✰

[rxmanceuntxld]

운명 - ,, like destiny ☽｡⋆ you know?

‘00 | she/her | sjy bias

[rxmanceuntxld]

hey are we picking up what i’m putting down..

[lac4ygal]

5-STAR DICK, 5-STAR DICKHEAD ׅ ⸝⸝ ۫ ׅ a sim jaeyun oneshot

« Man, fuck your pride ‎ Just take it on back, boy »

SYNOPSIS. ⋮ in which you have the best sex of your life OR- in which you get fucked over by the fuckboy

⋮. 심재윤. ⋮ 2.2k ⋮. ⋆ fuckboy jake ⋆ explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, fingering, doggy, squirting, overstim, spit kink, degration/praise, alcohol incidence, party scene, emotional cruelty, humiliation?, strong language

part 1 ┃ part 2 ┃ part 3 ┃ part 4

🥥 laceys note ; jake is lowkey a massive dick in this but it’s fine igggg, this is pure filth so MDNI (or do I can’t control you) hope yous enjoys babies 😘 comments, reblogs, feedback and likes keep me writing!

You had never been a party person.

Not really.

Your nights were usually spent curled up with a book or bingeing shows while your roommate Sunoo tried to bribe you out of your cave with promises of “epic vibes” and “cute guys.”

Tonight was no different—until he literally dragged you from your bed by the ankle, your oversized sweatshirt bunching up as you flailed.

“Come on,” Sunoo whined, tossing your jeans at your face. “It’s the pre-semester rager at the soccer house. Free drinks, hot people, zero studying. You need this.”

“I need sleep,” you groaned, but he was already rifling through your closet for something “sluttier than pajamas.” (His words not yours)

Thirty minutes later, you stood in the driveway of a sprawling frat house, bass thumping through the walls like a heartbeat.

The air smelled of cheap beer, weed, and desperation.

Sunoo linked arms with you, pulling you through the door into a sea of bodies—red Solo cups were everywhere, strobe lights flashing aggressively and people grinding in corners.

You clung to him like a lifeline, already regretting the tight black top he’d forced on you, that left nothing to the imagination.

“See? It’s great fun,” he shouted over the music, thrusting a drink into your hand. “Drink. Dance. Live.”

You sipped the mystery concoction—sweet, burning, vodka-heavy—and scanned the room.

Faces blurred. Laughter spiked.

Sunoo vanished into the crowd after ten minutes, yelling something about finding his “situationship.”

Left alone now, you wedged yourself against a wall, nursing your cup, watching the chaos of drunk and horny “adults” unfold.

That’s when some drunk asshole barreled into you. Liquid sloshed over your hand, soaking your top.

The guy—tall, sloppy, reeking of tequila—didn’t even glance back, just kept stumbling forward. Your cup was half-empty now, sticky and ruined.

“Fuck,” you muttered, shaking off the spill.

“Here.”

A voice cut through the noise—smooth, confident, closer than you expected.

You turned to find a guy holding out a fresh cup, condensation beading on the plastic.

Dark hair tousled just right, sharp jawline shadowed with stubble, fitted white tee hugging broad shoulders and a hint of abs beneath. Piercing eyes locked on yours, lips curved in a smirk that screamed trouble.

“On the house. That dipshit owes me for the mess.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the easy charm. “Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugged with casual grace, positioning himself against the wall beside you, near enough that his cologne—a crisp, masculine blend of cedar and spice—enveloped you.

“Name’s Jake. And it absolutely was. I can’t let an asshole like that ruin a pretty girls night.”

The compliment landed with practiced ease, his gaze sweeping over you in a slow, appreciative of your low cut top, the look ignited something low in your belly.

You supplied your name, accepted the drink, and took a tentative sip. Stronger than the previous one, it spread warmth through your limbs almost immediately.

Jake mirrored your pace, conversation igniting as if you were old acquaintances. He was funny, sharp, the kind of guy who made the room feel smaller, quieter, just for you two.

“You dance?” he asked, nodding toward the makeshift floor.

You laughed. “Not nearly drunk enough.”

He grinned, dimples flashing. “We can fix that.”

Two more drinks later—his refills, always perfectly timed—the world tilted soft and hazy. The music coursed through your veins like liquid fire.

Jake’s palm settled at the small of your back, steering you into the midst of swaying bodies. Collisions occurred. During a slutry track, his chest aligned with yours, hips moving in perfectly against one another.

Heat radiated between you—his breath warm against your neck, fingers tracing the edge of your waistband with deliberate subtlety.

“You smell incredible,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

A shiver raced across your skin.

Emboldened by the alcohol and the electric pull of his proximity, you pivoted within his grasp, your hands gliding up the firmness of his chest. “So do you.”

The kiss happened naturally, like gravity. His mouth claimed yours—firm, skilled, tasting of whiskey and want and no hesitation.

His tongue teasing yours, deepening the kiss fast. Hands were everywhere: yours in his hair, tugging at the roots and his gripping your ass, pulling you flush against the hard line of him.

The world narrowed to Jake—hot, demanding, perfect.

He broke away first, eyes dark with hunger. “Upstairs?”

Your heart thundered against your ribs. Eveything in you screamed; stranger, party, mistake.

But alcohol took over and you nodded, still flushed from the kiss.

He grabbed your hand and navigated the both of you through bodies, you climbed the groaning staircase to a bedroom at the end of a corridor.

The door clicked shut and Jake locked it.

The space was dimly lit by a string of small light, illuminating a king-sized bed with rumpled sheets that carried a faint scent of fresh laundry.

Posters of soccer legends adorned the walls, discarded underwear littered the floor— giving a clear signs of occupancy or maybe a couple was here before the tow of you.

None of it mattered in this moment.

His shirt came off first, revealing a torso honed by relentless athletic discipline: broad chest tapering to chiseled abs, a tantalizing trail of dark hair vanishing below his waistband.

You absorbed the sight, desire pooling hot between your thighs.

Your top followed, then your bra, unfastened with his deft fingers that clearly told you he’s done this before. Jeans peeled away. Underwear vanished. You both were bare now, skin humming with anticipation.

Jake backed you to the bed, gaze raking over every exposed curve like a starving man.

“Fuck, you’re a goddamn dream,” he growled, voice thick with reverence and filth.

He claimed your mouth again—this time slower, dirtier, tongue fucking into you with lewd precision—before shoving you down onto the mattress.

He prowled over you, his weight pinning you down, mouth blazing a trail of wetness across your skin: teeth sinking into your neck hard enough to bruise, lips sucking purple marks across your collarbone, tongue lavishing attention on your breasts—circling hardening nipples, drawing them into the wetness of his mouth until you arched, a gasp tearing from your throat.

He was a fucking sex god.

His fingers dove between your thighs, spreading your already slick folds wide.

He pumped two thick digits inside—curling viciously against your G-spot, scissoring to stretch you open, his thumb battered your clit in brutal circles.

You thrashed from the pleasure, soaked and sobbing, the wet schlick of his hand was obscene and so loud over the muffled bass of the party below.

“Jake—fuck, please—”

He laughed dark, withdrawing his fingers but only to shove his boxers down.

His cock sprang free—thick, long, with veins bulging along the shaft and a flushed red head leaking pre-cum.

He snatched a condom from the drawer, rolling it on with practiced speed.

He gripped your thighs, yanking them apart wide, folding you nearly in half. Teasing your dripping hole with the fat head of himself, smearing your arousal all over him.

Then he slammed in—bottoming out in one brutal thrust that ripped a scream from your throat.

The stretch burned so perfectly, your tight walls fluttering around his girth. He was so big.

“So fucking tight—gonna ruin this pussy,” he snarled, hips snapping immediately into a brutal rhythm.

The bedframe banged the wall like a gun shot, headboard cracking wood over and over and over. Every stroke demolished you: cockhead hammering your G-spot relentlessly, his pelvis grinding your clit, balls slapping your ass wet and loud.

He pinned your wrists overhead with one hand, the other mauled your tits—pinching your nipple hard, twisting until tears pricked your eyes.

His mouth devoured yours in sloppy kisses, swallowing your escalating cries and screams.

Sweat sheened visible on you both under the dim lit lights, bodies slapping filthy—schlick-schlick-schlick echoed as a cream ring foamed at his base.

Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, signaling your approach.

He sensed it, redoubling his efforts—thrusts growing erratic, one hand hitch your leg higher over his hip, altering the angle to fuck you even deeper.

“Come for me,” he commanded, voice gravelly against your ear. “Let me feel you.”

The orgasm hit you and shattered you—your vision fracturing into white-hot bursts, thighs quaking uncontrollably around his waist.

A keening moan escaped you as your nails raked bloody crescents down his back.

He flipped you suddenly—ass up, face smashed into the sheets making your screams and moans muffled, your hips were yanked back onto his cock.

The new angle wrecked you even more: deeper, meaner, your cervix battered with each plunge.

Spanks fell on your ass—red-hot stings blooming from his large hands—his free hand fisting your hair, yanking your head back to spit in your open mouth. “Swallow.”

He fucked you harder with each thrust as you both neared the edge. Your gummy walls tightening around him, clenching him so hard. “Good girl—take this dick.”

Your second orgasm came faster and harder, your vision blacking this time, your cunt convulsing in violent spasms and pulses, squirting a mess down your thighs and on his cock.

He growled, pounding you through it once again, never slowing before burying balls-deep, in you, his cock throbbing while white ropes spurted into the condom, grinding his pelvis filthly against you as he made you take every drop.

Finally he collapsed beside you in wreckage, panting and euphoric.

Jake peeled off after a minute, knotting the condom and grabbing water in a bottle form the bedside table (who knows how long that’s been there). After he took a sip he tossed you it casually.

“Fucking unreal,” he panted, smirking sated.

You nodded, wrecked and glowing. “Holy shit.”

He stretched, muscles flexing in the low light, then glanced toward the clock. It glowed 2:17 a.m., the party below still faintly audible.

He rose then, sliding his boxers back on with nonchalance. “You leaving?”

The question struck like a bucket of ice water.

You propped yourself on your elbows, sheets pooling at your waist, disbelief etched deep into your features. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged, zipping his jeans up without meeting your eyes, tone clipped and entitled—as though you had overstayed your welcome.

“Party’s dying. Figured you’d wanna bounce before it clears out. Avoid the walk of shame.”

Silence enveloped the room. The finest climax imaginable, reduced to this? Dismissed like a paid companion post-transaction? No tender embrace. No exchange of numbers. No acknowledgment beyond the satisfaction of sex and a mind-blowing orgasm.

“You’re joking,” you said, voice sharpening.

He paused while tugging his shirt over his head, one eyebrow arched in mild irritation. A smug smirk twisted his lips. “What? This isn’t a slumber party, sweetheart.”

You bolted upright, snatching your clothes with trembling hands. “Fuck you, Jake.”

“Already did.” His grin widened, dimples showing like they were mocking you. “Good, right?”

Rage boiled in you, and humiliation settled hot on your cheeks.

You dressed fast, bra twisted hasty around you, jeans yanked rough on againt your skin.

He watched, arms crossed, leaning against the dresser like you were nothing but another notch in his fucked up belt.

You unlocked the door with click. And stormed straight out—no goodbye necessary, he didn’t deserve that form you.

You slammed it behind you, hard enough to rattle frame and echo down the corridor.

Downstairs people had dissolved—Sunoo located you eventually, concern furrowing his brow, he was still a bit tipsy but could see that look you had on your face. “Where the hell were you? You alright?”

“Fine,” you lied through gritted teeth.

Outside, the cool night air slapped you. The entire walk home you seethed with rage—your body still thrumming from the aftershocks of probably the best sex you’ve ever had (much to your dismay).

You thought about how casually he’d told you to basically “fuck off”, your mind branded him with entitled prick.

TAGLIST. @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @engenewilstaykon @yumi-yearns (just ask to be added to perm taglist lovelies)

I might write a part 2 but idkk, maybe if this gets enough love 🤭

[404sheepnotfound]

Nice Try,   Doctor Sim - Sim Jaeyun

୨ৎ Summary : known across the hospital as the woman who hates men, you built your name in trauma surgery with skill, sharp words, and zero patience for male ego. Then Dr. Jake Sim—beloved anesthesiologist, annoyingly competent, and impossible to ignore—starts appearing everywhere in your life with coffee, lunch invitations, and a smile you can’t stand. You hate men. So why is Jake Sim becoming the exception?

୨ৎ Pairing : anesthesiologist! Jake x traumasurgeon! reader

୨ৎ Wordcount : 3.6K

୨ৎ Song : Heart2Heart : Rude

୨ৎ Warning : SLOW FUCKING BURN BABY!! Jake lowkey down-bad, y/n is certified men hater (me too btw), FLUFF!!, comedic (if you squint), co-worker to.... (idk)

You openly disliked men, especially arrogant, entitled ones who moved through the world as if it had been built solely for them. Every man in your life has given you a reason to. A father who dismissed every achievement unless it benefited him. An ex who cheated, then somehow made betrayal sound like your failure. Colleagues whose eyes lingered too long, whose jokes crossed lines, whose confidence was mistaken for competence far too often. You never understood why society bent itself around them as though they were the natural center of everything. As if possessing a dick automatically granted authority, importance, the right to be heard first, and doubted last. Truly, what was so revolutionary about having a third leg that made them act like first-class citizen??

The trauma pager screamed before dawn. Sharp enough to cut through the thirty minutes of sleep you had managed to steal in the on-call room. By the time you pushed through the emergency doors, scrub top half-buttoned and hair still damp from a rushed sink wash. The paramedics were already rolling in a young man slick with blood and road dust—multiple collisions, hypotensive, barely conscious. Nurses moved around you in practiced chaos, monitors shrieking, metal trays clattering, everyone waiting for your first order. 

“Or now!” you snapped, gloving your hands as you walked. “Crossmatch six units, call radiology, someone page anesthesia.” 

Then, from just behind your shoulder, calm as if the room wasn’t drowning in panic, came a familiar voice. 

“Already here, doctor.” 

You turned, and there was Jake Sim, leaning into the storm with an easy expression. 

Seeing his smile makes your blood boil. Of course, it was him. Even with alarms blaring, blood on the floor, and a man hovering between life and death, Jake Sim still looked unbearably composed, like this was all mildly inconvenient rather than catastrophic. 

“Try looking useful for once,” you said sharply, already moving beside the gurney as the nurses rushed the patient down the corridor. 

Jake fell into step beside you without missing a beat, one hand adjusting the oxygen mask over the patient’s face while the other checked the monitor leads. “Good morning to you, too, doctor,” 

“It was good until I saw you.” 

“Then I’ll try standing behind you next time.” 

You ignored him. Flipping through the paramedic report clipped to the patient’s chest. Male, twenty-three, motorbike collision, hypotensive on arrival, suspected abdominal bleed, decreasing consciousness. 

“BP?” you asked. 

“Eighty over palp,” a nurse answered. 

Jake glanced at the monitor—expression sharpening despite the teasing tone still lingering in his voice. 

“Airway’s deteriorating. I’m tubing now.” 

“Do it while moving.” 

“Bossy.”

The elevator doors opened, and the team flooded inside with the bed. You stood at the patient’s side, hands pressed firmly over the soaked dressing at his abdomen. Jake positioned himself at the head of the bed, drawing up medication with practiced speed. 

“Etomidate. Rocuronium,” he said. 

The nurse passed them over instantly. You looked up just in time to catch him glancing at you. 

“What?” you snapped. 

“You’ve got blood on your cheek.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“You wear it well.”

Jake laughed under his breath and pushed the medications. Within seconds, he intubated smoothly, securing the tube as the elevator dinged open onto the surgical floor. The door parted. 

“Move.”

The gurney surged forward again, wheels rattling across polished floors as the operating room doors were thrown open. Inside, the scrub team was already waiting. You scrubbed at the sink with aggressive efficiency, barking orders over your shoulder. 

“Prep for exploratory laparotomy. Massive transfusion protocol. I want vascular on standby.” 

Jake entered the room behind you, tying his mask in place. 

“Demanding as always,” he said. 

“Shut up.” 

Jake only chuckled and stepped closer to the scrub counter. 

“You look hot when you’re angry.”

You shot him a flat look over your shoulder. 

“Maybe seek psychiatric help.” 

Jake only smiled again, the same maddening, effortless smile as he moved to the head of the operating table and began preparing to keep your patient alive while you open him up. 

By your second year in trauma surgery, the hospital had already given you a reputation you never asked for. Some called you difficult, others called you cold, but most settled on the nickname whispered through hallways and break rooms with equal parts amusement and caution–the men-hater. 

It was easier for them to say that than admit how many times male residents had tried to explain their own cases back to you, how attendings praised the same ideas only after a man repeated them louder, how patients searched the room for a ‘real doctor’ after you introduced yourself. 

Every sharp reply you gave, every boundary you enforced, every refusal to smile through disrespect became proof of your bitterness in their eyes. Fine. Let them think you hated men. It was simpler than explaining that you only hated what they kept getting away with. 

Then there was Jake Sim. 

The hospital effortlessly adored him; people adored men who were handsome, competent, and just charming enough to never be threatening. Nurses smiled when he entered a room. Residents straightened when he spoke. Even attendings, people who looked unimpressed by default, seemed to soften around him. Dr. Jake Sim, anesthesiology’s golden boy. 

You disliked him on principle. 

Men like Jake moved through life cushioned by a grace rarely afforded to women. If he was blunt, he was confident. If he was playful, he was charismatic. If he challenged authority, he was bold. You had done the same things and been called difficult, abrasive, and emotional. 

Worse, Jake seemed entirely aware of the effect he had on people, yet wore it lightly enough to seem innocent. He joked with scrub nurses, remembered everyone’s coffee orders, charmed frightened patients before surgery, and still somehow managed to perform flawlessly once the stakes were real. It would have been easier if he were incompetent. Easier if he were arrogant. Easier if he gave you a clean reason to hate him. 

Instead, Jake Sim was annoyingly good at his job. He’s kind when no one is watching, and most annoyingly of all, far too interested in you. 

You never smiled at his jokes. Never thank him for favors that you hadn’t asked for. Never looked impressed when others did. If anything, you treated him with the same clipped indifference you reserved for men who thought too highly of themselves. 

For some reason, that only seemed to make him come closer. 

The nurses filtered out one by one, murmuring good afternoon, leaving the two of you alone in the oversized room. You reached for the strings of your gown, fingers slower now that the adrenaline had drained away. 

Before you could undo them, Jake stepped behind you. 

You stiffened immediately. “What are you doing?” 

“Relax,” he said, voice low and annoyingly calm. “You’re taking forever.” 

His fingers brushed the back of your neck as he untied the knot. Even through layers of fabric and fatigue, the touch felt far too noticeable. 

“I can do it myself.” 

“I know.” 

The gown loosened, slipping from your shoulders. He stepped away if nothing had happened. You turned sharply. 

“Then why didn’t you let me?”

Jake was peeling off his gloves, expression unreadable now that the teasing had softened. 

“Because your hands are shaking.” 

You froze. You hadn’t even noticed. When you looked down, there it was, the fine tremors running through your fingers, the aftermath of hours spent forcing steadiness into chaos. Humiliating. 

You curled your hands into fists. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

“Mm…” 

That sound alone made irritation flare again. He tossed the gloves aside and walked toward you, stopping close enough that the scent of antiseptic clung to him. 

“You don’t have to act invincible every second of the day.” 

Your jaw tightened. 

“Don’t act as if you know me.” 

“I know enough.” 

Jake studied you for a moment, eyes dropping briefly to your clenched hands before meeting your gaze again. 

“I know you haven’t eaten since yesterday,” he said quietly. “I know you took over suturing because the resident was panicking. I know you blamed yourself when his pressure crashed, even though it wasn’t your fault.” He tilted his head slightly. “And I know you’re about two minutes away from collapsing.” 

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

You hated him. 

Hated the calm certainty in his voice. Hated how he said those things without pity, without mockery, without trying to make himself look noble for noticing. Most of all, you hated that after everything—every clipped response, every glare, every deliberate attempt to keep him at arm’s length, yet he still insisted on treating you gently. 

It was infuriating. 

Why couldn’t he just dislike you properly? 

Why couldn’t he return the coldness you handed him so generously? Why couldn’t he be offended, dismissive, petty? Anything easier to understand than this steady, maddening kindness? 

Men were predictable when they were angry. Predictable when their pride was bruised. They snapped, sulked, withdrew. You knew how to handle that version of them. But Jake Sim only kept showing up with a warm smile, calm eyes, and observations you never invited. 

You wanted to push him into becoming the kind of man you already knew how to hate. Instead, he kept refusing the role. 

The next morning began badly. 

You had slept for three hours on a call-room mattress thin enough that your bones were screaming in agony. Woken twice by pagers that turned out not to be yours, and spilled half of your coffee down the front of your scrubs while trying to read overnight labs. By the time you stepped into the trauma conference room, patience had already abandoned you. 

A cluster of residents fell silent when you entered.

Good. 

You dropped into your seat at the end of the table, flipping open the chart for morning rounds. 

“If anyone presents nonsense today, I’m sending them back to medical school personally.” 

No one laughed. 

Also good. 

The door opened, and Jake Sim walked in carrying two coffees and looking offensively well-rested. Fresh shower. Crisp navy scrubs. Hair still slightly damp. Not a trace of the sixteen-hour shift he had also worked. You narrowed your eyes immediately. 

He noticed, smiled, and changed direction from the empty seat across the room to the chair beside you. Of course he did. 

“You look radiant,” he said quietly as he sat down. 

“Shut up.” 

“Mean already? We haven’t even started rounds.” 

“Dr Sim,” honestly, you almost lost it. 

He set one coffee beside your folder. You stared at it. 

“Take it back.” 

“No.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know. You rarely ask for anything. It’s one of your more exhausting traits.”

You pushed the cup back toward him without looking. “Try poisoning someone else.” 

Jake slid it neatly back into place. “Oat milk. No sugar. Extra shot.” 

Your hand paused halfway to the chart. Annoying. 

“You need hobbies,” you muttered. 

“I have one.”

You glanced at him despite yourself. “What?”

He met your eyes, expression perfectly innocent. “Getting under your skin.” 

Before you could reply, the attending entered, and the room straightened instantly. Rounds began in a blur of scans, bloodwork, complications, and clipped presentations. You corrected three residents, questioned one medication order, and dismantled a surgical pan so flawed it nearly offended you personally. 

Jake said little. He simply sat there, reviewing anesthesia notes, occasionally leaning over to slide relevant vitals or postoperative concerns onto your side of the table before you had to ask. You hated how useful he was.

Halfway through the meeting, the attendees discussed a difficult abdominal trauma case from the previous night.

“Post-op hypotension likely due to fluid shifts,” one senior resident offered.

You opened your mouth. 

Jake spoke first. 

“Or missed retroperitoneal bleed.” 

The room turned. The attending frowned thoughtfully. “Reasoning?”

Jake gestured toward the scan. Calm. precise. “Expanding flank ecchymosis, dropping hemoglobin despite transfusion, rising lactate.” 

You felt your irritation sharpen. Because he was right. The attending nodded slowly. 

“Good catch. We’ll re-image.”

Then his gaze shifted to you. “Thoughts, doctor?” 

“I think anesthesia got lucky.”

You crossed your arms. A few residents choked back smiles. Jake didn’t even blink. 

“And I think surgery should buy me breakfast.” 

The room laughed. You did not. But when you reached for your coffee a moment later, it was still warm. 

.

.

.

.

A few weeks after the surgery, Jake Sim was still impossible to avoid. 

Not because he chased you through corridors like some desperate intern with no dignity–though you suspected he was capable of it, but because he had somehow woven himself into the rhythm of your days. In trauma calls, he was there before you finished giving orders. In the OR, he stood behind the drapes with that infuriatingly calm voice. In the break room, there would already be a coffee waiting where you liked to sit, as if the cup itself had developed poor judgment. 

You told yourself it meant nothing. 

Jake was friendly with everyone. Helpful to everyone. Annoyingly competent with everyone.

So why should it matter that he remembered your orders before you gave them, or noticed when you skipped meals, or somehow knew exactly how you took your coffee without ever asking?

It didn’t.

That was what you were telling yourself when he cornered you outside the staff elevators after a fourteen-hour shift. The corridor was nearly empty, lights dimmed to evening mode, your pager blessedly silent for once. You were too tired for conversation and too hungry for patience. 

Jake stepped in front of the elevator doors just as they opened. 

You stared at him. “Move.” 

“Dinner.” 

“No.”

“That wasn’t a statement.”

“It sounded like one.” 

“It was an invitation.” 

You jabbed the closed-door button repeatedly. “Declined.”

He reached past you and caught the elevator door before it could shut, entirely too close for your liking. 

“Tomorrow night.”

“No.”

“Tonight, then.”

“No.”

“Coffee after shift.” 

“No.”

Jake tilted his head, studying your face with that same maddening calm he wore in operating rooms and arguments alike. 

“Are you rejecting me,” he asked, “or just enjoying saying no?”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re stupid or joking.”

“Neither.”

“Then what is this?”

“A date.”

You gave a short, humorless laugh. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“That’s the stupid option.”

Something like amusement flickered across his face, but he didn’t step back.

“You really think I’ve been asking because I’m bored?”

“I think men like attention.”

“And you think I’d go through weeks of being insulted for fun?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fair,” he admitted. “But wrong.”

The answer annoyed you more than if he had argued.

You crossed your arms. “You flirt with everyone.”

“I’m polite to everyone.”

“You’re smug with everyone.”

“Only with you.”

“That’s not helping your case.”

“It’s not a case.” His voice lowered slightly. “I like you.”

You blinked once, more out of irritation than surprise.

“No, you like provoking me.”

“I like that too.”

“Jake.”

It was the first time you had said his name without adding an insult after it. His expression changed almost imperceptibly.

“Dinner,” he repeated softly. “One hour. If you hate it, I’ll stop asking.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You promise?”

“No.”

“Unbelievable.”

“But I’ll stop asking for a week.”

“That’s not tempting.”

“It should be. You look tired.”

“I look like I regret speaking to you.”

“You always look like that.”

The elevator chimed impatiently behind you.

You stepped inside, forcing him to move back.

“Goodnight, Dr. Sim.”

He smiled, hands in his pockets, entirely too pleased with himself.

“Think about it.”

The doors slid shut between you. You exhaled sharply, pulse annoyingly uneven. Then looked down and realized he had slipped a protein bar into your coat pocket sometime during the conversation.

You hated him.

.

.

.

.

Three days later, you made a mistake. 

It happened at 12.40 p.m. After back-to-back consults, a trauma activation that turned out to be alcohol and poor decisions, and a resident who asked whether the spleen was ‘strictly necessary’. You were hungry, irritated, and too tired to defend yourself properly. And the last thing you want to happen the next day is Jake still asking you to date. 

After all, luck was never on your side. 

Jake found you outside the imaging suite, leaning against the wall with two coffees and the expression of a man who had never once suffered inconvenience. 

“Lunch,” he said.

“No.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I meant it yesterday, too.”

“How about today?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Why are you like this?”

“Persistent? Handsome? Deeply committed?”

“Unbearable.”

He grinned. “Still available for lunch.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then at the clock, then at the hallway stretching endlessly back toward more work. You were starving.

The cafeteria was five minutes away.

And if agreeing to one meal made him stop asking for at least a day, it counted as strategic surrender.

“Fine,” you said flatly. “Lunch.”

Jake blinked. For the first time since you’d known him, he looked genuinely caught off guard. Then his entire face changed. Not smug satisfaction. Not teasing triumph. He looked happy. 

Ridiculously, openly happy. 

“Seriously?” he asked. 

You immediately regretted everything. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird, you just said yes.”

“To lunch.”

“With me.”

“To food.”

He laughed under his breath, then straightened so quickly it was almost embarrassing. “Right. Yes. Of course. Food.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you look like you won something?” 

“Because I did.”

“You did not.”

“I absolutely did.”

You turned and started walking before he could say anything worse. He fell into step beside you, annoyingly energetic for someone who had also worked all morning. 

“Do you want noodles or rice?” he asked.

“I want silence.”

“Cafeteria might not have that.”

“You’re very close to losing lunch privileges.”

“You’ve already given me privileges?”

You shot him a look sharp enough to cut skin. He only smiled wider.

The entire walk there, Jake was insufferably cheerful. He held doors open, moved people aside with polite excuses, and somehow looked proud simply carrying your coffee beside you. Two nurses passed and exchanged startled glances.

One of them mouthed finally. You nearly turned around. 

By the time you reached the cafeteria, Jake was practically glowing. 

“Explain.”

“What?”

“Why do you look like a golden retriever that just got told he’s going to the park?”

He laughed loud enough to earn stares. “That’s specific.”

“It’s accurate.”

Jake looked at you for a second, smile softening into something less playful. 

“Because you said yes.” he said simply. 

Your chest tightened in a way you deeply resented. 

“It’s lunch,” you said coldly. 

“I know.”

“Not a date.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

“Good.”

He nodded once, still smiling. “Then let’s have lunch.”

You hated that your pulse was uneven over something so stupid. You hated more that when he reached for a tray, he grabbed one for you automatically.

