the corner of your lip where the cream had smeared. Good lord, your breath hitched and a shiver pathetically traveled down your spine. You blamed it on the cold.
“You had some right here,” he murmured, voice lower than before. His thumb lingered for half a second longer than necessary, the pad of it warm against your skin, before he slowly pulled it away.
You swallowed, “you could’ve just told me.”
“Could’ve,” he agreed, eyes finally lifting to meet yours, there was a lazy smirk on his face, “but then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to touch you.”
You clicked your tongue, trying to play it cool even though your pulse had kicked up, “smooth, Sim.”
You took another deliberate lick of the ice cream, letting your tongue linger just a little longer than necessary, and watched his throat bob as he swallowed.
“Evil,” he muttered, almost to himself, “you’re actually evil.”
You smirked, licking your lips slowly, “you started it by staring like you wanted to eat me instead of the ice cream.”
Jake let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his messy hair, only if you knew, “can you blame me? You’ve been torturing me all day—first with the swimsuit, then saving my life from that jellyfish, now this—” he gestured vaguely at your mouth, “I’m only human, Y/N.”
“Keep talking like that and I’m throwing the rest of this cone at you.”
He grinned, but his eyes were still dark, still fixed on your mouth like he couldn’t help it. The two of you kept walking until the wooden railing along the path came into view. Without saying anything, you hopped up and sat on it, legs dangling toward the sand. Jake followed right after, dropping down beside you so close that his thigh pressed warm against yours. Others had retreated back to the resort, and somehow they thought it was a good idea to push the narrative of you and Jake actually being a thing by the end of the trip.
Were you complaining? You aren’t too sure. To be fair, you didn’t wish to ponder about the future, so living in the moment was the only option, and it wasn’t all that bad, because though he was clumsy, his smile and advances (creative ones) made it better, another story to add to your journal.
So, eventually you decided to humour him and gather some random information, “favourite colour?”
Jake was caught off guard, tongue shoved deep in the cone as he stared up, “uh—blue?”
“Favorite late-night snack?”
“Ramyeon. Why are we—”
“Biggest turn-off in a person?”
Jake let out a surprised laugh, “you’re really doing this right now?”
You just raised an eyebrow, waiting, licking another stripe of ice cream while keeping eye contact.
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking equal parts amused and flustered, “Uh—people who don’t like dogs. I don’t know, this feels like a trap.”
“So if i say i’m a cat person, you’ll stop chasing me around?” You challenged and you swore he looked like a puppy now.
“Probably not,” he admitted, “i’d suffer in silence knowing you won’t like my pet.”
It was so apt for Jake to be a dog dad, and you were sure you’d like his pet. You only laughed at his pouty expression while Jake took in your beauty, enjoying his time with you way more than he expected. Of course, Jake was used to being around women, but then he never chased them like this, not because he had ego, god no, but because he never found himself wanting to get to know them, not like he wants to learn about you.
You kept going, “favourite movie snack?”
“Popcorn with way too much butter,” he confessed, and before you could speak up again, he continued just so he could take the lead, “you ever let someone go down on you so slow it feels like they’re trying to memorize every inch?”
Oh my god. Out of everything that could’ve come out of his mouth, you did not expect that, granted the conversation was still light hearted and you weren’t sure how to deal with the duality of this man. He could only stare at your parted lips as if he wanted to find the answer himself. Jake knows he’s mostly clumsy and the kind people don’t take seriously, but he wasn’t lying when he said he’s good in bed, which also includes the dirty talk, so the point still stands.
He leaned closer, “cause i’ve been thinking about it since the balcony last night. Wondering how you’d sound, how you’d taste, how long you’d let me stay there before your legs start shaking.”
Those filthy fucking words. You’d only read them in fanfics or books as such, wondering if you’d be the recipient of it someday, not knowing it’d be on a beach, during the sunset on your trip with a stranger who was more than open and willing to provide you with such pleasure.
Jake only continued, knowing well of the effect he had on you now, “tell me, hm? Are you the type to grab my hair and pull me closer, or the type to try and stay quiet until you can’t anymore?”
How he kept on saying it so naturally was a mystery to you, but you did know that if you’d stay here for a second longer, you’d probably pounce on him, or worse, beg him to show you. Which is why you jumped up, surprising Jake who watched you.
“Race you back to the resort!” You shouted, already bolting down the path, cheeks burning and laughter bubbling out of you from pure flustered panic.
Oh Jake was delighted, a big smile gracing his face as he got the exact reaction he wanted out of you, “fuck—get back here!” He screamed, already sprinting after you, sand flying under his feet.
He was fast, faster than you’d expected, which was a dumb assumption given how athletic he appeared to be. You heard him closing in, his laugh getting louder, closer, until suddenly his arm wrapped around your waist from behind. You let out a surprised squeal as he lifted you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing, spinning you around as his bright laugh rang right in your ear.
“Got you,” he said, still chuckling as he set you back down, but he didn’t let go right away. His arms stayed looped around you, chest pressed to your back, both of you breathing hard from the run.
He swore you fit perfectly in his arms, and you bit your bottom lip, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. He finally loosened his hold, stepping back just enough to look at you, eyes bright and full of that same mischievous warmth.
“Next time,” he added, tapping your nose lightly, “I’m not letting go so easy.”
“Who says there’s a next time?” You asked, a little breathless.
Jake only leaned in, thumb gently pressing against your lower lip the same way you’d done to him last night. His eyes stayed locked on yours, “I do.”
He was tempted to do this without the interruption of his thumb, to actually feel the warmth of your lips, to taste the lingering taste of ice cream on you, but he contained his need, opting to press his plush lips upon yours but not fully touching, simply a hint of brush against yours. Regardless, you both closed your eyes for that split second, letting it linger for a while while your heart raced with this newfound warmth.
A few seconds later, he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, thumb still lingering on your lip.
“Next time,” he whispered, emphasis on the absolute confirmation of it, “I won’t stop at almost.”
He stepped back with that bright, cocky grin, eyes sparkling like he knew exactly what he’d just done to you.
“Race is over, baby,” he smirked lazily, “and I win.”
You were no stranger to Jungwon’s childish antics and his over protectiveness when it came to his friends. It was clear in the way he practically acted like a bodyguard, or well, a blanket as he wrapped himself around you, escorting you towards the jeep just to make sure Jake doesn’t hover around you again.
Poor Jungwon had been tortured too much, between Jake’s relentless flirting and the way the golden retriever had spent the entire previous day finding new and creative ways to get under your skin (and hands on your waist), Jungwon had apparently decided enough was enough. He clung to your side like a koala with separation anxiety, dramatically shielding you from any potential Jake-shaped threats as you walked.
“He’s not going to kidnap me,” you sighed, trying to drink your coffee, but Jungwon made it impossible for you to move.
He sneered, “he literally did that yesterday.”
“It was just to give me ice cream, c’mon,” you sighed, and immediately grinned as he loosened his hold so you could take another sip.
“At the cost of me being dragged away! God forbid i want to spend time with you and Karina on our holiday,” he whined, staring back to glare at Jake—who almost tripped.
It was a rather bright morning with everyone chattering excitedly about the waterfall, amongst other activities that Chan had planned for you all. Everyone was in various stages of hike-ready—loose clothes, backpacks slung over shoulders, sunglasses on, the easy lazy energy of people who had nowhere to be except exactly here.
“Male loneliness epidemic can’t be that bad—”
“I can hear you, y’know,” Jake called out cheerfully as he jogged to catch up, “can you not plot my demise this early in the morning? That’s cold, Jungwon, I thought we were friends.”
That earned him a glare, “you’re the enemy.”
“Y’know they say it’s better to keep your enemies close, also—hey, princess! You look beautiful,” Jake started and you bit your inside of the cheek to prevent a laugh from escaping.
Thankfully, you’d reached the jeeps that waited for the group in the driveway with coolers and extra water bottles stacked in the back. Chris was doing his usual enthusiastic headcount as if it was a school trip while everyone started piling in without much order.
You climbed into the middle row of the second jeep first, sliding toward the window. Sunghoon immediately dropped into the seat right beside you, stretching his long legs out “morning, this seat’s mine now.”
Before Jake could even make a move to claim the spot on your other side, Karina slid in smoothly from the other door and settled on your left, flashing you a wicked little grin as she adjusted her sunglasses. Now, Jake did try to follow, but Jungwon was faster. He grabbed the back of Jake’s t-shirt with both hands and started dragging him backward toward the first jeep like an angry mother cat.
“Nope. Absolutely not,” Jungwon declared loudly, “you’re riding with me, menace. I’m not letting you sit next to her for twenty whole minutes of thigh-touching and whispering. Boundaries, Jake. We’re enforcing boundaries today.”
Jake let himself be dragged, laughing the entire way, but he twisted around dramatically to look at you, “i’ll be there soon, don’t miss me too much,” he screamed as the door slammed shut behind him.
It was a bumpy ride, full of investigation from Karina, meanwhile Sunghoon tried to click a few selfies but—he almost appeared to be a grandpa (?) with how he handled his phone.
“Let’s click one together to torture Jake,” he mumbled, holding the phone way too far from his face like he was trying to read a menu in the dark, “come here, he’s gonna lose his shit when he sees this.”
The photo came out perfect but Sunghoon wasn’t even done there, “yeah I should post this, it’ll ruin his whole day.”
“Isn’t he supposed to be your friend?” Karina asked with a laugh.
“This is how friendship works,” Sunghoon shrugged, taking his shades off to show how serious he was, and truly, it was kind of funny.
By the time the jeeps pulled up at the trailhead, the air was already warm and heavy with the smell of wet leaves and flowers. Everyone spilled out stretching and complaining about the ride. Jake was waiting near the path like he’d been counting down the seconds, and the second he spotted you he was already walking over—until Sunghoon casually showed him the phone screen.
Jake stopped mid-step. His eyes narrowed at the photo, then flicked to Sunghoon, then back to you. It was evident he was trying not to pout, yet he couldn’t resist smiling when he saw a gentle, teasing smile on your own face. Yeah, he wasn’t going to let Jungwon or Sunghoon steal you away anymore.
“Wow, okay,” Jake said, letting out a dramatic breath as he walked over, “I get kidnapped by Jungwon for one ride and you guys are already taking couple selfies?”
Sunghoon slipped his phone back into his pocket with a lazy shrug, “what can I say? We make a cute trio.”
“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” Jake muttered, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. He reached for your hand without hesitation, lacing your fingers together, “you having fun torturing me or what?”
You squeezed his hand once, looking elsewhere on purpose, “a little bit.”
Jungwon was about to intervene (again) but thankfully, Jay grasped his attention (Jake thanked the lords) to talk about the latest F1 race, the two of them started walking ahead, deep in conversation, which gave you and Jake a moment of peace.
Then again, there wasn’t any peaceful time with Beomgyu around, who zoomed in specifically to click pictures of your intertwined fingers, and giggles from the girls who truly believed that you and Jake would be together by the end of the trip. Whatever happened to summer flings, oh and by the way, this wasn’t even a fling so far.
The hike began in earnest after that. The trail wound lazily through dense, sun-dappled jungle, the air thick with the scent of damp earth, blooming orchids, and distant salt from the sea. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in shifting golden coins, painting dappled patterns across the dirt path. Jake never once let go of your hand. If anything, his grip grew more secure as the trail narrowed, his thumb occasionally brushing slow, absent circles against your skin.
Regardless of how that little action made your heart flutter, you ended up in a conversation with Hyuck, and Jake didn’t mind the fact that you weren’t paying attention to him, only because you weren’t pulling away from his touch either. The trail eventually opened into a small clearing where a fast, silver-veined river cut across the path. The only way forward was a precarious line of moss-slicked stepping stones, water rushing white and cold around them.
Chris clapped his hands with his usual boundless energy, “okay let’s do buddy system! Cross safely everyone!”
You practically witnessed Jake’s eyes sparkling, his bottom lip bitten as he crouched down. Ignorance must truly be a bliss because this man wanted to carry you to the other side, on a path that was full of moss and slick.
“You cannot be serious, Jake, that’s fucking dangerous!” You exasperated.
Right then, as if to prove you wrong, Jay passed by you both with Jungwon on his back—and he appeared way to jolly, moving way too much for Jay’s liking but he managed, somehow.
“See?” Jake grinned up at you, eyes bright with mischief. “Even Jay’s doing it. Just trust me, okay?”
You opened your mouth to argue again, but Jake was already rising smoothly, hands locking beneath your thighs before you could properly protest. The cold spray misted your skin as he stepped onto the first stone with deliberate care. His back was warm against your chest, steady despite the treacherous surface beneath his feet. Halfway across, he turned his head just enough for his cheek to brush yours.
“Enjoying the ride?” He asked, trying to mask his own enjoyment.
You muttered something under your breath about reckless golden retrievers, but you didn’t tell him to put you down. Instead, your arms tightened slightly around his shoulders, and Jake’s answering chuckle vibrated through both of you. When you finally reached the other end, he was gentle to put you down, however not letting go of your waist.
“What?” You raised your brow, amused yet again while also reeling with aftershocks of his strength.
“Pretty,” he mumbled with his lazy smile.
Your smile widened, a finger reaching out to boop his nose, which surprised him, even more so when your lips brushed his ear, “you’re prettier.”
Jake tries to maintain his composure but it seems as if you don’t make it an option for him, as if his blush can’t be helped with that gentle smile of his. It’s such a lovely colour on his face, causing your own smile to turn gentler, well, before Karina coughs loudly and drags you away, again, much to Jake’s dismay.
He doesn’t intrude again, not when you settle into another deep conversation with the girls and smile wider. Jake assumes that he’s simply gone mental with how endearing his stare is towards you, not having felt this level of devotion (that’s what he names it) for anyone before.
As he continued to dote on your beauty, Jay and Sunghoon came up from behind to grab him and drag him a bit far to have some man to man talk, whatever that meant honestly?
“Bitch, are you in love?” Jay asked bluntly the second they were out of earshot, arms crossed while Sunghoon leaned against a tree with that signature knowing smirk.
Jake sputtered, cheeks flaring even redder, “what? No—I mean, maybe? Shut up, it’s too early to say so.” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing back toward where you were laughing with the girls.
“Whatever happened to we’ll fuck like there’s no tomorrow on this trip?” Sunghoon questioned next, now walking forward as the waterfall came into view.
“Last time I checked, you guys haven’t been getting laid either, and i’m a changed man” Jake deadpanned.
The boys stopped, staring at each other with a sigh, and the only way to divert attention was to tease Jake yet again, “yeah, you’re basically cooked. Can’t believe you’re in love on a vacation when you’ve never even had a girlfriend before.”
“He’s never been with a girl before?”
You didn’t mean to eavesdrop by any means, but their voices carried just enough on the breeze as you walked a few steps ahead with the girls. You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, pretending to be very focused on adjusting your swimsuit strap under your top. Jake’s flustered sputtering was adorable.
Before the teasing could escalate further, Jake’s eyes locked onto yours across the small distance. A mischievous glint replaced the embarrassment in a heartbeat. He broke away from his friends mid-sentence and jogged over to you, grabbing your hand with zero warning.
“C’mon,” he grinned, clearly to distract you from his non-existent exes, “enough talking. Let’s make this memorable.”
You barely had time to yelp as he tugged you toward the edge of the rocks overlooking the deep pool beneath the main cascade. The waterfall roared beautifully ahead, mist sparkling in the sunlight, “Jake—wait, what are you—”
“Trust me!” He laughed, squeezing your hand tighter. Without another second of hesitation, he jumped, pulling you with him.
Like you’d said before, there was never a boring moment with Jake because now, you both were jumping off the low cliff together and into the turquoise water with your arms wrapped around each other and a big splash. The shock of the cold made you gasp as you surfaced, laughing breathlessly. Jake popped up right beside you, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes sparkling with pure delight as he shook the water out like a happy dog.
Chris was horrified to say the least, “what the fuck are you two doing?” His voice boomed from above, poor man looked as if he was one second away from fainting, “this is not the designated jumping zone! Oh god, my guests are in danger. My blood pressure—”
Sadly, no one was interested in safety. In fact, they were riled up seeing the scene and were more interested in following suit. Hyuck and Beomgyu immediately followed, cannonballing in and creating even bigger splashes. Ningning and Yunjin were giggling as they jumped more carefully, while Karina dragged a shrieking Jungwon along. Even Jay and Sunghoon jumped in, shaking their heads at Jake’s antics but clearly entertained.
Jake, when he swam closer with that wicked, playful glint in his eyes, “cold?” He teased, voice low as his gaze shamelessly dropped to where your wet clothes clung to your body, “or is that just me making you shiver?”
You splashed him right in the face, “keep staring like that and I’ll drown you myself, Sim.”
He wiped the water off with a dramatic gasp, then grinned like an idiot, shaking his hair out again and sending droplets flying toward you, “worth dying for. Have I mentioned how fucking good you look all wet?” His tone was pure mischief, but the way his eyes lingered a second too long sent a spark of heat through you despite the cold water.
Before you could retort, Hyuck yelled, “Chicken fight! Losers buy dinner!”
Jake’s eyes lit up, “you’re riding me,” he declared, not even bothering to word it well, already ducking underwater so you could climb onto his shoulders. His hands gripped your thighs firmly as he stood, way steadier than he had any right to be. The position put your core right against the back of his neck, and you could feel every shift of his muscles.
“Hands lower, pervert,” you warned, tugging his hair lightly, making him groan, or was it a moan?
The chicken fight turned into glorious warfare. Jake moved with surprising agility, laughing as he dodged Beomgyu and Hyuck’s clumsy attempts to unseat you. You clung to his head, thighs squeezing around his shoulders for balance, he looked rather pleased with that, both of you shouting and splashing like children who had discovered freedom for the first time. Water flew everywhere, rainbows shattering in the spray, until Hyuck finally toppled backward with a dramatic yell and the game dissolved into breathless laughter.
Eventually, Chris started rounding everyone up, his cheerful energy now laced with mild panic as he took in the state of his group—dripping and entirely too pleased with themselves.
“Oh no—oh no, no, no,” Chris muttered, eyes wide as he surveyed the scene, “you’re all soaked. The jeeps, the seats are gonna be a mess I swear.”
The trek back was a soggy, hilarious affair. Everyone’s clothes clung uncomfortably, shoes squelched with every step, and the jungle path felt twice as long when you were leaving a trail of water behind like a pack of mischievous river spirits. Jungwon kept complaining about his ruined socks, while Karina, Ningning and Yunjin were already planning how to salvage their hair.
Jay, being the gentleman he is, came up to you, “let me carry your bag,” he offered, hand already extending to grab it from you.
Before you could even respond, Jake huffed—an actual, audible huff, and snatched the bag from where it had been slung over your shoulder, “I got it,” he said quickly, already speeding up a few steps ahead like he was on a mission, “no need, Jay. I’m stronger anyway.”
Jay raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, “possessive much?”
“Protective, big difference,” he spoke, not bothering to turn around, clearly interested in speed walking all of a sudden.
You could only stare, because Jake was odd. He was odd in this endearing way that made you wanna squish his cheeks and tease him to no end. No, no. You need to contain yourself instead, and so you did (you tried, at least). Lunch became an impromptu picnic on a sun-warmed outcrop overlooking the sea—slightly damp sandwiches, sweet mango slices passed hand to hand, and you wondered just how much storage Beomgyu’s phone had to be clicking these many pictures.
It was a good day, a great day even, almost cinematically inspirational for the ones who were a sucker for positive vibes and slow motion captures of laughs and smiles, because that’s how everyone felt—you more than others with that one smile constantly being in front of you. What a pretty fucking man.
By the time you reached the resort, the sun had done its work. Everyone was finally dry, hair wild from the wind, bodies heavy with that good kind of exhaustion that comes from a day well spent. The group split off toward their rooms with tired goodbyes and loose plans for dinner.
You had barely stepped out of your bathroom after a well deserved warm shower when a soft thud was heard coming from the balcony. You tightened the towel around your chest and padded over, still dripping a little. Jake was already there, one hand braced on the railing, looking ridiculously at ease in a loose black tank and shorts, hair messy from the wind. The second he spotted you, his face lit up.
He reached for the handle of the sliding glass door and gave it a gentle tug. Locked, you didn’t move to open it, in fact, you watched him try with amusement.
“C’mon, let me in for a sec,” he said, grinning as he pressed his forehead lightly against the glass, “I’m not even dripping water anymore.”
You leaned against the doorframe on your side, arms crossed, “nice try. You can stay right there.”
“Gosh, still so hostile towards me? And here I thought we were getting somewhere,” he mumbled in fake sadness, eyeing you up and down, knowing he was going to start mumbling praises mindlessly, “you look good, fresh out of the shower, pretty, yeah.”
“Flattery’s not getting the door unlocked, Sim.”
He pouted, “alright, fine. Stay in there then, but meet me downstairs in thirty? The others are probably gonna drag everyone to that overpriced restaurant, and I don’t wanna share you tonight.”
You raised an eyebrow, biting back a smile, “why should I ditch them for you?”
“Because I’m more fun,” he said simply, like it was obvious, “and I wanna walk around with you without Jungwon glaring holes in my head or Beomgyu taking pictures every two seconds. Just—you and me.” He paused, tilting his head, “say yes. I’ll even let you pick the weirdest souvenir.”
You didn’t answer right away, just watched him through the glass. He waited, patient for once, eyes steady on yours, but he wasn’t all that patient when he stepped closer, right up against the door, and pressed his lips to the glass in a soft, lingering kiss—right at your eye level, mumbling please. When he pulled back, he gave you that crooked little smirk, already stepping away toward the railing like he was about to hop back to his own balcony.
Oh Jake Sim, he was too good at this, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he’d been in multiple relationships before. You smiled, biting your lip hard, and before he could turn fully, you leaned in and pressed your own lips to the exact same spot on the other side of the glass. The faint fog of your breath bloomed there for a second.
Jake caught it. His eyes widened, then crinkled with the biggest, dumbest grin you’d seen all day. He touched two fingers to his mouth, pointed at you, and laughed quietly as he swung one leg over the railing.
“Thirty minutes,” he called back, “don’t stand me up, princess.”
Jake was nervous, however he was also good at hiding his nervousness, but can you blame him when you knocked his breath away each time you smiled his way. Just like now.
You’d changed into a breezy sundress that caught the warm evening breeze, and every time you glanced over at him with that easy, teasing smile, Jake felt his chest tighten in the best possible way. He kept his hands in his pockets, playing it cool, but his heart was doing laps.
Maybe he was overthinking, testing his luck if you must, but he wished to kiss you tonight—consensually of course. He’d been riding the high of your almost kisses from the past few days, those charged little moments that left him replaying them in his head like a loop. But he wasn’t about to push. Not when things felt this good already.
The path to the night market wound along the edge of the resort, lanterns flickering softly overhead. Jake stole another glance at you, the way the dress swayed around your legs, and cleared his throat.
“You sure you’ve not done this before?” You asked, bumping his shoulder as you walked.
He blinked once to break his train of thoughts, “done what?”
“Never had a girlfriend before,” you shrugged, “cause you sure know what you’re doing.”
“Is that to say you’re my girlfriend?” Jake smirked all up in your face.
That earned him a roll of your eyes, “blasphemous accusation. I didn’t even mean it that way, you know it.”
Jake clicked his tongue, “well, I’ve never had a relationship before, I only know how to charm people, just as i’ve been charming you.”
“Who says I’m charmed?” You shot back, challenging him.
He opened his mouth with some retort ready, but you were quick to tease him further, “whatever happened to your plan of fucking a new girl each night here, hm?”
Now, that caused Jake to almost trip over nothing, “what—”
“Jay told me,” you shrugged with a chuckle, “and c’mon, I’m not judging you, I lowkey wished the same for me—well, before you decided to ruin it.”
“Me?” He stopped dead in the middle of the path, eyes wide. Did you really wantJake as much as he wanted you?
“Yeah,” you said, concealing your laughter to be as serious as you could muster, “I wanted to fuck Hoon.”
Oh absolutely not. Jake didn’t hide his disdain as he furthered away from you, “out of everyone, you wanted my best friend, seriously? That sucks to hear.”
Behind all those smiles and laughter, Jake was a bit insecure, granted he forced himself in your life, forced himself to be there so you’d notice him without much knowledge of what you truly wanted. Did he mix up your signals? Got too much into his head or lucid dreamed it all?
You hurried after him and caught his wrist, “hey, wait.” He slowed but didn’t turn around right away, so you stepped in front of him, and gosh he was actually clenching his jaw and looking elsewhere, almost like throwing a tantrum. Regardless, you wanted to clear things up.
“You’re such a baby.” You went up on your toes and kissed his cheek softly, letting your lips stay there for a second, feeling his body loosening up at your display of affection, yet he didn’t turn around right away, eyes fixed off to the side.
You didn’t let go. Instead, you cupped his cheek gently, turning his face toward you, “c’mon, look at me.” Your thumb brushed his skin, “it was a stupid joke. You know, it lasted not even an hour when you jumped into the pool. I spent the whole day with you, didn’t I? Laughing my ass off, letting you carry me across that river like some dramatic prince, almost kissing you like three different times already. I saved your ass from that jellyfish, not Hoon. Remember that?”
Jake’s jaw unclenched a little. The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile and you took it as a yes. He was internally cooing at how adorably you took it upon yourself to reassure him when he damn well knew it was a joke, so he let you continue.
“Exactly,” you beamed, “so why the hell would I want anyone else when I’ve got you being all golden retriever and annoying in the best way?” You leaned in closer to his ear, “you’re the one I keep saying yes to, dummy.”
That finally cracked him. A real smile broke through, small at first, then that full crooked one you loved, eyes softening as he looked at you properly, “you’re actually the worst,” he muttered, but there was no bite left in it.
Before he could say anything else, you rose up again and kissed him properly on the cheek one more time, dangerously close to his lips, your mouth brushing the edge of his in a teasing almost. Jake’s breath hitched.
He gave in completely then, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, pulling you flush against his chest like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. His chin rested on top of your head for a moment, “I’m not letting you go tonight,” he murmured against your hair, you could already imagine him pouting, “not to Hoon, not to Jungwon, not to anyone. You’re mine for the rest of this market, yeah? Maybe longer.”
You laughed softly into his shoulder, hugging him back just as tight, “possessive much?”
“Can’t be helped,” he said, squeezing you once more before loosening just enough to look at you, that recipient of that smile back in full force
You grinned and the two of you started walking again, his arm staying firmly around your shoulders like he needed the contact. The jealousy had melted away, replaced by that warm, clingy energy you were starting to get addicted to.
Jake steered you toward the food stalls, still a little extra touchy. You loaded up on fried chicken, chili-lime corn, and of course, ice cream. Eating while walking got messy fast, full of stolen bites and quiet laughter.
At the dart stall he got stupidly focused, “bet I win you that giant turtle.”
He missed most shots. You laughed so hard you had to hold onto him. One lucky throw got him the silly blue octopus keychain instead.
“Dr. Otto,” you named him proudly, “I like this better anyway,” you chimed, making Jake chuckle.
“You like spiderman?” He asked, already greedy to know more about you.
You nodded, popping another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, “yeah, since I was a kid. Something about swinging around the city looks fun as hell.”
Jake’s eyes lit up like you’d just handed him the best gift ever, “no way, me too! I used to watch the old movies on repeat. My brother and I would fight over who got to be Spider-Man when we played.” He bumped your shoulder gently, his hand lingering on your lower back as you walked. “Guess I’m dating a nerd now. Good to know.”
You raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile, “dating? Bold assumption, Sim.”
He only shook his head with an endearing smile, walking alongside you. It wasn’t anything fancy, but you both didn’t need fancy, it was the company that mattered, and right now, you couldn’t have asked for a better one.
The conversation kept flowing as you wandered deeper into the market. Jake’s hand stayed on your lower back most of the time, warm and steady, thumb occasionally tracing small circles through the thin fabric of your sundress. Every little touch sent a quiet spark through you.
You stopped at a small jewelry stall where delicate shell necklaces and charms caught the lantern light. Jake picked up one with a tiny starfish pendant, holding it up to your collarbone without putting it on. His fingers brushed your skin, light but deliberate, sending goosebumps down your arms.
“Looks pretty on you,” he mumbled mindlessly, causing your lips to twitch up, “it pulled me towards it, just like you’ve been pulling me since the day one.”
Your lips parted at how proud Jake was at that line, not even realizing how cheesy it sounded. At the end of the day, you were more than happy to indulge in his whims and fancies, “you’re really going all in tonight, huh?”
He bit his lip, tongue playing with his piercing as he paid for the necklace without thinking twice, stepping closer. He fastened the necklace for you, nimble fingers careful against the back of your neck. His breath ghosted warm over your skin as he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear for a second, “looks perfect on you.”
You turned to face him fully. The air between you felt thicker, charged. You reached up and adjusted the starfish so it sat right, your fingers brushing his chest. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice softer. For a moment you just stood there, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, the phantom feeling of all those almost-kisses making your pulse race.
In hindsight, moments like these made everything feel effortless. Can’t be helped when he looked at you like that.
Eventually the crowd thinned and you reached the wooden railing where the market met the beach. Waves rolled in dark below, fairy lights twinkling behind you. Jake leaned beside you at first, then pulled you in front of him, arms wrapped around your waist from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. Fuck—you liked it. You liked the heat he held in his body and heart, you liked how solid and warm he felt pressed against your back, like he was anchoring you to the moment.
His breath tickled your ear as he murmured, “this is nice. Just you and me and the ocean, no one interrupting for once.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have spoken up so soon, jinxing his peace in the process as your phone started ringing, causing him to groan and for you to stifle your laugh. The caller ID displayed a cat emoji, it was Jungwon’s call.
You answered with a sigh, “hey, Won.”
“Where the hell are you?” Jungwon’s voice came through sharp “we’re all sitting at dinner and Karina said you vanished right after your shower, Jake is missing too. Did Jake kidnap you again? I swear to god, if that idiot is—”
Jake’s arms tightened around you instantly. You could feel his smirk against your shoulder before he even moved. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to the side of your neck in a warm kiss. The cool metal of his lip piercing brushed your skin first, sending a shiver racing down your spine. Your eyes drifting close at the feeling of Jake, and you swore he was out to kill you.
“I’m fine, relax,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’m just at the night market. It’s loud out here, sorry—”
Jake didn’t give you a chance to finish. He kissed lower, open-mouthed and slow, sucking gently right below your ear. You wondered why did he have to be so skilled with his mouth, making you breathe harder with barely two kisses.
“What was that?” Jungwon asked immediately, suspicion thick in his tone, “Y/N, are you okay? Is he with you right now?”
“Nothing—just tripped on the sand,” you managed, but your voice was already breathier. Jake’s nimble fingers spread across your stomach, pulling you tighter against him as he found that sensitive spot again and sucked harder, his piercing dragging teasingly with every movement.
A tiny, involuntary whine slipped out of you.
Jungwon went quiet for half a second,“was that—oh my god. He’s doing something, isn’t he? I fucking knew it. Jake, if you’re listening, I’m going to murder you—”
You tried your best to not react, to not embarrass yourself further, you really did try, but Jake had a point to prove. He moved to the curve where your neck met your shoulder, lavishing it with filthy, open-mouthed kisses. He sucked deep enough to leave marks, one of his hands slipped just under the hem of your dress, fingers tracing the expanse of your hip. A proper, breathy whimper tore from your throat before you could bite it back.
Before Jungwon could scream again, you mumbled breathily, “gotta go, talk later.” Another gasp left your lips as you hung up.
The second the call ended, the night air felt ten degrees hotter. You spun around in Jake’s arms so fast it made your head spin, “you absolute fucking menace,” you hissed, clearly looking fucked out, and Jake swore he could get used to this.
His grin was lazy as he licked the piercing slowly, eyes blown black with want, “looked inviting, couldn’t stop myself,” he rasped, “you sound so fucking pretty when you’re trying not to fall apart for me, fuck.”
Before he could say anything else, you shoved him back hard against the railing. Your hands fisted in his shirt as you attacked his neck with the same filthy hunger he’d shown you. Your mouth latched onto the warm, salty skin under his jaw, sucking hard, tongue swirling as you marked him right back. Jake groaned deep in his chest, the sound guttural and raw, one hand flying to grip the back of your head, fingers threading tight in your hair.
You kissed lower, open-mouthed and desperate, sucking bruises along the strong column of his throat. When you reached the junction of his neck and shoulder you bit down, then soothed it with long, wet strokes of your tongue. Jake’s hips jerked forward, pressing his hard cock against your stomach with a low, wrecked moan.
You both should’ve been thankful it was an empty area, not that you cared anymore, but to focus on anything else was a bit tricky at the moment.
Jake groaned, “you’re gonna kill me, baby.”
You pulled back just enough to hover right in front of his lips. Your mouths were so close that every ragged breath mingled. His pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed dark. The thick outline of his cock throbbed against you through his pants. That phantom feeling of all the almost-kisses burning between you felt so carnally torturous you could barely think straight. Yeah, you were both completely fucked.
You stayed right there, teasing, your mouth so close but never quite closing the gap. Jake made this desperate, broken sound in his throat, leaning in like he was dying for it. You pulled back just enough, smirking against the edge of his lips, your fingers slipping under his shirt to rake your nails lightly down his abs.
“Payback,” you whispered, voice husky and dripping with want.
Jake’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, a low groan rumbling in his chest as your nails dragged over his skin. His hands flexed hard on your waist, hips pressing forward once more so you could feel exactly how affected he was. Then you stepped back, both of you breathing hard, faces flushed, lips swollen.
Jake ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to pull himself together, “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, eyes never leaving yours, “you’re really gonna kill me.”
It almost felt like an edging session with how many almosts you’d managed to have so far, but it also made things interesting.
You bit your lip, feeling the heat in your own face, your thighs still pressed tight together, “come on, we should head back before Jungwon actually comes looking with that taser he’s got.”
“He’s got a taser?”
“Well, let’s not ask why,” you chuckled, letting Jake interlace your fingers with his.
The walk appeared peaceful for the onlookers, who were completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. You just prayed it wouldn’t reach to the point you’d drag Jake into your bedroom yourself, like some horny rabbit. Regardless, you both were good at pretending and that led to some normalcy where Jake learned more about you, your job, the little cat you have, the food you like, the drinks. Basically, everything one discusses on their first date. Was this a date? It felt like one.
Jake was beaming, swinging your hands together with his boyish smile when he realized that you lived one hour away from him, already planning on meeting you once you go back (you didn’t wish to leave this place), but his enthusiasm warmed your heart, enough that you weren’t opposed to the idea of continuing whatever this was after the trip.
“Your lips are swollen,” you pointed out, wondering how they even got so plump and kissable.
Jake touched his lips, “if you keep pointing shit like that then I’m not gonna make it back to the resort without dragging you into the trees somewhere.”
The words sent another pulse of heat through you, but you both kept walking like everything was perfectly fine. Like your panties weren’t ruined and his pants weren’t tented.
“You’d like that too much,” you teased, glancing sideways at him. The fairy lights were behind you now, but the flush on his cheeks and the way his jaw kept tightening were impossible to miss.
“Way too much,” he murmured, pulling you closer to him.
“Jake, we’re supposed to be walking back normally, remember? Pretending we’re not both stupidly turned on right now,” you managed to let out.
Jake glanced at you, eyes dark, “yeah? How’s that going for you?” His thumb stroked the back of your hand, sending sparks up your arm.
“Terribly,” you admitted with a breathless laugh, “you’re hard, aren’t you?”
He groaned softly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “painfully. And you’ve got my marks all over your neck. Looks fucking good on you, by the way.”
The walk back felt endless in the best and worst way. Every brush of shoulders, every shared glance, every quiet laugh carried heavy tension underneath. Jake kept stealing looks at your lips, at the necklace he’d given you resting against your collarbone, at the way your dress moved against your thighs. You couldn’t stop staring at the fresh hickeys you’d left on his throat, the way his tank top clung to his chest, the obvious bulge he kept adjusting when he thought you weren’t looking.
By the time you reached your rooms, thankfully not running into Jungwon, Jake looked at you expectantly. Your heart was racing, and god knows every cell within you was aware that you’d grown to like Jake more than you intended.
You stepped closer, rose onto your toes, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth.
“Good night, Jake,” you whispered against his skin, letting your lips brush there for a second longer than necessary. Your hand rested on his chest, feeling how fast his heart was pounding.
He nodded, swallowing hard. His eyes were dark, lips parted like he wanted to say something important—maybe stay, maybe fuck this, come here, maybe something even more dangerous. But nothing came out as he just stared at you, jaw tight, that desperate hunger written all over his face.
You gave him one last small smile and slipped inside, closing the door behind you. The second you were alone, you leaned against it, trying to catch your breath, body still buzzing.
Barely two minutes passed before you heard the soft thud on your balcony. Then a knock—hesitant at first, then firmer, and it kept on going as you walked over, heart hammering, and slid the glass door open along with the curtains.
Jake stood there, breathing hard, hair messy from the wind, eyes wild. He didn’t wait for an invitation. The second the door was open wide enough, he stepped inside, cupped your face with both hands, and slotted his lips against yours like he’d been starving for it. You didn’t think twice before kissing him back just as fervently, feeling the warmth of him, the cool metal of his piercing, the lingering taste of ice cream on his lips. It felt perfect, igniting a hunger within you.
His mouth moved against yours with raw need, tongue sliding hot and demanding past your lips as he backed you further into the room. A low groan rumbled in his chest when you kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.
One of his hands slid into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted while the other gripped your waist, pressing your body flush against his. You could feel how hard he still was, thick and insistent against your stomach as he walked you backward until your back hit the wall.
When you moaned into his mouth he lost it a little more, hips rolling forward, grinding against you with a broken sound that went straight between your legs.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting.
“Couldn’t fucking wait,” he rasped, “not another second.”
“Don’t stop then,” you whispered, pulling him into another kiss, lips parted as he sucked into your mouth hungrily, your hands roaming under his tank top, nails dragging down his back.
“Let me stay the night,” he begged against your skin, “i’ll be good, jus’ wanna kiss you, hold you.”
He leaned in again before you could answer, and you laughed breathlessly into his mouth, and he was savoring every second.
“Jake—”
Another kiss, softer but no less hungry.
“I promise,” he murmured, lips brushing yours with every word, “just you and me in that bed. My arms around you, kissing you right here.” He pressed his mouth to the corner of your lips, “and here,” another kiss, deeper, “all night if you let me.”
You were trembling against him, heat pooling low in your belly, “okay,” you whispered, “stay.”
The relief in his eyes was instant. He kissed you hard, lifting you effortlessly so your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you toward the bed. He laid you down gently, crawling over you without breaking the kiss, his body settling between your thighs.
For the rest of the night, he kept his word—mostly.
You had consumed your fair share of holiday romance movies before, and each time you were left wondering how anyone could fall for someone within such a short span of time. That’s probably the beauty of human connections—the universe just pokes your heart and says, yes, that’s the one.
Jake was pretty sure he felt that in his bones, though the initial strategy was to seduce you, he somehow managed to make an absolute fool out of himself each time, and yet you stayed with him with that pretty smile of yours, causing him to stay undeterred on his mission.
Regardless, now that the sunlight had managed to creep in your room, and your eyes had adjusted enough to find Jake’s sleeping figure clinging onto you, you didn’t know what to feel. He was beautiful in the ways the poems are beautiful to readers. It scared you, how he wore his heart on his sleeve, how he didn’t hesitate to provide you with his undivided attention, how he simply wanted and basked in your attention.
It was the inevitable outcome really, especially because Jake stayed true to his word and didn’t go beyond kissing despite how much he craved it. He kissed you as if he couldn’t breathe without breathing you in, and somewhere along the lines, he managed to drift into dreamland with his lips pressed against yours. You had to maneuver his head to rest against your neck instead, and even through the sleep, he managed to snuggle closer as if you’d been his home all this while.
Now, looking at him, you can’t help but trace his features with the tip of your finger, starting from his eyebrows, down to his pretty cheekbone, and the perfect slope of his nose. Your actions were soft, well timed so as to not disturb him, yet it was hard when you traced his bottom lip, the piercing that you still feel the ghost of on your lips.
With a deep breath, you moved your hand back only for Jake’s fingers to wrap around your wrist and bring it back. You gasped softly at how fluffy he appeared, smiling faintly as he pressed a lingering kiss on the pad of your thumb, urging you to cup his cheek with a smile and you complied without much hesitation. No words were exchanged, no promises of what was to come, but the actions were enough for your mind to solidify that it was more than a holiday fling.
It was the perfect morning.
For Jungwon, it was borderline preposterous. While Jake was beaming, chomping on his omelette on the other table with the guys, Jungwon and the girls had managed to arrange yet another interrogation session with you, this time demanding answers for the hickey(s) on your clavicle. The answer was obvious, but it’s the details they wished to gather.
“You could’ve informed us,” Jungwon huffed, tearing the bread into two and offering you one, “abandoning us on a holiday, wow!”
“I don’t understand how you still treat her like a kid when she’s always around doing one night stands,” Karina deadpans, successfully making Jungwon huff, but that’s the least of her worries. Wiggling her eyebrows, she leans in, “was he good? Is he big? Does he moan?”
You almost choked out a laugh at how serious they were, even Yunjin and Ningning had leaned in now, as if you were giving out classified information.
“We literally just kissed, and yes his lips are as soft as they look, and no the piercing doesn’t hurt me, and yes he gave me those hickeys, and no we didn’t go beyond that, and yes he moans,” you answered, and they seemed satisfied at how you managed to answer all questions without them even asking half of them.
Ningning sighed dreamily, “it’s so romantic! It would have been better if you were with a girl, but I guess he’s as pretty as one,” your whole group looked his way and he almost choked and still managed to smile, making you chuckle, “as long as you’re happy. Oh you’re growing up so fast.”
Karina shakes her head at Ningning, “it’s not even been a week since we met,” and then smiles, “but i’m glad we did.”
Yunjin chuckled, “you guys are like my sisters already.”
While this adorable conversation went on, you looked back at Jake, who was struggling as Beomgyu and Hyuck opened up a few buttons of his shirt to tease him about the possessive marks you’d left all over him. This group was truly hilarious.
After that, you didn’t find much time to be around Jake, much to his dismay, as you and Karina got ready together for the day. The group reconvened at breakfast with Chris dramatically announcing the plan for the final full day.
“Water sports extravaganza, babies! We got Jet skis, banana boats, parasailing, the works. Last day means we go out with a bang!” Everyone cheered, already buzzing with energy despite the slight hangovers from last night’s chaos (they’d gone clubbing).
Jake’s eyes found yours across the table immediately, that bright, hopeful grin breaking through even as Jungwon tried to wedge himself between you two on the walk to the vans, “you’re riding with me on the jet ski, right?” Jake called out, ignoring Jungwon’s glare.
“Obviously,” you shot back, and the way his whole face lit up made your chest feel warm.
The beach was breathtakingly beautiful, full of energetic people who probably had the same plans to enjoy their own holidays. Somehow, you managed to look into Jake’s eyes, they were so expressive, shining bright in a way that you felt pretty under his gaze. Jay had told you that Jake dotes on you, not caring about the timeframe you shared here, he was gone. And maybe, so were you.
It didn’t take much time for your group to go and rent out everything, while Jake stood on the side doing mental gymnastics before dragging Jay and whispering something in his ear, joining his hands in a pleading action, which caused Jay to sigh. So, when Jay came over to distract Jungwon and take him away, you weren’t shocked, but amused.
Jake wasted no time, grabbing your hand with undeterred enthusiasm and practically dragging you toward the jet skis. “Finally,” he muttered under his breath, that sweet desperation bleeding into his voice as he helped you onto the back of the bright red machine. His hands lingered on your waist a second longer than necessary, thumbs pressing into your sides like he needed the contact to stay grounded.
“Missed me already?” You teased, “we literally slept together.”
“Not enough,” Jake breathed out, “maybe if you touched my face for longer,” he drags out, making you roll your eyes. But hey, Jake loved that feeling, loved your gentle caress—it was something he’d never felt from anyone before.
He helped you sit on the Jetski, not that you needed help, he simply wanted an excuse to touch you. Then, he swung in behind you, pressing his chest firmly behind you as he reached around to grip the handlebars, arms bracketing you completely, locking you in his own little world.
“Ready?” He asked, lips brushing your ear.
You nodded, turning around to see Karina and Hyuck smirking, you only winked their way, “yeah, let’s go.”
The engine roared to life, and the sudden burst of speed had you laughing as the jet ski cut through the sparkling water, wind whipping your hair and salt spray cooling your skin.
For a while he just drove, letting you enjoy the rush, but you could feel the tension in his body, the way his thighs bracketed yours. Eventually he slowed the jet ski in a quieter stretch of water, far enough from the group’s screams that their shouts were just distant echoes.
“Turn around for me,” he murmured against your ear, your breath hitching with how you felt it down your spine.
You shifted carefully, swinging your legs over so you were facing him, knees on either side of his hips. Jake’s hands settled on your waist, steadying you as the jet ski bobbed gently on the waves. He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded and so close you could count the droplets clinging to his lashes.
“Been wanting to do this since we left the room,” he breathed. His thumbs traced slow circles on your hips, sending warmth pooling low in your stomach, “you have no idea what you do to me. Call it astral projection—like my soul leaves my body every time you smile at me like that.”
You laughed softly, but it came out a little breathless, “you’re so dramatic.”
“Only for you,” he chimes in with a crooked grin, nose brushing yours, “merciful fate, I suppose, that you ended up on this trip with me. Otherwise I’d still be wondering what it feels like to have you this close.”
“Let’s not think about that,” you mumbled, “cause i’m here, with you.”
His hands slid higher, wantonly possessive as they traced up your sides under the edge of your life vest. The kiss that followed was slow and deep, full of desperation and all the tension that had been building since last night. His lip piercing dragged cool against your bottom lip as his tongue slipped into your mouth, one hand cupping the back of your neck to tilt your head exactly how he wanted.
When you moaned softly into the kiss, Jake groaned in response, pulling you closer until your chest was flush against his. The jet ski rocked beneath you with the gentle waves, but neither of you cared. His forehead stayed pressed to yours even when the kiss broke, both of you breathing hard, lips brushing with every exhale.
You’d lost the count of how many times Jake had kissed you already, but it was never enough, never.
The distant shouts from the group eventually pulled you both back to reality. Jake helped you turn around again, arms wrapping securely around your waist as he drove back toward the main area, his chin resting on your shoulder and lips occasionally brushing your neck just to make you shiver.
When you rejoined the others, the group was already hyped up and moving on to the next activity. Beomgyu and Hyuck were wrestling over who got to drive the banana boat while Chris yelled instructions no one was listening to. You did feel bad for Chris, so you ended up listening and he spoke with his hand on his heart, touched.
“Banana boat time!” Karina called, waving you over, whispering urgently about the movie-esque stunt you and Jake pulled. Jungwon immediately appeared at your side like a loyal shadow, grabbing your arm. “You’re sitting with me,” he declared, shooting Jake a pointed look, “safety reasons.”
Jake’s jaw tightened for half a second, but he forced a grin, “sure, man. Safety first.” The petulant resolve in his eyes said otherwise.
The banana boat was pure chaos. You ended up sandwiched between Jungwon and Jake somehow—Jungwon on your left looking determined to protect you, Jake on your right with his thigh pressed firmly against yours. The second the boat started speeding, everyone was screaming and laughing, gripping the handles for dear life.
Every sharp turn sent the whole group sliding. Jake used every opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist, steadying you while his fingers slipped under the hem of your life vest, tracing warm circles on your skin. Jungwon kept trying to wedge himself closer, muttering, “don’t you dare let go of the handle, Y/N.”
You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt, water spraying everywhere as the boat whipped around. Jake leaned in during one particularly wild turn, lips brushing your ear, “this would be a lot more fun if it was just us,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.
When the boat finally flipped (as banana boats always do), Jake made sure to pull you up first, hands lingering on your waist in the water, bodies pressed close for a second longer than necessary while Jungwon sputtered nearby, wiping water from his face and Yunjin dragging him away.
The rest of the afternoon blurred into more water sports. Parasailing had you and Jake soaring high above the ocean together, wind in your hair, his hand tightly holding yours as he whispered how he didn’t want the trip to end. Chicken fights in the shallows had you on his shoulders again, thighs clamped around his neck while he gripped you steady, smug every time you helped take down another team. Flyboarding attempts turned into comedic disasters—Beomgyu failed spectacularly, providing endless entertainment for everyone.
Through it all, Jake stayed close, finding excuses to touch you, to pull you aside for quick kisses when the group was distracted, his glances making heat pool low in your stomach. By the time you were going back, Jungwon was clinging onto your left arm, Jake mirroring him on the right. Beomgyu capturing every bit of it with the biggest smile he could muster.
The group trudged back to the resort, everyone was exhausted, sunburned, salty, and glowing with that particular brand of vacation happiness that bordered on melancholy. You barely had time to rinse the sea from your skin and slip into an acceptable dinner dress before a knock sounded at your door. Jake stood there, looking unfairly devastating in a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair still slightly damp and tousled, a small bouquet of wildflowers in hand.
You tried not to show your excitement but failed miserably. He had been clear that he wished to dine with you, alone. So by default, you ended up telling Karina to make sure Jungwon doesn’t follow, and sadly, Sunghoon had caught Jake as he was getting ready. The chances of them appearing there were high now, yet you didn’t know what Jake had planned.
“You look—” Jake took a deep breath as you leaned against the doorframe, urging him to continue, “—you, uh, fuck—so pretty. You look beautiful.”
The words tumbled out of him like he’d been holding them in all day, raw and unguarded. His eyes traced over you slowly, from the way the dress hugged your figure to the faint marks he’d left on your collarbone, lingering there with a flicker of possessive heat. He stepped closer, offering the wildflowers with slightly shaky hands.
“You’re gonna kill me tonight,” he added, “I’ve been thinking about this since the jet ski. Just us.”
You took the bouquet, the sweet scent of the flowers making you smile up at him, “you don’t look too bad yourself, Sim. Ready to finally have me alone?”
He looked rather hungry as he spoke, “more than ready.”
He extended his hand, and when you placed yours on top of his, he lifted it up to kiss your knuckles. You swore if he kept on doing this, you’d have to kidnap him and take him home with you. The walk was quiet, also because Jake appeared to be nervous, glancing your way every few seconds to sense any sort of discomfort.
The path wound down toward a secluded curve of the beach, lanterns flickering like fireflies caught in the palms. The distant hum of the resort faded behind you, replaced by the rhythmic hush of waves and the soft rustle of leaves. Jake’s thumb kept stroking the back of your hand in slow, absent circles, his grip warm and steady despite the slight tremor of nerves.
When the spot came into view, your breath caught. A small table had been set intimately in the sand, draped in soft linen and illuminated by strings of fairy lights woven through the palm fronds overhead. They cast a warm, golden glow that danced across the waves like scattered stars. Your favorite dishes from the trip waited along with a chilled bottle of wine. Soft music played faintly from a hidden speaker, something gentle and romantic that blended seamlessly with the ocean’s murmur.
“Oh my god,” you whispered in awe. Jake had managed to arrange this in the midst of the busy day you had, and you were truly rendered speechless.
When Jake realized that you, in fact, liked it, he proceeded to pull your chair out for you, helping you get comfortable before he proceeded to sit right across from you. Well, he wished to sit right next to you, but then he wouldn’t be able to look at your face, which would be a problem, so he chose to be right in front—which appeared to be another problem simply because now he couldn’t hold your hand comfortably or kiss you.
Jake couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so clingy, so handsy. Of course, his friends can attest that he likes to hug, likes to cuddle, but in a romantic aspect, Jake had never gotten a chance to do so. So he stared, almost as if he was gravitating towards you, and how you styled the necklace he’d gotten for you. He had to bite down his smile seeing the accessory adorn your neck.
It was only then he realized that he should probably get up and serve you wine, your eyes following his moves. It felt like the old movies that did not have audio, the storyline being purely based on acting and how much their actions can convey. Now, it was your turn to stare at how serious Jake was, passing you your drink, pushing your plate towards you and filling it up with small portions of dishes, also keeping a bottle of water on the side, and coconut water just in case you didn’t wish to consume alcohol.
That’s how Jake was fundamentally at his core—affectionate and kind, the guy who had somehow managed to become the subject of your affections in such a short span of time. When he finally saw how you sat with sparkly eyes, your face resting on your palm, he almost felt shy.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, finally sitting down again, while also asking you to proceed to eat first.
You stare at him for a moment longer, “you’re just beautiful,” you whispered, and he froze, not expecting any compliments, especially being called beautiful.
“Where’s this coming from?” He chuckled, but the faint pink on his ears completely betrayed his nonchalance.
You shrugged, “just saying.” It was true though, and before he could start stuttering, you managed to stab a piece of pasta and extend your hand as he helplessly stared at it with his pulse spiking, because how did such a small gesture make him so nervous.
He did proceed to eat it, pointedly looking into your eyes, the intimacy of the moment wrapping you both in a warm bubble. Only then he started to act like his own self with a point to prove. You had fed him, so he made it his personal mission to do the same tenfold.
“You’re just feeding me,” you chuckled, and he nodded with painful seriousness.
“Of course, that’s what I’m here for,” he replied earnestly, making you fall for him a little more, “besides, that’s the whole point of dinner.”
“You have to eat as well, baby,” you mumbled with a smile, watching the exact second he realized that you’d used an endearment for him.
So, Jake did what he had to since he couldn’t bear the distance anymore—he dragged his chair towards you and plopped down right next to you with a huff, gulping as he stared at you, “you’ve got something—”
He didn’t bother pointing it out, simply leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth, swiping his tongue with a gentle caress to clean the sauce. Your eyes drifted close at the sensation, because each kiss with Jake felt like a new feeling altogether, “Jake,” you breathed out, grabbing his arm.
“Yeah,” he whispered against your lips, not pulling back in sweet desperation of breathing the same air as you.
However, a very obvious flash caught your eyes, and Jake didn’t have to know who was behind it, so he groaned, dropping his head on your shoulder as you turned your head to look at the source of your disruption.
It was a sight truly—Beomgyu half-crouched behind a palm tree, phone raised like a spy on a mission. One by one the rest emerged from their terrible hiding spots—Jungwon looking guilty, Karina and Ningning giggling behind another tree, Hyuck with a triumphant grin, Sunghoon leaning casually against a rock, almost acting as one, and Jay trying to drag everyone inside but to no avail.
Much to Jake’s dismay, you laughed and they took it as an invitation, suddenly sprinting towards your table, minus Jay who was walking with a headache forming.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jake groaned yet again, wrapping his arms around your waist possessively, pulling you closer as the group swarmed in with zero shame, dragging extra chairs and stealing plates (where did they even get that from?), “I hate every single one of you right now.”
And just like that, Jake’s perfect dinner date with you turned into a group karaoke session.
It took five minutes and several pinky promises that appeared to be more serious than the unbreakable vow before Jake succeeded to monetize your time by offering these idiots his card and permission to use it at the bar.
He’d also tamed Jungwon with a private conversation that apparently went well enough for Jungwon to walk over to you stiffly and give his blessings (what was that about?). Overall, you were thoroughly entertained watching Jake go around and try to make sure the night worked out well while you chatted with girls.
“He’s—actually so lovely,” you’d mumbled with warmth, and they pulled you in a hug.
Karina got emotional, “i’m so happy for you, you deserve the best,” she’d murmured softly, Yunjin and Ningning nodding alongside. But then they proceeded to treat you like a kid and talk about protection, and so you’d grabbed Jake’s hand and pulled him away from the group, which by the way, continued to scream your way in crazy enthusiasm about how to spend the night together.
“Run,” Jake mumbled, grabbing your hand and pulling you away. You only chuckled and followed him along with butterflies in your stomach, as if you’d turned into your teen self and were experiencing your first hand holding session with your crush.
“This feels more like a chase than a date,” you breathed out, finally stopping.
Jake only gave a tired smiled, “I swear, these idiots won’t let us live in peace,” he muttered, pulling you closer with a serious look, “I just wanna spend time with you.”
“Now you can,” you whispered, letting him rest his head on your shoulder yet again.
“At this rate we won’t go beyond kissing,” he groaned and you almost laughed at how wounded he sounded, “I haven’t even touched your erogenous zones yet—”
You pulled away, horrified, “you did not just say that—”
“Why not? I didn’t wanna sound crude—”
“So what’s next? You call your dick a phallus?” You teased, amusement swirling in your eyes and it was Jake’s turn to be appalled.
“What—no!” Jake burst out, eyes wide with mock horror as he clutched his chest like you’d just insulted his firstborn,“I have standards. It’s called a cock, thank you very much. Or Jake Jr. on special occasions.”
You snorted so hard you nearly choked on your own laughter, doubling over on the narrow trail. The rest of the group had finally disappeared, leaving the two of you alone (finally) in your hallway.
“Jake Jr.,” you repeated with your brow raised and a slow nod, “please tell me you don’t actually call it that in bed. I’ll drown myself in the next river.”
He stepped closer, that signature cocky grin returning full force, “only if you’re very, very good and ask nicely. Otherwise it’s just the reason you’re gonna walk funny tomorrow.”
“Like you have been? You look cute all blue balled,” you poked his chest, still grinning.
Jake clutched the spot like you’d wounded him mortally, “wow, i’m being insulted instead of being rewarded?”
Lord help you, you’d grown to actually love his dramatics, and how he had no trouble taking jokes upon himself, furthering them even with nothing but wide smiles—really fucking pretty smiles, “you’re such a saint,” you whispered, pulling him back and closer.
“A very horny, very patient saint who just wants to spend time with you without an audience. Is that too much to ask?”
You fished your keycard out, waving it teasingly in front of his face, “then stop monologuing and get inside before someone sees us.”
He practically vibrated with giddy energy as the lock clicked open. The second you were both through the door he kicked it shut, spun you around, and pressed you gently against it with a bright, infectious laugh, “finally. No Jungwon, no Sunghoon, no Gyu vlogging our every move. Just you and me.”
You looped your arms around his neck, matching his smile, “poor Jake Jr. must be thrilled.”
Jake’s cheeks flushed with that happy, horny glow as he nuzzled into your neck, peppering it with quick, silly kisses that made you squirm and giggle, then he mumbled your name with such warmth, you couldn’t help but look into his eyes lovingly.
“I really like you,” he confessed, looking ready to attack you.
You can’t get enough, you really can’t, “show it then, Jakey.”
With your head falling back against the door, Jake wastes no time in sucking a mark on your neck. He wants to mark every bit of you, claim every inch of you. His mouth is hot and eager, sucking hard enough to pull a breathy laugh from your throat that dissolves into a moan when he grinds his hips forward, letting you feel exactly how thrilled his now half-hard cock is.
“Fuck—finally,” he laughs against your skin, the sound giddy and wrecked at the same time, like he still can’t believe he gets to have you like this. His hands roam everywhere, sliding under your dress to squeeze your ass, pulling you tighter against him as he rolls his hips in slow, teasing circles, “been dying to do this without someone fucking interrupting us.”
You tug his hair, yanking his mouth back up to yours, and the kiss that follows is long and messy—open-mouthed and desperate, tongues sliding wetly, teeth clacking when you both grin too wide mid-kiss. There’s nothing elegant about it, simply pure, giddy hunger. You consume each other, licking into each other’s mouths like you’re trying to taste every laugh, every teasing word from the entire trip. Jake groans happily when you suck on his tongue, that little piercing cool against your own.
He tastes like sugar and salt from the beach, and he kisses like he’s been holding back for days—which he has. You still can’t get enough. Your hands push his shirt up and off, nails dragging down his back as he shoves your dress higher, palms greedy on your thighs. Every touch makes you both laugh breathlessly, little giggles breaking through the moans because he keeps making these delighted, happy noises every time his fingers find a new inch of skin. He is happy and not shy to show it.
“You want me?” Jake murmurs hotly, trying to coax you into confessing something that’d sooth his nerves.
He looks undone, a man at your command, lips parted and swollen and so very inviting. You feel drunk, licking into his mouth, “need. I need you.”
The reaction was instantaneous because how can Jake not obey you? He wants to see you cry out of pleasure, to reduce you into a puddle just for him. Nevertheless, his hands travel right up, tracing up your thigh, hand splayed enough to avoid the spot where you needed him the most, only travelling all the way up your backbone, tracing it with his knuckles as you leaned into him further, letting him wander freely.
He unclasps your bra with a flick of his fingers, the fabric loosening under your dress, and lets out a low, shaky exhale when his palms slide beneath it to cup your bare breasts.
“Fuck,” he breathes, thumb brushing over your nipple until it tightens under his touch. He pushes the dress higher, bunching it around your ribs so he can mouth at your chest through the loosened bra, tongue hot and insistent, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his hand works the other. The cool metal of his piercing drags over sensitive skin with every slow swirl of his tongue, making your back arch sharply.
“Your body is burning,” you gasped, carding your fingers into his hair.
Jake hummed against you, the sheer possessiveness of his hold grounding you, “fucking feel feverish, all because of you,” he mumbled, nipping at your sensitive nipples.
Your eyes stayed locked on his face, one of his hands wrapping around your thigh to hold you in place—it was then you realized you’d been squirming, arching and urging him to take more of you, offering yourself on a silver platter if you must, “already? What will you do when you fuck me, hm?”
Jake smirks, pinching your nipple in a manner that had you moaning openly, a sound so heavenly in the midst of an act so sinful. He watches the way your body reacts, eyes dark and fixed on your face like he’s memorizing every flicker of pleasure. “When I fuck you?” he repeats, voice low and rough, thumb still rolling the sensitive peak slowly. “I’m gonna take my time with you first, spread you open and use my mouth until you’re dripping down my chin and begging for more.”
Your cunt clenches around nothing, your control slipping. Jake only pushed your thighs apart to accommodate for the intrusion that was to happen.
“Then,” he continues, the words vibrating against you, “I’ll slide in so fucking deep you feel me for days. Slow at first, so you can feel every inch, then harder when you start falling apart around me.” He nips at your nipple, then soothes it with his tongue. “I want to watch your face the whole time. Want to hear exactly how you sound when you fall apart on my cock.”
His hand on your thigh tightens for a moment, then begins to roam—sliding slowly upward, fingers tracing the soft skin of your inner thigh, brushing teasingly close before moving higher. He cups you over your panties, feeling how soaked the fabric is, and lets out a low groan against your breast as his palm presses firmly, rubbing slow circles right where you need it.
You’re breathing fast, fingers twisted in his hair, hips shifting restlessly. Jake lifts his head just enough to look at you, lips wet and swollen, eyes burning.
“Sounds good to you, hm baby?” He murmurs, voice hoarse, thumb still circling your nipple, “or do you want me to be more specific?”
You knew it, you knew Jake was good at talking, especially in the bedroom. The words so utterly filthy, almost as if you were dreaming of this, but no. Jake was real, and smitten with you, absolutely ready to please your whole being and soul, because that would bring him just as much pleasure if not more, “k—keep going, fuck—”
Jake stood up straight, lips brushing yours, “the sky looks pretty, doesn’t it?” He offers, confusing you to no ends at how the conversation shifted to that.
“What?” You let out a broken sigh, his grip on your pussy tightening in a squeeze.
“We shouldn’t miss it, baby,” he chuckles, pulling you into him, and suddenly, you were being lifted up and carried toward the open balcony doors. The cool night breeze hit your heated skin as he stepped outside with you wrapped around him, your legs locked at his waist, dress bunched high around your hips.
He pressed your back against the cool metal railing, the ocean stretching out dark and endless below, the sky above scattered with stars. One arm stayed wrapped under your ass, holding you up effortlessly, while his other hand stayed between your thighs. Eventually, you sat down on the thick and sturdy railing. It was only then Jake stepped back to admire you.
“Fuck, look at that view,” he murmured, unbuttoning his shirt as you appreciated the view right back.
To Jake, he saw a painting. The dark blanket of sky twinkling with stars all around, moon brightening up the sky. From Jake’s angle, it was right behind your head, making it appear like a halo, “you’re so damn stunning,” Jake found himself breathing hard, your disheveled state doing it for him, sitting there with legs spread, dress bunched up, bra halfway down revealing your tits he’d left bites all over.
Perfect. You were perfect, carved out perfectly to fit into Jake’s arms, his hands, his fucking heart. You shivered at how dark his gaze was, or maybe the chilly winds, you didn’t know anymore. He bit his lip so hard he tasted metal.
He stepped back in, hands sliding up your thighs, spreading them wider on the railing. The cool breeze made you shiver as his warm palms contrasted against your skin. Without another word he leaned in and consumed your mouth, tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to taste every moan you’d ever made for him, you only licked the blood off of him. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. In one sharp tug he tore the lace apart, the sound of fabric ripping cutting through the night air. You gasped against his mouth, breaking the kiss.
“Jake—someone could see us,” you whispered, voice shaky with both panic and arousal, glancing toward the other balconies. You were sure there had been other couples who did this, but for you, being semi public and so bare was a first.
He only chuckled, like the possibility amused him more than it worried him, “let them,” he murmured, nipping at your bottom lip, “let them watch how fucking pretty you look when I touch you.”
He pulled you down from the railing, spun you around in one smooth motion, and pressed your front against the cool metal. His open shirt fell against your bare back, the warm skin of his chest and stomach flush to you, heat bleeding through the thin fabric of your bunched-up dress. One arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight, while his other hand slid between your legs from behind.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned into your ear, two fingers gliding through your folds before pushing inside you in one smooth thrust. He curled them immediately, finding that spot that made your knees weak, “look at the view, baby. Look at the ocean while I fuck you with my fingers.”
You moaned, head falling back against his shoulder as he started pumping slowly, your hand grabbing his arm to hold on to something, fingers digging in so deep, your nails left crescent marks all over.
The cool railing pressed into your hips, his open shirt warm against your back, the contrast making every sensation sharper.
“That’s it,” he whispered hotly against your ear, fingers thrusting faster, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles, “I want you to remember exactly where you were when I made you cum for the first time, yeah?”
You whimpered, hips rocking back against his hand, the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of you mixing with the distant waves, “Jake— fuck, it’s too much, someone’s gonna hear—”
“Good,” he groaned, biting down gently on your earlobe as he curled his fingers harder, “let them, they’d thank me for it, such pretty moans for me, fucking hell. You’re clenching around me so fucking good, baby. You like this? Being fucked open right here where anyone could look up and see you falling apart for me?”
“Yes—god, yes,” you gasped, one hand gripping the railing, the other reaching back to clutch his thigh. “Don’t stop.”
Jake groaned, pressing his hard cock against your ass, grinding slowly as his fingers kept thrusting, “I can feel how close you are,” he rasped into your ear, voice filthy, “cmon, baby. Let go all over my hand while you stare at the ocean. I want to feel you soak my fingers.”
His words, the steady thrust of his fingers, the way his open shirt kept brushing your bare back—it all pushed you over the edge. You came with a broken moan, thighs shaking, cunt pulsing around his fingers as pleasure crashed through you in heavy waves.
Jake didn’t stop, fucking you through it with slow, deep strokes, murmuring praise against your neck until you were trembling and breathless against the railing, “so fucking good for me,” he whispered, kissing the side of your throat as you came down, thighs still twitching around his hand. He slowly eased his fingers out, bringing them to his lips and licking them clean with a low, satisfied groan. Then he turned you around, cupped your face, and kissed you deep—letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he walked you backward into the room.
The moment you crossed the threshold, the urgency took over. You stumbled together, lips locked, hands roaming. Your hip knocked into a side table, sending a glass and a small lamp crashing to the floor. Neither of you cared. Jake kicked the debris aside with a laugh against your mouth, pushing you further until the back of your knees hit the bed.
You fell onto the mattress together, still kissing, tongues sliding hot and messy. Jake sat up just long enough to shove the rest of your dress up and off, tossing it somewhere behind him, “you’re so needy,” you chuckled.
Your bra followed next, “yeah, fuck i’ve been waiting.”
His fingers were quick and eager as he finally stripped you completely bare as if he was possessed, “then wait a little more.”
You didn’t let him stay in control for long. The second he leaned back down, you pushed at his shoulders, flipping him onto his back beneath you. Jake let out a surprised but delighted sound as you straddled his hips, your bare cunt pressing against the hard bulge in his pants.
“Fuck,” he groaned, hands instantly gripping your waist.
You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned down and dragged your mouth across his chest, kissing and licking every inch of warm skin. When you reached one of his nipples, you sucked it into your mouth, tongue swirling before you bit down gently. Jake hissed, hips bucking up against you.
You moved to the other side, sucking harder, leaving a dark mark right above his heart. Then lower—you dragged your teeth and tongue across his abs, sucking possessive bruises into the defined lines there, marking him the way he’d marked you.
“Shit, baby,” he rasped, one hand sliding into your hair, “you’re gonna leave marks all over me.”
“Good,” you whispered against his skin, sucking another bruise just below his ribs, “I want everyone to see them tomorrow.”
You sat up slightly and slid your hand down his torso, palming the thick, hard outline of his cock through his pants. Jake groaned deeply, head falling back against the pillows as you rubbed him slowly, feeling him throb under your touch.
“Fuck—your hand feels so good,” he breathed, hips rolling up into your palm, “been so hard for you all day. You have no idea.”
You squeezed him through the fabric, stroking him firmly as you leaned down to kiss him again, “I think I have some idea,” you murmured against his lips, squeezing him a tad tighter, “you’ve been pressing this against me every chance you got.”
He was flushed the prettiest shade of pink. No touch, no kiss had made him feel this fucked out before, and you were just getting started, sitting up on him with a fucking goddess bestowed upon him to bless his body. He groaned, eyes shifting to the night stand, a bottle of red wine kept there, “baby, I’m thirsty,” he bit his bottom lip, “won’t you help me?”
You followed his line of sight to see what he was hinting at, wondering if he wanted to drink wine before furthering the act, only for him to stare at your mouth, followed by your cunt, licking his lips to insinuate the meaning behind his words.
“You’re such a freak, Sim Jaeyun,” you breathed, half laughing, turned on beyond belief, “just how many people have you done this with?”
Jake only chuckles, grabbing your thighs and switching positions in a second, towering over you now, “you’d be the first, if you let me, my love.”
You narrowed your eyes, but he didn’t let you ponder much as he chased your lips again. It was admirable how Jake couldn’t, for the life of him, stay away, as if addicted to the feeling of your lips, or maybe just you. He’s a simple man, he knows what he wants and goes for it.
“Tell me you don’t want it and i won’t do it,” Jake offered like the gentleman he is, his eyes however, not so gentle.
You shifted onto your back against the rumpled sheets, heart hammering a wild staccato as you drew your knees up and parted your thighs in deliberate invitation. He knelt between your spread legs like a man at the altar. His hands, large and veined, smoothed reverently up the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh until your muscles quivered beneath his touch. His dark eyes tracked every movement, lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them as he watched you reach for the bottle of deep crimson wine.
“God, you’re really going to do it,” he breathed, voice rough with awe, “look at you—so fucking good for me.”
You held his gaze as you tilted the bottle, letting the first slow, chilled stream pour into the warm valley between your breasts. The wine traced a decadent path down your sternum, pooling in the delicate dip of your navel before splitting into teasing rivulets. A shiver tore through you at the stark contrast, making your breath catch in a soft, needy gasp.
Jake’s hands gripped your thighs tighter, thumbs pressing deep into the flesh as he leaned in closer, mouth hovering just above your dripping core. He waited, eyes locked on the glistening trail with predatory focus, every muscle in his shoulders coiled with anticipation, watching the ruby wine cascade directly over your cunt. The first cool drop kissed your swollen folds, sliding languidly between them.
The second it reached there, his mouth was there. A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as he slurped the wine straight from your pussy, tongue dragging broad and slow through your slick heat, chasing every crimson droplet mixed with your arousal. The obscene sound of him drinking you down sent a violent jolt of pleasure up your spine.
“Fuck—Jaeyun,” you moaned, back arching sharply off the bed. Your fingers tangled harshly in his hair, hips rolling instinctively against his face as he devoured you. His tongue plunged inside you, curling, stroking, then flicked up to circle your clit with precision that made your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
You poured again, slower this time, watching the wine flood over your pussy and drip down to your ass. Jake groaned in pure bliss, the vibration traveling straight to your core as he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, two thick fingers sliding deep into your clenching heat without warning.
“Shit—yes, just like that,” you gasped, voice breaking, “god, you look so fucking pretty drinking from me.”
He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny and stained dark red, eyes glassy with lust, “pour more, I want to drown in you, I need to.”
Your hand shook slightly with arousal as you obeyed, tipping the bottle once more. The chilled stream hit your clit directly this time, making you cry out sharply. Jake was ready—mouth open, tongue extended, catching every drop before sealing his lips around your throbbing bundle of nerves again. His fingers curled relentlessly against that perfect spot inside you, stroking with devastating rhythm while he drank you down like fine wine.
“The housekeeping will be horrified tomorrow,” you managed between broken moans.
Jake chuckled darkly against your cunt, “I’ll apologize to them in person,” he rasped, voice wrecked and dripping with filthy promise as he thrust his fingers deeper, faster, “maybe I’ll even let them watch how beautifully you fall apart for me. But right now?” He sucked your clit hard, then released it with a wet pop, “focus on me, princess. Let me ruin this pretty pussy with my tongue until you forget every name but mine.”
And he was successful truly, because you couldn’t remember any other name. His name was the only one on your lips, breathed out in a chant as if it were a mantra.
He poured the next stream himself this time, controlling the flow so it dripped slowly over your clit while his mouth followed instantly, slurping and licking with renewed hunger. The sight was too hot, the feeling too intense for your body to not react. Your orgasm hit like a tidal fucking wave—back bowing, thighs clamping around his head as you came with a sharp, breathless cry, pulsing hard around his fingers while he drank every last drop of wine and release like a man starved.
Even as you trembled through the aftershocks, Jake kept licking softly, savoring you, eyes never leaving your face. Your body was still humming, every nerve singing as he gentled his mouth against your oversensitive folds, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your dripping slit like he couldn’t bear to part from you. A soft, broken whimper escaped your lips when his tongue flicked one last teasing stripe over your clit before he finally lifted his head.
Jake crawled up your body, his chest brushing against your wine-slicked breasts as he settled between your thighs. One large hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your face to his while the other traced lazy, possessive patterns over your hip and waist. His lips found yours instantly, wine-drenched. He licked into your mouth with the same devotion he’d shown your cunt, tongues sliding together in a slow, filthy dance that left you dizzy.
“You did so well for me, y’know?” He whispered, “fucking perfect for me, just for me.”
“Just for you,” you confirmed in a breath, staring at the man who’d made you cum so easily, granting you the best orgasm you’d ever had.
“Gonna ruin you for everyone else,” he promises in a chaste kiss.
“Jake—” you breathed against his mouth, rolling your hips up to chase his touch, “I need more, I need you.”
A smile curved his lips as he sat back on his heels, eyes locked on yours with molten intensity. Without breaking the gaze, he shoved his pants and boxers down his thighs, kicking them aside impatiently. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed a deep red, the head glistening with precum and veins standing out prominently along the impressive length. It twitched under your hungry stare.
Jake wrapped a hand around the base and leaned forward again, pressing his forehead to yours. He dragged the heavy head of his cock through your soaked folds in one slow, deliberate stroke, coating himself thoroughly in your cum. The slick, obscene glide made you both groan.
“Never got so hard for anyone before, it fucking hurts,” he groaned, his tip nudging your clit with every pass. One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, the other braced beside your head as he rolled his hips in teasing circles, the thick head catching at your entrance before sliding back up.
“Don’t make me wait then, yeah?” You all but begged, trying to sound confident but your voice gave it away.
“Patience has never been my virtue,” he murmured, leaning down, claiming your mouth in a slow kiss while he dragged the heavy, flushed head of his cock through your soaked folds one final time, coating himself thoroughly in your slick and the remnants of wine.
“Please—fuck,” you groaned as he pushed inside, stretching your entrance with a burning, delicious pressure that made your breath hitch sharply. Jake groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he paused, letting you feel every ridge and vein as he worked the thick head inside with shallow, careful rocks of his hips.
“Shh—easy, baby,” he whispered, rubbing soothing circles on your clavicle, his breath warm against your parted lips.
You exhaled shakily, fingers digging into his shoulders as the thick head stretched you open, “you’re too fucking big.”
“I know,” he murmured, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips, “I’ve got you. Just relax for me.” He rocked forward gently, feeding you another inch. The stretch burned sweetly, your walls yielding reluctantly even as you dripped around him. Jake groaned softly into your mouth, the sound raw and intimate, “fuck—you’re gripping me so tight. So warm inside.”
You moaned quietly against his tongue, legs tightening around his waist, “deeper,” you whispered when he paused, “I want all of you.”
Jake’s breath hitched. He kissed you again, slower this time, as he pushed forward, sinking another thick inch, “you’re taking me so well,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, “feel how deep I’m going?”
He did, hips rolling in a measured glide until the last thick inch disappeared inside you. When he bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours, balls pressed tight to your skin, a shared shudder ran through both of you. The fullness was obscene, a heavy pressure that made your cunt flutter wildly around his entire length.
“Jesus,” Jake whispered, voice wrecked, mouth claiming yours in a filthy kiss full of tongue and teeth, “you’re squeezing me, baby.”
You rolled your hips experimentally, drawing a guttural moan from him. “Move,” you demanded softly against his lips, “I need you to fuck me.”
He started with devastating control—long, luxurious drags of his cock that pulled almost completely out before sliding back in to the hilt. Each thrust stirred your insides, the thick head dragging along every sensitive ridge within you. The wet, obscene squelch of your arousal coating his shaft grew louder with every plunge.
“Like this?” He groaned low, one hand sliding down to grip your ass, tilting you open wider for him. “Feel how easily you’re sucking me back in every time I pull out?”
“Yes,” you gasped, meeting his rhythm with rising urgency, nails scoring down his back, “harder, Jaeyun. I want to feel you tomorrow.”
His pace quickened, hips snapping with more force. The bed creaked beneath you as he drove deeper, pounding into that spot that made white-hot sparks explode behind your eyes. Sweat slicked your bodies where they joined, the lingering scent of wine mixing with raw sex in the air.
He brought you to the edge once with relentless precision, faster thrusts, thumb circling your clit until your thighs quaked and your moans turned sharp and desperate. Then he slowed to a torturous grind, keeping his cock buried deep while circling his hips, rubbing firmly against that devastating spot without mercy.
“Not yet,” he breathed against your mouth, stealing another deep kiss, “I want you aching for it. Feel how your cunt is trying to pull me deeper even now?”
You whimpered, hips chasing his, body trembling with need, “please, I’m so close.”
“I know,” he murmured, voice dark with lust as he kissed along your throat, sucking a mark into your skin, “hold it for me. Just a little longer.”
“So fucking mean,” you whined, actually whined and Jake found immense pleasure in that.
“You have no idea how good you sound when you whine like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough, dragging his teeth lightly over the fresh mark he’d left, “all breathless and so frustrated because I won’t let you have it yet.” He kept that cruel, grinding rhythm, cock buried to the hilt, hips circling in slow, deliberate presses that rubbed relentlessly against the spot that made your vision blur. Every rotation sent sparks racing up your spine, keeping you balanced on that agonizing knife-edge.
Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss, “oh my god,” you gasped, hips rolling desperately against him, chasing more friction, “you’re enjoying this way too much—”
Jake chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. He captured your mouth in a messy kiss before pulling back just enough to speak against your lips, “guilty. The way your body keeps tightening around me, like it’s begging even when your mouth is complaining.” He gave one sharp thrust, then returned to the torturous grind, “tell me exactly how it feels.”
You shuddered, “feels so good, Jakey, want more.”
His eyes darkened with satisfaction, “good girl,” he whispered, rewarding you with a series of deeper, faster strokes that had the bedframe protesting. He pushed you right to the brink again—hips snapping, thumb working your clit with devastating precision until your back arched clean off the mattress and your moans turned into broken, high-pitched gasps.
You let out a genuine sob of frustration, nails raking down his back, “Jake! I fucking swear—”
He kissed the corner of your eye, licking up your tear, “one more time,” he promised, voice strained with his own restraint, “I need to feel you right on the edge like this. So close I can taste how badly you want to cum.”