The cafeteria was louder than usual, packed with staff escaping their departments for the brief illusion of rest. Trays clattered, chairs scraped, pagers went off in every corner. You chose a table near the back out of habit. Jake sat across from you like he had been invited there his entire life. 

You set your tray down and immediately noticed he hadn’t touched his food. He is just looking at you. Not casually, not absentmindedly. Looking at you with an expression so openly pleased, it made irritation rise on instinct. 

You frowned and unwrapped your utensils with more force than necessary. “That’s unsettling.”

Jake only leaned back slightly in his chair, still watching you with the same warm, maddening gaze. As if sitting across from you in a mediocre hospital cafeteria was somehow the best part of his week. You hated that. 

“Eat your food,” you said.

“In a minute.”

“Why not now?”

“Busy.”

“With what?”

His eyes moved over your face slowly, almost thoughtfully. “Memorizing this.”

Your chopstick paused midair. “Memorizing what?”

“You're agreeing to have lunch with me. You look annoyed, but less than usual.”

“I look annoyed because I am.”

“Still came.”

“I came for carbohydrates.”

Jake smiled softly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You looked down at your plate, refusing to acknowledge the sudden warmth crawling up your neck. He laughed quietly, eyes crinkling at the corners. Then his gaze softened again in a way that made your chest feel annoyingly tight.

“I like seeing you like this,” he said.

“Hungry?”

“Relaxed.”

You almost scoffed. “I’m not relaxed.”

“You’re not working. That’s close enough.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the cafeteria blurred around the table. Jake looked at you as if there were no one in the room. No urgency, no performance, just quiet, uncomplicated fondness. It was deeply unfair. 

“If you keep staring, I’m leaving.” 

He picked up his chopstick at last. He only smiled into his food, still far too happy for a man who had simply gotten lunch. 

You told yourself the attention should have irritated you more than it did. 

It should have felt invasive, performative, another version of the same male habit of taking up space wherever they pleased. You had spent years sharpening yourself against men like that. But this didn’t feel like that. 

Jake wasn’t trying to corner you, impress an audience, or collect gratitude for basic decency. He wasn’t asking for anything in return. He simply sat across from you with that stupid soft expression. 

You didn’t hate it. That was the problem. 

Youd idn’t love it either. It made you restless, suspicious, vaguely off-balance in a way you disliked. There was no clear angle to defend against, no obvious flaw to dissect, no cruelty beneath the surface waiting to reveal itself. Just Jake Sim. 

You didn’t understand him. You didn’t understand why a man like Jake Sim, liked by everyone and wanted by easier women, kept choosing resistance. Why did he return after every sharp word? Why did kindness from you seem optional, but your presence somehow mattered? And perhaps most unsettling of all—

You didn’t understand why part of you had started letting him. 

[seventeensbabye]

omg u lit just opened reqs & im here like EAGER lmao i just love your writing

could you write smth with jake where reader goes into subspace (&like not the first time it’s smth they are used to) but has a pretty hard subdrop & the aftercare?

new anon is 🦦 taken?

੭ ᐣ this is like perfect for him, i know he's such a soft dom man. i need him desperately... 😟 the emoji u chose is so cutesy!

੭ ᐣ paring: jake sim x fem!reader

੭ ᐣ warnings: smut, powerplay, subspace, petnames: baby

੭ ᐣ masterlist

the room was dimly lit, soft shadows dancing across the walls from the single lamp in the corner. jake had you pinned beneath him on the bed, his body pressing down with just the right amount of weight to make you feel secure, owned. your wrists were bound loosely above your head with silk ties, a familiar ritual that always pulled you deeper into that hazy space. his breath was hot against your neck as he trailed bites along your collarbone, each one sharp enough to sting but not break skin.

you arched into him, a soft whimper escaping your lips. this wasn't new. subspace had become a comfortable fog for you both, a place where worries melted away and only sensation remained. jake knew your cues, the way your body softened, your eyes glazing over as you surrendered.

j: "that's it, baby. let go for me."

his voice was low, commanding yet tender, vibrating through your chest. he shifted, his hand sliding between your thighs, fingers parting your slick folds with ease. you were soaked, arousal dripping down as he circled your clit slowly, teasing. your hips bucked instinctively, chasing the pressure, but he held you steady with his other hand on your hip.

you: "please... jake..."

the words tumbled out, needy and broken. he chuckled softly, the sound rumbling from his throat as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. your mind blurred at the edges, thoughts fragmenting into pure feeling. the stretch, the heat, the way his thumb kept rubbing your clit in firm circles.

he leaned down, capturing your nipple between his teeth, tugging just hard enough to send a jolt straight to your core. you gasped, body trembling as the pleasure built, coiling tight. subspace wrapped around you like a warm blanket, everything narrowing to his touch, his scent, the rhythm of his fingers thrusting in and out. time stretched, minutes feeling like hours as you floated, pliant and blissful.

j: "you're doing so good, taking me like this."

he added a third finger, stretching you further, his pace quickening. your walls clenched around him, the orgasm crashing over you without warning. you cried out, back bowing off the bed as waves of ecstasy pulsed through you, leaving you boneless and drifting. jake didn't stop, drawing it out until you were shuddering, oversensitive and utterly spent.

he untied your wrists gently, rubbing the skin to bring circulation back, but the drop hit you harder than usual. as the high faded, a cold wave crashed in. your chest tightened, tears pricking at your eyes unbidden. the room spun slightly, vulnerability flooding you like ice water. subspace had been so deep this time, the comedown rough, leaving you shaky and small.

jake noticed immediately, his playful demeanor shifting to concern. he pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he sat up, wrapping the blanket around you both.

j: "hey, hey, i've got you. you're safe, baby."

his voice was soft now, soothing, one hand stroking your hair while the other rubbed slow circles on your back. tears spilled over, hot and uncontrollable, your body curling into him as sobs wracked your frame. it wasn't just the intensity; something deeper had cracked open, old insecurities bubbling up in the vulnerability.

you: "i... i don't know... it hurts..."

you clung to his shirt, face buried in his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. musk and clean soap—that grounded you slightly.

j: "shh, it's okay to feel this. the drop's hitting hard, but i'm right here. breathe with me."

he guided your breathing, inhaling deeply and encouraging you to match him. in... out... slow and steady. his fingers combed through your hair, untangling any knots with care. after a few minutes, he reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, holding it to your lips.

j: "small sips, yeah? you need to hydrate."

you nodded weakly, sipping the cool water, feeling it soothe your dry throat. he set it aside and grabbed a soft cloth, dampening it with warm water from the bathroom sink. gently, he wiped your face, clearing away the tears and sweat, then moved to clean between your legs, his touch feather-light and non-sexual now.

you: "thank you... i feel so... empty."

the words came out small, but he understood, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

j: "i know. let's get you cozy. want some chocolate? or just hold you?"

he offered options, always checking in, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. you opted for both, and he rummaged in the drawer for the dark chocolate you both kept for these moments. something sweet to balance the endorphins. he broke off a piece, feeding it to you slowly, the rich flavor melting on your tongue.

wrapping you tighter in the blanket, he lay back, pulling you on top of him so your ear rested over his heartbeat. strong, steady. his arms encircled you completely, one hand massaging your scalp while the other traced lazy patterns on your arm.

j: "tell me what's going through your head, if you want. or we can just listen to the rain outside."

the patter against the window was a soft backdrop, calming. you murmured about feeling exposed, like the walls you'd built had crumbled too fast. he listened without interrupting, validating every word.

j: "you're strong for letting go like that. and i'm proud of you. we'll build it back together, okay? no rush."

time passed in quiet comfort, his presence chasing away the chill of the drop. eventually, the tears dried, your body relaxing fully against him. sleep tugged at you, warm and inviting now.

you: "love you..."

j: "love you more. rest now, i've got you all night."

he hummed a soft tune, lulling you into peace, the hard drop fading into memory as care wrapped around you like his arms.

꒰ঌtaglist! @roe-sinning @taehyuns-biceps @raven-xoxo @rex-ie @smiles4hyuck @hehebeanis @ykvdani @pookie-20204 @dramatic-queen @moesznz @guliexe @jun2ki @euiyox @elynlawxoxo @angelhyuka @lovelyikeu @mrsbyun-baek @itzynie @imlaylasmom @sh1n3-4h4na @taptaptaeyong

© seventeensbabye: all rights reserved! reposting/modifying of any fic, or piece of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed! translations are not allowed

[jaylaxies]

MIRÁNDOTE ‣ enha hyung line as cowboys

pairing: enhypen hyung line x fem!reader

content warning: 18+ content, minors dni! cock riding, smut, usage of nicknames.

wc: 1006 words

a/n: like the whole fandom is saying: save a mf horse, ride a cowboy! hope you guys enjoy it, all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated <3

LEE HEESEUNG

⤷ Let me teach you how to ride.

It’s effortless how he lifts you up onto the horse, his big hands groping your thighs as he did so. You were shaking with obvious nervousness, but he stayed calm and steady behind you, voice deep in your ear, “trust me, baby, hm? You’re sittin’ too stiff,” he mutters, hands guiding your ass, pushing you to move in rhythm. You think he’s focused on the lesson—until he presses himself up, cock hard against you, and murmurs with a smirk, “there you go. That’s the motion I need when you’re bouncin’ on me.”

It’s not long before he dismounts you from the horse and lays you flat on the hay instead, “If you’re gonna ride anything, you’re gonna ride me, yeah?” He lays back, jeans already halfway down, thighs spread and his thick fucking cock hard. He helps you straddle him, gripping your waist, and slides you down slow, inch by aching fucking inch. “Goddamn,” he groans, head thrown back, “so fuckin’ tight.”

Your hands press against his chest as you ride him, bouncing messily as your tits bounced with every single rut of his. Heeseung practically growls as he grabs your hips and starts thrusting up from underneath you, way faster and rougher now, watching you unravel with pleasure, “you wanna learn, huh?” He pants, “then take it. Come on, sweetheart—ride your fuckin’ cowboy.”

PARK JONGSEONG

⤷ The mayor’s gonna kill me.

You’re supposed to be off limits, at least to Jay, and he knew it the second you walked into the saloon wearing that prim and proper dress of yours, which had him smirking and staring oh so shamelessly. He told himself to stay away, but now? Now he’s fucking the mayor’s daughter in his home, your thighs spread wide, your neat dress now bunched at your waist, his cock thrusting into you deep while you cling to his shoulders, breathing hard. 

Jay groans, “so this what you do behind daddy’s back? Let the fucking outlaws fuck you stupid, huh?” His slender fingers wrap around your throat, pressing a bit harder, just to hear your moan, “you looked so damn proper, baby, almost had me fooled,” he chuckles, slapping your ass hard and switches positions, sitting down on his couch, making you ride him with need, until your pussy’s dripping down his length, soaking his jeans.

Your eyes roll as he leans in and whispers filth in your ear, cock twitching inside of you, “you’ll be sittin’ at dinner tonight, pretendin’ your daddy didn’t raise a little slut who begged to be bred by the town’s worst man.” He doesn’t pull out, simply fills you right there, deep, “and I’ll still be thinkin’ about you when I tip my hat at him tomorrow.”

SIM JAEYUN

⤷ That hat’s not free, darlin’.

You didn’t think twice before taking Jake’s hat off, not knowing what it meant, especially when you were new to the town. You just laughed as he stared at you with his sultry eyes, watching you leave his place with his hat, and by the time you made it back to drop it off, it was night, and he was already waiting inside with his boots off, shirt open, bottom lip bitten. He just looked at you for a long, quiet second before saying, “come here.”

Jake sat back on the bed and guided you into his lap, his hands warm and steady at your waist. “When you take a man’s hat off his head,” he murmured, breath ghosting over your throat, “you’re tellin’ him you want him,” he chuckled, and before you could process and deny it, he was nudging you down onto his cock, watching your expression change as he filled you completely. The hat slid forward on your head when you finally started to move, hips rolling down, breath stuttering into deep moans that had him cussing out loud. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, grip tightening as you rode him, the bed creaking beneath you, the heat building where your bodies met, “that’s it. You didn’t know the rule, hm? But you sure as hell know how to follow it.” And good god, the way he looked at you then—like you were everything, like you were his, it made him bounce you a little harder, chasing the unadulterated pleasure while his voice dipped an octave lower, “keep goin’, sweetheart. Such a good girl for me.”

PARK SUNGHOON

⤷ You wanna play cowgirl, baby? Saddle up.

You honestly wore the skirt on purpose, it was short enough to flash the lace of your panties whenever you bent to pick something up, and the boots? Pure decoration, simply for the way they made your legs look pretty when you crossed them. You sat by the bonfire, giggling with people, slowly sipping on your whiskey, talking to everyone but him, and yet, every time you peeked through your lashes, you could feel Sunghoon watching.

He simply stared, not saying a word, not until the fire burned down and you wandered toward the stables. Then suddenly, his hand was around your wrist, pulling you back, whispering right into your ear, “you got somethin’ to say to me, doll?” You just smiled, acting all innocent, “nope.” He didn’t buy it, just pulled you inside, sat down on the hay, and patted his thigh, “come on, then. You wanna play cowgirl? Saddle the fuck up.”

You climbed into his lap with a giggle, well, until he pulled your panties to the side and sank you down onto his cock in one filthy hard thrust. Your head fell back as his hands gripped your waist. “That’s it,” he muttered, voice like honey, “you wanna be a tease, hm? Then you better know how to fuckin’ ride.” You bounced helplessly, folds slick and messy as you fucked yourself on his cock, your cunt clenching around him. He stared at you, “don’t look away now, sweetheart,” he whispered, biting your neck with his fangs, “you wanted attention. So now I’m the only one who gets to watch you fall apart.”

perm taglist:

@jaeminvore @hoondrop @ajayke-reads @lunalovesstories @deobitifull @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @woniebae @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @ma-riiii @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified @prkhaven @kristynaaah @tinycatharsis @filmnings @mwahvvis @mintchocoddeonut @s0shroe @onlyticket-home @meowieshibal @ikeukiss @in-somnias-world @tokkisluv @choicila @bambiihee @taesnumber1 @yenienha @angelhyuka @astelunar @heesmiles

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[misolhee]

🧩 ❛ BAD DATA ❜ ; — jake x f!reader social media au.

# PART ONE ⋆ 004_when did you get hot

taglist open ⋆ send an ask or a comment! :)

⋆ ☇ back to: prev. part ┊ series m.list ┊ general m.list ⋆ ☇ next part: welcome home cheater

— gen. taglist : @kristynaaah @devdozes @cupidmiyu @zoros-earring @fabulousarepo4 @lovenha7 @1-itsneverthatserious-1 @ajijakey @seungiesdoll @guliexe @desiree-lee @wonuziex @bunyaya @laikaonline @bffr-riv @fatd2ki @urfavmaknae @miszes @sunooqvrlsx @astronomicalastro-blog1 @versailki @kittyvalr @rxmanceuntxld @boo-shalala @colossj @jaysguitars @kiwicup @wonkisie @ryukumi @nyfwyeonjun

— series special taglist : @rr1ks @s4eungie @miajojojo @tessa365 @leeheedonism @miffysequel @zoe1love @jakearta @li-know @areikii @devilish-meangadh

[rxmanceuntxld]

everyone looking cool n intimidating but then there’s jake…

how did he make this concept cute 🤏🤏

[xoami]

can you write a jake drabble or a mini fic based on shinee's replay😭😭like jake being down bad for 2-3 years older reader

A MAN, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 I’m not a kid

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Jake is down bad for his older classmate, and it becomes almost too much! PAIRING. younger uni!jake x older uni!reader GENRE. fluff WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing

authors note ୨୧ mwah. im baaack~

─────────

Jake Sim had been lovesick for you since freshman orientation — the kind of soft, stupid, slow-building ache that made even his friends groan when he said your name.

You were an upperclassman.

Older… wiser…

Gentle in a way that felt almost dangerous, and to Jake, you were perfect.

—

He’d sat next to you at every icebreaker your major hosted — pretending it was coincidence, even though he absolutely timed his entrances. He carried your books for you, whenever he could snatch them from your arms.

He scribbled cheesy little notes on your coffees when you visited the café he worked at.

‘Good morning Noona!’

‘Hope you have a lovely day :)’

‘Drink me before 4pm or you’ll be up all night! — Jake ☕︎!

And every time, you’d just smile at him — that warm, mature, soft-as-sunlight smile — and brush him off.

“Oh, Jake, stop it…~”

“That’s cute. I bet the girls love that one.”

“You’re crazy… you’re lucky you’re cute.”

You’d poke his chest, brush his shoulder as you passed, fix his glasses when they slid down his nose.

On the rare days you ate with him between classes, you’d wipe his mouth with a napkin without thinking, murmuring, “Messy boy…”

Jake melted every. single. time.

His friends called him a simp.

A goner.

A man entirely whipped by someone who didn’t even know she had him on her hook.

But, Jake didn’t care… Not when you called him honey, or sweetheart, or love.

“Bro. Jake, (Y/n) call everyone names like that,” the guys told him.

But it didn’t matter — because when you called him those sweet names, Jake felt like he’d just won the lottery, the championship, and your heart all at once.

Everyone else insisted he give it up…

They say that the way you let him walk you home — returning his jacket the next day with the sleeves folded neatly — was just your nature.

They said the way you smiled to yourself when he tripped over his words was just you being polite.

They said the hide-and-seek between you two played between shelves at the library was boredom, passing time…

And that the daily pinky promise you’d make Jake give to walk you home again was just… you being punctual.

And the worst thought of all:

Girls like you — no… women like you —

who wore pretty kitten heels and drank wine at low-lit lounges… didn’t go for boys like Jake, who still stepped on his untied laces and built Legos when he was stressed.

You knew he liked you… Of course you did.

Everyone did.

Who didn’t know Shim Jake was utterly, pathetically, wholeheartedly in love with you?

But lately… you’d been distant.

Softer in your smiles, harder to catch, harder to read.

And Jake… Jake was drowning in the fear that maybe — maybe — all this time

you were only ever being nice.

—

Which is what led to this moment:

Jake standing outside your student share house in the pouring rain, drenched from head to toe.

His flannel clung to his chest, his dark hair plastered to his cheeks… Streams of rain slid down the bridge of his reddened nose, pooling at his jaw, dripping from the flutter of his lashes.

He looked broken. No— Desperate.

A lovesick boy on his last string.

You rushed outside with an umbrella, still barefoot, the cold wind whipping your hair, your bare feet padding against the wet pavement. Your lips parted, breath caught.

“J–Jake?!— What’re you doing? It’s freezing—”

“No! I want you to tell me—” He stepped closer, voice cracking.

“Just… tell me if this is pointless! Please just—”

Your eyes widened, heart climbing into your throat.

Jake heaved out a breath — chest rising and falling, fingers trembling.

“I know you think I’m young… and silly… but— but I—”

He scrubbed his hands through his soaked hair, choking on frustration.

“God, (Y/n), I like you.”

His voice shook.

“I like you so much it feels like—”

He searched the air like the words were hiding behind the raindrops.

“It feels like I’m sick inside.”

Lightning cracked somewhere in the distance, and Jake’s voice dropped, raw and trembling.

“I’m trying… I’ve been trying to be older. To be the kind of guy you like. I changed my clothes, I’ve been trying to read those romance novels you talk about— I— I’m trying so hard.”

You stared at him, throat tightening.

“I just need to know,” he whispered, “that you’re not… just being nice.”

“That you’re not sparing my feelings because you think I can’t handle it.”

He didn’t even notice the rain had stopped hitting him — because you’d stepped down the last step, holding the umbrella above both of you, and close enough that he could see his reflection in your eyes.

“Jake…” your voice was barely a breath.

He blinked hard, eyes glossy.

“Because I am a man,” he whispered.

“I’m not a kid, (Y/n). I’m a man who’s— who’s in love… with an incredible woman.”

And that was it…

Your heart finally cracked open.

You grabbed him by the collar of his soaked, oatmeal-colored flannel and pulled him down into a kiss — warm, soft, sweet, a rush of breath and rain and pent-up longing.

The umbrella slipped from your hands, and it clattered to the pavement but neither of you noticed.

You broke the kiss only when Jake gasped, stunned.

“I like you too, Jake,” you breathed, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“Stop blabbering.”

Your laugh, soft and warm, sent a shiver down his spine.

Jake blinked, then he smiled — slow, disbelieving, boyish and breathtaking — and kissed you again, deeper, firmer, holding your waist like he’d dreamt of doing for two long years.

The rain kept falling.

But Jake… Jake felt like he was finally, blissfully, impossibly…home.

[a11100]

jealous, baby? - sim jaeyun (jake)

in which jake swears he’s not a jealous boyfriend yet still fights like he is when someone approaches his girl.

boxer!jake x gf!reader

this fic follows another boxer!jake fic i wrote a while ago! i lowkey love this concept and have so many ideas i cant wait to write them 🤭

the late afternoon light cut through the high warehouse-style windows of the boxing gym, turning the air golden. dust floated in the beams like glitter shaken from the sun. every corner buzzed with that raw, gritty energy only boxing gyms had - the kind built from discipline, adrenaline and people trying too hard to impress eachother.

leather gloves smacked against pads. jump ropes snapped against the floor. water bottles clattered as someone kicked one over. a group of beginners stumbled through footwork drills, pretending they weren’t dying.

everything smelled like sweat, disinfectant, rubber mats and that faint metallic scent that always hung around the ring.

jake stood right in the middle of it all - breathing steady, gloves up, body sharp and precise despite the exhaustion tugging at his muscles. he was practicing with coach min, the same way they always did when coach wasn’t busy with new trainees or phone calls about upcoming matches.

coach min held the pads in his hands, his usual unimpressed look sitting firm on his face, “straight. hook. roll. again.”

jake reset his stance, took a quick breath in, ready to fire another punch with more intensity. but then coach min said it - casual. offhanded. like it wasn’t the single, most fastest way to fry jake’s brain mid-combination.

“your girl’s here.”

jake froze mid-jab. his glove hovered just under his cheek, breath caught in his throat.

he didn’t turn - he didn’t need to. his pulse kicked instantly, thumping warm and eager under his skin. a smile threatened to break his focus, tugging at the corner of his lips despite his best effort to stay disciplined.

he loved when she came by to pick him up. loved that she always stood just inside the entrance, as if too shy to walk further into the gym. loved that soft, tired smile she’d give him after her own long day - like seeing him was the one thing that settled her whole world.

“cool down.” coach min ordered, “two more minutes. don’t get sloppy now.”

jake swallowed, nodded, “yes, sir.”

he pushed through another set, body moving on autopilot - jab, cross, hook, slip - even though all he wanted was to turn around and look at her properly. but just then, halfway through his last. combination, a laugh cut through the gym noise.

it wasn’t her. no, this one was too loud, too deep.

some guy.

jake’s eyes quickly flicked toward the entrance, barely a fraction of a second, and suddenly his stomach dropped. y/n was still standing where she always did, but this time she wasn’t alone.

one of the new trainees - the tall one who had an objectively stupid haircut jake already hated - was leaning way too close to her. he seemed to be laughing at his own joke, talking with his whole chest like he was performing a comedy routine no one asked for.

y/n gave a polite smile in return, small and tight, and jake recognised it instantly. it was her i-want-to-leave-but-i’m-too-nice smile.

jake’s jaw clenched. hard. tight. his punch slammed into the pad harder than he should’ve and coach min instantly grunted at the sudden impact.

“yah. control your strength.”

jake didn’t say anything, he physically couldn’t with how much he was seething through his breath. he forced himself through the last minute even though every instinct screamed to get out of the ring and peel that trainee off her like some annoying sticker.

across the room, y/n’s eyes were entirely focused on her boy.

the way his muscles flexed in his sleeveless top, the way his jaw clenched with each jab and deep breath, the way he pushed through even after knowing she’d finally come to get him - watching him like that always did things to her she didn’t want to admit.

and she swore she could see the smile tug at his lips from afar, warming her chest even further. she was just stood there, still in her work clothes and heels, with that pretty, fond smile playing on her lips, completely minding her own business when she heard someone speak up beside her.

“hey.. uh, you’re jake’s friend, right?”

y/n turned her head to see a boy - probably a year or two younger than her - tall, bad haircut, overconfident smile. she recognised him instantly - he was new, loud, tried too hard. the type who probably thought the gym was a social club instead of a place where people actually worked.

“yeah.” she answered, politely, “i’m y/n.”

he grinned like she’d just given him permission to keep going.

“you come here a lot?” he asked and stepped forward until she could smell the intensely artificial body spray he’d drowned himself in.

she instinctively shifted back, just an inch, but he followed the movement like he didn’t notice - or perhaps chose not to.

“i’ve seen you around a few times.” he went on, running a hand through his hair like he was posing for a mirror. and then he laughed - loud, awkward and forced - “oh, don’t worry. not in a creepy way.”

yeah. sure.

y/n’s polite smile tightened just a bit and she let out a chuckle but it ended up just sounding like a breath, “right..”

“jake didn’t tell us he had someone.” the trainee tilted his head and y/n watched the way his eyes dragged down her figure in a way that made her stomach twist with instant discomfort. like he was sizing her up, trying to memorise her.

“he usually keeps to himself. guess i know why now.”

she wanted this conversation to end. preferably before jake finished training and saw this guy inhaling her personal space like it was oxygen.

“well, jake’s almost done. so-”

“oh, cool, cool.” he cut in. he shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged a shoulder like she was discussing weekend plans instead of trying to walk away. y/n tried to drag her eyes away but he only moved his face in her direction, as if forcing her to look at him.

he leaned in again, too casual, “does he train you too?”

she blinked, “train me?”

“yeah.” he said, eyes flickering over her again - this time more scrutinising than flirty - “you look like you could use a few lessons. strength, stamina… maybe posture too.”

her jaw tightened. a slow burn of irritation crawled up her spine.

because not only was he pestering her - he was doing it two feet from her boyfriend’s ring. in the same gym he’d practically grew up in, the same gym he’d made famous.

and while jake was literally watching from across the room.

still, the trainee wasn’t finished.

“i’m just saying, if you ever want tips, i’m around after evening sessions. i could show you a few things… one-on-one.”

y/n’s stomach twisted. she wasn’t helpless, and she damn well didn’t need some rookie talking to her like she was.

the second coach min dismissed jake, he was ripping off his gloves, dropping them on the mat as if relieved of the timing. he hopped down from the ring - still sweaty, chest heaving, hair damp and messy.

he didn’t bother with a towel. didn’t bother catching his breath. he just walked straight to her.

the trainee’s teasing grin faltered the second y/n’s eyes flicked past him and jake approached the scene - not that jake was looking at him, anyway. he didn’t spare him a single glance.

“hey.” he said softly, voice lower than usual. his arm slid naturally, possessively, around her waist.

y/n immediately leaned into him like she’d been waiting all day for his touch, “hi, baby.”

something in jake’s shoulders loosened. his chest warmed painfully, protectively, as he took in her familiar, sweet perfume. she looked relieved yet happy at the same time as she played a grin and that same glint in her eyes that always sparkled when she looked at him.

infront of them, the trainee mumbled something that died on his tongue. he bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to keep his expression neutral even though he was irritated.

jake didn’t care.

he dipped his head closer to her and let his hand slide lower on her back - slowly, intentionally and very obviously for an audience.

“you ready to go?” he asked, eyes locked on hers.

y/n lifted her brows in amusement at his touch, hand splayed dangerously low on her waist. she could instantly feel it.

his new clinginess. his claim.

“yeah.” she smiled up at him nonetheless and jake intertwined his fingers with hers. he grabbed his bag from the side before guiding her towards the exit, not looking back once.

he didn’t have to.

he could feel the trainee’s glare burning between his shoulder blades - and it only made the corner of his mouth lift in a quiet, satisfied smirk.

-

as soon as they got into her car, jake didn’t wait for the engine to start. the second his seatbelt clicked, he reached across the console, found her hand, and linked their fingers together so tightly it was like he feared she’d disappear if he let go for even a second.

y/n blinked at their hands, amused, “well… hello to you too.”

jake didn’t react. his jaw was locked, shoulders tight, eyes fixed stubbornly over the passenger window.

“you okay?” she asked softly, smiling even though she already knew the answer.

“i’m fine.” he replied quickly, almost too quickly. his tone was low and clipped, trying to hide the embarrassment curling under the surface of his sweaty skin.

y/n only hummed, “yeah, definitely sounds like you’re fine.”

he didn’t take the bait.

instead, without looking at his girlfriend, jake lifted their joint hands and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the back of hers. it wasn’t casual. it wasn’t distracted. it was the kind of kiss that said he’d been thinking about touching her since the moment he saw that boy standing too close.

then, he lowered their hands into his lap and kept them there - like it was non-negotiable.

y/n laughed under her breath and started the car with her free hand, nonetheless. she tried to pull her hand away to shift the gear into reverse, but jake tugged it right back. she tried to shift her seat, and he tugged again.

finally, she chuckled through her breath and turned to her boyfriend a little bewildered, “jake, i need that hand to drive.”

“still using it.” he mumbled, tightening his grip and sliding his thumb rhythmically against her knuckles, “drive with one.”

“baby.” she grinned, “you’re being clingy.”

“i’m allowed.” he muttered and his eyes lifted from her knuckles to stare straight ahead - stubborn expression, ears slightly pink, like a sulky puppy who refused to admit he was pouting.

the more she glanced at him, the cuter he became. he wasn’t angry, just… bothered. quiet. protective. a little insecure in a way that made her chest soften - he was this big, strong man out in the ring but with her, he practically melted into a puddle.

“did something happen?” she asked with a gentle tone that dipped into something a little more serious. with how quiet he was, she thought maybe he was bothered by more than that small interaction in the gym.

“nothing happened.” he spoke immediately - too fast again.

his fingers squeezed hers. his knee bounced heavily. his gaze stayed glued to the road in front of them, razor sharp as if he was the one driving.

y/n raised a brow, “you sure?”

he swallowed once, then lifted her hand again to brush his lips over her knuckles - slower this time, more tender.

“just wanna be close to you.” he murmured.

her heart melted on the spot. jake always got like this - after fights, after long training sessions, and especially after something, or someone, irritated him.

but y/n didn’t push him further, or tease him.

she just squeezed his hand back, let her thumb stroke over the back of his much rougher knuckles in a delicate caress.

“okay, stay as close as you want.” she whispered.

jake exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the entire drive.

he didn’t let go of her hand. not even once. not when she was parking, not when she turned off the engine and not even when she tried, and failed, to reach for her bag in the backseat. he stubbornly held onto her like she was something he’d won and absolutely had no intention of losing.

-

the next day, jake returned to the gym with every intention of being mature. he really did.

he told himself on the walk over that yesterday didn’t matter. he told himself she’s all his, she chose him, and that he had no reason to waste energy on some rookie with a bad haircut and no understanding of boundaries.

he was practically repeating it to himself like a mantra.

be mature. be calm. you’re above this.

that lasted about four minutes.

he’d just tossed his bag to the side of the changing room after searching around for his wraps, and was now making his way to the main area of the gym when voices drifted down the hallways. loud ones. laughing ones.

familiar ones.

jake slowed on instinct, suddenly intrigued, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up slightly.

“bro, she is so pretty.” that same deep voice of the trainee from yesterday bragged, letting out a chuckle with his two other friends, “i’m telling you, i didn’t even care that she wasn’t into it. i could still try-”

jake fully froze in his spot, his hand paused against the wrap on his palm. his blood didn’t burn, his pulse didn’t spike. no, everything just went completely still, eerily silent inside him.

one of the other trainees groaned, “doyeon-ah, stop. you said enough yesterday.”

but the kid kept going, louder, bolder, more disgusting.

“i’m serious! if she wasn’t so loyal to him, i swear i’d try again.. i mean-” he snickered like some psycho planning something, “did you see the way she looked? those legs? bro, she’s-”

“doyeon.” the second hissed, glancing around nervously. none of them had seen jake standing just further down the hallway, “shut up. that’s his girlfriend, and he’s our senior. we shouldn’t be disrespectful.”

“so what? not my fault jake pulled someone way above his league.” he laughed again, “anyway, even if she acted all shy, i bet she-”

that’s when one of the other trainees noticed jake stood down the hallway, silently fixing his wraps while quite clearly listening into their conversation. the kid’s heart dropped, eyes widening in shock and he instantly smacked doyeon against his sleeve.

“doyeon-ah, shut the fuck up.” he hissed but jake was already moving off.

he was walking into the main area when all the trainees went pale, straightening up instantly mid-breath as if they’d been caught stealing - actually, this was probably worse than being caught stealing.

jake didn’t say a word. he didn’t need to.

his expression was blank, calm, almost bored as he looked ahead, fixing his wraps and rolling his shoulders back. his stare was razor sharp, and his jaw clenched like he was calculating just how much force it would take to drop each one of those kids right now.

he looked more serious than he did before he went into the ring - and that was not a good sign.

all three of them stared at him like he had two heads. the silence thickened and seemed to tense even more when coach min walked out of his office. he gave them all a stern nod in greeting and then his eyes landed on his star fighter, a slow smile curling his lips.

“jake! good timing.” he said cheerfully, completely oblivious to the bloodbath brewing in the air. he clapped his hands once, loud enough to make the trainees jump, “i want one of the newbies to get some sparring experience with you today.”

jake nodded, “who?”

coach min looked around the group of boys and raised a brow, as if thinking which one needed tbe most improvement.

“you.” he pointed, “kim doyeon. get your wraps.”

kim doyeon.

jake’s lips curved ever so slightly. it wasn’t big or noticeable to coach min, but it was a smile - a calm, terrifying one that never reached his eyes.

“perfect.” jake said to his coach, voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.

doyeon’s face practically drained of colour. his friends winced at the situation and he swallowed hard, scrambling to grab his wraps as if being shaken out of a nightmare. except this might’ve been the nightmare - he was about to go against jake. the best fighter in their gym, the most known boxer out there right now for how good and sharp he was.

jake, who’s girlfriend he was just bad-mouthing and laughing about.

his hands shook as he grabbed his wraps and his friend had to practically help him whilst jake jumped up into the ring to warm up quickly. he joined him soon enough and jake patted him on the shoulder, friendly, almost gentle, but with a grip that made doyeon flinch.

“this’ll be good practice.” he murmured with a polite tone, “for both of us.”

doyeon didn’t respond. he couldn’t. he was too busy trying not to pass out.

the second the bell rang, doyeon charged, fists high, chin up, overconfident in the way only rookies could be - all speed, no precision, all ego, no discipline.

jake didn’t budge.

he slipped to the side as if he’d been waiting for this attack since yesterday.

“too slow.” he murmured, tilting his head.

doyeon skidded on the canvas before whipping around with an irritated grunt. he raised his fists and instantly went to throw another punch, sloppy and rushed, more emotion than technique.

jake pivoted away with a single step, barely shifting his weight, “still too slow.”

a few trainees snorted under their breath. they tried to hide it, but the sound carried and echoed in doyeon’s ears, flushing his neck red. it was humiliating how much he was getting thrown about - but what did he expect? this was jake he pissed off.

he tightened his fists and launched a full combination - jab, cross, hook - the kind young fighters practiced in mirrors thinking it made them look intimidating. jake saw every motion before it even formed - of couse he knew, he’d fought actual fighters with worse form than this kid right now.

without effort, jake landed a small jab to doyeon’s ribs. it was light enough not to bruise but sharp enough to humiliate.

doyeon stumbled and caught his breath, “stop running and fight-”

“then hit me.”

that only made doyeon angrier. he swung again recklessly, as if just punching for the sake of it, and it was hard enough that it could’ve actually knocked someone out if it landed.

but jake didn’t even need to step back. he leaned just far enough for the glove to whisper past his cheek. the crowd murmured, impressed, and jake’s lips curved into a small smirk.

doyeon saw it. it made him snap.

shots became wild. footwork completely disappeared. he wasn’t boxing anymore, he was just chasing jake’s shadow.

from outside the ring, someone muttered to another, “you can’t just let him play you like that-”

doyeon, stood right infront of them, snapped his head with irritation and humiliation chasing up his neck, “shut up!”

that’s when jake called the distance and muttered with a voice low enough only he could hear, “you should listen to them.”

doyeon threw the last punch he had in him - a desperate, ugly right hook that only made coach min shake his head in disappointment. something in jake’s expression shifted - he became more sharper suddenly, shoulders squared and the air in the gym shifted like everyone expected something was about to break.

jake didn’t dodge. he stepped forward and connected his fist with doyeon’s jaw in perfect form, full rotation, literally a textbook execution. it was hard, precise. the sound cracked through the gym and everyone watched as doyeon’s body flew back.

he was caught by the ropes, his head whiplashed, mouthguard half-slipping out, feet scrambling for balance. the gym went dead silent.

someone whispered, “holy shit-” barely audible over the ringing tension. the kid stared up at the dull ceiling lights with ringing ears, unfocused eyes and a brain that suddenly forgot exactly where he was.

jake approached him slow and terrifyingly calm, “that was for talking about her.”

doyeon, his heart in his mouth and jaw aching, swallowed hard as the fear and shame finally took over his arrogance. this was the jake everyone feared out in the ring, the quiet boxer who barely snapped but when he did, it was brutal.

jake leaned down without blinking, his gaze sharp enough to cut, “and next time you even think about her again,” he tapped his glove against the boy’s cheek mockingly, “you’ll get worse.”

the warning hit harder than the punch.

coach min blew the whistle so loud half the gym flinched, “okay, enough. jake, out! now.”

jake didn’t argue, didn’t even look at doyeon again. he simply stepped out of the ring, going straight towards his bag for his towel and water bottle with smooth confidence as if he hadn’t just scared an entire room into silence. as if this was light work for him, something casual.

the jealousy that had been boiling under his ribs since yesterday, seeped out of him at last, leaving him much lighter, clearer, almost relieved.

+ BONUS

jake swore to himself he wouldn’t do it again - he wouldn’t let jealousy fuel him, he wouldn’t let it take over especially during a fight. but he couldn’t help the way it angrily seeped in when he heard a laugh. her laugh.

her loud, confident, pretty laugh.

the sponsor’s son, the same guy who’d been hovering around y/n all night, even as she kissed jake outside the ring before his match like usual, even as she exchanged small words with coach min while jake was warming up, even as she asked some staff for a bottle of water.

he was there… hovering, smiling, laughing just to impress her.

either way, it hit jake’s ears like a slap.

his first round started evenly - almost too evenly for jake’s taste. he’d kept his guard high, his footwork proper, his rhythm and the way his weight shifted before every punch. jake wasn’t aggressive yet; he was studying his opponent, calculating.

the crowd was murmuring with each exchange, filtering in with the continuous narration of the commentators. the air was thick, heavy with anticipation and jake had only looked toward ringside for barely a second.

only a second when he heard her laugh.

but that split second cost him.

it was all it took for his opponent to land a clean jab against his cheek.

his head turned sharply with a grunt and the crowd gasped in unison. y/n’s eyes widened as she snapped her head from the gradually irritating man next to her. her heart dropped with the gasps of the audience and she instantly stood up.

coach min slammed the ropes, “eyes on the fight, jake!”

jake blinked once. twice. slowly. he snapped back to the opponent without another thought and instantly everything inside him shifted. his whole demeanour changed. annoyance, jealousy, possessiveness - it all shot straight through his chest like he’d been plugged into an electric outlet.

he let out a long, deep exhale and suddenly he wasn’t just fighting. he was proving a point.

with his coach’s groans in the background and the shouts of the commentators, jake moved forward and his punches snapped through the air with terrifying accuracy. his dodges weren’t just evasions but statements - every hit made the ropes tremble, every counter made the crowd cheer louder.

by the middle of round two, his opponents breaths were ragged, hands dropping an inch lower with every failed attempt to touch jake again.

but he didn’t let him recover.

he slammed a brutal body shot right under the ribs - the kind that stole air and dignity. the crowd instantly exploded and then came the combination with smooth, practiced ease that made the crowd scream even louder.

right hook, left jab, cross.

the other fighter staggered back with wobbly legs. coach min’s voice cut through the noise, “finish it!”

jake didnt hesitate. he stepped in and delivered a clean, merciless uppercut, the perfect hit that made the guy drop to the canvas like a felled tree.

the ref didn’t even bother counting. it was clear jake had won as the arena erupted with gleeful cheers and waves and the match concluded itself. jake didn’t hear any of it as he waved back at everyone with heaving breaths and weak shoulders.

he instantly climbed out of the ring, pulling his mouthguard out, sweat sliding down his jaw and his hair clinging to his skin. his chest rose and fell quickly and his heart was banging in his ears but it wasn’t exhaustion tightening his breath - it was jealousy.

hot. sharp. still humming beneath his skin like a live wire.

and that - more than the win - was what pushed him down the steps and toward the hallway where he knew he’d see his girlfriend soon enough.

-

y/n caught him the moment he stepped out of the locker room with flushed cheeks and hair damp from the shower he rushed through. jake was rolling his shoulders out, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline and still littered with slow, growing bruises on his jaw and abdomen.

she didn’t even wait for him to notice her. she practically threw herself into his space, hands going straight to his shoulders with hurried excitement.

“there you are.” she breathed, eyes shining with pride and jake felt himself soften, “babe, you were amazing!”

before he could respond, she lifted her sleeve and gently wiped a few drops of water from his jawline, fingers trailing a second longer than necessary. it was a quick, mindless action but it had jake freezing in his spot, his hand on her waist stilling.

she was soft. warm. too close.

he hadn’t even cooled down from the fight and she was starting an entirely new one inside him.

jake caught her wrist lightly before she could pull away, “who was that guy?”

his voice was low, slightly rough, still carrying the edge he fought with. his dark eyes bore down into hers as he leaned down ever so slightly. his breath mingled with hers and despite it all, y/n only blinked up at him.

“what guy?”

“the one sitting next to you.” his jaw tensed, “the one laughing at everything you said.”

“oh.” she realised slowly. she let out a soft, airy laugh that fell straight into jake’s heart, “him? he was just being polite. i don’t even know his name, i barely talked.”

but jake wasn’t buying it. he leaned in closer, just enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. close enough that she could feel his breath skim her cheek.

“he kept leaning toward you.”

his voice wasn’t raised, or angry, or mean. just possessive in a way that hit straight through her ribs.

y/n’s lips twitched in amusement. she knew what was happening, of course she did when he was making it so obvious. just to rile him up further, she slowly, deliberately let her hands glide from his shoulders to his hard chest. she trailed her fingers over the fabric of his dark hoodie, brushing the hem before drifting back up and letting her touch linger.

just enough to make him melt.

“jake.” she murmured, warm and teasing, “were you jealous, baby?”

he didn’t even try to hide his reaction - it was instant. the flush of his cheeks, the flicker of his eyes.

“no.”

y/n raised her brows. his jaw clenched and he looked away, almost shyly, “…okay, yes.”

her smile spread, slow and irresistible, like she was savoring the moment her sweet, quiet boyfriend finally cracked. like she was seeing an entirely different side to his usual touch exterior.

she stepped fully into him, chest pressed against his and slid both hands up to loop behind his neck.

“you fought better because of it.” she brushed her thumbs against his skin lightly.

he made a small, low sound - somewhere between a scoff and a groan - and looked off to the side, almost embarrassed.

“didn’t like him looking at you like that.”

y/n tugged gently on the chain around his neck and innocently pulled him closer until their noses nearly touched. the tension sparked between them, sharp and warm as she let her breath linger between them.

“well, i only look at you.”

jake cursed under his breath - a soft, low sound with her name tangled somewhere inside it. his hands slid to her waist with a certain firmness it made her heart race when he dragged her flush against him like the idea of even a millimetre of space was unbearable.

she laughed against his lips, “baby, you’re so easy to tease.”

jake rested his forehead against hers, breath ghosting over her mouth, “keep teasing. see what happens.”

a shiver rippled down her spine, one she couldn’t even hide.

and she didn’t.

y/n rose slowly onto her toes, fingertips delicately brushing the back of his neck as she leaned in. her lips ghosted along the sharp line of his tense jaw, against his warm, gentle bruises and she planted a kiss that wasn’t meant to be sweet at all.

it was deliberate. purposeful. a bit dangerous since they were stood in an empty hallway that anyone could walk into any second.

but she didn’t care. she savoured the way his breath hitched and her chest tightened and she only continued - her lips pressed another kiss right beneath his ear, the spot she knew he could never stay calm through. his inhale came sharp and uneven and his rough hands clamped down on her waist automatically, like a reflex he couldn’t control.

jake didn’t bother pretending he wasn’t affected. didn’t bother hiding the way his fingers dug in. didn’t bother keeping a moan out of his voice when he whispered her name.

and then he kissed her. not hesitantly or carefully.

he kissed her like he’d been holding everything in - the jealousy, the adrenaline, the way she always knew exactly how to undo him - all packed into one moment.

it was deep and hungry and the kind of kiss that made her back arch slightly and the hallways feel too small to hold them. his hands slid up her back, all warm and strong, dragging her closer until she could feel every breath he took, every beat of his heart against her chest. he held her like he’d been waiting all night, all week, maybe forever, just for her to touch him like that.

the jealousy that had sparked everything melted away and was replaced by something hotter. something steadier. something that wrapped around her like heat and gravity.

devotion. want.

and something that felt dangerously close to worship.

she was his - not because he said it, but because of the way he touched her and breathed her in like she grounded him.

and jake? he was absolutely, undeniably hers. every heartbeat, every sharp inhale, every look that said she was the only one he ever saw.

[intromortal]

✷ LIQUID SWEETENER ⸻ sim jaeyun

jake takes care of his sick girlfriend, but with an unexpected twist.

this work contains ⋆ smut. mdni. established relationship, reader has a fever, she's very annoying tbh but it's bc she's ME! it's okay tho bc jake is equally as bad. spitting medicine in someone's mouth... is this sanitary? absolutely not but i also can't bring myself to care, fingering, praise, degradation (use of slut like once? and pet), he's mostly very sweet tho i promise, oral f!rec, squirting, mentions of free use, multiple orgasms, quick aftercare, jake comes untouched he's down bad sorry ! ⸻ rules ⋆ m.list

length ⋆ oneshot ⸻ 5.2k words

✷ NIA — i finally got around to rewriting this omfg. this rewrite is for my sweet @heechwe and all the nonnies who asked for this to be posted again <3

It's not everyday Jake gets to take care of you, so when you're all sickly and weak, it's hard to evade his attentions no matter how hard you try.

Jake pouts when you shoot down yet another attempt to get you to take your medicine. "Why don't you just chug it? I promise it's not as bad as you think."

He’s been trying to get you to swallow at least a tiny dose of the sweet fever syrup for the best part of an hour, after every attempt to get you to down any kind of pill resulted in you hiding them somewhere underneath your cozy pajamas, against your burning skin.

"If it's not as bad as I think, why are you suggesting I just chug it?" Your voice is slightly muffled as you eye him suspiciously from under the heavy cover pulled up all the way to your nose.

"You're the one insisting it's disgusting without even trying it, I asked for the best flavor possible when I got it." He made sure to pick out a syrup that doesn't taste straight up radioactive, knowing you well enough to predict you’d make a big fuss about the nasty taste. Yeah, he can picture it right in his head, how you’d gag dramatically at the smell and just beg him to go get the tablets again—which you wouldn't agree to take anyway.

For how much you hate being sick, you seem to dislike the idea of getting better quickly even more.

“You would feel so much better if you just took your medicine,” he sighs, resting the cap filled to the brim with honey flavored syrup on the crowded comforter, careful not to leave it too close to the edge. He licks whatever residue is left on his sticky fingers. "Really not that bad. It's sweet."

"So it's not good either," you huff back, trying to wiggle yourself out of the cocoon of blankets Jake wrapped you in as soon as you fell asleep. "I'm not even that sick anyway.”

“Yeah?” Jake looks at you with an arched brow, then points his head to the little mountain of discarded, snot filled tissues overtaking your comforter, the ones he was in the middle of throwing away. “This right here is breeding grounds for bio terrorism allegations.”

He stops you from getting out of bed, securing the warm fuzzy covers around you again. “No need to leave, just tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you,” he whispers against your lashes, placing a soft kiss to your closed eyelid.

“Just wan’ you.”

His plump lips thin into that gorgeous wide smile of his as he speaks,“but you have me baby, I’m right here, yeah?”

He knows very well what you mean, and a frustrated grumble spills out of you at the thought. Cheeky bastard, of course he wants you to say the quiet part out loud. Neither of you is used to going without pleasuring each other for long periods of time, and anything longer than three days is eons according to Jake. You're surprised he's behaved as well as he has this past week, you thought he would be the one to cave in first.

“Want…more,” you crank one of your eyes open, struggling when a droplet from the wet towel on your forehead Jake promptly changed every fifteen minutes slips in it. You blink a few times, adjusting to the light in the room before looking over to Jake, his grin still wide and brightening up his whole face, his head turned to the side as he observes you lovingly, a strand of hair longer than the rest tickling the side of his nose.

If Jake has to be completely honest with himself, he's not particularly sad at you being a little sick. 

Sure, it sounds mean when he says it out loud, but you're not doing so badly or in any kind of pain that would worry him, and he enjoys doting on you like this, with you having no choice but to take his love. Can’t blame a man for wanting to take care of his girl, especially when said girl has a streak of refusing to just lay back and let him do the work. 

You're always hiding your pain and vulnerability from everyone around you, so he enjoys knowing he's helping make it at least a little better for once.

You—however—wouldn’t exactly agree that he's making you feel better, definitely not by walking around with damp hair from the shower and intoxicating the air around you with the lingering salty marine and musky notes of the cologne he always sprays on his fresh change of clothes. A smell you usually related to comfort and home, making your head spin in the best way possible, a whirlwind of anything but pure thoughts crowding your mind.

Jake takes notice of the subtle shift in the air around you right away. You had been–subtly at first—laying down little hints for him to pick up, you craved him. Had been craving him for what felt like forever, ever since you got sick. A nagging hunger that just grew further with every hour he silently ignored it.

Usually you would busy yourself with random tasks, keeping your thoughts clear of images of his hands, or his plush lips and how he always absentmindedly licks away at them or how—you get the idea. But being sick doesn't help, being physically weak and needing rest doesn't stop your mind from running wild. Made it worse, actually, since you have nothing to do but lay in your bed all day. If only he’d slide right next to you under your covers and—

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jake interrupts your thoughts, a hint of amusement shining through his smooth tone. You look up to him hopefully, breath caught in your chest fearing the next few words he's about to say. “And you’re still too sick.”

Really not being dramatic, but you're pretty sure a boulder just crushed you right on your chest. You groan, turning to the other side so you can properly sulk without having to look at Jake’s stupidly handsome face. A face you'd love to ride as soon as possible.

“No like, you actually hate me,” your voice is muffled by the pillow currently squished against your face.

“What are you even doing.”

“Trying to suffocate myself since my man hates me.” You grab the sides of the pillow and push them to cover your ears, making Jake erupt in a fit of boyish giggles. 

“No I don’t, just want you to feel better first,” he whispers, and the loving tone makes your body feel light.

You suddenly push yourself up with your arms to look at him, nest of hair a mess from the speed of your movement. “I would feel sooo much better with your fingers deep inside me right now.”

He looks at you for a moment, really looks at you, assessing what to do in this situation. He too misses your touch, far more than what he lets on. Even just sleeping next to you—a pillow fortress separating you two by your request—turned out to be too much for him on multiple occasions. He often found himself silently sneaking out of bed to go and take care of his sudden little problems in the bathroom, trying not to wake you up because he knew if you caught him he wouldn't be able to get out of your claws.

And you really need the rest.

As if sensing his resolve wavering, you add, “don’t I deserve a little reward?”

“A reward… for what?” Jake is thoroughly amused by your desperation. You rarely ever get like this, and he enjoys every second of it. You can tell because he's pushing it a little farther than what he usually would, ending up punishing himself a little along the way too. On any other occasion he would've been all over you before you could even finish your sentence. But Jake doesn't care, not when he doesn't know when the next time he gets to hear you beg a little for him is gonna be.

“Well of course! For having fought this fever tooth and nail and having come out of it alive.”

“You still have a fever though,” he says. “Could kick your ass right down at any given moment.”

“That.” You glare at him with all the fake anger you can muster up. “Is such a mean thing to even suggest.”

“Don’t you care about me getting sick? Made a scene all week and now you’re okay with me touching you?”

“First of all—I only made you keep the pillows between us the first two days. And like I told you, I feel better, so if—” the words die in your throat as you feet the bed dip underneath the weight of Jake’s knee.

"No, no. Keep talking." He slowly gets under the covers, and it's not because he's testing your reaction. His presence felt different, the soft look in his eyes overtaken by something more primal, and you couldn't help but feel like prey under his watchful gaze. It felt intimidating in a way you weren’t used to. It made you squeeze your legs together in search of any friction, your already feverish skin somehow feeling even hotter.

You try to hide the way you gulp, eyes still fixed on his body as he gets comfortable on his side, facing you.

“Maybe you’re right,” Jake whispers against your cheek, his nose rubbing for a moment on your skin as he sneaks an arm underneath your body, pulling you flush to his chest. Even just that single touch sends an electrifying shiver down your spine. “Since you’re fully capable of talking my ear off…”

You reach for his hand wrapped comfortably around your waist and guide it down to cup your heat through your thin shorts, your own hand resting on top of his as you grind against it.

"I suppose you've had enough rest."

You take notice of how his breath hitches in his throat, his carefully crafted mask of calmness slipping as you use his hand. The illusion wears off even more when he tries to hide it with a gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. You know he wants it just as bad as you do, you're just willing to beg for it as long as it gets you what you want.

“I’ll—” you gasp when he flexes his fingers that tiny little bit you need to be able to feel them press against your fluttering hole. “I’ll do anything, just please make me cum.”

“Anything?” his voice is light and airy as he moves the fabric of the shorts out of his way. A deep chuckle tickles your neck, Jake’s mouth dipping down do leave open mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin.

“Anything, just… please,” you whine, flexing your neck to allow him more space, his tongue dipping to lick a stripe down to the juncture of your neck.

Had you not been so deprived of Jake’s touch, you would have found the way you're grinding up against his hand and moaning in his ear almost embarrassing. But you're desperate, so you can't bring yourself to care too much about how pathetic you probably look to anyone else.

The only people in the room are you and Jake anyway, and he seems to be thoroughly enjoying it. His cock is stiff in his sweats, almost painfully so, from feeling how wet you are through your shorts. Dripping already and he barely touched you.

"You're so fucking hot. You know that?" Jake nibbles the shell of your ear, making you arch further in his hold. “You'll do anything you said? How about you take your medicine then?” He moves his hand from your mound to grip your thigh, ignoring your weak attempts at clawing his arm to get the little taste of pleasure he took away from you back.

He kisses his teeth, eyebrows furrowing in faux disapproval. “Use your words. What will you do?”

“Take my medicine,” you whimper, looking into your boyfriend's eyes despite the tears aligning your waterline, and finding amusement swimming through his gaze. Little piece of shit. Not that you were about to complain or anything.

“Theeeere we go,” Jake sings in your ear, placing a soft kiss behind it before dipping down once again and resuming his sweet torture. “You can be good once in a while.”

You nod, lips thinning to keep quiet as if any wrong sound could make him change his mind and leave you hanging. The hand that was drawing circles on your thigh comes up to hold your chin, carefully tilting it away from Jake’s mouth as he sucks on a particularly sensitive spot on your skin. He smooths over your lips with his thumb, coaxing them to part once again.

“Let me hear how good you feel, baby,” he mumbles, mouth still latched on your neck, before taking a strong whiff off your scent. Had you not been so distracted by the wetness seeping out of your clenching hole and soaking your panties, you would've noticed how his eyes rolled all the way back in his skull at your smell.

His free hand finally slides under your shorts,and a gasp leaves you because of how cold he feels. Jake is always warmer than you, but your fever makes it so his touch feels icy against your skin. Your back arches slightly when one of his digits parts your sopping folds, your sensitivity heightened by the unusual difference of temperature.

“Poor little thing, she’s got a fever too,” he giggles into your neck, another digit joining in as he slowly drags them from your clit to your hole to coat them in your juices. “But it’s okay, I’ll help her feel better.”

Usually, his stupid little jokes would’ve made you groan and push his face away. But this time—blame his voice for being deeper and hoarser than normal, or blame your fever—it makes you clench around nothing, cunt feeling emptier than ever while he takes his sweet time playing with you, savoring the moment.

Your head digs deeper into the pillow, hips lifting from the bed to follow Jake’s torturous movements, desperate to feel something more.

“So needy…” he breathes into your neck and goes back to placing sloppy open mouthed kisses wherever he can reach.

A yelp leaves your mouth, eyes you didn't even notice you closed shooting open when Jake bites down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, just enough to rip you out of the trance you were quickly falling into. He smooths over the little bite mark with this tongue, a tingly sensation overtaking the pain in a matter of seconds, the pleasure overriding anything else. 

Jake finally prods two of his digits into your hole, testing the waters, still careful not to push you too hard so soon. But your reaction is instantaneous, cunt fluttering against his fingertips right away. He has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep most of his noises in. “God… I fucking love it when you act like a little slut.”

Jake is so fucking turned on, he can barely think about anything but your pussy. The only thought in his mind is get her off, make her feel good, get a taste of her sweet cunt, sweet pretty and oh so delicious cunt… like a broken record. He feels like he was born for this and this only, as if his mission in life is just that of pleasing you. And to think he had deprived himself of such bliss for even a few days… Something in you seems different to him, almost animalistic, from the way you rut your hips against his hand as soon as he starts scissoring his fingers inside you, to the way you aren't even trying to hold in your moans like you usually would, mouth hanging open with a string of drool attached to your lips. And this is just from his fingers, he can do so much worse.

You yourself aren't doing any better, your brain basically turned to mush as you help Jake get you off by essentially riding his fingers, despite how weak you feel from the fever. His fingers are so long, hitting all the right spots you know you could never be able to reach by yourself, and his thick knuckles drag against your walls so deliciously.

“S-so good,” you gasp when he turns his fingers just the right way, hitting the spot he knows has you coming undone in just a few strokes.