He built you up again, slower this time, drawing it out until every nerve in your body felt electrified. Your skin was fever-hot, slick with sweat, the remnants of wine sticky between your pressed bodies. When you were shaking uncontrollably, walls fluttering wildly around his thick cock, he finally gave in.
“Turn over,” he said suddenly, voice rough with urgency, “face down. I want that ass in the air while I fuck you properly.”
You barely registered the command before his hands were on you, strong and decisive. He flipped you onto your stomach and yanked your hips up high, pressing your chest and face into the pillows. The position left you utterly vulnerable—back deeply arched, knees spread, cunt exposed and dripping. Jake knelt behind you, spreading your cheeks with both hands so he could watch as he lined up and drove back in with one powerful thrust.
The new angle punched the air from your lungs. He felt even thicker, reaching impossibly deeper, the head of his cock dragging against places that made your toes curl and your fingers fist the sheets.
“Fuck—this is insane,” you moaned into the pillow, pushing back against him.
Jake groaned loudly, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks as he started a brutal rhythm. “This is what I wanted,” he panted, watching mesmerized as his glistening cock disappeared between your cheeks with every thrust.
He fucked you with long, punishing strokes, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room alongside your muffled moans. One hand slid up your spine to press between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest pinned down while the other reached around to rub your clit in firm, relentless circles.
You were babbling into the pillow, words slurring together, “right there. I’ve never felt anything like this.”
“Neither have I,” he admitted, voice breaking on a groan as he leaned over you, chest to your back, hips snapping relentlessly.
He kept you suspended on that final edge longer than before, slowing whenever you got too close, grinding deep while whispering filthy observations against your ear. Your thighs were soaked, sheets ruined beneath you, body trembling violently from the prolonged denial.
When he finally let you cum, it hit you like nothing before, pure unadulterated pleasure, just the greatest feeling ever. Your walls convulsed around him in powerful, rhythmic spasms, a raw, shattered moan tearing from your throat as pleasure flooded every cell in your body. Jake fucked you through it without mercy, hips stuttering but never stopping, drawing out every last wave until you were a quivering, gasping mess.
Only then did he pull out.
With a guttural groan he flipped you onto your back again and knelt between your spread legs. His fist flew over his swollen, dripping cock, eyes locked on your flushed, pulsing pussy. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted across your skin—painting your swollen folds, your sensitive clit, and your mound in messy, glistening streaks. He stroked himself through every pulse, milking out every drop until you were thoroughly marked and shining with him.
You lay there utterly spent, chest heaving, body limp and buzzing. Jake collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, pressing slow, tender kisses to your damp forehead and swollen lips as you both fought to catch your breath.
Minutes passed in heavy, satisfied silence, your fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. Then you felt it—his cock, already twitching and hardening again against your thigh.
“Jake, what the fuck?” You asked, horrified.
Jake let out a low, breathless laugh against your neck, nipping the skin gently, “c’mon, Jake Jr. likes you.”
“No, absolutely not. I’m tired,” you huffed, though your body said otherwise as you pushed back against him, “besides, we still have half a day tomorrow.
Jake gasped, losing character as if offended, “half a day? You do realize that i’m not gonna leave you alone for like, forever, right?” He implored more than anything, turning you towards him.
Maybe you wanted to hear that, maybe that’s why you even worded it out so clearly. His eyes were softer now, the intense lust easing into something gentler as he brushed damp strands of hair away from your face. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking tenderly along your jaw while the other rested possessively on your hip, thumb tracing small circles on your skin.
You leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips, “yeah,” you whispered against his mouth, and for once, you really wanted it to work out, “I want that too.”
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. He pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms, his fingers trailed soothingly down your spine, grounding you as your breathing finally evened out.
But then that familiar hunger crept back into his touch. His hand slid lower, squeezing your ass as he pressed his now fully hard cock against your thigh again.
“So, round two?”
It felt like déjà vu, sitting on the lounger by the pool with Jungwon eating his strawberry dipped in chocolate. This time, however, your eyes kept drifting towards a certain person, and you weren’t shy about it, borderline ogling even, because he displayed all the marks on his body oh so proudly.
Some seemed as if an animal had scratched him, you being the animal in this situation.
Standing across the deck, Jake was putting on another performance with his towel slung low around his hips like some bashful maiden guarding virtue (again) while shamelessly flexing every line of his torso. The same ridiculous confidence, the same dramatic flair. Only now it landed differently.
When he caught you staring, he let out a bemused smile. How the turn tables. He abandoned the group mid-sentence and walked straight toward you, shorts slipping dangerously low on his hips with every step.
“Well, well,” he drawled when he reached your lounger, “you’re finally looking at me.”
You tilted your head, letting your eyes drift deliberately over his marked-up chest, “maybe I like what I see now.”
Jake’s playful mask slipped for a moment, revealing absolute molten adoration in his gaze. He leaned down, one hand bracing on the back of your lounger, the other gently catching your chin.
“Don’t say things like that unless you want a crazy, obsessive boyfriend.”
Ah, the label. Was it early? You couldn’t say much, granted whatever went down on this trip wasn’t exactly a slow burn. So, you didn’t bother answering with words. Instead, you reached up, fingers brushing one of the marks you’d left on his skin.
That was enough.
Jake closed the distance and kissed you all saccharine in its sweetness. It wasn’t the frantic hunger of stolen nights, but something quieter, heavier with promise. His lips moved against yours like he was savoring every second, thumb stroking your jaw with tender reverence.
When he finally pulled back, forehead resting against yours, you only smiled at him.
𝓘𝐍 𝓦𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 ❤︎ your best friend is an absolute pervert with a massive fixation on you, stealing your clothes and losing his mind, until he finally breaks down and begs you to let him cross the line.
𝓖𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗭’𝗦 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄 ─── 𝜗ৎ smut. (mdni) || warnings ' perv!jake bsf2lovers dry humping obsessive behavior scent fetish overcoming boundaries mutual pining marking || talktalk ' idk what to think about this it’s just hot to me he’s so pervert coded sorry not sorry.
it was supposed to be a normal movie night right? just you and jake, tangled up in a mess of blankets on your couch, a half empty bowl of popcorn sitting between you. but the air in the room felt heavy, thick with a tension that had been building for months. jake wasn't watching the screen. he was watching you, his dark eyes tracing the line of your jaw, the way your lips parted slightly as you breathed, the way your oversized shirt slipped off your shoulder.
you knew jake was a bit of a deviant. he didn't exactly hide it from you, his best friend. he’d make offhand, shameless comments about things that should have made you blush, but you’d always laughed them off as jake just being jake. what you didn't know, what you only recently started to piece together, was how deep that fixation went when it came to you.
it started with small things. a look that lingered too long. the way he’d volunteered to do your laundry when you were sick, only for you to notice later that a pair of your lace underwear had mysteriously vanished, never to be found. you’d caught him once, standing in your bedroom when he thought you were in the kitchen, holding a sweater you’d worn the day before, his face buried deep in the fabric, inhaling your scent with a desperate, shaky breath. you hadn't said anything then, too shocked and, if you were being completely honest with yourself, too thrilled by the raw hunger in his eyes to confront him. but tonight, the boundaries were melting away.
jake shifted, shifting closer until his thigh was pressed hard against yours. you could feel the heat radiating off him. when you turned your head to look at him, you found him already staring, his gaze intense, almost agonizingly focused on your mouth.
"you're not even watching," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly under the weight of his stare.
"can't," jake muttered, his voice rougher than usual. "there's something much better to look at right here."
you swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. "jake, don't do this. we talked about this. we're friends."
"i know," he said, and the sheer desperation in his voice made your stomach flip. he reached out, his long fingers trembling just a little as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his thumb brushed against your cheekbone, his skin scorching hot. "i know we're friends, y/n. i swear i try to remember that. but it's driving me fucking insane."
"what is?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.
jake let out a breathless laugh, dropping his hand to rest on the cushion right next to your thigh. "you. everything about you. i spend every single day thinking about you. do you have any idea what i do when i'm alone in my apartment? do you know what i think about?"
you stayed quiet, your breath hitching.
"i think about you," jake confessed, leaning in closer, his scent of cedar and pure warmth overwhelming your senses. "i take your clothes, y/n. that sweater you lost last month? i have it. it's under my pillow. i jerk off into it because it smells like you. i sit on my bed, closing my eyes, imagining it's your hands on me instead of my own. i'm a sick fuck, i know it. i'm a pervert. but i need you so bad it hurts."
the honesty of it, the absolute lack of shame mixed with such raw vulnerability, sent a shivering wave of heat straight to your core. you should have been offended. you should have kicked him out. instead, your thighs rubbed together beneath the blanket, already slick.
"jake," you breathed out, your hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the frantic, erratic thumping of his heart. "we can't. if we do this, if we cross this line, there is no going back. i don't want to lose you. you're my best friend."
"i don't want to lose you either," jake said, his forehead coming to rest against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "fucking hell, y/n, you're the best thing in my life. but i'm dying here. just looking at you, touching you like this, it's not enough anymore. i need to feel you. please. just let me have this. let us have this."
"and what happens tomorrow?" you asked, your fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him just a fraction of an inch closer.
"we'll figure it out tomorrow," jake promised, his voice dropping to a needy, pathetic whimper. "just please, y/n. let me." you didn't answer with words. instead, you tilted your head up and closed the small distance between you, pressing your lips to his.
jake let out a choked sound, between a groan and a sob, and instantly took over the kiss. it wasn't a gentle, sweet first kiss. it was a collision. his mouth opened over yours, his tongue sweeping in with a fierce, possessive hunger that left you completely breathless. he gripped your waist with bruising force, pulling you flush against his chest as if he wanted to meld your bodies together.
the popcorn bowl fell to the floor, forgotten, as jake shifted his weight, climbing over you and pinning you to the couch. he broke the kiss for a split second to tear his shirt off, tossing it blindly into the room, before diving right back down to feast on your lips. his skin was burning, slick with a light sweat of pure anticipation.
"y/n, oh god, y/n," jake chanted against your mouth, his hands wandering frantically over your body, bunching up your shirt, his palms rough against your bare skin.
he didn't even wait to take your shorts off. the need in him was too feral, too far gone. he settled himself directly between your thighs, the heavy, rigid length of his erection pressing hard against your center through both layers of your clothes. then, he began to grind.
it was a slow, heavy roll of his hips at first, finding the perfect angle. you let out a loud moan right into his mouth, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist to lock him close. that sound seemed to snap something inside him. the pace turned frantic, desperate, and completely unchecked.
jake dry humped you with a wild, rhythmic urgency that made the entire couch creak beneath you. every downstroke of his hips pressed his hardness perfectly against your aching core, creating a friction so intense you could feel the heat blooming inside you like wildfire. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin there, leaving dark marks that you knew would stay for days.
"you feel so good," jake gasped out, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding back. "even through your clothes, you're so warm. y/n, please. look at me."
you forced your heavy eyelids open, staring up into his face. jake looked completely wrecked. his hair was a messy nest, his cheeks were flushed dark red, and his eyes were wide, blown out, and filled with a devotion that made your heart ache just as much as your core.
"i've wanted this for years," jake whispered, his hips continuing their relentless, desperate friction against yours. his movements were getting faster, shorter, his breath hitching as he edged closer to the brink just from the sheer feel of you beneath him. "every single time i looked at you. every time you smiled at me. i'm so sorry i'm like this, y/n. i'm so sorry i'm so dirty for you."
"don't apologize," you whined, arching your back, throwing your head back against the armrest as another heavy roll of his pelvis hit you perfectly. "jake, don't stop. please."
"never," he groaned, his hands moving down to grip your thighs, keeping you pinned, keeping you open for him as he rode your thigh with a pathetic, whimpering sort of desperation. "i'm going to ruin myself for you. i already have."
the sheer friction of his jeans against your thin shorts was driving you insane. you could feel the dampness of your own arousal soaking through the fabric, making the contact even more intense, more electric. jake felt it too. he let out a loud, broken whimper, his hips slamming into yours over and over in a quick, merciless rhythm that had you gripping his bare shoulders for dear life, your nails digging into his skin.
"jake, i'm close, i'm going to," you cried out, your vision blurring as the coil of pleasure tightened to an unbearable point.
"cum for me, y/n. let me feel it," jake begged, his voice cracking. he gave one last, deep, heavy grind, his whole body stiffening as he buried his face in your hair.
the orgasm crashed over you in violent, pulsing waves, making your thighs quiver around his waist. right at that exact moment, with your body squeezing around him through the fabric, jake lost his grip completely. he let out a loud, guttural cry, his hips stuttering into you one, two, three more times before he completely froze, his muscles locking tight as he came hard into his own underwear, the heat of it transferring right through to your skin.
the room fell silent, save for the sound of your loud, synchronized, ragged breathing.
jake collapsed fully against you, his heavy chest rising and falling against yours, his face still hidden in your neck. he didn't move for a long time, just holding you as if you would disappear if he let go. his hands, still resting on your hips, were twitching slightly.
after a few minutes, he slowly lifted his head. the feral, perverted hunger from before was replaced by something incredibly soft, almost anxious. he looked down at you, searching your face, a sudden wave of panic in his eyes.
"did i ruin it?" he whispered, his voice incredibly small. "y/n, please tell me i didn't just ruin everything."
you looked at him, taking in his messy hair, his flushed face, and the absolute devotion shining in his eyes. a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips. you reached up, cupping his cheek, your thumb wiping away a stray bead of sweat.
"you didn't ruin anything, you idiot," you giggled softly.
jake let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension leaving his shoulders as he leaned heavily into your touch, closing his eyes. "i love you so much. you have no idea. i'm still a creep, though. i'm still keeping that sweater."
you laughed, a bright, bubbly sound that filled the quiet room. "i know you are, jake. we'll talk about your theft problems later. but right now? i think you still owe me a proper round without our clothes on."
jake's eyes snapped open, a wicked, familiar spark returning to them as a slow, shameless grin spread across his face. "baby, you have no idea what you just started."
You thought the worst thing that could happen after your breakup was running into your cheating ex. Then you got pregnant by JAKE SIM. Captain of the Caldwell Wolves, campus golden boy and the most notorious heartbreaker on campus. He’s the last person you’d ever trust. Unfortunately for you, he’s also the father of your baby.
𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: Delicate - Taylor Swift // Kiss Me Right - keshi // Sugar Talking - Sabrina Carpenter // It Ain’t Over ‘Till It’s Over - Lenny Kravitz // Please - BTS // striptease - carwash
𝐋’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐞: i genuinely had the best time writing this fic and getting way too emotionally attached to these characters! please feel free to leave a comment, scream or simply stare into the void thinking about these idiots (i know i will be). your support means more than you know and every notification makes me kick my feet like a Victorian lady seeing an ankle. i hope this fic made you experience at least one completely unnecessary emotion. thank you for ready and PLEASE enjoy!
The party is Mina’s idea. It always is. You’ve stopped pretending otherwise — stopped doing the thing where you spend twenty minutes debating whether you’re really feeling it before Mina gives you the look and you both know you’re going regardless.
It’s a Friday in late September, the air outside finally tipping from warm to something with a bite in it, and you’ve been in your dorm room since two in the afternoon staring at the same paragraph of Middlemarch without absorbing a single word.
“You need to get out of this room,” Mina says from your bed, where she’s been watching you not read for the past hour. She’s already dressed — black top, dark jeans, the gold hoops she only wears when she’s decided the night is going to be worth the effort. She decided before she came over. The last hour has been a courtesy. “You’ve been staring at that book like it cheated on you.”
The word lands between you, briefly. Mina’s face doesn’t change “George Eliot is a menace,” you say.
“You love George Eliot.”
“I love George Eliot when I’m not trying to produce fifteen hundred words on her narrative voice by Monday morning.” You close the book. It’s not like you’re reading it anyway.
The thing about Delta Kappa parties is that they are, by any objective measure, too much. Too loud, too hot, the bass sitting somewhere in your sternum, red cups and bodies everywhere you look. Mina thrives. You tolerate it with the specific resignation of someone who knows they’re going to have a good time despite themselves and finds this faintly irritating.
You’re on your second drink when you see Sunghoon. He’s across the room near the kitchen doorway, mid-conversation with someone you don’t recognise, laughing at something. Head tipped back the way he always did — that particular way, unhurried and a little private, like whatever amused him was his alone. You used to love that about him. You watch it for maybe three seconds before you look away, which feels like a victory of some kind.
Four months. Four months since you’d found out, since you’d sat on your dorm room floor and read a conversation thread you were never supposed to see, since everything you thought you’d built with him had turned out to be built on something rotten underneath.
Two years of your life. Your first real relationship. You’d thought it would last.
You look away. You drain the rest of your cup.
“He’s here,” Mina says, appearing at your elbow with the precision of someone who has been watching.
“I know.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“No.” You mean it. “I’m not leaving a party because of Sunghoon Park.”
She studies you for a moment with that particular look — the one that measures the difference between actually fine and performing fine with uncomfortable accuracy. Whatever she finds seems to satisfy her, because she clinks her cup against yours and says, “Then let’s get another drink.”
You’re at the makeshift bar — someone’s kitchen counter pressed into service — when you become aware of someone standing beside you. Not waiting for the bottle. Something else. A specific quality of attention that you register before you’ve consciously clocked it. You look up. Jake Sim looks back.
You know who he is the way you know most things about the people who exist in Caldwell’s uppermost stratum — passively, through cultural osmosis, without ever having chosen to learn. Captain of the Wolves. Dean’s son. The name that comes up in a specific tone of voice, like a warning dressed as gossip.
Up close he is, unfortunately, exactly as good-looking as that reputation implies. Tall, built through the shoulders and chest in the way that years of hockey builds — not showy, just solid, like his body was designed to take up space and does so without apology. Dark eyes. A jaw that should probably be illegal. A mouth curved at the corner like he’s already three steps ahead of the conversation and finds this mildly entertaining.
“You’re doing maths,” he says.
You blink. “What?”
“Your face.” He nods at you, vaguely. “Very intense for someone just standing at a bar.”
“I’m making a drink.”
“You’ve been staring at that vodka for forty-five seconds.”
“I didn’t realise I was being timed.”
“You weren’t.” He reaches past you for the bottle — close enough that you catch something clean and faintly expensive — pours his own cup, sets it back.
“I’m Jake.”
“I know who you are.” Something moves through his expression. Amusement, maybe, or the specific satisfaction of a fact confirmed.
“Most people do,” he says, and there’s no arrogance in it, just a statement of observable reality, which is somehow worse. “And you’re—”
“Also a person,” you say.
That gets a real smile. Brief, but actual. “Fair enough.”
You should find Mina. You’re aware of this the way you’re aware of the coursework due Monday and the fact that it’s past midnight — true, noted, irrelevant. Instead you stay where you are and let the conversation go where it goes, and it goes somewhere you didn’t expect.
He’s good at this. That’s the thing you clock first and keep clocking — the way he makes conversation feel like it has momentum, like you’re building toward something together, the timing of his humour landing slightly off-beat in a way that catches you. He asks questions and actually listens to the answers. You know it’s a formula. You know it has worked on an uncountable number of girls at an uncountable number of parties exactly like this one, and knowing that should make you immune to it, and it doesn’t.
Mina finds you at some point, clocks the situation in under a second, raises her eyebrows precisely two millimetres — a full paragraph in two millimetres — and disappears back into the crowd.
At some point his hand finds the small of your back. Light. Questioning. You don’t move away from it. At some point, close enough that you feel the words more than hear them, he says: “We could get out of here.”
You think about Middlemarch, which you’re not going to read tonight regardless. You think about the two years you spent being someone’s person and the four months since that have felt like learning to walk in a body that’s been subtly rearranged. You think about Sunghoon somewhere in this house with his head tipped back, laughing.
“Okay,” you say.
His room is in the east block upperclassmen housing — a single, because of course, because Jake Sim has probably never had to negotiate space with anyone in his life. It’s tidier than you’d have guessed. You file this away without meaning to, the way you’re still filing things even now, even when you’ve told yourself you’re not doing that anymore.
He closes the door and you’re already turning toward him and then his mouth is on yours and it’s nothing like how he acted downstairs — no charm, no ease, just heat and intent, his hands gripping your face and kissing you like he’s already decided exactly how this goes.
You grab his shirt and walk him backwards and he turns you instead, smooth and immediate, your back hitting the wall beside the door hard enough to knock the breath out of you and you don’t care, you’re already pulling at his shirt and he’s already got your top halfway up your body.
He strips it off you and his mouth drops straight to your throat, open and hot, and then your bra is unclasped and gone before you’ve fully registered his hands at the back of it.
Then his mouth is on your tits and he makes a sound low in his chest like the sight of them was specifically designed to ruin him. His hands cup them, squeezing, thumbs dragging slow over your nipples and watching your face while he does it. You feel your cheeks go hot because his expression is entirely too focused, too attentive, like he’s cataloguing your reactions and filing it away for later use.
He bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, tongue working in slow wet circles. Your head drops back against the wall on a moan you didn’t mean to let out that loud.
“Yeah,” he says against your skin, rough and pleased, “get loud,” and bites down lightly you gasp and your nails find his shoulders through his shirt.
He marks you up like he has all the time in the world — mouth dragging from your tits to your throat to your collarbone and back again, teeth and tongue, leaving his work on your skin with a thoroughness that should feel like too much and instead just makes you want more.
His hips grind into yours against the wall, the hard line of his cock pressed against your core through clothing, slow and deliberate, the friction makes you roll up into it and he does it again to which you make a sound that’s honestly embarrassing.
“Bed,” you manage, and he pulls back just enough to look at you — mouth-bitten, dark-eyed, satisfied with himself in a way you don’t have the capacity to be annoyed about right now — and walks you to it.
You land on the mattress and he’s over you immediately, his mouth back on your tits before you’ve stopped bouncing on the mattress, you’re pulling at his shirt until he lets you get it off him and then his jeans are gone and yours are gone and he’s settled between your thighs in just his boxers and the weight of him is — a lot, in the best way, solid and warm and pressing you into the mattress, his hips grind down slow as his cock drags against your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties, you grab his shoulders to hold onto something.
He does it again. Slower.
His mouth is still at your nipple, tongue working it stiff while his hips keep that maddening rhythm, grinding into you with enough friction to make your thighs clench around him but not enough to give you anything real, you can hear how wet you are, can feel it and judging by the way his jaw tightens he can too.
“Jake,” you say, and it comes out more desperate than you intend.
“I know,” he says, like that’s an answer, and then he’s moving down your body.
He hooks your underwear off, throws it somewhere and finally puts his mouth on your pussy. Your back comes off the mattress.
He licks into your folds slowly, taking his time, his tongue dragging from your entrance up to your clit in one long stroke and then doing it again, his hands are spread flat on your inner thighs holding you open and still and there is nothing to do but take it.
He’s good — infuriatingly good — like he’s genuinely interested in making you cum, like this is something he wants to do rather than something he’s doing to get to the next thing. You’ve got one fist in the sheets and one pressed to your own mouth to which he pulls your hand away from your face without looking up. “Don’t,” he says against your cunt, and goes back to work.
His tongue finds your clit and stays there, tight focused circles, two fingers then press at your entrance and push in slow, curling immediately, finding the spot that makes your hips jolt and working it with patience that feels almost cruel.
The sounds coming out of you are loud and continuous and undignified and he hums against you like he approves, the vibration travelling straight up your spine, and you can feel yourself getting close embarrassingly fast, your walls clenching tight around his fingers, your whole body chasing it.
“Don’t stop,” you manage, “don’t — please —“ and he doesn’t, his tongue relentless on your clit and his fingers curling deep, and you cum on his mouth with your thighs shaking, his name coming out broken and too loud for the room.
He works you through every second of it, tongue gentling, fingers slowing until you’re twitching and oversensitive and pulling at his hair to get him off you, he comes back up your body looking composed in a way that feels like a personal attack. There’s something dark and satisfied in his expression as he looks down at you and kisses you before you can say anything, slow, and you taste yourself on his tongue.
His cock is hard against your hip, straining against his boxers, you reach between you and wrap your hand around him and feel him shudder. He’s thick and heavy in your palm, already slick at the tip and when you stroke him his composure cracks — hips pushing into your grip, jaw tightening and a low rough sound forming against your mouth.
You work him slow and watch his face and feel something warm and powerful settle in your chest. “Condom,” you say.
“Yeah,” he says and reaches for the nightstand.
He pushes in slow and you feel every single inch. The stretch of him opening you up, thick and relentless, your walls giving way around his cock, you dig your nails into his back and breathe through it until he’s fully seated. You’re so full it sits somewhere between pleasure and pain and then he rolls his hips and it tips firmly into the first one.
He starts slow — deep, grinding strokes, his cock dragging against every nerve of you, the weight of his hips pinning yours into the mattress and his mouth finds your tits again immediately, like he can’t help it, tongue working your nipple while his hips keep their deep rhythm and you stop being capable of thoughts that go anywhere.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he says against your breast, low and rough, and bites down on the swell of it and soothes it with his tongue and does it again somewhere else.
“Jake—”
“I know,” he says, his thumb finds your clit. The added pressure makes you gasp and your hips jolt up to meet his and he makes a sound that isn’t quite a groan and picks up the pace.
The slow grind gives way to something sharper. His hips snap against yours and the headboard knocks the wall and the wet sounds of it fill the room. You have completely stopped caring about anything except the way his cock fills you on every stroke, deep and thick, the drag of him pulling back and driving in again setting off a chain reaction of sensation that climbs fast.
He shifts your leg up higher over his hip and the angle changes, deeper, and the sound you make at that is genuinely obscene. “Yeah?” he says, doing it again, deliberate. “There?”
“Yes,” you manage, “there, don’t stop, please—”
“Dirty when you want something,” he says, low and pleased, and fucks you harder.
His thumb circles your clit without stopping, his cock drives into your cunt again and again and his mouth marks your throat. The build crests too fast to catch — you cum for the second time harder, walls clenching rhythmically around him, his name coming out wrecked and he follows you over with his hips buried deep and his face pressed to your throat, low broken sounds against your skin as he cums.
The room goes quiet. You stare at the ceiling. Your body has been taken apart and put back together slightly differently and everything feels warm and loose and heavy.
That, you think distantly, was either the best or worst decision you’ve made in months.
Possibly both.
Jake disposes of the condom, comes back, drops onto the bed beside you. The quiet settles. It’s almost comfortable — the dark, the warmth, both of you just breathing. And then…
“You can go whenever,” he says. Flat. Casual. Already looking at the ceiling like you’re no longer the most interesting thing in the room. Like you’ve been downgraded, in the last thirty seconds, from a person to an inconvenience that’s resolved itself.
You blink. You can go whenever. Not you don’t have to rush, not do you want some water, not even basic human decency. Just — you can go. Door’s there. Thanks for coming.
Something cold moves cleanly through the warmth in your chest and extinguishes it. You sit up. “Right,” you say. Your voice comes out level. You’re proud of that.
He says nothing. He is staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head like a man with absolutely no awareness that he’s just been profoundly rude, or perhaps perfect awareness and total indifference, which is worse.
You find your clothes in the dark with quiet methodical efficiency — jeans, top, shoes, bra shoved into your bag because life is short. You do not look at him while you dress and he does not look at you. At the door you pause, and you genuinely don’t know why, some reflex kicking in from a life spent being polite to people who haven’t earned it.
“Bye, then,” you say.
“Mm,” says Jake Sim, at the ceiling not even at you. You want to scoff in his stupidly hot face.
You close the door behind you.
The walk back across campus takes twelve minutes and you spend all twelve of them with the cold night air doing its best against the heat in your face. Not embarrassment — or not only that. Something sharper. The specific anger of someone who knew exactly what they were walking into and walked into it anyway and is now annoyed at themselves for being annoyed.
I knew, you think, with each step. I knew what he was. Everyone knows what he is. I just—
You’d let the hour at the bar do its work. You’d let the conversation and the hand at the small of your back and the dark eyes and the unfair jaw do their work, and you’d told yourself it was fine because you were going in clear-eyed, and the sex had been — god, the sex had been amazing — but then he’d opened his mouth and reminded you exactly who he was and now here you are, at one forty in the morning, crossing the quad with your bra in your bag.
You text Mina. still up?
The reply is immediate. obviously. how was it?
You stare at your phone for a moment. come to mine, you type back.
Mina is sitting up in your bed when you get back, laptop open, a bowl of cereal balanced on her knee that she definitely made while waiting. She takes one look at your face as you come through the door and sets it on the nightstand. “Tell me.”
You drop your bag, toe off your shoes, and sit on the end of the bed. You press your fingers to your eyes for a moment. “The sex,” you say carefully, “was genuinely incredible. Like — top three of my life, Mina. Easily. Potentially top two.”
“Okay—”
“And then, the moment it was over, he looked at the ceiling and told me I could go whenever.” You drop your hands. “In the tone of someone dismissing a tradesman. Like I’d come to fix his boiler.”
Mina’s expression moves through several stages. “He did not.”
“He absolutely did.”
“What did you say?”
“I said bye then and closed the door.”
“Bye then?”
“I panicked and defaulted to manners.” You flop backwards onto the duvet. “I knew. That’s the thing. I knew exactly what he was before I ever spoke to him and I did it anyway because—” You gesture at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Because I’m tired of being careful. Because Sunghoon was across the room being beautiful and I wanted to feel something that wasn’t about him.”
Mina is quiet for a moment. Then: “Was it, at least something that wasn’t about Sunghoon.”
You consider this with the ceiling. “Yes,” you admit. “Annoyingly, yes. Right up until he opened his mouth.”
“He really is the worst,” Mina says, with the conviction of someone delivering a verdict.
“He really, genuinely is.” You stare upward. “He’s got such a good cock though, Mina. Like. I’m annoyed about it. I’m actively annoyed.”
Mina puts her face in her hands. You watch her shoulders shake. “It’s not funny,” you tell her, and then you’re laughing too, and the tight mean thing in your chest loosens by a fraction, and outside the window Caldwell goes on being loud and indifferent and fully lit up, and you are fine.
You’re fine. You’re completely fine.
The week after the party you are, by any reasonable measure, completely fine.
You turn in the Middlemarch essay on Monday morning — fifteen hundred words on narrative voice, mostly written Sunday afternoon in a single focused stretch that you attribute to having gotten something out of your system.
You go to your Tuesday seminar and your Wednesday lecture and you have coffee with Mina on Thursday at the place near the English building where they do the good almond croissants, and you do not think about Jake Sim.
Or you think about him the normal amount. The amount that is appropriate for a person you slept with once at a party and will probably never speak to again, which is to say occasionally and without weight, the way you might think about a film you watched on a plane — enjoyable in the moment, not something you’d seek out again, largely irrelevant to your actual life.
This is what you tell yourself. Mina does not challenge it, which means she’s either convinced or she’s decided to let you have it, and knowing Mina it’s the second one.
Sunghoon texts you on Wednesday. Just — hey, saw you at Delta Kappa Friday. you looked good. You stare at it for a long time. You don’t reply.
You see Jake on Monday. You’re crossing the main quad, coffee in hand, bag over one shoulder, running approximately four minutes late for your seminar, and he’s coming the other direction with Jay Park and someone you don’t recognise, all three of them in Wolves gear, clearly post-practice.
He’s laughing at something Jay said, head tilted back, and he looks — easy, and loose, and completely unbothered by anything in the known universe, which you knew, which is exactly what you expected, and yet something about seeing it in person at ten forty-three on a Monday morning makes your jaw tighten anyway.
He doesn’t see you. Or he does and gives no indication of it, which amounts to the same thing. You look straight ahead and keep walking and do not think about it for the rest of the morning.
You think about it a little bit in the afternoon. By evening you’ve filed it away under irrelevant and moved on, which is the correct and mature response and you’re proud of yourself.
The sickness starts on Wednesday morning. You wake up with your stomach doing something wrong — not dramatic, not the sharp unmistakable rebellion of food poisoning, just a low persistent nausea that sits behind your sternum like it’s made itself at home. You lie still for a moment, waiting for it to pass.
It doesn’t.
You get up, make it to the bathroom, sit on the edge of the tub for ten minutes breathing carefully, and then it eases enough that you can brush your teeth and get dressed and tell yourself you’re fine.
You’re not fine by Thursday morning.
The nausea is worse — still not acute, still this low insidious wrongness, but it’s there when you wake up and it doesn’t fully lift, and your coffee tastes like something burnt and metallic and you push it away after two sips which Mina clocks immediately from across the table at the place near the English building.
“You’re not drinking your coffee.”
“I’m not feeling it today.”
Mina looks at the cup. Looks at you. “You have never in three years of knowing you not felt like coffee.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” She watches you for a moment with that look. You look back at your laptop and don’t say anything else.
By Saturday you feel actively, genuinely terrible.
Not sick-sick — no fever, no aches, nothing you can point to as a specific illness — just this relentless creeping nausea that is worst in the morning and fades by afternoon and makes the idea of eating before eleven o’clock an abstract and unpleasant concept.
You cancel your Saturday morning coffee with Mina, which you have never done, and she’s at your door by noon with a container of crackers and a forensic expression. “Talk,” she says.
“I think I’m coming down with something.”
“What kind of something.”
“I don’t know, Mina, a virus. A bug. Something that’s going around.”
She sits down on your bed and opens the crackers and holds them out to you and you take one because the sight of them is, somehow, the most appealing thing you’ve encountered all week. You eat it slowly. Your stomach does not immediately rebel. You take another one. “How long?” Mina asks.
“Since Wednesday morning.”
“And it’s worst in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“And you can’t drink coffee.”
“It tastes wrong.” Mina is quiet for a moment. You eat another cracker and look at the wall. “I’m sure it’s just a bug,” you say.
“Yeah,” Mina says, in a tone that means something else entirely. “Probably.”
The conspiracy theories start that evening, though. It’s the two of you on your bed with Mina’s laptop open and a bag of pretzels between you, and it begins reasonably enough — you googling nausea worse in morning possible causes and working through the list with the detached efficiency of someone who is definitely not spiralling. Stress. Acid reflux. Inner ear issues. Viral gastroenteritis. Dietary changes.
“Have you eaten anything different lately?” Mina asks.
“No.”
“Stressed about something?”
“When am I not stressed about something.”
“Fair.” She scrolls. “It says here inner ear problems can cause—”
“I don’t have inner ear problems, Mina.”
Mina scrolls further. You eat a pretzel and watch her face and wait for it. You know it’s coming. You’ve known since Saturday morning, if you’re being honest, since she’d sat on your bed with that specific expression and said probably in that specific tone, and you’ve been not-thinking about it with considerable effort for the past several hours.
“Okay,” Mina says, carefully, still looking at the screen. “What if.”
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You don’t have to.” You pull the laptop toward you and close the tab. “It’s been less than two weeks. It’s too early for that. It’s a bug.”
“You used a condom?”
“Obviously.”
“They’re not a hundred percent.”
“It’s a bug,” you say. “It’s a completely normal bug that normal people get and it has nothing to do with — it’s a bug.”
Mina looks at you with the expression of someone who has several more things to say and has made a strategic decision to not say them yet. “Okay,” she says. “Bug.”
By Sunday you can’t keep breakfast down. You sit on your bathroom floor at eight in the morning with your back against the tub and your forehead against your knees and you think about the party, and Jake’s room, and the nightstand, and the condom, and you think no very firmly and repeatedly and it doesn’t help at all.
You text Mina. can you come over
She’s there in seven minutes. She doesn’t say anything when you open the door, just looks at your face, and you nod back at her.
The Caldwell campus drugstore is a five minute walk from your building and has, blessedly, a single-occupancy bathroom at the back that Mina sweet-talks the Saturday cashier into letting you use on the grounds that you’re not feeling well, which is at least entirely true. It’s a very small bathroom.
The two of you fill it completely — you on the closed toilet lid, Mina with her back against the sink, the test sitting on the edge of it between you with three minutes on Mina’s phone timer counting down. Nobody says anything.
The tile is white. There’s a motivational poster on the back of the door — you’ve got this! in yellow letters — that you stare at with a feeling you can’t fully name.
Two minutes.
“It’s probably negative,” you say.
“Probably,” Mina says.
“The condom—”
“Yeah.” “And it’s been less than two weeks. Like. The timing—”
“The timing is actually about right,” Mina says, gently, “for symptoms to—”
“Stop,” you say.
One minute.
You watch the timer. The timer watches back. Your hands are completely still in your lap which surprises you — you’d have expected them to shake, but instead you feel very calm in the specific way that you get sometimes when something is about to happen and your body has decided that panic is a resource to be conserved.
The timer goes off.
Neither of you moves for a second. Then Mina picks up the test and looks at it. Her face does something — a flicker, fast and controlled, there and gone — and she hands it to you without speaking.
Two lines.
You look at it for a long time.
“Okay,” you say, finally.
“Yeah,” Mina says.
The motivational poster on the wall says you’ve got this! in yellow letters and you stare at it and think about Jake Sim telling the ceiling you can go whenever and feel something move through you that is too big and too complicated to have a name yet.
“Okay,” you say again. Like if you keep saying it, it’ll start meaning something useful.
—
You don’t go to him straight away. That feels important somehow — that you don’t just spiral out of that drugstore bathroom and make a beeline for the Hargrove Center in a panic, that you go back to your dorm first and sit with it for a while like a person with some degree of self-possession.
You and Mina order food you mostly don’t eat and sit on your bed with the test face-down on the nightstand like if you can’t see it it’s less real, and you talk around it for a while before you talk about it directly, which is its own kind of processing.
“You don’t have to decide anything today,” Mina says.
“I know.”
“You don’t have to tell him today either.”
“I know.” You pull your sleeves over your hands. “But I feel like — I don’t know. He should know. Like in or not he’s — it’s his. He should know.”
Mina is quiet for a moment. “Okay,” she says. “But eat something first.”
You eat half a portion of noodles. It’s the most you’ve managed in days and your stomach accepts it cautiously, like it’s making no promises. Then you change your top, put your shoes on, and look at Mina.
“Don’t come with me,” you say.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were absolutely going to.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Text me the second you’re out.”
The Hargrove Center is a twenty minute walk across campus and you use all twenty minutes to rehearse what you’re going to say, which turns out to be a complete waste of time because the moment you push through the side door and the cold air of the rink hits you — that particular sharp smell of ice and equipment — your prepared sentences evaporate entirely.
Practice is just wrapping up. You can see them from the entrance, the Wolves coming off the ice in clusters, helmets off, sticks in hand. Jay Park says something that makes Riki Nishimura laugh. Jungwon Yang is already halfway to the boards.
And Jake is — there, centre ice, still, talking to one of the assistant coaches with his helmet under his arm and his hair pushed back from his face, and even from here he looks like someone who has never had an uncontrollable variable in his life.
You wait.
You’re good at waiting. You’ve spent the last two weeks being good at things you didn’t choose to be good at.
He sees you when he comes off the ice — clocks you in the way that people clock something unexpected in a familiar space, a brief recalibration. Something moves across his face, too fast to read. Then it’s gone and he’s walking toward you with the easy unhurried stride of someone who has decided to be unbothered and you stand your ground and wait for him to reach you.
“Hey,” he says. Like you’re an acquaintance. Like he’s mildly surprised to see you and finds it mildly unremarkable.
“I need to talk to you,” you say. Something shifts.
The easy expression doesn’t disappear exactly but it adjusts, becomes more guarded. He glances around — Jay is watching from the boards with open curiosity, Riki less subtly — and then jerks his head toward the corridor off the main rink.
You follow him into it. It’s quieter here, the noise of the rink muffled, the overhead lights slightly too bright. He turns and faces you with his arms crossed and his weight back, and waits. You had sentences. You had very good sentences, all the way across campus.
“I’m pregnant,” you say.
The corridor goes very quiet. Jake looks at you. His expression does several things in quick succession that he doesn’t quite manage to keep off his face — shock, and something that might be fear, and then a shuttering, a closing, something careful dropping down over all of it.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” you repeat.
“That’s — okay. How far—”
“I just found out today. So.” You fold your arms across your chest. “Not far.”
He nods slowly. His jaw is working. He looks at the floor for a moment and then back at you and the careful expression is fully in place now, composed and unreadable, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or furious about it.
“Are you sure it’s mine,” he says.
The corridor goes even quieter somehow.
You look at him. “What did you just say.”
“I’m just—” He shifts his weight. “We don’t know each other. I don’t know who else you’ve been—”
“Are you calling me a slut.” It comes out flat. Not a question.
“I’m not calling you anything, I’m just saying I don’t know—”
“You’re the only person I’ve slept with in four months.” Your voice is very level. “I was in a relationship. It ended. I haven’t — there’s been no one else. There’s only been you.” You look at him. “And I can’t believe I’m standing here explaining that to you.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“You literally just implied I could have slept with someone else.” The level voice is beginning to fray at the edges. “You literally said that. To my face.”
“Look, I just—”
You slap him.
You don’t plan it. Your hand moves before the decision has fully formed, the sharp crack of it landing across his cheek, and then there’s a ringing silence and your palm is stinging and Jake’s head has turned with the force of it and he’s looking at you now with an expression you haven’t seen on him before. Not angry. Something more complicated than angry.
“Don’t ever,” you say, quietly, “imply something like that to me again.”
He says nothing. His hand has come up to his cheek, not pressing, just — there. His jaw is tight.
“I thought you should know,” you say. “That’s all. I thought you deserved to know because it’s yours and you deserved to know. I haven’t decided anything yet and I’m not asking you for anything.” You pull your bag higher on your shoulder. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he says. Low. You walk back out into the cold. You text Mina out and she sends back seventeen question marks which is fair.
You tell her you’ll explain when you get back and spend the walk home feeling the particular hollow exhaustion of someone who has done the thing they needed to do and now has no idea what comes next.
You’re back in your building, one flight up, when you hear him behind you. “Hey—”
You turn. Jake is in the stairwell, still in his practice gear, slightly out of breath like he walked fast to get here, and you have absolutely no idea how he found out which dorm you’re in and you’re going to have questions about that later.
“How did you—“
“Jay knew,” he says, which explains nothing and everything.
He comes up the last few steps and stops on your landing and runs a hand through his hair and looks like someone who has been having a very difficult internal conversation at speed. “Can I—”
“No,” you say.
“Two minutes.” You look at him. He looks back. The mark from your hand has faded from his cheek but his expression is still doing that thing — complicated, unreadable, something working behind it.
“Two minutes,” you say, and unlock your door. Your room is small and suddenly smaller with him in it. He stands just inside the door like he’s not sure he’s allowed further in, which is the most uncertain you’ve seen him, and you sit on the end of your bed and look at him and wait.
He reaches into his jacket. He puts a stack of bills on your desk. You look at the money. You look at him. “Jake.”
“It’s enough to cover — whatever you decide.” He’s not quite meeting your eyes. “I’m not — look. I don’t want a kid. I’m not in a place for that. We don’t know each other. But I’m not going to just—” He stops. Starts again. “Take it. Whatever you need it for.”
You stare at the money for a long moment. “Are you going to want to be involved,” you ask. “If I decide to keep it.”
Something crosses his face. “I don’t — I haven’t—” He exhales. “I don’t know.”
“Okay,” you say. “That’s honest at least.”
“Are you going to keep it,” he asks. Quietly. Like he’s not sure he has the right to ask.
You look at the money on your desk. You look at him — standing in your doorway in his practice gear, jaw tight, trying very hard to look like someone who has this handled and not quite managing it — and you think that this is the first time he’s looked like a person to you. Not the reputation, not the corridor composure, not the ceiling of his bedroom. Just a person who is as blindsided as you are and coping with it badly.
“I don’t know yet,” you say. “I’ll let you know when I do.”
He nods. He looks at you for a moment longer than necessary. Then he picks up the money from your desk and puts it on your nightstand instead, like the desk was somehow wrong, like the four feet of distance makes a difference, and you don’t say anything about it.
“I’m sorry,” he says, at the door. “For what I said. At the rink.”
You look at him. “Which part.”
“All of it.”
He closes the door behind him and you sit on your bed in the quiet of your room for a long time, the money on your nightstand and the weight of everything pressing down, and then you pick up your phone and call your sister.
She picks up on the third ring. “Hey, you.” Hannah’s voice is warm and slightly distracted in the way it always is — you can hear one of the kids in the background, the particular high-pitched negotiation of a five year old who wants something and has decided now is the time. “Give me two seconds.”
Then, away from the phone: “Lily, baby, I said after dinner. After. Yes. Because I said so, that’s why.” A door closing.
Then: “Okay. Hi. Sorry. What’s up?”
You open your mouth. You’ve been sitting on your bed for forty minutes since Jake left, the money on your nightstand and your phone in your hand, and you’ve composed this conversation approximately thirty times in your head and all thirty versions started more coherently than what actually comes out, which is: “I did something kind of stupid.”
“How stupid.”
“Significantly.”
A beat. Hannah has always been good at letting silence do its work, at not rushing in to fill it with the wrong thing. It’s one of the things you’ve always loved about her. “Okay,” she says. “Tell me.”
So you tell her. All of it — the party and Jake and the test and the corridor and the slap and him in your room with the money — and Hannah listens through all of it without interrupting, which is its own kind of gift, and when you’re done there’s a moment of quiet that feels like her sorting through it.
“Okay,” she says again. “First question. Are you physically okay?”
“Yes.”
“Second question. Do you have someone with you?”
“Mina’s coming over in an hour.”
“Good.” You can hear her moving around, the soft sounds of her kitchen. “Third question, and I want you to actually think about it before you answer — not what you think you should say, not what’s practical, not what he wants or what anyone else wants. Just you.”
She pauses. “Do you want to keep it?”
You look at the money on your nightstand.
You think about the question the way she asked it — stripped of everything else, just you, just the truth of it underneath all the noise.
The thing is, you already know. You’ve known since the bathroom floor this morning, since you sat with your back against the tub and your forehead on your knees. It’s why the knowing has been so terrifying — not because you’re uncertain but because you’re not, and being not uncertain makes it real in a way that uncertainty would have postponed.
“Yeah,” you say. Quietly. “I do. I just — I don’t want it to be his. I don’t want to be tied to someone who—” You stop. “I don’t want the situation. I just want—”
“The baby,” Hannah says. “Yeah.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Those are two separate things,” she says. “The situation and the baby. They feel like the same thing right now but they’re not.”
You hear her sit down somewhere. “Marcus and I — when I had Lily, things with us were not good. You remember. We were not in a good place. And I thought about it the same way — I want her, I just don’t want this. And it was hard. It was genuinely really hard. But she’s five now and she’s the most annoying, amazing person I’ve ever met and I can’t — I can’t imagine.”
You press the back of your hand to your mouth.
“I’m not telling you what to do,” Hannah says quickly. “I promise I’m not. Whatever you decide I’m with you. I just — you asked.”
“I know,” you manage. “I know you’re not.”
“Is he terrible?” she asks. “This Jake person.”
You think about the corridor. The money. I’m sorry. For what I said. All of it. “I don’t know yet,” you say. “He’s — I don’t know what he is.”
“Okay.” Hannah’s voice is careful and warm. “You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to know anything yet except what you want. Everything else gets figured out.”
You sit with that for a moment. “I’m keeping it,” you say. Out loud, to another person, for the first time. It lands differently than it did in your head — more solid, more real, like something that has been decided rather than something being considered.
“Okay,” Hannah says, and she says it the way Mina says it — not okay as in fine but okay as in I’ve got you. “Then we figure out the rest.”
You tell Mina when she comes over and she holds your hand and doesn’t say anything for a long moment and then says “okay, what do we need to do” in the tone of someone rolling up their sleeves, which is exactly right, which is why she’s your person.
You tell Jake two days later.
You find him after morning practice on a Wednesday, same side entrance to the Hargrove Center, and this time he sees you coming and something in his posture adjusts — not quite bracing, just becoming more careful, more deliberate, the way he gets when he’s paying attention. “Hey,” he says.
“I’m keeping it,” you say.
He goes very still. You watch him process it — the stillness and then the almost imperceptible movement of his jaw, the way his eyes go somewhere internal for a second before coming back to you. He looks like someone doing rapid and complicated mathematics. “Okay,” he says finally.
“You don’t have to be involved. I meant that when I said it. I’m not — I’m not asking you for anything except to know. You deserved to know and now you know and whatever you decide to do with that is up to you.”
“I said I’d provide,” he says. “I meant that.”
“Money isn’t the same as involved.”
“I know.” He shifts his weight. His hands are in his pockets and he’s looking at you with that careful expression, the one you can’t fully read. “I don’t — I’m not going to be the guy who just throws money at it and disappears. That’s not—” He stops. “I don’t know what I am yet. But I’m not that.”
You look at him for a long moment. There is, underneath the practice gear and the careful composure and the history of the last two weeks, something that might be decency in there. It’s buried. It’s inconsistent. You’ve seen it appear and disappear enough times already to know better than to trust it yet. But it’s there. “Okay,” you say. “Then figure out what you are and let me know.”
You turn to go. “Can I—” He stops. You look back. “Can I have your number,” he says. “Properly. So we can — so it’s easier to—”
“To what.”
He looks, briefly, like someone who hasn’t thought this far ahead. “Talk,” he says. “If we need to.”
You look at him for a moment. Then you take out your phone and hold it out. He puts his number in and hands it back and you save it under Jake Sim (do not text unless necessary) which you do not show him. “I’ll be in touch,” you say.
Jake doesn’t mean to tell his friend— or he does, but not like this, not in the locker room with his gear half off and Riki eating a protein bar on the bench across from him and Jay taping his wrist in the corner and Jungwon doing something on his phone. It comes out the way things come out when you’ve been holding them too long and the effort of holding them finally exceeds the effort of saying them.
“I got someone pregnant,” he says.
The locker room goes quiet. Riki stops chewing. Jay puts down the tape. Jungwon looks up from his phone. “I’m sorry,” Jay says, with the careful enunciation of someone who wants to make sure they’ve heard correctly. “You what?”
“You heard me.”
“I heard you, I just want to make sure I—” Jay sets down the tape fully and turns to face him. “Who.”
“Girl from Delta Kappa. Three weeks ago.” Another silence. Jay is looking at him with an expression that Jake doesn’t particularly enjoy — something between concern and the specific look of someone doing the maths on how this could have happened and arriving at several uncomfortable conclusions about Jake’s general life choices.
“Are you—” Jungwon starts.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I was going to ask.”
“Then what.”
Jungwon looks at him steadily. “Is she okay.”
Jake opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks about you in the corridor at the rink and your voice going flat and your hand cracking across his face, and then you in your dorm room — calm and certain and telling him you weren’t asking him for anything, which was somehow the part that landed hardest. “I think so,” he says. “She’s — yeah.”
“Do you like her?” Riki asks, with the bluntness of someone who has not yet learned that some questions require more runway.
“I don’t know her,” Jake says.
“That’s not what I asked.” Jay shoots Riki a look. Riki shrugs and takes another bite of his protein bar.
“What are you going to do?” Jay asks, turning back to Jake.
Jake leans his elbows on his knees and looks at the floor. The locker room smells like it always does — ice and rubber and effort — and it’s familiar in a way that is almost destabilising right now, how normal everything around him is when nothing feels particularly normal. “I don’t know yet,” he says. “Be there, I think. As much as she’ll let me.”
“As much as she’ll let you,” Jay repeats. Something in his tone.
“She’s not — she’s not soft.” Jake looks up. “She’s not going to make it easy.”
“Should she?”
Jake looks at him. Jay looks back, steady and unhurried. “No,” Jake says, after a moment. “Probably not.”
Jay nods once. Picks the tape back up. “Then figure it out,” he says, like it’s simple, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Jake sits with that in the familiar smell of the locker room and thinks that he probably needs to.
—
The truce, when it forms, is not announced. It happens gradually over the following week — a text from him checking if you need anything, which you respond to with I’m fine thanks and nothing else. A text from you three days later telling him your first appointment is booked for the following week, which he responds to with do you want me there and you respond with not yet and he responds with okay and that’s it, that’s the whole exchange, and somehow it’s the most civil conversation you’ve had.
He doesn’t push. You note this without letting it mean too much. You’re not friends. You’re not anything with a name. You’re two people who made a mistake that turned into something neither of you planned for, and you’re figuring out how to exist in the same orbit without either of you combusting, and most days it feels manageable and some days it feels impossible and on the days it feels impossible you call Hannah, who answers on the third ring and lets the silence do its work.
It’s something, you think. It’s not much but it’s something. For now, that has to be enough.
The thing about Caldwell though, is that it’s a big campus until it isn’t.
Thirty thousand students, four faculties, two libraries, a quad the size of a small park — and yet somehow the people you most want to avoid have an unerring instinct for occupying the same coffee shop, the same corridor, the same stretch of pavement at the same time.
You’ve been navigating this for four months with Sunghoon and you’ve gotten good at it. You know his schedule well enough to avoid it without meaning to, the way you learn the shape of someone after two years and can’t quite unlearn it.
Which is why it catches you off guard when he’s just — there. The library café, a Tuesday afternoon, three weeks after the test. You’re at a corner table with your laptop and a cup of tea you’ve been nursing for an hour because coffee is still wrong and probably will be for the foreseeable future, and you’re halfway through a close reading of Middlemarch chapter forty-two when someone pulls out the chair across from you and sits down and you look up and it’s Sunghoon.
He looks, as he always looks, like something assembled with unreasonable care. Dark hair, clean jawline, the particular quality of stillness he has that used to make you feel calm and now just makes you feel tired.
“Hey,” he says.
You look at him. Then at the chair he’s sitting in. Then back at him. “I didn’t say you could sit.”
“I know.” He doesn’t move. “I just wanted to talk.”
“Sunghoon.”
“Five minutes.”
You close your laptop. Not because you’re agreeing, but because whatever he’s about to say you want to be looking at him when he says it. “Five minutes,” you say. “And then you’re going to go away.”
Something moves through his expression — not quite hurt, but adjacent. He folds his hands on the table. He has nice hands. You spent two years noticing his hands. “I saw you at Delta Kappa,” he says.
“I know. You texted me.”
“You didn’t reply.” He looks at you steadily. “You were talking to Jake Sim.”
There it is.
You keep your face very neutral. “I was at a party. I talked to a lot of people.”
“Jake Sim isn’t a lot of people.” Something in his voice shifts — not quite possessive, not quite jealous, threading that needle with the precision of someone who knows he doesn’t have the right to either and is trying to disguise it as concern. “He’s not a good person to get involved with.”
“Thank you for that,” you say. “I’ll bear it in mind.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” You look at him. “Sunghoon. You don’t get to come sit at my table and tell me who I should and shouldn’t talk to. You gave that up.”
His jaw tightens. “I know I did.”
“Then why are you here?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Outside the café windows the quad is grey and overcast, students moving across it with their heads down against the wind, and Sunghoon is looking at you with an expression you know — you’ve catalogued it, the way you’ve catalogued everything about him, two years of accumulated knowledge you can’t seem to put down. It’s the expression he gets when he wants to say something and is choosing his words with care.
“I miss you,” he says.
You look at him for a long time. The honest answer is that you miss him too — or you miss the version of things you thought you had, which isn’t exactly the same as missing him but lives close enough to it that the distinction is hard to maintain on a grey Tuesday afternoon with him sitting across from you looking like that.
You miss having a person. You miss the shape of your life before it got complicated in every possible direction.
But you also know what he did.
You know it with the specific clarity of something you’ve gone over enough times that it’s stopped being sharp and started being just — true. A fact about him. A fact about what he chose. “I know,” you say. Carefully. “But that’s not my problem to fix.”
He nods. Slow. Like he expected it and it still costs him something. He stands up, pushes the chair back in, and then pauses with his hands on the back of it. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Actually? You look—” He stops.
“I look what.”
“Tired,” he says. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” you say.
He looks at you for a moment longer. Then he goes, and you open your laptop, and you stare at Middlemarch chapter forty-two for a while without reading any of it.
You don’t tell Jake about Sunghoon.
There’s no reason to.
You and Jake are not — whatever you are, it doesn’t include telling each other things. It includes occasional texts, one appointment you went to alone where a doctor confirmed what you already knew and gave you a due date that made it real in a new and specific way, and a strange careful politeness that exists between you like a temporary structure neither of you fully trusts.
He texts you on a Friday evening. how are you feeling
You look at it for a while. Fine. Less sick this week.
that’s good
A pause. Then: do you need anything?
You think about your sister’s voice. You don’t have to know anything yet except what you want. You think about Jake in your dorm room, the money on your nightstand, I’m not going to be the guy who just throws money at it. You think about how many times in the past three weeks he’s almost been decent and then done something to complicate it.
I’m okay, you send back. Thanks.
He sends a thumbs up and you put your phone face down and tell yourself this is fine, this arrangement is fine, and mostly you believe it.
You find out about the girl on a Saturday night.
You’re not looking for it — you’re not the kind of person who goes searching for things they don’t want to find, you learned that lesson with Sunghoon — but Caldwell is a big campus until it isn’t, and Mina’s friend group overlaps with the hockey crowd in the specific way that happens at schools where athletes are their own ecosystem but not a fully separate one.
It’s Mina who tells you, with the careful expression of someone who has been sitting on information and decided you’d rather hear it from her. “I heard Jake hooked up with someone last weekend,” she says. Not leading with it, not burying it either. Just: here is a thing that is true.
You look at your coffee. You’ve graduated back to coffee this week, weak and milky, which feels like a victory. “Okay,” you say.
“You’re allowed to have feelings about that.”
“We’re not together, Mina.”
“I know.”
“He can do whatever he wants. We’re not — there’s nothing between us. We’re just—” You move your hand in a vague gesture that encompasses the entire situation. “This.”
“I know,” Mina says again, in the tone that means she has more to say and is choosing not to. You continue to drink your coffee.
The thing is — and this is the part you don’t say out loud, the part you turn over privately in the quiet of your own head — the thing is that you know she’s right.
You are allowed to have feelings about it.
You do have feelings about it, somewhere underneath the very reasonable and correct observation that Jake Sim owes you nothing beyond basic decency and whatever co-parenting arrangement you eventually figure out.
You have feelings about it the way you have feelings about a lot of things lately — in the muffled, at-a-distance way, like they’re happening to someone slightly removed from you and you’re watching through glass.
You’re pregnant with his baby and he’s sleeping with someone else and you’re not together and you have no claim on him and all of that is true simultaneously and you’re not sure what to do with the fact that it still sits in your chest like something uncomfortable.
“I don’t care,” you tell Mina. She looks at you with the expression that means I know you and I know that’s not entirely true but I love you so I’ll let you have it.
“Okay,” she says.
—
Jake texts you on Sunday.
heard you’ve been doing better. that’s good
You stare at the message for a long time. Yeah, you type back. Thanks.
A pause. Then: can I take you to your next appointment?
You put the phone down. Pick it up. Put it down again.
The question sits there, simple and direct, and the thing about it is that it isn’t nothing. It’s not the gesture of someone who is just throwing money at a situation. It’s — something. Small and tentative and probably not enough and something nonetheless.
It’s in two weeks, you send back. I’ll let you know.
okay, he says. no pressure.
You put the phone down and look at the ceiling and think about a girl you don’t know and a Saturday night you weren’t part of and the specific stupidity of having feelings about either, and then you think about your next appointment and the due date the doctor gave you and the small impossible reality of all of it, and you decide that you are going to take a nap and deal with every single one of these things later.
Later, you think. All of it later.
He comes to the appointment, in the end you let him. You texted him the details the night before — time, building, room number — and he’s there when you arrive, standing outside the health centre with his hands in his jacket pockets and his breath fogging in the cold, and he looks up when he sees you coming and something in his expression does that thing, that complicated unreadable thing, and he falls into step beside you without saying anything.
Inside, in the waiting room, you sit next to each other in plastic chairs with a magazine between you that neither of you reads. A couple across the room are holding hands. You and Jake sit with six inches of space between you like a demilitarised zone.
“You okay?” he asks, quietly.
“Fine,” you say. “You?”
“Fine,” he says.
The nurse calls your name and you both stand up and Jake follows you in and stands slightly to the side while the doctor talks and asks questions and pulls up the scan on the screen, and you look at it — the small impossible blur of it, the heartbeat a flickering certainty on the monitor — and you feel the thing in your chest that you’ve been keeping at distance move closer without permission.
Beside you Jake goes very still.
You don’t look at him. You look at the screen.
“Everything looks perfect,” the doctor says.
You nod. You don’t trust your voice.
In the corridor after, walking back out into the cold, Jake is quiet for a long time. Longer than usual even for him.
You’re almost at the path that splits — his way, your way — when he says, without looking at you: “That was—”
“Yeah,” you say.
He nods. Puts his hands back in his pockets. “I’ll walk you back,” he says.
You think about the girl he slept with. You think about Sunghoon in the library café. You think about the scan on the monitor and the heartbeat that is real and certain and not theoretical anymore.
“Okay,” you say.
He walks you back. You don’t talk much. It’s not uncomfortable exactly — it’s something more complicated than that, something neither of you has a name for yet, and when you reach your building he stops at the bottom of the steps and looks at you and opens his mouth and then closes it again.
“What,” you say.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just — take care of yourself.” You look at him for a moment.
“You too,” you say, and go inside.
—
Sunghoon doesn’t give up. You’d half expected him to — one conversation in the library café, you’d said your piece, he’d said his, and you’d thought that would be the end of it. Sunghoon has always been precise about things, economical, not the type to repeat himself unnecessarily. You’d thought he’d take the answer and file it and move on.
Instead he texts you on a Wednesday. Just — how are you doing. No punctuation, which for Sunghoon is practically shouting.
You don’t reply.
He texts again on Friday. can we get coffee sometime? just to talk?
You stare at it for a long time.
You show it to Mina, who makes a face. “Don’t,” she says.
“I’m not going to,” you say.
He finds you on campus on Monday — the English building, your own territory, which feels deliberate. He’s waiting near the entrance when you come out of your seminar and you see him before he sees you and for one uncharitable second you think about turning around and going back inside.
You don’t. You keep walking. “Hey,” he says, falling into step beside you.
“Sunghoon.”
“I just want to walk with you.”
“I didn’t say you could.”
“I know.” He walks with you anyway, hands in his coat pockets, quiet for a moment in the way that used to feel comfortable and now just feels like pressure. “How are you feeling?”
You glance at him. “Fine.”
“You look better than last time I saw you. Less tired.”
“Thanks,” you say, flatly.
He’s quiet again. The path curves toward the quad and you keep walking and he keeps pace and you’re aware — acutely, uncomfortably aware — that you’re starting to show. Not dramatically, not in a way that’s obvious under your coat, but enough that you know. Enough that it’s a matter of time.
“I meant what I said,” Sunghoon says. “In the library.”
“I know you did.”
“I’m not trying to pressure you.”
“You’re walking next to me uninvited,” you say. “What would you call that?”
He stops. You stop too, half a beat later, and turn to look at him. He’s standing in the middle of the path with that precise, careful expression and something underneath it that isn’t quite what he’s performing, and you know him well enough to know the difference and wish you didn’t.
“I made a mistake,” he says. “I know I did. I know what I did and I know it was—” He stops. Starts again. “I just want a chance to—”
“Sunghoon.” You keep your voice even. “I can’t do this right now. I genuinely cannot — there is too much happening in my life right now for me to also be doing this. Okay? Please.”
He looks at you. Something in his expression shifts — a question forming, something he’s noticed that he can’t quite place. “What’s happening?” he asks. Carefully.
“Nothing that’s your business,” you say. “Please just — let me go.”
And he lets you go.
But the problem is that Caldwell is a big campus until it isn’t.
The problem is that two weeks later you’re at a party you didn’t particularly want to attend — a smaller thing, a friend of Mina’s, an apartment off campus — and both of them are there. Jake and Sunghoon.
You don’t notice Jake first. You notice Sunghoon, across the room with his circle, and you note it and move on, you’re good at that now. You get a drink — water, the specific reality of being the only sober person at a party hitting — and find Mina and settle into the corner and decide you’ll stay an hour and then leave.
You notice Jake about twenty minutes in.
He’s near the kitchen with Jay, and there’s a girl — tall, dark-haired, laughing at something he’s said with her hand on his arm and her body angled toward him in the specific way that means something. You see him lean in to say something close to her ear. You see her laugh again. You look away.
You look back to Mina, who is mid-conversation with someone and hasn’t clocked it, and you drink your water and you are fine, you are completely fine, this is exactly what you knew was happening and seeing it in person doesn’t change anything and you are fine.
You last another twenty minutes before you decide you’re going to get some air.
The problem is that getting air requires passing the kitchen. Jake sees you at the same moment you see him and something in his expression shifts — that recalibration, that adjustment — and the girl’s hand is still on his arm and you keep walking, eyes forward, almost past— “Hey.”
His voice.
You stop. You turn. He’s stepped slightly away from the girl, who is watching with a politely curious expression. “Hey,” you say.
“You’re here,” he says, which is not his most articulate moment.
“Briefly,” you say. “Don’t mind me.” Something moves across his face.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” You smile at him — pleasant, neutral, the smile of someone who is absolutely fine. “Enjoy your night.” You keep walking.
The air outside is cold and you stand on the small concrete step outside the apartment and breathe it and tell yourself the tightness in your chest is just the stuffiness of the party and not anything else.
You hear the door behind you. “Hey—”
You turn, expecting Jake, and it’s Sunghoon. Of course it’s Sunghoon.
He’s in his coat, hands in his pockets, and he looks at you with that careful expression and says “I saw you come out” like that explains what he’s doing here, which it does, which doesn’t make it better.
“I needed air,” you say.
“I know.” He comes to stand beside you. Close, but not touching. “You looked upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You have a face,” he says, gently, and you hate that he’s right, hate that after four months and everything that happened he can still read you like that. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Is it Sim?” Something in his voice changes — not quite hard, not quite angry, threading the needle. “Are you involved with him?”
“That’s not your business.”
“I’m asking because I’m worried about you, not because—”
“Sunghoon.” You turn to face him. “Please stop. Please just—”
The door opens behind you. Jake comes out. He takes in the scene — you and Sunghoon, close, Sunghoon’s expression, yours — in about half a second and his jaw tightens in a way you’ve learned to read as something being suppressed.
“Everything okay?” he asks. Looking at you, not at Sunghoon.
“Fine,” you say, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
“She said she’s fine,” Sunghoon says. His voice is even. “So you can go back inside.” Jake looks at him. Something passes between them that has nothing to do with you — some older, unnamed thing.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Jake says.
“Then walk away.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Jake.” Your voice is sharper than you intend. “It’s fine. Go inside.”
He doesn’t go inside.
He stays where he is with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on Sunghoon, and Sunghoon stays where he is with that precise stillness, and the cold air between all three of you is doing a lot of work.
“You’re the one she’s been seeing,” Sunghoon says, to Jake. Not a question.
“That’s not your business,” Jake says.
“It is when you’re—” Sunghoon stops. Something has crossed his face — he’s looking at you, at your coat, and the realisation moves through his expression slowly and then all at once.
His eyes find yours. “Are you—”
“Don’t,” you say.
“Are you pregnant?”
The step goes very quiet.
Jake goes very still.
You look at Sunghoon and there is a specific kind of exhaustion that moves through you — the exhaustion of someone who has been managing too many things for too long and has just watched one of them slip out of their hands.
“That,” you say, carefully, “is none of your business.”
“It’s his, isn’t it.” Not looking at Jake. Looking at you. Something in his voice that you don’t have a name for — not anger, not hurt, something more complicated and less clean than either. “You hooked up with Jake Sim at a party and now you’re—”
“Sunghoon—”
“What were you thinking?” And there it is — the composure cracking, the precision slipping, something rawer underneath. “What were you actually — with him, of all people—”
“Hey.” Jake’s voice is hard. “Watch yourself.”
“You stay out of it—”
“She told you it’s none of your business—”
“I’m talking to her—”
“Then talk to her with some respect—”
“Oh that’s rich, coming from you.” Sunghoon turns to Jake fully now and the precise stillness has sharpened into something else. “Everyone knows what you are. Everyone knows how you treat—”
“And everyone knows what you did,” Jake says, low and flat. “So don’t stand here and act like you’ve got the moral—”
“Stop.” Your voice cuts through both of them. They both look at you. “Both of you. Stop.”
A beat. “I’m going home,” you say. “This is—” You gesture at the three of you, at the step, at all of it. “I’m not doing this.”
“I’ll walk you—” Both of them, simultaneously.
“Neither of you will walk me anywhere.” You pull your coat around you. “I want to go by myself and I want both of you to leave me alone tonight. Okay?”
Sunghoon opens his mouth.
And then — later, when you try to reconstruct the exact sequence, it’s hard to isolate the moment it tips — he reaches for your arm, a gesture, just trying to stop you leaving, and Jake moves at the same time, stepping forward, his hand coming out to push Sunghoon back, and Sunghoon turns, and the angles are all wrong, and Jake’s elbow catches you across the side of your face.
It’s not hard. It’s not a real blow — it’s the edge of the motion, glancing, the kind of thing that in any other circumstance would be an accidental knock in a crowded corridor that you’d shake off and keep walking.
But you make a sound and stumble back.
Jake turns and sees your face and goes completely white. “Fuck—” He reaches for you.
“Don’t touch me.”
Your hand comes up. Your voice has gone very quiet. The side of your face is throbbing, low and dull, and underneath it everything else — the tiredness, the party, Sunghoon’s face when he realised, the girl’s hand on Jake’s arm — all of it presses in at once and you are so, so tired.
“I didn’t — it was an accident, I didn’t mean to—”
“I know it was an accident,” you say. Still quiet. Still very controlled. “I know that.”
“Are you okay? The baby—”
“I’m fine. It was my face, not—” You stop. Press your fingers briefly to your temple. “I’m fine.”
Jake is looking at you with an expression you haven’t seen on him before — something undone about it, all the composure gone, something almost desperate. “Let me take you home—”
“No.”
You look at him. Then at Sunghoon, who has gone very still and very pale. “I’m going to get Mina. I’m going to go home. And I don’t want either of you to contact me tonight.”
You take out your phone. You text Mina. You wait on the step with your back to both of them until she comes out, takes one look at your face, takes your arm, and walks you away without saying a word.
Behind you, you don’t look back.
Jake texts at midnight. I’m so sorry. please tell me you’re okay
You look at it for a long time. I’m fine, you send back. Goodnight Jake.
He sends: I’m sorry again
Those two words, and you put your phone face down and stare at the ceiling of your dorm room and Mina is asleep in your desk chair with a blanket over her because she refused to go home and you love her for it, and the small dull ache in your temple has faded to almost nothing, and the baby is fine, you’re fine, everything is fine.
You don’t text him back.
He tries on Sunday.
A text at nine in the morning — can we talk please? — that you look at and put face down without replying.
Then at eleven: I know you’re angry. you have every right to be. I just want to talk.
Then at two in the afternoon, which shows either impressive persistence or a complete inability to read a room: I’m going to keep texting until you tell me to stop.
You text back: stop.
He texts back: okay. I’m sorry.
You put the phone in your drawer.
He doesn’t stop.
Well, he stops texting — he respects that, or he tries to, mostly — but he finds other ways. There’s a bag outside your dorm room door on Monday morning: crackers, the specific brand you’d been eating in the early weeks, ginger tea, a punnet of the green grapes that you’d mentioned once in passing to him that you’d been craving. No note. Just the bag.
You stand in your doorway looking at it for a long time.
You bring it inside. You eat the grapes. You do not text him to say thank you and you do not text him to say stop and the not-texting feels like its own kind of answer that you’re not ready to examine yet.
On Tuesday he’s outside your building.
Not lurking — he’s sitting on the low wall by the entrance with his hands between his knees and his jacket on against the cold, and he stands up when he sees you come out and he doesn’t move toward you, just — stands there, and waits, and lets you decide.
You stop on the steps. “Jake.”
“Five minutes,” he says. “I know I don’t deserve them. Five minutes and then I’ll go and I won’t — I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”
You look at him. He looks back. He has, you note, the specific appearance of someone who hasn’t been sleeping well — not dramatic, just a tightness around his eyes, a quality of having been somewhere difficult in his own head for the past two days.
Good, says a part of you.
The other part steps down off the steps and stands in front of him and crosses her arms and says: “Five minutes.”
He exhales. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For Friday night. For — all of it, the whole night, but specifically for—” He stops. His jaw works. “I should never have let it get to that point. I should have walked away from him the second it started and I didn’t and you got hurt and you’re — the baby could have—” He stops again. Something in his face that isn’t composure. “I will never forgive myself for that. I need you to know that. It keeps me up.”
You look at him. “It was an accident.”
“It was an accident that happened because I couldn’t keep my head.” His voice is flat with self-assessment. “Same difference.”
“It’s not the same difference.”
“It’s close enough.” He looks at you steadily. “I’m also sorry for the girl at the party. I know you saw. I know we’re not — I know you don’t have any claim on me and I don’t have any claim on you and technically I didn’t do anything wrong but I’m still sorry because I saw your face and I knew and I did it anyway and that’s—” He stops. “That’s not who I want to be. With this. With you.”
The wall by the entrance is cold and grey and a girl from your floor passes you both with her earphones in and doesn’t look up and the world keeps moving indifferently around this conversation.
“You hurt me,” you say. Not the elbow. The other thing. The girl at the party and the ceiling of his bedroom and the weeks of almost-decency that kept getting complicated. “Not — not physically. You just keep—” You stop. “Every time I think maybe you’re a person you do something that reminds me why I shouldn’t think that.”
He takes that. Doesn’t deflect, doesn’t explain, just takes it. “I know,” he says.
“I need you to be consistent,” you say. “I can’t — I’m going to have your baby, Jake. We’re going to be in each other’s lives for a very long time. I need you to be someone I can rely on or I need you to be completely absent because the in-between is—” Your voice doesn’t shake. You’re proud of that. “It’s too hard. I can’t do the in-between.”
He’s quiet for a moment. The wind moves across the quad and he looks at you with that expression — the undone one, the one without composure — and says: “I don’t want to be absent.”
“Then be consistent.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it? Okay?”
“What else do you want me to say?” He’s not defensive — it’s a real question, earnest in a way that sits oddly on him, like a piece of vocabulary he hasn’t used much. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it. Specifically. I’m not good at—” He moves his hand. “Guessing. Feelings. Whatever this is. But if you tell me what it looks like I’ll do it.”
You look at him for a long moment.
“No more girls,” you say. “Not while we’re — not while this is what it is. I know I have no right to ask that but I’m asking.”
Something shifts in his expression. “Done,” he says. No hesitation.
“And show up. When you say you’re going to show up, show up.”
“Done.”
“And don’t fight people on my behalf. I can handle my own situations.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “That one’s harder.”
“Jake.”
“Done,” he says. “Okay. Done.”
You look at him. He looks back. The five minutes has long since passed and neither of you has moved and the cold is starting to get into your fingers.
“The grapes were good,” you say finally.
Something in his expression — brief, warm, gone almost immediately. “I’ll get more,” he says.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He says it simply. No performance in it.
You nod. You pull your coat tighter. “I have a seminar,” you say.
“I know. Go.” He steps back, hands in his pockets. “Thank you. For the five minutes.”
You go.
He tells his father that evening.
He doesn’t plan to. He goes to his dad’s office on the east side of the admin building for what is ostensibly a standing weekly dinner that they do on Tuesday evenings — a thing they’ve done since Jake’s freshman year, his dad’s attempt at maintaining something normal in the specific abnormality of being the dean’s son at your own father’s university. They go to the Italian place two blocks off campus. They talk about the team, the season, coursework, the usual rotation.
Except tonight Jake sits down across from his father and picks up the menu and puts it down again and his dad looks at him over his own menu with the steady, unhurried attention that has always been the most disarming thing about him — the way he looks at you like he has all the time in the world and means it — and says:
“What’s going on.” Not a question. His dad has never really needed to make them questions.
Jake puts his menu down. He looks at the table. He thinks about you on the steps this morning saying every time I think maybe you’re a person and the specific accuracy of it, the way it had landed not like an attack but like a diagnosis.
“I got someone pregnant,” he says.
The restaurant is quiet around them — mid-evening, not full yet, the soft noise of other people’s conversations providing cover. His dad sets his menu down with the deliberate care of someone who is choosing his response carefully.
“How far along,” he says.
“About eight weeks.”
His dad nods slowly. He’s a big man — Jake has his build, the same broad shoulders, though his dad carries more grey now at his temples and something steadier in his face, something earned. He looks at Jake with the expression that Jake has never been able to fully decode — not anger, not disappointment exactly, something more complicated and more patient than either.
“Tell me about her,” he says.
Jake blinks. Of all the things he’d expected — “What?”
“The woman. Tell me about her.”
Jake opens his mouth. Closes it. He thinks about you — the flat voice in the corridor at the rink, your hand cracking across his face, I can’t do the in-between. The grapes. The way you’d said the grapes were good like it cost you something to admit it.
“She’s—” He stops. Tries again. “She’s a third year. English lit. She’s sharp. Like — she doesn’t let me get away with anything, she just looks at me and calls it and moves on. She’s not—” He shifts. “She didn’t want this to be mine. She told me that. She wants the baby, she just didn’t want it to be complicated, and I’ve made it complicated.”
“How.”
Jake looks at the table. Lists it. The slap he deserved, the money that was clumsy, the girl at the party, Friday night and the elbow and her face and the specific look she’d had, controlled and exhausted and done.
His dad listens to all of it without interrupting. When Jake finishes there’s a pause — his dad picks up his water glass, drinks, sets it back down.
“Do you like her?” he asks.
Jake looks up.
“It’s a simple question,” his dad says.
“We don’t — I don’t know her. Not really.”
“That’s not what I asked, son.”
Jake is quiet for a moment. He thinks about you outside your building this morning, arms crossed, giving him five minutes you didn’t have to give. The way you’d said I need you to be someone I can rely on like it was the most reasonable thing in the world, like you weren’t asking for anything extraordinary, just — consistency. Basic human consistency. The thing he has never had to be for anyone.
“Yeah,” he says. Quiet. “I think so.”
His dad nods. Like that’s the piece he needed. Like everything else was context and that was the information.
“Then be someone worth liking,” he says. Simply. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s the only thing that matters and everything else is just logistics.
Jake looks at him.
“You’ve never had to work for anything,” his dad says, and it’s not unkind — it’s just true, delivered with the directness of someone who has been watching this coming for a long time. “Not really. Not the things that count. You’re talented and you’re smart and things have always — moved for you. And that’s partly my fault.” He meets Jake’s eyes. “But she’s right. You can’t be the in-between. You’re going to be someone’s father. That’s not a thing you can be inconsistent about.”
Jake absorbs this.
“I know,” he says.
“Do you?”
“I’m trying to.”
His dad looks at him for a long moment. Then he picks his menu back up. “Good,” he says. “That’s the right answer.” He glances over the top of it. “Order something. You look like you haven’t eaten good in a while.”
Jake looks at the menu.
“Dad,” he says.
“Mm.”
“I really—” He stops. “I’ve really made a mess of this.”
His dad lowers the menu slightly. Looks at him with that steady, unhurried attention. “Yes,” he says. “But messes can be cleaned up.” He raises the menu again. “The carbonara is good tonight.”
Jake picks up his menu.
He end up ordering the carbonara.
—
The thing about consistency is that it’s quiet.
It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t arrive with a gesture or a speech or a moment you can point to and say — there, that’s when things changed. It just accumulates, slowly, in the background of your ordinary life, until one day you look up and realise the weight you’ve been carrying has shifted without you noticing.
Jake shows up.
That’s the only way to describe it. He shows up in the small ways, the unglamorous ways, the ways that don’t make for a good story but add up to something anyway. He texts when he says he will. He’s outside your building on Wednesday mornings because you have a seminar and the walk takes you past the science quad where the wind is brutal and he started walking with you three weeks ago without asking and has not stopped. He brings food — not always the crackers and ginger tea, sometimes just the grapes, sometimes something from the good Thai place near the rink that you’d mentioned once you were craving and didn’t expect him to remember.
He remembers things.
This is, you find, the most disarming thing about him. More than the jaw and the shoulders and the specific quality of his attention when he’s fully in a conversation.