The room is filled with the slapping sounds of his palm against your drenched cunt, more and more slick dripping down your thighs and onto the bed with every flick of his wrist, making it all that much more obscene and filthy. You can feel the familiar pressure building up in your tummy, and suddenly the overwhelming need to just grab onto something crashes on you, heavy and almost painful. You claw at his shirt, eyebrows furrowed in deep pleasure, unaware of the fact that Jake is not facing you anymore.

He looks at the comforter, over his shoulder. The cap filled with syrup is still there amidst the mess. He twists his body to grab it, careful not to slow down the relentless pace he's fingerfucking your cunt at. A few drops of the liquid spill onto his shirt as he takes a sip of it, a grimace overtaking his features as he tries his best to hold it in his mouth. You're still a moaning mess by his side, tiny brain turned to putty to the point you don't even register anything else happening around you, so hyper focused on the pleasure your boyfriend is providing you with.

“J-Jake, I’m so close.”

Perfect timing.

Jake grabs your jaw to turn your head towards his, applying the pressure you've learned means it is time to part your pretty lips and take his spit, like the good well behaved girl he know you to be. And you do just that; immediately following his movements like he trained you to, tongue sticking out too for good measure.

He bends down slightly to aim better, but this time, instead of the slightly bitter taste of his saliva you expect, he lets small amounts of medicine fall on your tongue.

You uselessly try to back away from him, but he holds you in place, fingers still working inside your cunt. Nor does he allow you to close your mouth despite your surprised gasp. His hand holds your jaw open, grasp getting firmer every time you try to break free from it. After all, you made a promise, and Jake's going to make sure you fulfill it.

“You weren't going to take it, huh?” Jake mouths against your lips once he makes sure you swallowed every last drop of the thick honeyed syrup, holding eye contact with you through it all, fingers never once slowing down their pace. “Little dumb pet thinks she can outsmart me.”

He smashes his mouth on yours, not so much a kiss but a silencing of any complaint you're about to spit at him. Those turn to even more whines when he finally brings his thumb to your clit, drawing harsh circles on it as he fucks you to your orgasm. It's almost instantaneous, you were so close already, his stiff cock rubbing against your thigh and his pants hot in your mouth, but his thumb so cold against your neglected clit.

“That’s it baby, so good for me, yeah.” Jake’s fingers gradually slow down inside you, making sure you got every last bit of pleasure you could possibly experience from this high. He too relishes in how your cunt pulses around his digits, making it harder to move them inside you. Oh, he wishes it was his cock being constricted like that instead, but that can wait.

You finally feel like you can breathe again, chest heaving to catch in as much air as you possibly can, forehead all sweaty from the exertion.

The sheets are drenched around you, and you can't even pinpoint when it happened, but you can immediately tell you aren't the only one who made a mess. Your gaze wanders to Jake’s pants, and a very evident stain on his crotch catches your attention. And fuck, if you aren't ready to do it all over again.

Jake looks absolutely divine; hair disheveled and soaked from the sweat, boxers and sweatpants full of cum. A waste, truly.

You sneak your hand in his pants, ignoring the loud hiss from overstimulation Jake lets out when you wrap your hand around his cock and pump a few times, your thumb swiping on his exposed head to collect some of the cum covering it.

Jake watches you, mouth ajar and cock stiffening again right away, as you lick your fingers clean. He slides his own fingers out of your cunt, lapping at them like a man starved, hoping to work you up just as much as you did him. His heart races in his chest as you keep looking at him, a little smile playing on your lips.

“That was so…” you speak up, giggling when Jake interrupts you by throwing himself over your figure, capturing your lips in an actual kiss this time. A very messy, very wet kiss. Allowing you to savor your own taste mixed with his and sweetened by the medicine.

“I think the word you’re looking for is hot.”

“Dramatic,” you interjected. “So, so dramatic.”

Jake curls an eyebrow at you. “You were the one acting like it’d kill you to swallow some syrup. And actually, let’s not forget–” He places a quick kiss on your nose before pushing you against the mattress further, his entire weight on you. “Ohhh no Jake! Please my Jakey! If I don’t get your cock right now I will DIE!”

“Well I still hav–” 

“And won’t.” he deadpans, sensing where you're trying to stir the conversation. “But I’ve got a few ideas.”

You smile to yourself, feeling feather light kisses making their way down your body, with his messy hair tickling your skin every so often. He places a soft kiss on your mound, whining dramatically when you grab a few strands of his hair to stop him. He rests his head on your thigh, puppy-like eyes looking up at you, almost pleading for permission to continue what he started.

“I really don’t want you to get sick,” you say, voice coming out in a whisper full of care, your fingertips playing with his hair and enjoying the way he nuzzles his head further against your skin.

“Well if I were to get sick by touching you… I’d say the deal is sealed by now, no?” He places another kiss on your thigh, teeth slightly grazing the plush skin when you take too long to contemplate whether to give in or not. “Actually, I think some of this syrup would heal me right now.”

“Jake. I’m being serious.”

“What could I possibly even catch from eating you out that I haven't already by exchanging spit with you? Best pussy in the world disease?” He laughs at his own joke, gaining a roll of the eyes from you. “Let me tell you, the chances of that happening are close to zero anyway. I don’t have a pussy but I am the proud owner of a very fat co–”

“You are downright insufferable.”

“Okay so shut me up with a mouthful of this pu–”

The rest of the sentence is muffled against your mound as you push his head down, deciding you heard enough for the day. And the week.

“Okay, okay. Go on,” you giggle as you lay back once again, a deep sigh following as soon as his expert tongue makes contact with your cunt.

Jake's movements are slow and deliberate at first, as he takes his sweet time collecting all of the slick coating your lips and smearing it all over your skin. It's methodical in a way Jake very rarely is, nothing like the primal and messy mixing of his own spit with your arousal and grunting noises you're so used to. When he gets like this, it's purely to tease you.

You grab a fistful of his hair, the strands soft in your hand, and raise his head to force him to look at you.

You almost regret it when you're met with the sight of him licking his lips, his plump lips spreading in a grin that looks almost evil. His irises are entirely drowning in the dark of his pupils, and you'd be lying if you said it doesn't send a chill down your spine. The good kind, the type that also makes you clench your thighs against his frame.

"If you're gonna beg me to eat me out," you say, finding your strength again and being careful not to let Jake see any weakness on your features. "You better do it properly."

You try to keep a straight face when he erupts in a fit of giggles.

"Oooh, look at you—" he starts, clearly amused by your attempt to assert dominance. "I know what I'm doing. You know I know what I'm doing. It just seems to me that I've spoiled the princess a little too much lately." He lowers his head to your thighs, and litters soft kisses as he makes himself comfortable again. Somewhere along the lines, the harsh hold you had on his hair turned into your hand dragging him closer, but you can't pinpoint the exact moment.

Or you just really don't care to know, not when Jake starts lapping up at your cunt like he's starving.

"You taste so delicious, baby," he moans between licks, his nose pressing further into your heat with every movement of his. "So much better than any medicine. Fuck—you're gonna be my little cure from now on. Every time I'm sick, I'll just let you open your legs for me. You'd let me, baby. Wouldn't you?"

You nod vehemently, before realizing he can't see you. "Yes, please use me," you moan, spreading your thighs as far as you can while pushing his head closer to you, even when it's almost physically impossible for Jake to even breathe. Not that he would have it any other way.

The grip on his hair, the way you push and pull at it as if you have any command over the stimulation he's giving you, the way you sing for him with every flick of his tongue. It all makes Jake's head spin in the best way possible, his cock stiff again in his pants and throbbing against the very fabric he ruined with his cum only minutes before.

He grunts and moans into you, like he's the one being pleasured, and it all adds to the magic Jake is working on you. The vibrations only aiding in inching you closer to the second orgasm of the day.

"Jake, I'm close, please."

You don't need to say anything else, because he parts from your cunt for a single second. Just enough to let a gobble of his spit drip down right on your engorged clit, coating it in more shiny essence.

You're about the complain about the lack of stimulation, but he dives right back in, licking a singular stripe from your poor mess a of hole upwards. He can taste the remains of the syrup in his own spit still, and paired with the straight up divine taste of your own slick, Jake thinks he might be in heaven.

"So sweet, baby. So fucking sweet. It's like you want me to never stop fucking you with my tongue." He catches your little bundle of nerves between his raw lips, already wet with spit, suckling on it like he's trying to coax even more wetness out of you. He swirls his tongue around it, his eyebrows furrowing in both pleasure and concentration as he keeps toying and prodding at every single part of your pussy.

You're so unbelievably close to coming undone, every passing second just bringing you closer to the brink. All it takes to send you over the edge is Jake moaning with your numb right in his mouth, the small vibrations from it all you needed for the searing white feeling to envelop you completely, the familiar silent yet still deafening tingly sensation spreading from your core to all the limbs in your body.

Jake keeps lapping up all your generous body gives him, thankful for it all and careful not to let a single drop go to waste.

Your arm is thrown over your eyes as you catch your breath, this second orgasm completely emptying you of whatever energy you had left. Usually you would offer Jake to help him out as a little thank you, even though he told you time and time again that it wasn't needed and pleasing you what was got him off in the first place.

But as much as you denied it initially, the fever did take a toll on you, more than you would like to admit. So any further activity would have to wait.

"Yummy." Jake comes up from below you, drying the bottom half of his face with the back of his hand. Even if you're tired and spent, the comment is enough to make you remove your arm from your eyes just so you can give him a well deserved death stare.

He gets up from the bed, disappearing for a few seconds into the bathroom. "What's with that look? No 'thank you Jake, you're the best?'"

When you don't reply, far too weakened to even try to banter with your boyfriend, he walks back into the room with a towel and a worried look etched on his gorgeous features.

He gets on the bed again, careful not to move your body more than necessary, and starts cleaning you up with the gentlest touch you've ever felt him use. "Did i tire you out too much? You're still sick—"

"You were great. Don't worry," you stop his train of thoughts you knew you wouldn't hear the end of if you let him go on for any longer. "I just need a nap, then I'll be as good as new."

The tension in Jake's shoulders only disappears once you smile at him, his own face morphing to match your own. It's one of your favorite things about him, how he's so careful and attentive to every hint and feeling on your face, he ends up mirroring them without even noticing.

He runs his hands soothingly all over your skin as he resumes cleaning you up, the room falling into a peaceful silence.

You almost fall asleep, but you should've known Sim Jake shutting up for once was far too good to be true.

"Look at the mess you made though. This is enough to start an entire pharmacy."

[heeseung64]

If you're taking requests could you pls write about Jake's nose. Like maybe reader wanting to ride his nose for so long but she can't directly say it to his face cause she's shy but then one day she blurts it out and Jake's like all turned on and ready to please her?? 🫢

LONG RIDE

jake knew why you liked big noses. he just wanted you to say it.

bsf jake x reader. face riding cmon yall. smut! mdni! body worship and praise. jake is such a menace. munch agenda. short n sweet.

"that's soo fucking weird!" jay points out, "i've never had a girl say she'd wanna ride my nose." your tipsy group of friends simmer into disputes, stating their own arguments. it all started when everyone stated stating their weird bodily attractions in a circle. you said you liked big noses, both for the form and it's function. your girls were validating you, the guys were grimacing. "okay but imagine it though-" jake chokes, "she gets off to you. on you." there was crickets for a while before laughter. "-or maybe you don't have the shape-"

jake's eyes flicker to yours, you dared to not look back. especially when he's the reason why you've come to this conclusion.

“you guys are so- fucking unserious,” sunghoon says flatly, trying not to laugh. the night thins after, and almost everyone had left your apartment. almost. everyone. there was still a figure, picking up bottles on your balcony while you cleaned dishes under the warm light and faint rnb. you didn't want to focus on whatever vibes he's weirdly picked up from you. you can tell. and you hate the way how he can see through you. the way you look away after you catch him staring into the mirror, outlining the peak of his nose bridge. the way he snuggled his nose-tip into your collarbone when reaching over for more food. embarrassing. and now you can't even fucking face him.

you try to feel busy, be busy, act like fluffing your pillows on the couch were necessary. until-

a small nudge to your hip.

you peek. jake. of course. bowed next to you with a dumb little smile. it’s always that smile. the i-know-you-too-well one. the one that’s gotten you into too many 2am snack runs and “just one drink” nights. he taps your knee. “wanna go upstairs?” you narrow your eyes. “why.” “‘cause i brought my projector. and if i watch a movie in that living room i’ll get sleepy. you know how i am.” "and my bed doesn't make you sleepy?" "nope!"

you sigh. dramatic. “fine. but if you try to bring up the nose thing-"

“would never.”

embarrassing. you follow jake up to your own room anyway. because you always do. always have. always will. the two of you sit atop of your bed, metal frame creaking as jake spreads his legs for you to sit in between, his chest hugging your frame as the projector flickers to a dumb youtube video. neither of you say a word. long deep sighs and the clearing of throats when ads roll through. you can feel him waiting. ticking, fidgeting while he scrolls through reels- sighing when you adjust yourself. you feel yourself get antsy. like the elephant is waiting to be adressed and you're still denying it;

so you finally blurt it. halfly.

“okay when everyone pressured me and i looked at you i didn't mean- like-i mean, like, you have a nice nose. and you always knew i though that. but like- fuck! please don't tease about it. but like. i mean i-"

"who did you think about?"

"what?" you turn around to face him properly, hands either side of his thighs. the projector lights flicker on his face as his eyelashes bat low to meet yours. "what do you mean?" you ask again.

"i don't care if you like noses. what i care about is when you said it, who-" he looks up, sighing a lil in frustration. "never mind."

'never mind'. whenever jake says that or dismisses it, he only means for you to finish his sentence. you fumble, you avert eyes, you clear your throat. you feel the heat, looking down at your hands.

"you."

jake halts. "you- what?"

"i think about riding you. your nose. you." you mumble so clear to his ears. your tummy flips, and you clench your thighs so embarrassingly stupid you slam your face into your palms. "for how long?" he blurts, biting his cheek while his hands creep up to your sides. "how fucking long have you been thinking like that? about me? y/n. don't fucking play-"

"since forever. holy shit-" you blurt, pushing him away, "i-i'm so sorry jakey i don't wanna be a weirdo but-"

"a weirdo? did you fucking hear me defend you from jay?-" "i thought you were just egging me on-" "i've been fucking WAITING for you to say it."

jake reaches for your waist, turning and pushing you against the headboard. the projector was blurred nonsense in the background as his body lowers to meet you, dominating, peering. "say it again. say you want to ride my nose. i'll fucking give you everything you ever wanted, baby."

"don't call me that, yunie.."

"i can fucking call you whatever i want." he's mean. a new found confidence lies under his smug grin when he forcefully plops you onto his lap. he even had the audacity to shrug off your cardigan to reveal your plush pyjamas that tightly wrapped around you. "say it, baby."

you look away from him, and in that moment, he lowers his face down, trying to catch your shy eyes while his nose grazes your cheeks, your jaw and your lips. "c'mon baby, say it," he whispers desperately. "please.."

you look at him, blush creeping onto your cheeks. you feel his length against your ass, the throb of his member tying in with the shit-eating grin of cockiness to ever exist.

"i-i wanna ride your nose," you mumble into his ear,

"please.."

". . ."

the confession was enough for him to shuffle his body flat on the bed and palm your bottoms, and your begging made it worse. he growls, literally growls and gropes your tits until you gasp. "sorry y/n, literally just fucking sit on me i-- please-" his mouth agapes when he sees your cute brows twist up while he pants with desperation.

"i wanna make you cum on my fucking face."

"fuck!" you cry, feeling your panty slicken as he dry humps your core through your frilly undergarments. he can't hide it. the way he's smiling through his bitten lips and creased brows. he can't fucking hide it the way he's been wanting it. "mm. fuck- y/n." he groans, "so wet, all for me." you knew jake was a fucking pervert, you felt his eyes only on you way before you began to deny it. you squirm under his touch, still anchoring on his lap while a finger catches your slick to lick.

"jakey..." you whimper, and he melts, cock still hard, now irritated. he clamps you down until the zip goes undone on itself from him rubbing you on his crotch. "s-wanna make your dreams come true." he grottles. "baby. please. fuck- just." he mutters.

"sit on me." he begs.

and so you do, lowering down slowly still in your panties as he clamps you down himself, "sit." he begs, pushing your weight down onto him as you feel the vibrations of his moans against your core. his nose digs into your clit, rubbing against the fabric, rubbing against you as you slowly tilt your hips to grind on him. he slaps yours ass before ripping your panties to the side. "s-so eager.." you mumble, and he grips your thighs until you yelp in response. you're moaning through his fucking noises, his lips sloppy, slowly licking long strides against your folds while his nose catches your slick and rubs figures on your clit. "i-i'm sensitive! jakey-" "good." his muffled response got you twitching with ease, perky tits and hard nipples rubbing against the headboard as you look down at the view, his brows peaking out and creasing in the way that which you know, he's enjoying it.

your hips shift slightly rough, tentative, testingg the waters. the weight of his hands on your thighs doesn’t falter, digging into you, holding you just firm enough to remind you he’s still there, still sloppily exploring your folds before your own mouth. still looking at you like you’re some kind of divine miracle; like he’s been starving for years. you shiver. his breath fans across your skin, uneven and warm, and your fingers rest against his hair, tangling, tugging when he nudges deeper into your clit. he pauses, pressing the slightest kiss to the inside of your thigh and you gasp, not because it surprises you, but because of how gentle it is. like reverence. like a prayer. he looks at you as he stops, cock throbbing in his undone pants, hands unwaveringly still on your thighs as he gropes them, wanting more. waiting, for you to respond.

“jake,” you whisper, breathless, not knowing what you’re asking for. not knowing if you’re asking him to stop or to keep going or to never move again.

from beneath his lashes, cheeks flushed and lips parted, your tummy churns at the sight of his soft features pink and flustered, eyes eager and submitting at your body. you've never seen this perspective of him- and to feel it? so fucking hot your breathe unevens. even with the way his grip tightens, even with how wrecked his breathing sounds, even with how his eyes are glazed over like you’re the only thing he sees. “you’re doing so good." your chest tightens at your own words, and you try to breathe through it. you try to stay focused, but the room feels too hot, your head too light, and all you can feel is the press of his fucking mouth and the tremble in your own legs.

you then try to form a sentence. something. anything.

but all that slips out is a broken moan and his name again, breathier this time. more vulnerable. more undone when he pushes you off of him, landing you on your back as as towers over you. he peppers kisses on your stomach, and you see his face glisten under the projector lights, painted in your own clumsy wetness. he kisses your thighs, whispering filthy praises as he bites the side for a while. he lifts your thighs onto his shoulders, you pant. "fuck jake.. you're so hot."

he knows.

he hums at that, clearly pleased, clearly affected, and it sends a sensitive vibration through you that makes your thighs tighten instinctively around his shoulders. he doesn’t move. if anything, he pushes his rough tongue in further, lets himself sink into it. "been dreaming about this fucking pussy." he groans against your walls, his soft eyes tearing up at the side of his hands and lips kissing your beautiful core. "let me be yours, please. fuck."

“i'll be so good. let me fuck you, let me eat you. fuck! i’ve got you. i promise.” jake practically begs while he laps at you. you clench around his head, tugging onto his strands while he deliberately uses his bridge to rile up your swollen clit. your moans only power him, your hands move down to his cheeks, cupping him gently, and you tilt his face up. he looks dazed, wrecked, so far gone, and yet, completely focused on you.

the momentum starts to cave at a pace that makes you tremble, and jake's getting confident. way more confident.

you breathe in, eyes starting to sting at the corners from the intensity of it all, from the way he’s looking at you like you’re everything. like this moment is everything. you whimper.

“yunie-,” you say again, trembling. “i think i’m gonna-"

he nods like he already knows, like he’s been waiting for it, like he’s been holding himself back just to let you fall apart the way you need to. not rushed. not forced. he continues to lap onto you, through your shaky breaths and broken moans, your hips stuttering into his face while he precums into his briefs.

your fingers coil tighter in his hair. your back arches. and you let yourself break loud, you cum with a guttural moan that shakes your whole body to jerk up while sweet jake moans into your core, feeling your heat wash up against him. he continues to rub circles with his tongue, kissing the sides of your folds as you try to calm down. jake's hands left imprints on your thighs and waist, and he reclaims those mouldings again when you look at him like you've reached nirvana. "i just came. in- fuck- i just came in my pants." he slightly chuckles, breathless as you reach for his warmth.

quieter, jake kisses the inside of your thighs before reaching your chin. he tilts them to his face, and you see his nose, lips and chin glossy with your mess. he's awkward, smiling, pink and his eyes are pleading, hungry but, pleading. "can i get a kiss?"

"you let me sit on your nose, ride your face til i came in your mouth but you're shy to kiss me now?" "i just wanted to be romantic-" "you've kissed me so many times before-" "those are 'best friend kisses'-" "'best friend kisses' aren't real. you made that up nine years ago." "what about a 'boyfriend kiss'?" "..."

jake whines playfully, brows knitting as he nuzzles closer into your neck, kissing your jawline before he reaches your lips. he looks at them with thirst, looking back into your eyes. "i want my kiss.." and so you kiss him relentlessly, years of tension finally unsettling like the first wave of climax sent to shake down your body. you feel heat pool again when you straddle him, legs still a little firm to control. your slick panty gets thrown off to the side, and you strip your thin pyjamas, watching jake's eyes dart to your cute tits and flushed face.

"jakey," you pause, eyes daring to look up at him dangerously, "now let me ride your cock." you watch his brows spring up, smirk on display as he lowers down to kiss you, deep and rough. "that's my good girl. using her words."

and the night was longer than it seemed.

m: bello did u miss me 😋

perms + tags!

@nikiswifiee @ancnymcnzjy @ja4hyvn @17ericas @hoonieyun @jellyluv4eva @wheretheheckis-ssaki @hyukabeanie @gxwesn @tojiworshipper @wonuziex @jaerisdiction @luhvletters @hoon2f4ded @enhanoa @ikeu05 @tokkisluv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @p--j--s--j @ilovhoonie @laylasbunbunny @fairystudio @mxxrtality

@nekobbin @astronomicalastro-blog1 @enhzzlvr1009 @82sim

[lv3jkey]

can i request jake licking his own cum out of reader’s c00ch after he creampied her teehee

I wrote... but I made a little surprise, I hope you like it 🫢

𝐼'𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 , 𝐽𝑎𝑘𝑒

⤷ at the beginning of the relationship he was a totally romantic guy, but now he’s totally dirty

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ husband! jake × fem!reader

₊ ⊹ explicit sexual content, consensual breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, possessive language, mild cum play, intense emotional intimacy, mentions of pregnancy and trying to conceive

You lie there on the messed-up sheets, thighs still trembling from the way Jake just wrecked you. Your pussy is throbbing, swollen, absolutely dripping with his thick load, the warmth of it leaking out slow and filthy down your ass crack onto the bed. He’s hovering over you, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and glistening with your cream and his cum smeared all over it. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, that cocky little smirk on his lips like he knows exactly what he’s about to do to you next.

He drops down between your legs without a word, spreads your sticky thighs wider with rough hands, and just stares at your ruined cunt for a second. “Fuck, look at that,” he mutters, voice low and raspy. “Look at my cum pouring out of this pretty little hole. You’re fucking wrecked, baby.”

You feel the air hit your sensitive clit and you whimper, hips jerking. He chuckles darkly, leans in, and drags his tongue in one slow, nasty stripe from your leaking entrance all the way up to your clit. The taste of himself mixed with you hits his tongue and he groans like a starving man, eyes rolling back a little. “Taste so fucking good together,” he growls against your folds, lips already shiny with the mess.

Then he really goes for it. He shoves his tongue deep inside you, curling it, scooping his own hot load out of your pulsing walls like he’s desperate for it. You can feel every flick, every greedy lick as he eats his own creampie straight out of your cunt. Wet, sloppy sounds fill the room, his mouth sucking loudly on your over-fucked hole, swallowing down every drop he can get. Cum and your juices smear across his lips, his chin, dripping down his neck, but he doesn’t care. He’s moaning into you, hips grinding against the mattress because he’s already getting hard again just from the taste.

“Push it out for me, sweetheart,” he rasps, pulling back just long enough to watch another fat glob of his cum ooze out of you. “Push my fucking load into my mouth.”

You bear down, shaking, and you feel it drip heavy and warm right onto his waiting tongue. He catches it, groans deep in his chest, then dives back in like an animal, tongue-fucking you, nose buried in your clit, licking and swallowing until your pussy is fluttering around nothing and you’re sobbing from how sensitive you are.

He keeps going until he’s licked you completely clean, until the only thing left dripping out of you is fresh slick from how turned on you are again. When he finally pulls back, his face is a fucking mess: lips swollen, chin dripping, cum streaked across his cheek. He grins up at you, wicked and satisfied, licks his lips slow and deliberate.

“Love eating my cum out of this perfect little cunt,” he says, voice hoarse. “Could do it all fucking night.”

He crawls up your body slow, still licking the taste of both of you off his lips, eyes locked on yours like he can’t believe you’re real. His fingers slide up your thigh, smearing the last traces of wetness, and he collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest. The room is quiet except for your breathing, heavy and synced, hearts hammering against each other.

You feel his lips brush your temple, soft now, nothing like the animal that just devoured you. “You okay?” he whispers, voice rough from moaning into your pussy. His hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek. “Wasn’t too much?”

You shake your head, turning to bury your face in his neck, tasting salt and sex on his skin. “No. It was perfect. You’re perfect.” Your voice cracks a little, because suddenly it’s not just about the filthy thing he just did. It’s about how he looked at you while he did it, like you were everything.

He exhales shakily, like your words hit him somewhere deep. “Fuck, I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “The way you let me… the way you trust me with every dirty, fucked-up thing I wanna do to you… I’m so fucking in love with you it hurts.”

Your breath catches. He’s never said it like that before, raw and trembling, no smirk, no joke to hide behind.

You kiss him slow, tasting the both of you on his tongue, and whisper it back against his lips. “I love you too. So much it scares me sometimes.”

His arms tighten around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You stay like that, tangled, whispering things you’ve never said out loud before: how he makes you feel safe even when he’s ruining you, how you’ve never wanted anyone the way you want him, how you’re terrified of ever losing this.

And then, without warning, the lights flicker once, twice, and die.

Everything goes black.

For a second you both freeze, then he laughs softly against your mouth. “Of course. Of fucking course the power goes out right now.”

But outside, thunder rumbles low and heavy, and suddenly rain starts slamming against the windows like the sky’s been holding it in for months. It’s loud, violent, beautiful. The room flashes white with lightning, and in that split second you see his face, eyes wide, rain-blue, staring at you like you’re the only thing left in the world.

He pulls the blanket up over both of you as the temperature drops, cocooning you in warmth and the smell of sex and him. The rain hammers harder, drowning out everything but your breathing and the low growl of thunder.

He kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, like he’s trying to crawl inside your soul. His hand slides down to rest over your heart, feeling it race. “Listen to that,” he whispers against your lips as another crack of thunder shakes the walls. “Sounds like the world’s ending. And I’m here with you. Nothing else matters.”

You thread your fingers through his damp hair, pull him closer. The rain is a roar now, sheets of it blasting the windows, wind howling like it wants in. But inside, under the blanket, it’s just you and him, skin to skin, hearts pounding in sync.

“I want this forever,” you breathe, voice shaking with how much you mean it. “You and me. Like this. Even when the lights go out. Even when everything falls apart.”

He makes this broken sound, half laugh, half sob, and kisses you like he’s sealing a vow. “Then it’s yours. I’m yours. Storm or no storm. Lights or no lights. Every filthy, desperate, soft, insane second of it.”

Lightning flashes again, lighting up the room, and you see tears in his eyes that have nothing to do with the rain outside.

The thunder rolls, the rain never stops, and you fall asleep like that: wrapped around each other, cum-dried and love-drunk, while the world outside tries to tear itself apart and fails.

Because nothing, not even the end of the world, could touch what you have right now.

The rain is still pounding when you hear it: small, hiccuping sobs and the soft patter of bare feet on the stairs.

Jake freezes mid-kiss, lips still against yours, and you feel his whole body go rigid. Another sob, louder this time, followed by a tiny, broken voice.

“Daddy…?”

He’s up in half a second, yanking the blanket around his waist as he scrambles for the bedroom door. You grab his t-shirt from the floor and pull it over your head; it falls to your thighs, still warm from his body and smelling like him. The hallway is pitch black, lightning flashing hard enough to strobe the walls white.

You both reach the top of the stairs at the same time.

There she is: his little girl, four years old, curls wild from sleep, clutching her stuffed bunny so tight the ears are bent. Tears are streaming down her round cheeks, lit up every time the sky cracks open. She’s shaking.

“Daddy, the thunder’s so loud,” she whimpers, bottom lip trembling. “It’s scary. I had a bad dream and the lights went away and I’m cold.”

Jake drops to his knees right there on the landing, blanket forgotten, and scoops her up like she weighs nothing. She buries her face in his neck instantly, legs wrapping around his waist, little fists clutching his shoulders.

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you,” he murmurs into her hair, voice soft in a way that makes your chest ache. “Daddy’s here. You’re safe, I promise.”

You step closer, heart in your throat, and she peeks out from his neck when she hears your footsteps. Her eyes are huge and red-rimmed.