He remembers that you take your tea with one sugar and that you’re writing your dissertation on George Eliot and that your sister’s youngest is called Lily and that you cannot watch medical dramas right now because they make you anxious in a way you can’t fully explain. He files things away and uses them with a quietness that suggests he’s not doing it to impress you — he’s just paying attention.
And god, it’s harder to be angry at someone who pays attention. You’re still trying.
Your bump begins appearing at eleven weeks.
Not dramatically — not one morning you wake up transformed, just a gradual undeniable softening of the line of your stomach that means your jeans sit differently and your favourite hoodie, the oversized one you’ve worn for three years, suddenly doesn’t hang quite right. You stand in front of your mirror on a Thursday morning and put your hand flat against it and stay there for a moment with the strange doubled feeling that has been following you for weeks now — the unreality of it and the complete reality of it, existing simultaneously, refusing to resolve.
Mina notices before you say anything. She’s been noticing for two weeks, you suspect, and has been waiting for you to bring it up, which is one of the reasons she’s your person.
“You’re showing,” she says, on Friday afternoon, without preamble.
“A little,” you say.
“How do you feel about that?”
You think about it genuinely. “Weird,” you say. “Good weird. Mostly good weird.”
Mina nods. “Have you told Jake?”
“He’ll notice,” you say. “We’re — we’ve been spending time together. He’ll see.”
Mina looks at you with the expression that means she has registered the significance of we’ve been spending time together and is choosing, for now, not to make anything of it. “Okay,” she says.
“Don’t,” you say.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I really wasn’t,” she says, in the tone that means she absolutely was.
He notices on Saturday.
You’re at this Thai place — his suggestion, your agreement, the two of you in a corner booth with menus neither of you needs because you’ve been here enough times now that you already know — and you’ve taken your coat off because the restaurant is warm and you’re wearing a fitted top and when you reach across the table for the soy sauce you catch him looking.
Not rudely. Not in a way that makes you want to cover yourself. Just — looking, with that attentive expression, taking in information.
“Don’t,” you say.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You have a face.”
“I have a face,” he says, which is almost a smile. “You’re showing.”
“I know.”
“You look—” He stops. Considers his word choice with unusual care. “Good,” he says finally. “You look good.”
You look at him across the table. “That was very diplomatic.”
“I meant it.”
“Jake.”
“I genuinely meant it.” He meets your eyes. “You look good. You’ve looked good for a while. I just—” He stops again. “Didn’t say it. You looks beautiful actually.”
The restaurant is warm and smells like lemongrass and the couple at the next table are arguing quietly about something and the ordinary world is going on all around you and Jake Sim is sitting across from you saying you look good with an expression that has nothing performative in it, no angle, no formula.
You pick up your menu that you don’t need and look at it. “Thank you,” you say, at the laminated page.
He goes back to his menu too. Neither of you says anything else about it. But the air between you has shifted by some small degree and you both know it and neither of you is ready to name it yet and that, you think, is okay.
For now that’s okay.
The not-naming becomes its own kind of language eventually.
He walks you to your seminar on Wednesday and waits fifteen minutes in the wrong direction from the rink to do it, which you know because you’ve looked at the campus map, which you will not be telling him. You bring him coffee one morning — just once, without explanation, the specific order you’ve heard him give three times now — and he takes it without making anything of it which is exactly right. You text him a photo of a onesie Mina finds online that says future hockey player as a joke and he sends back a voice note that is mostly him laughing, genuine and unguarded, and you listen to it twice.
You do not examine why you listen to it twice.
Sunghoon texts once more — I hope you’re okay. I mean that.
You look at it for a long time. You think about the library café and the step outside the party and the way his face had looked when he realised. You think about two years and what they were and what they turned out to be underneath.
I’m okay, you send back. Take care of yourself.
He sends a single: you too.
And that, you think, is the end of that chapter. It doesn’t feel like closure exactly — closure implies a clean line, and there is no clean line, just a gradual and mutual putting down of something that had gotten too heavy to carry. But it feels like something finished. Something that needed to be done.
You feel lighter, after.
Jake finds out about the dissertation.
Not in a dramatic way — you’re in the library one afternoon, the two of you at adjacent tables because you’d both ended up there independently and moving would have been more pointed than staying, and he leans over at some point and looks at your screen and reads two sentences and says: “You write like this normally?”
“Like what.”
“Like—” He gestures at the screen. “Like that. Like it means something.”
You look at him. “It’s an academic paper.”
“I know what it is.” He looks faintly annoyed, the way he gets when he’s trying to say something and the words aren’t cooperating. “I’m saying it’s good. It sounds like you.”
You turn back to your screen. You are not going to make anything of this. You are a reasonable and self-possessed adult and you are not going to sit in the library and catch feelings because Jake Sim said your writing sounds like you.
“Thanks,” you say, at your laptop.
“I’m serious. It’s—” He picks up his pen. “Good.”
“You said that.”
“Because I mean it.”
You look at him. He looks back, pen between his fingers, entirely unaware that he’s just done something dangerous, and you look back at your dissertation and breathe carefully and remind yourself of all the reasons this is complicated.
There are many reasons. They are good reasons. You know them all.
The night it almost becomes something, it’s late November and it’s cold enough that your breath fogs and Jake has walked you back from the library and you’re standing at the bottom of your building’s steps in the dark and neither of you is moving.
“I should go in,” you say.
“Yeah,” he says.
Neither of you moves.
You’ve been doing this — the standing, the not-moving, the conversations that go slightly longer than they need to — for three weeks now. It has a shape, this thing between you, even if it doesn’t have a name. It has weight. You’re both aware of it and both moving around it with the particular carefulness of people who have been burned recently and are not in a hurry to be burned again.
“Jake,” you say.
“I know,” he says. Like he already knows what you’re going to say. Like he’s been having the same conversation in his own head.
“I just need it to stay—” You gesture between you. “Like this. For now. Okay? I need it to stay manageable.”
He looks at you. “Is it not?”
You look back. “Less and less,” you admit.
Something moves through his expression. Warm and complicated and controlled. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll keep it manageable.”
“Okay.”
“I just need you to know—” He stops. Starts again. “I’m not going anywhere. Whatever this is, whatever speed it goes. I’m not going anywhere.”
The cold is sharp and the steps are lit by the yellow glow of the entrance light and you are eleven weeks pregnant and standing in the dark with the father of your baby who is looking at you like you’re something worth staying for, and you think about all the reasons this is complicated and you think about your sister’s voice — those are two separate things — and you think that maybe, maybe, the situation and the feeling don’t have to be the same thing.
“Goodnight, Jake,” you say.
“Goodnight,” he says. You go inside.
At the top of the first flight of stairs you take out your phone.
You open his name — Jake Sim (do not text unless necessary) — and you look at it for a long moment.
You change it to Jake.
Just Jake. Nothing else.
You put your phone in your pocket and go to bed.
—
He asks you out on a Tuesday.
Not dramatically — not with any of the ceremony you might have expected from someone who has spent the better part of four months being alternately infuriating and disarming. He just falls into step beside you on the Wednesday morning walk to your seminar and says, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes forward: “Let me take you to dinner. A real one. Not Thai because we’ve done that.”
You look at him. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that.”
“Did you want me to make it complicated?”
You look back at the path ahead. The quad is grey and cold and a girl on a bike nearly takes out a first year near the fountain and life goes on all around you, indifferent and ordinary. “No,” you say. “I didn’t want it complicated.”
“Friday,” he says. “Seven. I’ll pick you up.”
“I know where the restaurants are, Jake. I go here too.”
“I know you do.” He glances at you sideways. “Let me pick you up though.”
You look at him. That expression — patient, certain, not performing anything. Just asking.
“Friday,” you say. “Seven.”
He nods. Looks back at the path. The corner of his mouth does something that isn’t quite a smile and is better than one.
The restaurant he takes you to is small and Italian and not the kind of place you’d have expected from him, which you’re finding is a theme — Jake Sim consistently failing to be what you expect in the specific ways that make him hardest to keep at distance. It’s candlelit without being try-hard about it, the kind of place where the pasta is made that morning and the wine list is handwritten and the tables are close enough that you’re aware of his knee near yours under the table for the entirety of dinner.
You talk. That’s the thing — you just talk, the way you have been talking for weeks now on walks and in the library and over Thai food, except tonight there’s no pretence of it being anything other than what it is. He asks about your dissertation and actually listens to the answer. You ask about the season and he tells you about the conference standings with genuine animation, hands moving, and you watch him and think about the ceiling of his bedroom in September and the corridor at the rink and the bag outside your dorm door and all the distance between those things.
“What,” he says, catching you looking.
“Nothing,” you say. “You’re different.”
“From what?” He laughs.
“From who you were in September.”
He’s quiet for a moment. He turns his wine glass slowly on the table. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I am.”
“Is that — do you mind that? Being different?”
He looks at you. “No,” he says. Simply. “I don’t mind it at all.”
You look back at your pasta.
Under the table his knee settles against yours and stays there and you don’t move away from it and neither does he and you eat your dinner in the warm candlelit ordinary of it and let yourself be there, fully, without managing it from a distance.
Outside afterward the cold hits and you’re pulling your coat around you when his hand finds yours. Not reaching, not making a thing of it — just his hand finding yours in the dark like it already knows the way, fingers threading through, warm and certain.
You let him.
You walk back across campus like that, not talking much, and when you reach your building you stop at the bottom of the steps and he turns to face you and you look at him in the yellow entrance light and you think about goodnight, about all the goodnights, about the careful distance you’ve been keeping.
“Come up,” you say.
His expression does that thing — complicated and warm and something that isn’t quite controlled anymore. “You sure?”
“I just asked, didn’t I?”
He follows you up.
Your room is warm and small and familiar and he’s been in it before but not like this — not with the door closed and the lights low and both of you knowing exactly what this is. He stands just inside the door and looks at you and you cross the room and kiss him.
It’s different from September.
September was heat and momentum and two people who didn’t know each other doing something that felt like a decision.
This is — slower. His hands come up to your face the way they did at the party but gentler, more deliberate, like he’s paying attention to something he nearly missed before. He kisses you like he has something to say and this is the only language that fits, and you feel it move through you differently than anything has moved through you in a long time.
“Hey,” he says, against your mouth.
“Hi,” you say back.
He pulls back just enough to look at you — really look, the way he does now, the full attentive weight of it — and his thumb traces your cheekbone and he says, quietly: “You’re so beautiful. Do you know that?”
“Jake—”
“I mean it.” You can tell he means it. It’s in his face, unguarded and certain. “I’ve been — I should have said it a long time ago.”
You look at him for a moment. Then you pull him back down.
He undresses you slowly, which is new — September was efficient, purposeful, barely stopping. Now he takes his time like he’s making up for it, his mouth following the line of your throat, your collarbone, his hands sliding your top off with a care that makes your breath catch. When he gets to the soft curve of your stomach he stops.
He goes to his knees.
You look down at him, breath held, and he puts both hands flat and warm against your bump and just — holds them there. His forehead drops forward to rest against you. The room is quiet. You put your hand in his hair without thinking about it.
“Hey,” he says softly. Not to you.
Your throat tightens.
He turns his head and presses his lips to the curve of your stomach, gentle, then again, then moves his hands slowly like he’s learning the shape of it, and you feel something in your chest come undone quietly and without ceremony.
“Jake,” you say, and your voice is not entirely steady.
He looks up at you. His eyes are dark and very serious. “Okay?” he asks.
“More than okay,” you manage.
He stands back up and kisses you again and walks you back to the bed.
He lays you down and settles over you and his mouth goes back to your tits immediately — you’d forgotten, or you’d tried to forget, the specific focused obsession of it — his hands cupping them, heavier now, thumbs dragging slow over your nipples until you’re arching up into his mouth.
“Perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, “you’re so perfect,” and the praise lands warm and low in your stomach and you pull at his shirt until he lets you get it off.
He’s as good-looking as you remembered, which is annoying.
His mouth works down your body and his hands slide your underwear off and then he looks up at you from between your thighs with an expression that makes your brain go briefly offline. “Okay?” he says again.
“If you don’t—” you start.
He puts his mouth on your pussy and the rest of that sentence evaporates.
He goes slower than September. That’s the difference — the same precision, the same devastating accuracy with his tongue on your clit and his fingers curling deep into your walls, but slower, like he wants to take you apart carefully this time, like he’s paying attention to every sound you make and adjusting accordingly.
Your hands find his hair. Your hips roll up. He holds them down with one forearm across your hips and doesn’t stop, doesn’t change pace, just keeps that steady merciless rhythm until you’re shaking and pleading and your walls are clenching around his fingers and you cum on his tongue with his name coming out wrecked and too loud for the room.
He comes back up your body looking — different than September. Still composed, still that infuriating ease, but underneath it something open. Something that wasn’t there before.
He reaches for his jacket on the floor. Finds his wallet to grab a condom.
You start laughing.
He looks at you confused. “What.”
“Jake.” You press your lips together. “We don’t — I’m already pregnant.
He looks at the condom in his hand. Looks at you. Something crosses his face and then he laughs too — real and unguarded, the laugh from the voice note, the one you listened to twice — drops it back on the floor and comes back to you.
“Fair point,” he says, against your mouth.
“Incredible,” you tell him. “You’re incredible.”
“Shut up,” he says, warmly, and kisses you.
He flips you over.
Not roughly — carefully, one hand at your hip and one at your shoulder, mindful, and you end up straddling him and looking down at him and his hands settle on your hips and he looks up at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen.
“You good?” he asks.
“Very,” you say, and sink down onto him.
The sound he makes is low and immediate and deeply satisfying. You feel every inch of him filling you, your walls stretching around his cock, and you go slow — partly because of the bump, partly because you want to, partly because watching his face as you take him is something you want to draw out. His jaw is tight. His hands on your hips are firm but not directing, just — there, holding on.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—”
“I know,” you say, and roll your hips.
His head drops back.
You find your rhythm — slow, deep, the grind of your hips meeting his, and his hands tighten and his hips push up to meet you and his mouth falls open and he is, you think, the best-looking thing you’ve ever seen like this, undone and flushed and completely present, all the composure stripped away.
“Perfect,” he says, rough and low, watching you move. “You’re so perfect, look at you—”
The praise moves through you like heat and you move faster, his thumb finds your clit and you gasp and his other hand spreads warm and careful over your bump and the gesture — the gentleness of it, the instinct of it — tips something over in your chest that you’re not going to examine right now because you’re busy, but you feel it, you feel it clearly.
You cum the second time with his cock buried inside you and his thumb on your clit, his hand on your stomach and his eyes on your face. He follows you not long after with his hips driving up and your name in his mouth, said like it means something, said like he’s been saving it.
Afterward you lie tangled together in your narrow dorm bed, which is not really built for two people but is managing. His hand is resting on your stomach with a naturalness that would have been impossible three months ago and you’re staring at the ceiling and feeling the particular peace of someone who has been braced for a long time and has just, finally, put it down.
“Come to my game next week,” he says.
You turn your head to look at him. “What?”
“Home game. Friday.” He’s looking at the ceiling too. Casual. Except you know him well enough now to know when the casual is covering something. “Come watch.”
You look back at the ceiling. “Okay,” you say.
He turns his head. “Actually?”
“Don’t make it weird,” you say. “Yes. I’ll come to your game.”
The corner of his mouth. That almost-smile that’s better than a real one. “Okay,” he says, and looks back at the ceiling, and his hand stays where it is, warm and certain.
—
The following week is small moments.
Tuesday he brings you the grapes and stays to help you outline your next dissertation chapter, sitting on your floor with his back against your bed and your notes spread between you, and he asks better questions than you expect and you don’t tell him that.
Wednesday the walk to your seminar, his shoulder bumping yours, the coffee he brings without asking — your order, exact, without you saying anything.
Thursday a voice note at eleven at night: just wanted to check you were okay. don’t reply if you’re asleep.
You reply and end up talking for forty minutes.
Friday morning he’s at your door.
In one hand, coffee. In the other, folded fabric — dark blue, the Caldwell Wolves crest on the chest, white lettering across the back. SIM. 9.
He holds it out. “You don’t have to,” he says, before you can say anything. “It’s not — I’m not trying to make it a thing. I just thought—”
You take it from him.
You pull it over your head immediately. It’s enormous on you — falls to mid-thigh, swamps your shoulders, the fabric soft from washing. You look down at it and then up at him. His expression is something you don’t have a word for.
You reach up and pull him down by his jacket lapel and kiss him, there in your doorway, in the yellow morning light, slow and certain.
When you pull back he looks — stunned, almost. Like he didn’t expect it even after everything.
“What was that for,” he says with a big grin.
“The jersey,” you say. “Come on. We’ll be late.”
The Hargrove Center is loud in a way that is different when you’re in the stands rather than the corridor — a living, moving noise, four thousand people and the echo of the ice and the announcer’s voice bouncing off the rafters. Mina is beside you, which you’d insisted on, and she’s wearing a Wolves scarf she definitely did not own before today and is eating a pretzel with the focus of someone who has decided to enjoy this.
Someone sits down on your other side.
You look over. He’s older — Jake’s build, the same broad shoulders, grey at his temples, a Wolves cap and a measured, unhurried expression.
“You must be—” he starts while smiling at you with the same grin Jake gave you not long ago.
“Dean Sim,” you say. “Hi.”
He looks at you for a moment with that steady attention that is so recognisably Jake’s that it almost makes you laugh. He’s smileing — warm, real. “He talks about you,” he says. “Quite a lot.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Mostly.” He settles back in his seat. “He told me about the grapes.”
You look at him. He looks back with an expression of someone who finds this mildly amusing and is being polite about it.
“He remembered I was craving them,” you say.
“I know,” Dean Sim says. “That’s why he told me.” He looks out at the ice where the Wolves are warming up, Jake moving with that particular ease that is the same on ice as off it, unhurried and certain.
“He’s better than he knows how to show yet,” his dad says, quietly. Not performing it. Just — true. “But he’s getting there.”
You watch Jake on the ice.
“Yeah,” you say. “I know.”
The Wolves win.
Not narrowly — convincingly, the way they do when Jake is in the kind of form he’s been in lately, sharp and present, the kind of player who makes everyone around him better just by being fully there. You find yourself on your feet twice without meaning to be and Mina is absolutely losing her mind beside you in a way that suggests she has been quietly wanting to attend a hockey game for some time and has simply been waiting for the invitation.
After the final buzzer the arena stays loud, the celebration on the ice spilling into the stands, and Dean Sim shakes your hand and says it was lovely to meet you with a warmth that is entirely genuine, and you watch him go and think that Jake got the best of him, underneath everything.
And then the jumbo screen above the ice lights up.
You see it before you process it — your name, in big white letters, and then: JAKE SIM WANTS TO KNOW — WILL YOU BE HIS GIRLFRIEND?
The arena does not go quiet because four thousand people do not go quiet, but there is a definite shift — a ripple, a collective awareness, people turning and pointing and the noise changing character. Mina grabs your arm. You stare at the screen.
“Oh my god,” Mina says.
“Oh my god,” you say.
“Are you — are you going to—”
And then he’s there.
Full hockey gear, skates and all, somehow having gotten from the ice to the stands in the time it took you to register what the screen said, and he’s standing at the end of your row with his helmet under his arm and his hair damp and his face doing that thing — the unguarded thing, the thing without composure — and four thousand people are watching and Mina has both hands over her mouth.
“Well?” he says. Over the noise. Just to you.
You look at him. You look at the screen. You look back at him.
“You’re insane,” you say.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Is that a yes?”
You laugh — real and helpless, the kind that comes from somewhere you haven’t accessed in a while — and you step over Mina’s knees and go to him and he meets you halfway and you kiss him in the Hargrove Center in front of four thousand people and full hockey gear and the crowd does what crowds do when they witness something and the noise is enormous but you don’t hear any of it.
When you pull back his forehead drops to yours.
“Yes,” you tell him. “Obviously yes.”
He exhales — slow, like something released. His hand comes up to your face. His thumb at your cheekbone, the way it always is. “Good,” he says.
“Good,” you say back.
Behind you Mina is making a noise that suggests she is going to be telling this story for the rest of her natural life.
—
Three weeks later you are officially four months pregnant and the bump is undeniable now, round and real, and you’re sitting on Jake’s bed in his room — tidier than September, same room, different everything — with your legs across his lap while he reads something for class and his hand rests on your stomach with the absent certainty of someone who has stopped thinking about it and started just doing it.
The Wolves won again last night. His jersey, what you wore last night and have been to every game, is on the back of his chair.
Outside the window Caldwell goes on being large and indifferent and fully lit up, and in here it is warm and quiet and ordinary in a way that is — everything, actually. The whole thing. The specific ordinary of someone else’s presence that you’ve been missing without knowing how to name it.
“Hey,” Jake says, without looking up from his page.
“Hey,” you say.
“You good?”
You look at him — at the line of his jaw and the hand on your stomach and the room that used to be just a room and is now something else, something yours — and you think about September, about the corridor and the money and the slap you don’t regret. You think about Mina in the drugstore bathroom and Hannah on the third ring and the heartbeat on the monitor that made everything real.
You think about how none of this was the plan and how a plan was never the point.
“Yeah,” you say. “I’m good.”
He turns a page. His hand stays where it is. Outside, Caldwell. Inside, this.
includes: jealous/clingy/needy hoon, shady but slightly oblivious reader, age gap (med student!sunghoon, undergrad!reader), established relationship, use of “pretty” as a pet name, sfw for the most part because it’s really just implied at the very end and there’s no strong language
He’s soooo sulky needs reassurance jealous and not agressive possessive jealous — also, @iloveenhaaapaglu 😼
more olderbf!hoon — 01 02 03
♱⋆ཐི˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱𓆩^._.^𓆪♱⋆ཐི˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱
You don’t have a lot of close friends.
There’s a group of people you talk to that are either around your age, in your major, or both; but you wouldn’t go out of your way for them, and they wouldn’t go out of their way for you.
It’s not a bad thing, not necessarily, but it’s how it is after you left most of your friends back home to study in Seoul.
Sunghoon knows about most of them; he’s probably met one or two in the two-ish years you’ve been together, and he’s comfortable with it even if it consists of guys and girls.
But maybe that was only true when it was normal that you only saw them in passing at school or once a month as a group.
Recently, you’ve been texting more than usual; one quick glance at your phone revealed nothing more than a group chat with what he assumes are those friends.
So active and for what?
He should be glad you’re talking to them more—he’s always said he wishes you’d go out more instead of being home all the time, if not at school or work—but something is off about it all.
You don’t hide your phone, but you seem a little sensitive about it, like you look up whenever it buzzes or if he’s near it.
But he trusts you.
He has to, doesn’t he?
You’ve never given him a reason to believe otherwise.
“Sorry, I’ll mute it.” You say softly, reaching for your phone.
You sat down with him less than 10 minutes ago, and it’s buzzed on the coffee table about 50 times despite you not answering.
Sunghoon sighs softly, shuffling a stack of papers to arrange them neatly as he tried to put together his notes.
You sent a few messages before you ever put your phone down, and even then, you seemed distracted by whatever was on it.
But just before he can think to bring it up, you speak first.
“Hoon…can you put that down for a bit?” You ask softly, shifting slightly where you’re sitting.
He nods, finishing up by stapling them together before he lets them fall on top of his notebook.
“There’s this…uhh…” you trail slightly, unsure how you’re supposed to explain this to him.
“Do you remember before we started going out…one of the things you had asked me about was my past relationships, and I said I had none?” You say.
You probably could have started better; from where he’s sitting, it sounds like you lied and you do have an ex-boyfriend.
“Yeah?” He acknowledges, trying to remain neutral until you say everything you need to say.
“I never really…knew how to explain that I had gone on a date before, it just never went anywhere.” You add, not really looking at him as you continue.
“And I didn’t think I could bring it up after because I didn’t want you to think that I was still thinking about that person…” you admit.
Sunghoon sighs a little; he’s relieved, but there has to be a reason why you’re bringing this up now.
“Just one date? One person?” He asks, trying to get the right details out of you that will make you tell him what’s actually on your mind.
“It was a few…maybe 5?” You sound unsure, but the second part is without hesitation, “with the same guy…” you add.
There’s a long pause, and he can’t help but wonder if you kept anything else from him.
“Okay.” He nods, biting his tongue.
“Is that it?” He asks, not rudely, but you know he’s upset, even if it’s just a bit.
“Sort of,”
You pause for a moment, the first part should have been the hardest—why is this one that much harder?
“He went abroad a long time ago, but he came back recently and my friends have been trying to get everyone together to have dinner with him to welcome him back.” You explain.
Now they’re your friends? What happened to them being classmates?
“Are you asking me for permission…?” Sunghoon asks, looking at you with a slight crease in his brow.
“No.” You answer quickly, but then you backtrack just as quickly. “Or, maybe?”
“I’ve never asked you to do that” he points out, crossing his arms in this defensive manner.
“I know-“ you assure, “but it’s a complicated situation, isn’t it?” You ask, looking at him nervously.
“I just…wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable…and I wouldn’t have gone or been able to go without telling you about him first.” You explain.
There’s another pause, and this is starting to feel like the longest conversation you’ve had all day.
“C’mere…” he says softly, holding his arms out just enough to show that he wants you to come between them.
You scoot over to him, letting him pull you into his lap to straddle him while he wraps his arms around you.
“You feel bad, is that it?” He asks, looking up at you as he leans into the couch behind him.
You nod, keeping your arms crossed and to yourself.
“If it didn’t mean anything to you, and you’re sure it means nothing now, it’s okay.” He assures, but he’s only half honest in his words; part of him is still a little unsure about all this.
“You’re not mad?” You ask, relaxing a little above him.
“No, pretty…I’m not mad.”
You sigh in relief and lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lay your head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry.” You still say, feeling a little better as he rubs your back gently.
“I should be the one apologizing…there’s no reason why you should have been nervous to tell me about this.” He says gently, already thinking about talking to Jake and Jay about this tomorrow when he sees them.
“I was only nervous because I thought it might look suspicious that I only brought it up because he was back. But I’ve been looking for a way to tell you about this for the longest time.” You admit, looking up at him when you say this.
If he considers how you act; you looking at him directly without wandering means you’re being honest, and you seem eager to make this point, so he believes you.
He nods, just to acknowledge this, but there’s one more thing he needs to know.
“So…when are you going out with them?” He asks, trying to make it less about the guy even if it’s all he cares about.
“They haven’t decided yet. Too many of them are busy until this weekend.” You explain briefly.
He nods again, remaining neutral with what he has despite his mind working overtime.
You stay with him as he continues studying for his finals, but he can’t focus on them when all he can think about is this and what it means.
You said Sunghoon was your first boyfriend—that he’d been your first in everything you’ve done together—and if he really thinks about it, he can’t remember ever asking about dates, because really, who ever does?
What he can’t wrap his head around is the fact that you went out with this guy five times and you never kissed? Never did anything? Why were there five dates at all then?
And when were you seeing this guy if you and Sunghoon started dating almost two years ago? How old were you then? How old is he?
The biggest thought running through his mind though was the one that pointed at the reality that you and Sunghoon might’ve never gotten together if he had you first, and he doesn’t like how that makes him feel.
But it was so hard to determine if he was upset, jealous, or angry at all this; it only made the most sense if he was upset because he didn’t know about this, but what did he have to be jealous or upset about?
A lot according to Jay and Jake.
Which was unusual since all of his close friends really like you.
“I think it’s odd.” Jay shrugged,
“You should ask to go through her messages, did she mention if they were talking? through their group chat or privately?” Jake asked,
Neither of them were helping Sunghoon get over this on good terms.
“I’m not going through her messages.” Sunghoon groaned softly, burying his face in his hands for a moment.
“You don’t want to ask that you go with her, you don’t want to ask to see pictures of this guy, and you don’t want to go through her phone, so what DO you want to do?” Jay asked, listing and counting these on his fingers as he scolds Sunghoon slightly.
“I want to forget she told me in the first place, and I want her to stay home.” He admitted, saying this clearly because you weren’t around.
“So say that.” Jake said, having agreed with this a long time ago.
To avoid hearing them go through it again, he stays quiet; he doesn’t want to forbid you from going, and he’s starting to regret telling them about this.
“It’s one night, I can give her that and it would make sense if I say I wouldn’t like her to see him again, even if it’s with a group, right?” He suggests, and Jake and Jay can only shrug and lean back in their seats.
“Only you know what you can handle, I guess,” Jay sighs.
Just as Sunghoon said he would do, he does.
And when you’re getting ready to go out that same Friday, he does nothing but sit in bed “studying” while he sulks.
You’re not doing anything excessive or trying too hard, but Sunghoon always thinks you look good, and it sucks not being able to go with you when you look this good.
You check in one last time before you leave; Sunghoon tries to make his expression as neutral as he can, but you know better.
“Are you sure?” You ask, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him.
Sunghoon nods, taking your hand and bringing it up to kiss your knuckles to get whatever he can without ruining your makeup.
“Text me when you get there, and then again when you’re going to leave so I know you’re on your way back.” He says softly.
You frown a bit and nod; you don’t want to go, but if you do, you can use this as a chance to update your friend so no misunderstandings can happen later.
Still, if Sunghoon would tell you with his words that he didn’t like this, you’d acknowledge how unnecessary it is and stay home with him instead.
Of course, since he doesn’t, you take it as a sign that this is just something you’re going to have to do.
So you go.
And the three hours you spend with your group are the longest, most draining hours you’ve ever had to endure in these last few months.
Your friend was fine, he looked a little thinner and maybe a little rough around the edges, but he’s always given you the impression that he’s even just a little crazy.
Nothing to compare with the boyfriend you have now, which actually crosses your mind a bit on the way home—how was it that you considered someone like him before Sunghoon?
You’re much happier to return to Sunghoon than you were to have a night out with people you don’t usually see.
It might say a lot about the kind of person you’ve become, but no harm as long as it isn’t your entire personality, right?
You assumed he’d be asleep by now; if it wasn’t school keeping him from allowing him a late night, it’s the fact that he goes to the gym every morning and wakes up early to go through his pre-workout.
So you entered the apartment but didn’t announce yourself or call out to him.
But just as you’re toeing through the apartment as quietly as you can after very carefully removing your shoes and jacket at the door, you find Sunghoon waiting for you in the living room.
He startles you, but mostly because he was sitting and doing absolutely nothing else.
“What are you? My dad?” You sigh, running your hands over your face as you start to calm down.
He hates when you compare him to an older figure about as much as you hate when he calls you baby; but it doesn’t happen so often and he’s more worried about other things.
“Come here.” He says softly, his voice is firm, but he looks a little off, impatient maybe?
“I texted you, why am I getting in trouble?” You groan softly, only playing as you stand in front of him and then lean forward to get on his level.
“What?” You ask, using your hands to keep yourself propped up on the armrests.
“I love you.” He says, a little sudden, but you just think he missed you.
“I love you more.” You replied, a small nod to “agree” with his statement playfully.
“Am I still yours?” He asks, looking up at you with a slight pout and a slightly desperate expression.
How adorably odd.
“Hoon, what does that mean?” You ask, a small chuckle as you give him a tiny kiss.
“No one’s taking you from me? You don’t want anyone else…right?” He presses a little further, poor thing just wants reassurance.
You frown a little, but not from sadness; more like guilt. Maybe you should have been better at assuring him before tonight happened.
“Of course not.” You assure, straightening up slowly.
“Come on, you should have gone to bed a long time ago.” You remind gently, holding your hand out so he’d take it and follow you to your shared room.
If he stands up with you though, it isn’t because this is over and he can go to bed just because you’re home.
No.
You need to make him feel secure. It’s only fair. You are the reason he felt jealous in the first place.
“Prove it…” he says, his voice dropping a little to a whisper as he wraps his arms around you.
You don’t even get to ask or say anything else before he’s drawing kisses out of you; they aren’t intricate—more like quick pecks because he doesn’t want to be the one to start anything, but he also can’t not kiss you right now.
“I have…” you try to say between kisses, but now that you’re trying to talk, he makes them a little longer.
“To change…and…wash my face…” you explain, but he doesn’t care for a little mess with your makeup, and your clothes will come off regardless.
“Everyone else got to see how pretty you looked today…why can’t I?” He asks, speaking and staying with that little pout he gets when he sulks.
Ughhhhhhh…
He’s so cute.
“No complaining when I smear my makeup on you.” You say softly, pushing him gently in the direction of your bedroom.
“I won’t.” He assures, letting you push him onto the bed.
He’s much stronger than you are, yet here he is, letting you shove him around while he looks at you with the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen on someone.
Now, just what are you going to do to him that’s going to give him the reassurance he needs and the fun you want?
And just how long do you have before he remembers who he usually is and takes over for himself?
after years of being co-workers, he never reciprocated the feelings you had for him. so you buried them and learned to live with it. that is, until a small encounter leads him to start showing you that he cares.
genre: co-workers to lovers, fluff, slow burn, hospital au
word count: 13k
part 1 || part 2
The operating room doors slid open behind you as you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the scent of antiseptic still clinging to your clothes.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on your body after hours of surgery, your shoulders sore and your mind drained from the pressure earlier, but somehow, it wasn’t the operation occupying your thoughts.
It was him.
Your grip tightened slightly around the surgical cap in your hand as the memory from earlier replayed itself once again, the rooftop, the cold night air, the way Sunghoon looked at you, and the words he was just about to say before the emergency call interrupted everything.
Despite being able to save your patient, you still felt disappointed. Not because of the surgery, not because something went wrong, but because you never got to hear what Sunghoon was trying to tell you before you left.
You let out a quiet sigh, lowering your gaze to the floor as you slowly walked down the hallway. You could’ve sworn he was about to say something important back there.
The look in his eyes, the hesitation in his voice, it all felt like it was leading to something. And now, you were left wondering what exactly it was.
You were so caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice Jungwon stepping beside you until he spoke.
“Hey Y/N, are you okay?” he asked, slightly tilting his head as he looked at you.
You looked up, a little startled from being pulled out of your thoughts so suddenly. “I am,” you answered after a short pause. “I was just thinking about something.”
Jungwon studied your expression for a moment before speaking again. “Wanna talk about it?” he offered gently, noticing how distracted you seemed.
You shook your head lightly and forced a small smile. “No, it’s okay. I think I just need some rest. I’m kinda tired after everything that happened tonight.”
Jungwon nodded in understanding. After hours of dealing with emergencies and surgeries, both of you looked equally exhausted.
“You should head home too, Jungwon,” you said, patting his shoulder lightly. “It’s already morning, and our shift’s finally over.”
“Aren’t you gonna go home?” he asked, his eyebrows raising slightly.
“I am,” you replied softly. “I just need to talk to someone first before I leave.”
Something about the way you said it made Jungwon look at you for a second longer, as if he already had an idea who you were talking about.
Still, he chose not to tease you about it like he normally would. Instead, he simply nodded and gave you a small smile.
“Alright then. Don’t stay too long.”
With that, you said goodbye to Jungwon before walking away, your footsteps echoing softly through the quiet hallway as your thoughts drifted back to Sunghoon once again.
ᯓ★ ݁˖
You headed straight for the doctors’ lounge, hoping to find Sunghoon there after everything that happened earlier. But the moment you stepped inside, your hope dropped almost immediately.
Only then did you nearly bump into Jay, who was just about to enter the lounge himself.
“Oh hey,” he said, slightly surprised as he took a small step back. “You okay?”
“Have you seen Sunghoon?” you asked right away, not answering his question as your concern took over first.
Jay furrowed his brows slightly as he tried to recall, pausing for a moment before speaking. “Yeah, I think I saw him leaving earlier,” he answered slowly. “He probably went home already. Why?”
You shook your head lightly, trying to keep your tone casual even if your thoughts were elsewhere. “It’s nothing serious, I just needed to talk to him about something.”
“Oh,” Jay said with a small nod, sensing it wasn’t something to push further. “Want me to call him? I can tell him you’re looking for him and—”
“It’s okay,” you cut in quickly before he could finish. “I’ll just text him myself instead.”
“Alright then,” Jay replied after a brief pause, giving you a small understanding nod.
You offered him a polite goodbye before walking away, your hand already reaching for your phone.
ᯓ★ ݁˖
Sitting inside your car at the parking lot, you stared at your phone, Sunghoon’s contact open on the screen, for what already felt like twenty minutes.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, but no matter how many times you tried to start a message, nothing felt right.
You thought about saying, 'Hi, I didn’t get what you were trying to say earlier,' but even that felt too direct.
Then you considered, 'Hey, when are you free? I’ve been a little anxious about what you were going to say,' but that sounded even worse somehow.
You exhaled sharply, leaning back against the driver’s seat as you closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of your own hesitation settle in.
What am I going to do now?
──────────────────────────────
You sat inside the doctors’ lounge with Jungwon, discussing the post operative recovery instructions of different patients while reviewing the medical charts spread across the table between the two of you.
It had already been two days since that night with Sunghoon, yet somehow, the two of you still hadn’t talked ever since the interrupted conversation on the rooftop.
You never ended up texting him that night either.
Every time you tried to type something, you would just stare at the message for minutes before deleting it all over again, unable to figure out the right words to say without sounding awkward or too obvious.
“The bleeding should lessen within the week, right?” Jungwon suddenly asked, pulling you back to reality as he pointed at one of the charts.
You nodded absentmindedly, your eyes still fixed on the papers in your hands even though your mind was somewhere else entirely. “Mm. As long as her vitals remain stable.”
A few more moments of silence passed between the two of you, the only sounds inside the lounge coming from the faint flipping of pages and the distant noises echoing from the hallway outside.
Jungwon glanced at you from the side, his brows slowly furrowing as he noticed the distracted look on your face for what was probably the fifth time today.
“That’s for a different patient,” he pointed out, eyeing the chart you were currently holding.
“Huh?” Your eyebrows lifted in confusion as you quickly checked the name written at the top of the file. “It’s not? I thought we were checking Patient Yoon’s record right now.”
Jungwon let out a quiet sigh before leaning back slightly against his chair. “No, we already finished discussing Patient Yoon earlier,” he explained patiently. “The one we’re reviewing now is Patient Kim.”
“Oh…” you murmured softly after finally realizing your mistake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even notice.”
“That’s it,” Jungwon said, gently taking the folder from your hands before placing it aside on the table. “Y/N, I’ve noticed you acting strange ever since that surgery two days ago. Is everything alright?” he added, his voice softer this time.
You parted your lips slightly, unsure how you were even supposed to explain everything that had been bothering you these past few days. “I…”
But before you could continue speaking, your phone suddenly vibrated inside your coat pocket.
You quickly pulled it out, only for your heartbeat to falter the moment you saw Sunghoon's name displayed on the screen.
Can we talk? I’m at the hospital garden right now. If you’re busy, just disregard this message. I understand.
You stared at the text for a few seconds longer than necessary, your chest tightening slightly as all the thoughts you had been trying to ignore these past two days suddenly came rushing back all at once.
Slowly, you looked up from your phone and met Jungwon’s gaze.
“I swear I’ll explain everything next time,” you said hurriedly as you stood up from your seat. “I promise. I just… need to go somewhere right now.”
Before Jungwon could even properly respond, you were already heading towards the door in a hurry, almost forgetting the charts scattered across the table.
Jungwon could only shake his head in amusement as he watched you disappear from the lounge, a small smirk forming on his face as he leaned back against his chair.
ᯓ★ ݁˖
As you stood inside the elevator, watching the numbers slowly going up, you could feel your heartbeat growing louder with every passing floor, as though it was echoing right inside your chest.
You didn’t really understand why, but the thought of finally talking to Sunghoon again after everything that had happened that night made you feel extremely nervous, almost like you were walking into something you couldn’t quite predict.
When the doors opened, a bright light from the hospital garden greeted you, and you stepped out towards the glass door that led outside.
The cool air hit your skin as you entered, and your eyes immediately began scanning the area, searching until they eventually landed on Sunghoon sitting alone on a bench at the far end, already waiting for you.
He was looking off at the view beside him, too absorbed to notice you approaching until you called his name.
His head snapped towards your voice the moment it reached him, and almost instantly, a small smile formed on his face as he saw you standing there.
“Hey,” he started, his voice softer than usual as he straightened up slightly. “Glad you could make it.”
You returned his smile, giving him a small, almost hesitant nod before slowly walking over and sitting down on the empty space beside him.
You noticed his posture shift the moment you sat down, his shoulders tensing slightly as if he had been bracing himself for this exact moment.
He cleared his throat, trying his best to relax as he turns to face you fully. “Y/N,” he begins, your name coming out softer than usual, almost careful.
“You know, I can’t stop thinking about that night… and how I didn’t get to tell you how I feel.”
The words land between you two, heavier than the quiet air around the rooftop garden. For a second, all you can hear is the distant hum of the hospital behind you and the faint rustle of leaves above.
Sunghoon looks at you like he’s debating whether to continue or stop, but something in him pushes forward anyway.
“I just…” he exhales, running a hand through his hair, his usual composure slipping just slightly. “I need you to know I wasn’t okay after that.”
He swallows, gaze steady but clearly strained now. “I wasn’t done talking to you that night. And I still–”
“Dr. Park.”
The voice cuts through the moment sharply as both of you turn.
Wonyoung stands a few steps away, slightly out of breath, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “I’ve been looking for you,” she says, shifting her attention to him.
“A patient was asking for you, and she says she has some questions regarding her husband who you performed that procedure on last week,” Wonyoung added.
“Shit, not again,” you heard Sunghoon curse under his breath, his shoulders tensing slightly as he stared at Wonyoung for a brief moment.
He didn't move immediately. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly as he exhales through his nose, clearly fighting the timing more than the request itself.
“Now?” he asks, frustration evident in his voice.
Wonyoung nods. “It can’t wait. The patient's been waiting for a while now.”
A long beat passes.
Sunghoon closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, like he’s trying to hold onto something slipping away too fast. When he opens them again, he looks at you.
There’s something unfinished there. Something he doesn’t say.
“…I’m sorry,” he murmurs, barely audible, as he was already standing.
And just like that, he’s gone again before the sentence he started ever gets to finish.
──────────────────────────────
A couple of days passed since that moment at the garden, and you still couldn’t fully wrap your head around it, especially the way everything ended so abruptly again before you and Sunghoon could actually talk.
The memory kept replaying in your mind, the interrupted conversation, the timing, and the words he almost said but never got to finish, all of it lingering in a way that only made your thoughts more restless.
Your anxiety only seemed to worsen the more you thought about it, as if your mind refused to let the moment go unfinished.
You wanted to talk to Sunghoon immediately after that second interruption, to finally clear everything up and understand what he meant, but every time you tried to find the right moment, something else always pulled you away.
At one point, you spotted Sunghoon near the hallway vending machine, quietly grabbing a snack after what looked like another long and tiring shift at the hospital.
Even from a distance, you could tell he looked drained, his shoulders slightly heavy as he waited for the machine to finish dispensing his food.
The moment his eyes lifted and met yours from across the hallway, he paused.
You also stopped in your tracks.
For a few seconds, neither of you moved or looked away, just standing there in silence as if both of you were weighing whether this time would finally be the right moment to talk.
You almost walked towards him.
After everything that had happened, and after all the missed chances, it felt like this might finally be it.
But before you could even take a proper step forward, your phone suddenly vibrated inside your pocket, sharply pulling you out of the moment.
You quickly pulled your phone out and saw a message from the senior doctor asking you to head to her office immediately to discuss Jungwon’s recent performance and progress during his rotation.
You looked back up almost immediately after reading the message, hoping he was still there waiting.
But the spot near the vending machine was already empty.
Sunghoon had already walked away again before you even got the chance to say a single word.
ᯓ★ ݁˖
You tried, really tried, to find another chance after that. Even going as far as asking Jay for Sunghoon’s schedule so you could align yours with his, hoping for even a small window to finally talk properly.
But the worst part was realizing that your schedules were completely opposite for the week, with you assigned to night shifts while he was consistently on afternoon duty, making it almost impossible for your paths to cross.
It felt less like bad timing and more like the universe itself was deliberately keeping the two of you from talking to each other.
──────────────────────────────
As you typed away on your laptop during one of your night shifts, you found yourself zoning out every few minutes, your thoughts constantly drifting somewhere else no matter how hard you tried to focus on your work.
The report in front of you was barely halfway done, yet you had already reread the same sentence multiple times without properly processing any of it.
You let out a quiet groan before dropping your head onto your folded arms on the table, completely giving up on pretending you were still being productive.
The sudden action immediately caught Chaewon’s attention from beside you.
She turned her chair slightly towards your direction, her brows furrowing as she looked at you. “What’s wrong with you? You haven’t seemed like yourself this entire week,” she pointed out. “Is your schedule really that bad?”
You glanced at her tiredly, your cheek still pressed against your arms. “Nah, I’m fine,” you mumbled. “It’s not like this is my first time doing night shifts.”
Chaewon let out a sigh before fully turning towards you, crossing her arms as she continued staring suspiciously at your exhausted figure.
“If it’s not the schedule, then what is it?” she asked, clearly unconvinced by your answer.
Before you could even think of an excuse to brush her off, she spoke again almost immediately. “And don’t even try lying to me,” she added, narrowing her eyes at you. “We’ve been friends for years, Y/N. I know when something’s bothering you.”
You let out another deep sigh at that, finally lifting your head from the table as your eyes slowly met hers.
“It’s just…” you started softly, hesitating for a moment as you tried to figure out how you were even supposed to explain all of this out loud. But when you saw the determined look on Chaewon’s face, you realized there was probably no escaping the conversation anymore.
So after a brief pause, you finally decided to continue.
“Two weeks ago, Sunghoon and I went up to the rooftop because I was getting sleepy during my shift and wanted some fresh air,” you began, absentmindedly tracing your finger against the edge of the table.
“At first it was normal, but then he suddenly became serious out of nowhere and looked like he was about to tell me something important.” You paused briefly, the memory replaying clearly in your head. “But before he could even say it, an emergency came up and I had to leave immediately, so I never got to hear what he wanted to say.”
You stopped for a moment and glanced at Chaewon, only to see that she still had her arms crossed and the same serious expression on her face, silently waiting for you to continue.
“Go on,” she said simply.
You sighed before continuing, leaning back in your chair. “And then last Monday, he asked me to meet him at the garden because he said he wanted to talk again.” A frustrated laugh escaped your lips. “But somehow, we got interrupted again before he could tell me anything.”
You looked to the side, disappointment obvious in your expression as you let out another sigh.
“You know what’s frustrating?” you continued quietly. “I’ve been trying everything I can just so we could finally have one proper conversation again, but it’s like the universe itself hates me and keeps finding ways to stop us from talking.”
“Okay, okay, hold on for a second,” Chaewon said the moment you finished talking, raising both of her hands dramatically as if she was trying to process everything you had just told her.
“You said he was going to tell you something important,” she continued, leaning closer towards you with narrowed eyes. “How did you even conclude that it was important? Did he actually say anything before you left?”
“Well…” You looked down at your fingers, fiddling with them as you tried recalling Sunghoon’s exact words.
“He, uh…” You hesitated slightly before continuing. “Back at the rooftop, he told me he started noticing things he didn’t before, and that no matter how much he tried to ignore it, it just kept coming back.” Your grip on your fingers tightened a little as the memory replayed in your head.
“And then at the garden…” You sighed softly. “He said he couldn’t stop thinking about that night and how he still hadn’t gotten the chance to tell me how he feels.”
You shook your head as your eyes drifted towards the ceiling, your thoughts spiraled once again. “You know, I really don’t want to assume anything but…” You exhaled softly, shaking your head. “It just feels too big to ignore.”
Chaewon suddenly lets out a loud squeal before you could even continue further, grabbing both your hands excitedly.
“Oh my god, Y/N,” she practically whisper shouted, shaking your hands dramatically. “You do realize that could only mean one thing, right? He definitely likes you.”
Your eyes widened almost instantly as heat rushed straight to your cheeks.
“What? No, he does not,” you denied quickly, even though your voice lacked confidence. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” But deep down, there was already a small part of you wondering if Chaewon was actually right.
“Y/N, come on,” Chaewon said, staring at you like the answer was painfully obvious. “I know you can feel it too. What else would he even say? Based on everything you told me, it seriously sounds like he was about to confess.”
“I don’t know…” you mumbled softly, your gaze lowering once again as your heart began beating faster at the thought.
“But what about Wonyoung?” you argued back, still unconvinced despite everything Chaewon had just said. “I saw them together before and, who knows… maybe they’re actually dating.” Chaewon immediately gave you an unimpressed look.
“Oh please,” she scoffed dramatically. “When was the last time you even saw them together, huh?”
You narrowed your eyes slightly as you genuinely tried to remember another moment besides that one incident outside the operating room. But nothing came to mind.
Chaewon noticed your silence almost immediately and pointed at you accusingly.
“Exactly. None, right?” she said proudly, like she had just won an argument. “You saw them together one time and suddenly convinced yourself they were a thing.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but Chaewon was already talking again before you could.
“And besides,” she continued, leaning closer towards you with a knowing grin, “they’re definitely not dating because Sunghoon likes you, not her.”
“I mean… maybe, but—” you started uncertainly, only for Chaewon to cut you off once again.
“No,” she said firmly while shaking her head. “There is no maybe. I’m telling you right now, that man likes you. He just hasn’t gotten the chance to properly tell you yet because the universe apparently enjoys ruining your timing.”
A small laugh escaped you despite yourself.
“Come on,” Chaewon continued, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Aren’t you at least a little happy? It’s not every day the person you like actually likes you back.”
“What?” Your eyes widened slightly as you stared at her. “Who said I like him?”
Chaewon immediately gave you a look.
“I mean liked,” she corrected with a teasing grin. “But honestly, what’s even the difference at this point? Either way, at least he likes you back too, even if it took him literal years to realize it.”
That finally made you smile properly, the warmth spreading across your cheeks impossible to hide anymore.
“Fine,” you sighed, shaking your head in defeat. “I’ll talk to him. And if he really does confess like you keep insisting he will, I promise you’ll be the first person to know.”
Chaewon instantly perked up at that, practically bouncing in her seat from excitement. “Yay!” she squealed happily. “I’m already looking forward to it.”
──────────────────────────────
The hospital cafeteria was unusually quiet that afternoon, with only a few staff members scattered around since the lunch rush had already passed.
The soft clinking of utensils and distant conversations filled the background, but none of it seemed to register in Sunghoon’s mind.
He sat at one of the corner tables with his tray barely touched, his eyes fixed on the screen of his phone as if waiting for something that stubbornly refused to appear.
Across from him, Jay casually ate his lunch while reviewing patient notes placed beside his tray, occasionally flipping through the papers between bites.
“Did you already sign the transfer papers for room 512?” Jay asked after a while, still focused on the documents in front of him.
Sunghoon briefly looked up from his phone. “I said I would, didn’t I?”
The slight sharpness in his tone immediately made Jay pause mid chew.
A short silence followed.
“…Okay,” Jay muttered slowly before returning to his food, deciding not to comment any further.
A few seconds later, Sunoo suddenly dropped onto the empty seat beside Sunghoon with his tray in hand, immediately sensing the weird tension surrounding the table.
He glanced between the two suspiciously before raising an eyebrow.
“Why do you both look like a divorced couple?” he asked casually.
Jay snorted quietly at the comment while Sunghoon only sighed tiredly, rubbing one hand over his face.
“He’s been like this all week,” Jay explained while gesturing towards Sunghoon with his fork.
Sunoo immediately turned towards him. “Still?”
“I’m fine,” Sunghoon replied flatly.
“Mm,” Sunoo hummed unconvinced before casually stealing fries from Jay’s tray. “You know, for someone who claims he’s fine, you’ve been staring at your phone like you’re waiting for your ex to text you back.”
Sunghoon immediately locked his screen before placing the phone face down on the table.
Jay noticed the movement almost instantly. “You’re waiting for her to text you, aren’t you?” he asked slowly.
Sunghoon stayed quiet for just a second too long.
Sunoo’s eyes widened dramatically the moment realization hit him. “Oh my god,” he gasped, pointing at him accusingly. “You are.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, clearly already irritated by the conversation.
Jay leaned back slightly in his chair, crossing his arms. “Then why do you look annoyed every five minutes?”
That finally earned them a proper response.
Sunghoon exhaled sharply through his nose before leaning back against his chair, looking completely done with both of them.
“Because every single time we try to talk, something interrupts us,” he admitted reluctantly. “First the rooftop. Then the garden. And now our schedules don’t even align properly.”
Sunoo slowly lowered the spoon in his hand, Jay blinked once, then the two of them exchanged a look. “Wow,” Sunoo whispered dramatically. “You’re actually suffering.”
“I hate both of you,” Sunghoon muttered immediately.
Jay ignored him completely, already piecing things together in his head.
Meanwhile, Sunoo suddenly leaned towards Jay slightly, lowering his voice despite the grin spreading across his face.
“I have a plan,” he whispered.
Jay narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why do I feel like I’m going to regret hearing that?”
Sunoo only smiled wider as he glanced towards Sunghoon, who still looked completely unaware of whatever chaos Sunoo was already planning inside his head.
──────────────────────────────
You were walking through the hospital hallways with your phone in hand, typing out a quick message to Jungwon reminding him to check on one of the post operative patients before his next rounds.
Your attention stayed focused on the screen as you walked, not really paying attention to your surroundings until you suddenly heard someone calling your name from behind.
You stopped in your tracks and turned around.
Sunoo was standing a few feet away from you, a little out of breath, and judging from the panicked look on his face, it seemed like something urgent had happened.
“Can you do me a favor?” he asked the moment he reached you.
Seeing how unusually frantic he looked, you immediately nodded without hesitation. “Of course,” you replied quickly. “What is it?”
Sunoo let out a relieved breath before explaining. “I accidentally left my laptop in the doctors’ lounge, and I have a presentation with the senior doctor in ten minutes.”
He glanced down the hallway before continuing in a rush.
“I was already about to go back and get it myself, but then Jay suddenly called me saying he needed help in the restroom because there’s no tissue and he was, uh…” Sunoo trailed off awkwardly before making a vague hand gesture. “You know…”
“Oh…” you responded slowly, immediately understanding the situation.
“Well, don’t worry about it,” you assured him. “I’ll grab your laptop and bring it straight to the boardroom for you.” You said as you gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder while Sunoo’s face instantly brightened with relief.
“Thank you so much, Y/N,” he said dramatically while clasping his hands together for a second. “You’re seriously a lifesaver.”
Before you could even respond, Sunoo already turned and hurried towards the direction of the restroom.
You watched him run down the hallway, a quiet chuckle escaping your lips as you imagined Jay somewhere inside panicking over the lack of tissue.
ᯓ★ ݁˖
“Hey man, what are you doing here?” Jay asked as he spotted Sunghoon beside the water dispenser, casually filling a cup.
“Drinking water. What else?” Sunghoon replied matter of factly, as if the answer was obvious, before taking a slow sip without even looking at him.
Jay sighed and shook his head slightly, already looking like he regretted approaching him.
“Anyway, you need to go to the doctors’ lounge right now,” he said, his tone turning a bit more serious.
Sunghoon raised a brow at him but didn’t respond immediately, still finishing his sip of water like the urgency didn’t apply to him.
Jay exhaled, clearly impatient, then continued anyway. “I just saw Jungwon getting pretty close to Y/N before I could even step in,” he said casually, watching Sunghoon’s reaction closely. “They’re really close. I'm telling you, one more step and it honestly looked like they were about to kiss.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Sunghoon choked slightly on his water, quickly turning away as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“They… what?” he asked instantly, his voice sharper now, disbelief flashing across his face.
Jay didn’t even need to say anything else.
The second silence fell between them, Sunghoon was already moving. He turned and headed straight for the elevator, walking faster than before as his earlier calmness completely disappeared.
Jay watched as Sunghoon impatiently pressed the elevator button over and over again, jaw tight and foot barely staying still.
When the doors still didn’t open fast enough for him, Sunghoon didn’t even think twice before turning away and heading straight for the stairs instead, leaving Jay standing there, a small smirk on his face.
ᯓ★ ݁˖
Meanwhile, you were still inside the doctors’ lounge, carefully scanning every possible surface in search of Sunoo’s missing laptop.
You checked under the desk, between the chairs, and even inside the wall cabinets, but it was nowhere to be found, and the longer you looked, the more you started wondering if the presentation had already started without Sunoo realizing he left it behind.
Before you could think further, the door suddenly swung open with a loud push.
Sunghoon stepped inside, slightly out of breath, his chest rising and falling quickly from running, with a thin layer of sweat on his forehead that made a few strands of hair stick to his skin.
“Where’s Jungwon?” he asked immediately, still trying to catch his breath as his eyes quickly scanned the small room.
“Jungwon?” you repeated, clearly confused as you straightened up from where you were searching. “He’s not here. I’m the only one here since Sunoo asked me to look for his laptop.”
“Sunoo?” Sunghoon echoed, his eyebrows lifting slightly as something clicked in his head.
“Yeah,” you continued, still focused on the situation. “He said Jay needed help in the restroom and—” That was enough to make Sunghoon let out a short, humorless laugh.
“Right,” he said, shaking his head. “Jay. The same Jay who literally told me to come here.”
You paused, slowly narrowing your eyes at him as the pieces didn’t quite make sense yet. “But I thought…” you started, still trying to process it.
Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at your confused expression.
“This was obviously a setup,” he said flatly. “Those two definitely planned this.”
He took a small step forward, then another, before stopping just a few inches away from you. “Do you really not know why they did this?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
You shook your head slowly.
“They wanted us to finally talk,” he admitted, exhaling as if he had been holding it in for a long time. “I kind of told them what happened, so they did this… on purpose.”
Your expression shifted in surprise as the realization finally sank in.
“They did a good job then,” you said, your tone a mix of disbelief and sarcasm as you let out a small breath. “Also,” you continued, “they worked hard setting this up. It’d be a shame if we still got interrupted.”
At that, something shifted in his expression. Sunghoon suddenly looked nervous, like all the urgency he felt earlier had been replaced with something far heavier.
But after a brief pause, he took a deep breath, steadying himself as he finally spoke.
“Y/N,” he started, voice softer but firm, “what I’ve been trying to say this whole time is that I like you. More than you probably realize.”
He swallowed slightly before continuing, his gaze dropping for a second before lifting again.
“I don’t even know when it started, or how it happened, but somewhere along the way, I just did,” he admitted honestly. “Every time we spent time together, I just kept realizing how special you are, and how much I wanted you in my life, not just as a co-worker.”
He let out a quiet breath, almost like he was forcing himself to finish it properly.
“I’m not really good with words,” he added, a faint, almost embarrassed smile tugging at his lips, “and I know this probably came out of nowhere, but I just needed to finally say it.”
When he finished, he looked down, scratching the back of his neck as his ears slowly turned a deep shade of red.
And for a moment, the room fell completely silent.
You couldn’t believe it. Chaewon was right.
And even though a part of you had started to believe it too, hearing it directly from Sunghoon still made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect.
The person you once liked, the one you thought had slipped further and further away from you, was standing right in front of you, saying he liked you back.
You just stared at him, completely speechless, your thoughts scattered as your heart pounded so loudly it almost drowned everything else out.
Slowly, you brought a hand to your chest, as if trying to steady your breathing, still trying to process the fact that this was actually happening.
“Sunghoon…” you called softly.
At the sound of your voice, his shoulders tensed slightly before his gaze slowly lifted from the floor to meet your eyes again.
Seeing the nervous look on his face made your chest warm.
You took a small step closer to him before gently slipping your hand into his, your fingers curling around his carefully as if reassuring him that this was real.
“I like you too,” you admitted softly, smiling at him. “And I think I’d like to give this... us... a try.” Your thumb brushed lightly against his hand as you continued.
“I mean, I already know you, but I still want to know more about you. Not just as co-workers or friends this time.”
The moment you finished speaking, the tension in Sunghoon’s expression immediately softened. A smile slowly spread across his face, one that looked far too relieved and happy to hide.
“I’d like that too,” he replied quietly.
For a few seconds, neither of you moved.
You simply stood there hand in hand, staring at each other in the middle of the doctors’ lounge like the rest of the hospital had faded into the background.
And somehow, after weeks of interruptions, misunderstandings, and almost confessions, finally being able to stand there with him like this felt unreal.
Then, after a moment, Sunghoon cleared his throat awkwardly. “So… uh…” he started, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. “What now?”
You immediately caught the nervousness mixed with awkwardness in his voice, and it made you laugh softly.
Of course Park Sunghoon, who had just confessed so seriously a minute ago, suddenly looked completely lost now that you actually liked him back.
You smiled teasingly before answering. “Take me on a date, silly.”
“Yeah.” He coughed awkwardly, looking away for a second. “…Right. A date.”
A faint embarrassed smile appeared on his face as he scratched the back of his neck.
“Sorry,” he admitted. “I’m just not really used to confessing. Usually girls are the ones confessing to me, not the other way around.”
You immediately rolled your eyes at the subtle cockiness hidden in his words, though the smile on your face only widened.
“Really?” you replied sarcastically. “Well, I’m not exactly surprised the great Park Sunghoon experiences things like that.”
Sunghoon chuckled softly at your response before giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Mm,” he hummed quietly. “But you know what?”
You raised an eyebrow.
“You’re actually the first girl I’ve ever confessed to.”
That instantly made your cheeks warm.
“Well, it was obvious,” you teased, trying to hide your embarrassment. “You looked like you were about to trip over your own words earlier.”
Sunghoon frowned playfully at you, making you laugh. “Kidding,” you said quickly before lightly pinching his cheeks. “But honestly… I’m flattered.”
That immediately brought the smile back to his face.
For a moment, the two of you simply stood there again, unable to stop smiling like idiots in front of each other.
Then Sunghoon spoke once more.
“So…” he started carefully, suddenly looking nervous again. “About that date…”
You waited patiently for him to continue.
“Are you free this Saturday?”
“I am,” you answered almost immediately, making his expression brighten instantly.
“Good,” he said, trying to sound calm despite the obvious excitement in his voice. “Then I’ll pick you up at your place.”
ᯓ★ ݁˖
The two of you eventually stepped out of the doctors’ lounge together, still caught up in your own conversation as you walked down the hallway side by side.
The atmosphere between you and Sunghoon felt noticeably lighter now, as if the weeks of tension and misunderstandings had finally disappeared the moment everything was confessed.
A few steps away from the lounge, near the end of the hallway, stood Jay and Sunoo pretending to look casual while waiting nearby.
The second they spotted the two of you walking out together, both of them immediately exchanged triumphant looks before giving each other an exaggerated high five.
“See?” Sunoo said proudly, pointing at himself. “I told you my plan would work.”
Jay let out a quiet scoff, though the grin on his face made it obvious he was just as satisfied with the outcome.
Meanwhile, you smiled at yourself as the realization finally sank in.
“I seriously thought Jay being stuck in the restroom was real,” you admitted while looking over at Sunghoon, your voice echoing slightly through the quiet hallway. “I even imagined him waiting there helplessly for Sunoo to save him.”
Sunghoon laughed quietly beside you while by the end of the hallway, Jay’s expression immediately dropped in horror.
“You told her that?” Jay asked Sunoo instantly, turning towards him with complete disbelief written all over his face.
Sunoo looked completely unapologetic.
“Well yeah,” he replied casually with a shrug. “What else was I supposed to tell her? Besides, it wasn’t only because of my amazing acting skills that she believed me.”
He flipped his imaginary long hair dramatically after saying that, earning an unimpressed stare from Jay.
Jay sighed heavily before dragging one hand down his face in defeat.
“I can’t believe you,” he muttered, already regretting every life decision that led him into helping Sunoo with the plan.
──────────────────────────────
Inside the operating room, you and Jungwon were busy cleaning up after surgery, carefully organizing the instruments and tidying the area while the nurses finished the last few tasks nearby.
The familiar scent of antiseptic still lingered in the room, and despite the exhausting operation earlier, the atmosphere felt calmer now that everything was finally over.
As you were arranging a few files on the counter, your phone suddenly vibrated inside your pocket.
You quickly removed your gloves before pulling your phone out, your eyes immediately scanning the screen.
The moment you saw Sunghoon’s name appear on the notification, asking if you wanted to have lunch together later, an unconscious smile slowly spread across your face before you could even stop it.
“You look happy.”
Jungwon’s voice suddenly echoed from across the room, making you glance up. “That must be Dr. Park.”
Your head immediately snapped towards his direction, eyes widening while your mouth fell open in surprise.
“How d– did you know it was Sunghoon?” you asked, stuttering from embarrassment.
“Oh, come on,” Jungwon replied while taking off his gloves, clearly amused by your reaction. He walked over before casually sitting on the chair nearby, crossing one leg over the other.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how your entire mood changes every time you hear his name or whenever you see him in the hallways,” he continued, looking at you knowingly.
You simply stared at him in shock. Was I really that obvious?
“You really like him.” Jungwon looked at you for a moment before shaking his head lightly. “And honestly, based on everything I’ve seen, I know he likes you too.”
That somehow shocked you even more. How did Jungwon realize Sunghoon liked you before you even figured it out yourself?
“How… how did you know?” you mumbled quietly, still staring at him in disbelief.
Jungwon chuckled softly at your reaction before leaning back against the chair.
“It’s really obvious once you pay attention,” he explained. “Remember that time we went out for gelato together?” You immediately nodded, already remembering the awkward encounter afterward.
“He kept glaring at me the entire way back to the hospital,” Jungwon continued dramatically. “Honestly, it felt like I committed some unforgivable crime just by standing beside you.”
You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the memory.
“And the funny thing is,” he added while pointing at you, “he still looks at me like that whenever he sees us together.”
Your laughter slowly faded into embarrassment as you remembered all the moments Sunghoon acted strangely around Jungwon before.
“I know…” Jungwon quickly raised both hands in surrender after seeing your expression shift. “I probably should’ve told you sooner, but I wanted you to realize it yourself.”
Then a teasing smile slowly appeared on his face.
“And judging from your reaction right now, I’m guessing he already confessed.”
“He did,” you admitted softly, still sounding shocked about everything yourself.
You stared at Jungwon for another second before shaking your head in disbelief.
“You’re seriously so observant,” you said while walking closer to him. “I didn’t realize you noticed that much.”
Without thinking much about it, you reached over and ruffled his hair playfully like he was a little kid, immediately earning an annoyed glare from him.
“Well,” Jungwon said while standing up from his chair and fixing his messy hair, “now that you’re gonna be a couple, you might want to tell him to stop getting jealous every time he sees us together.”
He pointed at himself as if presenting evidence.
“I don’t think I can survive those death stares much longer whenever I’m beside you.”
You laughed again at his exaggerated complaint.
“Of course I’ll tell him that, Jungwon,” you replied apologetically before lightly pinching the cheek beside his dimples. “And I’m sorry if he treated you like that because of me.”
“Okay,” Jungwon said immediately while pushing your hand away. “Maybe you should stop treating me like a child and start helping clean up again before the senior doctor walks in and sees us gossiping inside the operating room.”
“Right,” you replied with a small laugh before finally returning to work, though the smile on your face still hadn’t disappeared ever since reading Sunghoon’s text.
──────────────────────────────
Saturday came in a flash, and before you knew it, you were standing in front of your mirror, carefully applying a final layer of lipstick before pressing your lips together and checking the result.
You were nervous, of course, the kind that sat quietly in your chest but never fully left, because your first date with Sunghoon had once felt so far away it almost seemed impossible, and now it was finally happening.
You glanced at yourself again, probably for the hundredth time, making sure everything looked right before your eyes landed on your outfit.
A soft smile formed on your lips as you admired the light blue sundress you were wearing, the fabric flowing gently as you moved, making you feel both pretty and a little more nervous at the same time.
Before you could overthink anything further, the doorbell rang.
You flinched slightly at the sound, your heart jumping as reality suddenly set in.
Quickly grabbing your purse, you made your way downstairs, each step feeling a little heavier and faster at the same time until you finally reached the front door.
You paused there for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before finally reaching for the handle.
When you opened the door, Sunghoon was already standing there.
He was dressed in a cream colored button up shirt, the sleeves loosely rolled up to his forearms, giving him a relaxed yet effortlessly put together look. His shirt was neatly tucked into a pair of off white high waisted trousers, and his hair was styled neatly with his bangs pushed slightly to the right, revealing his forehead and the subtle undercut on the side.
For a second, you forgot how to breathe properly.
His eyes immediately lit up the moment they landed on you.
“Hi,” he said softly, his voice gentler than usual. “You look beautiful.”
As he spoke, his gaze slowly moved over your outfit from top to bottom, as if trying to take in every detail at once.
You felt your cheeks heat up almost instantly, but you still managed to smile at him.
“Thank you,” you replied softly. “You look handsome too, as always.”
That made his smile widen just a little more, like he was trying to hide how pleased he was.
“I do get that compliment a lot,” he said lightly, his tone teasing, “but it definitely feels different when it comes from you.”
You let out a quiet chuckle, feeling your face grow even warmer.
“Let’s just go,” you said quickly, trying to hide how flustered you were becoming.
Sunghoon noticed it immediately, of course, and instead of letting it go, he only teased you a little more under his breath before gently reaching for your hand.
His fingers intertwined with yours so naturally it almost felt like they were always meant to fit there.
Once you stepped outside together, you were greeted by his familiar silver BMW parked just by the curb, shining softly under the daylight.
The two of you walked toward it side by side as Sunghoon opened the passenger door for you without a word.
You carefully slipped inside, giving him a small ‘thank you’ as he closed the door gently behind you before walking around to the other side to join you.
Once inside, Sunghoon placed the car key into the ignition and started the engine, the vehicle coming to life with a soft hum.
As he began to drive, you couldn’t help but notice how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel, along with the way his eyes kept flicking towards the road, then briefly to his watch, as if silently counting down the minutes of his own nervousness.
It was unusual seeing him like this.
At the hospital, he was always composed, confident, and steady, the kind of person who seemed like he had everything under control no matter the situation.
But here, in the quiet space of the car with just the two of you, he looked almost human in a different way, and that realization made your chest feel strangely warm.
Without thinking too much about it, you gently placed your hand over his, the one resting near the gear shifter, softly grounding him in the moment.
“Hey,” you said quietly, your voice gentle and reassuring as your fingers lightly brushed against his. “Don’t be nervous. It’s just me.”
Sunghoon glanced at you when the car slowed at a red light, his expression softening as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“That’s exactly why I’m nervous,” he admitted honestly, his voice quieter than usual. “Because it’s you.”
Your heart immediately skipped at his words, warmth spreading through you as you smiled back at him.
“Don’t be,” you replied, trying to sound calm despite the way your stomach flipped. “You look more nervous now than you did during your medical procedure yesterday.”
Sunghoon let out a soft shake of his head, as if your comparison was completely unreasonable.
“That procedure was easier,” he said simply, a small smile on his face.
That made you laugh lightly, unable to help yourself as you watched the faint dimples appear on his cheeks as he smiled.
ᯓ★ ݁˖
You arrived at a riverfront restaurant just as Sunghoon turned off the engine and stepped out of the car.
As always, he quickly walked around to your side and opened the door for you, offering his hand to help you out with a small, familiar smile.
Together, the two of you made your way towards the entrance.
This time, Sunghoon’s hand didn’t just hold yours, it shifted gently to the small of your back, guiding you forward with a quiet confidence that made your heart feel strangely light.
At the hostess stand, the woman greeted you both politely.
“Reservation for Park Sunghoon,” Sunghoon said smoothly.
The hostess checked the list for a moment before nodding and gesturing towards the dining area. “Table for two, this way please.”
You followed her lead as she guided you through the restaurant, past softly lit tables and towards a corner seat right beside the glass paneled windows. From there, the view opened up beautifully, the river stretching out wide under the soft glow of the setting sun.
You thanked the hostess as she left, and Sunghoon immediately pulled out your chair for you.
Once you were both seated, your attention drifted almost instantly to the view outside.
The sunset painted the sky in warm shades of orange and gold, reflecting softly over the water and creating a calm, almost dreamlike atmosphere.
“The view’s beautiful,” you murmured softly, your eyes still fixed outside as you took it all in.
“Mm,” Sunghoon hummed in agreement.
But when you finally turned your head to look at him, you realized his gaze wasn’t on the sunset at all.
He was already looking at you.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice softer than before. “It really is.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
The moment lingered just long enough for your heart to skip, but before you could react properly, a waiter arrived at your table and politely handed you the menu.
“Good evening, I am Minho, your waiter for tonight. What can I get you both?” the waiter asked, his gaze shifting between you and Sunghoon while holding a pen and notepad ready.
“I’d like a steak, medium rare, with vegetables on the side and mashed potatoes,” Sunghoon said as he scanned the menu one last time before looking up at you.
“And for the lovely lady?” the waiter added politely, turning his attention to you as he waited for your order.
“Um…” you hesitated, eyes still scanning the menu.
Almost everything on it looked expensive. Why did Sunghoon choose this restaurant for a first date? It was beautiful, yes, but definitely way out of your usual range.
You were so caught up in staring that you didn’t realize how long you had been silent, until Sunghoon called your name gently. “Y/N, still deciding?” he asked softly.
That snapped you back to reality.
“Sorry,” you said quickly. “I’ll just have the baby back ribs.”
“Alright, and for the sides?” the waiter continued.
“I’ll just have the same as him,” you replied without thinking too much about it.
“Anything else?” the waiter asked again.
“I think I’m already good with mine,” Sunghoon said, then turned to you. “How about you?”
“I’m good too,” you answered.
“Great,” the waiter said with a nod. “How about drinks?” he added while flipping a page on his notepad.
“I’ll have a Coke, please,” Sunghoon answered.
The waiter wrote it down before turning to you. “Ma’am?”
“I’ll have the same,” you said.
“Okay then. Your orders will be ready in fifteen minutes,” he said as he collected the menu from both of you.
Sunghoon thanked him, and the waiter walked away towards the kitchen.
A few moments later, another waiter arrived to place glasses of water on your table along with complimentary snacks, a small bowl of nuts.
You opened your mouth to speak, but Sunghoon beat you to it.
“She’s allergic to nuts,” he said immediately, offering a polite smile. “You can take it back, it's alright.”
The waiter nodded and quickly removed the bowl.
Once he left, you turned to Sunghoon. “Thank you,” you said softly. He only shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
He took a sip of water, while you hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
“You know…” you began casually, “I liked you back then too.”
The moment the words left your mouth, Sunghoon choked on his drink.
You stared at him for a second, trying your hardest not to laugh as he quickly patted his chest, recovering.
“I…” he said between coughs. “I didn’t know.”
You let out a soft chuckle.
“I just never told you,” you explained. “It was during our first year working together. I saw how good you were at your job, and how calm you always were even under pressure. I think I started liking you even when you were still a bit cold to me back then.”
That made Sunghoon go completely quiet. For once tonight, he didn’t have a quick reply.
He just sat there staring at you, eyes widened and cheeks slowly turning red.
Then he let out a long breath, almost like he was releasing all the tension he had been carrying for years.
“Do you know how much I overthought confessing to you?” he admitted. “I really thought I didn’t stand a chance. I had no idea you felt the same all this time.”
You smiled at him gently.
“Sorry,” you teased lightly. “I guess I was just good at hiding it.”
That earned a small laugh from him.
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “You really are.”
You leaned back a little, then added casually, “I actually thought you and Nurse Wonyoung were dating at one point.”
Sunghoon immediately frowned in confusion. “Why would you think that?”
“Well…” you mumbled, “I saw you two in the hallway before, and she was really close to you while talking. I just assumed… since you didn’t move away or anything.”
Sunghoon let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry you saw that,” he said honestly. “I zone out a lot, especially when I’m tired. I wasn’t even really paying attention that day. I only realized she was talking to me when she tapped my shoulder.”
“Oh,” you said, nodding slowly as it finally made sense.
Then you quickly added, a bit embarrassed, “Sorry for assuming things like that… and maybe eavesdropping a little.”
He smiled softly. “It’s okay.”
Then his expression softened even more as he reached across the table and gently took your hand.
“And just so you know,” he said quietly, thumb brushing lightly against your skin, “there’s no one else I like. There never really was.”
His eyes stayed on yours as he added, even softer this time, “It was always you.”
Your heart felt like it stopped for a second.
You smiled at him, unable to hide how warm you felt as he looked at you like that, like you were the only person in the room.
But just as the moment between you and Sunghoon started to deepen again, a waiter arrived at your table with a polite smile, carefully setting down the dishes one by one as if nothing important had just been interrupted.
“Steak for you, and ribs for the lady,” he announced calmly while placing the plates in front of you.
He then followed with the drinks, setting them down neatly beside each respective plate.
“And your drinks,” he added with a small nod before stepping back.
“Enjoy your meal.”
The moment he walked away, there was a brief silence between you and Sunghoon.
You both just stared at each other for a second, as if processing what had just happened again, before the tension completely broke.
And then, almost at the same time, you both burst into laughter.
It wasn’t loud at first, just soft chuckles that quickly grew as the absurd timing finally caught up with both of you.
Sunghoon leaned back slightly in his chair, still laughing as he shook his head in disbelief.
“Getting interrupted for the third time,” he said between laughs, wiping at the corner of his eye, still smiling brightly, “damn it.”
ᯓ★ ݁˖
As the two of you continued eating, the conversation settled into something more comfortable, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel awkward anymore but instead felt warm.
Sunghoon set his utensils down for a moment and reached for a tissue, wiping his mouth before glancing up at you as if he had been thinking about something for a while.
“By the way,” he said casually, though there was a hint of honesty in his tone, “I used to think you and Jungwon were dating too.”
You paused mid-bite, eyes widening slightly as you slowly set your fork down.
“Why?” you asked, genuinely surprised.
He shrugged, leaning back slightly in his chair.
“You two are really close,” he explained. “And you’re always together at work. I guess… seeing you with him all the time made me a bit jealous.”
The last part came out quieter than the rest, almost like he didn’t fully intend to admit it out loud.
That made you smile immediately, your expression softening as you looked at him.
There was something about seeing him like this, honest and a little vulnerable, that made your chest feel warm.
“Don’t worry,” you said gently. “I never thought of Jungwon that way. He’s like a little brother to me. With me being an only child, I always kind of wanted a younger brother. And I think Jungwon naturally filled that role without even trying.”
Sunghoon nodded slowly, listening to you carefully as he picked up his glass of water again.
Then, almost casually, you added, “I should say, I only ever had my eyes on you since day one.”
That made him freeze for a split second.
His gaze immediately shifted away from you, as if suddenly finding the table extremely interesting, while the tips of his ears turned visibly red.
You couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” you teased lightly.
And that only made things worse.
Sunghoon’s ears turned an even deeper shade of red as he quickly looked back at you, clearly trying to regain his composure while failing miserably at it.
ᯓ★ ݁˖
Dinner ended with conversations that seemed to flow endlessly between the two of you, moving from light teasing to stories about your personal lives, with occasional complaints about work slipping in between.
Somewhere along the way, you realized you were seeing a completely different side of Sunghoon tonight. Not the composed doctor everyone admired at the hospital, nor the cold and intimidating co-worker you first met years ago.
This version of him was softer, quieter, and unexpectedly easy to talk to. And the more he smiled at you throughout the night, the more it felt like you were slowly getting to know the real him.
By the time the two of you stepped out of the restaurant, night had already fully settled over the city.
The warm sunset from earlier was long gone, replaced by a dark sky scattered with faint stars above, while the city lights reflected beautifully against the river nearby.
You found yourself smiling to your own thoughts, grateful for how wonderful the night had already been. Honestly, if the date ended there, you would’ve already gone home happy.
So naturally, you expected Sunghoon to lead you towards the parking lot.
But instead, he guided you towards the front side of the restaurant and further down the pathway connected to a nearby marina. Your brows furrowed slightly in confusion as you followed him.
Then you saw it.
A small yacht sat docked by the far end of the marina, gently swaying against the water under the city lights.
You immediately turned to Sunghoon with widened eyes. “We’re riding that?” you asked, completely caught off guard.
Sunghoon only smiled at your reaction, clearly pleased that he had surprised you. “Yeah,” he answered simply. “The night’s not over yet.”
Before you could even process it properly, he intertwined his fingers with yours again and gently led you towards the yacht.
A man you assumed was the driver was already waiting nearby. He greeted the two of you politely while Sunghoon returned a small nod before stepping aboard first.
Then he turned back to you and extended his hand carefully. You placed your hand in his, allowing him to help you step inside safely.
“I didn’t know this restaurant lets customers go on yacht rides,” you admitted while glancing around the elegant interior in amazement.
“They don’t,” Sunghoon replied casually.
You looked back at him.
“I rented it.”
Your mouth parted in disbelief. “You did not.”
Sunghoon chuckled softly at your reaction, clearly amused by how shocked you looked. “I wanted tonight to be perfect,” he admitted quietly.
Your chest immediately tightened at his words.
Looking at him standing there under the soft marina lights, you realized just how much thought he had put into every single part of tonight.
“It’s already perfect,” you replied softly while holding his hand tighter. “Because I’m with you.”
For a second, Sunghoon simply stared at you again with that same look he always gave you lately, soft, affectionate, and almost disbelieving that this was real.
Then he smiled.
“Come on,” he said gently before leading you towards the edge of the yacht.
The two of you stood beside the metal railings at the front of the yacht just as the engine finally started beneath your feet.
A few moments later, the yacht slowly began pulling away from the marina, the city lights gradually growing farther behind you.
You rested your hands against the railing while admiring the view around you.
The buildings along the shore glowed beautifully against the dark water, their reflections shimmering with every small movement of the waves.
A cool breeze brushed softly against your skin, causing your dress to sway gently with the wind as you inhaled deeply, letting yourself fully enjoy the moment.
Then you turned your head slightly towards Sunghoon.
He was quietly watching the waves beside you, his expression calmer than you had ever seen it before.
As if sensing your gaze, he looked back at you almost immediately, a soft smile already forming on his lips.
“Thank you, Sunghoon,” you said sincerely. “You really made our first date special.”
Without overthinking it, you leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek.
Sunghoon froze for half a second before letting out a shy laugh, the tips of his ears turning red once again.
“You’re welcome,” he replied sheepishly, smiling at you in a way that made your heart race all over again. “Anything for you.”
Just then, a burst of bright color suddenly illuminated the sky beside you, followed by the loud crack of fireworks echoing over the river.
Your eyes widened in surprise as another one exploded shortly after, then another, until the dark night sky was filled with shimmering colors and cascading lights reflected beautifully against the water below.
You turned towards them in awe, the glow from the fireworks dancing across your face as you watched them bloom overhead.
“Did you plan this too?” you asked, glancing at Sunghoon with disbelief still evident in your voice.
Sunghoon shook his head with a small laugh.
“No,” he admitted. “But I did read online that there’s usually a fireworks display by the river every Saturday night.”
You looked at him fondly before smiling to yourself.
“You really are a meticulous person,” you teased softly before turning your attention back to the fireworks.
The colors reflected beautifully in your eyes as you admired the display, completely mesmerized by how close everything felt from the yacht.
For a few moments, neither of you spoke.
The only sounds surrounding you were the waves beneath the yacht, the distant city noise, and the fireworks continuously bursting above.
Then, quietly, you heard Sunghoon call your name.
“Y/N.”
“Hm?” you hummed softly before turning back to him.
The moment you did, your breath caught slightly.
Sunghoon was already staring at you.
Not at the fireworks.
Not at the view.
Just you.
His eyes slowly moved from yours down to your lips before he swallowed nervously, almost like he was trying to gather courage.
Then, slowly, he stepped closer.
You stayed still as he closed the distance between you, already sensing what he wanted to do from the way his gaze softened.
He stopped only inches away, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin.
One of his hands gently cupped your cheek while your noses nearly brushed from how little space remained between you.
But even then, he still didn’t kiss you immediately. Instead, Sunghoon looked into your eyes first, almost silently asking for permission, waiting to see if you would pull away.
When he found no hesitation in your expression, only warmth, he finally leaned in as his lips met yours softly.
Your breath hitched at the contact, your entire body freezing for half a second as the reality of the moment sank in. You were kissing Sunghoon.
And somehow, despite everything that had happened between you both, it still felt unreal.
Then slowly, you closed your eyes and kissed him back.
His lips moved gently against yours, warm and careful, fitting perfectly with your own as if this moment had been waiting to happen for a long time now.
His other hand slid carefully to your back, pulling you slightly closer while your fingers instinctively clutched the fabric of his shirt.
The world around you seemed to blur after that.
The fireworks, the river, the city lights, everything faded quietly into the background while the two of you stayed there wrapped in each other’s presence.
For the first time in weeks, nothing interrupted you.
Eventually, Sunghoon pulled away slightly, both of you breathing softly as he rested his forehead against yours.
Then he looked at you again, his eyes filled with something so sincere it made your chest ache.
“Y/N,” he said quietly, still holding you close. “Will you make me the happiest person alive and be my girlfriend?”
The hopeful look in his eyes immediately made you smile.
“Of course, Sunghoon,” you answered softly. “I’d love to.”
The smile that spread across his face afterward was so wide and genuine that you could even see the small sharpness of his fangs appearing as he laughed quietly in relief.
Then, unable to help himself, he leaned in once more.
Beneath the fireworks still bursting across the night sky, reflecting in the water around you, the two of you fell into another kiss, slower this time, softer, like neither of you were in any hurry to let go of the moment.
ᯓ★ ݁˖
After spending a little more time together on the yacht, simply talking while the city lights reflected against the water, Sunghoon eventually drove you home.
The car ride back felt calmer compared to earlier, but in the best way possible.
Your intertwined hands rested quietly between the two of you for most of the drive, and every now and then, you would catch him glancing at you during red lights with the same soft smile he had been wearing the entire night.
Soon, his car slowly pulled over in front of your apartment.
Neither of you moved immediately after the engine stopped. It was almost as if neither of you wanted the night to end just yet.
Eventually, you unbuckled your seatbelt before turning to him with a small smile still lingering on your lips.
“Goodnight, Sunghoon,” you said softly. “And thank you for such a memorable first date.”
Sunghoon smiled back at you instantly as he slowly reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a brief second against your cheek.
“Goodnight, pretty,” he murmured softly.
That immediately made your cheeks warm again.
You laughed quietly under your breath before finally opening the car door and stepping outside.
The cool night air greeted you once more as you adjusted your purse over your shoulder before turning back to him.
“Drive safely, okay?” you reminded him.
Sunghoon nodded obediently, still smiling at you like he couldn’t quite believe tonight actually happened.
“I will.”
You waved goodbye before walking towards the entrance of your apartment, but just before stepping inside, you glanced back over your shoulder.
Sunghoon was still there.
Still sitting inside the car, watching you carefully as if making sure you got inside safely before he could finally leave.
When he noticed you looking back at him again, a soft smile immediately appeared on his face as he lifted his hand for another small wave.
You smiled back, feeling your chest warm all over again before finally unlocking the front door of your apartment and stepping inside.
Just before the door fully closed behind you, you glanced outside one last time and saw Sunghoon finally driving away, his car disappearing slowly down the quiet street.
You stayed there for a moment, leaning lightly against the door as your heart continued racing from everything that had happened tonight.
Then a smile slowly spreads across your lips.
Because one thing was certain.
There was no way you would ever forget your first date with Park Sunghoon.
──────────────────────────────
The doctors’ lounge was quieter than usual that Monday morning.
Not empty, never empty, but calm in that brief window between rounds where the hospital almost forgot how chaotic it could become a few minutes later.
You were seated on one of the chairs, half-focused on a chart in your hands, though your attention kept drifting away for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with work.
Sunghoon was beside you.
Too close to feel strictly professional. Too calm to feel entirely fair.
He was scrolling through a report on his phone, but his knee was lightly brushing yours under the small table between you, like it had become something so natural neither of you bothered acknowledging it anymore.
You glanced at him from the side, watching him for a moment before finally speaking.
“You’re distracting me,” you said softly, though your eyes were still lowered towards the chart as if you were trying to pretend otherwise.
“I’m not doing anything,” he replied immediately, not even bothering to look up from his phone.
“That’s the problem,” you murmured under your breath, and that was enough to finally make him turn his head to you.
His expression was relaxed, almost effortless, but his eyes softened the moment they landed on you, like they always did now without him even trying.
“You’re in a mood today,” he said.
“You’re in my space,” you corrected immediately.
He hummed thoughtfully, as if actually considering your complaint, then casually reached out to fix your hair that had fallen across your face. His fingers lingered near your head just a second too long before he pulled back.
“You missed a patient earlier,” he said simply.
“I didn’t,” you insisted right away, narrowing your eyes at him in protest.
“You did,” he repeated, entirely unbothered, as if it was the most obvious truth in the world.
You tried to look offended, but the faint curve forming at the corner of your lips completely betrayed you, and Sunghoon noticed it immediately.
He leaned back against the chaur again, looking far too satisfied with himself, though his hand still remained loosely intertwined with yours between you, as if neither of you had thought to let go or found a reason to.
And for a brief moment, everything around you just… settled in a way that felt unfamiliar but not uncomfortable, almost like the world had decided to pause just long enough for you to exist like this without interruption.
Too peaceful.
Too soft.
Too domestic for two people who used to struggle just to exist in the same schedule without missing each other entirely.
“Oh my god.”
Both of you turned at the same time towards the entrance.
Sunoo was standing there holding a folder in one hand, staring at the scene in front of him with an expression so deeply offended that it looked like he had walked in on something he could never unsee.
“I need you both to know,” he said flatly, his tone completely devoid of emotion, “this is disgusting.”
You blinked slowly. “Excuse me?”
Sunghoon didn’t even react much, only glancing at him briefly before returning to his relaxed posture as if nothing about this situation was worth changing.
Sunoo stepped further inside, pointing between the two of you with increasing intensity.
“This,” he continued, voice rising slightly now, “this right here is exactly what I suffered for.”
You frowned. “You suffered?”
He scoffed loudly, like the question itself was insulting. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it was to watch two emotionally unavailable doctors practically orbit each other for weeks without doing anything about it? I have aged. I am not the same person anymore.”
Sunghoon finally spoke, still calm. “We were not orbiting each other.”
Sunoo stared at him for a long, deliberate second.
“You interrupted your own confession multiple times,” he said flatly.
Silence fell for a beat.
“…Okay,” Sunghoon admitted after a pause, completely unfazed.
You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh as Sunoo nodded. “Anyway. You’re welcome. I single-handedly improved your love life. I should be rewarded.”
“You should be working,” Sunghoon replied.
“That’s what you choose to say after I changed your love life?” he asked, acting shocked.
Then he turned towards the door dramatically. “Whatever, I’m leaving before I get secondhand diabetes from watching this. It’s honestly offensive.”
Sunghoon tilted his head slightly. “You’re the one who planned all of this.”
“And I regret nothing,” Sunoo said instantly, pausing only to add, “except Jay. I regret doing the plan with Jay.” Then he turned and walked out just as quickly as he had come in.
“Try not to be too in love!” he called over his shoulder. “It’s embarrassing!”
The door closed behind him, and the lounge finally fell into silence again.
For a few seconds, neither of you said anything, as if both of you were still processing the sheer chaos that had just walked in and out of the room.
Then you both laughed.
Soft at first, then a little easier, like something that had been stuck in your chest for weeks had finally loosened.
“He’s unbelievable,” you said between breaths.
“He’s going to get worse,” Sunghoon replied calmly.
“I thought that was already his worst,” you countered immediately.
“Nope, he still has more of that,” he said seriously.
That made you laugh again, and when it finally faded, the silence that followed didn’t feel empty anymore, but instead warm and steady in a way that made staying in it feel easy.
Sunghoon’s phone vibrated shortly after.
He checked it, and almost instantly, his expression shifted in that subtle way you were beginning to recognize, his shoulders tightening for just a moment before easing back down again.
You noticed immediately. “Work?”
He nodded once. “Emergency consult.”
There was a brief pause between you that felt heavier than words, though not uncomfortable, just aware.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood up slowly, taking his time as if he wasn’t fully in a hurry to leave just yet.
Before you could even say anything, he stepped closer. One hand lifted to your cheek again, familiar now, like it had always belonged there.
You didn’t get the chance to tease him before he leaned in and kissed you.
It was a soft and sudden one, a kiss that felt like there wasn’t any hesitation anymore, just certainty.
When he pulled away, he stayed close for a moment longer, his forehead almost brushing yours as if he didn’t want to let go yet.
His phone vibrated again, cutting through the quiet between you.
“Duty calls,” he murmured quietly, like it was both an excuse and an apology at the same time.
You watched the way his expression shifted for a second before he straightened fully, as if putting distance back in place with quiet discipline.
His gaze lingered on you for a second, warm but already pulling away.
“Don’t miss me too much,” he murmured quietly.
“I won’t,” you replied immediately, without even thinking.
He let out a quiet laugh, the kind that made it obvious he didn’t believe you for a second, then turned to leave.
But not before glancing back over his shoulder one last time, giving you a quick wink before finally walking out of the lounge.
You stayed seated for a little longer after he left, fingers lightly touching your lips as if your body was trying to memorize the feeling even as your mind replayed it on its own.
And somehow, the hospital still looked the same.
But nothing about you felt the same anymore.
══════════════════════════════
author's note: thank you so much for all the love and support you’ve given this story from part 1 until part 2 🫶
i’m sorry it took me a while to finish part 2. i really wanted the story to flow properly while still keeping the slow burn feel without making everything happen too fast
honestly, i had so much fun writing this fic that i found myself giggling and feeling butterflies while rereading some scenes myself 😭 i really hope you guys felt the same emotions while reading it too
this story became really special to me, especially because i enjoyed writing every interaction, every interruption, and every little moment between Y/N and sunghoon
thank you again for reading until the end and for supporting my writing >< your comments and support are honestly what keeps me motivated to continue writing and improving with every fic i make
I’M NOT A PARK ANYMORE, I TOOK MY WIFE’S NAME … ❤︎ park sunghoon
PART ONE. TWO. THREE. ─── bored of your life, you go on tinder and match with a hot guy named park sunghoon, who in his bio, states that he’s “date to marry.” but he offers you a deal: fake a marriage with him to annoy his obnoxious family and he’ll pay you for it.
or you’re in a fake marriage with sunghoon and he takes your last name to piss his relatives off. oh and did i tell you that he’s lowkey obsessed with you? even though he’s just your “fake husband.”
starring husband!sunghoon x wife!reader ₊˚⊹♡ genre smau, romcom, strangers to lovers, fake marriage au, obsessed!hoon, opposite of slowburn 𑣲⋆ warnings use of y/n, profanity, suggestive jokes /•᷅•᷄\੭
( ℰ🪽 ) —— first enha smau >< hope u guys like it :P likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated <3 btw i have never used tinder so i js edited shi .. also there's a videocall part that'll take a few seconds to load.. also pls their texts gets funnier, its still pt1!
( 🪽 ) —— TY FOR READING! worked on this baby for a WHILE... finally posting it FAHH. do comment if u wanna be tagged in the next part :P i'll try my best to post the next part asap (as i literally have 3 ongoing smaus rn..)
𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 my head is spinning and my stomach is sick. say i'm in love, so it's hard to admit. i can't eat, i can't sleep. i think you're what's wrong with me. i think you're what's wrong with me.
⤫ 5730 ⤫ ― heavy infidelity, cheating, emotional manipulation, toxic dynamic, heavy angst, sunghoon smokes, pussy eating, kissing, missionary, creampie, asshole characters, two-timing, non proofread
⊹ 𐙚⋆˙˚ new layout . . . who is this? ++ also towards the ending is the second ending of what happened after the smut haha . . . and featuring hwang intak my baby <3
“are you for real..?” jay asked, voice low as he scrolled through the guest list on his phone. the groomsmen were in the waiting room, fixing cufflinks and hair.
heeseung glanced back at jay through the reflection, swiping his hair back through his fingers. “what?”
“you invited yn?” jay’s tone was disbelieving, he kept glazing between his phone and heeseung.
the older one turned around, shrugging. “well, yeah. she helped him a lot during his uni days—it’s just a polite gesture.”
jay stared at him, eyebrows pinched slightly. “a gesture? hee… she’s not just some friend. you know what they were.”
heeseung sighed, adjusting his tie. “they’re long over it, though. sunghoon’s moved on—he’s literally getting married later. inviting her shows there’s no bad blood. it’s just mature.”
jay hesitated for a long second.
“...man, i don’t know….” he muttered, shaking his head. his thumb scrolled through the other names on the list.
“dude, it’s okay,” heeesung said firmly, patting jay’s shoulder. “let it go.”
——
“shit—i’m nervous as hell.” sunghoon muttered, running a hand through his carefully styled hair. “this… fuck, this is really happening.”
the waiting room felt too small. the groom paced back and forth near the window, tugging at his collar even though it was perfectly fitted. the ceremony was starting in fourty minutes—his heart wouldn’t stop racing.
jake watched him from the couch, eyebrow raised. “you good?”
“yeah—just—just nervous,” he sighed, putting his hands on his hips.
jake stood up and walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder. “hey, it’s okay—big day and all. you’ve been through a lot, but you’re here now! you’re doing it, man!”
sunghoon let out a shaky breath, staring at the floor.
jake studied him for a second, then lowered his voice. his eyebrows furrowed in concern, jake was the best man, after all. “alright, look… do you need a hit? cig or something? just to take the edge off real quick.”
damn it—sunghoon was supposed to stop. but it’s so fucking hard.
he didn’t even hesitate. “fuck, sure.”
they slipped out a side door that led to a quiet courtyard behind the venue. the evening air was cool, and the distant sound of guests and crews chatting inside felt muffled. jake handed him a cigarette and lighter, then clapped his shoulder.
“don’t take too long, yeah? i’ll cover for you.”
jake disappeared back inside.
he closed the glass doors.
sunghoon sighed before lighting the cigarette with unsteady fingers, taking a long drag. the smoke burned his lungs, but it didn’t calm the storm in his chest. he closed his eyes, leaning against the stone wall.
damn.
he’s really getting married today.
in less than an hour, he would stand in front of everyone and make things official—vows, rings, signatures, the whole forever shit. a few minutes that would last the rest of his life.
the thought made his stomach twist. every inhale of smoke felt heavier, like it was stuffing and pressing down on the weight already crushing him.
sunghoon took another drag, longer this time, holding it longer than usual. the tip of the cigarette glowed bright orange in the dim courtyard light as he exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl up and disappear into the night air.
this was supposed to be the happiest day of his life.
so why did it feel like he was standing at the edge of something… irreversible?
there’s no way he was getting cold feet on his wedding day. no, no—this was a normal feeling, wasn’t it? people get nervous all the time. sooha and him had planned this for months—almost a year.
it’s fine.
he ran a hand through his hair, messing up the styled strands. his mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
would things be different if it was with—
“sunghoon?”
he opened his eyes.
you were standing there, frozen a few meters away, holding a small gift bag. the silk, rose champagne dress hugged you nicely, in all the way he remembered. you froze the second your eyes met.
sunghoon’s heart dropped to his tummy.
“...yn?”
your lips parted in surprise. “what are you doing here?” your voice came out quiet, almost hesitant. the wind almost took it away from him.
he let out a weak, breathless laugh, smoke slipping past his lips. “i needed some air. couldn’t stay in there anymore.”
the silence that followed was heavy and awkward. you shifted on your pretty heels, glancing back toward the venue door like you wanted to escape. sunghoon couldn’t stop staring at you.
you’ve gotten prettier since the last time he saw you—almost 5 years ago. you looked beautiful, still the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. and your eyes—behind those glittery eyelids, your eyes were glassier.
he hated how familiar this felt.
right, you thought.
“...i should go back insid—” you started softly.
“wait.”
sunghoon stepped forward without thinking and gently grabbed your wrist. the moment his fingers touched your skin, something electric shot through both of you. he pulled you aside quickly without thinking twice, around the corner behind a tall flowering hedge where the lights didn’t quite reach.
just like all those secret nights before.
his eyes wouldn’t leave your face.
“why did you—? sunghoon,” your eyebrows pinched slightly, but you didn’t pull away your hand. “you’re smoking again.”
a low, bitter chuckle slipped out of him, smoke curling between the two of you. he looked down at the glowing cigarette between his fingers, then back at you with heavy, longing eyes.
“it’s hard,” he admitted quietly. “if i don’t smoke… i think about you instead. and that’s a much worse habit.”
the words hung in the cool night. your breath caught, and for a second, neither of you spoke. sunghoon took another slow drag, but his gaze never left yours.
it’s a lie, really. it didn’t matter if sunghoon smoked or not—because you were always on his mind. nonetheless.
you averted your gaze, bringing your arms up to hug yourself. the champagne dress suddenly felt too thin under his stare.
“what are you talking about…” you whispered, voice shaky. “don’t be ridiculous, sunghoon. you’re getting married… you’re—you’re getting married.”
the cigarette burned between his fingers as he flicked the ash away, stepping just a little closer—not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel the warmth from his body.
“yeah, i am.” he said lowly, his fingers itching to cup your face. “doesn’t stop me from standing here wishing i wasn’t, though.”
your eyes flicked back up to his. there it was—that quiet pull. that look in your eyes was the same one you had five years ago when you were tucked underneath him, begging him to please give you a second chance.
you shouldn’t have come—but it still wouldn’t stop sunghoon from wishing he was married to somebody else today.
“sunghoon—just,” your voice cracked. you took a shaky breath, hugging yourself tighter. “just stop it. i’m here today because heeseung invited me, okay? i wasn’t even going to come at first—but i… i just wanted to see you off. properly. that’s all.”
sunghoon frowned, his expression darkened. the cigarette was long forgotten on the ground. he stepped even closer until the space between you felt almost nonexistent.
“really?” he breathed, voice low and edging with something painful. “really, yn? you’ll just watch and let me get married to another woman that’s not you?”
the words hit hard. your lips parted, but nothing came out. before you could find your voice and the words to say, sunghoon’s hand moved—cuppung your face with a gentleness that didn’t match the look in his eyes. his thumb brushed your cheek once, then he backed you up until your shoulders met the cool stone wall behind.
your breath hitched. his other hand pressed flat against the wall beside your head, caging you in. he was so close you could smell the cigarette smoke, mixed with his cologne and his nervous sweat under his expensive tux.
“is that it, yn?” he whispered, forehead nearly resting against yours. his eyes dropped to your lips, fingers brushing your skin. “tell me right now that you’re fine watching me marry her—that we didn’t spend years loving and giving each other our firsts—and i’ll go.”
but you didn’t say anything. your hands trembled at your sides, fingers brushing against the front of his tux like you wanted to push him away, but couldn’t do it.
sunghoon leaned in slowly. so slowly. his nose brushed yours. his lips hovered just a breath away from your own, close enough that you could almost taste him. close enough that one tiny movement would close the gap and ruin everything.
your eyes fluttered shut. his grip on your face tightened just a fraction.
“hm, yn? tell me you don’t love me anymore.”
the silence stretched for two heartbeats.
then your fingers curled into his tie. you gripped the silk tightly, and slowly pulled him down. your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper, but shattered what was left of his control.
“... what are you going to do if i still do?”
that was all it took.
sunghoon crashed his lips into yours with a wrecked sound, kissing like a man who was drowning and you were the only air left in his lungs. there was nothing gentle about it—it wasn’t a gentle, romantic, reunion kiss, it was years of guilt, longing, and frustration poured out as he tilted your head back against the stone wall and deepened the kiss instantly.
his tongue slid against yours, hungry and familiar, while one hand slid down to grip your waist, pulling your body flush against his.
you kissed him back just as desperately, tugging harder on his tie like you could keep him here. a soft, broken whimper escaped your throat and he swallowed it whole, pressing you harder into the wall.
the taste of smoke and mint on his tongue was making your head spin. his body was burning against yours, the crisp tux doing nothing to hide how badly he wanted you.
after a few heated seconds, sunghoon suddenly pulled back just enough to speak, breathing ragged against your lips.
“not here,”
before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and pulled you along with him. he moved fast, leading you through a different back door further down the courtyard. it was a room used for wedding preparations—folded chairs stacked against the wall, extra table linens, vases, and a wooden table in the centre.
the door clicked shut.
the second it closed, sunghoon was on you again.
he pushed you up against the nearest wall, kissing even harder than before now that you both had your privacy. both of his hands were on your waist now, sliding down to grip your hips as he pressed his body into yours.
you moaned softly into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair, ruining his wedding hair. he groaned at the feeling, the sound vibrating down your body.
“fuck, i missed you,” he muttered between kisses, barely pulling away long enough to speak. he wanted to make it up for all the time he couldn’t kiss you. “missed you s’much.”
with a low groan in his throat, sunghoon grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you effortlessly. you gasped and instantly wrapped your arms around his neck. he set you down on the edge of the wooden table, stepping between your legs and pulling you right to the edge so your bodies were flush again.
the champagne dress rode up your thighs as he pressed closer, hands roaming up your sides, mouth never leaving yours.
sunghoon pulled back from the kiss just enough to look at you—lips swollen, eyes glossy, chest heaving. the sight of you like this snapped the last thread of whatever nonexistent control he had left.
without a word, he pushed you down.
his hand pressed firmly against your chest, guiding you until your back met the white tablecloth. you gasped softly as you laid flat, the movement made your dress ride up higher on your thighs, and sunghoon didn’t waste a second.
he stayed standing between your legs, eyes dark and hungry as they raked over you. his hands slid up your thighs, pushing the dress higher until it bunched around your waist.
“fuck… look at that,” he breathed, fingers hooked into the waistband of your white lace panties—much like his future wife’s dress—then slowly dragged them down your legs. sunghoon shoved it in his pocket.
you were completely exposed to him now, laid out on the table like a feast.
you’re so wet, it’s glistening. you’re so wet for him.
sunghoon’s hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider. your pussy twitched at the cool air hitting your soaked folds, and the sight made a guttural sound rumble in his chest.
“shit, yn…” he whispered, dripping with lust. “look how wet you are. and you’re telling me to stop?”
he didn’t wait for an answer.
the groom leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, collecting and scooping every drop of your arousal with a hungry groan. the moment his warm tongue touched your clit, your back arched off the table. he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud and sucked, flicking it with the tip of his tongue at the same time.
“sunghoon!”
one of your hands flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands tightly as he devoured you. he was relentless—licking, sucking, burying his face deeper between your thighs like he wanted to drown in your taste. the wet obscene sounds of his mouth against your pussy filled the small storage room, mixing with your broken moans.
sunghoon pulled back for just a second, lips shiny with your slick, and spat directly at your opening before diving back in messier. his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it—thrusting his muscle back and forth like a dick as his nose rubbed against your clit like a dog.
he looked up at you through his lashes, lips glistening.
“you taste so fucking good,” he rasped, the vibration making you whimper. “missed eating you out like this all the time.”
your legs started shaking around his head. sunghoon tightened his grip, forcing your thighs open wider as he ate you like a man who was unsure when else he’d have this.
he flattened his tongue and licked along, slow stripes up your entire cunt before focusing back on your clit, sucking and flicking until your hips were grinding against his face. your back arched on the table.
“s—sunghoon—! hoonie—fuck!”
your thighs clamped around his head but he forced them open again, groaning into your pussy as he felt you trembling. he inserted his two fingers and began thrusting them back and forth—curling his digits while sucking on your clit till your whole body seized up.
you came hard on his tongue with a broken cry, hips jerking against his face as pleasure crashed through you. sunghoon didn’t stop—he kept licking and fingering you through it, drawing out every last shake and whimper until you were gasping, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.
he stood up straight between your legs, quickly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his tux pants. his cock sprang out, hard and leaking as he stoked himself, eyes locked on you.
when was the last time he’s gotten this hard?
sunghoon swallowed the lump in his throat, positioning his cock right between your folds where he slid the head between them back and forth. but before he pushed in, he leaned in slightly, sucking the inside of his cheek.
“...why didn’t you reply to me?” he whispered, chest heaving. “five years. i texted you, emailed you—reached out so many fucking times… and you just disappeared. if you still love me, why didn’t you tell me?”
you were breathing heavily from your orgasm, dress bunched around your waist, legs wrapped loosely around him. you looked up at sunghoon with glassy eyes.
“because we can’t be together, hoonie,” you breathed, voice cracking. “we… this… it was doomed from the beginning. we both knew that.”
his jaw clenched.
“i don’t wanna hear that shit right now,” he hissed, then pushed inside you in one deep thrust.
you both moaned aloud as he buried himself to the hilt, your walls still pulsing from your orgasm. he didn’t give you time to adjust—started fucking you hard, the wooden table creaking under every brutal snap of his hips.
sunghoon was getting married today, but he was still stuck up on the girl who made him felt like the world was his five years ago.
the groom leaned to kiss his ex-lover messily as he pounded into you, one hand gripping your thigh, the other tangled in your hair. the sound of skin slapping skin filled the storage room.
“ah—ngh—!” you moaned, all high pitch and lewd as he fucked you hard and deep. your arms extended to loosely wrap around his neck, kissing him back just as needy.
sunghoon pulled back to rest his forehead against yours. “it’s because of him, isn’t it?”
you whimpered when the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. sunghoon snapped his hips harder.
“intak. it’s because of that fuckass intak—because you were guilty you were cheating on intak the whole time you were with me?”
your eyes widened, a broken whimper escaped your lips when he kept hitting that soft, good spot inside you that made your toes curl. “w—wait, wait—hah!”
sunghoon didn’t stop. he fucked you with punishing, jealous, deep thrusts as he spoke through his gritted teeth.
“i knew, baby. i always fucking knew. i didn’t care—i told you i didn’t care. i wanted you so bad i was willing to share you if that’s what it took… i kept hoping you’d finally choose me and leave him—but you never did.”
he thrust particularly hard, making the table legs scrape against the floor. it was hard to reply. it was hard to form words—not when each time sunghoon railed you deep, the words in your brain scattered like dominos and your mouth could only form moans and his name.
“you loved us both, didn’t you?” his voice cracked with bitterness and lust. sunghoon loved you more—he knew that. he knew he loved you more than intak could ever. even after five years, he doubted intak ever knew he was being double two–timed.
“you left me cause you were guilty you couldn’t pick. instead of saying anything… you just disappeared. i could’ve—i would’ve—”
a particularly rough snap of his hips made you cry out, your nails digging into his broad, toned shoulders through his shirt. tears were slipping down your temples now, from pleasure, pain, years of guilt, and the fact that he just called you out like that.
sunghoon’s rhythm faltered for a second as he watched a tear fall. he leaned in and licked it off your skin before kissing you messily. “—i would’ve waited.”
he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, making you cry out his name.
“but tell me how the fuck we’re supposed to be done when your pussy is still squeezing me like this.”
sunghoon kept fucking you deep, hips rolling into yours with long, possessive strokes. the anger in his voice was still there, but it was melting into something heavier.
“i’m sorry…” you choked out between moans, clinging to him. “hoonie, i’m so sorry—i didn’t know what to do then. i hurt you… and i couldn’t face it anymore. i’m so fucking sorry—”
“shh,” he cut you off.
he slowed his thrusts, turning them into deep, sensual, intimate rolls that made you feel every inch, every texture of him. he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes locked on you as he moved inside.
“it doesn’t matter anymore,” he murmured against your lips. “i’ve missed you so much. you make up for everything that happened.”
sunghoon kissed you slowly, deeply, swallowing your whimpers as he rocked into you. one of his hands slid under your back to pull you closer so your chests were pressed together. the other cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing your tears.
his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck where he sucked gentle marks into your skin like a proof he was here with you. he was here with you while waiting to be called up to the church.
“i still love you,” the groom murmured against your throat, burying himself to the hilt, just feeling you pulse around him. “i never stopped.”
you wrapped your arms around his neck as you held him close.
“you were supposed to be my wife—you’re supposed to be wearing that wedding dress today.”
the words hit you like a knife. before you could even respond, he straightened up, pulling out of you almost completely before slamming back in with a brutal thrust.
a sharp cry tore from your throat.
he grabbed both your legs, folding them up and pressing them toward your chest. with one arm, he hooked them over his left shoulder, nearly bending you in half on the table. the new angle made him sink so much deeper that your eyes rolled back.
then sunghoon started fucking you hard again.
the sound of skin slapping skin echoed loudly in the small storage room as he railed into you, eyes locked on your face the entire time.
“shit—” he groaned, sweat dripping down his temple, hair completely ruined. “you’re supposed to be my wife.”
every thrust was possessive and heartbroken. your mouth fell open in a silent scream of pleasure, hands scrambled—one gripping his arm, the other clawing at the white tablecloth.
sunghoon reached into the inner pocket of his tux jacket with his free hand, pulling out a small velvet box—the ring he was supposed to give jake, the best man, to hold during the ceremony.
he didn’t even hesitate.
while still fucking you mercilessly, he opened the box with his teeth, took out the beautiful diamond ring meant for his bride, sooha, and grabbed your left hand.
“hoonie—!” you gasped, eyes wide. you weren’t sure what to feel about it.
he slid the ring onto your finger, watched as it sat perfectly on your ring finger like it should have been.
“you’re mine,” he growled, pounding into you even harder, the ring glinting under the dim light with every thrust. you squeezed around his cock harder, the guilt turning into pleasure real quick. “—i’m yours too, baby. i’ve never stopped being.”
“this is your ring, this should’ve been your ring.”
your walls clenched hard around him at his words, a broken sob–moan ripping out of you as another orgasm started building dangerously fast. the sight of his fiance’s ring on your finger while he fucking you on his wedding day was so wrong it made your head spin.
but you also couldn’t deny the pleasure you were getting out of it.
“i can’t—i can’t hold it, shit,” you groaned, gasping. sunghoon’s rhythm turned messy and desperate, losing all control. “oh my gosh, hoonie, ‘m cumming—!”
you moaned out loud, shaking as another orgasm crashed into you—your pussy clenched around him, pulsing and gushing as you came with a cry of his name.
sunghoon too, burying himself to the hilt with a wrecked moan, forehead pressed against your legs as he came hard. thick, hot spurts of his cum flooded deep inside you, filling you up as his hips jerked through every wave. he kept grinding into you slowly, pushing his release deeper. he needed you to keep every drop.
“take it… fuck, that all of me,” he panted, trembling slightly.
for a long moment, the only sounds in the room were both of you breathing heavily. sunghoon slowly lowered your legs, but he stayed buried inside, not wanting to pull out yet. he leaned down and kissed you—slow, deep, full of everything he couldn’t say.
her ring on your finger glistened as you cupped his face.
he finally pulled out carefully, watching as his cum leaked out of your swollen pussy onto the white tablecloth. sunghoon helped you sit up, fixing your dress with gentle hands—you too, tying his tie properly.
his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed.
“...do you have to go back?”
——
“hey, is it true?”
“hm?” you murmured sleepily, nuzzling closer to him.
the room was dark except for the light coming from his desk lamp. the two of you were naked underneath the blanket, tangled in his sheets. your head rested on his chest while his fingers traced hearts and his name up and down your bare arm.
sunghoon shifted slightly, looking down at you.
“you’re dating intak?”
.
your eyes widened instantly. you say up so fast the blanket slipped down your chest and you had to quickly pull it up. “what?”
sunghoon didn’t move, he stayed laying on his back, one arm still loosely behind his head as he watched you. his voice stayed calm.
“i heard it from my friends. they said you two have been dating for a while… or at least that’s how it is.” he paused for a second, then added quietly, “well… i’m just asking. really.”
the silence that followed felt suffocating. you pulled the blanket up even more, wishing if it was visible, it would hide the way your heart was hammering against your ribcage.
“um, hoonie, i—” your voice cracked. you didn’t know what to say. you’re not sure how to come clean. not sure how to react. the guilt was written all over your face. how were you supposed to say it?
yes. i’m dating hwang intak.
“yn,” he said softly, cutting you off. sunghoon reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “just be honest with me.”
he wasn’t angry. no—sunghoon was never an angry person. there was no rage in his voice, no accusation; just quiet disappointment and raw curiosity. his eyes searched yours like he was trying to understand what you were doing.
“i’m not mad,” he continued, almost reassuringly. “i just… i thought i was the only one. that’s all.”
he let out a small breath, the corner of his lips twitching into a sad, half–smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“so… are you dating him?”
this was embarrassing. you were sitting there, naked in his bed, while the boy you were secretly seeing asked you about the other boy you were seeing.
you stared at him, lips slightly parted. the way sunghoon was looking at you made the guilt twist even deeper in your tummy. would it have been better if he was mad? that way, you could reply with anger too.
you swallowed hard, gripping the blanket.
“...yeah,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “i’m dating him.”
sunghoon’s jaw tightened just slightly, but he didn’t look away. he simply nodded, taking a deep breath.
“i’m sorry,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out. “sunghoon, i’m really sorry. i didn’t know how to tell you. it started before… before what we have got serious—and i know—i know it’s fucked up… i know.”
you hugged the blanket tighter to your chest, eyes starting to water. gosh, you sounded like a manipulator.
“i’m not even happy with him anymore,” you admitted, voice cracking. “it just doesn’t feel real with him.”
sunghoon was quiet. he was processing your words before he slowly sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist as he faced you properly. his hand reached out to gently hold yours.
“then why don’t you break up with him?” he asked, direct. “i’m right here, yn. you know how i feel about you. this isn’t going to change anythig—i’m not going anywhere.”
you looked down at your intertwined fingers, thumb brushing nervously over his knuckles. the silence stretched.
“...it’s, um… it’s hard,” you whispered.
sunghoon tilted his head slightly, thick eyebrows furrowed.
“why?” he asked. “if you’re not happy… if you say you want this,” he gestures between the two of you, squeezing your hand. “then why stay with him?”
you bit your lip, averting your gaze elsewhere.
“because i feel guilty,” you confessed, another jab to your chest. “he’s been good to me. he really loves me. and i…i care about him too. i don’t know how to end it without completely breaking him. i don’t know how to do this without hurting someone.”
sunghoon sighed, his free hand went up to scratch the back of his neck—a habit he does often.
he stayed quiet for a few seconds, just staring at your intertwined hands.
then he asked,
“what about me?”
he looked up, meeting your eyes. when did you find it in you to look at him? “what do you feel about me?”
you squeezed his hand tiger, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks.
“i love you,” you whispered, but full of certainty. “i really do, hoonie. it’s not the same as what i feel for him, trust me. it even scares me how much i feel for you. i keep coming back to you even when i know i shouldn’t—because i love you so much. i’m in love with you.”
you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his shoulder.
“i’m sorry i dragged you into this mess. i never meant to hurt you. i just… you’re the one i think about when i’m not with you.”
sunghoon let out a soft sigh, hand coming up to caress your hair.
“i love you too.” he murmured, kissing the top of your head, then brought your face up to kiss your temple and cheek. he’d go for a smoke, but he promised you he’d stop. bad habits.
“way more than i should.”
——
“take it… fuck, that all of me,” he panted, trembling slightly.
for a long moment, the only sounds in the room were both of you breathing heavily. sunghoon slowly lowered your legs, but he stayed buried inside, not wanting to pull out yet. he leaned down and kissed you—slow, deep, full of everything he couldn’t say.
her ring on your finger glistened as you cupped his face.
he finally pulled out carefully, watching as his cum leaked out of your swollen pussy onto the white tablecloth. sunghoon helped you sit up, fixing your dress with gentle hands—you too, tying his tie properly.
his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed.
the silence felt personal before his phone started ringing loudly on the floor where it had fallen out of his pocket earlier. the sharp sound shattered the moment.
both of you froze.
before either of you could move, the door to the storage room swung open—
—jake, heeseung, and jay stood there with sooha right behind them.
time stopped.
sooha’s eyes widened like it was going to pop out of her sockets—her hand flying up to cover her mouth. the bouquet she was holding slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a thud. her gaze dropped to your disheveled dress, your flushed face, the cum still dripping down your thighs, the marks on your neck, the stained lipstick…
and the diamond ring—her engagement ring—sitting on your finger.
“sunghoon…?” she murmured like she was still trying to process it, her voice coming out a broken whisper.
the boys’ eyes widened as well.
“fuck…” heeseung muttered first, hissing through his teeth before he looked down on his shoes, pressing on his nose bridge. he looked down at his shoes, clearly stressed. “shit… sunghoon, what the hell…”
jake looked completely stunned, mouth slightly open like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. jay immediately went tight–lipped, his eyebrows pinched together. the three of them weren’t exploding in anger—it was worse.
pure disappointment mixed with exhaustion, like they… they had almost expected something like this might happen but still hoped it wouldn’t.
heeseung genuinely thought sunghoon was over it when he decided to email you the invitation.
sooha’s lips trembled—she wasn’t sure what to feel. she knew there was someone in sunghoon’s life before—one he never fully talked about. but it was years ago! years ago. it was an ancient shit history that went on.
“what the fuck—?!”
her voice finally broke through the realisation. she pushed past the three boys, forcing her way to the front.
the second she moved forward, you and sunghoon scrambled off the table. you turned your face immediately, unable to look at her with the shame burning through your entire body. sunghoon stood in front of you on instinct.
“what the fuck, sunghoon?!” she screamed, all heartbreak and rage. she shoved his chest hard. he stumbled back slightly, but not hitting you.
“on our wedding day?!”
she hit his chest again, and again—frantic hits fueled by pain. “why the fuck is she here—?! why are you fucking her on our wedding day?”
jay looked at heeseung, he looked away.
“stop—sooha, stop,” sunghoon spoke. he grabbed both of her shoulders to stop her from hitting him, but she struggled, sobbing.
“fuck… sooha, please,” sunghoon sighed, holding her shoulders tighter to steady her. “listen to me.” he continued, grabbing her wrists firmly to stop her from hitting him again.
she was crying. “listen to you? what the fuck do you have to say to me?!”
sunghoon glanced at you for a split second, then back at her. his grip on her wrists loosened, but he didn’t let go completely.
“i’m sorry that it happened like this—i really am,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. you shifted on your heels, darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips. “i… i can’t marry you, sooha. i’m so fucked up over yn—i can’t.”
sooha’s breath hitched. your eyes widened, and you found yourself tugging on the back of his blazer to hint at him—what?
sunghoon disregarded both.
heeseung, jake, and jay stayed completely silent by the door, unsure if they should step in or disappear.
the groom swallowed the lump in his throat before fully letting go of her wrists, biting down his bottom lip.
“i’m sorry—i really tried.”
without another word, he reached back and grabbed your wrist firmly, pulling you out of the storage room and storming past his stunned friends and sooha. you barely had time to react as he dragged you down the hallway, away from the hall, away from the guests and the disaster he’d just detonated.
no birthday party, no confetti─just sunghoon and his brother's wife for his 23rd birthday. happy birthday, hoonie!
𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 i've waited here for you. everlong. come down and waste away with me. down with me. if everything could ever be this real forever, if anything could ever be this good again, the only thing I'll ever ask of you. ─ everlong, foo fighters ⫶ 𐔌masterlist꒱
𓆩♡𓆪 omg finally! happy 23rd birthday to my one and only idol, park sunghoon :( i love him soooo much! the boy who brings me sm comfort, and i pray that everything that comes his way will always be wonderful ૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა
word count 7.9k
content advisory cheating, persuading, cuckolding... taboo relationship, very tiny hint of angst (because sunghoon's a yearner here), switchy dynamic, possessive behaviour, sunghoon has a diary, implied older reader, sunghoon calls her 'noona' like two times, non proofread... sorry!
smut advisory missionary, fingering, oral (m. rec), squirting, creampie, food play, mess kink, praise, mild degradation, lowkey emotional sex, lots of kissing!
08.12.2024
“happy birthday, sunghoon!”
your voice was the first thing he heard as the living room lights flicked on, bright and sudden against the otherwise quiet apartment. sunghoon blinked at the sight in front of him, disoriented for a second—a small cake on your hands lit with the number ‘twenty–two’ candles, and you standing beside his older brother with that soft, proud smile you always wore.
heeseung was right beside you, one arm across your shoulder with that fond, slightly smug big–brother look. he nudged him with a tilt of his chin. “c’mon hoon, blow it out.”
sunghoon scoffed lightly, but his gaze drifted back to you—inevitably—you. the way the candlelight danced across your face, the way you smiled at him on his big, special day.
you nodded, glancing up to your husband, before your eyes landed back on him. “mmhm, make a good wish this year, hoonie.” you said softly, voice honey sisterly warm, the nickname curling around his ribs.
he swallowed.
he was twenty–two now, but he still felt eighteen whenever you looked at him like that.
he stepped closer.
the cake was balanced atop of your palms, the candle flames trembling between you. the heat kissed his cheeks and the cake smelled sweet, but it was nothing compared to the way your scent drifted up his nostrils.
sunghoon tried to ignore heeseung’s thumb, rubbing slow circles on your shoulder.
when he didn’t move for a second long, you hummed, nudging the cake closer. “come on, birthday boy,” you teased, tilting the cake a fraction closer towards sunghoon. this cake that you baked specifically for him…
your fingers dusted in flour, every swirl of frosting shaped with that same soft, dainty hands that now held the cake steady for him. how many times did you taste the cream off your thumb just to get the vanilla right? and when you piped his name across the top in shaky blue icing, do you whisper his name out loud?
sunghoon–ah,
the whole kitchen behind still smelled like warm sugar and vanilla because you’d left the oven light on for him. the candles trembled with every breath he took, wax dripping in tiny tears onto the frosting you’d smoothed,
sunghoon leaned in—but his eyes locked on yours over the flickering candles. in that silent second, the room narrowed to just the two of you. the flames painted gold over your bitten lip,
he inhaled, slow, shaky, and closed his eyes.
i wish she wasn’t hyung’s wife—i wish i could kiss her, just once. i wish she wanted me as much as i want her. even if i can’t have her for myself forever, i wish heeseung hyung would let me have her without hating me after.
just once.
he blew. not in breath, but confession.
the air left his lungs—one by one the flames surrendered, leaning, stretching, then dying against the heat of his exhale until the last one clung for half a heartbeat longer. smoke curled between you and neither of you moved.
sunghoon wished that the goddess of the moon and hunting, artemis—the only deity he ever felt remotely aligned with—would look down through her silver veil and grant him the smallest mercy, no matter how taboo it is.
if artemis could govern chastity, then he disobeyed her with every heartbeat, because there was no purity left in the way he looked at you.
the first thing sunghoon saw when he opened his eyes was his wish.
your bottom lip was still caught between your teeth, redder now, wetter. the tip of your tongue touched it and sunghoon’s fingers flexed at his sides.
“did you make a good wish?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, soft enough that it felt like you were asking for something else. sunghoon didn’t answer right away, his throat was full of sin and the shape of your name.
he swallowed once, hard, and the sound was loud in his ears.
“...yeah,” he rasped, eyes dropping to your mouth again, shameless. “the best one.”
you giggled, soft and breathy. sunghoon wished the candle smoke would curl and push your heads together into a kiss.
let me taste the wish before it burns out.
neither of you moved until heeseung’s hand landed warm and heavy between sunghoon’s shoulder blades, knocking the breath out of him with that brotherly pat that felt like a gavel.
“alright, alright, i’m getting hungry,” heeseung laughed, oblivious to how things were looking in front of him. sunghoon fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “let’s eat before it gets cold.”
the spell cracked—you blinked first, stepping back with the cake, smile polite again. “oh, yes! let’s eat before the cake melts.”
sunghoon exhaled as heeseung steered him toward the table, fingers firm on the nape of his neck. a gesture meant to be affectionate, but all it did was remind sunghoon of every line he wasn’t supposed to cross.
“let’s go all out next year, okay hoon?”
you fed heeseung cake that night.
it’s sunghoon birthday.
his wish didn't come true that year.
it hung invisible, waiting for the full three–hundred–sixty–five days to pass until he dared to ask the universe again.
——
07.12.2025
“what are we doing for hoonie’s birthday tomorrow?” you yawned, voice muffled against heeseung’s skin. the bedroom was dim, only the lamp on your bedside was still on. you curled against heeseung’s chest in one of his old t–shirts.
“i was thinking maybe we could try that new steak place he likes, then come home for cake? i can make tiramisu.”
heeseung’s fingers, which had been stroking your hair in slow lines, stilled. the tv drama’s dialogue was muffled.
he didn’t answer right away but you felt it—the tiny shift in his breathing, the way his body tensed under your palm. you lifted your head, propping your chin on his chest. “hee baby?”
finally, your husband looked down at you, eyes unreadable for a second, then exhaled through his nose like he was pushing a burden out.
“baby,” he started, then stopped. heeseung moved his hand to brush your cheek. “do you remember when i first introduced you to my family?” he continued, voice dropping low.
you nodded, smiling at the memory. “of course!” you replied, shifting to lay on your stomach, your arms propping to support your weight. “mom and dad were so shy around me… and hoonie was so quiet the whole dinner.”
he huffed a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “yeah?”
“mmhm, makes me wonder where you get your personality from.” you teased, poking his chest lightly. heeseung’s mouth curved as he caught your finger and held it against his stomach, intertwining.
“you know that night after dinner,” he hummed, eyes fixed on yours. “when you left the table to help mom with the dishes and you didn’t see hoon,”
you cocked your head lightly. “see him what?”
your husband’s thumb rubbed slow circles over your knuckles, his face unreadable. “sunghoon stayed behind for a second and i came back for my phone, and he was still sitting there, staring at nothing.” his voice dropped to barely a whisper.
“i asked him if he was okay and he looked up at me and his eyes were wet. he said, ‘hyung, your girlfriend is really, really pretty.’ that’s all, then he walked away.”
your teasing smile faded a little, replaced with a confused look. “huh…? yeah, that’s just sunghoon to me,” you said softly, shrugging one shoulder. “he’s always been sweet like that. always tells me i look nice even when i’m not dressing up. always brings me little snacks when i’m studying, remembers every tiny things i say… that’s just how hoonie is.”
yeah—that’s the problem. heeseung bit down his lip.
his younger brother noticed when you cut your hair half an inch before heeseung did. sunghoon noticed the tiny scar on your knee that’s still there from when you were sixteen, asked about it once in the softest voice and then never again.
sunghoon noticed you were on your period because you moved slower in the kitchen and he’d quietly take the heavy groceries from your hands without being asked. sunghoon noticed everything, memorised everything, asked you stories of you that let himself love you even more.
heeseung couldn’t believe he just watched it happen unknowingly.
right in front of his eyes, his wife wasn’t his alone.
“no,” he murmured. “not really.”
you blinked. “what do you mean?”
heeseung took a slow breath, one hand ruffling his hair, the other squeezing your hand. “baby, he doesn’t just do that with anyone else. not with mom, not with his friends, not even with the girls who throw themselves at him. he even told you, right? all about them? how he’s not interested in any girls.”
“only you. always only you.”
you nodded slowly, darting your tongue out to wet your lips. yeah… thinking about it again, sunghoon came more to you than he did to heeseung or his parents—always telling you stories: some model sliding into his dms, a junior at the rink asking him out, the daughter of his mom’s friend who won’t leave him alone.
he’d tell you every detail, eyes flicking to your face every two seconds to see how you’d react. you used to think he just liked gossiping with his favourite ‘noona’—considering he doesn’t have an older sister of his own.
but he never told heeseung any of it… never bragged to his hyung the way guys usually do. he saved every single one of those stories for you. waiting.
waiting for you to look even a little bit jealous, giving him your attention.
a small, disbelieving laugh escaped you. “hee, come on. are you jealous? hoonie was literally nineteen! puppy crush at most.”
but your husband wasn’t as smiley as you were. he didn’t even look… jealous. instead, he shook his head, almost smiling, but it was the bittersweet, saddest smile you’d ever seen on him.
“no, sweetheart. he likes likes you,” heeseung sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “i saw his journal—”
you shot upright so fast the blanket slipped off your chest. your eyes widened, and there’s a crease of tension between your brows. “you read his journal?!” you gasped, half–shocked, half–protective. you scrambled to sit with your knees folded underneath, facing him fully.
“lee heeseung, that’s private! why would you go through his stuff? that’s not okay—”
“wait, wait, listen—” heeseung lifted himself, leaning against the headboard, palms toward you, trying to calm the sudden fire in your voice. “i didn’t go through it on purpose. he came home wasted, and left it open on the counter.”
your husband sighed, gently taking your hands in his. “the page was literally staring up at me. i meant to close it, i swear, but… the first line i saw was my own name.”
you went very still.
“obviously i couldn’t… help it,” he murmured, voice drops into something of guilt. in heeseung’s defense—he had every right to read and see if it involved him, right?
“entry since the first half of this year was almost about you. every single time he comes over, he’ll write it down. the way you laugh, the night you fell asleep on the couch and he—he sat on the floor just to be closer to your feet… he wrote that he hated himself for wanting you,”
his voice cracked.
“... and how he almost hated me for having you.”
the room felt suddenly airless.
you swallowed. “he… he wrote all that?”
heeseung nodded once. of course that wasn’t all. heeseung left out the parts where sunghoon wrote that he jerked off to the mere sound of your voice greeting him, using the gifts you gave him as tools to pleasure himself, bought the same brand, the same shade of lipsticks as you own just to be closer to you.
you stared at your husband, confused and just… shocked. the same sunghoon who’s only a year younger than you, that you took care of like your own little brother… felt this way towards you all this while?
you waited for the anger, the betrayal, the possessive flare in your husband’s eyes whenever another man even looked at you too long.
but… it never came.
instead, heeseung slid his hand up your arm, gentle, reverent.
“so tomorrow,” he breathed out, voice steady. “i’m going to give him what he’s been begging the universe for since he was nineteen.”
your whole body jerked. “what?”
“i’m going to let him have you. one night. his birthday. just once.”
you scrambled back so fast your spine hit the headboard with a dull thud, the blanket tangled around your legs, knees drawing up to your chest. “are you out of your mind?” the words burst out sharper than you meant, cracking in the middle.
“heeseung, what are you thinking?”
you stared at him, mouth open. your heart was slamming violently you could feel it in your throat. he’s joking. he has to be joking. this is some sick test and i’m about to fail it or pass it—god what’s happening?
“listen to me—”
“no, are you insane? you want me to sleep with your brother?”
“i want him to stop hating himself, and me for wanting you,” he said, calm, too calm. “i want him to have one night where he doesn’t feel like the worst person alive for loving his sister–in–law. one night where he gets to touch you, gets to be with you,” he reasoned, looking just as serious.
“and once it’s over, we go back to normal.”
you frowned, shaking your head frantically. “normal? we won’t be normal. this isn’t some charity fuck, heeseung. he’s your—he’s practically my little brother too!”
“it’s for sunghoon!” he cuts in, first crack in his composure. his brows drew together in something almost desperate. “don’t you get it? every day he wakes up, he thinks he’s disgusting, thinks he’s betraying me, betraying you, just for feeling. i’m not asking you to love him back the way he loves you—obviously, no, you’re my wife for god’s sake,”
your husband sighed, his head dropped low. he ran his hand through his locks, exhaling. “i’m asking you to just give him a chance.” heeseung crawled closer, cupping your face in both hands. “i love you, and i love him. i’m selfish enough to want both of you happy.” his thumb brushed the apple of your cheeks.
“it’s just for… less than a day. sunrise to sunrise. sunghoon gets to have the one thing he’s wished for, and then we’ll never speak of it.”
your eyes filled. maybe you could start seeing sunghoon as a man now, too. more than just a little brother. he’s turning twenty three, after all.
you stared at your hands twisted in your lap. the guilt came in a wave so strong it stole your breath. you never noticed how carefully sunghoon was loving you…
pressing your palms up to your eyes, you murmured, “...sunrise to sunrise?” you whispered, voice cracking.
heeseung replied in a soft hum, pulling you closer to him until your head leaned against his chest. “mmhm. after that, it never happened. i swear.”
you nodded once, small and shaky, then again, firmer.
“okay,” you breathed, the word tasting like bittersweet. “for hoonie.”
——
07.12.2025
23:42
sunghoon let himself into the apartment with the spare key, shoulders sagging under the weight of college. he kicks off his shoes with a lazy push of his heel, back arching as he steps in the quiet apartment.
the place is dark except for the faint city flow leaking through the blinds. no balloons, no banner, no off–key singing, no cake… just the faint hum of the fridge and air purifier and the soft click of the door behind him.
he doesn’t mind. twenty–three feels too old for surprises anyway.
“twenty three,” he mutters to himself, tossing his keys in the bowl. “feels exactly like yesterday.”
he’s halfway to the kitchen for a glass of water when the hallway light flicks on. heeseung leans against the wall in sweatpants and an old hoodie, arms crossed, smiling that small smile.
“happy birthday, hoon.”
sunghoon blinks, lips curling into a smile. “thanks, hyung.” he scratches the back of his neck, awkward and shy. “didn’t think anyone would still be up.”
“i couldn’t sleep and was waiting,” heeseung shrugs, pushes himself off the wall and walks over, slow. “got something for you.”
sunghoon’s brows knit, a surprise look etched across his face. “...eh, it’s fine, really—”
“not optional.” he says, already pulling something from his pocket—
a strip of black satin. a blindfold.
sunghoon takes an instinctive step back. “hyung, what are yo—”
“relax,” the older brother’s voice is soft, steady, the same tone he used when sunghoon was fifteen and spiraling before a competition. “trust me for thirty seconds. it’s not weird.” he laughs when he sees sunghoon stiffens.
“it is weird,” the younger boy counters, eyeing the blindfold with narrow eyes like it might just bite. his pulse kicks hard, suspicious and hopeful in equal measure. “why do you even own that?”
“you ask too much,” heeseung sighs, waving him off. “just trust me.” he steps behind him, fingers gentle as he ties the satin over sunghoon’s eyes—knot firm but not tight. just enough that he’s sure sunghoon can’t see anything.
“...this better not be some dumb prank…” sunghoon mutters, which heeseung ignores.
“hands,” he says. sunghoon hesitates but holds them out anyway. heeseung takes his wrist, thumb brushing the frantic beat there, and starts walking.
it’s hard not being able to see anything—just the thick, absolute black of the blindfold pressing against his eyelids. but he follows, heart hammering louder with every step. down the hallway, past the living room, up the stairs…
the air changes into something more warmer and familiar—the faint scent of the vanilla candle you always burn in the bedroom. he almost smiles at that—does that mean you’re home? waiting for sunghoon and wanting to celebrate his birthday when the clock strikes 12?
sunghoon’s heart stumbles over himself.
the bedroom door creaks open, just wide enough for the warmth and the scent to spill out. sunghoon stands on the threshold, blind, nervous, only the smell of vanilla and the soft rustle of sheets accompanying him—something he can’t see, but can already feel waiting.
just then, heeseung’s fingers brush the knot at the back of sunghoon’s head.
“happy birthday, hoon.” he says, voice dropping low and almost reverent—and pulls the blindfold away in a slow motion.
as expected, the room is dim, save for the bedside lamp glowing warm gold, but it’s enough.
his breath stops.
on the centre of his bed—there’s you.
you’re kneeling in the middle of his bed, legs folded beneath, wearing nothing but one of his old white skating competition t shirt (so big it slips off one shoulder) and the tiniest pair of sleep shorts he’s ever seen.
your hair is loose, a little messy like you’ve been waiting a while. in your hands in a small round cake, twenty–three candles flickering bright, throwing trembling light across your bare collarbone, your bare thighs, and the soft curve of your waist where the shirt rides up.
you look nervous.
and so beautiful.
and you look like every wish he’s ever swallowed.
he can’t move. his mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you bite your lip and whisper,
“make a wish, hoonie.”
the cake trembles slightly in your grip. a single bead of wax rolls down a candle and drops onto frosting, right next to where you’ve written his name in shaky white icing.
his eyes burn. he looks at the cake, then at you. then he glances at heeseung standing behind him, arms loose at his sides, watching with quiet, devastating certainty. then back at you, kneeling on his bed like you belong there.
sunghoon’s voice cracks when it finally comes.
“...what’s… what’s going on here…?”
heeseung’s hand settles warm between his shoulder blades, giving his little brother a little nudge forward. “just make a wish, hoon,” he murmurs. “she’s waiting.”
sunghoon’s legs move before his brain catches up. he climbs onto the bed, the mattress feels like it might dissolve under his knees. the sheets are warm from your body and he stops just inches from you, close enough to brush knees, close enough to feel the heat coming off the candles and your hands.
your eyes are glassy, lips parted, chest rising too fast under his old shirt. sunghoon leans in, his exhale is long, shaky, reverent; more kiss than it is breath. every candle bows to him, flames stretching toward his mouth before they did one by one, smoke curling up between you like incense.
the room falls into a hush—and for a moment, heeseung never existed.
“...i wished for you,” he whispers, voice raw. “every single year. i wished for you.”
your eyes spill over as sunghoon blows his candles. you set the cake aside with trembling hands, vanilla icing smearing on your fingertips that you don’t bother wiping away, and then both palms slide up his chest, until they cup his face.
sunghoon leans into your touch like a man dying of thirst finally reaching water.
pulling him in slowly, slowly, until his forehead rests against yours and your lashes brush his cheek.
“wish come true, hoonie,” you whisper against his lips, voice shaking with wonder.
then you kiss him. soft at first, just the brush of your mouth, testing, giving him time to pull away if this is still too much dream.
he doesn’t.
a broken sound escapes his lips, and he kisses you back like he’s been waiting forever for this. his hands finally land, sliding to clutch the fabric of his own shirt at your waist to hold you down.
the kiss deepens fast, desperate—years of silence pouring out all at once. you taste like vanilla and cherry lip balm at once, sweet, familiar, forbidden, but sunghoon drinks it all. his tongue slides against yours, slow at first, then hungrier, chasing every corner of your mouth he’s mapped in secret dreams.
when you make the tiniest, cutest whimper, he answers with a low, wrecked groan that vibrates against your lips.
“hngh—hoonie,” you whimper meekly as one of his hands slips up your spine under his shirt, palm flat and burning against bare skin, pulling you flush so your chests crash together. the other fists tighter in the fabric at your hip, bunching it higher.
you tilt your head, opening wider, and he takes the invitation like a drowning man takes air, licking deeper, messy, needy, teeth grazing at your bottom lip the way he’s imagined a thousand guilty nights.
your fingers thread into his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder, and he pulls back barely an inch, panting against your swollen lips.
“yn,” sunghoon rasps, voice shredded, forehead still pressed to yours. “‘m not going to call you noona because you’re not hyung’s wife tonight,” he fingertips presses against your skin, digging. the words scraping out from clawing at his throat.
“tonight you’re mine. just mine.”
the possession in it steals your breath.
you can only nod, small, frantic, pearls clinging to your lashes.
he feels it, sees it. “say it,” he whispers, lips brushing yours with every syllable. “say you’re mine right now. say you’re my birthday gift and that you’re mine.”
“i’m yours,” you say with almost no hesitation in your breath. “tonight, hoonie. i’m yours.”
08.12.2025
the sound he makes is relief and hunger all at once.
sunghoon crashes back into you, kissing you like he’s trying to fuse your mouth—tongue stroking deep and slow, claiming every little breath. his hands slide up higher under the shirt and he’s able to take it off of you.
“hah, mhh, wait,” you moan as sunghoon’s palms skate over your ribs, cupping your tits. his thumbs brushes over your perky and hardened nipples—flicking them over his digits, groping and squeezing them until the flesh spills out between his fingers.
he can’t wait anymore—not when he’s waited way too long for this, far too long.
you arch into him and he groans into your mouth, hips slotting instinctively between your thighs. “mine,” he repeats against your lips, again and again. “mine, mine, mine.” until the word loses meaning and becomes only the sound of his need.
sunghoon pushes you down, lowering until your back meets the mattress right beside the forgotten cake. the plate shifts, a few candles topple, frosting smearing against your forearm. you don’t care. neither does he.
sunghoon follows you down, immediately groping your tits and clashing his mouth against yours. his knee nudges your legs wider, settling heavier, brushing against your clothed cunt that’s slowly getting wet with each passing second.
you both shudder—and only then does he finally pull back to breathe.
the doorway is empty.
the room is silent except for your shared, ragged breathing.
heeseung is gone.
sunghoon’s eyes flick to the shut door, then back to you, wide and almost panicked. you cup his face, stilling him. “het left,” you whisper, thumb stroking the sharp line of his cheekbone. “it’s just us now.”
something in his face fractures in relief and disbelief. “just us,” he echoes, kissing you again. sunghoon’s hands travel from your tits down your waist until they find the waistband of your shorts. hooking his fingers beneath, he slides the fabric down in one smooth motion, exposing your bare wet cunt to the air.
you let out a soft gasp in his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck. “oh my god,” you shudder, shivers run down your spine when sunghoon’s warm palm makes contact with your pussy. he slides his middle finger between your labia, gathering slickness.
“you’re so wet,” he murmurs, nipping at the corner of your mouth, you hum and nod, back arching on the mattress. “‘m gonna make you feel good.” sunghoon continues, sliding his middle finger inside, stretching your opening.
your breath catches in your throat—his finger is slender and nice, dragged along your velvety walls as he pumps you knuckles deep. “hngh—mh,” you moan, sunghoon adding another finger inside when he feels you’re nicely stretched.
he thrusts his fingers back and forth, finding that gummy, sensitive spot inside. “you’re so tight, yn,” he grunts, curling his fingers as your walls spasm around his digits. sunghoon presses his fingerpad against that spot, rubbing and putting pressure. “so cute, fuck, so cute. all mine,”
his lips find yours once again, muffling your moans and whimpers and cries as he increases his speed in fingering you. you buck your hips into his palm, grinding and fucking yourself on his fingers. the burning sensation is beginning to pool in your tummy—and anytime now, you might cum.
“are you close? you’re close aren’t you? i can feel you getting sensitive.” he murmurs, rolling his thumb around your clit to stimulate you. you nod, eyes rolling and fluttering beneath your skin. his fingers are deep inside—he’s so skilled with where’s touching and how he’s thrusting.
you tug on his bottom lip, sucking it. “‘m close, please please please, wanna cum,” you plead, overstimulated and sensitive. the end of his lips curls into a smirk, sunghoon swallows your pleads and whimpers, wiggling his fingers.
your fingers dig into the back of his neck in pleasure—not being able to contain it anymore. “can i cum—? hoonie, please? please, oh god,” you beg, tears brimming in your eyes. the wet squelching nose is almost too embarrassing—
a married woman who’s obviously not a virgin, begging and leaking juices like a virgin around her brother in law’s fingers.
sunghoon nods, rolling his tongue around yours, pumping your pussy full of merely his fingers. falling into the submission, your thighs tremble—releasing your creamy orgasm and squirt on sunghoon’s hand.
you moan his name aloud, pulling him flushed against your chest. “oh my god, ‘m cumming, ‘m cumming!” you whimper, tears spilling out along your flushed cheeks. sunghoon keeps his fingers inside, giving it a few more thrusts before sliding his digits out.
panting, you release your grip around sunghoon’s neck and fall back down on the bed with a soft thud, wiping the sweat off your face with the back of your hand. sunghoon pants, his fingers glistening with your love juice.
slowly, you prop yourself up on your elbows. sunghoon’s eyes track every inch of exposed, pupils blown wide. you don’t say anything, just press one palm to the center of his chest and push.
sunghon falls back against the pillow, breath punching out of him in a stunned rush. the cake plate wobbles dangerously on the bed; a candle rolls off and lands flat on the cream. still warm.
he doesn’t even flinch.
“my turn…” you murmur, settling to kneel between his legs. you lean down until your cheek brushes against the tent poking out from underneath his sweats. “to give you your birthday present.” you press a soft, open-mouthed kiss right to the tip, lips lingering, letting him feel your breath, the wet warmth of your mouth even through the fabric.
his breath shudders, caught in his throat. sunghoon almost can’t believe it. the only thing he’s been wanting for so long is finally here in front of him—guilty midnight fantasy after another, is kneeling between his legs right now, looking up at him like he’s allowed to have this.
his hips jerked involuntarily.
“yn…” his voice cracks on your name, raw and pleading. “please—”
you hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and tug, slow, deliberate, watching his face the entire time. “please what, hoonie?”
“please suck me off…”
blood rushes to his cheeks fast—shame and flustered all at once. biting his bottom lip, sunghoon lifts his hips to help you take his pants off. you chuckle, momentarily, you almost forget that sunghoon is still a boy younger than you.
your eyes widen—his throbbing cock springs free, flushed and leaking, casting shadow over your face. your lips part, a gasp escapes your lips.
sunghoon is… big. bigger than you’ve ever seen before. bigger than your husband…
you can tell it’s been painful down there from the way his cock twitches in the air, a low hiss elicited out of sunghoon every time he shifts. “hoonie…” you mouth, slowly wrapping your hands around the base.
he's thick, the perfect length, with a slight upward curve that you just know will feel heavenly inside you.
the boy grunts, fingers curling around the bedsheet. “h—hngh, fuck,” he breathes as you begin pumping his shaft with however much your dainty hands can do. “you’re so big…” you murmur, leaning closer and darting out your tongue to give him a few kitten licks.
your tongue flicks over the slit, where you scoop the precum into your mouth. he’s a little salty, you figure it’s from the hours of studying. but good, real good. sunghoon let out a ragged breath, his hands itching to hold your head.
“b—bigger than… anyone…?” he manages. he wanted to ask if it’s bigger than heeseung, but that probably wouldn’t be nice.
you nod, slowly wrapping your lips around the of his hard cock, looking up to him through your curled lashes—watching the way his breath hitches when your mouth engulfs his cock. “uh huh,” you reply, rolling your tongue across the tip to lick clean his precum before bobbing your head back and forth on his cock.
his hips jerk in arousal, and his hand comes up to brush your hair off your face. sunghoon wants to see the girl of his dreams’ face as she gives him a head. “ah, shit,” he hisses. your cheeks hollow as you work on sucking him deeper, taking him into your mouth as you go.
his pulse throbs against your tongue, your hand pumping and jerking the base that you can’t seem to fit in your mouth. sunghoon helps you by slowly thrusting his hips shallowly into your mouth, making your eyelids flutter.
“slow, slow—fuck, there you go… take it all.” he encourages, thumb drawing circles the top of your head as he subtly pushes it down. your mouth stretching dangerously around his thickness. you still can’t believe he’s been hiding this package all this while…
sunghoon groans as he tangles his fingers in your hair and guides his cock in and out of your mouth, allowing you to swirl your tongue around his manhood. you continue to move your hand down on his balls, rolling them between your fingers.
he’s melting under your touch…”f—feels so good. your mouth feels so good, yn,” he feels himself twitch on your tongue. your name—just by itself—still feels foreign on his tongue. but if it’s not tonight that he can call you that, he might never will again.
sunghoon bucks his hips forward, faster and faster at his own pace, hands gripping your hair, but it’s not tight. you feel the tip hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag and roll your eyes behind.
not like you care, not when sunghoon looks so pleasured, hissing and eyes half lidded. he’s making a mess out of you—tears streaming down your face, drool smearing around your mouth, hair frizzing up from his grip.
still the most beautiful girl in his eyes.
“s—sorry, sorry,” he whines, heat rushes to his cheeks. his head tips back against the bedrest as he holds your head still and uses your mouth for leverage as he fucks your throat, balls tighten at every gag. “think ‘m close, yn, ‘m close,”
you nod and digs your nails into his skin, lolling and rolling your tongue around the length. “mmhm—?” you hum, looking up to sunghoon who has his lips part slightly, breathing shallow in uneven rhythms. you can see the tension in his jaw.
he would’ve never guessed that your mouth is so warm and slippery.
“ah—ah, here it comes, here it comes!” his thrusts become sporadic—stuttering as he feels the pressure building up. sunghoon groans—thick ropes of cum spurts inside your mouth, down straight past your throat and into your tummy.
he throws his head back in ecstasy to catch his breath, slowly releasing his grip on you. his body shudders in the aftershock of his orgasm, hips jerking to thrust. it’s overwhelming—the amount of semen he can produce.
you screw your eyes shut as you swallow as much as you can, only pulling back once you feel his cock softening on the surface of your tongue. “hah—” you pant, tongue sticking out. even so, you lean down to clean him off—sucking and licking and kissing all over his sensitive cock.
sunghoon whines from the overstimulation, red and flushed across his face. he feels like he falls in love with you all over again…
“how was it, birthday boy?” you chuckle, using your thumb to wipe the corner of your lips before sucking it. “good?” you tilt your head innocently as if you didn’t just raise his standards in women—looking so pretty and cute and his.
the birthday boy swallows the lump in his throat, nodding. “y—yeah! it’s so…” he exhales. “it’s amazing… y—you’re amazing… “ he mumbles, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. you giggle, crawling up between his legs, supporting yourself on either side of him.
pecking his lips, you rub your nipples on his clothed chest, whispering warmly on his lips. “what’s your next wish?”
sunghoon’s throat bobs as he whimpers, chasing your lips. “... i wanna fuck you, yn,” he manages, kissing you. “i wanna put my cock inside you, and make you my woman tonight.”
before you can ever draw breath to answer, his hands clamp around your forearms and he flips you in one frantic motion. your back hits the mattress again, right beside the slightly ruined cake; frosting smears across your shoulder blade, sticky and almost cold. the topple candle rolls against your wrist.
“ah—!” you gasp, looking up to him with wide eyes. sunghoon follows instantly, settling heavy and perfect between your thighs, chest heaving with want. “please,” he pleads, licking around his lips.
he’s so horny, it hurts—you smile, nodding. however the birthday boy wants you, he can have you. it’s his special day, after all. “c’mon, what are you waiting for?” you tease, giggling. his eyes widen and his grin brightens.
not wasting a single second, sunghoon adjusts his position so your legs are propped up on either side of his hips. “don’t take back what you said,” he’s getting more comfortable now about the whole situation of fucking his brother’s wife.
he wraps his hand around his cock and positions the head at your entrance, not quite entering yet—but you feel the head of his cock just stretching you open. “please have me…” he slowly slides his cock inside, stealing the breath out of you.
in the best way possible—sunghoon is slowly filling you up. it doesn’t burn like your first time, and you thank god you’re not a virgin because this will be impossible to take… “a—ah! hngh—?” you gasp, breath come short and fast while sunghoon takes his sweet time stretching you out and feeling the sensation as your warm pussy invites him in.
“o—oh god,” he grunts, finally reaches his end—the tip of his cock nestles perfectly where it belongs against the door of your womb. “so tight, yn, you’re so tight,” he groans, length disappearing into your depths.
you shift, walls spasming around his cock to adjust yourself around him. he’s so big, it’s crazy how full you get—like how you’d get after stuffing yourself. “n—no, hoonie, i think—i think you’re just s’big,” you whine, toes curling.
after he’s sure he’s safe to move, sunghoon begins thrusting—snapping his hips forward in slow rhythm. you both almost cry at the sensation. “so good, so good,” he murmurs, leaning forward and moving your legs over his shoulder to catch your lips as he begins to pound into you.
you wrap your arms around his neck, meek whimpery moans escape your lips each time his head knocks your cervix. it doesn’t take rough fucking to feel good—the drag of his cock against your velvety walls pull you back, and you tighten around him.
sunghoon moans your name sensually, sucking on your tongue as his drool slips inside your mouth. his cock pumps into your cunt, rapidly picking up speed as his balls slap against the curve of your ass. “h—hah! hoonie, like that, like that!” you cry out, tits bouncing with each thrust.
that excites sunghoon—he pulls back to look down at you. you’re wrecked beneath him, beautiful, ruined, perfect. your hair fanned wild across his sheet, lips swollen and cherry–red from his teeth, rosy cheeks streaked with tears and fresh ones still clinging to your lashes.
your eyes are glassy, shining up at him like he’s the only one in the universe. there’s vanilla smeared across one shoulder from the cake, a faint pink mark blooming on your throat.
he groans, low and broken. “hah—look at you,” he rasps. one trembling hand comes up cradling your jaw, thumb sweeping over your wet cheek. “so pretty, so pretty.”
his hips roll, dragging almost all the way out before sinking himself back in, watching your face twist with every inch. your back arches off the bed, a soft, wrecked sound spilling from your lips.
just then, his eyes flick to the birthday cake next to you.
“oh…” he murmurs, licking his lips. come to think of it, he hasn’t eaten at all since he came back minutes ago. “can’t let this cake go to waste. you’ve worked so hard for it, hm?” sunghoon continues.
he scoops a generous dollop of the soft vanilla onto two fingers, brings it to his mouth, and licks it clean with one slow swipe of his tongue, eyes locked on yours the whole time. the sound you make if half whimper, half in confusion.
before you can ask him what’s he doing—he digs his fingers back in, gathering a thick smear of frosting, and drags it flow across your chest—from the hollow of your throat down to the valley of your tits. painting you in sticky, sugary buttercream. you gasp at the cool shock of it, arching instinctively.
“hah—!” you gasp, lips parting. the vanilla smell instantly hits you.
he lowers his head, eyes still on yours—”i will eat well,” he says, licking a broad, filthy stripe straight through the mess he just made, tongue flat and hot against your skin. the contrast of the cool frosting and burning mouth makes your hips jerk up against him and your pussy tightens around his cock.
he groans, deep in his chest. sunghoon doesn’t swallow the frosting, instead, he wraps his lips around your perky little nipple, circling until it’s shining and ruined and completely covered with frosting.
so lewd—! you think, heat coiling in your tummy. you’ve never done such things before—not even with heeseung! there’s almost no foreplay in your sex with your husband… but this… this…
sunghoon digs his fingers deeper into the ruined cake this time, scooping up a thick chunk of soft vanilla sponge along with the frosting—before smearing over the other tit, pressing the moist cake into your skin until it crumbles and sticks, bright crumbs clinging to the slop of your tit, frosting sliding in streaks.
“sunghoon!” you gasp as he flattens his palm, smashing the cake down against the soft flesh, fondling you with slick, sticky fingers—kneading until the tit and vanilla and sponge are one messy, decadent, sweet swirl.
his thumb finds your nipple through the mess, flicking once, twice, hard little flicks that make you jolt and whimper.
“hold still,” he murmurs, voice muffled around your tit in his mouth. “let me eat my cake properly.”
his tongue lapping broad and hungry, gathering cake and frosting and you in filthy strokes. he sucks hard, cheeks hollowing, teeth grazing to make you cry out. crumbs cling to his lips; vanilla smears across his cheek when he switches to the other breast—licking, biting, devouring until your tits are nothing but heat and sugar and his saliva.
sunghoon pulls off with a wet pop, lips swollen and glossy and he’s beaming.
sugar rush.
“sweetest thing i’ve ever tasted,” he rasps, diving back. the friction from his dick slamming into your pussy fills the bedroom up with wet noises, the mattress shaking beneath. it’s embarrassing and you pray that it doesn’t wake up your neighbours…
your pussy tightens in rhythm around his twitching cock as pushes his cock all the way in. “more, more—oh my god, i’m close!” you squeak, sliding your heat up and down against his abdomen. sunghoon holds you by your hips as he pounds his cock almost brutally, tugging your nipple between his teeth.
“fuck, you’re so tight—oh shit,” he heaves exasperatedly—digging his fingertips in your hips, thumbs pressing into your flesh. you moan aloud, walls pulsing around him and his own movements become more erratic. “cake—cake, hoonie, i want the cake too,” you whimper, hands above your head.
sunghoon pulls back, chest heaving, lips and chin completely smeared with vanilla. he catches the hungry little flick of your tongue over your own bottom lip and his eyes light up, bright, boyish, almost giddy.
“yeah?” he breathes, already scooping up another messy handful of cake and frosting. “you want some too?”
you nod, quick and shameless, and he grins—before bringing his vanilla coated fingers to your mouth.
you open your mouth instantly. sunghoon slides two fingers past your lips, letting you taste the warm sponge and rich frosting and the faint salt of his skin all at once. your tongue curls around his fingers, sucking gently, and the sound he makes is wrecked.
“good girl,” he whispers, voice shaking.
he scoops more, feeds you again, watching with dark, fascinated eyes as your lips close around you like how you did with his cock earlier. when a crumb clings to the corner of your mouth, he leans in and kisses it away, sharing the sweetness.
some of it misses—vanilla is now also smearing across your cheek and chin/ neither of you care; trading bites, messy and laughing softly between kisses, feeding each other with your lips.
when you finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, both of you are a beautiful disaster.
his arms snake under you to pull your body into him as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck—hips thrusting recklessly in no steady rhythm at all. every drag of his cock against your velvety walls hits the same, spongy swollen spot over and over, knocking and bruising your cervix.