You open your arms without thinking. “Come here, sweet girl. It’s okay.”

She reaches for you immediately, and Jake passes her over. She clings to you just as tight, face pressed to your collarbone, bunny squished between you. She’s freezing; her little toes are ice against your thigh.

Jake stands up, grabs the blanket from the floor, and wraps it around all three of you as he presses in close behind you, arms circling both of you like a shield. The thunder booms again and she flinches hard, crying harder into your neck.

“It’s just the sky being loud, baby,” he whispers against her curls, kissing the top of her head over and over. “It can’t get inside. It can’t touch you. We won’t let it.”

You sway with her gently, rocking side to side the way you’ve seen him do a hundred times. “Want to come sleep with us tonight?” you ask softly. “Big bed, all warm, Daddy and me on both sides so the thunder can’t find you.”

She nods against your chest, sniffling. “Can Mr. Flopsy come too?”

“Of course,” Jake says, voice thick. He kisses her damp cheek, then your shoulder, lingering there like he’s thanking you without words.

You carry her back to the bedroom, Jake’s hand on the small of your back guiding you through the dark. The rain is a steady roar now, softer, almost like a lullaby. Lightning still flashes, but it feels far away under the blanket cocoon you make in the middle of the bed.

She ends up between you, tiny body curled into Jake’s chest, one of her hands reaching back to hold two of your fingers like she needs both of you to feel safe. Mr. Flopsy gets tucked under her chin.

Jake meets your eyes over her head in the dim blue light of another flash. His are glassy, overwhelmed, so full of love it steals your breath. He mouths thank you, slow and deliberate.

You mouth back always.

The storm rages on outside, but inside the three of you are a warm, breathing island. Her crying turns to little hiccups, then to soft even breaths. Jake’s hand finds yours across her back, fingers lacing tight.

In the dark, with the rain drumming and thunder fading into the distance, he whispers so quietly only you can hear, “This is it. This is my whole world right here. You, her, us. I’d burn the fucking sky down before I let anything hurt either of you.”

You squeeze his hand, press a kiss to the top of his daughter’s curls, and feel the last piece of your heart click permanently into place.

The lights never come back on that night.

You don’t need them to.

The power finally flickers back on sometime around dawn, pale gray light leaking through the curtains. You wake up tangled in Jake’s arms, his daughter still curled between you like a tiny furnace, Mr. Flopsy half-buried under her cheek. The rain has slowed to a soft patter, the storm long gone.

Jake’s already awake, tracing lazy circles on your hip with his thumb, watching both of you like he’s memorizing the moment. When she stirs and blinks up at him with those big hazel eyes that are one-hundred-percent his, he smiles so soft it hurts.

“Morning, little monster,” he whispers, kissing her forehead. “Storm’s all gone.”

She yawns, stretches like a kitten, then scrambles up to sit cross-legged between you, hair sticking out in every direction. You sit up too, tugging his t-shirt down over your thighs.

“I’m hungry,” she announces, very serious.

Jake laughs under his breath. “Pancakes?”

“With the smiley faces and whipped cream,” she nods solemnly, then turns to you. “You help, please?”

You’re already sliding out of bed. “Absolutely. Let’s go make the best pancakes in the world.”

Twenty minutes later the kitchen smells like butter and vanilla. Jake’s flipping pancakes at the stove in nothing but gray sweatpants riding low on his hips, flour smeared across one shoulder blade where she “helped” him measure. You’re pouring orange juice while she sits on the counter swinging her legs, bunny tucked under one arm.

She watches Jake slide a perfect smiley-face pancake onto her plate, whipped-cream mouth and blueberry eyes, and suddenly she goes very quiet.

“Daddy,” she says, small voice cutting through the sizzle of the griddle.

He turns, spatula still in hand. “Yeah, baby?”

She twists the bunny’s ear, cheeks pink. “When am I gonna get a little sister?”

The spatula freezes mid-air. You choke on air. Jake’s eyes snap to yours over her head, wide and panicked and a little bit wrecked in the best way.

She keeps going, completely unaware of the bomb she just dropped. “Because Emma at preschool has a baby sister now and she says it’s the best. And I want one too. A tiny one. That I can teach things. And share my toys. And you said when people love each other very very much they can make a baby, and you love her,” she points at you with a sticky finger, “so much it’s gross sometimes.”

Jake’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. He looks like he’s been hit by a truck made of feelings.

You feel your face go up in flames, heart trying to climb out of your throat.

She tilts her head. “So… can we? Please? I’ll be so good. I already picked a name. If it’s a girl it’s gonna be Luna, like the moon, because the moon watched over us last night when the thunder was mean.”

Jake drops the spatula with a clatter, walks over, and lifts her off the counter into his arms like she’s made of glass. His eyes are glassy again, voice rough.

“Baby,” he says, pressing his forehead to hers, “you don’t even know how much I want that. How much we,” he looks at you, eyes shining, “want that. One day. Soon. I promise.”

She beams, wraps her arms around his neck. “Really?”

He nods, throat working. “Really. Luna’s a perfect name.”

Then she wriggles down, runs to you, hugs your legs so hard you almost fall over. “That means you’re gonna be her mommy too,” she says into your stomach, matter-of-fact, like it’s already decided. “And you’ll be the best mommy because you let me have whipped cream for breakfast and you weren’t even scared of the thunder.”

Your knees nearly give out. Jake steps up behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. You feel him trembling just slightly.

He kisses the side of your neck, whispers so only you can hear, “You okay with that, sweetheart? With her calling you mommy one day? With giving her that little sister she just ordered like it’s the easiest thing in the world?”

You turn in his arms, cup his face, thumbs brushing the wetness at the corners of his eyes.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” you whisper back.

His smile breaks wide open, raw and beautiful, and he kisses you right there in the kitchen, soft and slow and full of every promise you just made.

His daughter cheers, clapping sticky hands. “That’s a yes! Luna’s coming!”

Jake laughs through the tears he’s not even hiding anymore, scoops her up again, and the three of you end up in a pile of hugs and whipped-cream kisses while the rain finally stops outside and the sun breaks through the clouds like it heard everything and decided to celebrate too.

Pancakes get cold.

Nobody cares.

You’ve got a family to grow.

The house is quiet for once. She’s at her grandma’s for the weekend, first sleepover since the storm, and the silence feels almost loud. You’re both tiptoeing around it all day: the loaded glances across the kitchen, the way Jake’s hand keeps finding the small of your back, the way you catch him staring at your stomach like he’s already picturing it rounded with his baby.

By nightfall the air between you is electric.

He finds you in the bedroom doorway, barefoot in one of his old tour shirts, nothing underneath. The hallway light catches the hunger in his eyes when he realizes.

“Lock the door,” he says, voice low, rough, already wrecked.

You do.

He’s on you before the click finishes, backing you into the wall, mouth hot and desperate on yours. His hands slide under the shirt, palms spreading over your bare skin like he’s claiming every inch.

“Been thinking about this all fucking day,” he growls against your throat, teeth scraping. “Putting another baby in you. Giving her that little sister she asked for.”

You moan into his mouth, legs already shaking. “Do it then. Fuck me full of it.”

He groans like you just punched him, lifts you clean off the floor, and carries you to the bed. The shirt is gone before you hit the mattress. He spreads your thighs wide, stares down at your pussy already slick and swollen for him.

“Look at you,” he breathes, dragging two fingers through your folds, spreading you open. “This cunt was made to take my cum. Made to grow my babies.”

You arch up, desperate. “Jake, please—”

He doesn’t make you wait. He shoves his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock, thick and leaking at the tip, and lines up. One slow, deliberate push and he sinks into you bare, balls deep, stretching you open exactly the way you both need.

“Fuck,” he hisses, forehead pressed to yours. “Feel that? That’s me breeding you. Every inch.”

He starts moving, deep and filthy, hips rolling slow at first so you feel every drag of his cock inside you. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper.

“Harder,” you beg, nails raking down his back. “Want to feel you for days. Want it dripping out of me until it takes.”

That snaps something in him. He slams into you, bed creaking, headboard knocking the wall. The room fills with the wet slap of skin on skin, your soaked pussy taking him over and over.

“Gonna fill this pussy up,” he snarls, voice breaking with how close he already is. “Gonna pump you so full you’ll be leaking me for a week. You want that? Want me to fuck a baby into you right now?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, Jake—”

He shifts, hooks your knees over his elbows and folds you nearly in half, pounding so deep you see stars. His hand slides between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles.

“Come on my cock while I breed you,” he demands, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your tits. “Milk me, sweetheart. Take every fucking drop.”

You shatter, screaming his name, walls clamping down so hard he groans like he’s dying. He slams in once, twice, then buries himself to the root and comes with a broken sound, cock pulsing hot and thick inside you. You feel it, every spurt flooding you, painting your walls, filling you up exactly like he promised.

He doesn’t pull out. Just stays buried deep, chest heaving, lips brushing your ear.

“Stay just like this,” he whispers, voice raw. “Don’t move. Wanna keep every drop inside you.”

You nod, breathless, clinging to him. He rolls you gently so you’re on your sides, still locked together, his cock plugging you full. One big hand splays over your lower belly, possessive and reverent.

“Right here,” he murmurs, pressing down lightly, feeling where he’s still twitching inside you. “This is where she’s gonna grow. Our Luna.”

You turn your head, kiss him slow and deep, tasting salt and sex and forever.

Minutes pass, hours maybe. He gets hard again without ever leaving you, and the second time is slower, filthier, whispered dirty promises against your mouth while he grinds deep, making sure nothing leaks out.

By the time you finally fall asleep, he’s still inside you, arms locked around your waist, palm resting over the place that might already be holding the beginning of everything you both want.

Outside, the moon hangs low and full, silver light spilling across the bed like it’s keeping watch.

Like it already knows.

[sunishake]

EVERYTHING AFTER YOU — sjy [Based on the novel 'Me before you' by Jojo Moyes.]

vol 3. — a terminally ill man and his broken-hearted caretaker find unexpected love and healing. But as time runs out, their slow-burn bond becomes a bittersweet promise of forever within goodbye.

𖧧 ָ࣪ 𖧵ֹֺֽ໋໋݊ bittersweet, angst, drama, slow burn

Warning: This story contains themes of chronic illness, suicidal ideation, emotional abuse, physical abuse, and self-harm. Reader discretion is advised. If you are sensitive to these topics, please proceed with care. You are not alone—support is available. 🤍

ʚĭɞ if you liked this don't forget to check out my other works in library

It wasn’t grand, not really. Just tucked on the edge of a town that felt more like a whisper than a place. Rolling fields, a dying garden, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears too long. The air smelled faintly of pine and decay. Y/n stood at the gate, a secondhand duffel bag hanging from her shoulder, fingers curled tightly around the strap. She hadn’t moved for almost a minute.

The house stood still, quiet as if it were waiting for something to begin again. A start contrast between where she belonged and what was her purpose.

This is where it begins, she thought. Or ends. She wasn’t sure anymore. She was just tired.

At least it's better than that sketchy book store where the old shopkeeper couldn't stop groping her with his eyes or the near as hell experience she had with the last babysitting job. She ran her fingers through her rough hairs and stepped forward with her heavy steps. The evidence of the last few week's clashing was still visible on her face.

"You cannot just leech off me and then tell me to shut up, bitch!" His voice tore through the silence like shattered glass. "All I've ever done is provide for you—and in return, all I get is that fucking face of yours staring back at me like I’m the villain."

She didn’t flinch this time. The metallic taste of blood lingered on her tongue, pooling beneath her lip where his backhand had landed minutes ago. Her jaw throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. She exhaled shakily. "I'm trying," she whispered. "I don't know what else you want me to do, Dad. I don’t know how to be what you need."

Somewhere behind her, a ceramic plate exploded against the wall. Shards skittered across the tile, and the sound of rushed, staggering footsteps followed.

The ragged figure of her father stormed in, eyes wild with fury and booze. "You stupid little shit," he hissed. "I'm so done with your pathetic whining. No wonder no one wants to keep you at their job. Look at you, you can't even stand straight without shaking like a damn leaf."

She said nothing. Her hands curled tightly at her sides to hide the trembling.

He leaned in, voice dropping to a venomous slur. "You think you’re better than this house? Better than me? You might as well just whore around if that’s all you’re good for."

Her breath caught in her throat.

He laughed. A low, bitter chuckle that echoed off the walls. "You don’t get it, do you?" His tone twisted, cruel and dismissive. "If you don’t get this... don’t bother coming back.”

The week that followed was a haze of job hunting and stale instant noodles. She scoured every job website, wandered around town with a printed résumé, knocking on doors of small cafés and local bookshops. Every time, she was met with polite rejection or, worse, silence. By Thursday, she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in two days. She was curled on her apartment floor, the light from her phone screen casting blue shadows across her face as she refreshed a job portal for the hundredth time.

So when the notification popped up from Yunjin with the caption “hey you might wanna check out this…”, she did not waste her time.

“Okay so rich guy, apparently he was an aspiring artist then fell sick i guess, needs a caretaker basically”

Both of them sat close, scrolling through the information that was sent by some guy called Sunghoon to Yunjin. “Where did you even find this ....looks like a scam” she sighed, not understanding why they would want to hire her in the first place.

Yunjin facepalmed “girl…its a do or die situation, there were 5 more people who got rejected before, who knows this might be your chance”

Yunjin is not really close to y/n. They were just batchmates. Occasional conversations here and there. It's not like she had any close friends in the first place. So when she asked Yunjin to help her out about job hunting with a half hearted expectation, that girl really did her best and the last thing y/n wanted to do was disappoint someone and make them hate her like she always ends up doing.

“Okay let's do this’

She knew she had to. There was no second choice. She was a beggar. And a beggar could never be a chooser.

“You’re late.”

The door opened with the kind of abruptness that made her flinch. A man stood in the doorway. Why is he so white? What the hell? She thought to herself, trying her best not to come off as rude and take a good look at his face at the same time. “Im terribly sorry I—”

“Park Sunghoon” he breathed out. Okay damn. Even his voice is chilly.

“And you are…y/n?”

She nodded while stepping close “good morning, Mr Park, I really hope we can—”

He did not let her finish the sentence.

“Okay I'm gonna cut to the chase. Have you worked as a caretaker before?” He raised his eyebrows, eying her awkward stance up and down.

She scratched her neck. While it's true, y/n did have babysitting experiences, which included the baby throwing a fit, and her awkward attempts to make her stop crying ended up scaring the baby more.

“Not really…” she answered. Fidgeting her fingers. “But I'm a fast learner!”

Sunghoon scratched the tip of nose “see…we're not talking about just feeding him, bathing him or putting him to sleep, we're talking about being a companion, you have to stay by his side 24/7, you have to make him talk, make him normal again…” he said, slowly trailing off at the end and zoning out. Make him normal? I thought that's what doctors did? She pondered. But she came here with a fixed mindset, and she knew she had to get this job.

“I…will try my best”

He stared at her for a long time and sighed. “Look…you don't have to force yourself—”

“No! It's absolutely okay I–uhm, I need money…and your uhm…?” She looked at him, realising she never got to know the relationship between Sunghoon and the guy she was gonna take care of. “Sim Jaeyun, He's my best friend” he answered, realising her curiosity.

Y/n nodded, “yes, I need money, and Mr Sim needs a caretaker…a companionship which comes with caretaking, I can do it. I'm willing to do it”

He nodded. “Fine”

“Shall we meet him now?”

Jaeyun Sim.

She heard the name before she knew the face. The information that Sunghoon sent to Yunjin had said little "patient suffering from Multiple System Atrophy, in need of physical assistance and companionship, preferably someone quiet and adaptable.” She did her part of the research and found out it was a rare, progressive neurodegenerative disorder with treatments but no cure.

But Sunghoon's information didn’t really mention the icy stares or the tired voice, which sounded like gravel, disinterested, and exhausted. “Who…are you?”

The interior of his room was like his. Sparse, dim, functional. Books half-stacked on shelves, a record player in the corner. No music. No light. Nothing living except maybe the plants by the window that looked like they were clinging on out of habit.

“Jaeyun, she's y/n, your new caretaker…” he said, voice latched with worry and somewhere guilt. Then he turned at her “he will tell you everything you need to do, for today I'll just excuse myself, I have meetings to attend” he sighed “if there's any emergency just contact me” and gave her a dry smile which did not really help y/n from the ‘I don't want you here’ look she was getting from the other person in the room.

And after Sunghoon left, it was unbearably quiet. Although it was yet for her to make eye contact with Jaeyun, she tried her best to keep her composer. It's okay…everything’s going to be fine…

“Good Morning Mr Sim I'm Y/n Y/ln!–”

“You’ll have the guest room down the hall. Meals are...whenever. I’m not your responsibility unless I fall or stop breathing, got it?” It was fast, sharp, and ice cold. Probably colder than Sunghoon's whole aura.

Okay? Rude?

she blinked through her growing awkwardness and dilemma. “I thought I was here to help.” And finally looked up only to get welcomed by a pale ghost of someone who probably got their life sucked out from a scary ritual. The first thing he noticed was his rough brown hair, which kind of matched her dishevelled ones. His empty eyes were looking straight through her frail figure, and his mouth let out a humourless laugh.

“That’s cute. But I don’t need help. Specifically from you”

And as he looked at her small demeanour up and down, she suddenly stumbled backwards. The familiar feeling eyes judging her and making her feel terribly naked seeped under her skin, and she opened her mouth.

“I—it's my job…I want to help you”

He did not answer. The rustling of bed sheets were clear enough to let her know he had turned his back towards her.

“You can move in any day you want, and if you don't want to, just let sunghoon know”

His voice trembled slightly. Just enough for her to notice.

the wind howled through the windows like something wild.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed that had been cleared out for her, Jaeyun's guest room now turned her sanctuary. She hadn’t brought much. Just a duffel bag, a few clothes, and a toothbrush still in its pharmacy plastic. But even so, it felt like more than she deserved.

Her sleeves slipped past her wrists as she curled her fingers around the edge of the mattress. It was warm here. Warmer than the cold linoleum floor of her old home, warmer than the way her father’s voice used to cut through the air like a blade. But her body didn’t believe it yet. It still braced for impact.

The room was simple, muted tones. Clean sheets. A soft yellow lamp in the corner, flickering with the storm. Nothing extravagant, but to her, it felt like someone had handed her a shelter made of glass, fragile, temporary, and far too beautiful to be real.

Her phone had no signal. Not that anyone would be trying to reach her. The number had stopped ringing long ago.

Her chest tightened, not from fear, but from memory. Of the bathroom door, she once locked behind her to escape. Of the sting of a slap and the silence that followed. Of sitting with her back against cold tile, blood running in slow, mocking rivulets down her wrist, and realizing that not even that had been enough to make someone notice.

But tonight, there were no shouting voices.

Only dead silence.

And she knew it would be like that for a long time.

Jaeyun had a garden. Sort of.

He was in the garden. Or at least, he was standing in it like a statue, hands buried in the pockets of his sweatshirt, shoulders hunched, eyes locked on the grey sky above as if it had personally wronged him. The clouds were thick, unmoving. Heavy, like the silence that clung to the house lately.

It was y/n's sixth day in this void of a place she ended up a few days ago. She was slowly getting used to the silence. She always did. The smell of something slowly dying away was evident in the air and she tried her best to not cross paths with him except when they were dining together in silence, the food prepared by an old maid and her robotic movements. And times when he had to take medications, she was just…there. She stared at him as he gulped down all sorts of red and blue pills.

There was no conversation, no interaction , just silent presence, and limited responses, which sounded scripted almost all the time.

She stepped out quietly, careful not to let the door slam behind her. In one hand, she carried a ceramic mug, stained faintly at the bottom from too many uses. She crossed the yard in slow steps, stopping a few feet from him.

“Peace offering," she said simply, holding one mug out. “I don't know what I've done to piss you off but…it's too quiet…”

He didn’t look at her right away. His gaze lingered on the sky for another beat, then dropped to the mug. He studied it like it might explode.

"I didn’t poison it," she added, voice flat, neutral. The wind tugged strands of her hair across her cheek, but she didn’t move.

His brow twitched. Just a little. The corner of his mouth did, too, like the ghost of a smirk trying to remember how to live. She noticed. She always does, the layer of cockyness he has behind his sickeningly pale skin.

He took the mug.

They stood in silence. The kind that didn’t ache but didn’t comfort either. Somewhere in the trees beyond the fence, a bird called once, twice, then fell quiet.

He took a sip and grimaced immediately.

"God," he muttered. "That’s awful."

She shrugged. "So are you."

His head turned, the faint smirk no longer just a flicker. It stayed a second longer this time. "You make tea like you’re angry at it."

"I make tea like I wasn’t hired to be a barista. You want good tea, ask someone else"

He didn’t reply. Just took another sip, even though it clearly still tasted uncomfortable and boiled bitterness.

“There's an odd portrait of a woman… in the storeroom…I uhm did not mean to sneak around…” she whispered. “I was bored and ended up searching around your old paintings in the storeroom since I figured you won't speak to me for some god forbidden reason…”

"She's Jasmine." At the mention of her name, something shifted. Subtle. His grip on the mug tightened, shoulders tensing slightly.

She noticed. She always did.

"She was your muse. You used to paint like you were in love.”

He finally let his gaze fall on her. “And?”

"You still think about her?" she went on, pushing now, gently but deliberately.

"Maybe I do," he said after a pause.

"But you never told her."

Silence stretched again, but this time it burned. She watched him, head tilted slightly. "You loved her, but you never said it. That’s kind of tragic.”

"You don’t know anything about it."

"You’re right. I don’t. But I know what it’s like to want someone to see you and never be seen. I know what it’s like to stay quiet because saying something out loud makes it real."

Jake turned toward her, eyes darker now. Something unreadable danced there–anger, maybe. Or fear.

"You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?"

"No," she said, meeting his gaze. "But I think you’re still in love with a memory. And you’re scared that if you let it go, you won’t have anything left."

His jaw clenched.

She stepped back then, slowly. Not out of fear, but to give him space to breathe. "Enjoy your terrible tea," she said, turning away. "Day six. We’re getting somewhere."

Behind her, he didn’t speak.

But the next morning, she found a note left on the kitchen counter.

'Jasmine is engaged to Sunghoon'

The house had settled into its usual nighttime stillness, the kind that hummed beneath the floorboards and curled along the corners of closed doors. Y/n was laying in her bed, eyes wide open, listening to the wind scratching lightly at the windows. The soft ticking of the clock echoed against her eardrums like thunder in a silent void. Her body was curled in on itself, hugging a pillow as if it could offer comfort, grounding. Its been a two weeks almost, the ice between her and jaeyun did not quiet melt and it surely had turned something she could not ignore anymore.

He hadn’t spoken much after their tea exchange in the garden that afternoon. He'd retreated again, disappearing behind the heavy door of his bedroom and leaving only the faint scent of paint and eucalyptus in his wake. She hadn’t expected more. This was their rhythm, fractured silences, awkward peace offerings, tension wrapped up in barely-there conversations and lingering stares that lasted a second too long.

But the stillness of night was interrupted as she heard a crash. It wasn’t loud. Not like thunder or breaking glass. It was the kind of sound that jolts her awake because she knew the familiarity. She shot upright, her blanket tangled around her legs. Her heart seized, lungs tightening with every second of silence that followed.

Another sound. A low, pained curse.

She was out of bed in an instant, barefoot and barely aware of the chill biting at her skin. The hall stretched before her like a tunnel, cloaked in shadows and quiet dread. As she reached the kitchen, her breath caught.

Jaeyun was on the floor.

One leg sprawled at an unnatural angle, his upper body braced against the edge of the kitchen counter. His right hand hung limp at his side. His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, and his face was contorted with pain and something worse. Shame. He didn't look at her.

"Don’t," he muttered hoarsely, jaw tight. "I said—don’t help me." His voice cracked mid-sentence, raw with vulnerability. Y/n froze for a moment, her instincts clashing with his pride. But then she moved forward, not touching him, just kneeling beside him, her presence gentle and unintrusive.

“I’m not helping,” she said softly. “I’m just here.”

They sat in silence, the room buzzing with the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant rustle of wind outside. Her eyes scanned him, his knuckles scraped, a dark bruise blooming on the side of his face where he'd clearly hit the counter drawer. She spotted the tea towel nearby, discarded haphazardly.

His breathing was uneven, shaky. His eyes remained shut.

"You okay?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't answer. Not right away.

When he did, it was a whisper. A broken confession.

"I can’t feel my right leg again."

Y/n's throat tightened. She reached for the tea towel and carefully wiped a thin streak of blood from his cheek, her touch featherlight. Her fingers lingered for a moment, not to comfort, but to remind him he wasn’t alone. “I’m still here,” she murmured.

That did it.

He turned his face away, his body trembling, and then he cried. It wasn’t loud. Not messy or theatrical. It was silent devastation, it sounded like choking. Like he was trying to swallow down years of grief, rage, and helplessness all at once. His shoulders shook as he buried his face in the crook of his arm, refusing to let the tears fall freely in front of her.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell him it would be okay. Because she wasn’t sure it would.

Eventually, Jake’s breathing slowed. He pulled his face from his arm and looked at her, eyes red and glossy. “I should’ve told you about the nerve damage,” he said quietly, voice rough. “Sometimes it just... goes. Like my leg forgets it exists.”

She nodded slowly. “Why didn’t you?”

He swallowed hard, gaze flicking away. “Because then you’d see me the way everyone else does.”

“How’s that?”

“Like I’m broken.”

Her heart clenched.

She looked at him, really looked. At the boyish curve of his cheekbones beneath the bruises, at the artist's hands that trembled despite their strength, at the scars he tried to bury beneath dry humor and distance.

“You’re not broken, Jaeyun,” she said.

His lips quirked. “Then what am I?”

She hesitated. Then, honestly “A mess. But not broken.” That startled a breath of a laugh from him. Soft, disbelieving. Y/n moved closer then, slowly, deliberately. She sat beside him with her back against the cabinet, their shoulders just barely brushing. “You don’t have to pretend around me,” she said. “You don’t have to win anything. Or lose anything. Just... be.”

He let his head fall back against the counter. “I don’t know how to do that anymore.”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” she replied, not offering more than that. Not promising some fairytale recovery. Just the simple truth, she wasn’t going anywhere. Minutes passed like that. The silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was a shared thing, full of everything neither of them could say yet. The floor was cold beneath them, but she didn’t move.

Eventually, she asked, “Can you stand?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He tested his leg, a grimace pulling at his mouth. Then he nodded, just once. She helped him, not lifting him, but offering an arm he could lean on.

When they reached the edge of the couch in the living room, he hesitated. “Don’t tell Sunghoon,” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked. “Why?”

“Because he’ll make it a thing. Call Jasmine. Turn it into some goddamn intervention.”

That name.

Jasmine.

Y/n didn’t say anything at first. But something shifted in her posture. He noticed and sighed. “You met her once. Don’t read into it.”

“I’m not reading into anything,” she replied, though her voice betrayed her. “But you clearly are.”

Jaeyun looked away. The space between them grew sharp.

“I saw the way you looked at her,” she said, quieter now. “Like you used to look at your paintings before you stopped making them.”

He flinched.

“I thought she was the one,” he admitted. “And then... I didn’t say anything. I waited too long. She moved on.”

“And now?”

He looked at her.“I don’t see her when I paint anymore,” he said.

Is that why you stopped painting? Her breath caught in her throat. But before she could speak, before she could decide what to do with the way her heart leapt and twisted all at once—

Jaeyun's body swayed.

She caught him.

“Okay, enough dramatics,” she whispered, helping him lie down. “No more falling today.”

The corner of his lips curled. It was subtle but she noticed. “You’re bossy.”

“You’re helpless.”

And then he laughed real, soft, tired. She stood over him, her eyes lingering. Jaeyun closed his eyes, trusting her presence enough to let go. But as she turned away, heart still thundering with everything unsaid, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

Something irreversible.

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the clouds still hung heavy in the sky, smudging the light that filtered through the windows of the living room into something grey and quiet. The air inside Jaeyun's house was heavy, still. It smelled like chamomile and old books, things that tried to be comforting but couldn’t erase the ache beneath them. Y/n sat curled on the armchair, a blanket tossed across her knees, an open book resting on her lap. She hadn’t turned the page in almost an hour. Her eyes were fixed somewhere near the margin, but her mind was miles away.

He sat across from her on the couch, legs pulled up awkwardly, his arm slung across the back like he wasn’t quite sure how to sit still. His fingers twitched against the fabric of the couch, occasionally flexing and releasing as if testing their strength, or lack thereof. He watched her in silence for a long time, as if she might disappear if he looked away.

Then, his voice broke through the stillness.

“Why are you here?”

It wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t even curious. It was something rawer than that, like he was asking himself more than her. She blinked, slowly closing the book. Her thumb held the place, though she knew she wasn’t going back to it tonight. “Because I needed a job,” she said evenly, not quite meeting his eyes.

He didn’t move. “No. Really.”

Her shoulders tightened slightly, but her face stayed neutral. She met his gaze then, and for a second, she looked older than she was. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

“Because I needed to leave somewhere,” she said. “And this was far enough.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then he nodded, slowly, like that made a kind of terrible sense. He turned his face away, jaw tightening as he looked down at his hands.