“‘m cumming again, hoonie! i wanna cum on your cock—please,” you whimper, head tilting back against the sheet, thighs quaking around his hips. you move your hands to claw your nails on his broad shoulders, cradling him close, pistoning to drag him even deeper inside.
he nods, breath coming in harsh pants. “i’m going to fill you with my cream—hm? leave you stuffed with my cum,” his hips slam forward, head of his cock bullying your walls.
the pleasure is so intense—you can’t hold it in anymore.
“hoonie—!” your body tenses up as the orgasm washes over you like waves—explosive around his cock sliding in and out of you. your muscles clench and clamp around his throbbing cock as you cream on it.
the contracting walls of your tight cunt sent sungchan over the edge as well. “yn! fuck!” he moans, snapping his hips against you, hard and deep, in one final powerful lurch. sunghoon shoots out ropes of thick, warm semen inside—pumping and coaxing every last drop of his lovemilk inside.
you whimper and whine as your body shudders, hips twitching. your pussy pulses through the orgasm as sunghoon collapses onto you with a shuddering breath, the last of his release spilling deep as his hips slow to lazy thrusts.
you’re trembling beneath—fucked, worn out, sticky from the sweat, saliva, and the cake—pussy walls fluttering weakly around him with every tiny shift. your fingers stayed on his back, hugging him as sunghoon buries his face into the crook of your neck.
“you’re perfect… fuck,” he says, leaving butterfly kisses along the the curve of your neck where it meets the shoulder. you hum, lips brushing over his ear shell.
the room was quiet, save for the soft sound of both your breathing, his fingers brushed lazy circles against your lower back. “do you like it?” you asked softly, even though you know your answer well.
sunghoon exhales, nodding. “i love it a lot, yn,” he replies, unintentionally leaving a love bruise across your skin. even if whatever it was that happened ends tonight—at least he’s sure something will still be there the next morning.
“this is the best birthday gift ever,” he continues, whimpering, pressing his weight lightly on top of you to feel your nipples grazing against his’.
“i can’t wait to wish for the same thing next year.”
no birthday party, no confetti─just sunghoon and his brother's wife for his 23rd birthday. happy birthday, hoonie!
𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 i've waited here for you. everlong. come down and waste away with me. down with me. if everything could ever be this real forever, if anything could ever be this good again, the only thing I'll ever ask of you. ─ everlong, foo fighters ⫶ 𐔌masterlist꒱
𓆩♡𓆪 omg finally! happy 23rd birthday to my one and only idol, park sunghoon :( i love him soooo much! the boy who brings me sm comfort, and i pray that everything that comes his way will always be wonderful ૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა
word count 7.9k
content advisory cheating, persuading, cuckolding... taboo relationship, very tiny hint of angst (because sunghoon's a yearner here), switchy dynamic, possessive behaviour, sunghoon has a diary, implied older reader, sunghoon calls her 'noona' like two times, non proofread... sorry!
smut advisory missionary, fingering, oral (m. rec), squirting, creampie, food play, mess kink, praise, mild degradation, lowkey emotional sex, lots of kissing!
08.12.2024
“happy birthday, sunghoon!”
your voice was the first thing he heard as the living room lights flicked on, bright and sudden against the otherwise quiet apartment. sunghoon blinked at the sight in front of him, disoriented for a second—a small cake on your hands lit with the number ‘twenty–two’ candles, and you standing beside his older brother with that soft, proud smile you always wore.
heeseung was right beside you, one arm across your shoulder with that fond, slightly smug big–brother look. he nudged him with a tilt of his chin. “c’mon hoon, blow it out.”
sunghoon scoffed lightly, but his gaze drifted back to you—inevitably—you. the way the candlelight danced across your face, the way you smiled at him on his big, special day.
you nodded, glancing up to your husband, before your eyes landed back on him. “mmhm, make a good wish this year, hoonie.” you said softly, voice honey sisterly warm, the nickname curling around his ribs.
he swallowed.
he was twenty–two now, but he still felt eighteen whenever you looked at him like that.
he stepped closer.
the cake was balanced atop of your palms, the candle flames trembling between you. the heat kissed his cheeks and the cake smelled sweet, but it was nothing compared to the way your scent drifted up his nostrils.
sunghoon tried to ignore heeseung’s thumb, rubbing slow circles on your shoulder.
when he didn’t move for a second long, you hummed, nudging the cake closer. “come on, birthday boy,” you teased, tilting the cake a fraction closer towards sunghoon. this cake that you baked specifically for him…
your fingers dusted in flour, every swirl of frosting shaped with that same soft, dainty hands that now held the cake steady for him. how many times did you taste the cream off your thumb just to get the vanilla right? and when you piped his name across the top in shaky blue icing, do you whisper his name out loud?
sunghoon–ah,
the whole kitchen behind still smelled like warm sugar and vanilla because you’d left the oven light on for him. the candles trembled with every breath he took, wax dripping in tiny tears onto the frosting you’d smoothed,
sunghoon leaned in—but his eyes locked on yours over the flickering candles. in that silent second, the room narrowed to just the two of you. the flames painted gold over your bitten lip,
he inhaled, slow, shaky, and closed his eyes.
i wish she wasn’t hyung’s wife—i wish i could kiss her, just once. i wish she wanted me as much as i want her. even if i can’t have her for myself forever, i wish heeseung hyung would let me have her without hating me after.
just once.
he blew. not in breath, but confession.
the air left his lungs—one by one the flames surrendered, leaning, stretching, then dying against the heat of his exhale until the last one clung for half a heartbeat longer. smoke curled between you and neither of you moved.
sunghoon wished that the goddess of the moon and hunting, artemis—the only deity he ever felt remotely aligned with—would look down through her silver veil and grant him the smallest mercy, no matter how taboo it is.
if artemis could govern chastity, then he disobeyed her with every heartbeat, because there was no purity left in the way he looked at you.
the first thing sunghoon saw when he opened his eyes was his wish.
your bottom lip was still caught between your teeth, redder now, wetter. the tip of your tongue touched it and sunghoon’s fingers flexed at his sides.
“did you make a good wish?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, soft enough that it felt like you were asking for something else. sunghoon didn’t answer right away, his throat was full of sin and the shape of your name.
he swallowed once, hard, and the sound was loud in his ears.
“...yeah,” he rasped, eyes dropping to your mouth again, shameless. “the best one.”
you giggled, soft and breathy. sunghoon wished the candle smoke would curl and push your heads together into a kiss.
let me taste the wish before it burns out.
neither of you moved until heeseung’s hand landed warm and heavy between sunghoon’s shoulder blades, knocking the breath out of him with that brotherly pat that felt like a gavel.
“alright, alright, i’m getting hungry,” heeseung laughed, oblivious to how things were looking in front of him. sunghoon fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “let’s eat before it gets cold.”
the spell cracked—you blinked first, stepping back with the cake, smile polite again. “oh, yes! let’s eat before the cake melts.”
sunghoon exhaled as heeseung steered him toward the table, fingers firm on the nape of his neck. a gesture meant to be affectionate, but all it did was remind sunghoon of every line he wasn’t supposed to cross.
“let’s go all out next year, okay hoon?”
you fed heeseung cake that night.
it’s sunghoon birthday.
his wish didn't come true that year.
it hung invisible, waiting for the full three–hundred–sixty–five days to pass until he dared to ask the universe again.
——
07.12.2025
“what are we doing for hoonie’s birthday tomorrow?” you yawned, voice muffled against heeseung’s skin. the bedroom was dim, only the lamp on your bedside was still on. you curled against heeseung’s chest in one of his old t–shirts.
“i was thinking maybe we could try that new steak place he likes, then come home for cake? i can make tiramisu.”
heeseung’s fingers, which had been stroking your hair in slow lines, stilled. the tv drama’s dialogue was muffled.
he didn’t answer right away but you felt it—the tiny shift in his breathing, the way his body tensed under your palm. you lifted your head, propping your chin on his chest. “hee baby?”
finally, your husband looked down at you, eyes unreadable for a second, then exhaled through his nose like he was pushing a burden out.
“baby,” he started, then stopped. heeseung moved his hand to brush your cheek. “do you remember when i first introduced you to my family?” he continued, voice dropping low.
you nodded, smiling at the memory. “of course!” you replied, shifting to lay on your stomach, your arms propping to support your weight. “mom and dad were so shy around me… and hoonie was so quiet the whole dinner.”
he huffed a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “yeah?”
“mmhm, makes me wonder where you get your personality from.” you teased, poking his chest lightly. heeseung’s mouth curved as he caught your finger and held it against his stomach, intertwining.
“you know that night after dinner,” he hummed, eyes fixed on yours. “when you left the table to help mom with the dishes and you didn’t see hoon,”
you cocked your head lightly. “see him what?”
your husband’s thumb rubbed slow circles over your knuckles, his face unreadable. “sunghoon stayed behind for a second and i came back for my phone, and he was still sitting there, staring at nothing.” his voice dropped to barely a whisper.
“i asked him if he was okay and he looked up at me and his eyes were wet. he said, ‘hyung, your girlfriend is really, really pretty.’ that’s all, then he walked away.”
your teasing smile faded a little, replaced with a confused look. “huh…? yeah, that’s just sunghoon to me,” you said softly, shrugging one shoulder. “he’s always been sweet like that. always tells me i look nice even when i’m not dressing up. always brings me little snacks when i’m studying, remembers every tiny things i say… that’s just how hoonie is.”
yeah—that’s the problem. heeseung bit down his lip.
his younger brother noticed when you cut your hair half an inch before heeseung did. sunghoon noticed the tiny scar on your knee that’s still there from when you were sixteen, asked about it once in the softest voice and then never again.
sunghoon noticed you were on your period because you moved slower in the kitchen and he’d quietly take the heavy groceries from your hands without being asked. sunghoon noticed everything, memorised everything, asked you stories of you that let himself love you even more.
heeseung couldn’t believe he just watched it happen unknowingly.
right in front of his eyes, his wife wasn’t his alone.
“no,” he murmured. “not really.”
you blinked. “what do you mean?”
heeseung took a slow breath, one hand ruffling his hair, the other squeezing your hand. “baby, he doesn’t just do that with anyone else. not with mom, not with his friends, not even with the girls who throw themselves at him. he even told you, right? all about them? how he’s not interested in any girls.”
“only you. always only you.”
you nodded slowly, darting your tongue out to wet your lips. yeah… thinking about it again, sunghoon came more to you than he did to heeseung or his parents—always telling you stories: some model sliding into his dms, a junior at the rink asking him out, the daughter of his mom’s friend who won’t leave him alone.
he’d tell you every detail, eyes flicking to your face every two seconds to see how you’d react. you used to think he just liked gossiping with his favourite ‘noona’—considering he doesn’t have an older sister of his own.
but he never told heeseung any of it… never bragged to his hyung the way guys usually do. he saved every single one of those stories for you. waiting.
waiting for you to look even a little bit jealous, giving him your attention.
a small, disbelieving laugh escaped you. “hee, come on. are you jealous? hoonie was literally nineteen! puppy crush at most.”
but your husband wasn’t as smiley as you were. he didn’t even look… jealous. instead, he shook his head, almost smiling, but it was the bittersweet, saddest smile you’d ever seen on him.
“no, sweetheart. he likes likes you,” heeseung sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “i saw his journal—”
you shot upright so fast the blanket slipped off your chest. your eyes widened, and there’s a crease of tension between your brows. “you read his journal?!” you gasped, half–shocked, half–protective. you scrambled to sit with your knees folded underneath, facing him fully.
“lee heeseung, that’s private! why would you go through his stuff? that’s not okay—”
“wait, wait, listen—” heeseung lifted himself, leaning against the headboard, palms toward you, trying to calm the sudden fire in your voice. “i didn’t go through it on purpose. he came home wasted, and left it open on the counter.”
your husband sighed, gently taking your hands in his. “the page was literally staring up at me. i meant to close it, i swear, but… the first line i saw was my own name.”
you went very still.
“obviously i couldn’t… help it,” he murmured, voice drops into something of guilt. in heeseung’s defense—he had every right to read and see if it involved him, right?
“entry since the first half of this year was almost about you. every single time he comes over, he’ll write it down. the way you laugh, the night you fell asleep on the couch and he—he sat on the floor just to be closer to your feet… he wrote that he hated himself for wanting you,”
his voice cracked.
“... and how he almost hated me for having you.”
the room felt suddenly airless.
you swallowed. “he… he wrote all that?”
heeseung nodded once. of course that wasn’t all. heeseung left out the parts where sunghoon wrote that he jerked off to the mere sound of your voice greeting him, using the gifts you gave him as tools to pleasure himself, bought the same brand, the same shade of lipsticks as you own just to be closer to you.
you stared at your husband, confused and just… shocked. the same sunghoon who’s only a year younger than you, that you took care of like your own little brother… felt this way towards you all this while?
you waited for the anger, the betrayal, the possessive flare in your husband’s eyes whenever another man even looked at you too long.
but… it never came.
instead, heeseung slid his hand up your arm, gentle, reverent.
“so tomorrow,” he breathed out, voice steady. “i’m going to give him what he’s been begging the universe for since he was nineteen.”
your whole body jerked. “what?”
“i’m going to let him have you. one night. his birthday. just once.”
you scrambled back so fast your spine hit the headboard with a dull thud, the blanket tangled around your legs, knees drawing up to your chest. “are you out of your mind?” the words burst out sharper than you meant, cracking in the middle.
“heeseung, what are you thinking?”
you stared at him, mouth open. your heart was slamming violently you could feel it in your throat. he’s joking. he has to be joking. this is some sick test and i’m about to fail it or pass it—god what’s happening?
“listen to me—”
“no, are you insane? you want me to sleep with your brother?”
“i want him to stop hating himself, and me for wanting you,” he said, calm, too calm. “i want him to have one night where he doesn’t feel like the worst person alive for loving his sister–in–law. one night where he gets to touch you, gets to be with you,” he reasoned, looking just as serious.
“and once it’s over, we go back to normal.”
you frowned, shaking your head frantically. “normal? we won’t be normal. this isn’t some charity fuck, heeseung. he’s your—he’s practically my little brother too!”
“it’s for sunghoon!” he cuts in, first crack in his composure. his brows drew together in something almost desperate. “don’t you get it? every day he wakes up, he thinks he’s disgusting, thinks he’s betraying me, betraying you, just for feeling. i’m not asking you to love him back the way he loves you—obviously, no, you’re my wife for god’s sake,”
your husband sighed, his head dropped low. he ran his hand through his locks, exhaling. “i’m asking you to just give him a chance.” heeseung crawled closer, cupping your face in both hands. “i love you, and i love him. i’m selfish enough to want both of you happy.” his thumb brushed the apple of your cheeks.
“it’s just for… less than a day. sunrise to sunrise. sunghoon gets to have the one thing he’s wished for, and then we’ll never speak of it.”
your eyes filled. maybe you could start seeing sunghoon as a man now, too. more than just a little brother. he’s turning twenty three, after all.
you stared at your hands twisted in your lap. the guilt came in a wave so strong it stole your breath. you never noticed how carefully sunghoon was loving you…
pressing your palms up to your eyes, you murmured, “...sunrise to sunrise?” you whispered, voice cracking.
heeseung replied in a soft hum, pulling you closer to him until your head leaned against his chest. “mmhm. after that, it never happened. i swear.”
you nodded once, small and shaky, then again, firmer.
“okay,” you breathed, the word tasting like bittersweet. “for hoonie.”
——
07.12.2025
23:42
sunghoon let himself into the apartment with the spare key, shoulders sagging under the weight of college. he kicks off his shoes with a lazy push of his heel, back arching as he steps in the quiet apartment.
the place is dark except for the faint city flow leaking through the blinds. no balloons, no banner, no off–key singing, no cake… just the faint hum of the fridge and air purifier and the soft click of the door behind him.
he doesn’t mind. twenty–three feels too old for surprises anyway.
“twenty three,” he mutters to himself, tossing his keys in the bowl. “feels exactly like yesterday.”
he’s halfway to the kitchen for a glass of water when the hallway light flicks on. heeseung leans against the wall in sweatpants and an old hoodie, arms crossed, smiling that small smile.
“happy birthday, hoon.”
sunghoon blinks, lips curling into a smile. “thanks, hyung.” he scratches the back of his neck, awkward and shy. “didn’t think anyone would still be up.”
“i couldn’t sleep and was waiting,” heeseung shrugs, pushes himself off the wall and walks over, slow. “got something for you.”
sunghoon’s brows knit, a surprise look etched across his face. “...eh, it’s fine, really—”
“not optional.” he says, already pulling something from his pocket—
a strip of black satin. a blindfold.
sunghoon takes an instinctive step back. “hyung, what are yo—”
“relax,” the older brother’s voice is soft, steady, the same tone he used when sunghoon was fifteen and spiraling before a competition. “trust me for thirty seconds. it’s not weird.” he laughs when he sees sunghoon stiffens.
“it is weird,” the younger boy counters, eyeing the blindfold with narrow eyes like it might just bite. his pulse kicks hard, suspicious and hopeful in equal measure. “why do you even own that?”
“you ask too much,” heeseung sighs, waving him off. “just trust me.” he steps behind him, fingers gentle as he ties the satin over sunghoon’s eyes—knot firm but not tight. just enough that he’s sure sunghoon can’t see anything.
“...this better not be some dumb prank…” sunghoon mutters, which heeseung ignores.
“hands,” he says. sunghoon hesitates but holds them out anyway. heeseung takes his wrist, thumb brushing the frantic beat there, and starts walking.
it’s hard not being able to see anything—just the thick, absolute black of the blindfold pressing against his eyelids. but he follows, heart hammering louder with every step. down the hallway, past the living room, up the stairs…
the air changes into something more warmer and familiar—the faint scent of the vanilla candle you always burn in the bedroom. he almost smiles at that—does that mean you’re home? waiting for sunghoon and wanting to celebrate his birthday when the clock strikes 12?
sunghoon’s heart stumbles over himself.
the bedroom door creaks open, just wide enough for the warmth and the scent to spill out. sunghoon stands on the threshold, blind, nervous, only the smell of vanilla and the soft rustle of sheets accompanying him—something he can’t see, but can already feel waiting.
just then, heeseung’s fingers brush the knot at the back of sunghoon’s head.
“happy birthday, hoon.” he says, voice dropping low and almost reverent—and pulls the blindfold away in a slow motion.
as expected, the room is dim, save for the bedside lamp glowing warm gold, but it’s enough.
his breath stops.
on the centre of his bed—there’s you.
you’re kneeling in the middle of his bed, legs folded beneath, wearing nothing but one of his old white skating competition t shirt (so big it slips off one shoulder) and the tiniest pair of sleep shorts he’s ever seen.
your hair is loose, a little messy like you’ve been waiting a while. in your hands in a small round cake, twenty–three candles flickering bright, throwing trembling light across your bare collarbone, your bare thighs, and the soft curve of your waist where the shirt rides up.
you look nervous.
and so beautiful.
and you look like every wish he’s ever swallowed.
he can’t move. his mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you bite your lip and whisper,
“make a wish, hoonie.”
the cake trembles slightly in your grip. a single bead of wax rolls down a candle and drops onto frosting, right next to where you’ve written his name in shaky white icing.
his eyes burn. he looks at the cake, then at you. then he glances at heeseung standing behind him, arms loose at his sides, watching with quiet, devastating certainty. then back at you, kneeling on his bed like you belong there.
sunghoon’s voice cracks when it finally comes.
“...what’s… what’s going on here…?”
heeseung’s hand settles warm between his shoulder blades, giving his little brother a little nudge forward. “just make a wish, hoon,” he murmurs. “she’s waiting.”
sunghoon’s legs move before his brain catches up. he climbs onto the bed, the mattress feels like it might dissolve under his knees. the sheets are warm from your body and he stops just inches from you, close enough to brush knees, close enough to feel the heat coming off the candles and your hands.
your eyes are glassy, lips parted, chest rising too fast under his old shirt. sunghoon leans in, his exhale is long, shaky, reverent; more kiss than it is breath. every candle bows to him, flames stretching toward his mouth before they did one by one, smoke curling up between you like incense.
the room falls into a hush—and for a moment, heeseung never existed.
“...i wished for you,” he whispers, voice raw. “every single year. i wished for you.”
your eyes spill over as sunghoon blows his candles. you set the cake aside with trembling hands, vanilla icing smearing on your fingertips that you don’t bother wiping away, and then both palms slide up his chest, until they cup his face.
sunghoon leans into your touch like a man dying of thirst finally reaching water.
pulling him in slowly, slowly, until his forehead rests against yours and your lashes brush his cheek.
“wish come true, hoonie,” you whisper against his lips, voice shaking with wonder.
then you kiss him. soft at first, just the brush of your mouth, testing, giving him time to pull away if this is still too much dream.
he doesn’t.
a broken sound escapes his lips, and he kisses you back like he’s been waiting forever for this. his hands finally land, sliding to clutch the fabric of his own shirt at your waist to hold you down.
the kiss deepens fast, desperate—years of silence pouring out all at once. you taste like vanilla and cherry lip balm at once, sweet, familiar, forbidden, but sunghoon drinks it all. his tongue slides against yours, slow at first, then hungrier, chasing every corner of your mouth he’s mapped in secret dreams.
when you make the tiniest, cutest whimper, he answers with a low, wrecked groan that vibrates against your lips.
“hngh—hoonie,” you whimper meekly as one of his hands slips up your spine under his shirt, palm flat and burning against bare skin, pulling you flush so your chests crash together. the other fists tighter in the fabric at your hip, bunching it higher.
you tilt your head, opening wider, and he takes the invitation like a drowning man takes air, licking deeper, messy, needy, teeth grazing at your bottom lip the way he’s imagined a thousand guilty nights.
your fingers thread into his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder, and he pulls back barely an inch, panting against your swollen lips.
“yn,” sunghoon rasps, voice shredded, forehead still pressed to yours. “‘m not going to call you noona because you’re not hyung’s wife tonight,” he fingertips presses against your skin, digging. the words scraping out from clawing at his throat.
“tonight you’re mine. just mine.”
the possession in it steals your breath.
you can only nod, small, frantic, pearls clinging to your lashes.
he feels it, sees it. “say it,” he whispers, lips brushing yours with every syllable. “say you’re mine right now. say you’re my birthday gift and that you’re mine.”
“i’m yours,” you say with almost no hesitation in your breath. “tonight, hoonie. i’m yours.”
08.12.2025
the sound he makes is relief and hunger all at once.
sunghoon crashes back into you, kissing you like he’s trying to fuse your mouth—tongue stroking deep and slow, claiming every little breath. his hands slide up higher under the shirt and he’s able to take it off of you.
“hah, mhh, wait,” you moan as sunghoon’s palms skate over your ribs, cupping your tits. his thumbs brushes over your perky and hardened nipples—flicking them over his digits, groping and squeezing them until the flesh spills out between his fingers.
he can’t wait anymore—not when he’s waited way too long for this, far too long.
you arch into him and he groans into your mouth, hips slotting instinctively between your thighs. “mine,” he repeats against your lips, again and again. “mine, mine, mine.” until the word loses meaning and becomes only the sound of his need.
sunghoon pushes you down, lowering until your back meets the mattress right beside the forgotten cake. the plate shifts, a few candles topple, frosting smearing against your forearm. you don’t care. neither does he.
sunghoon follows you down, immediately groping your tits and clashing his mouth against yours. his knee nudges your legs wider, settling heavier, brushing against your clothed cunt that’s slowly getting wet with each passing second.
you both shudder—and only then does he finally pull back to breathe.
the doorway is empty.
the room is silent except for your shared, ragged breathing.
heeseung is gone.
sunghoon’s eyes flick to the shut door, then back to you, wide and almost panicked. you cup his face, stilling him. “het left,” you whisper, thumb stroking the sharp line of his cheekbone. “it’s just us now.”
something in his face fractures in relief and disbelief. “just us,” he echoes, kissing you again. sunghoon’s hands travel from your tits down your waist until they find the waistband of your shorts. hooking his fingers beneath, he slides the fabric down in one smooth motion, exposing your bare wet cunt to the air.
you let out a soft gasp in his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck. “oh my god,” you shudder, shivers run down your spine when sunghoon’s warm palm makes contact with your pussy. he slides his middle finger between your labia, gathering slickness.
“you’re so wet,” he murmurs, nipping at the corner of your mouth, you hum and nod, back arching on the mattress. “‘m gonna make you feel good.” sunghoon continues, sliding his middle finger inside, stretching your opening.
your breath catches in your throat—his finger is slender and nice, dragged along your velvety walls as he pumps you knuckles deep. “hngh—mh,” you moan, sunghoon adding another finger inside when he feels you’re nicely stretched.
he thrusts his fingers back and forth, finding that gummy, sensitive spot inside. “you’re so tight, yn,” he grunts, curling his fingers as your walls spasm around his digits. sunghoon presses his fingerpad against that spot, rubbing and putting pressure. “so cute, fuck, so cute. all mine,”
his lips find yours once again, muffling your moans and whimpers and cries as he increases his speed in fingering you. you buck your hips into his palm, grinding and fucking yourself on his fingers. the burning sensation is beginning to pool in your tummy—and anytime now, you might cum.
“are you close? you’re close aren’t you? i can feel you getting sensitive.” he murmurs, rolling his thumb around your clit to stimulate you. you nod, eyes rolling and fluttering beneath your skin. his fingers are deep inside—he’s so skilled with where’s touching and how he’s thrusting.
you tug on his bottom lip, sucking it. “‘m close, please please please, wanna cum,” you plead, overstimulated and sensitive. the end of his lips curls into a smirk, sunghoon swallows your pleads and whimpers, wiggling his fingers.
your fingers dig into the back of his neck in pleasure—not being able to contain it anymore. “can i cum—? hoonie, please? please, oh god,” you beg, tears brimming in your eyes. the wet squelching nose is almost too embarrassing—
a married woman who’s obviously not a virgin, begging and leaking juices like a virgin around her brother in law’s fingers.
sunghoon nods, rolling his tongue around yours, pumping your pussy full of merely his fingers. falling into the submission, your thighs tremble—releasing your creamy orgasm and squirt on sunghoon’s hand.
you moan his name aloud, pulling him flushed against your chest. “oh my god, ‘m cumming, ‘m cumming!” you whimper, tears spilling out along your flushed cheeks. sunghoon keeps his fingers inside, giving it a few more thrusts before sliding his digits out.
panting, you release your grip around sunghoon’s neck and fall back down on the bed with a soft thud, wiping the sweat off your face with the back of your hand. sunghoon pants, his fingers glistening with your love juice.
slowly, you prop yourself up on your elbows. sunghoon’s eyes track every inch of exposed, pupils blown wide. you don’t say anything, just press one palm to the center of his chest and push.
sunghon falls back against the pillow, breath punching out of him in a stunned rush. the cake plate wobbles dangerously on the bed; a candle rolls off and lands flat on the cream. still warm.
he doesn’t even flinch.
“my turn…” you murmur, settling to kneel between his legs. you lean down until your cheek brushes against the tent poking out from underneath his sweats. “to give you your birthday present.” you press a soft, open-mouthed kiss right to the tip, lips lingering, letting him feel your breath, the wet warmth of your mouth even through the fabric.
his breath shudders, caught in his throat. sunghoon almost can’t believe it. the only thing he’s been wanting for so long is finally here in front of him—guilty midnight fantasy after another, is kneeling between his legs right now, looking up at him like he’s allowed to have this.
his hips jerked involuntarily.
“yn…” his voice cracks on your name, raw and pleading. “please—”
you hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and tug, slow, deliberate, watching his face the entire time. “please what, hoonie?”
“please suck me off…”
blood rushes to his cheeks fast—shame and flustered all at once. biting his bottom lip, sunghoon lifts his hips to help you take his pants off. you chuckle, momentarily, you almost forget that sunghoon is still a boy younger than you.
your eyes widen—his throbbing cock springs free, flushed and leaking, casting shadow over your face. your lips part, a gasp escapes your lips.
sunghoon is… big. bigger than you’ve ever seen before. bigger than your husband…
you can tell it’s been painful down there from the way his cock twitches in the air, a low hiss elicited out of sunghoon every time he shifts. “hoonie…” you mouth, slowly wrapping your hands around the base.
he's thick, the perfect length, with a slight upward curve that you just know will feel heavenly inside you.
the boy grunts, fingers curling around the bedsheet. “h—hngh, fuck,” he breathes as you begin pumping his shaft with however much your dainty hands can do. “you’re so big…” you murmur, leaning closer and darting out your tongue to give him a few kitten licks.
your tongue flicks over the slit, where you scoop the precum into your mouth. he’s a little salty, you figure it’s from the hours of studying. but good, real good. sunghoon let out a ragged breath, his hands itching to hold your head.
“b—bigger than… anyone…?” he manages. he wanted to ask if it’s bigger than heeseung, but that probably wouldn’t be nice.
you nod, slowly wrapping your lips around the of his hard cock, looking up to him through your curled lashes—watching the way his breath hitches when your mouth engulfs his cock. “uh huh,” you reply, rolling your tongue across the tip to lick clean his precum before bobbing your head back and forth on his cock.
his hips jerk in arousal, and his hand comes up to brush your hair off your face. sunghoon wants to see the girl of his dreams’ face as she gives him a head. “ah, shit,” he hisses. your cheeks hollow as you work on sucking him deeper, taking him into your mouth as you go.
his pulse throbs against your tongue, your hand pumping and jerking the base that you can’t seem to fit in your mouth. sunghoon helps you by slowly thrusting his hips shallowly into your mouth, making your eyelids flutter.
“slow, slow—fuck, there you go… take it all.” he encourages, thumb drawing circles the top of your head as he subtly pushes it down. your mouth stretching dangerously around his thickness. you still can’t believe he’s been hiding this package all this while…
sunghoon groans as he tangles his fingers in your hair and guides his cock in and out of your mouth, allowing you to swirl your tongue around his manhood. you continue to move your hand down on his balls, rolling them between your fingers.
he’s melting under your touch…”f—feels so good. your mouth feels so good, yn,” he feels himself twitch on your tongue. your name—just by itself—still feels foreign on his tongue. but if it’s not tonight that he can call you that, he might never will again.
sunghoon bucks his hips forward, faster and faster at his own pace, hands gripping your hair, but it’s not tight. you feel the tip hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag and roll your eyes behind.
not like you care, not when sunghoon looks so pleasured, hissing and eyes half lidded. he’s making a mess out of you—tears streaming down your face, drool smearing around your mouth, hair frizzing up from his grip.
still the most beautiful girl in his eyes.
“s—sorry, sorry,” he whines, heat rushes to his cheeks. his head tips back against the bedrest as he holds your head still and uses your mouth for leverage as he fucks your throat, balls tighten at every gag. “think ‘m close, yn, ‘m close,”
you nod and digs your nails into his skin, lolling and rolling your tongue around the length. “mmhm—?” you hum, looking up to sunghoon who has his lips part slightly, breathing shallow in uneven rhythms. you can see the tension in his jaw.
he would’ve never guessed that your mouth is so warm and slippery.
“ah—ah, here it comes, here it comes!” his thrusts become sporadic—stuttering as he feels the pressure building up. sunghoon groans—thick ropes of cum spurts inside your mouth, down straight past your throat and into your tummy.
he throws his head back in ecstasy to catch his breath, slowly releasing his grip on you. his body shudders in the aftershock of his orgasm, hips jerking to thrust. it’s overwhelming—the amount of semen he can produce.
you screw your eyes shut as you swallow as much as you can, only pulling back once you feel his cock softening on the surface of your tongue. “hah—” you pant, tongue sticking out. even so, you lean down to clean him off—sucking and licking and kissing all over his sensitive cock.
sunghoon whines from the overstimulation, red and flushed across his face. he feels like he falls in love with you all over again…
“how was it, birthday boy?” you chuckle, using your thumb to wipe the corner of your lips before sucking it. “good?” you tilt your head innocently as if you didn’t just raise his standards in women—looking so pretty and cute and his.
the birthday boy swallows the lump in his throat, nodding. “y—yeah! it’s so…” he exhales. “it’s amazing… y—you’re amazing… “ he mumbles, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. you giggle, crawling up between his legs, supporting yourself on either side of him.
pecking his lips, you rub your nipples on his clothed chest, whispering warmly on his lips. “what’s your next wish?”
sunghoon’s throat bobs as he whimpers, chasing your lips. “... i wanna fuck you, yn,” he manages, kissing you. “i wanna put my cock inside you, and make you my woman tonight.”
before you can ever draw breath to answer, his hands clamp around your forearms and he flips you in one frantic motion. your back hits the mattress again, right beside the slightly ruined cake; frosting smears across your shoulder blade, sticky and almost cold. the topple candle rolls against your wrist.
“ah—!” you gasp, looking up to him with wide eyes. sunghoon follows instantly, settling heavy and perfect between your thighs, chest heaving with want. “please,” he pleads, licking around his lips.
he’s so horny, it hurts—you smile, nodding. however the birthday boy wants you, he can have you. it’s his special day, after all. “c’mon, what are you waiting for?” you tease, giggling. his eyes widen and his grin brightens.
not wasting a single second, sunghoon adjusts his position so your legs are propped up on either side of his hips. “don’t take back what you said,” he’s getting more comfortable now about the whole situation of fucking his brother’s wife.
he wraps his hand around his cock and positions the head at your entrance, not quite entering yet—but you feel the head of his cock just stretching you open. “please have me…” he slowly slides his cock inside, stealing the breath out of you.
in the best way possible—sunghoon is slowly filling you up. it doesn’t burn like your first time, and you thank god you’re not a virgin because this will be impossible to take… “a—ah! hngh—?” you gasp, breath come short and fast while sunghoon takes his sweet time stretching you out and feeling the sensation as your warm pussy invites him in.
“o—oh god,” he grunts, finally reaches his end—the tip of his cock nestles perfectly where it belongs against the door of your womb. “so tight, yn, you’re so tight,” he groans, length disappearing into your depths.
you shift, walls spasming around his cock to adjust yourself around him. he’s so big, it’s crazy how full you get—like how you’d get after stuffing yourself. “n—no, hoonie, i think—i think you’re just s’big,” you whine, toes curling.
after he’s sure he’s safe to move, sunghoon begins thrusting—snapping his hips forward in slow rhythm. you both almost cry at the sensation. “so good, so good,” he murmurs, leaning forward and moving your legs over his shoulder to catch your lips as he begins to pound into you.
you wrap your arms around his neck, meek whimpery moans escape your lips each time his head knocks your cervix. it doesn’t take rough fucking to feel good—the drag of his cock against your velvety walls pull you back, and you tighten around him.
sunghoon moans your name sensually, sucking on your tongue as his drool slips inside your mouth. his cock pumps into your cunt, rapidly picking up speed as his balls slap against the curve of your ass. “h—hah! hoonie, like that, like that!” you cry out, tits bouncing with each thrust.
that excites sunghoon—he pulls back to look down at you. you’re wrecked beneath him, beautiful, ruined, perfect. your hair fanned wild across his sheet, lips swollen and cherry–red from his teeth, rosy cheeks streaked with tears and fresh ones still clinging to your lashes.
your eyes are glassy, shining up at him like he’s the only one in the universe. there’s vanilla smeared across one shoulder from the cake, a faint pink mark blooming on your throat.
he groans, low and broken. “hah—look at you,” he rasps. one trembling hand comes up cradling your jaw, thumb sweeping over your wet cheek. “so pretty, so pretty.”
his hips roll, dragging almost all the way out before sinking himself back in, watching your face twist with every inch. your back arches off the bed, a soft, wrecked sound spilling from your lips.
just then, his eyes flick to the birthday cake next to you.
“oh…” he murmurs, licking his lips. come to think of it, he hasn’t eaten at all since he came back minutes ago. “can’t let this cake go to waste. you’ve worked so hard for it, hm?” sunghoon continues.
he scoops a generous dollop of the soft vanilla onto two fingers, brings it to his mouth, and licks it clean with one slow swipe of his tongue, eyes locked on yours the whole time. the sound you make if half whimper, half in confusion.
before you can ask him what’s he doing—he digs his fingers back in, gathering a thick smear of frosting, and drags it flow across your chest—from the hollow of your throat down to the valley of your tits. painting you in sticky, sugary buttercream. you gasp at the cool shock of it, arching instinctively.
“hah—!” you gasp, lips parting. the vanilla smell instantly hits you.
he lowers his head, eyes still on yours—”i will eat well,” he says, licking a broad, filthy stripe straight through the mess he just made, tongue flat and hot against your skin. the contrast of the cool frosting and burning mouth makes your hips jerk up against him and your pussy tightens around his cock.
he groans, deep in his chest. sunghoon doesn’t swallow the frosting, instead, he wraps his lips around your perky little nipple, circling until it’s shining and ruined and completely covered with frosting.
so lewd—! you think, heat coiling in your tummy. you’ve never done such things before—not even with heeseung! there’s almost no foreplay in your sex with your husband… but this… this…
sunghoon digs his fingers deeper into the ruined cake this time, scooping up a thick chunk of soft vanilla sponge along with the frosting—before smearing over the other tit, pressing the moist cake into your skin until it crumbles and sticks, bright crumbs clinging to the slop of your tit, frosting sliding in streaks.
“sunghoon!” you gasp as he flattens his palm, smashing the cake down against the soft flesh, fondling you with slick, sticky fingers—kneading until the tit and vanilla and sponge are one messy, decadent, sweet swirl.
his thumb finds your nipple through the mess, flicking once, twice, hard little flicks that make you jolt and whimper.
“hold still,” he murmurs, voice muffled around your tit in his mouth. “let me eat my cake properly.”
his tongue lapping broad and hungry, gathering cake and frosting and you in filthy strokes. he sucks hard, cheeks hollowing, teeth grazing to make you cry out. crumbs cling to his lips; vanilla smears across his cheek when he switches to the other breast—licking, biting, devouring until your tits are nothing but heat and sugar and his saliva.
sunghoon pulls off with a wet pop, lips swollen and glossy and he’s beaming.
sugar rush.
“sweetest thing i’ve ever tasted,” he rasps, diving back. the friction from his dick slamming into your pussy fills the bedroom up with wet noises, the mattress shaking beneath. it’s embarrassing and you pray that it doesn’t wake up your neighbours…
your pussy tightens in rhythm around his twitching cock as pushes his cock all the way in. “more, more—oh my god, i’m close!” you squeak, sliding your heat up and down against his abdomen. sunghoon holds you by your hips as he pounds his cock almost brutally, tugging your nipple between his teeth.
“fuck, you’re so tight—oh shit,” he heaves exasperatedly—digging his fingertips in your hips, thumbs pressing into your flesh. you moan aloud, walls pulsing around him and his own movements become more erratic. “cake—cake, hoonie, i want the cake too,” you whimper, hands above your head.
sunghoon pulls back, chest heaving, lips and chin completely smeared with vanilla. he catches the hungry little flick of your tongue over your own bottom lip and his eyes light up, bright, boyish, almost giddy.
“yeah?” he breathes, already scooping up another messy handful of cake and frosting. “you want some too?”
you nod, quick and shameless, and he grins—before bringing his vanilla coated fingers to your mouth.
you open your mouth instantly. sunghoon slides two fingers past your lips, letting you taste the warm sponge and rich frosting and the faint salt of his skin all at once. your tongue curls around his fingers, sucking gently, and the sound he makes is wrecked.
“good girl,” he whispers, voice shaking.
he scoops more, feeds you again, watching with dark, fascinated eyes as your lips close around you like how you did with his cock earlier. when a crumb clings to the corner of your mouth, he leans in and kisses it away, sharing the sweetness.
some of it misses—vanilla is now also smearing across your cheek and chin/ neither of you care; trading bites, messy and laughing softly between kisses, feeding each other with your lips.
when you finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, both of you are a beautiful disaster.
his arms snake under you to pull your body into him as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck—hips thrusting recklessly in no steady rhythm at all. every drag of his cock against your velvety walls hits the same, spongy swollen spot over and over, knocking and bruising your cervix.
“‘m cumming again, hoonie! i wanna cum on your cock—please,” you whimper, head tilting back against the sheet, thighs quaking around his hips. you move your hands to claw your nails on his broad shoulders, cradling him close, pistoning to drag him even deeper inside.
he nods, breath coming in harsh pants. “i’m going to fill you with my cream—hm? leave you stuffed with my cum,” his hips slam forward, head of his cock bullying your walls.
the pleasure is so intense—you can’t hold it in anymore.
“hoonie—!” your body tenses up as the orgasm washes over you like waves—explosive around his cock sliding in and out of you. your muscles clench and clamp around his throbbing cock as you cream on it.
the contracting walls of your tight cunt sent sungchan over the edge as well. “yn! fuck!” he moans, snapping his hips against you, hard and deep, in one final powerful lurch. sunghoon shoots out ropes of thick, warm semen inside—pumping and coaxing every last drop of his lovemilk inside.
you whimper and whine as your body shudders, hips twitching. your pussy pulses through the orgasm as sunghoon collapses onto you with a shuddering breath, the last of his release spilling deep as his hips slow to lazy thrusts.
you’re trembling beneath—fucked, worn out, sticky from the sweat, saliva, and the cake—pussy walls fluttering weakly around him with every tiny shift. your fingers stayed on his back, hugging him as sunghoon buries his face into the crook of your neck.
“you’re perfect… fuck,” he says, leaving butterfly kisses along the the curve of your neck where it meets the shoulder. you hum, lips brushing over his ear shell.
the room was quiet, save for the soft sound of both your breathing, his fingers brushed lazy circles against your lower back. “do you like it?” you asked softly, even though you know your answer well.
sunghoon exhales, nodding. “i love it a lot, yn,” he replies, unintentionally leaving a love bruise across your skin. even if whatever it was that happened ends tonight—at least he’s sure something will still be there the next morning.
“this is the best birthday gift ever,” he continues, whimpering, pressing his weight lightly on top of you to feel your nipples grazing against his’.
“i can’t wait to wish for the same thing next year.”
Content+Warnings: arranged marriage to lovers,smut,pwop,breeding kink,dom!hoon,virgin reader,hoon hittin it raw,oral(f!receiving).
Wc:5.7k
MNDI.
NOTE: Requested by anon,not proofread, pure self-indulgent filth, Sunghoon is a gentleman even when he’s losing his mind.like+reblogs r appreciated˖ ࣪ . 🦢.
The wedding was beautiful.
Everyone said so. Crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling of the Grand Hyatt ballroom, your mother’s vintage Dior gown altered to perfection, Sunghoon in a custom Tom Ford tux that made him look like he’d stepped out of a fashion editorial. Photographers, CEOs, politicians—everyone who mattered was there to witness the union of Park & Co. Luxury Group and your family’s cutting-edge tech empire.
A perfect match on paper.
A merger disguised as matrimony.
You smiled the entire night like the well-bred heiress you were. Sunghoon smiled too—polite, camera-ready, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. He barely touched you. A hand at the small of your back for photos, a chaste kiss on the cheek when the crowd cheered. That was it.
And now, three weeks later, you’re standing in the middle of his—your—penthouse at the top of Seoul’s most exclusive tower, wearing nothing but an oversized silk slip and fuzzy slippers, trying to figure out how to use the espresso machine that probably cost more than your first car.
Sunghoon is already gone. Again.
He leaves before sunrise most days, comes back after midnight. The only evidence he exists is the faint trace of his cologne in the marble hallway and the occasional sticky note on the fridge that says things like Dinner is in the warmer or Meeting ran late. Don’t wait up. in his neat, elegant handwriting.
You’re not stupid. You know what this is. An arrangement. Two families shaking hands over your heads while the lawyers drew up the contracts. You’re the pretty, fertile bridge between empires. He’s the cold, untouchable heir who never wanted a wife in the first place.
But God, you’re trying.
You’ve always been the good girl. The one who baked cookies for the staff on holidays, who graduated top of her class in business but never raised her voice. The one whose body developed early and never quite listened to the rules of “elegant restraint.” Wide hips that sway when you walk, a plush ass that fills out every pencil skirt, full breasts that strain against even the most modest necklines. You’ve spent your whole life trying to dress it down—high necklines, loose fits, dark colors. Still, people stared.
Sunghoon? He hasn’t stared once.
Not until tonight.
It’s past 11 p.m. when you hear the elevator ding.
You’re in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing one of his white dress shirts as an apron because you spilled flour on your slip while attempting to make his favorite japchae from the recipe his mother sent you. The shirt hits mid-thigh, sleeves rolled up, top three buttons undone because it’s hot from the stove. Your hair is piled on top of your head with a claw clip, a few strands sticking to your neck from the steam.
You don’t hear him come in at first. You’re humming softly, hips moving to the quiet lo-fi playlist playing from the speaker, bending over to check the oven when—
“Smells good.”
His voice is low, rough from the long day. You straighten up so fast you almost hit your head on the range hood.
Sunghoon stands at the edge of the open kitchen, tie loosened, jacket slung over one arm, the top buttons of his black shirt undone. His sharp eyes—those glacier eyes everyone calls “intimidating”—flick over you once. Slow. Like he’s seeing you for the first time.
You tug at the hem of his shirt self-consciously. It barely covers anything. “I—I thought you’d be late again. Made dinner. Or… late-night dinner. Whatever.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just sets his jacket on the island stool and walks closer. You can smell the city on him—cold night air, expensive leather, the faint trace of whiskey from whatever business dinner he just left.
His gaze drops.
Not to your face. To the way the shirt rides up when you shift your weight, exposing the soft curve where your thighs meet your ass. The way the fabric stretches across your chest, the faint outline of your nipples because you’re not wearing a bra and the kitchen is warm.
You see the exact moment something in his brain short-circuits.
His jaw flexes. Once. Twice.
“Sunghoon?” you ask softly, voice the same sweet, slightly breathy tone you always use when you’re nervous. Innocent. Like you have no idea what you look like right now. Because you don’t. You never have.
He clears his throat. “You didn’t have to cook.”
“I wanted to.” You smile, small and hopeful, and turn to grab a plate. The motion makes the shirt ride higher. He sees the full, plush swell of your ass, the way the silk clings to the dip of your waist, the generous curve of your hips.
Breeding material.
The thought slams into him so hard he actually grips the edge of the counter.
You’re his wife. On paper. Untouched. Sheltered. The kind of girl who blushes when someone says “fuck” in a movie. And yet your body was built for exactly what his family wanted from this marriage: soft, fertile, made to carry heirs and look devastating while doing it.
He hates how much that turns him on.
You set the plate in front of him, unaware. “Eat before it gets cold, okay? I’ll clean up—”
“Sit.”
It’s not a request. His voice is low, almost hoarse.
You blink those big, doe eyes at him. “Huh?”
“Sit down, Y/N.”
You obey instantly, sliding onto the stool across from him like the good little wife you’re trying so hard to be. The shirt rides up your thighs. He stares. Doesn’t even pretend not to.
The silence stretches.
You fidget. “Is… is something wrong? Did I do it wrong?”
Sunghoon exhales through his nose. He looks like he’s fighting a war in his head. “You’re wearing my shirt.”
“Oh.” Your cheeks go pink. “I’m sorry, I spilled flour on mine and I didn’t want to wake the maid and—”
“Stop.” He cuts you off. His eyes are darker now. “Stop apologizing for existing in my house.”
Your lips part. Innocent confusion written all over your pretty face. “But it’s your shirt…”
He stands up slowly, walks around the island until he’s right in front of you. Towering. You have to tilt your head back to look at him. He smells like sin and restraint.
“You have any idea what you look like right now?” he murmurs.
You shake your head, genuinely lost.
Sunghoon’s hand lifts. His knuckles brush the side of your thigh where the shirt ends, barely there. You shiver.
“Plush little ass in my shirt,” he says, voice dropping an octave. “Tits spilling out the top. Hips like they were made to be grabbed. And you’re just… humming and cooking like a fucking 1950s housewife.”
Your breath hitches. No one has ever spoken to you like this.
“I—I can change—”
“Don’t.” His fingers tighten on your thigh. “Don’t you dare.”
He’s hard. You can see the bulge straining against his slacks, and the realization makes your stomach flip. You’re a virgin. You’ve never even kissed anyone properly before the wedding kiss that lasted half a second. But your body knows what it wants. It’s been aching for weeks every time he walked past you in the hallway smelling like heaven and distance.
He hauls you up onto the counter in one smooth motion, your ass landing on the cool marble with a soft gasp. The shirt bunches around your waist. He steps between your spread thighs like he belongs there.
His mouth crashes into yours—nothing chaste about it this time.Hungry. Possessive. His tongue slides against yours and you whimper into the kiss, hands fisting his shirt. He tastes like whiskey and want. One big hand slides up your thigh, cups the full cheek of your ass and squeezes hard enough to make you moan.
“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “This ass. Been driving me insane for weeks. Every time you bend over in those little shorts you wear to bed…”
He kisses down your neck, sucking marks into the skin like he’s claiming territory. His other hand palms your breast through the shirt, thumb circling your nipple until it’s stiff and aching.
“You’re built like a wet dream,” he mutters, almost angry. “Wide hips perfect for carrying my kids. Tits so full they’d leak when you’re pregnant. And you’re sweet. So fucking sweet it makes me want to ruin you.”
You’re panting, head spinning. “Sunghoon… I’ve never—”
“I know.” He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are black with lust but there’s something soft underneath. “I know you’re a virgin, baby. That’s why I stayed away. But I can’t anymore. Not when you walk around looking like my personal breeding material in my own goddamn kitchen.”
He drops to his knees.
You squeak when he spreads your thighs wider, pushes the shirt up to your waist. No panties. You never wear them to bed. His breath ghosts over your bare pussy and you tremble.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, almost reverent. “Look at this little cunt. Never been touched and it’s already wet for me.”
He leans in and licks a slow, broad stripe up your folds. Your back arches off the counter with a broken moan. He does it again, firmer, tongue flicking your clit on every pass until you’re shaking.
“Sunghoon—oh god—”
He eats you like a man starved. No hesitation, no teasing. Just hungry, filthy licks and sucks that have you grinding against his face without shame. His hands grip your hips, holding you down as he devours you—lapping at your entrance, sucking your clit, groaning like you taste better than anything he’s ever had.
You come embarrassingly fast, thighs clamping around his head, crying out his name like a prayer. He doesn’t stop. He keeps going until you’re sobbing, oversensitive and twitching.
Only then does he stand up, lips shiny with you, and kisses you so you can taste yourself.
“First time I make my wife come and it’s on the kitchen counter,” he says with a dark little laugh. “We’re just getting started.”
He lifts you like you weigh nothing—your legs wrap around his waist instinctively—and carries you to the bedroom. The master suite you’ve been sleeping in alone for three weeks.
He lays you on the bed like you’re precious, then strips. Shirt. Belt. Pants. You watch, wide-eyed, as his cock springs free—thick, long, flushed dark at the tip and already leaking. You’ve never seen one in real life. It looks obscene. Perfect.
Sunghoon crawls over you, caging you in. “Still okay?” he asks, voice softer now. “We can stop. I’ll jerk off in the shower like I have been every night since the wedding.”
You shake your head, reaching up to cup his face. “I want this. I want you. Please… make me yours for real.”
He kisses you slow and deep, then reaches into the nightstand for lube and a condom. You stop his hand.
“I’m on the pill,” you whisper, cheeks burning. “For… for the marriage. They said it was better if i… .”you stutter trying to find a suitable word.
His eyes flash. The breeding kink he’s been trying to ignore roars back to life.
“No condom,” he growls. “Not tonight. Not ever if you let me. Want to feel you raw. Want to fill this pretty pussy until it leaks.”
You nod frantically.
He slicks himself up anyway, just enough, then notches the head of his cock at your entrance. He pushes in slow—inch by inch—watching your face the entire time. You’re so tight it makes his jaw clench.
“Relax, baby. Breathe. That’s it… good girl.”
It burns, but the stretch feels right. When he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, you both moan. He stays there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispers. “So warm. So fucking tight. Like you were made for me.”
He starts moving—shallow thrusts at first, then deeper, harder. Every drag of his cock against your walls makes stars burst behind your eyes. He angles his hips and hits a spot that makes you cry out.
“Right there? Yeah? Gonna make you come on my cock like a good little wife.”
He fucks you harder. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room. His hands are everywhere—squeezing your tits, pinching your nipples, gripping your ass to pull you onto him deeper. He leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing, while his cock pistons in and out.
You come again, clenching around him so hard he groans your name like a curse.
He doesn’t stop. He flips you over onto your stomach, pulls your hips up so your ass is in the air, and slides back in with one smooth thrust. The new angle makes you scream into the pillow.
“Look at this ass,” he pants, spanking one cheek lightly, then harder when you moan. “Bouncing so pretty for me. Gonna fuck you full every night. Keep you dripping with my cum so everyone knows who you belong to.”
You’re babbling now—yes, please, Sunghoon, more—lost in the pleasure. He reaches around and rubs your clit in tight circles.
“Come again. Want to feel you milk me.”
You do. Shaking, sobbing, pussy fluttering around his cock. He follows right after, burying himself to the hilt and coming with a guttural groan. You feel the hot rush of him inside you—thick, endless pulses that make your belly feel warm and full.
He collapses over you, careful not to crush you, and presses soft kisses to your shoulder blades.
After that night, everything changes.
Sunghoon still works long hours, but now he comes home early enough to eat the dinners you make. He eats you for dessert on the kitchen island at least twice a week. He fucks you in the shower, bent over the marble vanity while you watch yourselves in the mirror. He takes you on the balcony under the Seoul skyline, your silk robe hiked up around your waist while he growls filthy promises about knocking you up against the glass.
He’s still the same cold, elegant CEO in public. But at home he’s insatiable—hands always on your ass, mouth always on your neck, cock always ready to remind you who you belong to.
One night, after he’s fucked you slow and deep in the big bed, he lies behind you, spooned up close, hand splayed possessively over your lower belly.
“You know why I stayed away at first?” he murmurs into your hair.
You hum, sleepy and satisfied.
“Because the second I saw you at the altar. those hips, that ass, those tits—I knew I’d never be able to keep my hands off you. Knew I’d want to breed you the first chance I got. And you were looking at me with those big innocent eyes like you’d never had a dirty thought in your life.” He kisses the back of your neck. “Made me feel like a pervert for wanting my own wife so badly.”
You turn in his arms, smiling softly. “I’m not innocent anymore.”
His eyes darken with fresh heat. “No. You’re not.” He rolls you under him again, already hard. “But you’re still my sweet little wife. And I’m never letting you go.”
You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in.
“Good,” you whisper against his lips. “Because I was made to be yours.”
And you were.
The merger thrived. The papers called it a love match. Only the two of you knew the truth: it started as an arrangement, but the moment Sunghoon saw you in his kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt and that body built for sin and softness, it became something else entirely.
dilf!psh x reader, dads bsf!psh, age gap, virginity loss, toxic parental relationship, alcoholism, daddy issues, fingering, mutual masturbation, recording, unprotected sex, hyung line mentioned, smoking, illit moka & minju mentioned, not proofread 6.8k wc
when your father's disgustingly good-looking best friend drops off your drunk dad, only to stay behind and distract you from the pain.
don't like? don't read.
you loved school.
not because you were some overly studious nerd who couldn't get enough of textbooks and homework, but because school felt freeing. it was the only place where your lungs didn’t burn with the suffocating scent of alcohol.
home was different.
you dreaded walking back every afternoon, fingers tightening around your bag as you stood outside the front door, already knowing what waited on the other side.
the smell hit first.
sharp. bitter. stale.
it clung to the walls, the furniture and your clothes like it had permanently seeped into every corner of your life.
you hated it. you hated what caused it even more.
your dad.
ever since your mom died from a brutal car accident, your life had never been the same.
what was once a warm, happy family slowly fell apart piece by piece. your dad changed after her death. at first it was only a drink or two after work, small enough for you to pretend it wasn’t becoming a problem.
but as the days turned into months, and the months into years, his grief only grew heavier.
and so did the drinking.
he drowned himself in alcohol so often that eventually, it felt like he stopped being your father altogether. the man who used to laugh with your mom in the kitchen and drive you to school every morning became nothing more than a stranger passing through the house.
now, you couldn’t even remember the last proper conversation the two of you had without it turning into some sort of argument.
it had probably been almost two years.
you kept your bag slung over one shoulder as you sat in class, staring at your notebook without really seeing it.
you blinked slowly, forcing yourself to write a few words down just so it looked like you were listening.
around you, everyone else seemed more awake than you felt.
moka was somewhere nearby, probably already done copying notes and now quietly kicking your chair just to get your attention.
“psst,” she whispered. “you’re literally spacing out again.”
you turned your head slightly, forcing a small hum of acknowledgment.
“i’m not,” you mumbled.
instead of turning back to her work, she leaned forward a little.
“hey,” she whispered again. “random question.”
“do you think minju likes anyone?” that got your attention.
you glanced at her. “what?”
moka tried (and failed) to look casual.
“nothing. i was just wondering.”
you stared at her for a second, “you like her.”
“shh!” moka immediately hissed, looking around even though nobody was paying attention. “keep your voice down.”
you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips, “wow.”
you let out a quiet laugh.
for the first time all lesson, moka looked more distracted than you did.
the bell eventually came like a relief you didn’t realize you were waiting for.
chairs pushed back, the room filled with noise again, and people started packing up faster than the teacher could even finish speaking.
you moved a little slower, slipping your notebook into your bag while everyone else rushed out.
moka waited for you by the door, rocking back on her heels.
the hallway was crowded, loud with students spilling out of classrooms, lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping everywhere.
you kept your gaze forward, letting moka talk beside you about something random—someone’s drama, a test she barely studied for, a teacher she didn’t like.
you responded here and there, but your answers were short, half there.
at one point, minju passed by with a few friends and moka's sentence immediately cut off.
you watched her eyes follow minju for a second before she quickly looked away.
“you are so obvious,” you said.
“i literally didn't do anything.”
“right.”
“i didn't!”
by the time you reached the school gates, the air outside felt slightly better.
you slowed down without realizing it as you began to focus on what moka had to say.
“come on, y/n!” moka whined, dramatically tugging on your arm as the two of you walked out of school. “it’s been forever, and we’re always hanging out at my place. i wanna go to yours for once too.”
you let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
“maybe another time.”
“that’s what you said last time,” she pouted, narrowing her eyes at you suspiciously. “and the time before that. are you secretly hiding something in your house or something?”
if only she knew.
your grip tightened slightly around your bag. “it’s just messy.”
“messy?” moka scoffed. “y/n, my room literally looks like a tornado hit it every other day. i don’t care.”
you forced out a small laugh, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.
moka slowed her steps, her expression softening almost immediately. “hey,” she said quietly, nudging your shoulder. “you know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”
the words made something uncomfortable twist in your chest.
because something was wrong.
something had been wrong for years now.
but no matter how many times moka asked, you could never bring yourself to say it out loud. admitting it would make everything feel too real.
so instead, you smiled. "nothing’s wrong,” you lied.
moka stared at you for a moment longer before sighing dramatically again. “fineee. but one day i’m showing up at your house uninvited.”
your heart nearly stops. "don't do that," you give her a playful smile to cover up the anxiousness that filled your heart.
"there’s a convenience store near your house, right? we can just go there.” she suggests.
you paused for a second. “…okay,” you said quietly.
moka immediately lit up and the two of you started walking. her chatter filling the space as she talked about random things you barely registered. your steps slowed slightly the closer you got to your neighborhood, that familiar weight settling in your chest again.
same streets. same air. same feeling you always tried to escape after school.
moka, however, didn’t notice. she was too busy skipping ahead a few steps, pointing at random things like she always did.
inside the convenience store, everything felt almost normal again.
the soft buzz of the fridge, the quiet beeping at the register, the crinkle of snack bags as you and moka wandered the aisles like you had all the time in the world.
moka had already claimed half the store in her arms again. “this is for later,” she said, dropping a pack of chips into her basket. “and this is for now. and this is just… because i feel like it.”
you shook your head slightly, picking out a drink and tossing it into your own hand-held basket. for a moment, it almost felt easy.
then the door slammed open, the bell above it rang too loudly.
you both paused.
a man stumbled inside, slightly off balance, holding onto the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright. his breath was heavy, his eyes unfocused, and he walked straight to the alcohol section without even looking around.
he grabbed a few cans of beer then stopped at the counter.
the cashier greeted him politely, but the man didn’t respond properly. he just stared for a second too long, like he was trying to understand something that wasn’t making sense.
and then his voice suddenly snapped through the store.
“why are you charging me this much? are you trying to rob me or something?”
you stiffened a bit.
the cashier blinked, clearly startled. “sir, that’s the price—”
“don’t lie to me,” the man barked, slamming the cans down harder than necessary. “you think i don’t know what you people do?”
the entire store felt like it had gone quiet.
a few customers glanced over. someone near the entrance stepped back. moka slowly lowered her basket.
you weren’t looking at the cashier anymore.
you were looking at the man.
and something in your chest tightened, cold and familiar, before you could stop it. the moment you realized who it was, everything in your body went still.
the voice. the posture.
no.
no, no, no.
your basket slipped slightly in your hand.
“y/n?” moka whispered, noticing your sudden change. “hey… what’s wrong?”
you couldn’t answer, your throat felt tight like something had wrapped around it and pulled.
your dad’s voice cut through the store again, louder now, more unsteady.
“what are you staring at?”
he turned and his eyes landed on you.
for a split second, there was nothing there. no recognition, just confusion. then it hit him.
“oh,” he said, voice sharpening instantly. “so you’re here.”
moka frowned, looking between you and him. “wait… you know him?”
you still couldn’t speak.
your dad stepped away from the counter, unsteady but suddenly focused on you in a way that made your skin crawl.
“don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, pointing vaguely. “why are you even out? what, you think you can just—”
his voice rose, drawing attention again.
you took a small step back without realizing it.
your breathing was wrong now. too fast. too shallow. like your body didn’t know how to stay inside itself properly.
moka grabbed your arm, panicked. “y/n, hey—hey, look at me.”
his face twisted as he noticed your reaction.
“oh, don’t start with that,” he barked suddenly, louder. “don’t do that, you guilt tripping bitch.”
his words blurred together after that.
all you could feel was the noise. the store. the breathing. the weight of being seen like this. and moka, beside you, suddenly very, very unsure of what she was watching.
your dad’s eyes stayed on you, unfocused and unsteady, like he was seeing you through something warped.
“stop standing there like that,” he snapped suddenly. “you always do this. you always show up at the worst times and make everything—”
he cut himself off, jaw tightening as he dragged a hand down his face.
“you don’t get it,” he muttered, voice rough, fraying at the edges. “the way you look at me.. it's just like her.”
your chest tightened.
he pointed vaguely in your direction, not even fully steady on his feet.
“i wish i never had you.” he said sharply.
it wasn’t a big sentence but it landed like one.
something in you cracked open, too loud in your head. your vision blurred before you could stop it.
moka said your name again, more urgent this time, but it barely reached you. you took a step back before you ran out of the store. vision blurred which completely blind sighted you.
it didn’t matter, you kept moving anyway.
the park had gone quiet by the time midnight rolled in, leaving only the distant hum of cars and the soft rustle of trees moving in the cold air.
you had stayed there for hours without really meaning to, just sitting through the weight of your thoughts until everything blurred.
eventually, your legs carried you home on their own. the closer you got, the heavier everything felt, the familiar streets and dim streetlights doing nothing to ease the tight feeling in your chest.
when you finally reached your building, you paused in front of the door longer than you should have. for a moment, you just stood there, staring at it, as if waiting for something to change if you delayed it long enough.
but nothing did, so you went inside.
the smell hit you the second you stepped in.
stale alcohol, thick and sour, already filling the air like it had nowhere else to go. it clung to everything instantlu, slipping into your lungs before you even had time to brace yourself for it.
then, slowly, you stepped in and let the door close behind you.
you paused in the doorway for a moment, eyes instinctively moving to the living room, expecting to see your dad like usual—slumped on the couch, tv on, bottle in hand.
but the couch was empty, no tv, no movement, no sign of him at all.
your chest tightened slightly as you stepped inside, realizing pretty quickly what that meant. he wasn’t home. he had gone out again.
you did enjoy these moments when he was out, when the apartment didn’t feel as suffocating and you could move around freely without the fear of running into him.
you made your way to your room, closing the door behind you a little too softly, like even sound felt dangerous tonight.
once you were inside, you sat on the edge of your bed and finally reached for your phone. the screen lit up immediately, a few notifications already waiting for you.
there were multiple messages, all sent not long after you ran out of the store.
where are you??
please answer me
im so sorry about him, i didnt know your dad was like that
are you okay??
you stared at moka’s messages for a moment longer, your thumb hovering before you finally typed back.
im okay
you didn’t wait for a reply.
instead, you locked your phone and set it aside, like that alone could shut the world out for a while. then you got up and headed to the bathroom, moving on autopilot.
the shower helped a little, but not enough to really fix anything. just enough to blur your thoughts at the edges, to make the day feel slightly farther away than it was before.
when you were done, you changed into something comfortable—an oversized shirt that swallowed your frame, soft shorts, and a pair of socks that made your steps quieter against the floor.
you didn’t feel better.
but at least you felt a little less like you were holding everything together.
you eventually made your way downstairs, more out of habit than hunger, opening the fridge and staring at it for a moment before grabbing whatever was easiest to make.
a classic nutella sandwich.
the quiet of the apartment helped a little while you moved around the kitchen, focused on the small task in front of you.
suddenly, you hear from the front door a soft click, followed by it opening.
your hands froze mid-motion.
for a second you didn’t even breathe, just standing there as the sound of footsteps reached the entryway.
your mind immediately filled in the worst possibility.
him.
without thinking, you crouched down quickly and slid under the kitchen counter, pulling your legs in close and pressing yourself into the small space as quietly as you could.
your heart was already racing.
a heavier sound, like someone struggling slightly with weight, something being shifted carefully rather than dropped or thrown. the kind of sound that made your stomach tighten all over again because it didn’t fit the scenario your brain had already prepared for.
you hesitantly shifted just enough to peek out from your hiding spot.
what you saw made you freeze completely.
a man you didn’t recognize was inside your apartment, steadying your dad’s unconscious body with a firm grip as he guided him toward the couch. your dad looked completely out of it, barely supported, his weight slumped against the stranger’s shoulder.
the man set him down carefully, adjusting his position so he wouldn’t fall off, before straightening up and finally glancing around the room.
that was when you really saw him properly.
he was really good-looking. like genuinely breath taking. sharp jawline, straight nose that gave his face a clean, structured look.
holy shit.
you slowly rose from under the counter, the man hadn’t noticed you yet, his attention still on your dad as he adjusted him slightly on the couch, making sure he was stable.
carefully, you stepped out into the open, each movement slow and hesitant. only when your footsteps lightly brushed against the floor did he pause.
he turned.
his eyes landed on you, and for a brief second his expression shifted—subtle surprise flickering across his face, like he genuinely hadn’t expected anyone else to be there.
his gaze stayed on you for a moment longer before he spoke, voice calm but curious.
“oh? i didn't know he had a daughter.”
of course that fucker wouldn’t have told anyone about you.
you stepped a little closer, your eyes drifting past the stranger to where your father now lay on the couch, completely out of it. the sight made something in your stomach twist. slumped, unresponsive, the reality of it settling in all over again in a way you didn’t want to look at for too long.
you forced your gaze away.
the man noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. without saying anything else, he turned and started walking toward the kitchen. a silent cue to go with him.
after a brief hesitation, you followed him.
the apartment felt quieter the farther you moved from the living room, like the tension there stayed behind with your father. the kitchen light was softer, warmer somehow, and he leaned slightly against the counter as he waited, glancing at you once you stepped in behind him.
“sorry, should’ve introduced myself,” he said, glancing at you properly. “i’m sunghoon.”
you noticed the way his eyes lingered on your face for a moment, like he was quietly trying to place you in the picture he already had in his head.
“i’m y/n,” you said softly, your voice coming out smaller than you intended.
there was a brief pause after that.
you found yourself looking back at him properly too, the thick brows that gave him a naturally composed look. the moles on his face, one sitting close to the bridge of his nose, another a little lower on his cheek.
he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers for a second before lighting it. the small spark briefly lit his face, then faded as he took a slow drag, his eyes still resting on you like he hadn’t missed a single thing you’d said or done.
the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy in a way you couldn’t quite name.
“sorry about your dad,” he said after a moment, exhaling faintly to the side so the smoke didn’t drift toward you. his tone stayed calm, almost matter-of-fact, but there was something softer underneath it. “i know he’s… not easy to deal with.”
you weren’t sure what to say to that.
“it’s okay… i’m used to it,” you said quietly, lowering your gaze to the floor instead of looking at him.
sunghoon watched you for a moment, his cigarette still between his fingers as he took another slow drag. there was a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, not mocking, just faintly amused in a way that made him look even more unreadable.
“we were out having drinks and he passed out like usual,” he said casually, exhaling smoke to the side. his eyes never really left you. “normally i wouldn’t see anyone home. this is the first time i’ve seen you.”
his tone made it sound simple, like he was just stating a fact, but the way he looked at you suggested he was taking in more than just the situation. the way his eyes roamed from your face, down to your chest and legs.
was he checking you out?
he tilted his head slightly, cigarette still between his fingers as he held it out a little in your direction, like it was an offer that didn’t require much thought.
“want one?”
your eyes dropped to it for a second before flicking back up to him, “actually, are you even old enough to?” he asked, tone flat but with a hint of amusement under it.
you scoffed under your breath, the smallest bit of defiance slipping through. “i’m 18. of course i can.”
then your gaze dropped again, voice quieter this time.
“i’ve done it before...”
sunghoon didn’t say anything right away.
he studied you for a moment longer, like he was weighing your words instead of just hearing them. then, without much ceremony, he pulled another cigarette from the pack and offered it anyway.
“then take one, little girl,” he said simply.
your heart skips a beat at the nickname. cheeks flushing before you hesitantly grabbed it.
a lighter flicked between his fingers a second later, and soon enough the quiet of your kitchen was filled with that faint, drifting smoke curling into the air between you.
the kitchen stayed quiet, only the faint hum of the fridge and the slow burn of the cigarette filling the space between you.
sunghoon leaned against the counter like he had nowhere else to be, eyes drifting over you for a moment before settling again. not intense, but observant in a way that made it hard to ignore.
you shifted slightly under his gaze, unsure what to say or do with the silence.
a small exhale left him, almost like a quiet laugh.
“not much of a talker, are we?” he said, voice low and calm, like he was commenting on the weather rather than you.
your eyes flicked up to him briefly before dropping again. “i just don’t know what to say.”
that seemed to amuse him a little more. he took another slow drag, watching you through the smoke as if he was figuring you out.
sunghoon’s gaze drifted away from you, slowly scanning the room like he was taking it in properly for the first time instead of just standing in it.
that’s when he stopped and his eyes settled on the wall behind you.
there was an old framed photo hanging slightly off-center, like it had been put there a long time ago and never adjusted since.
you followed his gaze.
it was a picture from years ago, before everything changed. you were thirteen, caught in a moment you barely felt like belonged to you anymore. smiling too brightly, arms wrapped around your mom and dad in a way that looked so easy, so normal, it almost didn’t feel real now.
sunghoon didn’t say anything right away. his expression shifted slightly, something unreadable passing through his eyes as he looked at it longer than expected.
then he glanced back at you, like he was comparing the photo to the person standing in front of him now.
“you look so happy in that,” he said after a pause.
your throat tightened immediately.
“i was,” you said, then quickly added, softer, “i guess.”
the words hung in the air longer than you meant them to. sunghoon’s expression shifted slightly, something quieter settling in his eyes as he looked at you instead of the photo now.
“he's been like this since your mom died?” he asked. “that man always complains and goes on and on about his dead wife, especially moments before he passes out.”
you chuckled lightly, the words hitting a little too close. “yeah,” you managed.
sunghoon glanced back at the photo “he must've loved her a lot.”
the smile on your face faltered.
“i guess.”
a quiet silence settled between you. your fingers tightened slightly at your sides.
“sometimes i think he forgets he still has someone here.”
the words left his mouth so casually that he probably didn't realize what he'd just said. but you felt them.
all at once.
because he was right.
your father talked about your mother constantly. missed your mother constantly. drank because of your mother constantly.
and somewhere along the way, you'd stopped being his daughter and started becoming just another thing in the house.
you let out a shaky breath, looking down because you couldn’t really look at either him or the photo anymore.
you couldn't even give a response back and that alone was enough to make your chest feel worse.
then sunghoon moved closer. he put down the cigarette before his hand lifted slightly, hesitating for a second like he was deciding whether or not to cross that line, before gently resting on your shoulder and pulling you in.
safe in a way you weren’t used to.
you didn’t even realize you were crying until your face pressed into his shoulder, the tears coming out quieter at first before you couldn’t hold them back anymore.
sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. he just stayed there, one hand lightly at your back, the other at the back of your waist, rubbing a small circle with his thumb.
“i'm sorry baby,” he said eventually, low and close enough that only you could hear it.
his words suddenly crash all over you. reminding you of the times of when your father would comfort you like this in his arms.
he exhales once, small, like he’s pulling himself back.
“it must be hard,” he says. you nod faintly, but don’t move away.
you cried pathetically into his shoulder as he embraced you even tighter, before pulling his head back.
“how about we go to your room?” he said quietly. “we wouldn’t want your father waking up and seeing you like this.”
you blinked, still trying to steady your breathing, and gave a slow nod.
sunghoon knows he shouldn't.
especially not with one of his friends daughter.
he knows he shouldn't be doing this, yet he can't help but continue placing small hickeys across your neck, spreading them down till your collarbone.
youre resting on top of his lap, hands cramped up against his chest as you nervously grasp onto his shirt, feeling confused how you even ended up here.
"i- i don't know if we should be d-doing this..." your voice shakes as he licks over one of the many spots he marked on you.
he chuckles at your words, "shh.. baby, let daddy take care of you alright?"
his hands grip firmly at your waist before he goes back in for another kiss. it's gentle and slow, almost like as if he's savouring the taste of your lips.
you try matching back the rhythm and movement of his lips, but fail miserably as you accidentally bite too hard on your own tongue. you wince lightly from the pain as sunghoon pulls back and smirks at you.
"poor bunny doesn't know how to kiss?" he smirks, almost mocking you for not knowing how to.
you bite your lip, attempting to hide the embarrassment spreading across your face. sunghoon notices and brings his thumb to your lip.
"don't worry my little girl, daddy'll teach you everything."
fuck, his words. the way he comforted you. the way he held you. why was it enough build up the wetness between your legs now?
before you can react, his mouth is on yours again. it's soft, slow and warm, "don't overthink it, just follow my lips," he mumbles against your mouth.
you start to follow the movement of his lips, your hands roaming towards the nape of his neck as he deepens the kiss. his mouth opens slightly as he slowly brings his tongue inside your mouth, meeting yours.
you quiver slightly, unsure of what to do but when sunghoon slides his tongue against yours, your tongue is able to naturally follow his. the kiss had gotten so heated, so wet and sloppy.
as the kiss continued, you felt his growing erection form harder beneath you. in the desperate state you were in, your body instinctively grinded forward on its own, earning a groan from sunghoon.
sunghoon pulls back from the kiss and looks at you. your eyes were hazy, almost like as if you were hallucinated from the kiss.
"keep doing that f'me, you wanna feel good yeah?" you nod your head at his words.
at his orders you continue to grind your clothed core against the large bulge in his pants. your whimper at the friction as you hold onto his arms to balance yourself.
"fuck.. you're doing so well for me," he groans at the pleasure.
his hand suddenly comes to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open. "stick out your tongue," you're confused but you do as he says, slowly sticking it out. he spits in your mouth, letting it slowly drip until it reaches your tongue.
sunghoon smirks at the sigh infront of him, you with your tongue out thats all covered in his spit, "swallow it all f'me, get a good taste."
without hesitation, you swallow. sunghoon nods his head in approval before his hips continue to move against yours again. his pace is faster now as youre both desperately grinding against each other for release.
"f-fuck.. feels so good.." you moan out as you grip his arms even tighter now.
suddenly, sunghoon grips your shoulders and pushes you back down onto the bed, hovering on top of you. "you look so pretty baby," he leaves a peck to your lips before slowly trailing down from your jaw to your neck, "have you ever done anything like this before?"
when you shake your head, sunghoon gives you a sly smile. "my bunny is still a virgin huh? how cute."
sunghoon doesn't waste time to lift your shirt up, exposing the cute pink bra you wore underneath. he brings his face closer to your clothed chest, placing a kiss right in the middle of your breasts.
he then lifts your bra up aswell, your breasts finally exposed as the cold air hits your skin. your nipples slightly harden at the sudden temperature drop.
sunghoon licks his lips before attaching his mouth to one your nipples, flicking his tongue over it. you gasp at the warmth of his mouth on your chest as you hold onto the bedsheets.
his hands trail from your shoulders down to your thighs, massaging them slowly before his hand makes its way over to your clothed core.
you're absolutely soaked through your shorts, sunghoon smirks at the feeling of your wetness before slowly rubbing your clit through the soaked fabric.
"fuck baby.. you're so wet, all this for me?" he coos at you as you nod your head while gasping at the pleasure his fingers are offering you.
sunghoon grabs onto the hem of your shorts, tugging them once before pulling them down along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare underneath him.
he curses under his breath at the sight of you. you're so undeniably innocent yet so sexy, he can't believe his friend was able to create someone like you.
your legs close together as you feel the embarrassment of being nude hit you. sunghoon notices and forces them apart again, "keep 'em open for me,"
sunghoon doesn't wait any longer before removing his clothing too. he first removes his shirt, revealing his slightly toned abs and biceps which he catches you staring at before smirking to himself.
his hands grip onto the sides of his pants before he pulls them down just below his boxers, his bulge being even more prominent now. his thumbs tug inside his boxers before he slides them down too just half way, revealing his thick cock which was already leaking precum.
your mouth dropped slightly. you were shocked or more should you say... scared? nervous? he was huge. even his tip seemed like it'd be painful enough for you.
sunghoon noticed the nervousness on your face and chuckled, "aw, is my little girl scared? 's okay, daddy's cock will make you feel reaaal good." he says before he leans down and places a kiss on your forehead.
your heart beats like crazy as the wetness continues to pool up underneath you. sunghoon's hands make way to your clit, rubbing it gently in circles.
you grind against his hand, desperate for more. sunghoon only continues to keep slowly rubbing your clit, not giving you the full attention your body craves.
“p-please…” you whispered, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat.
“please what?” he asked quietly.
"your f-fingers.. nghh.. please!" you cry out. sunghoon smirks at the way you beg for it.
"since my bunny's been so good, she deserves it." he whispers loud enough that you can hear it.
his fingers go down to your hole, which was already oozing out the slick and wetness that has been building up for the past 30 minutes since he's been in your room.
he slowly circles over your hole before pushing a finger in slowly. you let out a pleasured moan at the feeling, your body immediately feeling the heat of his fingers.
he starts thrusting his finger in and out slowly, the wetness coating his finger as you moan at the sensation. you continue to grind forward, still desperate for more.
"you know if you want more, you're gonna have to earn for it." he murmured before tapping his cock against your thigh, signaling for what you should do.
you look up at him nervously before looking down at his huge cock, the precum already leaking out. before your hand can fully reach out, sunghoon grabs your wrist with his free hand before spitting onto your palm.
with his spit all over your palm, you sit up slightly as your hand spreads the wetness of his saliva all over his cock before slowly rubbing his tip against the palm of your hand.
sunghoon hisses at the feeling, "fuck, keep doing that baby," he groans before adding a second finger into your cunt, earning a loud moan from you.
and before you both know it, you're both now like two animals in heat desperate to get each other off. you stroke sunghoon's cock at a medium pace, taking in whatever you can as sunghoon keeps fingering you at a faster speed.
"ngh.. shit if you keep doing that.. 'm gonna cum," sunghoon groans loudly.
you bite your lip as you continue to stroke his cock faster, a desperate attempt to match the speed in which he was fingering you at. he was relentless, abusing your little cunt like it didn't matter.
"feel's weird.. i think 'm gonna pee! s-sunghoon stop!" you whimper loudly, the heat in your stomach continuing to boil up. "then do it baby. do it all over me." he demands.
and with that, you cum. more like you squirt, all over him. your legs tremble as your orgasm hits you, your grip on sunghoons cock getting slightly loose but just enough for him to reach his climax and start shooting his cum all over your stomach.
"fuck.. was that your first time squirting bunny?" he questions, looking at the sight beneath him in awe before looking back up at you, seeing you nod your head in fluster.
gosh, you're really going to kill him.
he can't wait to ruin you.
without hesitation, sunghoon pushes you back down again, making you flat against your bed as he spreads open your legs again.
you look down and see that he's still hard. fuck, his sex drive is insane.
he grabs the base of his cock, positioning himself perfectly as he starts to slide his cock up and down your wet cunt, holding onto your thighs for support.
you let out a moan, your cunt still sensitive from your previous orgasm but the pleasure overtakes the sensitivity. he continues to grind against your cunt until he pulls back, slapping his cock against your clit.
"'s not gonna fit.. way too big.." you bite your lip in nervousness as sunghoon lets out a smug smile.
"shhh, daddy'll make it fit. just hold on f'me my little girl," he mumbles into your ear.
he slowly starts pushing the tip in, the pain immediately hitting you, "'s so painful.. daddy it hurts.." you whimper out in pain as your eyes begin to tear up, the nickname coming from your lips too naturally.
sunghoon could cum from your words just now, but it only encourages him to keep going as he continues to push himself in further, filling you up nice and slowly.
sunghoon leans down to kiss you as you whine against his lips, as he finally pushes himself all the way in, having you fully filled up with him now, "fuck, you're so tight. daddy's gonna fuck your little cunnie so good."
you squirm as he starts thrusting into your cunt, his cock ramming in and out you as the sound of your wet cunt and his sloppy thrusts echo throughout your room.
you're so sure that you're moaning loud enough that it could even wake up your dad, but you didn't even care anymore as the pain quickly turned into pleasure as sunghoon was balls deep in you.
"fuuuuck... so good, your pussy is clenching around me. you really love daddy's cock hm?" he almost mocks you but sees as you desperately nod your head.
"yes.. yes! fuck yes 'm loving daddy's cock so much! want m-more!" you whine loudly, drool spilling out of your lips as pleasure overtakes you.
sunghoon continues to quicken his pace, ramming his cock in and out you so deeply as he brings his hand to your stomach and presses down. you could've sworn you almost saw stars at that.
"d-daddy fuck..! nghh... 'm gonna cum.." you whimper.
sunghoon bites your earlobe, "mm, cum for daddy. let it all out," he whispers into your ear.
and with that, you come undone. you grip onto the bedsheets tightly and your legs shake violently as you cum all over his cock, your vision turning white for a few seconds as the orgasm hits you hard.
sunghoon chuckles at how hard you came, slowing down his thrusts to let you ride out your orgasm. your grip slowly loosens on your bedsheets as your breathing starts to slow down and become more calm.
suddenly, sunghoon starts to continue his relentless thrusting,"i still haven't came yet, gonna abuse and use up your lil cunnie." he groans as he quickens up his pace.
the dirty wet sounds of your intimate areas meeting each other fill up the room. one of his hands hold onto your hip as the other goes up to your breast, grabbing and squeezing it as he watches the way they bounce with each thrust.
sunghoon can finally feel the heat in his stomach brew up, "shit, 'm gonna cum inside this pussy," he groans before he quickly grabs his phone and starts to record.
his angles it just right to show how his cock thrusts into you just right while also showing how perfectly your breasts bounce with your mouth open from the pleasure.
sunghoon groans loudly as his orgasm hits him, his cum immediately filling you up. gosh you feel so thick and filled. sunghoon brings down the camera, showing a close up of his cock inside you before pulling out.
as he pulls out, he records how his cum mixed with your wetness oozes out of your hole. he smirks at the sight, bringing the camera up to show the cum over your stomach and then your dazed face as you breathe heavily.
he grabs your face making you look at the camera, "who does this little cunt belong to?" he demands an answer, placing a gentle slap to your clit as you let out a yelp before answering, "y-yours!"
he smirks before rubbing your thigh to soothe out the pain, "yeah? you belong to daddy now. i'll treat you so good, my little girl."
he ends the video before putting his phone back into his pocket. he falls onto the side next to you, wrapping his arms around you as he rubs your back gently.
your face stayed buried against his chest, his presence warm and grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed until now.
“you did so well my bunny,” he murmured softly after a moment. “i’m so proud of you.”
his voice was quiet, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment. you held onto him a little tighter at his words, your breath uneven.
“don’t leave me… please,” you said, barely above a whisper.
he went still for a second, then shifted just enough to look down at you.
his hand came up to gently hold your cheek, thumb brushing lightly as he steadied you.
“i’m not going anywhere,” he said softly.
and after a pause, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent reassurance.
you stayed there for a moment longer, holding onto him like you were afraid the feeling might disappear if you let go too soon.
jake: dude shes fucking gorgeous
jay: holy shit, there's no way thats his daughter. im so jealous.
heeseung: I wanna use her up too. Not fair Sunghoon.
sunghoon smirks at his friends messages. of course he had to send it to the groupchat (which obviously did not include your dad).
the video of which his cum dripped out of your pussy and where you said that you belonged to sunghoon was enough to drive him and all of his friends crazy (and get all of them hard).
sunghoon: she's totally innocent too, her pussy was so tight.
jay: sounds like heaven.
jake: this isnt fair howd you find this angel wtf??
heeseung: Lets pass her around, she'd probably enjoy that.
jay: we can tell.
jake: shes definitely secretly a slut who likes older men.
jake: cmon hoon.
sunghoon chuckles at his phone.
sunghoon: maybe.
@evanificais do not steal or recreate.
authors note: hii :3 first ever fic, hope y'all enjoy. not proofread cus i physically cannot read my own work but i hope theres not too many mistakes. if i missed any warnings pls lmk!
In the world of empires and corporations, what weighs more? Fame, money, reputation or love? Or perhaps, desire.
Series song inspirations: End Game by Taylor Swift, Double Fantasy by The Weeknd (ft. Future,) Training Season by Dua Lipa, Earned It by The Weeknd, Young and Beautiful by Lana del Rey, Starlight by Jennie, Fetish by Selena Gomez (ft. Gucci Mane)
Keep my heart guarded ✶ lhs
word count: 22.7k
Your long-term relationship with your bodyguard-slash-personal assistant Lee Heeseung goes way back in high school. Ever since then, he keeps your heart guarded and humbled in every possible way since your makeup line started to rise into fame. But when a dating scandal tied you with your brand's ambassador, leading to a PR stunt that will last for two years, that's when you realized that your relationship with Heeseung was starting to crumble because of the fortune and popularity.
Play dates ✶ pjs
word count: 25k
A drunken one night stand went wrong when news of the darling socialite was seen leaving the penthouse of CEO Park Jongseong, one of the most sought bachelors in Korea. In order to save face and reputation, a fake dating contract of six months was proposed.
The problem? Turns out you and Jay were ex-lovers — a secret relationship that ended up in a bad light and three years after not seeing each other, you two ended up in the headline of the tabloids and gossip articles. Fake it 'til you make it, they say, and it doesn't help that your ex-boyfriend is great with the act, blurring the lines between repressed feelings and acting like everything's fine between the two of you.
Crayon portraits ✶ sjy
word count: 19.4k
You have a secret — you have a daughter. A four year old little girl who's the bright definition of summer sun. You have another secret, the father is nothing but a bartender at a local beach bar where you had a vacation a few years ago. With your reputation on the line, you forced yourself to keep them hidden from the world and thankfully, Jake was willing to hide his daughter and agree with your conditions — until he decided he doesn't want to for his daughter's sake, leaving you questioning your life as a career woman and a mother.
Conveniently, Mr. & Mrs. Park ✶ psh
It was simple. Go back to South Korea, take his inheritance from his late father, leave, and never return. But it wasn't simple for Park Sunghoon when he discovered that in order to receive his inheritance, his father required an heir and family from him.
Then came you. A mess, carrying an eight-month old baby, scared of the world. Sunghoon needed a family, you needed protection and shelter. Filling each other's needs, the two of you arranged a marriage of convenience for a year. It’s that simple. You two convinced, not until lines started to blur and wants started to diminish your supposed needs.
Chasing after storms ✶ ksn
word count: 20.3k
Your life has always been a matter of business. Even your marriage with the cold-hearted Kim Sunoo was purely out of business. An alliance. To strengthen one’s company and partnership. But when a conversation between Sunoo and a family lawyer suggesting to divorce you was overheard, you resorted to your only choice — ran away.
Seven months into your disappearance, and your husband found you in the smallest, most secluded isle in your country. Eager to bring you home, his desperation clashed with your stubbornness, creating a storm that left both of you stranded in your loveless marriage.
Ruining empires ✶ yjw
Your relationship with Jungwon comes in hotel rooms and behind closed doors, where it's just the two of you who love each other with much tenderness. While in the outside world, the two of you are destined to be rivals due to your family's long-term rivalry when it comes to being the top corporation in your country. But when secrets are starting to spill, and meet-ups are getting harder to do so; you and Jungwon must face the world and prove that what you two have is real.
The art of tension ✶ nrk
word count: 22.4k
Your divorce has been the talk of the town. The cold and meticulous CEO who wasn’t able to give affection to her ex-husband, eventually was replaced with someone younger and prettier in less than five months after the divorce. You tried to keep your reputation stable despite all the names thrown to you, but when an art gallery exhibit trailed you to Nishimura Riki — handsome, fine, reputable-looking yet younger male who seems to be drawn to you, tension arises and gossip articles start to brew.
Riki seems to love playing with the fire he started, meanwhile it’s clear that you’re not playing along with his games — especially when you swore to yourself that you're not going to stoop to your ex-husband’s level.
SUMMARY: Ever since your boyfriend Jake transformed from his nerdy high-school self into the university's star football player, you've become everything you thought you’d never be. Jealous. Anxious. Clingy. But Jake really doesn't mind your newfound possessiveness. He encourages it, even. So when he defies expectations again to star in a musical with a stunning costar, you spiral. Now, the “lowkey” relationship you once insisted on gets jeopardized under the weight of your own insecurities.
PAIRING: popular!jake x fem!reader
WORD COUNT: 26k+
GENRE: secret!relationship au, university!au, grumpy gf x sunshine bf (?), smut, angst, fluff, some toxic themes
WARNINGS: mdni, nsfw, porn with plot, tsundere!reader, lowkey crazy!reader, whipped!Jake, lowkey masochist!bf Jake, switch!Jake, emotional constipation, he want that cookie bad, jealousy, avoidancy, football = soccer, unsafe/unprotected sex, cursing, sweat, dacryphilia, storage closet sex, lots of biting/marking, 69, cumplay, jewelry play, begging, failed pull-out method, creampie, squirting, lmk if i missed anything
A/N: Not to pick a favorite child but… I loved writing this fic so much.
a year ago.
It’s the last year of high school, on a relatively normal walk back home. The same cracked sidewalks, the same autumn breeze, the same shy boy matching his steps beside you like he always did. Just like any other day.
Until he decided to ruin it.
“Do you wanna… like, date?” Jake asked suddenly, hands shoved deep into his uniform pants pockets, trying too hard to sound nonchalant. “You know… put a label on us. Or whatever.”
You remember almost running away out of pure instinct, soul escaping your body. But instead, you laughed. Because what the fuck was he on about?
You? Jake? Date?
The two of you were barely even supposed to be friends. He's a straight-A student teachers constantly compared you to, with those thick-rimmed black glasses glued to his face and unkempt bowl of hair. A striker on the football team who watched matches from the sidelines just as much as you did… and you weren't on the team.
And on the other hand, there’s you. Not-so-pleasant you. Considered a troublemaker because you always showed up late to class, talked back to ill-meaning adults, and picked fights with boys who catcalled too much. A rumor spread through school that your dad was a terrifying loan shark with gang ties. He’s a banker.
Assigned classroom cleaning duties was what brought you two together in the first place. It wasn’t fate. Nothing notable. You more or less picked him up on your shoulder and claimed him as a personal assistant. Someone who would fetch you water when you’re thirsty or give you answers to math problems when you were too lazy to solve them yourself.
So why in the world did he think you two should date?
“Who put you up to this?” you wheezed between bursts of cackling. “I’m gonna beat their ass.”
Jake scratched the back of his head, clearly not amused.
“I mean… You and me?” you continued, tears of laughter blurred your vision. “We would make the worst couple ever—”
“I don’t think so.”
You froze mid-step. Jake had slowed his strides down a long time ago, but now he was completely still. You turned to find him a few steps behind, face flushed and hands by his sides.
He’s holding something. A small, turquoise box. One that looked suspiciously like…
You felt like throwing up.
“I-I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he stammered. “What it’d be like if I were your boyfriend. If we… went on dates and stuff.”
Oh, hell no.
It’s like an immediate sense of panic overcame your body. And before your brain could process a single rational thought, you broke out into a sprint. Running down the street like a maniac. In hindsight, you probably should’ve known that you couldn’t outrun an athlete. But you weren’t really thinking, period.
You feel a tug on your waist. Jake had already caught up to you. He spun you around, like the male leads do in those stupid romcoms, and pulled you into him. His face was close. Too close. His glasses slipped halfway down his nose, and a bead of sweat clung to his temple. And it wasn’t from running.
It was from you.
He looked nervous. Ridiculously nervous.
The ring box pressed into your back, and you put your palms sternly against his chest, trying to create some distance between you two. It wasn’t helping.
“Jake,” you warned. “Let go of me or I scream.”
He shook his head, his arms only wrapped tighter around you. “Only if you promise you won’t run,” he replied, a sort of desperation laced in his voice. “And that you’ll listen to what I have to say.”
You bit your bottom lip, suddenly too aware of his intense gaze and how they searched yours through those big, fat lenses. You gave a small nod, not trusting your voice to come out right. The moment his grip loosened, you broke your agreement almost immediately. Your feet moved on their own, like fight-or-flight, as you tried to rush out of his arms. But he was one step ahead of you, grabbing your wrist to bring you back right where you were.
“Really?” he asked, exhausted. “That’s not gonna work a second time.”
You glared, but your eyes betrayed you. They slid down to the turquoise ring box, still in his hand. Jake's eyes flickered in the same direction, clearing his throat awkwardly.
“I can put it away if it’s freaking you out,” he muttered, slipping it back into his pocket. You almost let out a sigh of relief, but not when his large hand was still wrapped around your wrist.
“...Thank you,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on the ground. “Now make it quick.”
Jake's heart constricted. ‘The worst thing she could say is no!’ the internet had told him. This was a lot worse, actually!
“[Y/N],” he started sharply, and the sound of your name on his lips sent shivers down your spine. He released you, only to set both his hands on your shoulders, guiding your gaze up to meet his.
“I… I think—” He stopped, inhaling a deep breath. “No. I know. I… really… really… l-like you.”
His voice was as shaky as his hands, and for a brief second, almost every part of you wanted to knock him out with your backpack because your heart was beating too loud in your chest. It pissed you off. But you held back and just… stared.
Jake, ever the hopeless romantic, had fallen for you the moment you asked him to clean the entire classroom alone while you skipped duties to hang out with your friends. He said yes, only because he has a hard time saying no, especially to someone he found so pretty. But then you laughed and told him you were joking. Told him not to bend over backwards just to please other people. Spent time with him that day when usually, others paid him no attention.
He was enamored ever since.
But the silence between you two was suffocating, heavy enough to stall his breathing. Jake’s palms were growing damp against the fabric of your uniform blazer, and his heart felt like it was ready to fall to the floor. Maybe this was a bad time to do it. Or maybe the ring really freaked you out. Was it too big a gesture? The WikiHow tutorial he consulted had told him to bring a gift, after all.
“Hello?” Jake’s voice cut through your thoughts. He gave your shoulders a tiny shake, trying to pull you out of your entranced state.
“Hm? Sorry… say that again? I don’t think I heard you…”
Jake’s expression fell as he dropped his hands back to his sides in defeat.
“Okay,” he muttered, voice small. It wasn’t worth it. Everything went off script anyway. “Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”
He brushed past you, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep in his pockets again. He was fidgeting with the ring box, wishing he could throw it into the nearest bushes. God, he felt dumb. So fucking dumb.
Of course you’d say no! He was nobody. Just Jake. Just some guy you latched onto at the start of high school so you could poke fun at him for the next few years and make him pay for your boba addiction. And you, with your cool-ass friends with eyebrow slits and really underground music tastes. You’re way out of his league—
“Jake,” you called out, surprised at how loud your voice could get if you were desperate.
He turned around immediately, wearing such a pronounced pout even from a few meters away. Somehow, seeing his face again made your throat close up. He liked you. He really liked you.
“Say it again,” you demanded, arms crossed with doubt written all over your features. “I need to hear you say it one more time.”
You walked toward him until you stood close enough to see the nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth. Was this it? Would you actually give him a chance? Jake pressed his lips together and inhaled a deep breath to calm himself.
“I like you,” he said as softly as a whisper. “Would you… Be my girlfriend?”
You looked at the ground, feigning a calmness when your mind was racing with thoughts too insane to vocalize. When you finally looked up again, your heart betrayed you. It skipped a beat at the way his gaze fell on yours, wide and hopeful. It almost hurt. He was too bright, too cute.
(Okay, so what if you liked him back. He didn’t have to know that.)
“Sure,” you said, forcing your voice to sound casual. Jake froze.
Then his entire face lit up. Suddenly, he was grinning from ear to ear, jumping in place like a dog begging for a treat. “Really? Like really? You’ll go out with me?!”
He took your hands in his, tenderly. Like he wasn't entirely sure the moment was real. You felt the dampness of his palms first, then the tug of his fingers intertwining with yours, like he had already rehearsed this part of his confession a thousand times in his head. Your cheeks warmed.
‘What a weirdo,’ you thought to yourself. It’s not like he’d just won the lottery. What was he so happy about?
“Just don’t make it weird,” you grumbled. “Keep it on the down low.”
Jake’s smile faltered, brows knitting together so tightly you were sure it’d leave a wrinkle on his cute face.
“Like… you don’t want people to know?” he asked, voice quieter now. You nodded, confused by his confusion.
“Why would anyone need to know?” you asked genuinely. He frowned, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand, silently asking you to reconsider.
“Not even Sunghoon or Jay?”
You scoffed. “Especially Sunghoon and Jay.”
“Why not?” he groaned. You just shrugged.
“I don’t want our dynamic to change just ‘cause we’re dating,” you reassured him, letting go of his hands to ruffle his hair. Like you always do when you tease him. Like that would make it all better. “And all that coupley PDA stuff draws too much attention anyway.”
You’d spent years cultivating your intimidating persona, and in your mind, it was simple. No one else needed to know that you were vulnerable to something as cringe-inducing as dating. The other students would only use it against you. For what? Who knows.
But you could just imagine the teasing glances and whispers in the hallways. If Jake were really serious about dating you, surely he’d be understanding of your aversion towards embarrassment. Right?
He didn't seem entirely convinced. At all. “So… what would be the difference then? Between us now and before?”
You sighed and stepped past him.
“It's what we'd do in private, you know?” you muttered over your shoulder. “Kissing and all that…”
You didn’t see it, how Jake’s ears completely reddened or how his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His fingers twitched at his side, like he was already imagining what it’d be like to hold you properly. To touch you. To kiss you. Like real couples do.
“D-do you want to see the ring I got you?” he blurted out, catching up to you. “I swear it’s lowkey. It has a ‘J’ engraved inside the band. I got a matching one with your initial, too! No one would even notice if you wore it—”
And you feel your heart thunder in your chest, scaring you into another sudden sprint. “Get the hell away from me, weirdo!”
Your joined laughter echoed down the street as he chased after you. And even though he could catch up to you, he let you have your fun, staying just a little out of his reach.
–
Jake is very good at obeying orders, always has been. Especially after the first few times you glared at him for accidentally reaching for your hand in the cafeteria. He learned fast.
He tried his best not to show affection publicly, no matter how badly he wanted to wrap his blazer around your shivering frame when you would nap during class. He forced himself not to linger near you when you were loitering with your fellow delinquents by the school staircase, laughing at a joke he didn’t quite understand. He suppressed the urge to defend you from teachers who reprimanded you out in the hallways. Tried not to look behind at you for too long during football games he never played in anyway.
Once, someone asked him about his love life, and he instantly turned into a blushing, mumbling mess. And they laughed it off. It was Jake. No one thought twice. He was always like this. Awkward. Flustered.
The parasites he calls friends, Jay and Sunghoon, would probably go into cardiac arrest if they ever found out how he doted on you in private. How soft he was. How gentle.
You pretended not to notice. But ever the observer, Jake sees how your defenses weaken, ever so slightly, each day.
You let him put his arm around you in dark movie theaters instead of yanking it away. Let him stay for dinner with your parents when he comes over to help you study (because lord knows you need it). You stopped flinching when he called you ‘babe’ in private, sometimes responding without even questioning who he was speaking to. It was baby steps, but to Jake, it was everything.
Was it awkward? Yes. The way his glasses got in the way when he finally kissed you for the first time. Your noses bumped together. Too much tongue involved. It was a mess. Still life-changing, nevertheless.
He replays the memory often. The two of you on your bed, him holding your plushie hostage, you trying to rip it out of his arms. The way you fell on top of him with your lips accidentally crashing on his. He pretended like the make-out session that occurred immediately after didn't absolutely ruin him.
Jake edged past the warmer parts of you when no one was around to bear witness. And you both were so good at keeping secrets. No one would have believed it anyway. You’d made sure of that.
–
“You two are very strange,” Jay commented, maybe a couple of months into your secret relationship. Every senior was gearing up for graduation, choosing which universities to attend or which path to take in life.
And of course, Jay and Sunghoon found out that Jake and you would both be attending the same university. Not just any school. A top one. Yonsei.
Jake had earned a full-ride scholarship after finally getting off the damn bench and scoring four goals in a single match against the best high school team in the nation. Jake could've gone abroad to an Ivy League, but he chose not to. Because at Yonsei he could visit family more often, save a lot of money, and… well, keep you close, most of all.
And by the will of a higher being (Jake’s relentless tutoring), you somehow made it in as well.
“I thought you said you wanted to go straight into the workforce,” Jay questioned you. “Now you’re telling me you somehow, in some way, got into the same school as Jake? This fucking nerd?”
Sunghoon chimed in with a smile he always wore before teasing you. “I didn’t even think you could get into college, honestly.”
You wanted to hit him so bad, but you stopped yourself. Your resolution for the new school year was to turn over a new leaf. And that comes with not hitting annoying boys over the head with your fist. You could get arrested for that from now on... So instead, you used your words.
“You’re mad I got in, and you didn’t,” you snorted, sticking out your tongue as Jake snickered beside you. You sat close enough to feel the warmth of his shoulder, but far enough apart to keep Jay and Sunghoon from noticing.
“You guys have no faith in her,” Jake sighed earnestly. “She’s really smart when she applies herself. She just needed a push, that's all.”
You glared at him, not sure if his comment was entirely a compliment. Yes, he played a role in your achievements. No, he could not credit himself for the hard work you put in to get that high-ass score on the college entrance exam. Even your teachers apologized for doubting you.
“Should’ve put those hours of tutoring her into me instead,” Jay groaned. “Now you’re gonna be all alone with no friends.”
Jake’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? S-she’s my friend.”
He stumbled over the words, clearly thrown off by the ominous comment. You watched him, amused. God, he was so obvious.
Sunghoon just looked between you two, doubt etched all over his face. “Barely,” he scoffed. “Trust me, bro, you are getting left behind as soon as she finds another victim willing to pay for all her food.”
You can start your resolution next week. This time, you really smacked him, sharp on his bicep. Sunghoon yelped.
“Why are you always so aggressive?” he whined, rubbing the sore spot with his arm. You raised your hand threateningly again, but you stopped yourself short.
At the corner of your eye was Jake’s soured expression, a flash of worry obviously overcoming him. But you couldn’t comfort him. Not now. You wouldn’t hear the end of it from these two.
“You never know,” Jay chirped, faking thoughtfulness with a hand on his chin. “Jake might be too cool for us once school starts.”
Jay and Sunghoon exchanged a look and then burst into laughter.
“Ain’t gonna happen!” Sunghoon cackled, putting his whole gut into it. You joined in hesitantly, though your eyes kept drifting to your sullen boyfriend. And he wasn’t amused. Not at all.
Because he never found it funny, the idea of you leaving him behind.
–
“Do you think I’m weird?” Jake asked one evening, with you curled up beside him on your bed. Your knee draped over his stomach, his glasses pushed up just enough to rest comfortably against your pillow. On his late-night visits, your parents would come in to check if you two were truly studying as you claimed. After Jake gained their trust, they learned to leave the two of you alone (when they probably shouldn’t have).
Your eyes were shut tight to prepare yourself for an oncoming nap.
“Yes,” you said quickly, not even giving him time to process the response.
“Like… bad weird?” he asked after a second. He’d been thinking lately, after the conversation with his friends, how different the two of you really were.
How easy it was for you to stand up for yourself. Go against the grain. How you don’t automatically default to nods as he does or lose your train of thought mid-conversation. How you hated being touched by most people but would smack someone’s shoulder when you genuinely found something funny.
He wanted that, wanted to see the world the way you saw it. To move around without hesitation. Even when people called you a troublemaker. Even when teachers scolded you for wearing your uniform skirt shorter than the dress code. How was confidence so natural for you?
“Bad weird,” you teased, eyes still closed. “But it’s okay. I’m used to it by now.”
A small ache tugged at his heart. “You still like me though, right?”
You laughed. Jake loved to do this sometimes. Bait for reassurance. But you’re not that kind of fish.
“Who said I ever did?”
You said it jokingly, but a silence followed. You don’t quite catch it as you drift to sleep, the way Jake’s eyes dimmed.
“Oh,” he said disappointingly, staring at the ceiling.
Sometimes, he wondered if the reason you wanted your relationship to be private in the first place was because of him. If his inability to relate to your friends with secret tattoos and chains on their jeans made you embarrassed to be his girlfriend.
Because you got along well with his friends just fine, could tease Jay and Sunghoon like you’d known them your whole life. But it was so hard for him to do the same with yours. To look natural when he joined that one karaoke hangout, where they looked at him expectantly because you had bragged that he could sing well.
You said it so proudly too, and he wanted to prove himself to them. That he was worthy to be in their presence. And then his voice had to crack.
“Should we get your friend some water?” someone joked, and the whole group laughed. With his cheeks red with embarrassment, Jake sat back down next to you, silent for the rest of the night. It was lame of him. Even he knew that.
But even as he watched you defend him with all your heart, he couldn’t find himself to cheer up. Because in your world, he had always felt out of place.
–
And so Jake did what he’s known to do best. Research.
He avoided WikiHow tutorials on how to ask out a girl and headed straight to the most honest part of the internet: Reddit.
‘makeover tips for guys’
‘how to gain more confidence’
‘how to be attractive enough that your girlfriend isn’t ashamed of you (serious responses only pls)’
He frequented the self-help section of the school library, took notes on everything from fashion advice to fixing his posture. He practiced eye contact with himself through the mirror until they watered, joined Sunghoon in the gym, and copied his weirdly intense routine.
Jake kept this process all to himself, much like your relationship. He learned to be good at that. Keeping secrets.
He would reinvent himself for university. Become someone you’d be proud to show off because he didn’t want to feel like this anymore. Like he would fall behind. And knowing you… he wasn’t sure if you’d bother to look back and see if your loyal puppy was still there trailing behind you.
–
present.
So that’s how your relationship’s been going so far. While Jake was on this great journey to undergo metamorphosis, there were no real complaints on your side.
So why was it like this now?
Waiting for your very late boyfriend, who was making you miss the first minutes of the university’s freshman orientation ceremony. You almost text him a paragraph about how, usually, you're the unpunctual one in the relationship, but a stranger approaches you.
“BOO!”
You almost let out a scream when you notice who it is. Or who you think it is. Is it who you think it is?
Because instead of wild, unruly hair hiding his eyebrows and big black frames resting on his nose bridge, your boyfriend looked like someone else entirely. His hair was styled in a middle part, framing his handsome features perfectly. Instead of his usual oversized hoodie with holes on the sleeves masking his athletic body, he’s wearing a varsity jacket and a simple white shirt that clung way too well to his muscular frame. You could even see the faint outline of contact lenses in the whites of his eyes.
Your eyelashes flutter in confusion. You literally just saw him yesterday. When did he find the time to get a haircut and invest in a new closet?
Jake steps forward with a small, hopeful smile and holds out a box of egg tarts. Did it add to his already late ETA? Yes, but he always thinks about you and what you'd like to eat. Could you blame him for getting you a sweet treat?
But that wasn’t the part you were really focused on.
“Who are you and what did you do to Jake?” you ask, fists raised like a boxer. He chuckles nervously, bringing the pastry box back to his side.
“Do I look weird?” he asks quietly, shifting his feet. The vulnerability in his voice made you lower your hands instantly.
“So…” you start, eyes looking him up and down. “This is on purpose? Like, Sunghoon didn’t put you up to this? Or Jay?”
He pouts. His mom practically screamed, “So handsome!” when he showed her his new look over video call. So, why was your reaction like this?
“I just thought… new school year, new me! No?” he says, puffing up with pride.
You shake your head, moving your hand on instinct to ruffle his freshly styled hair. But he catches your wrist before you can touch him. You pull away, heart squeezing a bit, knowing that he dodged one of your rare bouts of affection. Or whatever you call it.
“It took me forever to get my hair to look like this,” he mutters, looking away. “Don’t want my hard work to go to waste.”
You click your tongue, trudging past him. Since when did he care about what his hair looked like? This was the same guy who showed up to graduation with a T-shirt and sneakers and got confused when the teachers asked him to go back home and change.
“Whatever,” you sigh. “No more standing around. We have to go—”
“Still not wearing the ring?” he asks, catching up to you. He noticed it earlier when he caught your arm.
When Jake gave it to you just a year before, he set no expectation for you to wear it. He really hadn’t… But it has been a year. Wasn’t it about time? He wears his everyday…
You suck in your teeth and glare at him. “Why would I?”
He flinches. And you start to feel guilt bubbling in your chest as his steps start slowing next to you.
“It’s just…” he mumbles. “It’s not like we’re in high school anymore. No one’s even gonna notice. And no one’s gonna care if we’re dating.”
You roll your eyes. You care. You still had a reputation to uphold. Maybe not as a troublemaker anymore. But still. Something about wearing your boyfriend’s ring for everyone to see and question seemed like your own personal hell. Who would want to be the center of attention as a university freshman?
“It’s the principle,” you say, not really knowing what you mean by it either. Because you are wearing it. Just not on your finger. It hangs around your neck, hidden underneath your blouse. But Jake didn’t have to know that.
You would rather die than give anyone the satisfaction of knowing you were smitten with this man. Soft, but only for him. Your biggest weakness.
“So are we always just gonna be a secret?” he sighs. You turn to face him, but you keep it pushing. It’s too much to explain right now. Or ever.
“Come on,” you insist. “We need to get to the orientation.”
–
Indeed, it wasn’t high school anymore. Because everywhere you turn, Jake’s name is being brought up.
“The hot guy on the football team—”
“He set the curve on the first exam and proved Professor Kim wrong on the board—”
“I saw him help a grandma cross the street. Soooo dreamy—”
It was enough to almost make you pull your hair out of your head. This was Jake they were talking about! The guy who was too shy to ask for no pickles in his damn burgers, who used to let Sunghoon copy off his homework and then rewrote his own just to make sure the teachers wouldn’t catch on. This was your Jake.
You take a moment to breathe.
You sound crazy. Deranged, even. It shouldn’t even matter. Jake was always good-looking! People just never noticed or took the time to appreciate him outside of his ability to decode the most difficult of physics equations.
“A couple of guys from the team think I’d look good with a sweatband,” he says, showing you a photo during a late-night walk. He’s shoving his phone screen to your face, and you pout at the sight. His hair pushed back, forehead glistening. A perfect view of his beautiful, dark eyes.
“Nah,” you say dismissively, trying to push down the fluttering in your heart. He tilts his head, staring at the photo once more.
“Really?” he mutters. “I thought it looked pretty good.”
“Do you really wanna look like Jay in junior year? He’s gonna tell you that you copied him.”
He gives a small sound of acknowledgement. You could tell he’s taking your comment seriously, like you said something truly eye-opening.
“You’re right,” he nods. “Then, how do you feel about a lip piercing?”
Your brows furrow at the thought of metal against his pouty lips. The way his teeth would tug on it. The effect he would have on all of his newfound admirers…
“Absolutely not!”
Yeah, you were losing it.
–
No, really, you might actually be going insane.
It was hard enough for you to create genuine friendships at Yonsei, full of stuck-up rich kids who only managed to get in through elite cram schools and expensive tutors. But after a few polite conversations, their masks fell to show their true intentions. You know now that you are being used as a shortcut to get on Jake’s radar.
Because why do people you’ve never met before suddenly feel comfortable enough to ask you to introduce them to him? Why do they request to follow you on Instagram only so they can find his account more easily? And what pisses you off most—the question they always ask, without fail: “Is he single?”
And you know there's a quick answer you can give. A very simple solution to your eye-twitching problem. Because every time someone high-fives him in the corridors or bats their eyelashes flirtatiously in his direction, you have the overwhelming urge to just pounce on him. To wrap your arms around his middle and never let him leave your sight.
But you can’t. Your pride is too big, your ego too fragile to admit that someone actually managed to slip past the cold exteriors of your heart. So instead, you're waiting impatiently for him to reply to your text.
He's not at practice. He's supposed to be on his way. So where the hell was he?
jake: sorry! study group went for a lil bit longer than I thought. everyone kept asking me for help haha. omw!
And then he sends a photo. It's a group selfie, with him in the middle. Three girls on his right and another two on his left, surrounding him like a piece of meat.
you: dont bother coming. im sick.
With envy, maybe. But you're perfectly healthy.
jake: im sorry babe :( you feeling okay? want me to get you anything from the store?
you: Nah.
You almost scream. There's so much you want to say and admit, but your fingers won’t type any of it. You really don't deserve him. He's so nice, and you're so… Fuck.
Why is it so hard to admit to your own boyfriend that you miss him?!
jake: ok :( I love you!
Your stomach flips.
Haha… You needed professional help. Really.
–
Jake was better at football than the bench in high school ever suggested. Senior hierarchy was everything at Yonsei. A starter as a freshman was practically unheard of before Jake. How he managed to level up from being a designated benchwarmer to being on the field at all times felt like whiplash.
Did he just have this in him this whole time?
I mean, you guess he looked kind of cool out there, all sweaty and serious-looking. Shouting call-outs to his team mid-game. Your legs squirm at the sight. He really needs to put on his damn glasses. (Though knowing you, that might only make things worse.)
You sit there, wearing the university colors of white and blue, holding onto a sign that says “Go Team!”
You would have made something with his name on it, but the thought alone sends shivers down your spine. You could not bear to give the stupid boys beside you the ammo of watching you scream Jake’s name and go crazy over his goals. So instead, you silently watch and admire as he steals the ball yet again.
Jay and Sunghoon, decked out in the rival school’s signature red for no reason whatsoever (they don’t even attend that university either), stood on either side of you with a level of passion you’ve never seen from them before.
“GET HIS ASS!” Jay screams. “Play the mental game! When Player 15 cries, he calls his mom first—”
Player 15 would happen to be Jake.
“The guy with ‘Sim’ in the back of his jersey loves to sing Celine Dion in the shower—”
You groan as heads turn, not enjoying the various glares and snide remarks from your surrounding schoolmates. You still haven't made any substantial friends yet at university. Being associated with these bozos would only make it that much harder. This would be the last time you sneak them into the student section.
“Can you two please sit down?” you mutter. “We’re ahead by like four goals. Psychological warfare is not enough for Jake to lose.”
Sunghoon drops back into his seat with a huff, cracking his neck.
“This won’t do,” he mutters. “Jake’s gonna surpass me in Instagram followers if he wins this.”
Jay chuckles on your left side, still standing and selfishly blocking the view of everyone behind him. “If he wins, you think he’ll invite us to their celebration party after?”
Your brows furrow. “What party?”
Jay finally sits down when the opposing team calls a time-out, one eyebrow raised at your confused expression. “Isn’t that like a thing every school does? First big game of the year, there’s bound to be something.”
Sunghoon nods in agreement. “Yeah, that’s like common knowledge.”
You almost pout before catching yourself. Jake never mentioned anything about a party.
So when the game ended and, of course, Yonsei won, the two boys could not help but ask.
“So there’s a party, right?”
“And you’re taking us?”
Jake looks between the two of them, forehead glistening and hair damp with sweat.
“What party?” he asks, and you smile gingerly. That’s right! You weren’t crazy. He would’ve told you if there was—
“You have to go to the party, Jakey!” a voice chirps from behind you.
You recognize her. The team manager of the football team. Short hair and a cute button nose. Very pretty. Your eyes cut between Jake and her. Wait.
Jakey? Who the hell calls him that?
Jay and Sunghoon give each other some shifty glances and step aside, letting the girl join the conversation. You feel this weird inclination to move closer to Jake, but you suppress the urge.
“Hm?” Jake finally replies, confused more than ever. “No one told me about a party.”
The girl giggles. What even was her name?
“Oh, Jakey! Since you’re a freshman, I’ll give you the rundown.”
She scooches in between you two, pushing you slightly to the side. The boys don’t seem to notice, and you have half your sense not to shove the girl right back.
“Whenever we win,” she starts, “the whole school goes to En Bar nearby and takes it over! Free drinks and everything. You’re our star player, so you definitely can’t miss it. Your friends are invited too, of course.”
She looks between Jay and Sunghoon, not even sparing you a glance.
Jake scratches the nape of his neck. “Sorry, I’m actually feeling pretty tired—”
“We’ll be there!” Jay and Sunghoon say instantly. You raise your eyebrow at them, and the two brush it off.
“We’ll make sure he comes,” Jay laughs, slapping Jake hard on the shoulder. Having gotten hit by the ball in that exact spot just an hour before, he winces.
“I’m not really—”
“Great!” the girl smiles, clapping her hands together. “I’ll see you all there then?”
Of course, her back is fully turned towards you. Dumb and dumber nod in unison, and as the girl walks off, they push at each other excitedly.
“First college party,” they cry out in joy.
“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You two are pathetic.”
Jake nods slowly in agreement. “Well… you guys have fun. I think I’m just gonna head back to my dorm and shower…”
“And get ready, right?” Sunghoon says dangerously, wagging a finger at him. “Because you are coming, right?”
Jake shivers under his friends’ threatening glares. But what really scares him is when his eyes find yours. You look pissed. Fuck. What did he do this time?
“I mean… I guess I could pop in…” Jake says reluctantly. He sneaks in another glance in your direction and sees that your frown grows even deeper. Was that the wrong thing to say?
“Babe?” Jake calls after you as you stride across campus, shivering in your t-shirt and mini skirt. “Why are you walking so fast?”
It’s dark now, save for the dim street lamps. You stop abruptly, and he almost bumps into you. When you turn, your jaw is already clenched.
“Am I crazy, or did that girl just completely ignore me?” you ask genuinely, voice at the seams of losing composure. Because what the fuck was her problem?
Jake laughs nervously. “Choa? I thought she seemed pretty friendly?”
Your expression sours. “Yeah, maybe a little too friendly,” you say under your breath. Jake catches it.
“Wait,” he says with a shit-eating grin, leaning in. “Babe… are you jealous? Hm?”
Your cheeks heat up, arms crossing like a toddler. “Fuck off.”
He laughs now, twisting you around and guiding you forward with an arm around your shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, babeeee…”
He notices how you don’t pull away from his touch, when normally you would hiss something like, “people are watching,” or something like that. Jake bites back an even bigger smile. You just let him hold you.
The walk to his dorm was peachy for him, save for the fact that his sweaty arm stank up your shirt.
You! Jealous. This has to be a dream. When you reach his room, shared with a sophomore named Heeseung who never seems to be around, you sit on Jake’s bed, still reeling from the earlier interaction.
“Am I overreacting?” you ask him, not at all bothered that he was taking his jersey off. You’re well past the stage of pretending his bare torso flusters you. “Like… did it not seem like she wanted you?”
Jake laughs, wiping his underarms with a nearby towel. “Me? Babe, no. That’s out of the question. She's like four years older than us—”
You roll your eyes. “So where the fuck did ‘Jakey’ come from?”
He shrugs, catching his reflection in the wall mirror hanging on his door. His muscles flex in a way that makes your eyes travel down his well-toned back…
You snap your gaze back to the wall. No. Focus. You’re supposed to be mad.
“New year, new nickname?” he offers, teasingly.
You throw a pillow at his head. Like the athlete he is, Jake dodges it. He turns to you, laughing, amused by how sulky and adorable you look on his bed. Brows furrowed in contemplation, tugging your legs close to your chest. Your plush thighs in your pretty little skirt that would have gotten you dress-coded back in high school with your knee-high socks and…
Fuck.
“It’s not like I care,” you mumble, unconvincingly.
Jake huffs out something that sounds like a chuckle, but his thoughts are elsewhere. His mind (and eyes) are on the edge of your skirt. He places a hand on your thigh and rubs it softly. To you, it felt like reassurance, and it was. But he was also incredibly horny.
“Babe,” his words drawl. “Look at me.”
Your eyes meet his for a split second before he plants a wet kiss on your cheek. “Hey—”
He chuckles as he plants another on your nose. Then your chin. And then your other cheek. And now you’re trying to push him away, but he holds your wrists to prevent you from stopping his incessant attacks.
“Jake—You stink—Freak!” You try to say as his lips find yours, while he’s giggling up a storm. So cute. You're so fucking cute.
His next kiss is deep, drawing out your breath sharply. Your back is on the bed now with Jake on top, his hands still wrapped around your wrists.
Jake’s lips move against yours, your eyes fluttering shut. His tongue prods and pushes in, his taste so sweet and heavy as you breathe in his weirdly intoxicating scent. Like fresh laundry doused in the salt of his sweat. You clench his biceps as he comes up from the kiss to catch some air.
He looks at you, face flushed and mouth parted.
“I’m hard,” he blurts out, and you smack him on his naked chest.
“What do you want me to do about that?” you mutter as you start to feel him press against your stomach. “Don’t you have a party to go to?”
He shakes his head, burying his face in your hair. He lets out a groan, grinding onto you just to feel any part of you against his football shorts. You let out a squeak, clenching at his toned muscles harder.
“You’re not coming with?” he asks, and you can hear the shakiness in his breath. You smirk, wrapping your legs around him and shifting up so that his tent could meet your core. Jake fit between you so snugly.
His head lifts to meet yours, pupils already so dilated.
“Why would I?” you say through hooded eyes, and you could visibly see him gulp. It almost makes you laugh. But instead, you tease him, moving your hips up to graze his bulge.
“I have time,” he groans quickly. “For this. Or whatever you want to do. Like I’m really down for any—”
You roll your eyes, gripping the back of his head to smash him back down to your lips. Your movements are messy, tongues clashing at a feverish pace. He’s still sore from earlier, but like hell he would let this opportunity go. Not when you looked this fucking good. And angry too. (For him, these things aren’t mutually exclusive...)
With trembling fingers, he lifts your shirt and almost moans at the sight of your bare skin. While he wants to thank you for saving him the trouble of not fiddling with a bra clasp, you pat yourself on the back for leaving your necklace at home.
Knowing how frisky Jake gets after the adrenaline of a good win runs through him, it was the right call. You don’t think you could handle Jake seeing you so jealous while having his ring resting on your chest. Yeah, you’d probably die right in front of him.
His hands grab your tits softly, massaging them between his fingers. Jake dips down, swallowing a nipple in his mouth as he watches you sigh out in pleasure.
He’s confident in one thing when it comes to you, and it was this right here. He could make your tough exterior melt just as long as you were under him. Or over him. He has no preference.
His tongue circles your bud, tugging with his teeth lightly.
“Jake—” When he hears you squeak, his dick twitches with anticipation. So pliant now. What happened to that dominance earlier? He’d like to see it come back…
He moves on to the other breast, licking and massaging so it doesn't feel too neglected. Jake loves your tits, could be buried between them for the rest of his life if you let him. But now isn't the time! He has a very mean and very jealous, but also very hot, girlfriend to please. And maybe some party to make it to, who knows.
Jake pulls his shorts down roughly, just enough so that he can take his dick out. Already so big, the bulbous tip weeps with desire for you. He’s palming himself, relishing in how your eyes shut tight, lips parted open as his wet, pink muscle traces circles over your sensitive skin.
He’s nipping the top of your breasts now, careful not to leave marks in visible areas. Jake knows how you get about that sort of thing.
His fingers drag your white, damp panties off your legs, but keeps your skirt on. And the knee-high socks for good measure. His hand meets your core, pushing down on your clit with a heavy pressure he knows you like.
You gasp, covering your eyes with your forearm. You’re so embarrassed. The noises you're making are unbecoming of you. All he does is laugh. Still so sensitive during sex after a whole year of dating. And he’s supposed to be the shy one.
His fingers drag slowly on your folds as he spreads your juices all over his digits. Jake might just cum in his pants with how soft your tits feel as he nestles his head in between them.
He pushes two fingers in right away, and you draw out a sharp breath. You almost hit him on the shoulder. He has no idea how big his hands are. How sometimes you would eye them whenever he helps you with homework. Veiny, like his cock.
He’s moving his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace, wet squelches echoing through the room.
“Ngh—Mmm—” you groan, arching your back to meet his movements. Impatient. You’re always so impatient.
“JAKE!” you cry out, when he rubs over a certain spot.
He looks up at you from his comfortable position between the valley of your chest, and with a teasing glint in his eyes, he says, “You mean Jakey?”
And it’s not an exaggeration in the least to say that you start seeing red. You grab his wrist, the pads of your fingers digging into his flesh. He stops his movements, looking at you with those puppy-dog eyes like he did something wrong. And he did. Something very. Very. Wrong.
“Sorry, I just wanted to tease—”
You pull his fingers out of you. With one swift movement, you grab him by his shoulders and push him down onto the bed. You’re hovering over him now, eyes dark.
Jake swallows nervously. Why’d you have to look so hot when provoked?
“Did I ruin the vibe or…”
“Shut up,” you growl, crashing your lips onto his. He tries to hold your waist to offer support, but you hold his wrists down onto the sheets. He could probably push you off very easily. But he doesn’t. Because he loves seeing you like this. Loves the urgency in your touch.
You want him! And you’re showing it! His heart is practically doing backflips in his chest.
Your tongue explores the inside of Jake’s mouth, licking the roof of it in a way that has him seeing stars. You’re so rough with it. Sucking on his, biting his lip, moving so desperately against him.
“Babe—” he tries to say in between your assaults on his mouth. But it comes out in a breathless whisper when he feels you grinding your slick pussy against him.
“I said,” you say through gritted teeth. “Shut. Up.”
He almost moans when his leaking tip hits your clit. Just the contact alone has the back of his head hitting the pillow roughly. But he forces himself to watch as you move against him as he offers no assistance. Your grip on his wrists moves to the sheets as you focus on grinding against his dick. Swiveling yourself on him back and forth. Rubbing and rubbing. But it’s not enough. He needs to be inside. Needs to feel you right now.
Your breath is on his neck now, riling yourself up at his stunt. Jakey? What grown woman calls someone that? Choa and her nice ass bob... Fuck her!
“Ngh—” he lets out as you suction an erogenous zone on his neck, sucking and biting him like a vampire. Your tongue lapping at his skin to soothe him from the brutal assaults of your teeth. You close your eyes to relish in his taste. So salty from sweat, but still so sweet. But you’re distracted now as Jake breaks free from your hold. He grips your ass with one hand, the other guiding his pulsing member to your slippery entrance.
“Wha—”
He’s looking at you with pleading eyes. “Can I, baby?” Jake begs, cheeks tinged pink. “Please?”
You bite back a smile. What a fucking loser.
You push down on him, just slightly, just enough for his bulbous tip to slip inside. His grip on your ass is now slack. He doesn't even want to fight back, really.
“Fuck—” Jake’s mouth parts open, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes when you come back up. No longer inside you, he groans.
“Whyyy,” he whines. “I said I’m sorry—”
He inhales a sharp breath when you engulf his tip again, tightening around him just a little harder.
“Do you like being called Jakey?” you question darkly. “Like it when other girls feel up on you?”
He shakes his head desperately. “No—Only you—” he says through pained groans.
And then you lift again, laughing at his pathetic form. “I don’t believe you.”
He’s practically writhing underneath you now, his mushroom tip pulsing against your folds. Your skirt hides it all from view, and he just wishes he could rip it off you. Give you a new one, much, much shorter, so he can see everything better.
But only if you let him.
“You’re literally torturing me,” he whimpers, hips jutting up messily. He keeps missing your entrance, the one he desperately needs to be buried in. “Need to feel you right now—”
“What’s it to me?” you ask meanly, your thumb prodding at his bottom lip. His tongue comes out to lick at the pad of your thumb, sucking it ever-so-slightly. You enjoy this view. Him underneath you. Pleading. Whining. Like he's starving.
“I’ll make you feel so good, baby,” Jake offers through the haziness of his lust. Not entirely conscious of how desperate he sounds. “You can use me however you want. I’ll literally do anything. Just please—”
And then you sink, so slowly that his eyes roll to the back of his head. The devil. His girlfriend is the devil.
“Babe—” You shut him up with another open-mouthed kiss. Messy, just how he likes it.
He grips his hands into yours as you suckle his tongue, intertwining your fingers together. You try not to wince as you sheath him fully, realizing now that you were overconfident in taking control before he could properly prep you.
Usually, sex was an hours-long ordeal with Jake. He likes to finger you, then eat you out, then repeat, until he can slip into your slick warmth with little issue. Sex is the only time you don’t deny him the pleasure of seeing you flustered over him. Over what he could do for you. What he could provide you if you let him tell everyone in the world that he’s yours.
Regardless, Jake will always be long and thick, and he still stretches you out so deliciously. Your mouths clash against each other, swallowing back both of your moans as saliva pools at the sides of his bruised lips.
Depraved. That’s all you could think of when Jake bottoms out inside you. He’s so sweaty now, the scent so musky that it drives you insane. Do other girls smell these pheromones when he’s around? Or is this just you and your hypersensitivity to everything that involves him?
You’re moving up and down now, with shallow thrusts that do little to satiate the flame in your stomach. You don’t do this enough—take control enough. Your knees are already weak, wobbling, as you grind down on him.
But you push through it as you continue to impale yourself on his cock, gummy walls clenching him tightly with each thrust. You want to get him off like this, even if your whole body is trembling above him.
And it’s not like Jake doesn’t notice. But like the little shit he is, he doesn’t feel like helping. Because he enjoys the feeling too much, of your breasts bouncing filthily against his chest. When you lift yourself from his lips so that you can focus on riding him, he finds it so endearing. How you put your hands on his abdomen to steady yourself, how you fuck yourself on his length. How much you struggle to take all of him in. Not sure what to do with yourself.
‘My poor baby,’ Jake thinks, chuckling at how tight your eyes shut just to feel him better.
“Need help?” he hums, his hand drawing circles on your hip. You shake your head, teeth gritted.
“N-no,” you try to muster out, but it’s unconvincing. Your movements are stuttering, moans slipping out of your mouth too easily. He smirks. His little pillow princess.
Jake, with his grip on your hips, pulls you down onto his cock. Hard. You gasp as his hips snap up with it.
“Ah—” you cry out, your nails now digging into his shoulder blades. He pounds into a spot that had you almost come undone at that very moment. How did he get so good at this?
Jake lifts you, all the way until his pink tip is the only thing in your wet pussy. Then, as harshly as he could, he pushes you down on him, his thickness grazing at your deepest parts. And he does this again and again until you collapse onto his chest from the roughness of his thrusts.
“I’m gonna—Ngh—Fuck—You—” you try to say through your moans, try to sound angry. But you love it. Love how tight he grabs your bum. Love the slight stretch of pain as he stuffs you full of him. Love that trickle of spit that falls out of his mouth as his back lifts off the bed to feel you better. Ugh, you hate him.
“JAKE—”
“Shhh, baby, ” he whispers, forcing your face into the crook of his neck. “Just take it.”
Jake plunges up into you, propelling your hips down with his harsh grip. He lifts a heavy hand, smacking your ass from behind as you try to match his timing. You scream. He does it again, massaging the tender spot. The pain mixes with the pleasure, as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You feel your climax building now as your lips find his neck again, sucking and biting. Marking him. Let everyone know that he’s yours. That you own him.
“Babe…” he whines, too lost in the suctioning of your tightness to really care. Because he’s close too. So fucking close.
Jake’s arms move up to your back, caging you into a bear-like embrace. His feet plant themselves on the bed, as his dick shoves into you with newfound energy. He’s going so fast, you could practically hear the speed. Feel it too. The wet squelches of his balls slapping against your ass. You move with him, trying to sync your rhythm to his.
“Mmm—Ahh—” your moans jumble into each other. Your legs are trembling, even more than they were before. A searing feeling within you continues to build and build. A single, full thrust from him has you biting into his neck brutally, stifling your moans as your orgasm crashes through you in waves.
“Shit—” he cries out, from both the pain of your teeth and the pleasure of your cunt's constricting grip. You grind down on him, whimpering into his skin, back arched to ease yourself through the sensitivity.
Jake’s dick twitches in you once, then twice. He pushes you off of him and onto the bed, harsher than he intended. But he doesn’t have a condom on, and... he likes the way you look in white.
He hovers over you now, his painfully hard length in his hand. He’s stroking himself with urgency, fist wrapped around himself with a panicked grip. He’s watching you intently as you splay out underneath him. So fucking pretty for him. Lips bruised and bitten so sensually. Legs opened with your juices glistening on the inside of your thighs. Maybe he should stuff his cock into your—
“Fuck—” he groans, mouth parting at the sight of his thick ropes of cum spurting out of him, coating your stomach and tits. He strokes slowly, pumping all that he’s worth onto your body. You welcome it, eyes drinking in his flushed demeanor.
“I love you,” Jake mutters as he comes down from his high. And you don’t say anything back, distracted as your fingers coat themselves on the sticky fluids on your skin. Such a mess, both of you.
You hear it then. Intense vibrations on his nightstand. Jake’s phone, very much neglected, is blowing up with texts and calls. Was it going off like that the whole time? Then his eyes go wide like saucers.
“Shit! The party—”
Your eyes narrow. Before he can pick it up, you grab the nape of his neck to pull him down into another sloppy kiss. Your legs wrap around Jake once more, smirking as you feel him melt into you with little resistance.
“What party?”
morning after.
“You’re a bitchhhh,” Sunghoon cries out, over a FaceTime call that Jake was forced to pick up at nine in the morning. You were already gone by then, running late to your morning lecture.
Heeseung, thankfully, still hadn’t returned to the dorm. Or else you wouldn’t have been able to stay over and let Jake devour you a few more times, but that’s besides the point. He starts humming happily to himself with the memories of last night still fresh in his mind.
“They wouldn’t even let me into the bar because I was wearing the wrong colors,” his friend continues to complain.
“I get it, I get it,” Jake replies, only half-listening. He’s fixing his outfit in the mirror, admiring how well a polo shirt fits him. It’s weird. He’s getting used to not looking like a dweeb all the time, just a few weeks into his big transformation, even with his glasses on right now.
“Yo, do you think these pants look better with a belt or nah?” he asks, not really sparing Sunghoon a glance. He adjusts his shirt’s collar slightly until—
“WHAT THE FUCK—”
Jake jumps, phone nearly dropping from the desk he sat it on.
“WHAT IS THAT?!”
“What? What?!” Jake snaps his head to look behind himself, like Sunghoon might have seen a ghost.
“Did you get eaten by a fucking lion?!” Sunghoon gawks. Jake’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red.
Damn, he forgot.
“W-what are you talking about?” he mutters unconvincingly, slowly coming out of frame. He strips the polo off in a panic, digging through his closet until he finds a turtleneck. It’s autumn anyway. This is fine, right?
“Our friendship is done,” Sunghoon deadpans at the camera. “You got fucking laid and didn’t tell me?! I mean, I understand Jay, he’d make it weird. BUT NOT EVEN ME?!”
Jake shakes his head, tugging the turtleneck on. He tries to roll up his sleeves to look more casual, but now he looks like Steve Jobs. Shit. He should put his contacts on.
“So who is it?!” Sunghoon presses. “Who’s the unlucky girl?”
When Jake doesn’t reply, Sunghoon gasps.
“Unlucky guy?!”
“Man, shut up!” Jake cries, snatching his phone off the desk and coming back into frame. “Please don’t tell Jay.”
–
“Okay, so he told Jay,” he blurts, shielding himself with his arm like you’re about to hit him. “Please don’t get mad at me.”
You almost asked why he was wearing a turtleneck in relatively warm weather when he tugged the collar down to show his neck. Absolutely purple and bruised. And yes. Maybe a dark, suppressed part of you jumped with glee. But the more rational part started cursing yourself out.
“I can’t believe you’d video call him the morning after,” you groan, massaging your temple with your fingers. “Ugh, I’m so stupid. What was I even thinking?!”
Jake gives you a sly smile. “I mean, I’m not complaining—”
You shoot him another icy stare, and he stops.
“W-well, it’s not like they know that it’s you! They probably think it’s someone else…”
You inhale a sharp breath at the thought. Was he gonna tell them the hickeys on his neck were from someone else? Who? Choa?
“Whatever,” you mutter, whipping around as your bag purposely smacked his bicep. You walk off, fists clenched, ignoring Jake’s calls out to you.
Fucking Choa.
–
A full week has passed since the disaster that was Sunghoon seeing Jake’s bruised neck. Your boyfriend only felt safe enough to see the two idiots once the marks faded, and even then, he was a little disappointed to wake up and see them all gone.
“So run it through with me again,” Jay requests, leaning over the boiling hot pot broth. The boys sit in a dimly lit restaurant with a stage in the back.
“Like, you were just walking back to your dorm and boom—you found a rando to hook up with out of nowhere?!” Jay questions, dropping tofu into the soup so aggressively that it splashes Jake’s wrist.
“Why are you making up fantasies in your head about my sex life?” Jake mutters, pushing his glasses up his face. He was too lazy to put his contacts on just to hang out with these two. “I plead the fifth.”
“Bro, I thought you were a virgin this whole time!” Sunghoon adds unhelpfully. “Excuse us for trying to be supportive.”
Jake rolls his eyes, struggling to grab an udon noodle with his chopsticks.
“Wait,” Jay says through the hot pot steam. “Weren’t you walking with [Y/N] that night?”
Jake gulps, throat bobbing as he fiddles with the noodle more to avoid suspicion.
“Right!” Sunghoon snaps his fingers, and for a second, Jake’s life flashes before his eyes. They know. They have to! Fuck, you’re gonna be so mad at him—
“Why don’t we just ask her who it was?”
Jake stares at them and breaks out into a nervous laugh. Never in his life was he happier to have a more idiotic set of childhood friends.
“Please do,” Jake smiles, wondering how you would weasel out of that conversation with them. “She knows her very well…”
A piercing sound of microphone feedback ricochets through the restaurant. The three cover their ears as everyone’s attention turns to the neglected stage.
“Who wants to sing?! It's open mic night!” the restaurant owner booms. When a deafening silence fills the air, Jay lifts Jake’s hand straight into the air without hesitation.
“This guy loves Celine Dion!” he cries out as Jake tries to yank his arm back down. He curses at his friend, but to no avail.
“Okay!” the owner shouts excitedly. “Come on right up, sir!”
Jay and Sunghoon practically drag Jake up the stage, laughing themselves all the way back to their seats in the far back of the restaurant. Jake stands frozen as dozens of strangers stare at him, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He takes off his glasses, shoving them in his pocket, and brushes his hair back. He couldn't bear to look at all these blank faces staring at him. Confidence. This is all about confidence.
When ‘My Heart Will Go On' starts echoing through the restaurant walls, Jake’s face flushes all the way red. This is exposure therapy; he tries to cope with himself. If he could do this, he could probably build up the courage to ask you about going public. So that his friends stop thinking he’s a loser. Maybe for you to stop thinking it, too.
He sucks in a deep breath. What’s the difference between this and a showerhead? Nothing. Absolutely nothing!
“Every night in my dreams, I see youuuu… I feel youuu…” he starts slowly, welcomed with a soft gasp from an audience member. Jay and Sunghoon’s laughter dies as Jake sings. Shit. He was actually doing it. And he sounded good, too. Like an angel. Was Jay crying?
Jake loses himself in the slow melody of the song, singing his heart out as he does in every postgame shower. ‘This one’s for you, babe,’ he thinks. Wherever you are…
When the song ends and Jake’s eyes open, he’s met with a standing ovation. At a damn hot pot restaurant. Jay and Sunghoon are cheering the loudest, holding their hearts like their once-nerdy best friend was their child at a talent show. The owner comes up to the stage, sniffling.
“Give it up for this random kid!”
As Jake makes his way back to the table, he holds his head up high. He couldn’t have imagined doing this a year before, let alone ordering food at a kiosk without stuttering. It’s like taking off his glasses gave him super powers.
“Excuse me—” Jake turns around. A girl with long flowing hair stops him.
“Are you Jake Sim? The freshman on the football team?” she asks, eyes bright. He nods. Does he know her?
“I’m Suji from the Dance department.” She bows slightly. “Your performance was incredible, by the way!”
He nods, giving a small “thanks,” before he turns back around.
“Actually!” She calls after him. He stops again. “I just wanted to ask if you were interested in auditioning to be the male lead of our upcoming musical! It’s about a football player who finds passion in singing and dancing. I just thought it would fit you so well!”
Jake turns back to face the stranger. He ponders deeply. A musical? Him? He’d never thought about it before, but what the hell! He guesses he’s the type to try new things now. The power of a good haircut, maybe.
“I’ll think about it,” he says with a polite smile.
Suji grins back. “Auditions start tomorrow. We’d love to have you.”
By the time Jake finds his way back to his seat, his friends are already geeking.
“You pulled another?!” Jay cries in anguish, biting his fist. “I should have gone up there. That should have been me! Damn it!”
“It’s not fair,” Sunghoon wails, leaning his head dramatically against the wall. “You had no play in high school. Like absolutely zero bitches—”
Jake snorts, scrounging for his glasses once more to slip them back on. “She was just asking me to audition for some musical.”
“I’m sure she was,” Jay says with a smirk. “I’m sure she’s staring straight at your back right now because she wants you in that musical soooo bad.”
Jake shifts in his chair uncomfortably, and sure enough, Suji is watching him. She shoots up her arm to wave. He looks back at his friends with a confused glance.
“Maybe they’re desperate?”
Sunghoon groans. “I’m gonna call [Y/N]. Let’s get her expertise on this.”
“Don’t!” Jake lunges, trying to grab Sunghoon’s phone as he takes it out of his pocket. But then flashes from that night start playing in his head. You above him. Riding him. Gripping his shoulders. Your lips on his neck, marking him until he whined and begged. All at the mere mention of Choa’s weird pet name for him. Jake clears his throat and sits back, not even trying to hide the shit-eating grin spreading across his face.
“...Yeah,” he says more casually. “Ask her.”
–
ma baby: Come over. Now.
Jake receives your text after Sunghoon’s impromptu call, bringing his hands together in a prayer position to the sky. Thank you to whatever higher being was watching over him.
When he reaches your residence hall, you’re waiting outside your door in pajamas, foot tapping impatiently against the carpet. You start glaring at his silhouette even before he comes into view.
“So,” you start slowly, “you just let anyone talk to you these days?”
Jake’s already giddy. Yes… Be angry with him… Let him in your dorm room and reprimand him, while you’re at it…
“Babeeee,” he teases, his arms already reaching for yours. You dodge him. “Are you mad at me?”
“No,” you reply flatly. “I’m just wondering when you started serenading restaurants and accepting invitations from random girls?”
“Just thought I could finally get some appreciation for my many talents,” he says teasingly, raising an eyebrow at you.
“Are you saying I don’t appreciate you?” you ask, not at all amused by his playful gaze. “I tell you all the time that you’re smart!”
He chuckles. “Everyone and your mom knows that by now, babe.”
You narrow your eyes. ‘He’s learning how to fight back,’ you think sourly.
“So you enjoyed that girl's appreciation, then?” you counter, knowing that you were riling yourself up by asking such a loaded question. Jake bites his lip to stifle a smile. There it is.
He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, pushing his glasses up. “I think I might actually consider auditioning!”
And this part is genuine. He’s always enjoyed singing. It could be a cool new experience, especially since he shied away from doing theater back in high school. Maybe now was his moment to shine... But when he notices how your expression darkens, he’s suddenly excited to audition for the musical for a whole different reason.
You look around the hallway, checking to see if anyone's coming by. Then you pull him by the collar and into your dorm room. The door shuts behind you two as you push him to sit on the bed. Jake looks up, eyes bright with pure anticipation as you climb onto his lap.
“What’s up, babe?” he asks, feigning ignorance. And you fall for it. Because your cute, nerdy boyfriend couldn’t possibly have ulterior motives… Right?
“You have class tomorrow?” you ask as you adjust yourself on him, legs encasing both sides of his thighs. His hands find your hips, pulling you closer.
“It depends,” he says, knowing full well he has an 8 a.m. physics lab. “Is your roommate coming back anytime soon?”
Oh yeah. Her.
“Not tonight,” you mutter, already peppering his neck with small kisses. “She’s visiting her parents.”
Jake smirks, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip as the wheels are already turning in his head. He fakes a cough.
“You know… I think the musical is actually a romantic comedy.”
You’re on your knees, carpet harshly grazing your skin.
“Fuck,” Jake groans, head thrown back as his hand clutches your hair. He’s pushing you down onto his cock, relishing in the way your cheeks hollow around him. How you take his whole length into your mouth without your usual snappy commentary. Look at you. Underneath him. So eager to please, but so in need of control. He bites his bottom lip at the view. It's addictive.
“Just like that,” Jake encourages, stroking your cheek so lovingly. Your tongue licks the underside of his thickness, careful not to have your teeth graze his sensitive skin. He’s so flushed above you, a darkness blooming in your heart. The sight of his glasses pushed so low on his nose bridge. So focused, so desperate for release.
‘My Jake,’ you think to yourself. ‘All mine.’
You bob your head up and down, your mouth plunging down to the base of his member with the help of his tight grasp on your hair.
“Y-yes,” he sighs, his hips coming up to meet your lips. Jake’s gaze never leaves yours, unable to tear his eyes from the tears forming in your eyes from just how much he fills you up. You always had something to say. Always rolling your eyes at him. Now, your eyes were rolling back for a different reason.
His mouth falls open. “F-fuck—”
You smirk as his hips start to lose rhythm. You remember the first time you gave him head. Just like this, knees on the floor of his room back home, with his parents watching TV downstairs. Glasses perched and foggy. He came within seconds. You were proud, just a little, that he was able to last this long now.
“B-babe?” he tries to cry out. “I’m close—”
You pull away from him with a pop of your lips, teasing the slit of his tip with the flat of your tongue. He groans in frustration, but his hands don’t push you down to take him in again.
“Already?” you say, eyes batting up at him. “Why should I give you the satisfaction?”
He whines, his grip on your hair tightening just a little.
“Please?” he asks, not really sure what you want from him. It’s not like he asked you to just fuck him with your mouth! That was all your doing. Okay, yes, maybe he did provoke you. But did that mean he didn’t deserve to orgasm?!
You’re pumping him slowly with your right hand, gripping tightly and stroking enough so that he’s still edging close to his climax. But not close enough to actually reach it.
“I thought I was supposed to be showing you appreciation,” you say pointedly. “Take my time with you and all that.”
He shakes his head ferociously, his hips snapping up into your fist.
“Babe—Please—I’m so—” he groans when he feels you slow your pace again.
“So what?” you ask, feigning naivety. You really are the devil.
He shakes his head. He can’t speak. Can’t even think. Just frustrated with how your lips aren’t wrapped around his fucking dick anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’ll do anything, baby. Please—Just stop teasing—Please—”
His sobs are music to your ears. Your wrist’s pace on him quickens, as your mouth engulfs his swollen tip. Your tongue circles the head, pumping him up and down with all your strength and might. Jake’s hands are clutching the sheets, hips pistoning up into your sticky fingers. He feels his load threatening to spill over.
“Fuck—Yes, baby—There—” He pulls your head back, hand encasing yours, pumping ferociously with you. Your mouth is wide open, tongue sticking out, eyes looking directly up at his. An invitation.
Spurts of his hot, white release coat your pink tongue. He unloads everything within him all over your features. Your cheeks. Your chin. Your cute ass nose. All covered in his milky cum. His mouth parts at the sight. So pretty. His girlfriend is so fucking pretty.
“I love you,” he whispers, as he wipes dribbles of his liquid off your chin with his thumb. “I love you so fucking much…”
You hum back in approval as he lifts you back up and onto his lap. Your face, still stained with his orgasm, comes up to kiss him. He grimaces slightly. You taste infinitely better than he does. He’s almost thankful you part ways with his lips so that you could pepper kisses down his neck.
And when you start sucking and nipping in the same way you did that game night, he smiles. His arms wrap around your waist as you suction his pulse point.
‘I could get used to this,’ Jake thinks.
The audition the next day went surprisingly easily. He truly was the only one trying out for the main role, while Suji was already pre-selected to play the female lead. Jake thinks it’s a bit unfair. What if other people wanted to audition too? But whatever. At least he got the part.
He finds you in between your lectures, holding out a boba for you in his hand. Jake’s not wearing a turtleneck this time, proudly wearing the battle scars of your teeth on his neck. No one’s brave enough to bring it up to him yet, to his dismay. Except you, who promptly smacks him in the arm for his shamelessness.
“You look like a pervert,” you grumble, still taking the drink from him.
He chuckles at your cute expression. You say that like it wasn’t your intention to have him show the bites off. To show that he is very much occupied with someone else. Not Choa. Or whoever this other girl was.
“I was wearing my jacket the whole day,” he reassures. “Just took it off when I came to see you.”
He flexes slightly. “You think I’ve bulked recently?”
You roll your eyes and ignore his obvious fish for compliments. “So how’d it go? The audition?”
He smiles. “You’re looking at the male lead of Singing Striker,” he says proudly, hand to chest. “And before you ask, the name was not my choice.”
You scoff at the cheesiness. “Congrats,” you say through small sips of your gifted drink. “Break a leg.”
“Babe… when you say it like that, I feel like you mean it the other way.”
You shake your head, speaking robotically. “So who’s the female lead? It’s a romcom, you said?”
“The girl,” he starts, snapping his fingers like he doesn’t already know who she is. “Suji. From the restaurant. The one who recruited me.”
Your eyes morph into a squint, like you’re glaring at him.
“...Interesting,” you say, willing yourself not to overreact. So Jake is hot now (always was). Girls just love to approach him with invitations to stuff. And he gets to act in a musical with someone that Jay described as “the baddest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.” Great! You love that, actually.
You bite down hard on the boba straw. “You know what… Are they casting for extras?"
And it's like a bad habit now. How you nip and scar his neck like you’re feeding off him every time a girl even so much looks in his direction. It’s easier than saying you’re jealous, easier than admitting that you have a sick sort of need to control who Jake interacts with.
You almost bent a metal spoon in the cafeteria when a girl asked for his number while you were sitting right in front of him. Granted, you did denounce being in a relationship with him pretty heavily the first few weeks at school. You knew she had every right to shoot her shot, but that didn't stop you from taking Jake right into a janitorial closet and making you eat him out as an apology.
“Fuck, baby,” he moans into the space between your thighs as your hands push him deeper into your wetness. “I've never even seen that girl in my life—”
You grit your teeth, angry that he even mentioned her. “Did I ask?” you growl through sharp breaths. “Just shut up.”
He smiles against your clit, sucking harshly to elicit more of your beautiful noises. He hums into you. Happy that you're mad at him. Happy that he gets to do dirty things with you without having to practically be on his knees and begging. Well, really, he already was.
His tongue laps at your folds, thrusting in and out to prolong his stay in between your thighs. Maybe he is teasing, but really, he’s just taking it all in. Your addictive noises. Your sweet taste. The feeling of his fingers digging into your ass just to hold you up. The way you clench around his tongue when he arches it inside, real deep. Yeah, he needs you bad.
Jake is lapping at you, your legs constricting around him even tighter when he finds his way back to your clit. When he tugs on it with his teeth, you jolt.
“Jake—” He does not care. He nips again, flattening his tongue to soothe the slight pinch. You arch your back into him, riding his face until you stop yourself. You look desperate. Pathetic even. But Jake groans.
“Keep going,” he huffs. “Use me, babe. Use me like I’m your fucking toy.”
You tsk, wondering where he learned to talk like that.
“Fucking pervert,” you mutter through harsh breaths. But your grip on him does tighten, and he whimpers at the feeling of you tugging on his locks.
“You like it when I'm like this, don't you?” You grit your teeth, pushing him in further. His nose is practically buried into your clit as he fucks his pink muscle into you at a merciless pace.
“Like when you get attention. Like when everyone fucking wants you.”
You're seething, practically riling yourself up. He tries to speak, but you clench around his tongue, trapping his voice. He hums into your folds instead, licking the roof of your warm hole as he finds the exact spot he's been searching for. You mewl.
“Fuck! T-there!”
You're grinding onto his face now, smothering him with your scent. Yes, he thinks to himself, please suffocate him. Tremors go through your body as you feel something intense build in the lower pit of your stomach. So close. So fucking close.
Jake’s grip on your ass loosens as he lets you do all the work. Your legs over his shoulder pump furiously into his face. Like, Jake is just a mere vessel for your climax. And he wouldn't have it any other way. He doesn't even nurse his own hard-on, one that's painfully stretching his jeans.
You're fucking his tongue, whining with each thrust, eyes starting to roll back, fingers almost pulling Jake’s hair from his scalp. Your hips stutter and then—
“Fuuuck…” Your orgasm pulses through you in ways that have you screaming silently. Your legs are trembling as his mouth vibrates with his hums against your core. Jake’s lapping up all your juices with an urgency.
Everything. He wants to taste everything. When you gently push him off from the oversensitivity, he resists at first. He holds you in place until he gets his fill, until tears are threatening to spill over. But your legs finally find the ground as he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes.
“I love you,” he whispers, out of breath.
‘Whore’ you want to say out loud, but you know that would only make him hornier. He’s weirdly into stuff like that. But you smile as you comb through his hair. He doesn’t have complaints about you messing it all up as long as you’re fucking him, huh?
Jake, still on his knees, looks up at you with a lick of his lips, savoring the remaining taste of you on it. You wish he could see how he looked. Flushed. Damp. Yours. You almost lift him up to kiss him when—Ding.
The loving gaze you two share is cut off by the sound of his phone. He finally gets up from his knees, checking the notification.
“Oh shit,” he mutters. “Suji says I missed the costume fitting. I think I need to head out soon—”
You smash your lips against his, interrupting his train of thought. You moan at the taste of yourself on his devious tongue. Jake smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. Maybe you could add a few more hickeys to his collection before he heads out... Just for good measure.
jake: let’s go to jay’s together?
For one of your weekly hangouts. The nights you try to avoid because they always end with you ignoring the pile of assignments you’ve already been putting off.
you: sure. wya rn?
You smack your forehead the second you realize how quickly you sent that text. You swear you weren’t waiting. It wasn’t like you were staring at the last message he sent five hours ago, ruminating over whether it was appropriate to tell him how much you missed him.
jake: meet me by the bleachers :D practice is ending soon.
The speed at which you change outfits is impressive, already heading to the damn field before you realize it. He’s there, dribbling with a couple of his teammates. You sit at the top of the stands, a bit out of his sight. He catches a glimpse of you anyway and waves. You shoot him a simple smile of acknowledgement that dampens almost immediately.
Because you also see Choa, handing him a water bottle. When Jake reaches for it, trying to avoid brushing her hand, she purposefully finds his fingers anyway. It’s enough for your stomach to sink.
Even though he’s just smiling politely. Even when it looks like their conversation lasts for two seconds. It doesn’t feel any less bad. Choa notices you staring, and she scoffs. “This is a closed practice—”
“She’s with me,” Jake corrects her immediately. “I told her to come. That’s okay, right?”
You lift an eyebrow, challenging her. Jake said it the nice way. If she had to hear you speak, you would have probably been escorted off the field by now. She coughs awkwardly and nods, instantly folding under Jake’s attention. Your boyfriend, by the way.
“O-of course,” she stammers. “Just make sure she doesn’t see the playbook.”
The guys continue playing, and you move down a few rows, keeping Choa in your line of sight. It’s like she feels the daggers you send her way because she whips around to glare at you.
“It’s kind of pathetic,” she starts. “How you cling onto him.” You squint at her, not sure if you heard her correctly. You turn around, too, to check if she really had the audacity to speak to a stranger like you in that way.
“You talking to me?” you ask, pointing at yourself mockingly. She clicks her tongue.
“Who else?” she bites back. “Do you even have a name, or do you usually just go by Jake’s guard dog?”
Your cheeks burn in anger. Oh, if you were in high school… She’d have been on the ground by now, makeup stained with turf and pebbles. But unfortunately, you’re trying to stick to your resolution. A reformed delinquent girl at a prestigious university—
“You mute too?” Choa adds in for good measure. You stand, and it’s like Jake’s Spidey senses tingle because he stops to watch, monitoring if he needs to step in.
“You know,” you say, voice cool and devoid of emotion, “you’ve got a lot to say for someone who has to talk like a baby to get a man’s attention.”
She snarls. “Excuse me?”
“Jake’s not gonna let you hit,” you mock, scanning her up and down with a disgusted face. You only say the next part just to piss her off. “You’re not really his type.”
“And you are?” She steps in closer. “You’re stuck in the fucking friendzone, acting like hot shit—”
Oh, if only she knew. The truth is sitting on your tongue, burning, begging to be spoken just so you can wipe that stupid smirk off her face. But you’re not that angry yet. Not enough to expose yourself.
“You seem like such a loser,” she continues, voice laced with malice. “Everyone already thinks you look like some stray puppy following Jake everywhere he goes. Don’t you have a life of your own? Any hobbies? Isn’t it sad showing up where you’re not wanted?”
Ouch. Jake was your puppy. He follows you around everywhere.
She digs right into that ugly little fear in the back of your mind. That you look as pitiful as you feel. That you truly were just biding your time in this dumb university until Jake showers you with attention. Is this what a relationship’s supposed to feel like? Like you’re waiting for him, all the damn time?
You inhale a deep breath. You’re better than this. Better than catfights over someone that’s already yours. A man who sleeps on your chest almost every night... But you’re not above being petty.
“And did he tell you all that,” you ask with fake sweetness, “or are your delusions that Jake’s gonna fuck you starting to get to your brain?”
She opens her mouth, but you cut her off. “I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you,” you continue, sarcasm dripping in your voice. “Make sure Jakey knows exactly the kind of girl you are.”
Choa bites the inside of her cheek. “Not like I said anything wrong.”
“Oh, right.” You pitch your voice up to that grating baby tone she uses with Jake. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate you calling me a ‘fucking loser,’ since you care so much about what he thinks.”
You could laugh at her suddenly hunched shoulders, but you just drop back down onto your seat, fake scrolling through your phone. “Don’t you have a team to manage?”
Choa whips her bob around, stomping back toward the group and desperately hoping that no one heard. But Jake is already staring. He doesn’t look mad. Just resigned.
“Choa?” he calls out, voice low and almost inaudible. He’s not smiling like usual.
“Yes?” she answers immediately, with that lilted tone that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You don’t hear the conversation that takes place, so curious as to why Choa’s expression suddenly drops.
“Don’t ever talk to her like that again,” he says, and the entire team stiffens around them.
“And next time,” he adds, walking past her, “Just mind your fucking business.”
–
You never, in all your years of living, thought you’d be sitting in an auditorium seat watching your boyfriend act like he was in love with another girl on stage. But here you are, leg bouncing and forearms itching from the irritation bubbling in your chest.