“You flinch in your sleep,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Her body went still. The tension in the room shifted from quiet to taut in a breath. Her fingers curled into the blanket, pulling it closer to her chest as if it could shield her from the weight of those words.

He glanced up, met her eyes. “sorry that creeped you out...I just noticed it last night, you fell asleep on the couch...don't worry, I also scream in mine,” he added softly.

It was the most honest thing either of them had said in days. She exhaled slowly, her spine relaxing by inches. The shield she always kept up wavered, just enough.

For the first time, they looked at each other, And saw.

Saw pain. And history. And the wreckage of things no one else stuck around long enough to understand. Scars that didn’t sit on skin, but settled deep into bone. Y/n stood, leaving the blanket behind. She walked over to the couch and sank down beside him, not touching, just present. Her closeness wasn’t invasive, it was an offering.

Jaeyun didn’t move away. The silence stretched, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt... shared.

She spoke again, voice low.

“He used to lock me in the bathroom. My father. When I talked back. When I cried. When I existed wrong.”

He turned to her slowly, eyes dark and unreadable.

“And I would lie there on the floor,” she continued, not looking at him, just staring into the middle distance, “trying to figure out how much blood would be too much. How much would finally make him stop. Or make someone notice.” he swallowed hard. “Did they?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “No. I just got better at cleaning it up.”

He reached for something, a word, a gesture, anything, but found nothing. His hand twitched, then stilled. “I don’t talk about it,” she said. “I don’t want pity. I just want someone to stop pretending it didn’t happen.”

He nodded, his throat working.

“My mom left when I was nine,” he said. “After that, it was just me and a house full of things that hurt.” she turned to him, really seeing him now. Not the sharp sarcasm, not the cold bitterness he wore like armor. But the boy underneath.

“Did anyone ever come for you?” He shook his head. “I got sick before they could. And then no one wanted to deal with the dying kid.”

She leaned forward slightly. “You’re not dying, Jake.” He laughed, but it cracked halfway through. “Aren’t I?”

She stared at him and then slowly replied “You’re lonely. And angry. And tired. That’s not dying. That’s surviving. Barely.” Jaeyun let the silence fall again. He didn’t know what to say. Her words landed somewhere deep and sore.

Finally, he spoke.

“When Jasmine left,” he said suddenly, as if tugging the memory out before it rotted, “I told myself it was because she saw what was coming.”

She stayed still.

“But really,” Jaeyun continued, “she left because I couldn’t say what I wanted to say. Because I made everything a joke, or a poem, or a distance she couldn’t cross.”

“You loved her,” Y/n said quietly. He nodded. “But I never said it. Not once. I thought maybe she knew.”

“That’s not always enough,” she said. He looked at her then, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think people can love more than once?” She met his gaze. Her heart pounded, but her voice didn’t waver. “I think sometimes we don’t even notice when it happens again. We just start showing up. Staying. Caring when we shouldn’t.” His expression changed, softened. He stared at her like he was trying to understand something he hadn’t dared to hope for.

Outside, thunder rumbled softly in the distance.

Inside, Jake whispered, “Are you staying?”

And just before she could answer, the lights flickered once, then went out.

Jaeyun was painting again.

Sort of.

The afternoon light filtered weakly through the dusty windowpanes, casting pale beams across the worn wooden floor. His bedroom smelled like old turpentine, charcoal dust, and frustration. He stood at the easel, brush trembling in his hand, jaw tight, breath shallow. What had once been a sanctuary of expression had become a graveyard of half-finished canvases, each one more desperate than the last.

He tried.

He always tried.

But the moment the brush met the canvas, everything fell apart. The colors bled into one another like bruises on skin. The lines collapsed into incoherence. His fingers, once steady and sure, twitched uselessly. The pain was more than physical. It was grief. Rage. Loss.

The brush slipped again.

And this time, Jaeyun let out a low, guttural sound of defeat. His hand snapped forward and flung the brush across the room. It hit the far wall with a sharp crack, bounced once, then fell to the ground. He gripped the edge of the easel, head bowed, chest heaving.

From the corner of the room, a soft shuffle was heard. He felt a presence. Her presence.

Y/n appeared in the doorway.

She didn't speak at first. She just stood there, one hand resting on the doorframe, her expression unreadable. Her gaze swept across the room and then at the overturned stool, the broken brush, the wreckage of another failed canvas. Her eyes finally settled on him.

"You done throwing tantrums?" she asked, her voice gentle but unflinching.

He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was air. And after trying again his pupils began to shake a little because no matter how much he tries the words always fractured halfway through his throat.

"I can’t even paint," he whispered, his voice broken and raw. "What’s the point in any of this?"

She sighed and stepped forward, slowly. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet. "Jaeyun..." she whispered, voice firm yet gentle "You’re not angry because you can’t paint," she said softly, crouching near the base of the easel. "You’re angry because you remember how it felt when you still could."

He stared at her. There was no pity in her voice. No patronizing sympathy. Just truth. She wasn’t offering comfort to coddle him. She was giving it to keep him anchored. She reached for the fallen brush. The bristles were splayed and ruined, but she found another nearby. One that hadn’t been broken yet. She dipped it lightly in red paint. A bold, defiant red, and turned to him.

Then, without asking, she sat on the floor beside the ruined canvas. "Come here," she said simply.

Jaeyun hesitated.

He looked at the brush in her hand, at her eyes, then down at his own hands. They were trembling again. Weak. Useless. And yet, she waited. Not pushing, not pleading. Just waiting. Shaky breathes, and he slowly lowered himself to the floor, sitting beside her with the stiffness of a man too used to pain. His gaze dropped to his lap. "I can’t hold it steady," he murmured. "It’ll ruin whatever you try."

"Then let it," she replied. "We’re not making art. We’re making noise." He stiffened. It was not uncomfortableness, but what else... she did not know, nor she want to notice. She took his right hand gently, slowly, as if touching something fragile. He didn’t pull away. Her fingers were warm around his. She placed the brush in his grip, then wrapped her hand over his, guiding the pressure.

"You hold it," she said. "I’ll guide." They moved together, her breath quiet near his ear, her body aligned close but respectful. The brush dipped into the canvas with a low scratch. Together, their hands made a single stroke across the fabric. It wasn’t straight. It wasn’t elegant. But it was real.

It was alive.

His shoulders began to shake.

Not with anger. But with something that had been waiting to surface. Tears spilled from his eyes and landed silently on the canvas. Y/N didn’t look away. She didn’t let go. Her fingers held his, steady, present. He whispered, "I hate this." "I know," she said. "Me too." He turned slightly, his temple brushing hers. There was no sign of hesitation. She felt his warmth seeping through her transparent self.

"You still see something in me?" His eyes were now directly looking at her. There was a storm going on behind them. And she spoke in a daze. Almost enchanted."I see someone," myself. she said. "I see someone who fought to stay alive. Someone who still exists. Even if he doesn’t believe he matters." Please let me live.

He inhaled sharply. She let him.

The room was silent except for their breathing, and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the hall. The red line on the canvas bled a little, sinking into the weave like a scar. "You still exist," she whispered. "You’re still here. That has to count for something." He closed his eyes, and for the first time in weeks, he let the silence cradle him.

Let her presence sway him away. Let his guard down. Let the weight of grief rest somewhere outside his body for a while. And outside, the wind picked up—not enough to rattle the windows, but enough to promise change was coming.

Y/n reached over Jaeyun's shoulder and dipped the brush again, this time in gold. He whispered, almost inaudibly

"What if I forget how to be myself?"

She didn’t flinch. She smiled, soft and certain. And for a spilt of second Jaeyun swore his heart made a weird movement.

"Then I’ll remind you"

The brush touched the canvas again. And the door to something better cracked open, just a little.

That evening, the porch was quiet. Rain had come and gone, leaving behind the heavy scent of wet earth. The wooden floorboards beneath Y/n creaked softly as she sat still, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes staring into the darkness as though searching for something just out of reach. She didn’t cry. She hadn’t for a long time. But her silence held weight, an ache that no tears could lessen. Jaeyun stepped out quietly. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been watching her from the hallway, unsure whether to say something or leave her be. But the stillness of her profile, the haunted look in her eyes, pulled something in him taut.

“Why do you help me?” he asked finally. His voice was hoarse, raw. “When you’re clearly drowning too?” She didn’t look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on the empty yard, where the rain had traced silver veins across the stone pathway. “Because no one helped me,” she said quietly. “Not when it mattered.” The air between them felt fragile, like glass waiting to splinter. Jaeyun sat beside her, cautious not to startle her, not to close the distance too fast. He left a hand’s breadth of space between them, enough for comfort. “I hate this feeling,” he admitted, fingers twitching in his lap. “Being a burden. Useless. Waiting to forget my own name.”

Y/n finally turned to him. There was no pity in her eyes, only exhaustion and quiet knowing. Her voice cracked when she spoke.

“I’d rather be hated than forgotten.”

Her expression was carved from something deeper than pain—it was shaped by surviving it. Slowly, carefully, he reached for her hand. His fingers brushed against hers, hesitant.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. That small touch, barely there, was more intimate than any embrace.

Days passed.

Jaeyun’s condition worsened.

The seizures became more frequent. They came in waves now, sharp, sudden, stripping him of control. His body was failing him in increments, and he felt every loss like a betrayal. Sunghoon, who used to show up twice a month, now turned up almost every week. It was midday when it happened again. She heard the thud before she saw it.

He was crumpled in the hallway, eyes wide and unfocused, hands trembling. Sweat slicked his brow. His breathing was shallow, erratic.

“I’m fine,” he barked when she approached. “You’re not,” she said calmly, kneeling beside him. Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. Face pale, jaw clenched in frustration. “I can’t–I can’t move.” The words tumbled out like a confession. “I’m so fucking tired, Y/N. Tired of fighting.”

Without a word, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened.

Then crumbled.

She held him as though he were breakable, and she’d spent her whole life learning how not to shatter things. Her hands moved slowly, one resting between his shoulder blades, the other smoothing over his spine. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, voice steady even as her own heart trembled. “Even when you don’t.”

She didn’t try to lift him right away. She just held him, grounding him with her presence, letting the panic drain from his system like poison drawn from a wound. Eventually, with her help, he made it back to his room. Each step was a quiet struggle, but she stayed by his side, letting him lean against her without making him feel small for needing to.

That night, she stayed with him. They lay in his bed. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was reverent. Their backs barely touched, and yet their fingers found each other beneath the covers. Intertwined.

No words were exchanged.

There was no need.

For the first time in months, maybe years—Jaeyun slept.

And She didn’t roll down her sleeves to hide her scars.

Jaeyun hadn’t left his room in two days.

At first, Y/N gave him space. She let the hours pass quietly and tried not to pace outside his door. But something about the silence inside that room felt heavier than it should. Like the air had turned into something sharp and suffocating. The house, usually humming with silence in its small ways, the soft spin of a record player, the clink of his tea mug, the shuffle of his slow footsteps, was now unbearably still. She hated how much she missed the little things. Hated how she waited for sounds that never came.

By the end of the first day, she had taken to sitting just outside his door. At first, she brought a book. She didn’t read it. She stared at the pages until her vision blurred, listening for anything. A cough, a sigh, a thud.

By the second day, she stopped pretending. She just sat there, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to her chest, her presence a quiet message You’re not alone. Even if you want to be.

The third morning dawned gray and damp. Rain tapped against the windows, wind curling through the eaves. Y/N hadn’t slept properly. Her limbs ached from the position, her body reminding her she was flesh and blood, not resolve and willpower.

But that day, something inside her snapped.

She stood up slowly, fingers brushing the wood of his doorframe like it might burn her. And then she spoke.

"Jaeyun," she said, loud enough to be heard through the door. Her voice was rough from sleep and silence. "I know what this is."

Nothing.

She swallowed. "I’ve done it too. I’ve laid in the dark and waited for something to take me. I’ve looked at my ceiling for hours and thought, This is it. This is how I disappear. I know what it’s like to stop hoping anyone will come."

Still, no answer.

She pressed her forehead against the door. "But I came, Jaeyun. I came for you. I’m here."

A minute passed. Then another.

And then, slowly, the lock clicked.

The door opened with a long, reluctant creak. He stood there, barefoot, wearing the same hoodie he had the last time she saw him. His hair stuck out in messy tufts, and his skin looked paler than it should, like he’d been hollowed out from the inside. His eyes were bloodshot, framed by dark shadows, unfocused at first. He looked at her like he couldn’t tell if she was real, a hallucination conjured in the thick quiet of his grief. Like maybe she’d disappear if he blinked too hard.

His voice was hoarse. "Why haven’t you left yet?"

She flinched but didn't step back. "Because you keep pretending you want me to."

The words settled between them, heavy and sharp. Jaeyun's eyes flickered away as though the weight of them was too much to hold. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, swaying slightly.

"You don’t know what it’s like," he muttered. "To feel like your body is a cage. To hate waking up. To forget what it was like to be... more." She stepped forward. Not touching. Just closing the space.

"I do. Not in your way. But in mine. I know what it’s like to be seventeen and scared and alone in a house that was supposed to protect me. I know what it’s like to bleed in silence. To scream into pillows because you don’t want anyone to hear how weak you sound."

He didn’t look at her, but his breathing shifted.

"I know what it’s like," she whispered, "to be so used to pain that the absence of it feels foreign."

Jaeyun blinked hard. A tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away.

"I thought if I just stayed in here long enough, maybe everyone would forget me," he said, voice shaking.

"I won’t," she said simply. He finally met her eyes.

She stepped closer, her hand hovering between them. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Gently, she took his hand. His fingers were ice cold, but he didn’t pull away. She guided him out of the room like something fragile and ancient. They didn’t speak as they walked to the living room. She led him to the couch, sat him down, and disappeared into the kitchen. When she came back, she handed him a warm cup of tea and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.

He didn’t thank her. But he didn’t need to.

They sat in silence, side by side, staring at the muted rain beyond the windows. After a while, Jaeyun said, "I used to think my art was the only reason people loved me. Now I can’t even hold a brush."

Y/n turned toward him. "You think I’m here because of your art?"

He didn’t answer.

"I’m here," she said slowly, deliberately, "because when you smile, even the bad days make sense. Because your silence doesn’t scare me the way my father’s did. Because you make space for me in a way no one else ever has."

He looked like he might break.

She leaned in slightly, enough for their shoulders to brush. "You're more than what you create. More than your illness. More than what you lost."

Jaeyun let out a breath. Shaky. Real.

"I don’t know how to be anything else."

"Then let’s figure it out together," she said. They sat like that for a long time. No more words. Just breath and warmth and the quiet hum of being not alone.

Outside, the rain eased. Inside, for the first time in days, Jaeyun felt like maybe he could be okay. And somewhere, deep in the heart of that quiet, something shifted.

It wasn’t love.

Not yet.

But it was a beginning.

And beginnings were everything.

The breakdown came fast.

Jaeyun had been trying to make tea. A simple act. Familiar. But the kettle slipped from his grasp, water sloshing out as it clanged hard against the stovetop. His jaw clenched. He swore under his breath, reached for the string of his hoodie to tug it tighter and failed again. His fingers trembled, fumbling like they didn’t belong to him. He let out a strangled yell. A roar of frustration ripped from his throat as he grabbed the nearest mug and hurled it across the room. It struck the far wall and shattered instantly, porcelain shards splintering like glass stars across the floor.

She didn’t run. She didn’t even blink.

She moved forward, swift and unwavering, and grabbed Jaeyun by the shoulders.

"Stop! Just stop it!"

He stared at her, chest heaving, arms trembling at his sides.

"You think you're the only one who wants to disappear?!" she shouted, tears already spilling down her cheeks. Her voice cracked with the weight of too many unsaid things. "That you're the only one who's tired?! That you're the only one who wakes up wishing it would all just end?!"

Jaeyun opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She pushed on, voice trembling but unrelenting. "Do you think I wanted to become the girl with bruises no one asked about? The one who had no one to come home to? You think I don’t know how it feels to want to scream but be too tired to even cry? You're sick, Jaeyun. I know that. But you don't get to shove everyone away just because you're scared."

His eyes widened, stricken. Her words hit him like a wave, and he staggered under them. His felt heart thumped against his rib cage. And the anger collapsed in on itself, curling into something quieter. Something raw.

And then—

He kissed her.

Fuck it.

No warning. No slow lead-up. Just motion and desperation. His hands, trembling, cupped her face with surprising tenderness. Her fingers curled into the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him closer as their mouths crashed together. There was nothing soft about it. No grace. Just breath and grief and longing pouring out of the cracks they tried so hard to hide.

It wasn’t romantic. It was survival. Jaeyun stumbled forward, pressing her back against the counter. Her legs instinctively parted, bracing him, holding him upright with the only strength she had left. Their foreheads bumped, breaths tangled, eyes fluttering open to find each other already too close.

He whispered, "Y/n—"

She cut him off, her voice low and broken. "Don’t do this."

He blinked, caught off guard. "Why not?" And paused hearing his own desire in the question. Her eyes searched his, desperate and wounded. "Because if I kiss you back again, I’m going to fall. And you don’t know how to catch me."

It landed harder than any slap.

He froze.

Then, slowly, achingly, he stepped back. The warmth between them disappeared. The air turned cold.

He didn’t speak. Neither did she.

That night, they didn’t speak. Not during dinner. Not when she gently refilled his glass of water and slid the tiny white pills across the table. Not when she turned off the lights in the living room and locked the door.

But in the small hours, when the world had quieted to a whisper, he found her again. She was outside on the porch, curled up on the old wooden bench. Her knees drawn to her chest. Her sweatshirt hood pulled up over her head. The rain had started falling softly, a quiet patter against the roof.

She didn’t look up when he stepped outside. He stood there for a moment, unsure. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he moved beside her. He didn’t sit. Just stood near enough for her to know he was there.

He swallowed.

"I'm sorry I...I don't know what I was thinking....it wasn’t supposed to be like that..." he said finally, voice hushed, almost afraid the wind would carry the words away. I wasn’t supposed to like you. She turned her head slightly. The rain glistened on her lashes.

"I wasn’t supposed to feel anything either" she whispered. He clenched his jaws. A carefully tamed and guarded garden growing wild inside him. He sat down, close but careful, afraid of pushing too far again.

Silence.

Then, after what felt like a lifetime, he spoke.

"I don’t know how to stay alive for myself. But I keep waking up for you."

Her throat worked around a sob she didn’t release. Her fingers curled tighter around the fabric of her sleeve. And then, as if the words had stitched something broken inside her back together, she turned her face toward him and said, "Then I guess we’re even."

The rain fell harder. But they didn’t move.

Together, they sat in the wet silence, wounds open, but understood. And neither of them felt alone anymore.

The house was quiet again, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty but weighed heavily in the air, soft like the breath between words. Jaeyun broke it suddenly, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if the words had been sitting on his tongue too long.

"You ever wonder what your life would’ve looked like… if it had gone right?"

Y/n blinked from where she sat curled up on the worn-out couch, a thick knit blanket pulled up to her chin. Outside, the rain tapped against the windows, and inside, the only light came from a flickering candle on the coffee table between them. She considered his question. The way it was asked, quiet, careful, like he already knew the answer but still needed to ask.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Sometimes I think about who I’d be if I’d grown up in a house where the only thing thrown was a birthday party." Jaeyun gave a small, broken laugh. It cracked around the edges, like it didn’t know whether it was allowed to exist. "I’d probably still be in Seoul," he said after a beat. "Probably still painting murals in back alleys and forgetting to eat because the light was too good."

His voice drifted, almost wistful, like he could still see it, brush in hand, sun painting his shoulders, colors blooming on concrete. He paused, his fingers curled slightly in his lap.

"My brother used to tell me I looked happiest when I was covered in color."

Her breath caught in her throat. Something in the way he said it, the use of past tense, felt like a quiet fracture in the room.

"You had a brother?"

Jaeyun nodded. "Jungwon. Two years younger. Died in a crash last year. I was supposed to pick him up. I told him I’d be late. He took a cab. That cab never made it." The room fell silent. The only sound was the faint crackle of the candle between them, flickering shadows dancing on the walls.

"I don’t tell people that," Jaeyun added quietly. "I don’t like the way they look at me after."

She leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "How do they look at you?"

He swallowed, eyes still fixed on the flame. "Like I’m already gone." Then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he turned to meet her eyes.

"You don’t look at me like that."

Later that night, after the dishes were done and the hum of the kitchen light had grown comforting, they sat on the floor with their backs against the fridge. A half-empty bottle of ginger ale sat between them, and the linoleum floor was cool beneath their legs. Y/n broke the silence this time. Her voice was steady, but she didn’t look at him when she spoke.

"My father used to call me a ghost. Said I moved too quietly. Like a girl hiding something. He said I made him uncomfortable."

Jaeyun’s expression didn’t change, but his body shifted slightly, tension creeping in through his shoulders.

"I guess I was," she added after a moment. "Hiding bruises. Thoughts. Every time I walked past a mirror, I tried not to see myself. Like if I ignored it long enough, it would stop existing." Her voice faltered.

"One night, he dragged my face to the mirror. Told me to look. Said, 'No one will ever stay with that. That’s what you are.'"

A muscle in Jaeyun’s jaw twitched. He said nothing, but the silence stretched, thick and burning. She finally looked at him. Her voice trembled. "You’re the first person who stayed."

Slowly, like the moment might break if he moved too fast, Jaeyun reached out. His fingers brushed against hers, a touch so light it almost didn’t happen.

"I’m not going anywhere."

when the house was wrapped in shadows and the candle had long burned out, they lay on the couch beneath the same blanket. The record player spun something soft and wordless in the background, the music weaving through the quiet like a memory. Jaeyun rested his head on her shoulder. He felt warm, real. Like something she could reach for and not lose.

Y/n’s hand lay flat on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. She could feel his heartbeat. Slow. Steady.

There were no grand confessions. No sweeping declarations.

Just wind tapping gently on the window.

Just breath.

Just presence.

Jaeyun’s voice was barely audible, his lips brushing against the fabric of her sleeve. "You feel like remembering what painting is supposed to feel like."

Y/n didn’t reply.

She didn’t need to.

Her fingers curled slightly into his shirt, and that was answer enough.

It happened on a Tuesday.

There was nothing special about the day, the kind of Tuesday that didn’t ask to be remembered. The sky was an indifferent grey, as though even the clouds were too tired to hold their shape. The kettle shrieked from the kitchen, steam curling into the air, but Jaeyun barely noticed.

He was halfway up the stairs when his legs gave out. The pain hit fast and sharp, followed by a sickening weightlessness. He collapsed against the railing, cursed under his breath, and then louder, loud enough for the birds outside to scatter from the trees. She was there before he fell further, arms locking around his middle, grounding him. He stiffened, and for a moment it looked like he might push her away. But then his fingers fisted into the back of her shirt, tight and desperate, and he let himself lean into her. His face buried in the crook of her neck, and she felt the way his shoulders trembled.

"I hate this," he whispered, voice hoarse with something that wasn’t just pain. "I hate this fucking body. I hate needing anyone. I hate—" he couldn't finish the sentence. His eyes were looking directly at her and Jaeyun froze in her arms. And when he pulled back, slowly, reluctantly, his eyes met hers with something naked and raw. She could see it there, unspoken and terrified.

He didn’t hate her.

He loved her.

And that truth was more frightening to him than the sickness or the pain or the nights he spent screaming into his pillow.

Afternoon passed in silence. They sat in the same room, at opposite ends of the couch, not looking at each other. A quiet tension hung between them like fog. Y/n had a book open in her lap, but her eyes never moved across the page. Jaeyun picked at the seam of a throw pillow, his knuckles pale from clenching.

Finally, she spoke.

"I don’t know what we’re doing anymore."

Her voice was soft, but it landed like a match dropped on dry leaves. He flinched. Didn’t look up.

"We’re surviving," he muttered, the words heavy. "Isn’t that enough?" She turned to him, and when he finally looked back, he saw the storm in her eyes.

"No," she whispered. "Because surviving isn’t the same as living. And I want to live, Jaeyun. I want to live with you." Something broke in his expression then. A crack in the dam. A tremor that began in his chest and spread to his limbs.

And without another word, he crossed the space between them.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t slow.

It was like gravity snapped, like the pull between them had been waiting for one small shift to bring the rest tumbling down. His hands came up to cradle her face, fingers trembling but reverent. Their lips met with a kind of hunger that wasn’t about lust, but about relief. About the ache of withholding something for too long. Y/n gasped into his mouth as he kissed her deeper, one hand moving to her waist, pulling her into him like he needed her to breathe.

"You drive me insane," he breathed against her lips."Then lose your mind with me," she murmured back, tugging at his shirt. He groaned, a broken, wrecked sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his lungs, and kissed her again. They stumbled backward, her spine pressing into the wall. The room spun with the weight of everything that had never been said. Her fingers tangled in his hair as his mouth moved along her jaw, her throat, reverent and frantic.

He tasted like rain and desperation. She felt like home and heartbreak."Tell me to stop," he gasped, forehead pressed to hers.

"I can’t," she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Then don’t," he rasped, and captured her lips again.

Wasn’t polished. Wasn’t choreographed. It was teeth and lips and bruised breaths. Her shirt was halfway off, his hands trembling as they touched bare skin like it was something sacred. She arched into him with a sound she didn’t recognize, but welcomed. He kissed the slope of her shoulder, the hollow of her collarbone. His hands moved like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want this. Want her. But she grounded him with every touch, every breathy plea, every whispered reassurance.

And then he pulled back. Just slightly. His chest heaving. Eyes wet.

"I’m scared," he said, voice low and cracked. "That I’ll need you too much. That I’ll ruin you." She reached up and cupped his face, her thumbs brushing the corners of his eyes. "You don’t ruin me, Jaeyun," she whispered. "You remind me I’m alive."

He closed his eyes.

And kissed her like a thank you.

Like an apology.

Like a beginning.

Later, much later, they lay tangled together on the old couch, her head resting over his heart, their fingers intertwined on his chest. The record player spun in the corner, a slow instrumental hum filling the quiet.

Neither spoke.

There were no confessions or promises. Just the sound of rain brushing the windows and the steady beat of Jaeyun’s heart beneath her ear. A silence that didn’t ask to be filled.

A silence that said, I see you. I’m not leaving. His fingers curled gently in her hair. He breathed in deep, lips brushing her forehead.

She smiled against his skin.

It started with a whisper, barely audible, fragile as seafoam.

"I want to see the ocean." He said it one evening, voice frayed like threadbare linen, his gaze unfocused and distant. He lay curled beneath layers of blankets, lips chapped, skin pale and thin as rice paper. Y/N sat beside him, her hand gently cradling his. His words weren’t a plea. They weren’t a dramatic wish for finality. Just a simple truth. "I haven’t seen it in years," he said, exhaling like it hurt. "And if I go... I want it to be with you. Where the world feels wide again."

So they went.

Y/n found a weathered cottage tucked into the cliffs of a coastal town, far from the hum of machines and the suffocating sterility of hospital rooms. It smelled like salt and pine. Wind howled through the rafters like a lullaby for the restless. She packed everything, his pills, his journals, his heating pads, the quiet in his eyes. Sunghoon arranged most of the things but refused to go with them. He was dying inside.

The first time Jaeyun saw the sea again, he laughed.

Deep and unguarded, like the kind he hadn’t known in years. His whole body leaned forward in the wheelchair as he grinned at the endless blue horizon. Her breath hitched at the sound. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it. That first night, they sat by the wide, sand-dusted windows and watched the tide crawl toward them, moonlight rippling across the waves like secrets. He rested his head in her lap. Her fingers traced the brittle ridges of his collarbone, gentle and reverent.

"I hate how light I feel," he murmured, his voice dry and raw. "Like I’m not tethered to anything anymore. Like I’m floating away."

She bent forward and kissed his forehead.

"You’re still here," she said firmly.

He swallowed. "For how long?" "I don’t care," she whispered. "I just want all of it. However long you have left."

He closed his eyes, a single tear slipping free. "You’re the only reason I stayed this long."

Time, greedy and cruel, began to quicken its pace.

Jaeyun’s health declined rapidly. His voice softened to a whisper. His appetite shrank. There were days he couldn’t even lift his spoon, so Y/n fed him, spoon by spoon, pausing between each one to tell him stories from a life they never got to live. He listened with a fading smile and eyes that fluttered shut before she reached the end. Sometimes, he apologized. For the weakness. For the silence. For the sadness. Each time, she silenced him with a kiss, gentle and slow.

One night, he asked her to climb into the narrow bed.

"With me," he clarified. "Not beside me. Not near me. Just... with me." So she did. Their limbs tangled like vines growing toward the same light. Her face nestled into the crook of his neck, his fingers threading weakly through her hair. She could feel the tremor in his chest as he spoke.

"If I go while you’re asleep... don’t be afraid."

Her breath hitched.

"Then don’t go yet." Her voice trembled.

He didn’t reply. Only a tear slipped from his eye and soaked into her hair. "I’ll try."

On the last morning, Jake insisted on seeing the sea one final time. Y/n wrapped him in a blanket she’d knit during the nights he was too weak to speak. He looked small, bones like willow branches, eyes brighter than ever despite the wear. She wheeled him down the cobbled path to the edge of the sand.

The sea stretched before them, vast and unending. He closed his eyes and breathed it in—salt and wind and the memory of everything he used to be. Y/n knelt beside him, her hand in his, grounding him like an anchor.

"Promise me something," he said, voice barely more than air.

"Anything."

His hand tightened weakly around hers.

"When I’m gone... don’t remember the pain. Don’t remember the way I faded. Remember me like this. Breathing. Loving you. Free." She kissed his forehead. It was warm, still.

"I’ll remember all of it. Even the pain. Because it was love, too. And I want every part of you."

That night, the wind softened.

The sea whispered against the shore like it was saying goodbye.

Y/n woke to stillness.

No rasp of breath. No rustle of sheets. Just quiet. And a note, clutched in his hand. She unfolded it with trembling fingers.

' Thank you for showing me that even broken things can be loved. You gave me everything, and I’m not afraid anymore. I’ll meet you in the waves'

– Jaeyun.

Y/n didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She simply lay beside him, her head on his chest, and held him like she always had, with everything she had left.

"You’re free now," she whispered into the quiet.

And as the sun rose, golden and soft, it poured through the window and onto the bed like warmth returned. She watched it alone.

To Jaeyun,

I still wake up some mornings thinking you’re in the next room. I still whisper your name when it rains.

I thought losing you would break me. But it didn’t. Because you didn’t leave emptiness behind. You left courage. And hope. And so much love.

I’m still here. I’m living.

For both of us.

And when the waves touch my feet, I remember: you’re in them now.

In the sunlight. In the silence. In me.

I’ll never say goodbye. Just, I’ll see you again.

– Yours, always, Y/n.

THE END

©sunishake

AUTHOR'S NOTE: IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OMG...THIS WEEK'S HAS BEEN HECTIC STARTING FROM FINALS TO BIRTHDAY TO JAKE'S WATERMELON SUGAR COVER AHHHHHHJ...I hope you guys like it...fr. i admit I became lazy at the last part, but...it was becoming too long 💔💔💔

[moonriizing]

Ruin the Friendship pt. 2| s.jy (18+)

After being abandoned by Jake with no explanation, you rebuilt your life from the ground up—only to return years later and find him broken, alone, and still desperately in love with you.

This is not a love story. It's a story of love.

Genre: enemies-to-lovers, angst, second chances Pairing: ENHYPEN Sim Jaeyun/Jake x afab!reader Warnings: NOT PROOFREAD, mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), MDNI Notes: 23k words. Song prompt was Ruin the Friendship by Taylor Swift. Part 2 of 2. This turned out longer than I initially planned, but I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! (No really, pls like it) Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic.

(Part 1)

You and Leila ended up here somehow. Christmas break, the air was cold, the streets were quiet, and the two of you were sitting on the old playground swings like no time had passed at all. The metal chains were freezing against your palms, but you barely noticed—you were too busy laughing at the story Leila was telling, some wild college anecdote about her dorm roommate who kept stealing other people’s laundry.

You hadn’t seen each other in six months, not since you both left for college. Sure, you kept in touch. Constantly, even. But there was something different about being here again, side by side, bundled up in coats and scarves, letting your feet drag lines in the sandpit beneath the swings.

“I had to move out because of her,” she said, incredulous. “Good thing the nice senior from my department had a sister who was looking for a roommate.” 

“This nice senior of yours keeps coming up,” you teased, scowling a little. “I wonder what Kevin thinks of him.”

Leila rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t even start. Kevin has been so overprotective lately. I mean, I get that he’s wary of that guy, but he’s really just a friend. I’m not even interested in him at all!”

She exhaled sharply, clearly frustrated. “He’s so annoying sometimes. But I kept reassuring him that nothing was going on. That guy’s just a friend. Heck, he even reminds me of J—”

Her mouth snapped shut, and your swing slowed down. The name didn’t come up, but you both heard it anyway.

Jake Sim.

For a moment, neither of you breathed. It had been six months since graduation—six months since he didn’t show up to the ceremony, six months since he vanished without a single explanation. Six months since you last saw him, since you almost said things you weren’t supposed to say, since he looked at you like he was thinking the exact same thing.

Leila sighed. “That moron.”

Despite being neighbors, even she had no idea why Jake and his entire family had left the night before graduation. She too hasn’t heard anything from him since.

“Leaving without even saying goodbye,” she muttered, smirking lightly. “It was so unlike him.”

You chuckled under your breath but didn’t say anything. Leila nudged your arm. “How are you holding up?”

“What would you ask me that?” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “I’m fine.” 

Before leaving for college, you had told her everything about the last time you saw Jake—how the two of you basically confirmed you had feelings for each other, despite not actually saying it.

“You’re not still stalking him on Instagram, are you?”

You choked on nothing, looking away and clearing your throat. “‘Course not. Ehem. I’m too busy adapting to college life and studying. I barely have time or space in my brain to think about him.”

That was a lie, and you were sure Leila saw right through it.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she said softly. “Honestly? I’m upset too. He’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were four.”

Leila went on, voice soft but steady, “Look… maybe he had his reasons. I’m not saying he didn’t. But whatever those reasons were, he still ghosted us. And that wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve that. I didn’t deserve that.” She huffed, kicking at the sand. “He could’ve messaged me. Or you. Or both of us. But he didn’t. And that’s on him.” 

She paused, then added, “And don’t give me the ‘he’s not on his phone much’ excuse. I know he doesn’t post a lot, but he still updates his socials. He has no excuse.”

You nodded, pretending to agree. Pretending you hadn’t already dissected all of this months ago, over and over again.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Lei,” you told her, smiling. “I’m fine. I have lots of more important things to think about. Jake’s not one of them.”

But later that night, lying in your bed, the ceiling glowing faintly from the fairy lights you never bothered to take down, you grabbed your phone and opened Instagram. Your thumb knew exactly where to go—Jake’s profile.

He didn’t post much, and you knew this because you’d been stalking him every night for the last six months. The pattern was predictable by now: one post every two weeks. Gym photos, food shots, random snapshots from campus, and every now and then, a picture of himself. Tonight, there was nothing new. It hadn’t even been a full week since his last update.

It was a photo of him with some friends. He looked good. He always looked good, which was annoying on multiple levels.

God, you missed him. You hated that you missed him, because you used to swear you’d rather chew glass than spend a whole day with him. You used to fight over the dumbest things—movie genres, food orders, even the correct way to pronounce words. But you still couldn’t forget the last time you saw each other. The way that night felt. The way his voice sounded. The way he smiled like it wasn’t the last time you were seeing each other.

You sighed, only then noticing how far you’d gone. You’d scrolled way past his recent posts, past the college ones, past the gym shots, all the way down to the high school era. And that was when you realized two things at the exact same time:

One, you were deep enough in his feed to require excavation. Two, at some point during your mindless scrolling, you had already pressed like.

Your heart dropped in panic.

You scrambled upright, tapping the screen with the speed of someone disarming a bomb. You unliked the post, muttering curses under your breath because you know doing so wouldn’t stop Instagram from notifying him that ‘so-and-so liked your post’. You then chucked your phone toward the far edge of your bed as if distance would undo the whole thing.

You flopped back onto your pillows, face burning. Maybe Leila was right. Maybe you did need to move on.

The rest of winter break went by lazily. You and Leila spent most days lounging around her house, stealing snacks from the kitchen, and laughing at all the ridiculous stuff that had happened since you’d left for college. It was a nice break from alarms, lectures, and looming deadlines that you’d been swimming in for the last six months.

But breaks don’t last forever. Soon enough, you were back at the airport, dragging your suitcase through security and pretending you weren’t the tiniest bit sad about leaving. College welcomed you back the only way it knew how—by punching you in the face with responsibilities.

Lectures, assignments, club meetings, and somehow way too many late-night ramen runs. The months blurred into a cycle of running from one thing to the next, sleeping too little, and trying not to completely forget what a “normal schedule” even looked like.

But it wasn’t all deadlines and readings. There were nights after major exams when the library emptied and you and a few classmates ended up at some pub, talking, laughing, maybe celebrating surviving the week. Group projects weren’t all work either. You met classmates over coffee, at the cafeteria, or at some sketchy pizza place, trying to plan presentations but ending up swapping stories about embarrassing freshie fails and ridiculous professors. Sometimes, you even went out just to unwind, walking the streets of the college town, sharing a bottle of cheap wine or a box of fries, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Those nights reminded you that, yeah, college was hectic, but it was fun too.

Every now and then, something small would remind you of Jake—a joke someone made in class, a guy on campus who laughed too loudly, a familiar song drifting out of someone’s speaker. The thought always passed quickly, but it came back often enough to be annoying.

And then, almost a year after high school graduation, Leila texted you about something you’d nearly forgotten.

Leila: let’s vote on where we should go for our friendship renewal

A year ago, you, Leila, and Jake had agreed to meet up once a year. That was the promise. One weekend every year, no excuses.  But Jake had gone radio silent. Not one message for you or Leila over the last year. Leila hadn’t heard anything from her mom’s side of the fence either—the Sim house remained empty, locked and untouched since the night they left.

Leila: looks like it’s just us this year You: whatever. It’s gonna be fun either way!

It stung a little that he wasn’t coming. Okay, maybe more than a little. But honestly? You were too busy juggling exams and group projects to spend too long sulking. The weekend wouldn’t be the same without him, but it would still be good. You and Leila? You always managed to make things good.

So that’s what you did. You shrugged, smiled, and started planning. Just the two of you. And somehow, even without him, it felt like everything was still exactly as it should be.

Soon enough, the semester was over. The weekend of your trip finally arrived. You were in the car, settling in, when Leila glanced at you with a sly smile. “Ready for our little vacation?”

“It’s only for a weekend. Hardly a vacation,” you chuckled. “But, yes I am!”

At the airport, the two of you were going through security, Leila chattering about flight schedules when you spotted a familiar figure waving across the terminal.

“Wait. Is that—” You stopped mid-step. Leila lagged behind you, following your gaze.

“Jake!” she called out excitedly, waving back. 

Your heart dropped to your stomach. It really was him. Jake Sim. Standing there, grinning like he hadn’t ghosted you and Leila for a full year, like he wasn’t the cause of half your nightmares and lingering what-ifs.

“Lei, what’s going on? Why is he here?” you asked quietly. “Did you know about this?”

“He texted me a week ago,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “He was asking about the trip and said he wanted to come.”

You spun to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you hissed.

“I—he asked me not to!” she shot back, raising her hands.

You turned back to Jake, who was casually strolling over, hands in his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself. “Surprise!” he sang, his smile wide and stupid.

Your mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. You took a tiny step back when he got closer, fingers tightening around your purse strap.

“You—what are you—why are you here?” you managed, sounding much more panicked than intended.

Jake shrugged. “It’s our friendship renewal. Figured I’d show up.”

“Figured you’d show up?” you repeated, incredulous. You took a deep breath, hoping to calm the rising anger in your chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Jake blinked, glanced at Leila, then back at you. “I—”

You swung your purse at him before he could finish, and he yelped, throwing his hands up. You didn’t stop and just kept swinging. Backhand, side-swipe, the whole arsenal, with repeated shrieks of “Moron! Jerk! Asshole! Idiot!”

Jake, inexplicably, was laughing as he tried to block you. “Alright, okay—ow—! I missed you too,” he said between chuckles.

“You think this is funny?” you yelled, stomping your foot.

Jake straightened a little, still grinning but with that tiny flicker of guilt slipping through. “No. I mean—kind of? But mostly no.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “You can’t just disappear for a year and then show up like this. What is wrong with you?”

Jake opened his mouth like he had a prepared speech, but then he hesitated. Instead, he said, “I wanted to surprise you.”

You blinked at him. Once. Twice. Then you swung your purse again.

Leila lunged forward, grabbing your arm mid-swing. “Okay, okay, that’s enough! We’re going to get kicked out of the airport at this rate!”

You let your arm drop, but didn’t take your eyes off Jake. He at least had the decency to look a little nervous now.

“I’m not going,” you announced, stepping back and crossing your arms. “Not with him. He can’t just waltz back in like nothing happened.”

Leila sighed. “Come on…”

“Nope,” you snapped. “He can go. You can go. I’ll go home and take a nap.”

Jake looked genuinely alarmed now. “Wait—what? No, hey—hold on.” He stepped closer, voice dropping a little. “Look, I know I messed up.”

You raised your eyebrows so high they nearly detached from your skull. “Messed up?”

“Okay, I really messed up,” he corrected quickly. “I’m not pretending nothing happened. I just… didn’t know how to reach out without making it worse.”

“Well, surprise,” you said, “you made it worse.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Leila glanced between the two of you, then nudged your elbow lightly. “Come on,” she said softly, “We can talk about this when we get there.”

You glared at her. “Oh, yeah. You two talk it out. As for me, there’s nothing for us to talk about,” you said, glancing at Jake and hoping, knowing, he understood what you were implying.

“Please,” Jake murmured. He didn’t look smug, or pretentious. He looked—God help you—earnest. The worst possible thing he could be.

You looked away immediately, trying to make up your mind. Seeing his face was only gonna make it hard to decide. Meanwhile, the announcement speakers crackled overhead.

“Final boarding call for Flight 27…”

Leila immediately grabbed your wrist. “We are not missing this flight,” she said, dragging both of you forward.

“Leila—!” you protested, digging your heels in. “I’m not going. I’m sulking. This is called sulking!”

“Sulking can continue on the plane,” she said cheerfully.

Jake walked beside you, wheeling his suitcase with one hand and keeping a respectful distance, probably so he wouldn’t get hit again. “I can help with that,” he offered, voice small, pointing at your bags.

“No,” you snapped instantly.

“…Okay.”

You marched toward the gate with your head high, refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge the loud beating of your heart that had nothing to do with anger, but all to do with the joy of seeing him again.

Jake Sim was back. And you absolutely weren’t ready for him.

The drive up the mountain should’ve been peaceful. It wasn’t. Leila was humming along to some playlist she found five seconds before starting the car, the windows were cracked just enough to let cold air nip at your face, and Jake—of course—kept making eye contact with you through the rearview mirror. Every time you caught him staring, he’d whip his gaze toward the trees outside, pretending to admire them like he hadn’t already looked at that same scenery four times since you left the airport.

Soon enough, you were all standing outside the resort’s lobby. The place was gorgeous, which only irritated you more. Clean stone walkways, warm wooden buildings, soft wind chimes playing in the background like the entire mountain was trying to tell you to relax. The kind of place that practically promised inner peace just from the exterior.

Too bad inner peace was not on your itinerary.

Staff members greeted you with mint tea and smiles. You hung back while Leila checked you in, arms crossed, eyes fixed anywhere that wasn’t Jake. He hovered near the luggage cart, hands in his pockets, pretending he wasn’t watching you. He was. You could feel it like a laser on the side of your head.

“Two-bedroom cabin, correct?” the staff member confirmed.

“Correct,” you and Leila said at the same time. Then she added, “And one extra guest, last minute.”

You shot her a look, and she cleared her throat.

The staff nodded. “No problem. It’s a spacious cabin. Two bedrooms, central living area, large balcony. Should be comfortable for a group of three.”

“Nice,” Jake chimed, probably delighted at hearing ‘comfortable,’ like he hadn’t been the human embodiment of discomfort for the last five hours.

The three of you were given your keycards and a map, and soon you were trudging up a path toward the cabin. The cabin itself was stupidly nice—warm lighting, soft blankets, that kind of rustic-chic design that’s meant to make you forget all your problems and embrace the serenity of nature or whatever.

You, however, could only think: This would’ve been perfect if someone wasn’t here.

You stepped inside. Two doors sat on opposite ends of the living room, clearly the bedrooms. Jake wandered in and paused, taking in the space. 

“Nice,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “This is way better than I expected—”

You spun toward him. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“I’m literally just standing,” he said quietly.

“You’re standing too close!”

Jake blinked, looked around him and the distance between the two of you. “We’re on both ends of the room.”

“Yeah, well, I’d prefer it if we’re on both ends of the planet.”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Leila clapped her hands. “So! Originally, the plan was, one room for me, one room for you,” she said, pointing at you with her thumb. “But, uh… since someone showed up—”

Jake raised a hand. “Hi. That’s me.”

“—we kind of have to adjust,” she finished.

Jake nodded earnestly. “I can take the smaller one. Or I’ll sleep on the floor, I don’t care.”

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

Jake’s head whipped toward you like you’d just offered him a hug. You realized too late what you just said, but you managed to roll your eyes and pretend it didn’t mean anything.

Leila smirked. “Right, so that’s settled. Girls’ room, Jake’s room.”

You dragged your suitcase into the room you and Leila would be sharing. It was cute, one queen-sized bed, fluffy blankets, and a small dresser. You didn’t bother unpacking, and just flopped face-first on the mattress.

From the hallway, Jake’s voice floated in. “They have free cookies in the kitchen!”

You didn’t even look up. You grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at the door.

Avoiding Jake proved to be tricky. Impossible, even. Because every time you left the bedroom, he was there.

You went to grab a glass of water—Jake was leaning over the mini-fridge, squinting at his phone. You walked to the balcony—Jake was already standing there, eyes closed, taking in the cool breeze. You reached for your charger on the couch—Jake walked past at that exact moment, froze, doubled back like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to cross your personal space.

After the tenth awkward collision, you turned to Leila, muttering, “He’s everywhere.”

She snorted. “It’s a cabin, not a mansion. And he’s trying, okay?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. Your heart was already betraying you, tight and warm and annoyingly hyperaware that after a whole year of silence, Jake Sim was suddenly close enough to brush shoulders with.

Morning at the resort was peaceful, birds chirping, sunlight streaming gently through the curtains, the earthy smell of pine drifting in. It was as if nature was trying to personally apologize for your stress.

You would’ve appreciated it more if you hadn’t woken up to Leila shaking your shoulder and whisper-yelling, “We’re gonna be late for yoga! Get up!”

You groaned into your pillow. “Yoga? This early?”

“It’s called morning yoga for a reason,” she reminded you. “And you picked the time.”

Right. Because you didn’t expect to be sharing oxygen with Jake Sim on this trip.

Fifteen minutes later, you were trudging toward the outdoor yoga deck, a wide wooden platform overlooking the mountains. Several guests were already there, their mats unrolled, breathing deeply and warming up.

You and Leila found a spot near the back. You were stretching your arms when you saw Jake, rolling out his mat, and looking stupidly good. Of course, he looked good—he looked amazing. Even more amazing than the last time you saw him. A year away would do that. 

You’d never said it out loud before, because obviously you’d rather combust than say something nice about Jake, but he really is good-looking. You pretended to roll your eyes at the girls who were head over heels for him back in high school, but the truth was, you knew exactly what they saw in him.

He glanced up, spotted you, and froze for half a second like you’d caught him doing something illegal—like breathing in your vicinity. Then he lifted a hand in a small, hesitant wave.

You ignored it.

“Admit it. You’re glad he’s here,” Leila whispered, smirking as she nudged you. 

“Don’t start,” you warned.

“You can be honest with me, you know,” she continued, rolling her mat beside yours. “You’re still mad, and I support this attitude you’re giving him right now. But you’re also glad to see him again, aren’t you?”

You exhaled sharply, opening your mouth to respond but the instructor walked in just in time, all smiles and pristine posture. Everyone shifted into position. “Let’s begin with some deep breaths,” she said. “In through the nose… out through the mouth…”

You inhaled. Exhaled. Tried to clear your mind. Which was difficult, because Jake was directly in your line of sight. Intentionally or not, you didn’t even wanna know. You just kept your gaze elsewhere and avoided meeting his eyes.

He was looking straight at you, though. And at one point, you forgot you were avoiding his gaze and glanced at him. You looked away so fast, you were sure you pulled a muscle.

Then the instructor guided everyone into a warrior pose. You lifted your arms, tried to focus on your breathing. In front of you, Jake was wobbling slightly on his back foot.

You choked on air.

Jake glanced over, caught you laughing, smiled a little, and then immediately lost his balance entirely. His foot slid, his arms twisted, and he almost toppled into the person next to him.

You slapped a hand over your mouth. Leila was silently wheezing beside you. The instructor did not look amused. Jake regained his footing, cheeks pink, eyes darting away like he hoped no one was looking. Everybody was definitely looking.

He glanced at you, looking sheepish. You stuck your tongue out at him and pulled a ‘L’ sign with your hand.

Leila snorted beside you. “What are you, twelve?” You just rolled your eyes at her.

Then came the partner stretch. The instructor was clapping her hands, telling everyone to pair up with the person in front of them. You froze, staring at Jake, who was already picking up his mat.

“Oh no,” you muttered.

“Oh yes,” Leila whispered dramatically.

“Hi,” Jake said, now standing in front of you, mat under one arm. “We’re partners.”

“Lucky me,” you deadpanned, glancing at Leila, who was absolutely no help because she was already partnered with a sweet-looking grandma and mouthing, “Good luck.”

The exercise was simple: back-to-back breathing. Sit cross-legged, backs touching, steady inhale-exhale. Simple. 

Except nothing about sitting back-to-back with Jake Sim was simple.

When you sat, your spine pressed against his, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. He hesitated for a second, then gently adjusted so your backs aligned. 

“Is this… okay?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer at first. You couldn’t trust your voice to sound normal. “It’s fine,” you eventually muttered.

The instructor guided everyone through slow inhales, long exhales. Jake’s breathing was steady. A little shaky at first, then calmer. You felt the push and pull of each breath, the rhythm, the familiarity of someone you swore you didn’t miss but clearly did. Still do. Eventually, your own breathing synced with his. 

For a few seconds, the world felt calmer. And then Jake whispered, barely audible, “I missed you.”

Your whole body tensed. “Well, fuck you,” you said, standing up before he could say anything else.

You moved to the edge of the deck for the rest of the session, pretending you needed more space to stretch. But the truth was simple and obvious. You didn’t wanna be anywhere near Jake. Not with him sitting there, breathing like that, sounding like that, looking at you like he’d been waiting a whole year to explain himself.

Breakfast followed yoga. Then, after that, the resort staff led your group toward the start of the mountain trail. The hike was advertised as “easy and rejuvenating,” which really meant ten percent uphill, eighty percent pretty views, and ten percent stopping to take photos.

You walked ahead with Leila, very intentionally keeping distance from several tourists and one very persistent Jake Sim. Every time you heard his footsteps get closer, you sped up. You weren’t even pretending you weren’t avoiding him. Why pretend? He knew. You knew he knew. And you wanted him to know.

Leila nudged you. “You’re walking too fast.”

“I am,” you muttered. “I’m trying not to get caught by that person.”

Of course, fate—or the resort’s narrow winding trail—hated you, because soon the path got smaller, and the guide called out, “Single file from here!” 

Everyone shuffled into a line. Jake somehow ended up right behind you. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Can we talk later? Whenever you’re ready.”

You smirked, not even looking back. “Later or whenever I’m ready? Pick one and stick to it.”

“Well, maybe late—”

“Doesn’t matter. The answer is no.”

He sighed, but didn’t insist. You wished he had, so you could have the satisfaction of shutting him down twice.

When the group stopped at a lookout point, you moved straight to the railing. Jake stepped up beside you anyway, keeping a careful distance.

“You’re mad,” he said softly.

You snorted. “Am I? I didn’t notice.”

He opened his mouth again, but you stepped away, already heading back to where Leila was taking photos of a tree. A very average tree.

“Would you tell your other best friend to leave me alone?” you whispered.

She didn’t even look up. “I can’t tell him what to do. He’s a grown ass man.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at the tree she was oddly so interested in. “I don’t understand how you could forgive him so easily.”

“Oh, it wasn’t easy,” she replied, straightening up and tucking her phone back in her sling bag. “I gave him two days of hell before I let him explain himself.”

You frowned. “And what reason could he have that was acceptable enough for you to forget what he did and just move on?”

“I didn’t ‘forget’ what he did,” she chuckled. “I’m cutting him some slack. We’ve known each other for ages, and I understood that he didn’t do it all on purpose. We’re not kids anymore. I’m done throwing a tantrum over this.”

“Well, I’m not,” you said flatly.

“I know,” she said gently. “And that’s fine. But it would help if you two actually talked.”

You groaned and stalked off toward the next section of the trail. At one point, while everyone paused to let a family with kids pass, Jake appeared beside you again. “I really think we should—”

“Jake,” you interrupted sharply, “I am enjoying nature. Please let me enjoy nature.”

“You’re glaring at a squirrel.”

“It was looking at me funny! I have to show him I’m not someone to be messed with. This is how I enjoy nature.”

He let out a breathy laugh but stopped the moment you glared at him too. “Sorry.”

Finally, at a flat clearing where the guide announced a short break, Leila pulled the two of you aside and slapped her hands together.

“Okay,” she said, staring dead at the two of you, “that’s it. I’ve had enough of this.”

You blinked. “What?”

“No more running away,” she said, pointing at you. Then she pointed at Jake. “And no more puppy-dog eyes at her. Both of you, figure your shit out.”

Jake raised his hands. “Dude, I’m trying to.”

“I don’t want to,” you shot back.

Leila groaned into her palms. “Guys. This is supposed to be a fun weekend. It won’t be unless you talk. So please, for the love of God and my sanity, go over there—” she pointed at a shaded bench under a tree “—and fix whatever this is. I want peace. I want harmony. I want a nice photo for Instagram to celebrate our first friendship renewal trip.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Jake spoke first, voice gentler than you expected.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he said. “I get that you don’t wanna hear me out. I just… I just wanna talk to you. After that, I’m done. Seriously. I won’t bother you anymore.”

You hated everything about this. The sincerity on his face, the way your chest felt tight, the way running wasn’t an option anymore, not without looking ridiculous in front of twenty hikers.

Finally, you sighed. “Fine. Talking. We’re talking.”

Jake let out a relieved sigh. Leila beamed like she’d just solved world hunger. “Great! I’ll give you some space.”

You shot her a look. “I’m surprised you don’t wanna hear this.”

She shushed you and leaned in to whisper in your ear. “Tell me later.” Then she pulled away, smiling at Jake. “Don’t fight, okay?”

You turned to Jake, heart thudding in that awful, familiar way it did when Jake was nearby.

“Okay,” you muttered. “Start talking.”

Jake didn’t jump straight into apologizing. He just stood there on the trail beside you, shoes half-buried in pine needles, fingers fiddling with the strap of his water bottle. “Can I—” He exhaled. “Can I explain?”

You crossed your arms, not saying yes or walking away. He took that as permission.

“The night before graduation,” he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. “My dad got a call. His mom—my grandma, she uh…”

He pressed his lips together, nodded once, as if confirming it to himself before saying it out loud. “She had a heart attack. We had to leave that night.”

Your breath hitched before you could help it. He wasn’t looking at you, but he must’ve felt it, because he rushed to add, “There was no time to tell anyone. I didn’t even grab half my stuff. We just drove to the airport and took the first flight.”

A bird chirped somewhere overhead. It felt too cheerful for the conversation.

“I kept thinking I’d text you,” he said, rolling the water bottle between his palms. “Or at least Leila. Just something. But then my grandma, she uh… she didn’t make it. And then the funeral happened, and the family was all over the place, and by the time things calmed down…” He shook his head. “It had already been weeks.”

He finally looked at you then, tired in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“And I swear, every day I told myself, ‘today.’” His mouth twisted into something like a self-deprecating smile. “But the longer I waited, the worse it felt. Like… the window had closed, and it was just too late to try.”

He shifted his weight, kicking lightly at a pinecone. “I know it sounds like I’m making excuses,” he said quietly. “And maybe I am. But that’s what happened.”

Then he was quiet. That was the end of his explanation, it seemed. You took a deep breath, still staring at him, and he was still unable to meet your eyes. Your anger hadn’t disappeared, but it loosened its grip just enough.

“Are you okay?” you asked, and Jake looked at you like he was surprised. 

“What?” he asked, blinking.

“Are you okay?” you repeated. “I think Leila mentioned once that you dearly loved your grandma.”

“Oh,” he muttered, huffing a sad laugh. “It was rough. But I’m okay now. Thanks for asking.”

You nodded slowly, looking out at the trees again, hands tucked under your arms. The anger wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t burning as hot anymore. Manageable. Understandable.

“Well,” you said finally, “I’m glad you’re okay now.”  Jake looked relieved for half a second—until you added, “But that doesn’t magically make everything else okay.”

He winced. “Yeah. I know.”

“And you should know,” you continued, staring him down, “that I understand now why you disappeared overnight. It was an emergency. Got it. And I’m really very sorry for your loss. But you left me and Leila hanging for a whole year without a single text.” 

Jake nodded, shoulders dropping just a little. “I know. That was the worst part.”

“I’m not trying to punish you,” you said, softer. “I’m just genuinely upset. You could’ve handled this better than you did. And if you had just reached out, I know I speak for Leila too when I say we would’ve been there for you.”

He let out a slow breath. “I know. Leila said the exact same thing. I’m really sorry, and thank you for listening.”

You shrugged, kicking at the dirt with your shoe. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m still mad at you.”

He huffed out a tiny laugh. “I can work with that.”

You didn’t smile, but something in your chest eased. You tutted, turning back to the group. “Let’s just… finish the hike.”

Jake nodded, his voice lighter now. “Okay.”