“But don't you get it?!” Jake rehearses, script in hand. His hands flail in fake exasperation. You cover your mouth to hide the wince forming on your lips. “How can I choose between the stage and football?!”
“You don't have to choose,” Suji steps in, acting much better than Jake, at least. “You can do both.”
Jake sighs, throwing his hands up in the air. He's facing her now.
She's pretty, you think. Really pretty. Probably one of the most gorgeous girls you've ever seen in your life. And Jake is staring right into her eyes. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks the same. You grit your teeth at the thought.
“But what would people think of me?” he sighs. Suji shakes her head, moving closer. Your brows knit. That's not part of the script.
“Who cares what other people think?” she says softly, resting her hand on his chest. Your expression darkens immediately. “If it feels like you're alone… Then I can be there to support you.”
Maybe Jake's character should care what other people think, especially if he’s gonna prioritize singing on stage with some pretty girl over his football career—
You slap your own cheek lightly. Relax.
“Cut,” the musical director calls out. “Great job, you two! After this is the dance scene. We can rehearse that tomorrow. I think that's all for the day.”
When the actors and stage crew finally funnel out, you watch Jake stay behind, chatting with his costars onstage. So radiant, smiling at them with his toothy grin and cracking jokes as he says goodbye. He never used to be like that. Used to be so painfully shy that Jay had to accept his academic awards for him in high school.
And yeah, you feel like shit when he's standing there, surrounded by people who have stars in their eyes when he talks, while you're grumpily waiting in a faraway seat with no real excuse to interrupt. You're just part of the stage crew, after all. Just one of the invisible people who move props in between scenes while Jake and Suji’s characters fall deeply in love with each other. Yuck.
But you’re not gonna do the usual thing of dragging him to the nearest secluded area and fucking his brains out. No—you’re better than that. You’re not a loser! You’d let this pass.
“Bye, I’ll catch up with you guys soon! My friend’s waiting for me.”
The word ‘friend’ digs deep into your heart. But that’s your own fault.
Jake walks toward you, and the quick smile he throws your way is cut short the moment he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He stops in front of you, forehead still glistening from the stage lights, eyes glued to the screen even as he talks.
“I have practice in like thirty minutes,” he sighs, scrolling through his calendar. “And then the crew wants to have, like, a group dinner later tonight.”
He cranes his neck to release some tension, finally looking up at you. “Damn. My character is lowkey right. It really is hard balancing the two.”
You roll your eyes and stand up. “The crew? Like Jay and Sunghoon?”
He shakes his head as he walks beside you, still a bit occupied with his phone. He's sending text messages to some massive group chat, text bubble after text bubble popping up.
“The main acting crew,” he says, emphasizing the second word. “I think they wanna run the lines at En Bar and get a couple of drinks.”
You almost stop in your tracks, but you force yourself to continue walking with him, arms crossed. Good for him, you think. And you mean it. He's adjusted so well to university life, while yours feels like it revolves around him.
What's Jake up to? Is his practice done? Who's he talking to? Is it Choa? Is it Suji? Is it every girl that makes eye contact with your newly socially adept boyfriend, who just so happens to have the most gorgeous face known to mankind?
You want to punch yourself real bad.
“Do you wanna come?” he asks when he notices you've fallen silent. He thinks it's cute when you're jealous. Sulking and pouty—when it’s obvious why you’re upset. Not when you're quiet. Not when you're creating distance between you two as he walks beside you.
“I can ask them if we can reserve more chairs—”
“It's fine!” you interrupt, but even you don’t convince yourself. “I have work to catch up on anyway.”
His lips part as if recalling something important, something he promised you.
“I'm so sorry, babe!” he gasps. “I totally forgot that you needed help studying for your exam tomorrow!”
You shrug your shoulders. You’re a cool girlfriend. Super chill. Not crazy at all.
“No, it's okay,” you say, chain necklace feeling heavy on your chest. “I'll just go to the tutoring center. You're busy, I get it.”
His eyes are still laced with concern. You sound so disconnected, so not yourself. Did he do something wrong?
“I can come over tomorrow?” he suggests, but it almost comes out as a plea. “We can watch the new movie you wanted—”
“My roommate’s gonna be home.”
“Okay…” he says, voice fading. “What about my dorm?”
You shake your head. “I'm not really up for a movie, I guess.”
Jake’s expression sours. It feels like you’re shoving sheets of metal down his throat. He can take you angry. Can handle you screaming, kicking, crying, and calling him names. He can’t take whatever this is.
“I can just cancel,” he says quickly. “I’ll come over tonight!”
And Choa’s voice resounds in your ear.
“You seem like a fucking loser.”
You bite your bottom lip and stare at his wavering gaze. You wonder if he pities you.
Has he noticed? How quickly you reply to his texts? How often you show up to his extracurricular activities? How you can’t seem to admit that you’re hurting, even when he’s right here in front of you? God, you hate this feeling.
“It’s okay,” you say, and it’s small like a whisper. “Need some alone time anyway.”
“Alright,” he breathes, relenting to whatever boundary you’ve set with him. He reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, but when you flinch, he retracts his hand instantly.
“I love you?” he tests.
You give him a small smile and nod, pushing past him. He moves like he wants to catch your hand and stop you. But as always, he lets you walk just a little too out of his reach.
Because you still don’t say it back.
–
So this is what it feels like to twiddle your thumbs and try not to scream as Jake misses yet another hangout... He’s busy with his daily practices and rehearsals. You get that. But it’s still physically torturous to sit through Jay and Sunghoon stoking the fires of your insecurities.
“He’s gotta be seeing someone,” Sunghoon sighs, reclining into the beanbag in Jay’s apartment. “Dude just abandons his friends without any pussy involved? There’s no way.”
You smash a throw pillow from the couch and into his face, and Jay throws another one for good measure.
“Why do you always think with your dick?” Jay mutters. “Just let Jake be. This is his moment. Not like he had much to work with in high school.”
Sunghoon sighs. “Yeah,” he mumbles, almost apologetic. “He was pretty lame back then.”
You never thought so. Maybe you joked about it, but you never really meant it. He was kind. A little shy. So eager to please and follow you around. And now that the roles were reversed, you weren’t sure how to feel anymore. Fuck. Why couldn’t you just be happy for him?
He has this amazing life outside of you now. Cool friends (not Jay and Sunghoon). Great prospects for the future. It’s like a bird leaving the nest. Your carefully cultivated nest.
You felt like a cloud raining over his head when you’re around him now. After Choa, you started to notice the whispers around campus a little more. How people avoid him when you’re around because you can’t carry empty conversations about upcoming exam scores the same way Jake can.
It’s just different. He is. And it feels like you are too. But not a good different. It’s the kind that makes you feel like this isn’t how you should be. That you aren’t who you want to be… Maybe Choa was right.
And now a pillow is thrown in your direction. You shoot daggers at Sunghoon with your glare.
“What?!” you yell. He pounces in fear.
“I asked,” he coughs. “Is college treating you okay? You making friends?”
You roll your eyes. “Are you my dad?”
Jay sighs. “We always talk about Jake. Sue us for wanting to know how you’re doing for once.”
The words linger. What are you doing?
–
You’re stewing in it, marinating in how lonely it feels to stand in a corner with the stage crew while Jake, Suji, and the rest of the main cast laugh amongst themselves. Whatever.
“Those two are so cute,” a girl beside you says. Gaeul. So sweet, so bubbly. So oblivious to how tightly you clench your teeth. “They’d be like the it couple on campus, no?”
When you look between Jake and his toothy grin and Suji with her sweet laugh, you can’t help the way your heart constricts. “Yeah,” you mutter in disgruntled agreement. “I guess.”
Jake sends you sneaking glances, ones you don’t notice despite your eyes lingering on him.
You haven't been the most responsive lately. He texts you a lot in between practices and rehearsals. Whenever he has the chance. He asks to come over. Asks you to come over. And you’ve turned him down almost every time.
You didn’t attend his last two games, you’re skipping rehearsals that you used to sit through for hours, and Jay knows where you're holed up more than he does. He’s worried about you. Worried that you’re avoiding him. Were you avoiding him?
“I heard you two are really good friends,” Gaeul asks you with sparkling eyes. “He seems like such a catch. How’d you not fall in love?”
You shrug. What answer are you supposed to give? It’s not like you were resistant to his charm either. “He went through a transformation recently,” you admit. “We were both kind of outcasts in high school.”
“Me too!” she says excitedly. “I bleached my hair, and everything before uni started. What about you? Were you two like super shy?”
You shake your head. “Jake was. I was just a bad student. Got in trouble a lot. My parents literally laughed when I told them I wanted to go here.”
And your heart thuds in your chest from a memory. Because Jake believed in you. Sat through hours of studying, teaching you the difference between derivatives and whatever the fuck linearization was, just for the chance to attend the same university. So he could spend time with you, so he could be with you. And now you barely see him.
“Really? I’m not surprised, though. You seem like such a chill girl. Like you don’t care what other people think of you.”
“Trust me. I’m far from it.” You catch Jake’s longing gaze again, but you turn away.
“Starting to think it was a mistake joining this thing,” you mumble, “with how often everyone forgets their lines.”
She laughs. “I like how straightforward you are,” she says with a wide smile. “Don’t really mince your words, do you?”
You smile too, in what feels like forever. It felt free to talk about something—anything—outside of him.
“Unfortunately, I don’t know how to hold back what I say.” Which is a lie. Because you hold back a lot. More than you let on.
“Alright!” the stage manager yells. “Let’s get in position for the final scene.”
The kiss scene. The one you’ve dreaded for so long. You and Gaeul move across the stage, setting up the mics and instruments in their right place. You move past Jake with your head down. He frowns. So you are avoiding him.
“Places, people!”
You watch, from the wings, as Jake pours his heart out into the lyrics. A song about breaking free from stereotypes and whatever other inspirational stuff this whole musical’s about. He’s good. Really good. He moves like a natural on stage, throwing Suji these soft, tender glances that look so painfully real. She glows under the lights, stars in her eyes. And as the song comes to an end, he picks her up to spin her.
Just like the script says. And you clutch your forearm at the sight.
“I feel like I can really be myself with you,” he says to her. “Like I don’t have to hide or pretend.”
Whatever.
“And you make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.”
The two stare at each other. A pause. Jake leans in. And so does she. Fuck.
You can’t do this. Can’t watch. You turn and walk out the back exit. Your chest is heavy, constricted with that ugly pang of envy.
Fuck this feeling. It hurt. Why did it have to hurt? You hate the tears that well up in your eyes, hate the shivering of your shoulders as you hug yourself in the parking lot of the stupid auditorium. You need to go back in. Save face. Show how little that kiss scene affected you because you’re supposed to be his friend in the eyes of everyone else.
You clutch your necklace through your shirt, fingers twisting the ring. Jake, who loves you. Who desperately wants your relationship to be public, to show you off. The same Jake on stage kissing another girl for a stupid musical you didn’t even want to be a part of.
He doesn’t deserve this. This monstrous version of you, who cares too much but gives too little. Overbearing to the point of suffocation.
So you walk back in, face steeled and tears wiped. He’s talking to the director with Suji, like nothing happened. Like all semblance of your self-esteem wasn’t just ruined a few minutes ago. But you need to stop. Because it isn't his fault. It isn't even Suji’s.
It’s yours. You hurt your own feelings.
Jake sees you and immediately lights up, calling your name as he jogs over. You don’t smile back.
“I have some time after rehearsals,” he says lovingly, his hand tugging your arm. “Wait for me?”
This would be the last time you would.
–
He tries to hold your hand on the walk back home to steady his heart rate. Opening night creeps closer and closer, and preparation alone won’t save him from the nerves. But when you pull away before his fingers can intertwine with yours, he flinches.
Maybe there are too many people around, Jake tells himself. You’re probably worried about being seen. And so he continues his merry yapping. He doesn’t notice the defeated glint in your eyes or the slow steps you take next to his. He’s still riding the high from rehearsal, still proud he finally made it through every line without stuttering or needing the script.
Maybe he’ll do well enough on opening night that you’ll let him kiss you afterward. Maybe you’ll walk toward him with flowers while he wraps you in his arms. He’d spin you around, brag to the whole world that you’re his girlfriend. Say it loud and proud in front of annoying ass Jay and Sunghoon, who got front row seats.
The thought pulls a grin onto Jake’s face, making him skip ahead a little. And you both keep walking toward the dorms. Just like any other day.
Until you ruin it.
“I’m dropping out of the stage crew,” you say, casually. He stops in his tracks. All semblance of a smile wipes from his face. The show is sold out. It’s too late to get you tickets.
“You won’t be able to watch,” he says, panic laced in his voice. You’re at a standstill, in the middle of campus, surrounded by trees and concrete. “You should’ve told me! I can see if I can pull some strings—”
He’s already taking his phone out to text someone. Probably the director. He doesn’t even ask why. Just goes straight to problem-solving. Your Jake. Too good. Too kind. Too forgiving.
It’s too much.
“I’m not coming to watch,” you say, harsher this time, stopping him from sending the message. Guilt washes over you instantly. Because he looks at you with his brows knit together, eyes wavering.
“I don’t understand.” You don’t want to come? You don’t want to support him?
Your mouth opens to say something. Anything. But your throat feels hoarse, shoulders too heavy. Shit. Don’t cry. You don’t cry in front of anyone.
“Jake,” you start, clenching your quivering hands open and closed. “I can’t do this anymore.”
His heart drops.
“Do what anymore?” he swallows, his mouth dry. “I’m confused—”
“I think we need to break up.”
Numb. Everything is numb.
“W-what?” Tears sting Jake’s eyes before he can blink them back. “Don’t… don’t say that.”
You shake your head. “Jake,” you whisper, careful not to get too close. Careful so you don’t make the mistake of taking back your words. “I don’t think we’re good for each other.”
He inches forward. You take a step back.
“Do you think that? That I’m not good enough—”
“No,” you interrupt. But he isn’t listening. And he doesn’t want to. Because this feels like a fucked up joke, a prank on him that’s been taken too far. Won’t you stop?
“Because if it’s something I did, I can change,” he begs. And your heart breaks a little at how desperately he searches for a hint of emotion in your face. But you don’t relent. You can be the bad guy. You always are.
“Please. We can talk this through.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, an unusual softness in your voice. “I don’t want to change my mind—”
“Why not?!” he asks, voice louder. The quiet that falls between you two is masked by the rustle of surrounding trees, orange and red leaves falling around you two. The cool, autumn air brushes your face. His eyes sting with redness.
“Why don’t you tell me anything?” His voice cracks. The aching in your heart makes you want to give in, to take it all back. But you aren’t like Jake. You can’t adjust, can’t welcome change so openly.
So as you look at him with his slicked back hair and sharp features, so different from a year ago, it feels like you've already lost something. The version of yourself who had more to give than hollow excuses and marks left on his skin.
You couldn’t admit to it even now. That you hate who you’ve become. “I’m telling you right now,” you gulp, bracing your own words. “That I want to break up.”
And the first semblance of tears falls down Jake’s cheeks as he lets out a bitter laugh. He doesn’t believe it. Can’t accept it. He won’t let this be the end.
“If it’s because of what Choa said—”
Your brows furrow. “You heard what she said?”
His hands are in his hair, tugging at it with frustration. You seem angry, but he doesn’t know why. He never does.
“I told her to mind her business,” he explains quickly. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. So if you’re breaking up with me just because she called you clingy or whatever…”
And he doesn’t know it, but the words trigger something in you. Something you’ve been pushing down over and over again. The feeling of seeming weak, of needing him. The need to monopolize. It sickens you.
“It matters what I think Jake!” you finally burst out. Frustration etched in your voice, shaky from the cold air and your wavering emotions. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“All I ever do now is wonder who you’re with, why you’re with them, and I just… I just feel so fucking lonely.”
He reaches for you, but you push him away. Your grievances spill out of you before you can hold them back.
“I’m paranoid of anyone who talks to you. I couldn’t even fucking watch you do that stupid kiss scene,” you continue.
“We didn’t even kiss!”
“That’s not the fucking point!” you scream, before you can stop yourself. You inhale sharply when he flinches. Calm down. This is not his fault. Why are you getting angry with him?
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, taking one more step back. He holds your wrist gently to keep you in place.
Jake stares at you with his lips parted, stunned. “So why can’t we just go public?” he pleads. “You wouldn’t have to feel this way if—”
“That’s not the issue either,” you scoff, but you can’t even convince yourself. Because isn’t this how it all started? Your unwillingness to be embarrassed, to seem vulnerable in front of others. Was this not the root of it all?
“Then what is?!” he cries, his grip on your wrist tightens, not to hurt you, but so that you don’t run. Because you’re good at that. Running.
“I get insecure too,” he reassures, but you look past him now. “But I tell you. I tell you when I’m hurt, I tell you when I’m down. Because I… I want you to understand me. I want to understand you too…”
He swallows hard before continuing. “So I don’t get why you would even bring up breaking up before we even try to solve the problem together—”
“Because I don’t want to solve it, Jake.”
His hold on you loosens instantly, arm dropping to his side. You feel colder as he steps back. Jake stares at you, hurt laced in his gaze. Like you stabbed him in the heart and twisted the knife in to marinate.
“...You're always like this,” he mutters under his breath. “Always saying hurtful things without thinking about how they make me feel.”
He feels his throat close up as he draws in some baited breaths. The tears come in more heavily, his cheeks damp as they roll down his pained face.
“So you see what I mean?” you say, your own tears threatening to spill over without you even realizing. A part of him instinctively wants to wipe them away, to pull you close and make it stop. But all he feels is anger. Because you’re the one breaking up with him. You’re the one choosing to end things. What right do you have to cry? What right do you have to look shattered when he's the one in pieces?
“I’m horrible to you,” you let out with pained laughter. He shakes his head immediately.
“No, you’re not—”
“I always pick fights—”
“You don’t—”
“I act like a fucking bitch—”
“Don’t call yourself that—”
"I feel like I’m insane when I’m around you,” you let out, before you can stop yourself.
“I don’t think that at all—”
“But I do, Jake,” you cry. “I hate how jealous I get when you’re surrounded by other people. I hate feeling like I’m holding you back. I hate what I’ve become since…”
And you can’t finish because his tears have stopped. He’s looking at you with a new kind of anguish. The kind that you don’t necessarily expect. The kind that feels like disgust.
“Since you started dating me?” he says like he correctly finished your statement. But that’s not what you're going to say. Never that.
“Since you didn’t need me anymore,” you whimper. “I’m not a good girlfriend, Jake. You’d be so much happier without me. Everyone would think it if they knew.”
He stands in front of you, hollow. If they knew. He has to laugh. That’s the problem. No one does. You don’t want them to. It’s clear now.
“Fine,” he says, and the steadiness of his voice makes you shudder. Good. This is what you wanted.
He’s staring at you, jaded like he had come to terms with it. He used to love how insistent you were about your point of view on things, how firmly you stood by your opinions. Used to envy it. But now, he detests it. That stubbornness.
“Whatever you want,” he sighs, hands slipping in his pockets. “Let’s break up. Pretend we never happened.”
Your mouth parts. “Excuse me?”
Jake scoffs, hands tightening into a fist. They’re trembling, but he won’t let you see. He can do what you do. Act like he’s okay. Act like you didn’t just kill him. He’s gotten very good at that. Acting.
“I’m being honest, Jake—”
“You don’t love me,” he cuts in. And your heart sinks. “That’s all this is. You never show it. You never say it. And I’m tired of hearing you pretend like you’re doing me a favor when I’m practically begging you not to leave.”
His voice cracks, but he continues. “So fine,” he mutters. “Have it your way. You won’t ever have to admit that we dated, start a clean slate without me. Just like you want.”
He presses his lips together and gives you one last look before he takes his hands out of his pockets. He’s fiddling with the ring. His ring. The ring that matches yours.
“You know,” he starts, voice trembling and bitter, “when it was the other way around… when I felt like shit about myself…. I never once thought of leaving you.”
His gaze is on the ground. “Because I always thought I was better with you than without. Because you made me want to be better.”
His voice falters. He looks at you now, sniffling.
“I tried to be better.”
And in one swift motion, Jake takes off the ring. “...But you didn’t even want me enough to stay.”
“Jake, no—”
But it’s too late. You see him throw it, the bushes rustling nearby. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He shoves his hands back in his pockets and walks past you to the direction of the dorms.
“There,” he says quietly behind you. “Like we never happened.”
He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even spare you a glance. It’s only when he’s fully out of sight that you dig through the orange and red pile of leaves, through dirt and branches. Tears stream down your face as you sob, searching for it like a mad woman. Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.
But you can’t find it. No matter how hard you try to find a silver glint in the greenery, there is nothing. And you clutch onto yours like it’s your lifeline. He threw it away. How could he throw it away?
And you wonder then if you made the biggest mistake in your life.
–
You thought the pit in your stomach would fade once you ripped the bandage, but the hole in your heart opened wider. And it’s only been a week.
Jake used to dodge questions about his love life, but now he admits to anyone with ears who walks by that he’s single. You have ears. And you walk by often. You’re not sure if he’s taunting you or if you just want him to be.
When your eyes meet his at the one lecture you still share, he’s the first to turn away. Jake used to sit beside you, shoulder brushing yours, tilting his laptop so you could keep up when the professor switched the slides too quickly. When you pass the football field, you try not to wince when you see Choa latch onto his arm like she belongs there. He used to always pull away.
The worst part is that these stolen glances are all you have of him. He’s blocked you on everything, which feels weird to think about. Jake, who’s always gentle, always forgiving, always offering second chances—even to people who don’t deserve it. Maybe this time you’re one of them.
You have no right to be upset. Not anymore.
And so you wrap yourself in your studies, check out new extracurriculars, even try to make new friends on campus who know nothing about Jake. You try to rebuild, try to go back in time before that fateful day in high school when you met him. But it’s been far too long.
He was a part of you, so deeply ingrained in your daily life. How could you act like you two never happened? Like your relationship never existed? How could he do it so well?
And then, you have to remind yourself. You'd already been doing that anyway.
–
“So what did he do?” Jay questions, tuning his guitar while Sunghoon and you sit in his living room. “Did he tell you he was done paying for your stuff or…”
“Shut up,” you grumble, already agitated enough as you scroll through Suji’s Instagram. You couldn’t even muster the energy to be jealous over a photo of Jake and her holding up peace signs next to each other. You just feel empty. “Nothing happened.”
Jay rolls his eyes. “He’s usually texting one of us to get you to answer his messages by now. It’s been crickets from him for the last two weeks.”
You swallow hard. He used to do that?
Jay’s gaze flickers toward you and sighs as he fiddles with his guitar strings. “You know, I really don’t get the two of you,” he mumbles. “Like you already rejected him in high school, you’re practically just stringing him along at this point—”
You sit up. “Excuse me?”
He shakes his head, dropping the guitar onto his lap. “Jake told us,” he starts hesitantly. “That you ran away when he tried to confess last year.”
‘But that’s not the full story,’ you want to scream out loud.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon laughs as if recalling a memory. “Dude! Remember in the summer when he started going to the gym with me?”
Jay cringes. “Yeah, and he told us it was because he’d be starting this season, but we knew it was just because you said you liked macho guys.”
You shake your head, ears warming at the thought. That’s insane.
“Oh, and that stupid ass ring,” Sunghoon adds, clutching his stomach. Your hand instinctively clutches at your necklace, fingers brushing the chain. “His mom beat the shit out of him when she found out how much he spent on it.”
You twiddle with the ring through your shirt. You should've taken it off by now. He'd already thrown his away. So what use was it leaving him if all you were going to do was hold on?
“Why would he do all that for me?” you mutter, not realizing that you said your thoughts out loud.
Jay shrugs. “Love makes you do stupid things.” And then he sighs. “Go easy on him, okay? You know how he is. Jake’s a sensitive boy. Especially when it comes to you.”
You look down at the ground, shame bubbling up in your chest. Jake loved you. He really did.
–
You smile from your view of the auditorium, even from the back, feeling like a speck of dust in the full house. A bouquet is in your hand as you nervously find your seat. Jake’s right. Everyone’s here to watch.
You could see Jay and Sunghoon’s tiny heads toward the front, pushing down the bitterness of not being able to sit as close as they were. It's not fair, you think. You had to buy a last minute ticket off a student who could no longer make it while they don’t even like musicals. You shake your head.
This isn’t about you. It’s Jake’s big night.
The lights dim. Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—steps onto the stage in a football jersey that looks almost exactly like his real-life one. The audience quiets at his entrance. As he delivers his cheesy opening monologue, you mouth the words with him. He’d practiced it so much in front of you. Pride wells up in your chest. He doesn’t stutter once.
Even when Suji joins him on stage, even as they sing together during their characters’ first meeting, you couldn’t help but smile.
The scenes blur as you lose yourself in the show. You watch the characters as they are and not as your ex and the girl you desperately wanted to hate. It was actually fun. The cheeky glances, the perfectly rehearsed dance scenes. The way the main character so seriously thought that singing was going to affect his football career. It made you laugh, made you tear up, made you suck in a deep breath when Jake leaned into her.
And because you’re still you, and because the wounds still feel fresh, you close your eyes. You don’t have to know if he really did it or not. It doesn’t matter. It’s his moment.
‘If only I felt like this the whole time,’ you thought to yourself. Then maybe you wouldn’t have to psych yourself up to find him afterward and pour your heart out to him. You shiver at the thought.
But Jay had said it: love makes you do stupid things.
And you do. Love him.
Enough to buy him flowers. Enough to admit that you’re done hiding. Enough to risk asking him to love you again—even if there’s a chance that he already moved on.
–
“Bro,” Jay starts, with tear-stained cheeks. “Don’t ever do that again. I can’t be crying like that in front of everybody.”
“Quit football,” Sunghoon says, patting Jake on the back with unusually red eyes. “Just focus on this musical shit. I swear you could make it big time.”
Jake chuckles, watching as the auditorium empties of guests. “Thanks, guys. I’m glad you two liked it.”
God, he wishes you were here. He could imagine exactly what you’d say when you walk up to him, with a small smile you try to suppress. Saying good job while ruffling his hair. Trying to act like you didn’t cry like everyone else. Jake smiles, quietly, at his own thoughts. It’s ridiculous, coming up with hypotheticals when you’d already made it clear. You don't want to be with him anymore.
“Jake.”
His heart instinctively skips a beat.
When he turns, the air in his lungs escapes him. You’re holding a bouquet so big it hides most of your frame, looking at him expectantly as you push it towards him. His eyes widen, unable to speak or even take the flowers from you. Is he dreaming?
“You did a good job,” you say, trying to sound as genuine as possible, wanting him to feel your sincerity. “You killed it up there.”
“Thanks,” he says shortly, finally taking the flowers from your hands. He can’t help but stare.
“I—” you try to push out, but Suji rushes to the stage to tap Jake on the shoulder.
“Hey.” She smiles up at him. “We're heading out soon for the celebration. Did you still want a ride with me?”
“Damn, even musicals got afterparties?” Sunghoon mutters to Jay, who attempts to shush him.
Jake returns a smile. “Yeah, just give me a second.”
And when he turns around to look at you, to finally hear what you have to say, your eyes are glossed over. Maybe you’re too late. Maybe this is idiotic after all. It's been weeks. There's no guarantee he'll even listen.
“I just wanted to say congratulations,” you mutter, though you've changed the words you meant to say entirely. It's supposed to be: ‘I’m so proud of you. Will you take me back? I’ll stop being so mean. We can tell everyone we’re in love—yes, even Jay and Sunghoon.’
But old habits die hard. And Suji—beautiful fucking Suji—crushed every ounce of confidence you had to come up to him in the first place.
“That's all,” you say, shooting him a small grin. It doesn't quite reach your eyes. He notices. Jake always does. Just never knows the reason why.
Before you can step back, he grabs your wrist, spinning you into his arms. Like the male leads do in those stupid romcoms.
“Don't,” he whispers. “Please… don't run away this time.”
You stare up at him, searching his gaze.
“Man, what the fuck is going on…” Jay whispers behind the two of you.
Sunghoon shrugs. “You think they finally…?”
Jake turns his head to give a disgruntled look to his two idiotic friends, and they shrink, making their way down the stage to finally give the two of you more privacy. He turns his attention back to you, wrist still in his hand, and gently moves it down to take your hands in both of his.
“I thought you didn't want to come,” he starts, licking his lips through the nerves. “Why are you here?”
Your cheeks heat up. Fuck. Where do you even start?
He draws circles with his thumb on the back of your palms. “Why?” he asks again, more confident this time.
It would be easy to act like your old self and push out a half-assed excuse. That you just want to be supportive, even after you’ve broken up. That you don’t miss him at all. But you're too tired to pretend like Jake's absence in your life didn’t feel worse than when you were with him.
“Because…” you start, with a shaky breath. “Because I wanted to talk to you.”
His brows furrow. “About what?”
And you feel your heart pumping in your chest, your palms slick with sweat. This is harder than you thought.
“I wanted to—” You swallow, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “I wanted to apologize. With the ring. The one you threw away.”
You see Jake's ears turn a bright shade of crimson. “Actually—”
“But I couldn’t find it,” you cut in. “No matter how hard I looked. I tried. I really, really…”
You start to choke up. Because fuck. He'd gotten you that ring to confess to you. Spent all his pocket money so that he could get something he knew you'd love. Had it engraved with the letter J. Your Jake. Your handsome, talented, smart, and wonderful Jake.
“...really want to get back together,” you finally let out, eyes shining underneath the stage lights as tears threaten to spill over. “I'm sorry, Jake.”
His breath hitches, hands releasing yours so suddenly. Your heart clenches. “You broke up with me,” he mutters.
You nod. “I-I thought I needed to. To find myself. But… you were right. I was just running away from my problems.”
You swallow hard, correcting yourself. “Our problems.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “So is this the part where you expect me to forgive you?”
Your heart clenches. “I'm sorry,” you say again softly.
“You still haven’t even given me a reason,” he scoffs. “So tell me why. Why do you want to get back together when—”
It’s like slow motion, what you do next. You cup Jake’s face right into your hands, crashing your lips onto his. In front of Sunghoon. In front of Jay. In front of the whole cast and crew who were packing up to leave. The same people he’s had to make excuses to about why he suddenly looked so distraught these past few weeks. You pull back, breathless.
“Because I love you,” you say, loud enough to elicit gasps from your watchers. You don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed anymore. Because the words fall naturally from your lips, like breathing. And it's like music to his ears.
“I fucking love you,” you repeat, hands still on his cheeks. His mouth parts open, breathless. He blinks. Once. Twice. And then he smiles, tears forming in his eyes. Jake swoops in, his lips finding yours again. His mouth moves against yours in tandem, slow and passionate. Your eyes flutter shut, soaking in the taste of him. You missed him so much.
When he pulls away, a shit-eating grin lights up his face. “Finally,” he whispers, cheeks flushed. “You finally said it back.”
You lightly swat his shoulder. You should've known he was trying to egg you on. Jake and all his damn questions.
“I love you too,” he mutters against your temple, squeezing you against him. “I love you so much.”
He peppers kisses all over your face, and you hear gagging on the sidelines.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” he mutters into your hair. “That shit fucking hurt.”
You smile sadly. “I promise—”
“YOU TWO WERE DATING?!” a familiar voice cries out. Of course. Nosy-ass Sunghoon. You resist the urge to drop kick him right then.
“I have a better question,” Jay pipes in. “Are we invited to this afterparty too or…”
Jake furrows his brows, turning to the idiotic duo. “What afterparty?”
Sunghoon and Jay bombard you with questions about your secret relationship, but mainly just start arguing about who was gonna call the taxi for the party they still desperately wanted to go to, since Suji had already left.
Running far away from the auditorium, Jake and you giggle as the two idiots try to chase after you. When you both reach his dorm, he doesn't waste one second after you close the door to lift you over his shoulder. You yelp as your feet lift off the ground, squeaking when your back hits the mattress with a soft bounce.
He sets the bouquet softly on his nightstand before hovering over your frame, and his knees sink into the mattress as he traps you underneath him. Jake strokes your cheek lovingly, his hand trailing down and down until it reaches the edge of your skirt. Still as short as ever. Thighs so pretty underneath the thin fabric.
“I missed you,” he sighs, hands trailing to the edges of your panties. He strokes your plush skin, sending shivers down your spine. You want to roll your eyes, deflect the warm stirring in your core as he scans your figure, eyes clouded with lust. But you’re supposed to be turning over a new leaf. Honesty and all that.
“Imissedyoutoo…” you mutter lowly, rushing through your words.
He moves closer, ear practically touching your lips. “Hm?”
You lose patience, baring your teeth and nipping his helix. He flinches, glaring at you with a playful scoff.
“You said you weren't gonna be mean anymore…” Jake sighs, tone dripping in mockery as he pouts. And you want to say something more, but Jake’s hands land on your ass, giving you a subtle squeeze.
You know what. You'll humor him. Just this once.
You bring your lips to the ear you just bit, kissing it lightly. Steady hands trail down the fake football jersey he adorns, and to the painful bulge of his shorts. Jake sucks in a deep breath. You chuckle, amused at how suddenly it hardens. So easy to arouse.
“Sorry,” you whisper, licking his outer shell. He shudders against your touch, your breath on his neck triggering goosebumps all across his arms. You squeeze him through the fabric, his head falling to your shoulder. “I’ll stop…”
“Don’t,” he lets out through ragged breaths, as you stroke him languidly. You chuckle. He’s so cute. Cheeks tinged with pink. It makes you want to do worse things to him...
“Lie down,” you command, and he gladly takes your place on the bed. Your knees encase him now, tugging his stupid jersey over his head. “Let me make it up to you…”
His muscles are so well-defined, glistening under the light of your dorm room. You trail kisses down his chest, licking down his abs. Salty. Just how you like him. Jake squirms underneath you as you tug his shorts down, his dick slapping your chin on the way up as it springs free. Jake almost cums from the sight, tip flushed red and pulsing with need. To feel you. To be so buried deep inside you that he can feel the head poking through your stomach.
When you move your head down to kiss his hardness, he digs his fingers into your shoulder. “No, baby,” he mutters. “Come up here, hm?”
You furrow your brows. Why the fuck was he trying to interrupt you during your apology?
“Wha—”
Jake cuts you short, manhandling your waist as his fingers press into your hips. He positions your knees on both sides of his head, turning you around. He pushes your mini skirt all the way up to scrunch around your midsection. Yes, you might have an amazing view of his throbbing cock, but now you can't see his beautiful fucked out face. He breathes in the scent of your panties with hooded eyes, nose grazing your clothed folds.
You pout. “I thought I was the one making it up to you—”
“You are,” he chuckles, interrupting you instantly. He pushes your ass down to his face with one hand, using the other to press your chest flush against his body. Your face inches closer to his member. Oh. That's what he's doing.
“Pervert…” you mumble, coyly reaching out for him. So thick and large that you need to use both hands to engulf him, pre-cum dribbling out of him as if on command.
“I am,” he mumbles, pulling your panties low enough to give him access to your cunt, lying just below your knees. He licks a stripe up your drenched folds all the way to your puckered hole. You wither against him. “Call me whatever you want, baby. Just sit on my face when you do it.”
Your hips land down on him softly as your thumb spreads his liquid down his engorged length. This position was new to you, meaning it was also new to him. But Jake moves expertly like the quick learner he is. He plants open-mouthed kisses on your folds, pink muscle lapping at your labia like a man starved. Your tongue sticks out to offer kitten licks over his tip.
But Jake hasn’t had you in weeks. And he knows what he wants. And it’s not the weak jutting you do against his face, or the shallow sucking you offer his engorged cock. No. He wants all of you. The sick part of you that would degrade him, that would rile yourself up like all those nights before. And he doesn’t want to have to mention a stupid nickname some stupid girl said to bring it out of you.
There were more healthy methods, he’s sure, to guide you right where he wants to be. And so Jake’s hands grip your ass, pushing you down on him harder. Forcing your hips to grind back and forth against his face at the rabid pace he sets, nose sticking in between your folds slightly as his tongue laps at your clit. Like this. Dirty. Raunchy. Aggressive. He fucking loves it.
“Ngh—” you cry out, propelling him to push himself deeper in your mouth. You take a deep breath so his cock can slide through more easily, taking as much of him as you can to drown out your warbled moans. Your tongue finds the underside of his thickness, tapping him as you start to gag. And when Jake reaches the back of your throat, he gives you a second to calm yourself before he bucks his hips up into you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, remembering to hollow your cheeks as he shoots forward. But it’s hard to stay focused when his wet, pink muscle pushes into you.
“Fuck—Taste so good, baby—” The squelching sounds that mix with Jake’s moans against your bundle of nerves are obscene, sucking and flicking his tongue with a fervor you try to match now. Your tongue curls up to meet the underside of his girth, bobbing your head up and down with ferocity. Anything to please him.
“Mmmm—” you moan around him. Your mouth feels so fucking good, but your pussy on his lips was like actual heaven. He could eat you out all day. As a reward. As a punishment. Anything.
And he breathes your scent in again, groaning once more. He pushes his nose closer to your folds, the tip of it engulfed in your wetness. You almost gag around his dick at the intrusion, saliva pooling at the base of his cock. You wrap your thighs around him tighter, bouncing on his face like he was nothing but a sex toy. Erratic. Desperate. Yes. Just like that. Fuck him like you never want him out of your sights again.
He knows you're close, knows by the way you start scratching at his thighs like an agitated pet. But, no. Jake needs it. Needs you to cum all over his face. Make a mess on him. Of him. His tongue plunges into you now, index finger coming up to play with your clit.
His cock pops out of your mouth with little resistance as your body goes slack with pleasure. You're just licking at his dick with a loose hand at this point, eyes rolling back from ecstasy.
You whimper against the slickness of his sloppy mouth, drool continuing to fall out of the corners of your mouth through your slurred speech. “Ngh—No—Let me—Fuck—Jakeeee—” you try to say, but it all sounds nonsensical.
Jake understands, more than you know, as his heart constricts so deliciously. 'My poor baby,' he thinks. Just wants to make him feel good. Wants to make it up to him so bad. But you don’t know that the only thing that could make him happy right now is for you to choke him out with your sopping cunt.
“Mmm—Ngh—Ahh—” He’s too good down there. Too fucking messy. Why does he do this? Why does he love making you sound like a fucking animal? Your toes curl, the grip around his shaft tightening as your back arches even more into him.
You feel it. But it's different from usual. It feels like too much. Like an impending explosion. You claw at his thigh even more, all of a sudden panicked. “Jake—Let go—Jake—”
When he shakes his head, his tongue swipes your clit left and right. His grip on your ass pushes his nose more deeply into your soaked folds. You whimper, cheek nuzzling against his length in desperation.
“I'm serious….” you whine as you try to pull away. This is weird. You feel weird. You try to run away from it, that foreign feeling. But it's no use. Jake's too smart, too quick. He presses you down on him harder, hugging your waist, suctioning your clit, cheeks flushed from how quickly his mouth works against you.
“JAKE!” you scream as your thighs clamp around him, hips shuddering uncontrollably. Like a hose turning on for the first time, a spray of your juices lands onto Jake's chin and neck, coating him in your dampness. He welcomes it, tongue sticking out to taste as much of it as he can.
You cry above him, tears landing on his dick that still rubs against your heated face. He laps up every last remaining bit of your climax desperately, like they’d dry up too quickly if he didn’t. You whine, grinding yourself on him to steady your heart rate. When he’s fully satisfied, Jake frees you from his clutches, lying you down on the bed so your head can finally rest on a pillow.
His cock is still incredibly stiff. And you're still in tears.
“You… fucking… dick,” you say in between sniffles, not believing you could ever climax that hard in your life. “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?”
And he knows what’s going through your head. Because old habits do, in fact, die hard. And now you probably think he was out fucking anyone and everyone during the weeks-long hell that was your breakup. Jake chuckles, pulling your skirt down. He bites his bottom lip at the sight of your folds. Glistening with his saliva and your juices. He fists himself tightly.
“Still so jealous, baby?” He smirks. God, please let him indulge in his pouty girlfriend at least once more.
“No, but be honest,” you mumble. “Did you—”
“Fuck other girls?” he finishes your sentence, scoffing playfully at the ridiculousness. Your eyes narrow.
“Well, did you?”
Jake spent almost every day crying, unblocking and blocking your number over and over again just to see if you'd notice. But he can tell you all that later. Because right now, you're giving him a death glare that only makes his cock throb harder.
“No, babe,” he mutters, swiping his wet tip against your even more drenched folds. So puffy after all he's put it through. He peppers kisses on your shoulder. “You know I’d never.”
And you do. He’s only ever been with you. Will only ever be with you. You know that. But still. The wheels are already turning in your head. You know… you're usually the one worried about these things. Doesn't he deserve a taste of his own medicine?
“Imagine if I did—”
And he slams his dick into your plushness, eliciting a scream from you. He doesn’t even let you complete your evil plan.
“FUCK—”
“Don't finish that sentence,” Jake glowers, brows furrowed. You lick your lips deliciously. "That's not funny."
“See how it feels?” you whimper, as he delivers another harsh thrust, your shirt riding up your stomach from the impact. You arch your back off of the bed as Jake groans into your neck, licking a stripe up your jaw.
“All this just ‘cause I made you squirt,” he mumbles angrily, wincing as your pulsing walls squeeze his length into a tighter grip. “So fucking immature.”
You chuckle evilly. “Immature like who? Sungho—”
His childhood friend’s name doesn't even leave your lips when Jake clamps his teeth into your neck. Hard. “OW—”
A taste of your own medicine. But his skin grazes something then—a thin chain that he's seen before but never questioned. You never wore it when you fucked. A circular hardness underneath your shirt that weirdly looks like…
He tugs on it before you can protest, and there on the chain is a ring. With J engraved on the inside. His gaze softens. And you become a blumbering mess underneath him, shy with embarrassment. “I can—Explain—Just—”
Jake pulls out enough so his tip is the only thing suctioned in your folds before pistoning into you harshly once more. You whimper.
“Shut up and let me fuck you,” he mutters into your ear, before engulfing your lips in his. With a newfound energy, Jake pounds into you with urgency, pace brutal against your already sore pussy. His hand comes up to grab your tits, spilling over your bra from the impact of his movements. So rough. So mean. Damn, you were rubbing off on him.
You have this aching desire to flip him over and ride him back into submission, but the slapping of his hips into yours devolves your thoughts into unintelligible moans.
“Ngah—Fuck—Oh my god—”
Jake’s mouth leaves yours as his eyes travel downwards to the piece of jewelry. He likes how it looks on you. Sitting so nice between your bouncing breasts. Maybe, he’d buy you a necklace next. A pretty Tiffany necklace to go with the pretty Tiffany ring on his pretty girlfriend’s pretty finger. Fuck. You’re so fucking pretty.
He brings the ring up to his mouth, biting down on the metal, before he lowers himself onto your lips once more. With the ring in between his teeth, he grabs at your jaw to open for him. Jake transfers it over to your parted lips as you catch the ring with your tongue, coated in his saliva. He dives down into you, your tongues battling as the coolness of the metal moves between your mouths. His thrusts are slower now, but you moan just the same.
Drool drips down both of your lips, the ring getting passed between you two in the movements of your open-mouthed kisses. He lets up, the necklace falling wetly onto the pillow. He admires the red marks the chain leaves on your neck. Maybe a Tiffany choker instead?
And his thrusts deepen, until your cervix repeatedly kisses his mushroom tip. He wished you could see your expression right now. So needy. So perfect.
“Jake—Baby—” When the pet name leaves your lips, Jake lets out a deep, guttural groan. Like he'd been waiting his whole life for you to say it.
“Yes, baby?” He repeats after you, sweat beading down his forehead as he continues to split you open, pumping into your tightness with urgency. His hands are pushing your thighs open now, admiring how the ring sits sloppily on your neck as he jackhammers into you.
“I love you,” you moan out, your hands reaching for his face. “I love you so much.”
He looks at you with glassy eyes, soft and tender. He kissed you again, sweeter this time.
“I love you too.”
And he spreads you apart further, fucking you into the squeaking mattress with his pulsing dick, so big that it fills you everywhere you need him. He pushes in and out, evoking a new set of tears to stain your cheeks. “Baby,” you cry out. “I'm almost—”
“Wait for me,” he pleads, elbows falling to the sides of your head. He buries himself in the crook of your neck. “Can you, baby? Please—”
You try to nod as he's ramming into you as deep as he can go. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, about how good you are for him, how pretty, how perfect, how he loves the marks you leave him, how he wants you to control him, how you’re the only one he’d ever be with in any lifetime ever.
“Ngh—” His hips snap forward with everything he can give. He feels it now, too. That coil that threatens to spill inside you. But he can't. No condom. No birth control.
And when your hips rise, clenching around him, your orgasm hits you like a truck. You mewl out in pleasure, crying as Jake tries to pull out of you. But you suction him so well, too well, that it's a little too late. He twitches deep inside of your pussy. And his mouth falls open as the first spurts of cum spill, but nothing escapes his lips.
“Fuck, baby,” he whines. He needs to pull out. But your cunt feels so damn good… So warm… So wet… And so much of himself has already spilled inside you… It's okay, right? To fill you up with all of it? But he has self-control. He swears it.
“No…” You whimper when he actually pulls away, his seed dribbling everywhere.
“...’m sorry, babe,” he groans, as his hand wraps around himself, stroking languidly. “I’m so sorry.”
Jake’s cheeks are flushed as he pumps the remainder of his climax on your drenched folds, painting your clit a milky white. He sees the first of his juices push out of you, his fluids like cream all over your puffiness.
“Fuck,” he moans, his fingers coming up to spread it all across your folds. But when you look down, all you feel is empty. All you feel is the need to push down against his fingers and take him all over again.
Jake's eyes widen as he lets out a shaky breath. You look so desperate. For what? He's not sure. But he can't deny his baby anything. He can't deny himself either. He wants to see it just once. Seems like you do too.
“Can I?” he asks in a low whisper, fingers spreading your folds apart to watch more of his load seep out of you. And you nod, shyly, relieved you didn’t have to beg for it yourself, already going through too much exposure therapy for one day.
And so Jake gathers the cum that's gushed over his digits, and with a shaky breath, he pushes them back into you. You tighten your grip on his biceps.
“Fuuuuck—” You cry out when he starts pumping them in and out, slow but still so fucking deep. His veiny fingers always know which parts to knead.
Jake’s eyes are in a daze, obsessed with how his cum goes back in so easily—even when you’re still so tight and so sensitive. Everything feels so fucking drenched. And like this, he wants to see you come undone again.
“One more, baby…” he pleads in a low whisper, pressing butterfly kisses on your eyelids. He licks the tears that spill from your eyes. So pretty like this. “You want to make it up to me, right?”
You can only whine in response, hands shaking as they clutch onto him for dear life.
“Hm?” He asks for confirmation, curling his fingers up to the spongy spot inside you. He grinds his palm on your engorged clit. Whimpering out a pathetic ‘yes,’ you let the pleasure overtake you once again. Your body feels like it's on fire. Too hot. Too much. But still, your back arches up into him, whimpering.
“Come on,” he whispers into your ear. Low and steady. “Give it to me.”
And you can practically hear the mess that his three fingers are creating as they pump into your folds, can feel the stickiness of your mixed juices coat your inner walls. But you shut your eyes, letting the warm tingling overtake your core. Yes—Right there—Fuck—
“I'M—” you screech, but it's no use. Your head falls back against the pillow as you sob. And Jake curses underneath his breath as you spray all over him once again, massaging your clit as he pulls his fingers out to watch. Your hips rise to meet nothing, just your body spraying so beautifully against his torso. His dick could harden once more any second now from the sight. He relishes in it, admiring his work as his cum pushes out of you again. Thick and creamy.
You look down too, seeing the fucked-out state he's put your body into. Maybe you would've been right to flick his forehead and call him every insult in the book for filling you up like that. But fuck. Could you ever have him cum outside of you again if it felt that good to have his cum inside you? No, you'd definitely need to get on the pill ASAP.
Jake’s gaze falls onto your face now, at your bruised lips and your dried tears. But the ring catches his eye once more, the one he hadn’t seen in a year. And his heart flutters.
“Babe?” he starts, lying softly next to you. He wraps you in his arms, not minding the dampness of the sheets below. He’ll clean you up later.
“Mmm?” You respond, on the brink of unconsciousness. Satiated. He touches your chain, the other hand wrapped around your stomach, giving a reassuring squeeze.
“How long have you been wearing our ring like this?” Your breath catches. You'd hoped that he'd forgotten, that the conversation could wait for the morning when your heart wasn't thumping so loud. It takes you a second before you respond.
“Since you gave it to me,” you admit, slowly. Jake can feel the warmth creep up to your ears. And he wonders how he's never seen it, how you seem to hide it so well after all the times he's undressed you before. But then again, you’ve always been good at keeping secrets.
Still, he smiles. Because even after you walked away, even when you said you were done, you still kept this piece of him. Wore it so beautifully around your neck, too.
Fuck—he’s never letting you walk out on him like that again. If you even hint at breaking up, he might actually end up begging on his knees and—
“Not like it matters anyway,” you cut through the silence grumpily. “You threw yours away.”
He lets out a surprised laugh and pulls you closer, squeezing you tight. You pout. What’s he so jolly for?
“What do you mean?” he asks cheekily. “That never happened.”
You turn around abruptly, facing him with furrowed brows. “I literally saw you—”
Your words are cut short when his mouth finds yours, one hand steadies your jaw as the other reaches blindly into his nightstand. A drawer opens. He pulls back just enough to show you the turquoise box, one eerily similar to the one you have in your closet, as he flips it open.
His ring. Silver and engraved with your initial. But how…?
“I guess I'm really good at pretending to throw things,” he answers before you can even ask. Thought I’d be a little dramatic that day…”
You smack his shoulder, but your hand massages the spot soon after, swallowed by the wave of relief that crashes over you. He didn't really let go like he made it seem. He was still yours, even when you thought you lost him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you grumble, pinching his cheek. All he does is chuckle.
In one smooth motion, Jake lifts your necklace and unclasps it, letting the ring unfurl out and into his palm. You don’t stop him.
He looks at you for a second, as if asking for permission. You offer Jake your hand instead of speaking. He slips the piece of jewelry onto your ring finger, kissing your knuckles. Then he slides his own ring back where it belongs, to where he’s always kept it. Jake smiles up at you, planting another sweet kiss on your lips.
And you know you’ll wear it proudly this time. Without him having to ask.
“I love you?” he says, gently, like he needs to hear you say it back just one more time. Just to make sure. And you kiss him again, warmth coating your features.
“I love you too.”
His heart clenches in the best way possible.
Damn, he could really get used to this.
epilogue
Jake runs to the benches, grabbing at his water bottle like it’s his last salvation. He gulps it all down in seconds, sweat seeping down his body. Practice was way too intense today.
“Oh my god, Jakey,” a lilting voice punctures through his ear. “You're literally dripping.”
His eye twitches as she enunciates the last word.
“Choa,” he starts, shooting daggers at her. He's too exhausted to put up with this today. Or ever. She was graduating in a few months anyway. He might as well say his piece. “First of all, my name is Jake. And second of all, it makes me really uncomfortable when you say things like that.”
Choa pouts, tugging his sleeve like a toddler. “Why?” she giggles. “Do I make you nervous?”
“No.” He pulls away, not even bothering to look at her. “I just don't appreciate how you talk to me.”
She glowers, thrown off by his disposition. He's usually so sweet, so polite. What happened?
“It's ‘cause of your friend isn't it? You know she was so fucking rude to me—”
“My girlfriend,” he corrects immediately. Choa’s hands drop down to her sides. Jake pays her no mind, packing his stuff into his duffle bag instead.
“W-what?” she stutters out. “Since when?”
He shrugs, finally slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Since forever.”
“What?!” she screeches. “How come you never told—”
“Oh Jakeyyyy,” you sing out in an octave higher than your regular speaking voice. He presses his lips together to prevent the laughter that almost seeps through his mouth.
“Yeah, babe?” He calls out, looking past Choa. You're standing with your arms crossed, eyeing her down from a few meters away. A bright new necklace shining above your shirt.
Your gaze flickers back to him, not bothering to waste your precious energy on the small, vicious girl. You tilt your head to the side, beckoning him over in a silent command. And he follows.
Your loyal little puppy.
Jake takes your hands into his just to really rub salt on Choa's wound, your matching rings clinking against each other.
“Do you remember Gaeul from the backstage crew?” you announce proudly, the bob-headed girl long-forgotten. “She wants to hang out with me tomorrow!”
Jake smiles, ruffling your hair. “That’s great!”
“She's throwing something at her apartment this weekend, too,” you slide in. “Maybe… we can go together?”
“Oh yeah, Suji told me—” And he stops himself. But it’s too late. You’re already frowning.
“Okay, so let me go ahead and take Jay instead…” And he pouts at your words.
“Not fair,” he mutters, but you see the smile he suppresses. 'What a freak,' you think to yourself.
You click your tongue, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “...I'm biting the shit out of you later.”
And if Jake had a tail, it most definitely would’ve started wagging.
context: sunghoon introduces you to his med school friends because he thinks you’d enjoy it, but you have a bad time with them because one of his female peers clearly doesn’t like you and makes it obvious. Also, sunghoon *kinda* letting you get it off your chest in private.
includes: age gap, established relationship, med student!sunghoon, undergrad!reader, use of “baby”,
rant: I couldn’t decide if I wanted Sunghoon to be a law student or a med student, but he gave major wants-to-specialize-in-neurology vibes. The ending feels too rushed for something kinda long 😅
more olderbf!sunghoon
♱⋆ཐི˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱𓆩^._.^𓆪♱⋆ཐི˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱
It’s a little late when Sunghoon realizes how quiet you are and has to look over to find you with your head pretty low.
None of his friends seem to notice because they’re too busy with their own conversation or their drinks, so he uses the opportunity to talk to you more privately.
“Tired?” He asks softly, pressing a kiss into your temple as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.
Everything seems to happen at once, so you lag behind on an answer that sounds convincing.
“Yeah…I am…” you lie, finally picking your head up to meet someone’s gaze.
But instead of finding his first, you find the eyes of the exact person who’s making you feel out of place.
She’s a newer friend of his, goes to the same school, and is obviously in the same program, but more importantly, she’s a little too invested in what you and sunghoon are doing.
You can tell she probably didn’t know about you and Sunghoon.
It’s probably why she makes the oddest comments about you and your age or shoots daggers at you when no one else is looking at her.
But instead of thinking about how childish she acts at an age you’d kill to be, her behavior is working to make you uncomfortable in a place you’ve never felt 100% in.
And either because he’s a man, or because he’s secure in his relationship, Sunghoon doesn’t notice.
Doesn’t notice how she’s making you feel.
Doesn’t notice how sweet she is to him compared to the other male classmates they have.
“Just a little longer now, I want to make sure I pay our half.” Sunghoon explains, keeping his arm around you as he rubs your shoulder gently.
And then he turns back to his friends, who are now discussing their summer volunteer plans and want his own.
You’re left to entertain yourself again with the charm on your phone because it died not too long ago and you have absolutely nothing else to do.
That “little longer” takes nearly an hour to come, and there’s an extra 15 minutes spent on deciding how the bill will be split.
You’re already over the entire thing, but then she speaks up again and directs most of her words to Sunghoon and not their entire group.
“I’m so embarrassed…I forgot my wallet.” She says, hands coming up to cover her cheeks in shock for a moment before she reaches for her phone.
As if it didn’t annoy you that everyone at the table had already been stingy about their halves of the bill, it irritated you more that no one could help cover her and simply ask her to pay them back another time.
And then your boyfriend—your kind, ignorant, borderline blind boyfriend—couldn’t sit and watch as the group awkwardly sat and waited.
He had to do something.
“It’s okay, I’ll take care of it.” Sunghoon assured, holding his hand out for her to give him the little paper she’d written down her things on.
“Really? I’ll pay you back, I promise.” She said, but she handed her paper too quickly and too enthusiastically for it not to have been deliberate.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s just a few drinks.” Sunghoon assured, mentally adding her total to yours and his.
Even then, he rounded up and ended up paying the most since he was technically paying for three people.
At least it meant she couldn’t stay longer; with everyone’s halves paid, there was no reason to.
You felt drained, both socially and physically, something he began to notice when you didn’t care for his little jokes as he opened your door for you.
But he waits until the car starts moving before bringing it up at all.
“So…what did you think?” He asks, reaching over for your hand.
“Hmm? About what?” You ask, more distant than anything else.
Sunghoon has to look at you twice; you’ve always been eager to get ahead, so it’s surprising that you didn’t enjoy talking and interacting with his med school friends.
“Nothing…uh…” he trails, trying to stall as he decides if he should push.
“Did I do something?” He asked, taking the chance to look at you properly at a red light.
You know he’s looking, that’s why you don’t turn.
The last thing you need is to see that adorable look he gets when he’s trying to figure something out while you’re trying to be upset.
“No,” you say, but it comes out too quickly, a little devoid of your usual tone.
The light turns green, and he has no option but to turn away to start moving again.
He leaves it here for now so he can focus on getting you both home; and he holds your hand the entire way to try and subtly soften you up by the time you do.
It doesn’t do much in his favor; you’re still quiet and keeping to yourself up until you’re lying in bed beside him.
In the time it took for you both to make your way up the building, get ready for bed, and actually get into bed, you’ve looked at him maybe twice?
And no matter how hard he tries to think about it, he can’t remember anything that went wrong at the restaurant.
It takes you to bring something up for him to even consider it a possibility.
“The girl you paid for, how well do you know her?” You ask, and he can tell you’d previously been holding yourself back from asking the way you turn to face him suddenly with this.
“We met during orientation, but I didn’t start talking to her until recently. Why?” He says, giving you everything you want to know so you can’t say he’s hiding anything from you.
“No reason.” You say, an attempt to turn your back on him again is made, but you’re held in place by just one of his arms.
“Nope. We’re not doing that.” He says firmly, but not rudely.
“I didn’t think it would bother you that I did that.” He begins, and when you sigh and close your eyes for a moment, he thinks he guessed correctly.
“I would have done that for anyone.” He adds.
Part of you wants the reassurance, the other doesn’t want to lie and make him feel like this is on him; so you decide to tell him the truth.
“That’s not why I’m upset.” You admit, not wanting to look at him directly when you go into detail.
“She kept making comments about me all night…didn’t you hear her?” You ask, looking up for a moment.
“All I remember is her calling you cute…is that so bad? You are adorable…” he says, one hand playing with the ends of your hair.
“When you told her I also wanted to go to med school, she laughed and said I wouldn’t survive.” You reminded him.
Sunghoon wants to laugh because he sees it as you taking a comment too seriously, but he doesn’t want to make you feel like you can’t tell him these things.
“People do that, isn’t it a trait of all doctors that they’re all pretentious?” He says, trying to lighten the mood, and he can see how that was the wrong approach almost immediately.
“If I list everything she said that I didn’t like, are you just going to continue making excuses for her?” You ask, nudging him gently so he’d scoot away from you.
“No, I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, giving you your space but holding his hand out so you’ll take it.
And when you do, he brings it up to place kisses on your knuckles.
“And I’m sorry you had such a bad time. If I had known, we would have left early.” He continues, kissing up your arm when he sees how the first few kisses did much to get you back.
“I can make it up to you…do you want that?” He asks, the gap between you closed again as the trail he made led him to your shoulder and then your neck.
“You’re just trying to make me overlook the fact that you had no idea why I was upset…” you say, your voice softer because of how this affects you.
“A lot can be true at once, baby…” he says, voice slightly muffled as he settles between your legs and on top of you.
Hii! Is there any chance that you have a good recommendation for a long Jake fic? I really want to read something but just can‘t find anything long enough 😓💔
YESSS !!!!
➤ complementary — the physics of your body , part two | jake loved physics as much as he loved you [ brothers best friend ]
➤ out of luck , part two | In which Sim Jaeyun becomes the only genuinely good, unfairly lucky thing that’s ever happened to you… and just like everything else in your life, good things have a way of slipping right through your fingers. So now you have to figure it out, fix it, or risk losing the only thing that ever felt right before you run Out of Luck [ roommates au ]
➤ anti hero | "You need to get laid," his roommates pointed out one day, ruining his perfectly planned college life. Thinking that his roommates were just looking out for him, Jake found himself in a world that he seems to be unfamiliar with — having a fuck buddy, and that's with a little help from you, Decelis University's "golden girl." [ friends with benefits ]
➤ volume 3 ☆ jake sim — the first love trope | you, a quiet girl who is the introvert of all introverts, never thought you would befriend the most popular boy in school by having the same music taste. what songs are you going to show him next? [ first love trope ]
➤ two peas in a pod | You love Jake, but believing you are a Beta who can never truly satisfy his Omega nature, you push him away only to realize during a dramatic twenty-first birthday presentation that you were his fated Alpha all along [ friends to lovers ]
➤ a real man | Jake Sim, son of one of the most wealthiest CEOs in Australia. Who also happens to be the man your parents set you to marry at 20 years old, and now—five years later, the father of your child. You and Jake have a..rocky relationship to say the least. The real question is, who’s going to be the first to break? [ arranged marriage ]
➤ the bet , bonus | Jake sim, one of the most popular boys in school makes it his goal to have you fall for him, a simple bet with his friends. Little does he know, he’ll be the one falling to his knees for you [ bet au ]
➤ the summer i got horny | nerdy sim jaeyun is sweating buckets when the baddie he's been crushing on sits in his lap on a two-hour road trip. [ friends sister ]
➤ AW SHIT, HERE WE GO AGAIN | IN WHICH jake keeps telling himself he’s fine with whatever this thing between you is, so he decides that a friends with benefits situation with his best friend's girlfriend's best friend, who also happens to be his other best friend's older sister, is a completely reasonable idea. until he wakes up alone for the nth time and realizes that this friends with benefits situation is not benefiting him at all. [ friends with benefits ]
➤ eat me up | in which jake knows you’re bad for him, but he just can’t help himself. after all, in the end, the answer is always you. nobody else matters. not even the guy you’re seeing, his friend, sunghoon [ friends with benefits ]
➤ give me tough love | Jake's always liked pretty things, and you're the prettiest he's ever seen. Another thing about Jake? He always gets what he wants [ omegaverse ]
➤ tension theory | You were just Heeseung’s girlfriend’s cousin—quiet, polite, a little too naive for your own good. Then you met his friends. Now you’re in the middle of a spiraling mess of jealousy, bad decisions, emotional whiplash and two boys who treat boundaries like suggestions. Oops. [ love triangle ]
➤ friction principle | You thought things would calm down after the confessions, the crying, the sex. After fists were thrown and secrets dragged out into the open. But Jake is still mean, Sunghoon is still quiet, and now you're still stuck somewhere in the middle—aching for something that feels like love but tastes like possession. [ love triangle ]
➤ preacher's daughter | in the early 2000s, in some small, rural town, your religious and restrained life collides with jake sim, who makes you doubt everything you know and want to explore more of the world [ outsider!jake x preachersdaughter!reader ]
➤ the fifth floor theory , part two | in which jake sim, the campus golden boy and star soccer captain, isn't supposed to find anything on the fifth floor of the library except a quiet place to study. but instead? he finds you, the wallflower who refuses to treat him like everyone else does. [ soccer captain!jake x wallflower fem!reader ]
➤ of all the people in the world | You know you should be ecstatic about the invitation to Chaewon’s and Jaemin’s wedding in your mailbox, but you can’t help the nerves gnawing away at your stomach. There are too many things you’ve left unresolved after moving to Seoul—your aunt, your friends, and most of all Sim Jaeyun, the boy you’ve never let yourself love. [ childhood friends to lovers ]
➤ sunflower | You have lived in apartment 3B for two years. You know your neighbors the way you know background characters — familiar, unremarkable, just part of the scenery. Which is why it’s strange that you’ve never properly noticed the man in 3A. Until 6:58 on a Tuesday morning when someone knocks on your door and you open it to find not him, but her. Small. Round-cheeked. Duck pajamas. Absolutely certain of herself. You fall for his daughter first. Jake is just the complication that comes after. But god, what a complication [ single dad au ]
➤ things i know that i can't have | jake's life was hard enough before he fell for you—balancing uni, football, and being a good christian son. in some cruel twist of fate, sleeping with you has only made things harder—and, according to sunghoon (and scripture), damned him to hell the first time he thought about it. [ fwb to lovers ]
➤ under the table | you and sim jaeyun have been academic rivals for as long as you can remember, competing intensely to beat the other in every class you've ever shared. for years, you've hidden your feelings for him, burying them deep down where jake can't find them, and you're hellbent on ensuring he never discovers your secret [ academic rivals to fwb to lovers ]
➤ bruises [ strangers to implied lovers ]
➤ manchild | you’re trouble, and jake sim knows it. you flirt like it’s your job, wear sin like perfume, and make men beg without even trying. he’s the only cowboy who doesn’t chase you. so naturally, he’s the only one you want. [ cowboy jake ] this fic changed the trajectory of my life no cap 🤞🤤
➤ RULE NUMBER 1: DON'T FALL IN LOVE | your ex getting a girlfriend after just two weeks of breakup was enough to infuriate you to the point where you had to step up and make him regret breaking your heart. solution? fake date his best friend and make him jealous! [ fake dating ]
➤ Love, Lies, and Sim Jake, part two | You were the quiet girl with the not-so-quiet crush on Jake Sim—campus heartbreaker, smooth talker, and everything you should’ve stayed away from. But when a bet turns your name into a game, the rules change fast. He didn’t expect to fall for you… and you didn’t expect to find out. Now it’s your move—and this time, you’re not playing nice. [ campus heartbreaker ]
➤ call me when you hate me less | Jake Sim was a walking academic hazard—hot, broody, and failing just about everything that wasn’t football. Enter you, his new tutor: organized, overachieving, and absolutely not here for his attitude or his annoyingly perfect lips. But between late night study sessions, petty insults, and one very inconvenient almost-kiss, things start spiraling—fast. He’s supposed to be you project. You are supposed to hate him. Instead, you both are one sarcastic comment away from either a breakdown or a makeout, and honestly, it could go either way. [ enemies to lovers ]
➤ off limits, part two, part three, epilogue | your older brother has always told you “no boys” and his friends “sister is off limits”, which always worked until everyone comes back home from college and you see how grown up his best friend has become [ brothers best friend ] this was soo fucking good, read this in one sitting , peak 🔛🔝
➤ just one more taste | Jake considers himself the luckiest man alive. After turning his deepest breeding fantasies into reality, filling you raw night after night until you were pregnant again and again, he built the big, perfect family he always dreamed of. With the family complete, he finally slips a ring on your finger vowing forever to keep you happy, adored, and being the man who’d give you the world just to see you smile. [ impregnator jake ] just smut
➤ the great valentines heist , part two | jake sim has been your best friend your entire life–even longer if you count the months spent in your mothers’ wombs. your moms (also best friends) have been hoping, praying, and not-so-discreetly begging for you and jake to be a couple for as long as you can remember. after eighteen years of dealing with it, you’ve had enough. you pitch your solution to jake: pretend you finally are a couple, only to prove the point of how you’re better off as friends. but as the line between what’s real and what’s fake blurs, you start to wonder… are you really? [ friends to lovers ]
➤ frenzy , part two | Jake is experiencing real love for the first time in his life. He’s so infatuated with you that he would do anything to make you understand. And you? Oh, you are in no place to argue with a man who appears to be perfect.
➤ loyal puppy | Ever since your boyfriend Jake transformed from his nerdy high-school self into the university's star football player, you've become everything you thought you’d never be. Jealous. Anxious. Clingy. But Jake really doesn't mind your newfound possessiveness. He encourages it, even. So when he defies expectations again to star in a musical with a stunning costar, you spiral. Now, the “lowkey” relationship you once insisted on gets jeopardized under the weight of your own insecurities. [ secret!relationship au ] anothee one of my favs , im going to re read it :p
➤ no doubts | struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you. [ idol jake ]
⤷ ˚‧ You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere ˊ˗
PAIRINGS. 박성훈 x f !reader
TROPES. Tutor/student, forbidden romance, class difference, small town/big dreams, learning disability representation, opposites attract, second chance love
SUMMARY. Millbrook, Indiana. 1989. Your life is perfectly planned—until you’re assigned to tutor Park Sunghoon, the school’s most infamous senior. He’s failing English (again), lives for street racing, and couldn’t care less about rules. But he’s not stupid—just misunderstood. As you help him learn, he shows you a different way to live. Somewhere between late nights and quiet moments, your carefully mapped future starts to shift… and so do your feelings.
WORD COUNT. 20.4k
WARNINGS. Explicit sexual content (18+), kissing, penetrative sex, grinding, fingering, safe sex, depictions of undiagnosed learning disability, academic struggle, parental pressure, familial conflict, class differences, street racing, alcohol consumption, period-typical attitudes, strong language.
LACEYS NOTE. this was asked for a few times and I finally decided to post it so pls enjoy😽😽 this anon asked for it so ty for asking xx I hope you love Sunghoon and this story as much as I loved writing him. Thank you for reading— reblogs, likes and comments always keep me writing! Please enjoy
Principal Morrison's office smells like coffee and disappointment. You've been here before—student council meetings, scholarship recommendations, the kind of visits that end with praise and college brochures. Today feels different. Today, Mrs. Morrison's smile has an edge to it.
"I have a special assignment for you," she says, settling behind her desk. Outside, the hallway bustles with the chaos of first period passing. It's only the second week of senior year and you already have three AP classes, student council, yearbook committee, and exactly zero free periods.
"Of course," you say automatically, because that's what you do. Say yes. Exceed expectations. Maintain the 4.0 that's going to get you into Stanford. "What do you need?"
"I need you to tutor someone." She pauses, and something in that pause makes your stomach drop. "Park Sunghoon. Senior English. He's taking it for the fourth time."
Oh. Everyone knows Park Sunghoon. Hard not to when he rolls into the parking lot every morning in a black Mustang that's louder than the first bell, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, looking like he walked out of a movie about teenagers your parents wouldn't let you watch. He's in your English class this year—always in the back row, usually late, definitely not paying attention. "I don't know if I'm the right person—"
"You're exactly the right person. Top of the class, excellent communication skills, patient." Mrs. Morrison leans forward, her expression softening into something that looks almost like desperation. "He needs to pass this class to graduate. And between you and me, I think he needs someone who won't give up on him."
The weight of expectation settles on your shoulders—familiar, heavy, accepted. This is what you do. You help. You achieve. You make your parents proud and your teachers grateful and everyone believes you can fix anything if you just try hard enough. "When would I—"
"Tuesdays and Thursdays after school. Library, four to five. I've already cleared it with him." She smiles like this is settled. "Thank you. I knew I could count on you." You leave her office with a sinking feeling and the distinct impression that you've just been assigned the impossible.
—
Thursday afternoon, 4:02 PM. You're in the library with your AP Lit textbook, notes on The Great Gatsby, and growing certainty that Sunghoon Park isn't going to show up.
At 4:15, you're proven wrong. He walks in like he's doing you a favor—leather jacket, ripped jeans, boots that definitely violate dress code. His dark hair falls into his eyes, and when he spots you at the corner table, something crosses his face. Resignation, maybe. Or irritation. "You're my tutor?" he says by way of greeting, dropping his backpack on the table with a thud that makes the librarian shoot him a warning look.
"Looks like it." You gesture to the empty chair. "Have a seat." He sits, sprawling in the chair like he owns it, and pulls out an absolutely destroyed copy of Of Mice and Men. The cover's hanging by threads, pages dog-eared and crumpled. "So," you start, trying to figure out where to begin. "Mrs. Morrison said you're taking senior English again?"
"Fourth time." He says it flat, like it doesn't bother him, but you see the tension in his jaw.
"Okay. What's giving you the most trouble?"
He laughs—short and bitter. "All of it. The reading. The writing. The whole goddamn thing."
"Have you read the book?" You nod at Of Mice and Men.
"I tried." He flips it open randomly, stares at the page like it personally offended him. "The words just—they don't make sense. I read the same line five times and still don't know what it says."
Something clicks in your brain. The way he's holding the book. The frustration that seems deeper than just dislike. The fact that he's clearly not stupid—he wouldn't have made it to senior year four times if he was—but something's not connecting. "Can you read this page out loud for me?" you ask gently.
His expression shuts down immediately. "No."
"Sunghoon—"
"I said no." He's already standing, grabbing his bag. "This is pointless. I'm not some charity case for you to fix so you can put it on your college applications."
"That's not—" You're standing too now, and the librarian is definitely watching. "I'm trying to help."
"I don't need help. I need people to stop pretending I'm going to magically get this shit." His voice is low, controlled, which somehow makes it worse. "I'm stupid. Everyone knows it. Let's not waste each other's time."
"You're not stupid."
He looks at you then—really looks—and for a second you see past the armor. There's hurt there. Years of it. "Yeah?" he challenges. "Then why can't I read a fucking book that every other senior finished in a week?"
"Because I think you might be dyslexic." The word hangs between you. He goes very still.
"What?"
"Dyslexia. It's a learning disability that affects reading. The way you described it—reading the same line multiple times, words not making sense—those are classic signs." You're speaking carefully now, aware that this could go very wrong. "My cousin has it. He's brilliant. Mechanical engineer at Purdue. But reading was hell for him until he got diagnosed and learned strategies."
Sunghoon is staring at you like you're speaking another language. "That's not—I'm just—" He stops. Tries again. "Nobody ever said—"
"Have you ever been tested?"
"No. Teachers just kept saying I wasn't trying hard enough." The bitterness is back, but underneath it there's something else. Hope, maybe. Fragile and dangerous.
"Sit down," you say quietly. "Please. Let me show you something." He hesitates, then slowly sinks back into the chair. You pull out a blank piece of paper and write a sentence in clear print: THE CAT SAT ON THE MAT. "Read this."
He stares at it for a long moment. "The... cat... sat..." He stops, frustrated. "Some of the letters keep moving."
"Exactly." You pull out a red plastic sheet—the kind photographers use for color correction—from your bag. Your cousin's old trick. "Try reading it through this."
He looks skeptical but places the red sheet over the paper. His eyes widen. "The cat sat on the mat." He reads it perfectly. Looks up at you with an expression you can't quite name. "What the fuck."
"Colored overlays help some people with dyslexia. The colored filter reduces visual stress and makes the letters more stable." You're trying to keep your voice steady, professional, but your heart is racing. "This doesn't mean you're stupid, Sunghoon. It means your brain processes visual information differently."
He's still staring at the paper through the red sheet, reading the sentence over and over like he can't believe it. "All this time," he says finally, voice rough. "All these fucking years, and it was just—"
"Not your fault," you finish firmly. "Never your fault." He looks at you then, and something shifts in his expression. The armor cracks, just a little.
"Can you—" He stops, clears his throat. "Can you teach me? Actually teach me, not just make me read shit I can't understand?"
"Yes," you say without hesitation. "But we're going to need more time than an hour twice a week."
"I work at my dad's garage after school most days. Can't really get out of that."
"Evenings?"
He hesitates. "There's a diner. Miller's, out on Route 40. They have booths in the back, it's quiet. I could meet you there. After the garage closes. Seven?"
Your mother is going to have opinions about you spending evenings at a diner with Park Sunghoon. Your father is going to ask if this is really the best use of your time when you should be focused on AP classes and scholarship applications. "Seven works," you hear yourself say.
His smile is small but genuine. "Okay. Tuesday?"
"Tuesday." He leaves with the red plastic sheet folded carefully in his pocket, and you sit there in the empty library wondering what you've just started.
Mrs. Henderson, the librarian, appears at your elbow. "That was kind," she says quietly.
"I just showed him a color filter."
"You gave him hope." She pats your shoulder. "Sometimes that's more important."
You pack up your things slowly, thinking about Sunghoon's expression when he read that sentence. About years of being told he wasn't trying hard enough. About intelligence that doesn't fit in the boxes that schools make. About the fact that you just agreed to spend your evenings in a diner with the most dangerous boy in school.
And the scariest part? You're looking forward to it.
—
Tuesday night arrives too fast and too slow at the same time. You tell your mother you're studying at the library. It's not technically a lie—you are helping someone study. She doesn't need to know the someone is Park Sunghoon or that the library is actually a diner on the edge of town.
Miller's Diner looks like it hasn't changed since 1955. Red vinyl booths, checkerboard floor, a jukebox in the corner playing Tiffany. The smell of coffee and frying oil. A handful of truckers at the counter, a couple of farmers in the corner booth, and exactly zero people from school.
Sunghoon is already there, sitting in the last booth by the window. He's changed out of his leather jacket into a plain black t-shirt, and there's grease under his fingernails. He sees you and something in his expression softens. "You came," he says, like he half-expected you to bail.
"I said I would." You slide into the booth across from him, setting down your bag full of books and teaching materials. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
"People make promises they don't keep." He shrugs. "Had a few tutors give up before."
"I'm not going to give up."
"We'll see."
A waitress appears—Sally, her name tag says, probably in her fifties with kind eyes and a skeptical expression when she looks at Sunghoon. "What can I get you kids?"
"Coffee, black," Sunghoon says. "And a chocolate milkshake."
You raise an eyebrow. "Both?"
"Coffee's for staying awake. Milkshake's for when reading gives me a headache." He looks almost defensive. "What?"
"Nothing. I'll have the same."
Sally writes it down, her skepticism softening into something that might be approval. "Be right back."
When she's gone, you pull out your materials. You've spent the past four days researching dyslexia, strategies, techniques. Your cousin sent you a care package—more colored overlays, a reading ruler, special paper with slightly tinted backgrounds that's easier on dyslexic eyes. "Okay," you start, spreading everything out. "First things first. I'm not a diagnostician, so I can't officially test you for dyslexia. But I can teach you strategies that help people with dyslexia read more effectively."
"Like the red sheet."
"Exactly. Different colors work for different people." You push the stack of overlays toward him. "Try these on a page of your book. See which one makes the words most stable."
He pulls out Of Mice and Men, that same destroyed copy, and starts testing. Blue—no good. Yellow—better. Green—worse. Red— "Red's still best," he says finally.
"Then red it is. I also got you this." You slide over a reading ruler—a long transparent strip with a colored bar that helps track lines of text. "And this paper." Special cream-colored pages. "Some people find it easier to read on colored backgrounds."
He's looking at all of it like you've just handed him gold. "You did all this for me?"
"It wasn't a big deal. My cousin had extras."
"It's a big deal to me." His voice is quiet. Genuine. "Nobody's ever—" He stops. Starts again. "Thank you."
Your heart does something complicated in your chest. "You're welcome. Now let's see if we can get through chapter one together."
For the next hour, you work. You read passages out loud while he follows along with the red overlay and reading ruler. You stop every few paragraphs to discuss what's happening, to make sure he's comprehending. When he gets frustrated with a particularly difficult section, you break it down sentence by sentence. The milkshakes arrive halfway through. You're both so focused you barely notice Sally setting them down.
"This is about friendship, right?" Sunghoon says suddenly. You're on chapter three now, George and Lennie planning their dream farm. "Like, George takes care of Lennie even though it makes his life harder."
"Yes. Exactly." You're surprised by how quickly he's grasping the themes. "Why do you think George does that?"
"Because Lennie's the only person who sees him as more than just some ranch hand. Because having someone need you is better than being alone." He pauses. "And maybe because George knows what it's like to be different. To not fit."
You stare at him. That's a deeper reading than half your AP class came up with. "That's—that's brilliant, Sunghoon."
He looks up, startled. "Really?"
"Really. You're understanding the emotional core of the story. That's harder than just reading the words."
"But I can't write a paper about it. Can't spell half the words I'd need."
"So we'll work on that too. Writing strategies. Spell check. Audio recording your ideas and transcribing them." You're already making notes. "There are ways around every obstacle."
"You really believe that?"
"I really do."
He takes a long drink of his milkshake, studying you over the rim of the glass. "Why are you doing this? And don't say it's for college apps. You've got those locked down."
The question catches you off guard. You consider lying, giving some easy answer about community service or helping others. But something about the way he's looking at you—open, genuine, vulnerable—demands honesty. "Because nobody should feel stupid when they're not," you say finally. "Because intelligence comes in so many forms and school only tests for one. Because you deserve someone who sees you as more than just a problem to fix."
His expression does something complicated. "You don't even know me."
"Then tell me about you. Who is Park Sunghoon when he's not in the back of English class?"
He hesitates, then: "I work at my dad's garage. Park's Auto Repair, down on Fifth Street. Been working there since I was twelve. Can rebuild an engine blindfolded."
"Really?"
"Really. Cars make sense to me. They're logical. If something's broken, there's a reason. A fix. It's all mechanical. No hidden meanings or metaphors or bullshit."
"Unlike English class."
"Unlike English class." He grins—the first real smile you've seen from him. It transforms his whole face. "But mostly I build cars. Race them, sometimes."
"The Mustang?"
"The Mustang. '67 Fastback. Bought it for five hundred bucks three years ago when it was basically a rusted shell. Been rebuilding it piece by piece ever since." There's passion in his voice now, the same passion that's been missing when he talks about school. "She's almost done. Just needs a new transmission and some body work."
"She?"
"All cars are she." He says it like it's obvious. "You probably think it's stupid. Racing."
"I think it sounds exciting. Terrifying, but exciting."
"You scared of going fast?"
"I'm scared of everything going wrong."
He studies you for a moment. "You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Stuck-up. Judgmental. Like everyone else who's got their shit together." He's playing with his milkshake straw now, not quite looking at you. "But you're not. You're... nice. Actually nice, not fake nice."
"You're not what I expected either."
"What did you expect?"
"Honestly? Someone who didn't care. Someone who'd blow off tutoring or not even try." You pause. "But you're trying really hard. You care about this even though it's difficult."
"I care about graduating. Getting out of this town."
"Where would you go?"
"Anywhere. Indianapolis, maybe. Or Detroit. Somewhere with real garages, real racing circuits. Somewhere I'm not the Park kid who can't read." The bitterness creeps back into his voice.
"You can read. You're reading right now."
He looks down at the book, the red overlay, the progress you've made. "Yeah. I guess I am."
For a moment, you just sit there. The diner's nearly empty now, the jukebox playing something slow. Through the window, you can see the Mustang parked under a streetlight, all black paint and chrome, beautiful and dangerous. "Same time Thursday?" you ask.
"Same time Thursday." He pauses. "And... thanks. For not giving up on me after one session."
"I told you I wouldn't."
"Yeah, but people say a lot of things."
"I'm not people."
His smile is small but genuine. "No. You're really not."
You leave the diner at nine, and your mother's waiting up when you get home. "The library was open until nine?" she asks, voice carefully neutral.
"I was helping someone study. Lost track of time."
"Someone?"
"A classmate." Not technically a lie.
She studies your face, and you wonder if she can see it—the flutter of something new and dangerous. The feeling that tonight was about more than just teaching someone to read. "Just be careful," she says finally. "Senior year's important. Don't let anyone distract you from your goals."
"I won't, Mom."
But later, lying in bed, you think about Sunghoon's smile when he read that first sentence. About the passion in his voice when he talked about his Mustang. About the fact that you're already looking forward to Thursday. And you wonder if maybe, possibly, you're already distracted.
—
The next six weeks blur together in a pattern: School. Student council. Thursday tutoring in the library for appearances. Tuesday and Thursday nights at Miller's Diner for actual progress.
You learn things about Sunghoon: He drinks his coffee black because his dad taught him that's how men drink it, but he'd secretly prefer cream and sugar. He's left-handed. He has a younger sister, Soo-ah, who's in eighth grade and wants to be a vet. His mom left when he was ten and he doesn't talk about it. He can identify any car by the sound of its engine. He's terrified of failing English again. He thinks Holden Caulfield from Catcher in the Rye is whiny but he understands why the character's so angry at everything.
You learn how to teach him: Breaking chapters into smaller sections works. Audio books help, but he feels guilty using them, like they're cheating. He comprehends better when he can discuss ideas out loud rather than writing them down. His spelling is creative but phonetic. When he's frustrated, he needs five minutes to walk it off before trying again. Positive reinforcement matters more than criticism. He works twice as hard as anyone you've ever met.
You learn things about yourself: that you look forward to Tuesday and Thursday nights more than any other part of your week. You started leaving your hair down instead of in a ponytail. You think about him during AP Calc. The sound of an engine makes your heart race now, wondering if it's his Mustang. You're lying to your parents about where you spend your evenings and you don't feel guilty enough about it.
By mid-October, Sunghoon's reading at a tenth-grade level—not great, but light years beyond where he started. He got a B-minus on his Of Mice and Men essay. Mr. Peterson, the English teacher, wrote "significant improvement" on the top. "I can't believe it," Sunghoon says, staring at the paper like it might disappear. You're in your usual booth at Miller's, chemistry homework spread out in front of you (because you still have actual classes), his English work in front of him.
"I can. You earned it."
"We earned it. I couldn't have done this without you."
"You did the work. I just showed you different strategies."
He looks up, and there's something intense in his expression. "It's more than that. You believed I could do it. That matters."
The air between you feels charged suddenly. You're very aware that you're sitting in a back booth of a diner where nobody from school ever comes, that it's just the two of you and Sally wiping down counters, that Sunghoon is looking at you like you're something more than just his tutor. "I should—" You gesture vaguely at your chemistry homework. "Midterm next week."
"Right. Yeah." He clears his throat, looking away. "You want help?"
"You want to help with chemistry?"
"I'm good at it. Sciences make sense. They're like cars—everything has a reason, a reaction, a cause and effect." So you trade. He helps you understand molecular bonds and chemical reactions, explaining them with an ease that surprises you. You help him with his reading comprehension questions for Catcher in the Rye.
It's past ten when you finally pack up. Sally's given up pretending she's not watching you two, a small smile on her face as she tops off Sunghoon's coffee for the third time. In the parking lot, you walk toward your car—a sensible Honda Civic your parents bought you junior year—but Sunghoon catches your wrist. "Hey," he says. "You want to see something?"
"See what?"
"The Mustang. Properly. I finished the transmission last week."
You should say no. It's late. Your mom's going to ask questions if you're not home by ten-thirty. You have homework still. "Yeah," you hear yourself say. "I'd like that."
He leads you to the Mustang, parked under the streetlight like always, but this time he opens the hood. The engine gleams underneath—chrome and steel and meticulous care. "You rebuilt all of this?" you ask, genuinely awed.
"Most of it. Dad helped with some of the specialized stuff, but yeah. Took three years." There's pride in his voice. "Want to hear her run?"
"Please." He slides into the driver's seat, and when he turns the key, the engine roars to life. It's loud and powerful and sounds like controlled chaos. He revs it once, and you can feel the vibration in your chest.
When he kills the engine and gets out, he's grinning. "What do you think?"
"I think she's beautiful."
"Yeah?" He's standing close now, close enough that you can smell motor oil and coffee and something that's just him. "You want to go for a ride sometime?"
Your heart's racing. "Where would we go?"
"Anywhere. Nowhere. There's this place, about twenty minutes out of town. The quarry. People race there sometimes." He pauses. "I could teach you to drive stick shift."
"My parents would kill me."
"They don't have to know."
It's a terrible idea. Sneaking around. Going to the quarry where kids race and drink and do all the things that good students don't do. Getting into a car with a boy your parents definitely wouldn't approve of. "Saturday?" you ask.
His smile is worth every risk. "Saturday. Pick you up at eight?"
"I'll meet you. The QuickMart on the edge of town."
"You don't want me picking you up at your house."
"My dad owns a shotgun and strong opinions about boys. So no."
He laughs—full and genuine. "Fair enough. QuickMart at eight."
You drive home with butterflies in your stomach and the sound of that engine still echoing in your ears. When you slip in the front door at 10:45, your mom's reading on the couch. "Library close late again?" she asks.
"Big project. Sorry."
She studies you over the top of her book. "You're smiling a lot for someone who's been doing homework all night."
"Just had a productive study session."
"Uh-huh." She doesn't believe you, but she doesn't push. "Get some sleep. You look tired."
In your room, you try to focus on chemistry but your mind keeps drifting to Saturday. To the Mustang. To Sunghoon's smile and the way he looked at you in the parking lot. Your phone rings. The landline extension in your room. You pick up. "Hi." It's him. You don't know how he got your number, but you're glad he did.
"Hi."
"I just wanted to make sure you got home okay."
"I'm fine. It's like fifteen minutes."
"I know. But still." He pauses. "I'm looking forward to Saturday."
"Me too."
"Good. Get some sleep. I'll see you Thursday."
"See you Thursday." You hang up, and you're smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. Your best friend Wonyoung is going to lose her mind when you tell her about this. If you tell her about this. Because maybe some things are meant to be secret. Maybe some things are just yours.
—
Saturday night at 7:55 PM. You're standing in the QuickMart parking lot wearing jeans and a sweater, telling yourself this is fine. This is normal. Lots of people go to the quarry on Saturday nights. (Except you're not lots of people. You're the girl who spends Saturday nights doing extra credit or organizing student council activities or watching movies with Wonyoung while she talks about her on-again-off-again thing with Jake Sim.)
The Mustang rumbles into the parking lot at exactly eight, all black paint and chrome gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Sunghoon leans over to open the passenger door, grinning. "You came."
"You sound surprised."
"Half-expected you to bail. Come to your senses."
"Maybe I came to my senses by showing up."
His grin widens. "Get in." You do. The interior's been restored too—black leather seats, a tape deck, the smell of new upholstery and possibility. "Buckle up," he says, and then he's peeling out of the parking lot, and you're pressed back against the seat as the engine roars.
He drives fast but controlled, taking the roads out of town with easy confidence. The radio's playing—some rock station, The Bangles bleeding into Bon Jovi. The windows are down and the October air is cold and crisp and perfect. "Where'd you tell your parents you were going?" he asks over the music.
"Wonyoung's house. Movie night."
"She covering for you?"
"She doesn't know. I'll call her later, make sure our stories match if anyone asks." You glance at him. "Where'd you tell your dad?"
"That I was going to the quarry. He doesn't care as long as I'm home by midnight and don't wreck the car."
"Different parenting styles."
"You could say that."
The quarry is exactly what you expected and nothing like it at the same time. It's an old limestone quarry, abandoned for years, now filled with water that's probably freezing and definitely not safe to swim in. There's a flat area at the top that's become the unofficial racing strip—a quarter mile of cracked pavement with enough room for two cars to line up side by side.
There are maybe twenty cars already there when you arrive. You recognize some from school—Jay Park's Camaro, Jake Sim's pickup truck, a few others. Music blasts from someone's stereo. A group of kids stands around a bonfire that's definitely illegal. Sunghoon parks at the edge of the group, and immediately people start gravitating toward the Mustang. "Yo, Hoon!" A guy you vaguely recognize from auto shop class—Jay, you think—jogs over. "Transmission finally done?"
"Finished her last week." Sunghoon gets out, popping the hood. "Want to see?" You get out too, feeling wildly out of place in your neat jeans and sweater while everyone else is in leather and ripped denim and the kind of casual confidence that comes from belonging.
"Holy shit," Jay says, looking at the engine. "You did this yourself?"
"Mostly. Dad helped with the specs."
More people gather, asking technical questions about compression ratios and torque and things you don't understand. You stand slightly apart, and that's when you notice her. A girl about your age, leaning against a cherry-red Corvette, watching you with undisguised curiosity. She's gorgeous—leather jacket, dark lipstick, the kind of effortless cool you've never managed. She walks over. "You're new."
"I'm—yeah. First time here."
"I can tell." She's not mean about it, just observational. "I'm Ryujin. That's my car." She gestures to the Corvette. "You're Sunghoon's tutor, right?"
Apparently everyone knows. "Yeah. How did you—"
"Small town. Word travels." She studies you with sharp eyes. "You seem nervous."
"Is it that obvious?"
"Little bit. But don't worry. Nobody bites. Well, Jay bites sometimes, but only if you ask nicely." Despite yourself, you laugh. "There we go. You have a smile." Ryujin nods toward where Sunghoon's still showing off his engine. "He talks about you, you know."
Your heart skips. "He does?"
"All the time. 'My tutor this, my tutor that. She's so smart. She actually believes I can pass.'" Ryujin's expression softens. "It's good for him. Having someone who sees past the reputation."
"What reputation?"
"Park's delinquent kid. The one who can't hack it academically. The loser who's going to end up pumping gas at his dad's garage for the rest of his life." She says it matter-of-factly, but there's an edge of anger underneath. "People are assholes."
"He's not—he's brilliant. He's just dyslexic."
"I know. But nobody else seems to get that." She glances back toward Sunghoon. "Anyway. I'm glad he brought you. He doesn't bring people here. It's his space, you know? The fact that he wanted to share it with you means something."
Before you can process that, Sunghoon's back, sliding an arm around your waist casually, naturally, like he's done it a hundred times before. "You good?" he asks.
"Maybe." They're grinning at each other, and you realize this is friendship. This is his people—the ones who see him as more than the kid who failed English three times.
"I'll race you later," Ryujin says. "Right now, I think you were going to teach your girl to drive stick." Your girl. The words settle warm in your chest.
Sunghoon leads you back to the Mustang, away from the crowd. "You ready for this?"
"To drive your baby? The car you've spent three years restoring?"
"To learn something new." He opens the driver's door. "Come on. Slide in." You do. The driver's seat feels different—powerful, dangerous. Sunghoon gets in the passenger side, talking you through the basics.
"Clutch, brake, gas. Three pedals instead of two. You're going to push the clutch all the way down, put her in first gear, then slowly let the clutch out while giving her gas. Too fast, she'll stall. Too slow, she'll—" The engine dies immediately. "—stall. That's okay. Everyone does that the first time. Try again."
It takes six tries before you manage to actually move forward without stalling. By try seven, you're doing laps around the parking area, grinding the gears occasionally but mostly getting it. "You're a natural," Sunghoon says, and he sounds impressed.
"I'm terrible at this."
"You're learning. That's different." He guides you through shifting to second, then third. "Feel that? The way she catches when you hit the right spot? That's perfect."
You do three successful laps, and on the fourth, you catch him watching you instead of the road. "What?"
"Nothing. You just—you look happy."
"I am happy."
"Good."
You park after the fifth lap, heart racing with adrenaline and something else. Something that might be dangerous. "That was amazing," you say.
"You did great."
"No, I mean—this. Being here. Learning something completely unrelated to school or college applications or my parents' expectations. Just—doing something for me."
He's looking at you with that intense focus that makes your stomach flip. "You don't do things for yourself much, do you?"
"I'm busy."
"That's not an answer."
"No," you admit. "I don't. Everything I do has a purpose. An end goal. Get into Stanford. Make my parents proud. Secure my future."
"What do you want? Not your parents. You."
The question catches you completely off guard. Nobody's asked you that before. Nobody's cared to ask. "I don't know," you say finally. Honestly. "I've spent so long doing what I'm supposed to do, I'm not sure what I want anymore."
"That's sad."
"That's realistic."
"Maybe." He shifts in the seat, turning to face you fully. "You want to know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think you're scared. I think you've built this perfect life, this perfect plan, and you're terrified of anything that might mess it up. But I also think—" He pauses. "I think you're only here, in this car, at this quarry, because part of you wants something different. Something real."
Your heart is pounding. "And if I do?"
"Then maybe you should let yourself have it."
You're sitting in his Mustang, at a quarry where people race and break rules, with a boy who makes your heart race faster than any engine, and you're tired. So tired of being good. Of being perfect. Of doing everything right. "Teach me to race," you say suddenly.
His eyes widen. "What?"
"Teach me to race. Actually race. Not just drive around a parking lot."
"That's—do you know how dangerous that is?"
"I'm asking anyway."
He studies you for a long moment. "You're serious."
"Completely."
A slow smile spreads across his face. "Okay. But not tonight. You need more practice first. Real practice. We'll come back next Saturday. And the Saturday after that. I'll teach you everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything." The word hangs heavy with promise. The night continues. You meet more people—Jay, who's loud and funny and clearly Sunghoon's best friend. Yuna, who drags her boyfriend Sunoo around by the hand and asks you about student council. Niki, who's only sixteen but drives better than half the seniors here.
You watch three races. Ryujin wins two of them, Sunghoon wins the third. The way he drives is like watching art—controlled chaos, perfect timing, raw skill. At eleven, he takes you back to your car at the QuickMart. "Same time next week?" he asks.
"Same time next week."
"And Thursday. Diner."
"I'll be there."
He leans across the console, and for a moment you think he might kiss you. But instead, he just tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Drive safe," he says.
"You too." You call Wonyoung from the parking lot, apologizing for the short notice, establishing your alibi. She's suspicious but covers for you without question, because that's what best friends do.
When you get home, your mom's asleep but your dad's still up, reading in his study. "Good movie?" he asks.
"Great movie."
"You and Wonyoung have fun?"
"Always."
He studies you over his reading glasses, and you wonder if he can see it—the change. The fact that his perfect daughter just spent the evening at an illegal street racing spot with a boy he'd definitely disapprove of. "Get some rest," he says finally. "You have SAT prep in the morning."
"Right. SAT prep."
In your room, you strip off your sweater, and it smells like motor oil and bonfire smoke and freedom. You should wash it immediately. Instead, you fold it carefully and put it in the back of your closet, where the smell might linger just a little longer. You lie in bed thinking about Sunghoon's hands on the steering wheel. About the way he looked at you when you said you were happy. About the fact that for the first time in your carefully planned life, you have a secret that's just yours.
And you're not sorry about it at all.
—
November arrives cold and sudden, turning Millbrook into a postcard of autumn—all orange leaves and early frost, the smell of wood smoke and approaching winter. You and Sunghoon fall into a rhythm. Tuesdays and Thursdays: Miller's Diner. Books and milkshakes and watching him improve week by week. He's reading at grade level now. Got a B on his Catcher in the Rye essay. Mr. Peterson keeps looking at him like he doesn't quite believe the transformation.
Saturdays: The quarry. Learning to drive—really drive. Stick shift, speed shifting, the physics of acceleration and control. The first time you beat Niki in a practice race (his reaction time was slow, you didn't actually outdrive him, but still), you screamed so loud Sunghoon laughed until he cried. Weekdays: Stolen moments between classes. His hand brushing yours in the hallway. Notes passed during English (ironic, since he can actually read them now). The way your heart jumps every time you see the Mustang in the parking lot.
It's not dating. You're not calling it dating. That would make it real, and real things have consequences. But it's something. Something that makes you smile when you should be concentrating on calculus. Something that has Wonyoung giving you knowing looks across the lunch table. "You're going to have to tell me eventually," she says one Monday, stealing a fry from your tray.
"Tell you what?"
"Who he is. The guy you're sneaking around with."
Your heart stops. "I'm not—"
"Please. You smell like motor oil every Saturday night. You smile at your phone. You're distracted in student council meetings." She grins. "I'm your best friend. I know everything."
"It's complicated."
"Complicated is fun. Uncomplicated is boring." She leans closer, voice dropping. "Is it Park Sunghoon?"
You nearly choke on your water. "What? No. Why would you—"
"Because he looks at you in English class like you're the only person in the room. And you look back the same way when you think nobody's watching."
"We're—I'm tutoring him. That's all."
"Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of England." But she doesn't push, because Wonyoung gets boundaries. "Just be careful, okay? I know you. You're all-or-nothing. When you fall, you fall hard." The problem is: she's right. You're falling.
—
The first time Sunghoon holds your hand (really holds it, not just brushes against it), you're at the diner on a Thursday night in mid-November. You've just finished analyzing a chapter of Lord of the Flies, and he's frustrated because the symbolism still doesn't quite click. "Why can't the conch just be a conch?" he says, stabbing at his milkshake with a straw. "Why does everything have to mean something else?"
"Because that's how literature works. Golding's commenting on society, civilization, human nature—"
"Through a fucking seashell."
"Through a symbol that represents order and democracy." You're trying not to smile at his frustration. "You're overthinking it."
"I'm underthinking it. That's my problem. Everyone else sees this deep meaning and I just see a story about kids on an island."
"The story IS about kids on an island. The symbolism is just another layer."
He looks at you, and something in his expression softens. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Make me feel like I'm not stupid even when I don't get something."
"Because you're not stupid. You just learn differently."
His hand reaches across the table, covering yours. It's not accidental this time. It's deliberate, warm, sending electricity up your arm. "Thank you," he says quietly. "For everything. For not giving up. For making me believe I could actually pass this class."
Your throat is tight. "You're going to pass. You're going to graduate."
"Because of you." He doesn't let go of your hand. Neither do you. Sally comes by to refill coffee and doesn't comment on it, but you see her smile.
When you leave that night, he walks you to your car like always, but this time he doesn't step back. He stands close, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him even in the November cold. "I've been wanting to ask you something," he says.
Your heart's in your throat. "Okay."
"There's a race next Saturday. Real race, not just practice. Winner takes two hundred bucks." He pauses. "I want you to come. Not to race. Just to watch. To be there."
"I'm always there on Saturdays."
"I know, but—" He runs a hand through his hair, looking uncertain for the first time since you've met him. "I want you there as mine. Not my tutor. Not my friend. As—as my girl."
The world narrows to just the two of you, standing in a diner parking lot under harsh fluorescent lights that suddenly feel romantic. "Sunghoon—"
"I know it's complicated. I know your parents wouldn't approve. I know I'm not the kind of guy you're supposed to be with." The words rush out. "But I like you. More than like you. Have for weeks. And I think—I hope—you might feel the same?"
You should say no. Should remind him about Stanford, about your carefully planned future, about all the reasons this is a terrible idea. Instead, you reach up and kiss him. It's brief and sweet and tastes like chocolate milkshake and possibility. When you pull back, he's staring at you like you've performed a miracle. "Yeah," you say, breathless. "I feel the same."
His smile is brilliant. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You kiss him again, longer this time, his hands coming up to cup your face, gentle and sure. "I'll be there Saturday. As yours."
"As mine," he repeats, like he's testing out the words. "I like the sound of that."
You drive home giddy and terrified, the taste of him still on your lips. Your phone's ringing when you get to your room—the landline, Sunghoon's voice on the other end. "Hi," he says.
"Hi. You just saw me twenty minutes ago."
"I know. I missed you already." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Is that stupid?"
You talk for an hour about nothing and everything. About his sister's soccer game and your student council drama and what it felt like to finally kiss each other after weeks of dancing around it. When you finally hang up, it's past midnight, and you have a chemistry test tomorrow you haven't studied for. You don't even care.
—
Saturday's race is different from practice runs. There's money on the line, real stakes. The crowd's bigger—maybe thirty cars, fifty people. You spot a few seniors from school and hope they don't recognize you. Sunghoon's racing against Jay, best two out of three. The Mustang versus the Camaro. Both engines roar at the starting line, and you're standing with Ryujin and Yuna, heart in your throat. "He's good," Ryujin says, watching the cars line up. "But Jay's reckless. Could go either way."
"Sunghoon's better," you say with more confidence than you feel.
"Look at you. All defensive of your man." She grins. "It's cute."
The flag drops. They're off—two bullets of metal and gasoline, neck and neck down the quarter mile. Sunghoon takes the first race by half a car length. Jay takes the second by less. The third race is for everything.
You can barely watch. Can barely breathe. The engines scream, the crowd roars, and then Sunghoon crosses the finish line first by inches. The crowd erupts. Jay's laughing, shaking Sunghoon's hand, because it's all good fun until it's not. Money exchanges hands. And then Sunghoon's walking toward you, adrenaline-high and grinning, and he picks you up and spins you around right there in front of everyone. "Did you see that?" he says, breathless.
"I saw. You were amazing."
"I had good motivation." He sets you down but doesn't let go, his forehead resting against yours. "Wanted to win for you."
"Sunghoon—" He kisses you, right there in front of everyone, and it's not brief or sweet. It's deep and claiming and says mine more clearly than words ever could.
When you break apart, half the people there are staring. Including Jake Sim, who's in your AP History class and definitely knows who you are. "Shit," you mutter.
"What?"
"Jake goes to our school. This is going to be all over by Monday."
Sunghoon's expression hardens. "Is that a problem?"
"My parents—they're going to—"
"Hey." He cups your face, making you look at him. "If you want to keep this quiet, we can keep this quiet. I get it. I'm not exactly parent-approved material." The hurt in his voice kills you.
"No. I don't—I don't want to hide." The words surprise you, but you mean them. "I'm tired of hiding. Of being perfect. Of living my life for everyone else's approval."
"You sure?"
"Completely."
His smile is slow and genuine. "Good. Because I'm done pretending you're just my tutor."
The rest of the night is perfect. You meet his friends properly—Jay and his girlfriend Jungwon, Niki who's secretly a poetry nerd, Yuna and Sunoo who are the most wholesome couple you've ever seen. They accept you immediately, and it's strange and wonderful to be part of a group that doesn't care about GPAs or college applications or any of the things that usually define you.
Around eleven, Sunghoon pulls you away from the crowd, leading you to a spot overlooking the quarry. The water's black and still below, stars reflected on the surface. "I've been thinking," he says, sitting on the hood of the Mustang and pulling you to stand between his legs. "About after graduation."
Your stomach drops. "What about it?"
"I'm not going to college. Can't afford it even if I wanted to, and honestly? I don't want to. I want to work with my dad, take over the garage eventually. Maybe open my own shop someday."
"That sounds perfect for you."
"But you're going to Stanford. All the way across the country." The reality of it sits heavy between you. You've been so focused on now—on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturday nights—that you haven't let yourself think about graduation. About what happens when your carefully planned future collides with this unexpected present.
"Maybe I don't go to Stanford," you say quietly. His eyes widen."Maybe I stay. Go to Indiana State or Purdue. Somewhere closer."
"No." He says it firmly. "Absolutely not. You're not giving up Stanford for me."
"It wouldn't be giving up. It would be choosing—"
"You'd resent me. Eventually. You'd look back and wonder what if, and you'd hate me for it." He takes your hands. "I care about you too much to let you do that."
"So what, we just break up when I leave?"
"I don't know." The honesty in his voice breaks your heart. "I haven't figured that part out yet. All I know is that I want you to go chase your dreams, even if it means losing you."
You kiss him to shut him up, to stop the conversation from going somewhere too painful. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer, and for a while there's nothing but this—the two of you, the Mustang, the stars overhead. "We have seven months," you murmur against his mouth. "Seven months before we have to figure any of that out."
"Seven months."
"So let's make them count."
"Yeah." He kisses you again, deeper. "Let's make them count."
You stay like that for a while—his hands in your hair, yours in his, the city glittering below and the night cold around you—and the kissing shifts into something else slowly, the way things do when you’ve been holding back for a long time and the holding back finally stops. "Hey," he says softly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands frame your face, thumbs tracing your cheekbones. "You sure?"
You’ve never been more sure of anything. "Yes." He kisses you again—slower now, intentional, one hand sliding down your waist—and then he’s reaching past you to recline the passenger seat, and you climb over the console and into his lap, and the Mustang’s interior is small and warm and entirely yours.
He undresses you carefully, methodically, like he’s done everything in his life—with patience and complete attention. Your sweater first, then his jacket, his eyes on your face the whole time, watching for hesitation. There isn’t any.
"You’re beautiful," he says, and it’s so simple and so honest that it lodges somewhere in your chest and stays there.
His hands are warm everywhere they touch—down your sides, over your hips, learning you the way he’s learned everything that matters to him: slowly, thoroughly, like he means to know it forever. When his fingers find the hem of your jeans, he pauses. "Still yes?"
"Still yes." He takes his time. That’s the thing about Sunghoon—he has always taken his time with things that matter. His mouth finds your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, and you’re acutely aware of the city lights through the windshield and the sound of both of you breathing and how small and perfect this space is.
He works you open with his fingers first—slow and attentive, watching your face, adjusting when your breath catches—his thumb circling your clit in a rhythm that makes your hips roll against his hand involuntarily. You grip the headrest behind him and he says your name, just your name, low and reverent. "Okay?" he asks.
"More than," you manage. "Don’t stop." He doesn’t. He keeps going until you’re shaking and breathless, until you come with your forehead dropped against his shoulder and his name in your mouth like a prayer. He holds you through it—both arms, steady—and presses his lips to your temple like it matters, which it does, which everything does with him.
When you finally shift, rising over him, his eyes stay on yours. His hands settle warm on your hips, steadying but not directing—letting you set the pace, the depth, the whole thing, because that’s always been how he is with you. He gives you the wheel.
You take him in slowly. He exhales long and low, jaw tight, hands gripping your hips hard enough to feel it, and you understand in that moment that he’s been holding back too. That there has been patience on both sides of this for months, accumulating. "You okay?" he asks, voice rough.
"Perfect," you say, and mean it in every possible sense. You move together—unhurried, finding the rhythm, his cock filling you completely, his thumb finding your clit again as you roll your hips—and it’s nothing like you expected and exactly what it should be. He tips his head back and watches you with dark eyes and that unguarded expression he only ever gives you, the one that has no performance in it at all.
His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your tits, and you arch into the touch. He sits up, mouth finding your throat, and the change in angle makes you gasp. "There," you breathe. "Right there—"
"I’ve got you," he says against your skin, and he does. His arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against him, and he rocks into you from below, steady and deep, and you hold on and let go at the same time. The second orgasm builds faster, sharper, and when it breaks you’re holding his face in your hands and looking right at him and he’s looking back with something in his expression that you have no word for but will spend a long time remembering.
He follows you, his whole body pulling you closer as he does, your name on his lips like a finish line he’s been driving toward this whole time.
Afterward you stay tangled together in the reclined seat. The city still glitters through the windshield. His heartbeat slows under your palm. Your head fits perfectly in the curve of his neck, like it was made for exactly that purpose, which you are starting to believe it was. "Seven months," you say quietly, into the warmth of his chest.
He presses his mouth to the top of your head. "Seven months," he agrees. "Every single one."
—
Monday arrives with exactly the fallout you expected. Jake Sim must have told someone, who told someone else, who told everyone, because by second period the entire school knows you're dating Park Sunghoon. The reactions vary:
Wonyoung: "FINALLY. I've been waiting for you to admit it. Also, he's hot. Well done." Your lab partner in Chemistry: "I didn't know you were into bad boys." Some random freshman: "Aren't you supposed to be smart?"
The worst is lunch. You're sitting with Wonyoung and your usual student council crowd when Sunghoon appears. "Can I sit?" he asks, looking directly at you, ignoring everyone else.
The table goes silent. This is unprecedented. Park Sunghoon doesn't sit with the honor students. The honor students don't sit with the kids who've failed English three times. But you're not most honor students. "Yeah," you say, scooting over to make room. "Sit."
He does. Drops his lunch tray next to yours like he belongs there, which apparently he does now. The student council people exchange glances. Wonyoung's grinning like Christmas came early. "So," Sunghoon says, stealing a fry from your tray. "What are we discussing? Student council stuff? World domination?"
"Both," Wonyoung says immediately, because she's never met an awkward silence she couldn't fill. "We're planning the winter formal. Theme, decorations, the whole thing."
"What's the theme?"
"Winter Wonderland. Very original, I know."
"You could do Winter Racing. Decorate with checkered flags and—" He stops, looking at your expression. "What?"
"That's actually not a terrible idea."
"Don't sound so surprised."
The conversation continues, and slowly, impossibly, your two worlds start to merge. Wonyoung asks Sunghoon about cars. He asks her about whatever Jake drama is currently happening (apparently there's always Jake drama). Your student council friends warm up when they realize he's funny and not actually scary. By the end of lunch, it almost feels normal.
Until you're walking to English and Principal Morrison stops you in the hall. "Can I see you in my office?" she asks. Not quite a question.
Your stomach sinks. "Now?"
"Now."
Sunghoon squeezes your hand once before you follow Morrison down the hall. Her office still smells like coffee, but there's no warmth in her smile today. "I've been hearing things," she says once the door closes. "About you and Mr. Park."
"We're dating." You say it firmly, even though your heart's racing. "Is that a problem?"
"That depends. Is this relationship interfering with your tutoring duties?"
"No. He's doing better than ever. You've seen his grades."
"I have. Which is why I'm concerned." She leans forward. "You're an exceptional student with a bright future. Stanford. Pre-law. You've worked very hard to get where you are."
"I'm aware."
"Park Sunghoon is a nice young man, but he's not on the same path you are. I'd hate to see you distracted. To see your focus shift away from your goals." The implication is clear: he's not good enough for you. He's going to drag you down.
"With respect, Mrs. Morrison, my personal life is my business." Your voice is steady even though you're shaking. "I'm maintaining my grades. I'm fulfilling my student council responsibilities. What I do outside of school isn't up for discussion."
"I'm just trying to look out for you—"
"I don't need looking out for. I need people to trust that I can make my own decisions." You stand. "Is there anything else?"
She sighs. "Just—be careful. That's all I'm saying."
"I will be. Thank you." You leave her office furious and shaking, and Sunghoon's waiting in the hall even though he's definitely supposed to be in class.
"What did she say?" he asks.
"That I'm making a mistake. That you're going to ruin my future." The words taste bitter.
His expression shuts down. "Maybe she's right."
"Don't." You grab his hand. "Don't do that. Don't let other people's opinions make you doubt this."
"I'm not good enough for you. Everyone thinks it. Hell, I think it sometimes."
"Good enough according to what? Their standards? Fuck their standards." The profanity feels good, rebellious. "You make me happy. That's what matters."
"Your parents are going to lose it when they find out."
"They'll find out when I'm ready to tell them." You kiss him quick, not caring who sees. "And when they do, I'm not changing my mind."
His smile is small but real. "You're kind of badass when you're angry."
"I'm learning from you."
"Nah. This was always in you. You just needed permission to let it out."
—
Thanksgiving arrives, and with it, the dreaded family dinner where your parents expect you to discuss your college applications and your perfectly planned future. Instead, you spend the morning texting Sunghoon while your mother prepares turkey. Sunghoon: What are you wearing?
You: Why, are you coming over to see me?
Sunghoon: No, but I'm thinking about you. Want to picture it accurately.
You: Sweater and jeans. Very exciting.
Sunghoon: Everything about you is exciting.
You: Smooth talker.
Sunghoon: I'm working on my English skills. My tutor's really good.
You: Your tutor thinks you're pretty great too.
Sunghoon: Just pretty great?
You: Fishing for compliments?
Sunghoon: Maybe. Is it working?
You: You're incredible. Happy now?
Sunghoon: Very. What time's dinner?
You: Six. Why?
Sunghoon: Because I'm picking you up at eight. There's a place I want to show you.
You: It's Thanksgiving. I can't just leave family dinner.
Sunghoon: Sure you can. Tell them you're going to Wonyoung's.
You: I use that excuse too much.
Sunghoon: Then tell them the truth. That you're seeing your boyfriend.
The word stops you. Boyfriend. He's never used it before. You've never defined what this is, too scared to put labels on something so new and fragile. You: Is that what you are? My boyfriend?
The little text bubble appears, disappears, appears again. Finally: Sunghoon: I want to be. If that's okay with you.
Your heart soars. You: It's more than okay. I'll see you at eight, boyfriend.
Sunghoon: See you at eight, girlfriend.
Dinner is exactly as expected—your dad asking about Stanford applications, your mom discussing scholarship opportunities, your older brother (home from MIT for the holiday) pontificating about the importance of networking. Around seven-thirty, you clear your throat. "I'm going out after dinner," you announce.
Your mother looks up from the pumpkin pie. "Out where?"
"To see someone."
"Wonyoung?"
"No. A friend. From school."
Your father's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "What friend?"
This is it. The moment of truth. You could lie, make up another excuse, keep hiding. Instead: "His name is Sunghoon. He's my boyfriend." The silence is deafening.
"Boyfriend?" your mother repeats faintly.
"Since when do you have a boyfriend?" your brother asks.
"Since October. We've been seeing each other for about two months."
Your father sets down his fork carefully. "Who is this boy? Do we know his family?"
"Park's Auto Repair. His dad owns it."
Recognition flashes across your father's face. "The Park boy? The one who's failed English multiple times?"
"He's passing now. Because I've been tutoring him."
"That's what this is about?" Your mother's expression clears with relief. "You're tutoring him. That's not dating, honey."
"It started as tutoring. It became dating. There's a difference."
"Absolutely not." Your father's voice is firm. "You are not dating that boy."
Your heart pounds, but you keep your voice steady. "I am. And I'm going to see him tonight."
"You are not leaving this house."
"I'm eighteen. You can't stop me."
"We can take away your car. Your allowance. We can make this very difficult for you."
The threat hangs in the air. Your mother looks distressed, your brother shocked, your father furious. "Do what you need to do," you say quietly. "But I'm still going." You stand, grabbing your coat, and your father stands too.
"If you walk out that door to see that boy, there will be consequences."
"I understand."
"You're throwing away your future for someone who isn't worth it."
That snaps something in you. "He's worth more than you know. He's kind and smart and he works harder than anyone I've ever met. The only people who can't see that are people who judge based on grades and class and things that don't actually matter."
"Grades matter. Your education matters. Stanford matters."
"I know. And I'm still going to Stanford. I'm still maintaining my 4.0. I'm still doing everything I'm supposed to do." You pause at the door. "I'm just also choosing to be happy." You leave before they can respond.
The Mustang's idling at the end of your driveway, and when you climb in, Sunghoon takes one look at your face and knows. "You told them."
"I told them."
"And?"
"And my dad's pissed. My mom's horrified. My brother thinks I've lost my mind." You buckle your seatbelt. "But I did it. I chose you."
His expression does something complicated. "You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did. I'm tired of hiding. Tired of living my life for other people's approval." You take his hand. "Where are you taking me?"
"Somewhere special. You'll see."
He drives out of town, past the quarry, along back roads you've never seen. The radio plays soft—Fleetwood Mac, "Landslide"—and his hand stays linked with yours. After twenty minutes, he pulls onto a dirt road that leads to a field. In the distance, you can see Indianapolis's skyline glittering, all lights and possibility. "What is this place?" you ask.
"My spot. When everything gets too much—school, my dad, all of it—I come here." He parks, and you both get out. The November air is freezing, but he pulls a blanket from the trunk, spreading it on the hood of the Mustang. You climb up, and he settles behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder. The city sparkles in the distance, close enough to see but far enough to feel like a different world.
"I've been coming here since I was fifteen," he says quietly. "Whenever I felt like I didn't fit anywhere, I'd drive out here and look at the city. Remind myself that there's more than just Millbrook. More than just people who think I'm stupid."
"You're not stupid."
"I know that now. Because of you." He holds you tighter. "You changed everything for me. Not just teaching me to read—though that's huge. But making me believe I'm worth something. That I have value beyond fixing cars."
"You always had value. I just helped you see it."
"Same thing you did for me, you did for yourself." He turns you to face him. "Before us, you were so focused on being perfect that you forgot to be happy. Now look at you. Standing up to your parents. Choosing what you want instead of what you're supposed to want."
"I'm terrified."
"Good. Being terrified means it matters."
You kiss him as the city lights blur behind your closed eyes, and it feels like standing at the edge of a cliff—scary and exhilarating and exactly where you're supposed to be. "I'm falling in love with you," you whisper against his mouth. The admission feels huge, terrifying.
He pulls back to look at you, his expression soft and open and completely vulnerable. "Good," he says. "Because I fell in love with you weeks ago. Just been waiting for you to catch up." You laugh, and cry, and kiss him again, and in the distance Indianapolis glitters like a promise that maybe, just maybe, everything's going to be okay.
—
Your parents aren't speaking to you. Well, they're speaking—terse, polite conversations about dinner times and whether you need the car—but the warmth is gone. Your mother looks at you like you're a stranger. Your father's disappointment is a physical presence at every meal.
They took away your allowance but not your car (you need it for student council, and they're not quite willing to sabotage that). They've forbidden Sunghoon from coming to the house. They've made it clear that this relationship is temporary, a phase, something you'll grow out of when you come to your senses. You've made it equally clear that you disagree. The upside is: You're no longer sneaking around. The downside: Everything is harder now. But you have Sunghoon, and somehow that makes it bearable.
—
The first real snow falls on a Tuesday in mid-December. You and Sunghoon are at Miller's Diner, working through a Lord of the Flies essay that's due Friday. He's gotten good at this—organizing his thoughts verbally, using voice-to-text for first drafts, then going back to clean up spelling and grammar. "So Piggy represents intelligence and reason," he says, "but nobody listens to him because he doesn't fit their idea of what a leader should be."
"Exactly. What does that say about society?"
"That we're idiots who value the wrong things?" He grins. "That sound about right?"
"Bit cynical, but not wrong." You're making notes for him to reference later. "What evidence supports that?"
He flips through the book—using his red overlay, reading more fluently than he did three months ago. It's not perfect. It's probably never going to be easy. But it's worlds better than where he started. "Here," he says, pointing to a passage. "Where they're voting for chief and everyone picks Ralph because he's good-looking and has the conch, even though Piggy's clearly smarter."
"Perfect. Use that quote, explain why it matters, connect it to real-world examples."
"Real-world examples like people thinking I'm dumb because I can't read?"
Your heart squeezes. "Yeah. Like that."
He's quiet for a moment, then: "You know what's weird? I used to hate English. Hated everything about it. But now—" He gestures at the books, the notes. "It's not so bad. Some of it's actually interesting."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I mean, Golding's kind of depressing, but he's got a point. People do judge based on stupid shit. They make assumptions. And the conch thing—order versus chaos—that actually makes sense when you think about it."
You're grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. "You're doing literary analysis. Voluntarily."
"Don't sound so shocked."
"I'm not shocked. I'm proud."
His smile is soft, genuine. "Thanks. For not giving up on me."
"Never." Sally brings your milkshakes—chocolate for him, strawberry for you, a routine she's memorized by now. The diner's nearly empty, just a couple of truckers at the counter and you two in your usual booth.
"How are things at home?" Sunghoon asks carefully.
"Tense. My mom keeps leaving college brochures on my desk like I've forgotten about Stanford. My dad barely looks at me." You stir your milkshake. "But I'm not backing down."
"I hate that I'm causing problems with your family."
"You're not. Their expectations are causing problems. I'm just finally standing up to them."
"Still." He reaches across the table, taking your hand. "If you ever want to—if this gets too hard—"
"Don't." You squeeze his fingers. "I'm not giving up on us. Not for them. Not for anyone."
"Even if they cut you off? Refuse to pay for Stanford?"
The fear in his voice breaks your heart. "I'll figure it out. Loans, scholarships, whatever it takes."
"You shouldn't have to—"
"But I will. Because you're worth it." You mean every word. "Besides, I'm not doing this just for you. I'm doing it for me. For the first time in my life, I'm choosing what I want instead of what everyone else wants for me."
His expression softens. "What do you want?"
"You. Stanford. A future where I don't have to choose between love and ambition." You pause. "Is that too much to ask?"
"No. It's exactly right."
You work for another hour, then Sunghoon walks you to your car like always. The snow's still falling, turning the parking lot into a winter postcard. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you close. "You cold?" he asks.
"A little." He shrugs out of his jacket—that same leather jacket he always wears—and drapes it over your shoulders. It's warm from his body heat and smells like him, motor oil and cologne and something that's just Sunghoon. "You're going to freeze," you protest.
"I'll survive. Besides, you look good in my jacket." You do. You've seen yourself in mirrors, in car windows—his too-big jacket swallowing you up, making you look dangerous and claimed and exactly like someone who'd date Park Sunghoon.
You kiss him in the falling snow, and it's perfect. Movie-perfect. The kind of moment that would be cheesy if it wasn't so real. "I love you," he says against your mouth.
"I love you too."
"Even though I'm causing problems with your parents?"
"Especially because of that. You make me brave."
His smile is everything. "You were always brave. You just needed permission to show it."
—
The winter formal is the third Saturday of December, your mother assumes you're going with Wonyoung or solo. She's bought you a dress—beautiful, conservative, exactly the kind of thing the future Stanford student should wear. "I'm going with Sunghoon," you tell her Friday night at dinner.
She nearly drops her fork. "Excuse me?"
"To the winter formal. Sunghoon's my date."
"Absolutely not."
"I'm going either way. You can't stop me."
Your father sets down his newspaper. "We can forbid you from going at all."
"Then I guess I'm forbidden." You stand, taking your plate to the sink. "But I'm still going. So you can either accept that I'm going with Sunghoon, or you can spend the evening knowing I'm there against your wishes. Your choice." You leave before they can respond, and you're shaking but proud. Standing up to them is getting easier, but it still takes everything you have.
Saturday arrives clear and cold. You get ready at Wonyoung's house—she's going with Jake (they're on-again this week), and she helps you with your hair and makeup. "You're really doing this," she says, watching you in the mirror. "Going with him. In front of everyone."
"Yeah."
"Your parents are going to lose it."
"They already have."
"And you're okay with that?"
You think about it—really think about it. About the future you'd planned, the one where you did everything right and made everyone proud. About the future you're building now, messier and scarier but entirely yours. "Yeah," you say finally. "I'm okay with it."
The dress your mother bought hangs in your closet at home. Instead, you're wearing something Wonyoung helped you find—still nice, still appropriate, but edgier. A dark red dress that your mother would call too much and you call perfect. Sunghoon picks you up at Wonyoung's at seven, and when he sees you, he stops mid-step. "Wow."
"Good wow or bad wow?"
"Incredible wow." He's wearing actual dress clothes—dark slacks, button-down, tie. He looks unfamiliar and handsome and still completely him. "You're beautiful."
"You're not so bad yourself."
He hands you flowers—simple roses from the grocery store, but the gesture makes your heart melt. "Ready?"
"Completely."
The dance is in the school gym, transformed with the Winter Racing theme that won the student council vote (Sunghoon's idea, your influence). Checkered flags, silver and white decorations, lights that make everything sparkle. When you walk in together, conversations stop. People stare. This is unexpected—the valedictorian and the kid who failed English, together at the most visible school event of the year. But Sunghoon's hand is firm in yours, and you're done hiding. "Want to dance?" he asks.
"I should warn you—I'm terrible at it."
"Then we'll be terrible together."
He leads you to the dance floor just as a slow song starts. His hands settle on your waist, yours on his shoulders, and you sway to music that's probably supposed to have actual dance steps but you're both improvising. "People are staring," you murmur.
"Let them."
"Doesn't it bother you?"
"Used to. But then I figured out that people's opinions don't change who I am. I'm still the guy who rebuilt a Mustang from scrap. Still the guy who's finally passing English. Still the guy who's somehow dating the smartest, most beautiful girl in school." He pulls you closer. "Their opinions don't matter."
"When did you get so wise?"
"I have a really good tutor." You laugh, and the tension breaks. The next song is faster, and Wonyoung drags you both into a group dance with her and Jake and some other student council people. Sunghoon's terrible at dancing but enthusiastic, and watching him attempt choreography he's clearly making up is the highlight of your night.
Around nine, you slip outside for air. The December night is freezing, and you're shivering in your dress when Sunghoon's jacket settles around your shoulders. "You need to stop giving me your jacket," you say. "You're going to get hypothermia."
"Worth it." He stands behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. "You having fun?"
"The most fun. You?"
"Better than I expected. Though I still think the refreshments are weak. Diner milkshakes are better."
"Obviously."
You stand there in comfortable silence, watching your breath fog in the cold air, and you think about how much has changed since September. How you've changed. "What are you thinking?" Sunghoon asks.
"That I'm happy. Really, genuinely happy. And that scares me."
"Why?"
"Because happiness like this doesn't last. Because we're graduating in June and you're staying here and I'm going to California and—" Your throat tightens. "Because I don't know how to keep this when everything's pulling us apart."
His arms tighten around you. "We'll figure it out."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But we will." He turns you to face him. "I love you. That's not going to change just because you're three thousand miles away."
"Long distance is hard."
"So? Lots of things are hard. Reading's hard. Racing's hard. Standing up to your parents is hard. But we do them anyway because they matter." He cups your face. "You matter. We matter. And I'm not giving up on us just because it's going to be difficult."
You kiss him, tasting determination and promise and the future you're both trying to hold onto. "Seven months," you say. "We have seven more months before Stanford."
"Then let's make them count."
The rest of December passes in a blur of finals and family tension and stolen time with Sunghoon. You ace your finals (because some things don't change). He passes English with a B-minus (because some things do). Christmas is awkward. Your parents got you practical gifts—a new laptop for college, organizational systems, things that say we're investing in your future whether or not we approve of your present.
You spend Christmas night at the quarry with Sunghoon and his friends, sitting around a bonfire, drinking hot chocolate spiked with peppermint schnapps that Ryujin brought. "To surviving senior year," Jay toasts, raising his mug.
"To graduation," Niki adds.
"To getting the hell out of Millbrook," Ryujin says.
"To the people who make staying worthwhile," Sunghoon says, looking directly at you.
Everyone drinks, and you lean into Sunghoon's side, warm despite the December cold, surrounded by people who've become your friends as much as his. This is what family should feel like, you think. Not obligation and expectation, but choice and acceptance and love. "What are you thinking?" Wonyoung asks. She's on Jake's lap (they're very on-again), but her eyes are on you.
"That I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
"Even though it's complicated?"
"Especially because it's complicated."
She smiles. "Good answer."
Later, Sunghoon drives you home, but instead of dropping you off, he parks down the street. "I got you something," he says, pulling a small wrapped box from his jacket pocket. "For Christmas."
"Sunghoon, we said no gifts—"
"I know. But I saw this and thought of you." You unwrap it carefully. Inside is a keychain—simple silver, with a tiny Mustang charm attached. "It's from my car," he explains. "Well, a replica. Because wherever you go, whatever happens, you'll have a piece of us. A piece of this."
Your eyes are burning. "It's perfect."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You lean across the console to kiss him. "I love it. I love you."
"I love you too."
You sit there in his Mustang, engine off, snow falling outside, and you make promises you hope you can keep. That distance won't change things. That you'll make it work. That love is enough. You want to believe it. You have to believe it. Because the alternative—losing him—is unthinkable.
—
January through March pass faster than you want them to. Stanford acceptance letter arrives in early March—thick envelope, congratulations, everything you've worked for. Your parents are ecstatic. They throw you a celebration dinner, invite relatives, act like your relationship with Sunghoon is a phase that's ending now that you've gotten into your dream school. You don't correct them. You just smile and accept congratulations and hold the letter that represents your future while thinking about the boy who represents your present.
Sunghoon's proud when you tell him. Genuinely, completely proud. "Stanford," he says, kissing you in the diner parking lot. "That's huge."
"It doesn't feel huge. It feels like goodbye."
"It's not goodbye. It's—" He pauses, searching for words. "It's see you later."
"That's optimistic."
"I'm learning optimism from you."
Spring arrives with brutal honesty about the future. Graduation is June seventh. You leave for Stanford's summer orientation June twentieth. That gives you less than two weeks after graduation before everything changes. The quarry races continue through April, and you've gotten good. Not as good as Sunghoon or Ryujin, but good enough to win against Niki (who's actually trying now) and to place second against Jay (who's still reckless but respects your skill). "You should race for real," Ryujin says one Saturday night in mid-April. "There's a circuit in Indianapolis. Real tracks, real prizes. You could do it."
"I'm going to California in June."
"But you're here now."
You look at Sunghoon, who's watching you with that expression that means he's proud and scared and trying not to show either. "One race," you say. "Before I leave. A real one."
His smile is beautiful and sad. "Yeah. One real race."
You tell your parents you're staying after school for a student council project on the last Friday of April. Instead, you drive to Indianapolis with Sunghoon, Ryujin following in her Corvette, to register for your first real race. The track is terrifying and exhilarating. Professional. Dangerous. Everything the quarry isn't. "You don't have to do this," Sunghoon says as you're filling out forms.
"I want to."
"Why?"
"Because I've spent my whole life playing it safe. Doing the smart thing. The responsible thing." You sign your name with a flourish. "I want one irresponsible thing to remember. One time I did something just because it scared me."
"Racing scares you?"
"Terrifies me. That's why I have to do it."
The race is scheduled for the second Saturday in May. That gives you two weeks to practice, to prepare, to possibly come to your senses (you don't). You practice at the quarry every Saturday, and Sunghoon teaches you things he's learned from years of racing. How to take curves at speed. When to brake and when to accelerate. How to listen to the engine, to feel when the car's about to lose traction. "You're good at this," he says after a particularly clean run. "Natural."
"I have a good teacher."
"Best teacher you ever had?" He's grinning, cocky.
"Most humble, definitely."
The night before the race, you can't sleep. Sunghoon calls at midnight. "You nervous?" he asks.
"Terrified."
"Good. Use that. Fear keeps you sharp."
"What if I crash?"
"You won't."
"But if I do?"
"Then I'll be there to pull you out and tell you you're an idiot for racing in the first place." His voice softens. "But you won't crash. You're too good for that."
"How are you so sure?"
"Because I've watched you do impossible things. Ace AP classes. Stand up to your parents. Take a kid who couldn't read and teach him to love literature. Racing is just one more impossible thing you're going to conquer." You fall asleep with your phone pressed to your ear, his breathing steady on the other end, feeling brave and terrified and ready.
Race day arrives sunny and perfect. The track in Indianapolis is packed—real racers, real crowds, real stakes. You're racing in the amateur division, but that doesn't make it less intimidating. Your parents think you're at a college prep seminar. Wonyoung knows the truth and made you promise to be careful. Sunghoon's in the pit area, having helped prep the Mustang (you're borrowing his car for this, because yours is sensible and slow and entirely wrong for racing). "You ready?" he asks, checking the tire pressure for the third time.
"Ask me after."
"You're going to be great."
"You're biased."
"Completely. Doesn't make it less true."
Ryujin appears, already in her racing suit. "You're up in fifteen. Stop overthinking it."
"I'm not overthinking—"
"You're absolutely overthinking. It's what you do." She grins. "Just drive like you do at the quarry. Pretend you're trying to beat Niki's sorry ass."
"I heard that!" Niki calls from somewhere nearby.
The fifteen minutes pass too fast. Suddenly you're in the Mustang, helmet on, strapped in tight. The engine's roar is familiar now, comforting. You can do this. The flag drops. You're off, and for the first few seconds you can't think, can barely breathe. Then muscle memory kicks in. Sunghoon's lessons, hours of practice, raw instinct.
The track blurs. You're not first—not even close—but you're not last either. Sixth out of twelve. Holding your own. Lap two: you pass someone. Fifth place. Lap three: someone passes you. Back to sixth. Lap four (final lap): You see an opening. A gap between two cars. It's risky. Probably stupid. You take it.
The Mustang responds perfectly, threading the needle, and suddenly you're fourth. The finish line approaches and you're laughing inside the helmet because you're doing it, you're actually doing it— You cross the line in fourth place. Not first. Not even podium. But fourth out of twelve in your first real race, and when you pull into the pit area, Sunghoon's there pulling you out of the car and spinning you around and kissing you right there in front of everyone. "Fourth place!" he's saying. "In your first fucking race!"
"I can't believe I did that."
"I can. I knew you would." He's grinning so wide it must hurt. "You were amazing."
Ryujin finished second (because of course she did), and she's laughing at both of you. "Not bad for a brainiac. You've got real potential."
"Thanks."
"You racing again?"
The question makes your stomach drop. Because the answer is no. You're leaving in five weeks. This was it. Your one race. Your one irresponsible thing. "Probably not," you say quietly.
Ryujin's expression shifts to understanding. "Right. Stanford." She squeezes your shoulder. "Then I'm glad you got to do this one. Fourth place is nothing to sneeze at."
The rest of the afternoon passes in a celebration. Jay brings beer (illegal but who cares), and you all sit in the parking lot reliving the race, analyzing turns, celebrating small victories. This is freedom, you think. This is what it feels like to do something just because you want to, not because it's part of a plan or looks good on applications or makes anyone proud. This is what it feels like to be young and reckless and alive.
Later, Sunghoon drives you back to Millbrook, and you're quiet, processing. "You okay?" he asks.
"Yeah. Just thinking."
"About?"
"About how in five weeks this is over. This—" You gesture between you. "—is over."
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. "It doesn't have to be over."
"How? You're here. I'm going to be three thousand miles away."
"We'll figure it out. Phone calls. Visits. We'll make it work."
"Do you really believe that?"
He's quiet for a long moment. "I want to. I'm trying to."
"But?"
"But I'm scared." The admission costs him. "I'm scared that you'll get to California and realize there's a whole world of guys who aren't broken. Who can read without colored filters. Who graduated on time and don't work at their dad's garage."
"Sunghoon—"
"I'm scared you'll forget about the small-town kid who fell in love with you over milkshakes and car engines."
You reach across the console, taking his hand. "I could never forget you. You changed my life."
"For now. But in a year? Two years?"
"Forever," you say firmly. "You changed me forever."
He pulls over at your usual spot—the overlook of Indianapolis, the city glittering in the distance. Turns to face you fully. "I love you," he says. "I'm always going to love you. But I also love you too much to make you choose between me and your dreams."
"What does that mean?"
"It means—" He swallows hard. "It means when you leave for Stanford, I'm not going to hold you back. I'm not going to guilt you or make you feel bad for living your life. I want you to experience everything. To be free."
"I don't want to be free. I want to be with you."
"You can't have both. Not really. Not with three thousand miles between us."
Tears are streaming down your face now. "So what, we just break up? Pretend this never happened?"
"No. We love each other for the next five weeks. We make every moment count. And then—" His voice cracks. "And then we let each other go."
"I don't want to let you go."
"I don't want to let you go either. But we have to."
You climb into his lap in the front seat of the Mustang, kissing him desperately, trying to memorize everything—the taste of him, the feel of his hands, the way he holds you like you're precious and breakable and strong all at once. "Five weeks," you whisper against his mouth.
"Five weeks," he agrees. "Let's make them perfect."
He drives. Not back to town—not yet. He takes the back roads out past the quarry, past the field where you used to watch Indianapolis glow, until he finds a stretch of empty road where the stars are visible and the nearest person is miles away. Then he parks. Neither of you speaks for a moment. The Mustang idles and then goes quiet and the May night presses warm against the windows. "Come here," he says softly.
You go. You cross the console and fit yourself against him and he holds you so tight it almost hurts, his face buried in your hair, both of you breathing like you’ve been running. This time it isn’t urgent the way the first time was—that first night at the overlook, the months of held breath finally released. This time it’s slower and sadder and more deliberate, the way you do something when you know you’re doing it for the last time in a long time.
He undresses you like he’s memorizing it. Like he’s filing it away somewhere safe. Every piece of clothing that comes off, his hands follow—mapping your shoulders, your waist, the curve of your spine—and you do the same for him, learning by touch what you already know by heart. His chest, the line of his collarbone, the old scar on his ribs from a car part that slipped when he was sixteen. "I love you," you say, against his shoulder. Not for the first time. But with a weight to it you haven’t used before.
"I love you," he says back, and pulls you closer. He lays you back in the reclined seat and takes his time. His mouth traces down your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your breast—lips finding your nipples, soft at first and then less so, until your fingers are in his hair and you’re arching up toward him. He smiles against your skin and keeps going.
His hand slides down your stomach, fingers stroking through your folds with the ease of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing now, who has paid close attention every time before this. He finds your clit and works it slow and steady until your hips are rocking against his hand and you’re whispering his name at the dark of the car ceiling. "Sunghoon—"
"I know," he says. "I’ve got you. I always have you." He pushes two fingers into your pussy and curls them, thumb still on your clit, and you come apart quietly—the way you do now, the way you’ve learned to, teeth pressed into your lower lip, breathless and shaking and his. He holds you through it, watching your face like he’s trying to memorize that too.
Then he settles between your thighs and presses into you slowly—taking his time even now, or maybe especially now—and you wrap your legs around him and pull him closer and closer until there’s no space between you at all. He moves like the night is long and he intends to use all of it. Deep and unhurried, his cock filling you completely with every thrust, his forehead resting against yours so you’re breathing the same air, his eyes open and on yours the whole time. It’s almost too much—the eye contact, the closeness, the specific weight of knowing what this is. You don’t look away. Neither does he.
He shifts his angle and you gasp and his jaw goes tight and he keeps it there—that exact angle, the head of his cock dragging against the right place every time—until the tension winds up tight and sharp and breaks in a long wave that makes you clutch his shoulders and hold on. He follows you—"I love you," he says, rough and honest and helpless, right at the end—and stays there, arms around you, both of you catching your breath while the Indiana night hums outside.
You stay tangled together for a long time. Long enough that the windows fog. Long enough that somewhere in the dark a car passes on the far road and its headlights sweep briefly across yours and neither of you moves. "Don’t let go yet," you say quietly.
His arms tighten. "Not yet," he says. "Not yet."
—
The last five weeks of senior year pass in a blur of lasts. Last student council meeting. Last AP exam. Last time sitting in your assigned seat in English class. Last ordinary Tuesday at Miller's Diner. You and Sunghoon make a pact: No talking about Stanford. No discussing the future. Just now. Just these five weeks. It's denial and it's beautiful and it's breaking both your hearts.
Prom happens the third weekend of May. You go together—officially, publicly, to hell with anyone who has opinions. Your parents don't speak to you for three days after, but you don't care because you have pictures of you and Sunghoon in formal wear, his arms around your waist, both of you smiling like nothing bad is coming.
Senior Week is a blur of parties and celebrations. The quarry fills up every night with graduates celebrating freedom and dreading change. You race twice more—not officially, just for fun—and win once against Jay (he claims the track was slippery).
Wonyoung throws a party at her house the Saturday before graduation. Her parents are gone for the weekend (conveniently), and half the senior class shows up. "I can't believe this is almost over," she says, slightly drunk on the punch that someone definitely spiked. "We're leaving. All of us. Going to different colleges, different states. Everything's changing."
"Not everything. We'll still be friends."
"Promise?"
"Promise." But even as you say it, you wonder if it's true. If friendships survive distance and change and growing up. If anything survives that.
The Tuesday before graduation, you and Sunghoon are at Miller's Diner for the last time. You both know it without saying it—after graduation, this routine ends. Sally brings your milkshakes without asking. "Last week of school?"
"Last week of everything," Sunghoon says.
She pats his shoulder sympathetically. "You kids going to be okay?"
"We're going to try to be."
When she's gone, you're both quiet. There's no homework to do. No tutoring needed. Sunghoon passed English with a B. He's graduating. Everything you worked for together is complete. "I've been thinking," he says finally. "About us. About what happens after."
"You said no future talk."
"I know. But we need to talk about it. We can't just pretend—"
"I know." You take a shaky breath. "What have you been thinking?"
"That I love you. That I'm always going to love you. But that trying to hold onto something when we're both moving in different directions is just going to hurt more in the end."
The tears are already falling. "So what are you saying?"
"That I think we should make a clean break. After graduation. You go to Stanford, I stay here, and we don't drag it out with phone calls and promises we can't keep."
"I could keep them. I would keep them."
"For how long? A semester? A year? Eventually you'd meet someone there. Someone smart and ambitious who's going places. Someone who fits your future better than a mechanic from Millbrook."
"Don't do that. Don't diminish yourself."
"I'm being realistic. You deserve someone who can give you everything. I can only give you parts and pieces and long-distance phone calls."
You're crying harder now. "You give me everything that matters. You make me happy. Isn't that enough?"
"Not when it means holding you back."
"You're not—"
"I am. Your parents are right about that." He reaches across the table, taking both your hands. "You're meant for amazing things. And I'm so proud to have been part of your journey. But I can't be the thing that keeps you from flying."
"I don't want to fly without you."
"You don't have a choice. We both know this was always temporary. We just pretended it wasn't."
You're sobbing now, and Sally's watching from behind the counter with sad eyes, and Sunghoon's crying too even though he's trying to hide it. "I don't want this to end," you manage.
"Neither do I. But it has to." He stands, pulling you up with him, holding you while you both fall apart. "But we still have four more days. Let's not waste them being sad."
—
Graduation Day arrives. You're wearing your honor cords, valedictorian medal, all the symbols of everything you've achieved. Sunghoon's in his cap and gown next to you in the alphabetical lineup, grinning like a kid because he's actually here, actually graduating. "We did it," he says.
"You did it. This was all you."
"Couldn't have done it without you."
The ceremony is long. Principal Morrison gives a speech about futures and potential. You give your valedictorian speech about change and growth and becoming who you're meant to be. (You wrote it thinking about Sunghoon. Everyone assumes it's about college.) When they call his name—"Park Sunghoon"—the cheering is loud. His dad is in the stands, looking proud and slightly shocked. His sister's jumping up and down. You're clapping so hard your hands hurt.
He walks across the stage, accepts his diploma, and when he looks out at the audience, he finds you. Smiles. Mouths "we did it." You mouth back "you did it."
After the ceremony, there are pictures and celebrations. Your parents are polite to Sunghoon when he appears in family photos, but the frost is still there. His dad shakes your hand, thanks you for helping his son, doesn't quite meet your eyes. "Party at the quarry tonight," Jay announces to everyone. "Everyone's invited. Last blowout before we all scatter." You and Sunghoon exchange glances. Tonight. This is it.
The quarry is packed for graduation night. Someone's brought a whole sound system. The bonfire's huge. There's alcohol and celebration and the particular bittersweet feeling of knowing everything's about to change. You stay close to Sunghoon all night. Dancing when the music's good, sitting on the hood of the Mustang when you need quiet, kissing like you're trying to memorize the taste of him.
Around midnight, he pulls you away from the crowd. "Come with me. I want to show you something." He drives out to the overlook—your spot, where Indianapolis glitters in the distance. Parks the Mustang and leads you to sit on the hood, arms around you, both of you looking at the city. "I'm going to miss this," he says quietly. "Every part of this."
"Me too."
"You changed my life, you know. Before you, I thought I was stupid. Broken. Going nowhere. But you saw something in me that nobody else did. You made me believe I could be more."
"You were always more. I just helped you see it."
"Same thing." He turns you to face him. "I'm going to let you go tomorrow. It's going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. But I need you to know that you're the best thing that ever happened to me. That these eight months were the happiest I've ever been." You're crying again, and he wipes your tears with his thumbs. "I need you to promise me something," he continues. "Promise me you'll go to Stanford and be brilliant. Promise me you'll chase every dream. Promise me you won't look back and regret this. Regret us."
"I could never regret us."
"Promise me anyway."
"I promise." Your voice is shaking. "But only if you promise me something too."
"Anything."
"Promise me you'll be happy. That you won't let anyone make you feel small again. That you'll remember you're brilliant and talented and worthy of everything good."
"I promise." You kiss him one last time at the overlook, the city glittering behind you, and it's desperate and perfect and goodbye.
The next morning, you're packing for Stanford. Your room is full of boxes, your whole life sorted into keep and leave behind. There's a knock on your door. Your mom. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah."
She sits on your bed, looking at all the boxes. "I've been thinking. About you and that Park boy."
Your stomach drops. "Mom—"
"Let me finish." She takes a breath. "I don't approve. I want to be clear about that. I think he's a distraction. I think he represents everything you're supposed to be moving away from."
"Thanks for the honesty," you say bitterly.
"But." She looks at you, really looks. "I've also watched you this year. You've been happier. More confident. More yourself than I've seen in a long time. And I can't ignore that he's part of that." You don't know what to say. "I'm not saying I approve. I'm not saying I think this will last. But I am saying—" She pauses. "I'm saying I see that he matters to you. And that you matter to him. And that's worth something."
"We broke up," you say quietly. "Yesterday. Decided it was better to end it than try to make long distance work."
Her expression softens into something that might be sympathy. "I'm sorry."
"Are you really?"
"I'm sorry you're hurting. Even if I think it's for the best." She leaves, and you sit among your boxes, holding the keychain Sunghoon gave you for Christmas, crying for everything you're losing.
—
You leave for Stanford orientation on June twentieth. Your parents drive you to the airport, help you check your bags, hug you goodbye. "We're proud of you," your dad says. "So proud."
"Make the most of this opportunity," your mom adds. "Don't waste it." You nod, unable to speak around the lump in your throat.
The flight to California is long. You press your forehead against the window and watch Indiana disappear beneath you. Somewhere down there is Millbrook. Miller's Diner. The quarry. A black Mustang and a boy who taught you to fly. You pull out your phone, scrolling to his contact. He hasn't called or texted since graduation night. Clean break, like he said.
Your finger hovers over his name. One call. One message. Just to hear his voice. You don't do it. You're strong enough to keep the promise you made. Instead, you clutch the Mustang keychain and cry quietly into your complimentary ginger ale while the flight attendant pretends not to notice.
Stanford is beautiful. Your dorm is nice. Your roommate is friendly. Orientation is overwhelming and exciting and everything you hoped for. But at night, alone in your new bed in your new life, you dream about engines and milkshakes and a boy who made you brave enough to claim your future. You just wish that future could have included him.
—
FOUR YEARS LATER
Stanford Law School graduation is held outdoors in perfect California sunshine. You're wearing your JD regalia, cum laude honors cord, everything you worked for. Your parents are in the stands, beaming. Your brother flew in from Boston where he's doing his medical residency. Wonyoung's here too—she's at UCLA, came up for the weekend to celebrate.
The ceremony is long. When they finally call your name, the cheering is loud, and you walk across the stage thinking about all the paths that led you here. Four years of undergraduate. Three years of law school. Summers clerking at firms in San Francisco, making connections, building a future. You have a job lined up at a prestigious firm. You have your whole career ahead of you.
You did everything you planned. Everything you were supposed to do. And you're proud. You are. But sometimes, late at night, you still dream about a diner in Indiana and a boy who taught you that plans aren't everything.
You haven't spoken to Sunghoon since the day you left. Kept your promise to make a clean break. Forced yourself not to check his social media (you blocked it all the first week at Stanford because you knew you'd be too tempted).
Wonyoung updates you occasionally. Sunghoon's still in Millbrook, working at his dad's garage. Took it over last year when his dad had a heart attack. Business is good. He's doing well. She never mentions if he's seeing anyone. You never ask.
After graduation, there's a reception. Food, drinks, celebration. You're talking to a professor about your upcoming job when your phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number. Unknown: Congratulations, Dr. soon-to-be lawyer. I always knew you'd do amazing things.
Your heart stops. You know that phrasing. That voice. You step away from the reception, hands shaking as you reply. You: Sunghoon?
Unknown: Yeah. It's me. Sorry for texting out of the blue. I just—I saw Wonyoung's Instagram. You graduating. I wanted to say I'm proud of you.
You: How did you get my number?
Unknown: Wonyoung. Made her promise not to tell you I asked for it. Didn't want to pressure you.
You: It's been four years.
Unknown: I know. Too long. Not long enough. Both.
Your heart is racing. You look around at your graduation party, at your future unfolding exactly as planned, and you make a decision. You: Are you in California?
Unknown: Flew in this morning. I'm actually in Palo Alto. At a coffee shop near campus. I understand if you don't want to see me. I just thought—hoped—maybe you'd want to grab coffee. Catch up.
This is crazy. You have a reception to get back to. People waiting. A whole celebration planned. You: Where?
He sends you an address. It's ten minutes from where you're standing. "I need to go," you tell Wonyoung, grabbing your purse.
"Go where? We're celebrating you—" She sees your expression. "Oh my god. He's here, isn't he?"
"How did you know?"
"Because you only look like that when it's about him." She grins. "Go. I'll cover for you with your parents."
"You knew he was coming?"
"He asked for your number last week. Told me he wanted to congratulate you. I didn't think he'd actually show up." She pushes you toward the exit. "Go. Find out what four years has done to you both."
The coffee shop is small and crowded with students. You spot him immediately, sitting at a corner table, wearing jeans and a button-down shirt that's so different from the leather jacket and ripped jeans you remember but somehow still completely him. He sees you and stands. Older. Broader. Still beautiful. "Hi," he says.
"Hi." For a moment you just stare at each other, and then he's crossing the distance and pulling you into a hug that feels like coming home. "You're here," you say into his shoulder. "You're really here."
"I'm here." He pulls back to look at you. "You look amazing. Different. More—I don't know. More yourself."
"You look good too. Really good."
You sit, and for a minute it's awkward. Four years is a long time. You're not the same people who said goodbye in Indiana. "So," he starts. "Law school. That's huge."
"Thanks. What about you? Wonyoung said you took over the garage?"
"Yeah. Dad's heart couldn't take the long hours anymore. So now it's Park & Son Auto Repair." He smiles, proud. "We're doing well. Expanded last year. Hired three new mechanics."
"That's amazing."
"Not as amazing as law school."
"Different amazing."
The conversation flows easier after that. You tell him about Stanford, about your classes, about the firm job you're starting in San Francisco in August. He tells you about the garage, about his sister (she's at Purdue studying veterinary science), about life in Millbrook (some things change, most things don't). "I've been following you," he admits after an hour. "Not in a creepy way. But Wonyoung posts about you sometimes. I couldn't help checking."
"I blocked your social media that first week at Stanford."
"I know. I noticed."
"I had to. If I didn't, I would have looked every day. Tortured myself with missing you."
"Did you? Miss me?"
You look at him—really look. At the boy who taught you to be brave. Who believed in you before you believed in yourself. Who let you go because he loved you too much to hold you back. "Every single day," you admit. "For four years. Every day."
His expression does something complicated. "Me too."
"Then why didn't you call? Text? Anything?"
"Because I made you a promise. To let you go. To let you have your future without me pulling you back."
"That was a stupid promise."
"Maybe. Or maybe it was what we both needed." He reaches across the table, taking your hand. "You did it. Everything you set out to do. Would you have done that if I'd been calling every week? Visiting every break? Being a constant reminder of Millbrook?"
"I don't know," you admit.
"I do. You needed to be free to become who you were meant to be. And look at you." His smile is soft, proud. "You're brilliant. You're successful. You're everything I knew you would be."
"I'm also alone." The admission hurts. "I dated. Nothing stuck. Nobody was—"
"Was me?"
"Was you."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "I'm still in Millbrook. Still working at a garage. Still the guy who can barely read without colored overlays."
"I don't care about any of that."
"You should. You're about to start your career in San Francisco. You're going to be surrounded by successful people. People who—"
"Are you seriously still doing this? Four years later, you're still telling me I'm too good for you?"
"I'm being realistic."
"You're being scared." You squeeze his hand. "I'm scared too. I don't know how we'd make this work. San Francisco and Millbrook are three thousand miles apart. But—" You pause, heart racing. "But I've spent four years doing the practical thing. The smart thing. The thing everyone expected. And I've been successful and professional and completely miserable."
"You're not—"
"I am. Because I've been trying to fill a hole that's shaped like you." Tears are streaming down your face now. "I love my career. I love what I do. But I don't love doing it alone. I don't love going home every night to an empty apartment. I don't love dating men who check all the boxes except the one that matters."
"What box is that?"
"Making me happy. Making me feel alive. Making me feel like myself." You're full-on crying now. "You did that. Four years ago, in a town I couldn't wait to leave, you made me happier than I've been before or since."
He's crying too. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I don't want practical. I want you."
"I'm in Millbrook. You're starting a job in San Francisco."
"Then we'll figure it out. Phone calls. Visits. I'll fly home every few months. You can come to California. We'll make it work."
"That's what we said four years ago."
"No. Four years ago you decided we couldn't make it work. You didn't even give us a chance." You stand, pulling him up with you. "I'm not asking for perfect. I'm not asking for easy. I'm asking for a chance to try."
He studies your face, searching for certainty. Whatever he sees must convince him because suddenly he's kissing you, right there in the coffee shop, and it's desperate and perfect and tastes like four years of missing him. When you break apart, you're both laughing and crying. "I can't believe you flew three thousand miles to see me graduate," you say.
"I've been wanting to for four years. Today I finally worked up the courage."
"I'm glad you did."
"Me too." He kisses you again, softer. "So what now?"
"Now we try. For real this time. No clean breaks. No letting each other go."
"Long distance is hard."
"So? Lots of things are hard. We do them anyway because they matter." You smile, using his words from four years ago. "You matter. We matter."
"I love you," he says. "Never stopped."
"I love you too. Let's not waste any more time pretending we don't."
—
SIX MONTHS LATER
You're back in Millbrook for Christmas break, sitting in Miller's Diner in your old booth. Sally brings milkshakes without asking—chocolate for Sunghoon, strawberry for you. "Some things never change," she says, grinning.
"Best things don't," Sunghoon replies.
The past six months have been hard. San Francisco and Millbrook are three thousand miles apart. Your work hours are brutal. His garage has been expanding and demanding more time. But you've made it work. FaceTime calls every night. Visits once a month (you fly to Indiana or he flies to California, alternating). Texts throughout the day, sharing the small moments. It's not perfect. It's often frustrating. But it's worth it. "I've been thinking," Sunghoon says, playing with your fingers across the table.
"About?"
"About the future. Our future."
Your heart skips. "Okay."
"The garage is doing well. Really well. Well enough that I could hire a manager. Take a step back from the day-to-day."
"What would you do instead?"
"Move to California. Be with you."
You nearly drop your milkshake. "What?"
"I've been talking to some shops in San Francisco. There's actually a demand for mechanics who specialize in classic car restoration. I could start my own business. Build it up." He pauses. "But only if you want that. I don't want to pressure you. I know your career is important. I know you need space and independence and—"
You kiss him to shut him up. "Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, I want you to move to California. Yes, I want to build a life with you. Yes to all of it."
His smile is brilliant. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I'm done with long distance. I want you there when I come home from work. I want weekends together. I want normal."
"Normal is overrated."
"Normal with you isn't."
He pulls a small box from his jacket pocket, and your breath stops. "I was going to wait until Christmas," he says. "Make it romantic. But I can't wait any longer." He opens the box. Inside is a ring—simple, beautiful, with a tiny diamond that catches the diner's lights.
"Four years ago, I let you go because I thought it was the right thing. Turns out, letting you go was the stupidest thing I ever did." He takes your hand. "I don't want to let you go again. Ever. So—will you marry me? Put up with late-night phone calls about carburetor problems? Let me mess up your very organized closet with my disorganized life? Build a future together that's messy and complicated and completely ours?"
You're crying and laughing and nodding all at once. "Yes. Yes, absolutely yes." He slides the ring onto your finger, and it fits perfectly. Like it was always meant to be there.
Sally's watching from behind the counter, grinning. "About damn time," she calls over.
Sunghoon laughs, pulling you around the table to sit in his lap. "We did it backwards. Fell in love, broke up, spent four years apart, and now we're getting engaged."
"Who says there's a right way to do this?"
"Fair point." He kisses you softly. "I love you. Have since that first day in the library when you called me brilliant."
"I love you too. Have since you looked at me like I could save you."
"You did save me. In every way that matters."
You sit in Miller's Diner, in the booth that's been yours for years, with a ring on your finger and a future stretching out ahead of you. It's not the future you planned when you were eighteen and valedictorian and sure you had everything figured out. It's better.
Because plans are just maps, and the best destinations are the ones you find by taking the scenic route. The ones that surprise you. The ones that feel like coming home.
And Sunghoon—dyslexic, street-racing, brilliant Sunghoon—feels exactly like coming home. "What are you thinking?" he asks, reading your expression like he's always been able to.
"That I'm glad I took the assignment. That day in Principal Morrison's office."
"Best assignment you ever got?"
"Best decision I ever made was showing up to tutor you. Second best was getting in this Mustang with you that first Saturday night."
"Third best?"
"Loving you. Choosing you. Over and over, every single time."
His kiss tastes like chocolate milkshake and promise and forever. "Let's get out of here," he says. "I want to take you to the overlook. Show you how Indianapolis looks on a winter night."
"Haven't we been there a thousand times?"
"Yeah, but never as fiancés." He grins. "Every view's better when you know you're keeping it forever."
You leave Miller's Diner hand in hand, and Sally calls out "Congratulations!" as the door swings shut behind you. The Mustang's parked outside, still beautiful, still loud, still the car he built from nothing with patience and skill and determination. Kind of like what you built together. "Ready?" he asks, opening the passenger door for you.
You slide in, the leather seat familiar and perfect. He climbs in the driver's side, starts the engine, and it roars to life. "Ready," you say. And you are. Ready for California. Ready for the future. Ready for whatever comes next, as long as it's with him.
He pulls out of the parking lot, and the Mustang's taillights disappear into the Indiana night, carrying two people who fell in love over milkshakes and literature and the radical act of seeing each other clearly.
Some stories end with goodbye. This one starts with it—and becomes something better.