You both stepped away from the bench. He tried to fall into step beside you, and you whipped your head toward him. “Don’t walk too close.”

He immediately took a step back. “Yes, ma’am.”

The rest of the hike passed in a kind of shaky truce. You and Jake kept a polite distance, him occasionally glancing your way, you occasionally smirking when he nearly tripped over a root or bumped into a low-hanging branch. Leila flitted between photographing leaves and nudging you both like the mischievous friend she was.

When the group paused for a snack break beside a stream, you sat on a fallen log, stretching out your legs. Jake plopped down beside you and, without asking, grabbed the last granola bar. Your eyes narrowed instantly.

“Really?” you said, holding up the empty wrapper.

Jake’s cheeks went pink. “I—uh… I thought you were done eating.”

Leila rolled her eyes from across the stream. “It’s literally a granola bar, you two. Calm down.”

“Fine,” you said, straightening up and crossing your arms. “I’ll let this one slide. But don’t think this means you can get away with everything.”

Jake blinked at you, looking puzzled. “Everything?”

“You know,” you said, leaning against a tree, smirking, “the small stuff. Like stealing the last snack. Or… ghosting us all year.”

Jake froze mid-chew, granola crumbs threatening to escape his lips. His eyes went wide, and for a second, it looked like he might actually start crying out og shame. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then stared at you in horror.

You gave him a sweet smile—something that should have been endearing if he weren’t choking on his own guilt. Then you walked away, satisfied with the small victory, leaving him muttering under his breath, while Leila was in stitches, laughing her ass off.

By the time you all made it back to the cabin, your legs felt like cooked noodles. Leila kicked off her shoes the second she stepped through the door, sighing like she had just finished climbing Everest. Meanwhile, Jake held the door open for everyone.

Inside, it smelled like pine and whatever candle the resort staff had lit up before you came back from the hike. You made a beeline for the couch, collapsing with a grunt. Jake tossed his backpack and immediately rummaged in the kitchen like he knew what he was doing.

He did not, as it turned out. He was looking around like a headless chicken before giving up and asking, “Where are the bowls?”

“Try the cabinet. You know,” you said, waving a hand, “the thing that stores things.”

Jake paused, looked over his shoulder, and gave you the flattest expression known to man. “Ha. Hilarious.”

“Thank you,” you said, crossing your arms, “I learned it from the person who ghosted me for twelve months.”

He froze with his hand still inside the cabinet. “That’s n—okay. Yep. That’s… fair.”

Leila, sitting at the dining table scrolling through her phone, snorted so hard she nearly choked.

Forgive, never forget. That became the running theme of the trip. Things didn’t magically return to normal. You were still annoyed. Jake was still guilty. And Leila was still extremely Done™ with both of you.

But clearing the air brought back something familiar: you could talk to him again. Which, naturally, meant you could also bicker with him again. Except, this time, you have an ace up your sleeve.

Every time he got a little too smug, every time he tried to one-up you or threw a playful comment your way, you raised a single eyebrow and said, “Didn’t you ghost us for a year?”

And like magic, Jake Sim—tall, confident, annoyingly handsome Jake Sim—immediately shrank three inches.

“No, you’re right,” he’d mumble. “My bad.”

Leila watched this happen twice before cackling, “Oh, you are so abusing that power.”

“As I should,” you replied.

It wasn’t mature, sure. But it was fun. And after a year of radio silence, you deserved at least a little fun.

That night, staff invited you out to a bonfire activity. You wrapped yourself in a blanket and took a seat on the log bench, half-watching as Jake tried, and failed, to ignite the fire with a too-small lighter.

“Are bonfires supposed to be this cold?” you asked, sarcasm dripping in your tone.

“Just wait. I’ve got it,” he insisted, flicking the lighter again and again.

Leila leaned in, placing a hand near her mouth as if she was whispering but her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear when she said, “I’m not saying he’s hopeless, but if we were stranded in the woods I’d eat tree bark before relying on him.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t rely on him at all,” you replied, earning a laugh from the small group that had gathered around the firepit.

Finally, with the help of someone far more competent, the fire crackled to life. The glow made everyone look warmer. Even Jake, whose face lit up like a kid on Christmas. He sat across from you, knees drawn close, hands stretched to the heat.

Conversations began. People joked about the hike. Someone brought marshmallows. Leila began narrating Jake’s granola-bar theft like it was a true crime podcast.

Jake groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Can we not?”

“No,” Leila said sweetly. “Criminals must face justice.”

He peeked through his fingers. “…It was one granola bar.”

“It was the last granola bar,” you corrected. “And you didn’t even ask.”

Beside Leila, a girl leaned to ask, “What episode do they kiss?”

Leila made a show of sighing dramatically. “I’ve been asking myself that exact question for five years.”

You nearly threw your marshmallow stick at her. Jake choked on his own saliva.

The group eventually thinned out as the night deepened. Two people went to a hall to play board games with other guests. One couple retreated to their cabin. Leila stayed for a bit longer, then yawned aggressively and announced, “I’m gonna go before you two start passive-aggressively flirting again.”

“When did we ever—” you began.

“Goodnight,” she sang, skipping away.

Suddenly, the air felt quieter. The fire crackled. Crickets hummed. Jake nudged the dirt with his shoe, eyes focused on the flames.

“The hike was nice,” he said softly, like he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to talk to you alone.

“Mm,” you hummed, staring at the fire. “The scenery was nice.”

“The scenery,” he echoed, clearing his throat. “So… not the company.”

You shot him a sideways look. “Don’t get me started with that.”

He winced, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Another moment passed. Not uncomfortable. Not exactly comfortable either. Jake cleared his throat again. “I really am sorry, you know. The whole time I was away. I was just too ashamed to reach out.”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “You updated your Instagram just fine.”

“Oh, that was my way of—” He stopped himself, sighed. “Never mind. Just another excuse.”

He hesitated, glancing at you, away, then back again with a flicker of something hopeful on his face. “I heard you’ve been checking in on me. On Instagram, I mean.”

Your brows furrowed as you put on an annoyed expression to mask the sudden flutter in your chest. “Did Leila tell you that?”

“Was it true?”

“That traitor,” you muttered. Your annoyance was mostly performative; he didn’t need to know that. “What else did she tell you?”

“She didn’t mean to. It’s sort of… a slip of the tongue.”

“That tongue of hers.”

“But,” he tried again, leaning just slightly closer, “was it true?”

You kept your eyes on the fire. “So what if it is?”

“Every day? The whole year?” 

“No,” you scoffed. “Only the first few months. I moved on eventually. There was no point waiting for something I wasn’t even sure was real.”

He straightened a little. “What does that mean?”

“You know what that means, Jake.”

And he did. You watched the memory hit him. You could see it in the way his shoulders softened, the way his mouth pressed into something regretful. He was remembering that night—the walk home, the confessions that weren’t confessions, the time when both of you knew exactly what was happening without saying any of it out loud. And maybe, if things had gone differently, something would’ve happened.

“I thought we had something going on,” you said, barely above a whisper. The words felt too vulnerable, so you looked at the fire instead.

“We had,” he said immediately, desperately. “I mean, we still have. Wait—do we… still have something going on?”

You stared at him, stunned at how he could ask you something so intimate when you haven’t even made up yet. “Did you seriously just ask me that? I’m giving you an inch and you’re taking a mile. Is that it?”

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t tell me your…” you grimaced, “feelings, or whatever you call it, still haven’t changed after all this time?”

He scoffed lightly. “After all this time? It’s only been a year.”

“Answer the question.”

He swallowed, then looked at you with conviction in his eyes. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, it hasn’t changed,” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “I still think about you. I miss you every day. You have no idea how much I wanted to talk to you the whole time I was away.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced your expression to stay neutral. “Then why didn’t you? Why didn’t you reach out and talk to me? You could’ve done that.”

His face crumpled just slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Great,” you said, pushing yourself to your feet with a smirk sharp enough to hide the hurt. “You’ll get points for consistency if you’re still sorry tomorrow.”

Then you walk past him, not one glance back.

You woke up to sunlight filtering through the curtains, Leila’s soft snoring, and the vague memory of last night’s conversation replaying in your head. The fire, Jake’s confession, your own frustration spilling out.

You expected things to be awkward. Or stiff. Or at least normal Jake levels of annoying. Instead, you opened your bedroom door and found him already outside, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting.

“There you are,” he said, suspiciously bright.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Just saying good morning.”

“No one says good morning like that unless they’ve done something shady.”

He snorted, straightened. “Okay, wow. Incredible vote of confidence.”

You blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“I—uh.” He glanced around, hands in his pockets. “Staff came to say breakfast is ready at the main lodge. I thought, since we’re all walking there anyway, that I could, like… walk with you.”

You stared. He smiled wider, but nervously. Behind you, Leila shoved her head out of the doorway, eyes squinting. She saw Jake, then paused. She looked at you, back at him, and then nodded like she’d confirmed something.

“Morning,” she muttered, pushing past both of you and heading straight to the bathroom.

Jake kept his eyes on you. “Should we leave now or do you need to get ready?”

You rolled your eyes, turned around, and shut the door to his face. Outside, you could hear him calling out, “I’ll wait for you here!”

You didn’t step out until Leila was back. You hoped she would take too long and Jake would just forget about walking with you. But when Leila came back and you both stepped out of your bedroom, Jake was still waiting there.

He walked with you to breakfast and pulled out a chair for you—a thing he’d literally never done. You stared at him in shock. He pretended not to notice, but you saw the little twitch in his jaw.

Leila shot you a ‘what is going on with him’ look. You shrugged back because honestly? You had no clue.

And then Jake went and got your plate. He just stood up, gathered your food preferences with concerning accuracy, and set the dish in front of you.

“You’re being weird,” you said.

He bit into his pancake, absolutely avoiding your eyes. “No I’m not.”

“You are. You’re being extremely weird.”

“Maybe I’m just… being nice.”

“You’re never nice to me,” you accused, hesitating to eat your food. “You’re mean and annoying.”

He just laughed, ignoring your statement completely and asking, “Did you sleep okay?”

“Fine.”

“Good. That’s good.” A few seconds of silence, then he asked, “Did you eat enough last night?”

“Stop it.”

“Okay,” he chuckledd. “Just checking. Jeez.”

You looked at Leila. “What’s wrong with your other best friend?”

Leila raised an eyebrow. “How would I know? He was with you last night.”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “I figured you said something that made him all weird and cringey.”

“Don’t talk like I’m not sitting right here,” Jake cut in, chuckling. “And I’m really just trying to be nice.”

Leila narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, whatever, Sim Jaeyun.”

The group’s morning activity was a nature scavenger hunt. Mostly an excuse for people to walk around the forest while staff supervised from afar. You were given a list, a tiny cloth bag, and instructions not to wander out of bounds.

As soon as the group dispersed, Jake fell into step beside you again. You narrowed your eyes. “Are you planning to stick to me the entire day?”

“I mean… only if you want?”  He immediately winced. “I mean—not if you don’t want. But also if you don’t want, I could still—no, wait, that sounds wrong.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“Walk away.”

“Walking away.” He dutifully walked away, but not without shouting, “I’ll be back later.”

“Please don’t,” you called back, rolling your eyes before walking the opposite way.

True to his words, Jake came back beside you—not even ten minutes since you told him to walk away. You had spotted a smooth stone and bent down to pick it up. Before you could reach it, Jake was suddenly crouched next to you, offering another stone that was identical but flatter and shinier.

“I found a better one,” he said, smiling hopefully. “You can have this.”

“Better for what? Skipping across a lake?”

He paused. “Yes?”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “We’re not skipping stones, we’re collecting them.”

“Oh.” He tossed the stone without even thinking about it.

Leila appeared from behind a tree, laughing. “He is trying. Respect the effort.”

“He’s trying too hard,” you muttered.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Leila whispered. “Also, he ghosted you, so let him suffer some more.”

Jake blinked. “I can hear you.”

“I know you can,” Leila teased, already walking away.

He fell quiet after that. Not sulking, but trying obviously too hard to behave, which somehow made it even more unnatural. He handed you water without you asking. He carried your jacket when the sun came out. He made space on narrow parts of the trail like you were made of glass.

By lunch, you were convinced he was suffering from something. A fever, maybe. Or guilt-induced personality distortion.

“Okay, I’m not gonna lie. You’re being useful today,” you said when he fetched snacks for you without being asked.

“Thank you,” he chimed, sitting down on the log beside you. “Do you want my water? You can have my water. You can have this too.”

“Do you want his left kidney?” Leila deadpanned. “Pretty sure he’d give it up if you ask for it.”

You rolled your eyes, meeting Jake’s gaze when you did. He shrugged. “I mean… If you need it.”

“Oh my god. Just what is up with you today?”

Leila snorted. “He’s malfunctioning.”

Jake pouted. “You can say something nice to me, you know.”

“I could,” you replied, shrugging.

“You won’t, will you?” he asked, pouting harder.

“No,” you replied without missing a beat, even shaking your head.

The rest of the day was just lounging around and doing nothing. You liked the idea, but Jake wouldn’t stop hovering around you. He kept doing things that would have been sweet and thoughtful if it wasn’t completely out of character and odd of him. At one point, you realized you had to confront him about it. For real.

“Jake. Just stop.”

He blinked. “Stop what?” If he was genuinely confused or just pretending to be, you had no idea.

“Stop trying so hard,” you said, rubbing your temples. “You’re being weird.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. You added, “I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not working. Just be normal. The Jake I knew didn’t act like this.”

He blinked at you slowly, like your words were rewiring his brain. “Okay. I can do normal.”

“Good. Now give me some space.”

That night, the staff set up another bonfire, someone found a guitar, and the entire group fell into a classic bonfire karaoke where half the songs were sung off-key and the other half were from your childhood.

You sat wrapped in your blanket, warm and cozy. Jake stayed near, not glued to your side, but orbiting close enough that you could sense him even when you weren’t looking. Every now and then you’d catch him watching you, smiling a little before pretending he wasn’t.

Eventually people peeled off one by one. Leila lasted almost to the end, mostly because she was determined to finish her hot chocolate. When she finally stood, she pointed at the two of you with her mug and said, “I’m going to bed. Please don’t create problems while I’m gone.”

“We don’t—” you started.

“You absolutely do,” she said, already walking away.

You tilted your head, puzzled. “What’s with this odd sense of deja vu?”

Jake settled beside you. “That’s just your mind playing tricks with you.”

“You’re sitting too close.”

He glanced blankly at you and scooted closer. Close enough that your shoulders were touching. You leaned away, but couldn’t move because you were already at the edge of the log. “What are you doing?”

“You told me to act normal,” he replied casually, turning back to the flames. 

You scoffed, nudged him to move, but he ignored it. “This trip was fun. Despite everything.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t disagree. “Yeah,” you admitted. “It’s not terrible. You’re not terrible.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me on this trip.”

“Exaggerate more, please.”

He threw his head back laughing, making you grimace at the exaggerated reaction. Then, his laugh faded slowly and he looked at you when he said, “I missed you. Us, I mean. Arguing with you was always fun.”

Your heart flipped, and you smirked to hide it. “For me, it wasn’t. You were just genuinely annoying.”

He nodded. “Well, that’s the point. I was annoying you on purpose. People call it rage baiting nowadays.”

“I know what rage baiting is, thank you very much.”

Jake faked a gasp. “You do? Good for you. And here I thought all you ever did was bury your face in books.”

You scoffed. “I’m not that bad!”

“No, you’re not.” Laughing, He poked at the embers with a stick, then glanced at you with a small smile. “You were very smart, and still managed to balance your studies and your social life.”

You snorted. “Well, you were stupid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you open a book. You’re always out partying or chasing after girls.”

“Wrong. I never chased girls. They chased me. You chased me too.”

“As if!”

“Want me to prove it?” he asked, and you raised an eyebrow as a challenge. But then he smirked and you got nervous.

Is he gonna bring up the time you went to his bedroom and asked him to have se—

“You kissed me in a closet once,” he said, silencing your thoughts. “Unprovoked.”

Your jaw dropped. “I was most definitely provoked at the time!”

Jake shrugged nonchalantly. “Doesn’t change the fact that you kissed me.”

“You kissed me back!”

“I had to. It was the first time I felt butterflies in my stomach,” he said casually, like he wasn’t dropping a bomb right at your feet. “One passive-aggressive closet incident and everything went downhill from there,” he added, shaking his head fondly. 

You didn’t say anything to that—not immediately. Your hands felt warm under your blanket, but your chest felt warmer because of the bomb he just dropped.

He glanced at you when he noticed your silence. “I’m saying that was when I started having feel—”

“Stop,” you blurted, looking away and hoping he couldn’t see the flush on your cheeks. “I know what you’re trying to say.”

You heard him chuckle, and then felt him lean closer. “I liked you, you know.:

“…Past tense?” you asked, unsure but also aware of what you were doing.

“I still do.”

The world stopped for a second, the air felt hot, and the space between you felt smaller. “Really?” you asked, glancing back at him only to realize how close his face was.

Jake’s gaze flitted to your lips. “Really.”

Something fluttered up your spine. And maybe it was the warmth, or the dreamy way the firelight was making his skin glow, or maybe it was just the both of you finally running out of excuses, but you leaned in first. Or maybe he did. It was hard to tell. The kiss was soft, gentle, almost uncertain, like both of you were waiting for the other to pull away. Neither of you did.

When you finally pulled back, he exhaled a laugh, like he couldn’t believe it actually happened. “You just kissed me.”

You rolled your eyes to cover the fluttering under your ribs. “You’re so dramatic.” That made him grin even harder.

Back at the cabin, you tried, like really tried, to go to your room. You even made it to your door. But then he reached for your hand, squeezing it lightly as he murmured, “Stay?”.

You really should’ve said no. You absolutely, definitely, objectively should have. Instead, you tiptoed with him into his room and climbed onto his bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. He wrapped his arms around you right away, warm and solid and stupidly comforting.

The next morning, you woke up warm against him, his arm heavy around your waist, his face buried in your hair like he had no intention of letting go.

But it was already morning, and you couldn’t risk having Leila wake up and find your spot in the bed cold and empty. So you slowly sat up, only to be pulled back down by Jake.

“I have to go.”

“No, you don’t.” He tightened his hold like a stubborn child. “Stay. It’s still early.”

“No,” you whispered, struggling out of his hold. “I have to. I don’t want Leila to find out. Not yet, at least.”

Jake groaned, pulling you closer instead of letting go. “She doesn’t care. She already knows I’m in love with you.”

You froze, heart jumping to your throat. “Say that again?”

He fell quiet for a few seconds before eventually saying, “No.”

“Jake,” you sang, turning to face him. 

He saw your face and something flickered in his eyes. It almost looked like he was gonnasay it again, but he buried his face into the pillow to stop himself. “No. You heard me just fine. That’s enough.”

“Please?” you tried again, pulling some puppy eyes and tilting your head for added effect.

Jake peeked at you, then made an annoyed noise, the kind that meant he was absolutely giving in. “Fine. I’m in love with you. Whatever.”

You smiled. For the first time, you didn’t even think to hide it behind a witty remark or downplay the whole thing. You even giggled, which just made Jake groan louder and pull the blanket over his head.

You ran your hand through his hair. “That’s good to know, but I spent most of this trip being mad at you,” you whispered. “I can’t let Leila think I forgave you in five seconds.”

“I don’t care what she thinks.”

“Well I do,” you hissed, slipping out of bed. “She’ll never let me live it down.”

But the moment you stepped into the living room, Leila was already sitting on the couch, sipping coffee with the smuggest grin known to mankind.

“Good morning,” you said, trying very, very hard to sound normal.

Leila lowered her mug, eyes sparkling. “Oh,” she said sweetly. “I bet it was.”

You nearly turned around and walked straight back into Jake’s room.

After that trip, the two of you slipped into long-distance without ever officially deciding anything.  It just happened. You were in love, he was in love, and neither of you seemed particularly interested in pretending otherwise. Messages every day, late-night calls that stretched longer than planned, random selfies he sent at weird hours with captions that barely made sense.

One time, you bought a soft blanket on a whim and showed it to him on Facetime. The next day, Jake got the exact same one. Whenever you called, he’d pull it into frame like a cat showing off its catch.

Sometimes you’d do groceries together. In different time zones, but acting like you lived together and needed to coordinate groceries. You’d be walking around the store while on Facetime with him, offering ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to the items he kept showing you on the screen, while also picking out your own stuff.

Jake was coming home for the holidays this year, and you and Leila made an effort to make his house feel like a proper home again. Garland hung across the windows, twinkling lights draped over the banister, and the kitchen smelled of cinnamon and roasting pine nuts. Jake walked in and laughed like he couldn’t believe this was real. Then he dropped his bag and hugged you, like he’d been waiting months for the chance.

The holiday itself was warm in that soft and lovely way you never appreciated growing up. Christmas music played quietly in the background as you wrapped presents, Jake stealing bites of cookies whenever you weren’t looking. The house was empty except for the three of you, but somehow it felt warm and full. 

You cooked together, watched garbage movies, argued about who ate the last cookie even though it was obviously him, and let yourselves fall into a routine that felt embarrassingly natural. It was stupidly domestic and you loved it.

Then January came and the holidays was over. The two of you went back into the LDR pattern. Calls, texts, that steady stream of check-ins that made the distance feel less like a wall and more like something you just worked around. You got used to the part where he would disappear sometimes. Dropping off for a day or two, buried in course work or forgetting to charge his phone or getting distracted by something he never explained clearly.

You got annoyed sometimes, sparking little fights or bigger arguments, but he always came back with an apology and things would be okay again.  It wasn’t perfect, but it was working, and you were happy. Happier than you expected to be, considering how long you spent hating each other in high school. It felt real and constant, like something that could actually last.

Time passed quicker than you expected, and soon, it was time for your next friendship renewal trip. 

Aruba felt unreal the moment you stepped out of the airport. Hot wind, salt in the air, sunlight bouncing off every surface. The heat wrapped around you the second you stepped out of the airport, and you honestly thought you’d melt right there on the pavement. Jake only laughed when you fanned yourself with your passport, which was rude because he looked perfectly fine with his hair pushed back and sunglasses hanging from his shirt. Meanwhile, you probably looked like humidity had chewed you up and spat you out.

“You look excited,” you teased.

“You look beautiful,” he shot back without hesitation—still not used to the way he said things like that now. You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt warm anyway.

Aruba was stupidly gorgeous. The kind of gorgeousness that made you forget the long flight, and the fact that Leila had bailed forty-eight hours before departure with the most casual “You two will be fine!” text in the history of betrayal.

“Leila’s missing out,” Jake said as he slid your luggage into the trunk.

“Her loss.”

The resort was especially pretty. Every corner was postcard-worthy—white umbrellas, turquoise water, the smell of coconut sunscreen drifting around. Even the ocean sounded pretty. You barely got the door open before Jake launched himself onto the bed with a dramatic groan. Meanwhile, you stood there taking in the room, the balcony, the ocean view, and the stupidly fluffy pillows.

“Get up,” you told him, tapping his leg. “C’mon, we’re wasting Aruba.”

“We just got here.” His voice was muffled. “Let’s get some rest first. That flight was long.”

“Jake, we only have like five days here.”

“It’s okay, we have time,” he groaned, but he rolled up anyway, hair rumpled, eyes heavy-lidded and tired.

You crossed your arms and put on a stern face. Jake only grinned, then held out his arms. “Come here.”

You tossed a pillow at his face instead, but somehow you still ended up falling onto the bed next to him, laughing as he pulled you close and kissed your cheek.

“I hate to say this but, I’m kinda glad Leila isn’t here,” he admitted, making you scoff. He then crashed his mouth into yours before you could even say anything.

The kissing only escalated from there.

The first day melted into the second. You slipped into a routine without trying—late breakfasts, sunscreen that never rubbed in properly, you complaining about the sun, Jake insisting you’d be fine, you saying you didn’t wanna go out only to do the exact opposite. You swam until your arms felt like noodles and then laid on towels, half-asleep, listening to the ocean breathe. Or… Kissing.

Every morning Jake kissed you before you even woke up properly. Softly on your shoulder, the line of your jaw, then a little firmer when you mumbled something that sounded like his name.

He kissed you while handing you sunscreen. He kissed you while you waited for the elevator. He kissed you underwater, laughing when you accidentally inhaled half the pool.

One afternoon, on the beach, he leaned over your lounge chair to say something and ended up kissing you instead—because apparently your mouth was more interesting than whatever he was about to say. You tugged him down for another one. And another. And another, until a kid walked by and Jake pulled away with a guilty smile. 

“We should not traumatize the youth,” he said, but then he kissed once more anyway.

It was like your mouths had their own gravitational pull. But it wasn’t only the kissing. It was the tiny things that seemed so ordinary but actually sweet in retrospect.

Like when you were both floating on your backs in the water and he bumped your foot gently to keep you close. You feeding him fruit from a plastic container while he drove the rental too fast. The way he automatically reached for your hand whenever you crossed a street. How he'd press his lips to your shoulder whenever you spaced out for more than five seconds.

Sometimes you swore he was looking at you like he was memorizing you, the shape of your mouth when you smiled, the curve of your shoulder under your sundress, the way your fingers brushed the edge of your glass. Those glances always hit you in the chest, making you feel warm and giddy. You never said anything about it. Warm and giddy was becoming the norm of the entire trip.

And of course, the laughs. The stupid inside jokes. The way you’d both talk about nothing for hours and then fall into a comfortable silence that didn’t feel like silence at all.

But then there were odd moments when he dissociated. Not for long, maybe ten or twenty seconds, but it always felt longer. You’d be telling him something—something boring, something random, something about the guy at the bar who tried to flirt with you while Jake was in the bathroom—and you’d realize he wasn’t fully there. His eyes would go a little distant, expression softening in that way that wasn’t about you. Like he was wandering somewhere inside his own head.

Then he’d blink, shake himself back, and say something funny. “Sorry,” he’d say. “Brain went offline.”

“Again?”

“It happens. You’re too relaxing.” Then he’d kiss the top of your head.

But the thing about paradise is that it makes it easy to forgive your instincts for sounding alarms. You told yourself not to overthink it. You always got anxious when things felt too perfect. And this trip? It was dangerously perfect. This trip was borderline unreal.

One serene afternoon, Jake took you to the beach, sand sticking to your sunscreen, drinks in hand, waves crashing close enough to mist your legs. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and everything felt unreal in that pretty, golden way Aruba kept doing without trying.

Jake lay on the towel beside you, propped up on his elbows. “You’re not swimming?” he asked.

“I like the view from here.”

He grinned at you. “The view being…?” He pointed at himself like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“The ocean, dumbass,” you replied, kicking a small pile of sand at his foot.

He grinned, tilting his head like he didn’t believe you for a second.  Then he sat up and tugged his sleeveless shirt off in one smooth motion before flopping back down, chest and abs on full display.

“How about now?”

You tried, and failed, not to ogle him. You knew Jake saw the way your eyes traced the lines of his muscles, if the grin on his face was any indication. Still not giving him the satisfaction, you simply hummed and looked away.

“It’s alright,” you said casually, taking a sip from your glass.

He laughed, loud, unguarded, delighted by your stubbornness. “Me though? I love my view,” he said, eyes sweeping over your body without shame before he slipped on his sunglasses like he made a point and signed it.

You rolled your eyes and flung sand at his feet again.

Later, when you went into the water, he followed without hesitation, wading in beside you until you both floated, sun glaring overhead. A wave lifted you unexpectedly, and you reached out instinctively—but he already had his arms around you, firm and warm and close enough to feel his breath on your cheek.

The next few days passed in a blur of warm nights and lazy mornings. You ate breakfast on the balcony, took photos of each other you’d never admit you liked, wandered through the markets with matching coconut drinks because Jake insisted they “fit the vacation aesthetic.”

On the fourth night, you had dinner by the beach. String lights hung above you, swaying gently with the breeze. The air smelled like salt and something sweet drifting from the resort kitchen. Jake tapped his fork against his plate, staring at you with a look that made your stomach flutter.

“This feels like a date,” he said.

You scoffed, playing along. “It’s not. Don’t be silly.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, flashing a confident grin. “It’s okay to be honest. I know you’re secretly screaming and giggling right now.”

“Who? Me?” you snorted. “Don’t think so. If anyone’s excited about this, that would be you. Grinning so hard, one would think you won the lottery or something.”

Jake lifted his drink, swirling the ice around. “You’re projecting,” he said. “You’re the one who got all dressed up for me.”

“I got dressed up for Aruba,” you corrected.

“Right,” he said, nodding slowly. “Because Aruba specifically told you to wear that dress.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re getting bold.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” he grinned.  “You’ve been smiling at me all night too.”

“You mean I’ve been smiling in your general direction.”

“Uh-huh.” He pointed a finger at you. “That’s the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to take the bait. But then he smirked. That specific smirk. The one you hated because it meant he thought he was winning. Which, technically, he was.

You sipped your drink instead of admitting it. He tilted his head, victorious. “See? You can’t even deny it.”

You inhaled through your nose. You’d been generous and patient. Letting him have his cute little moment. But it was time to end him.

“Careful. You ghosted me once. And I’m still keeping score.”

Jake froze. Exactly the result you wanted. He huffed out a laugh, his fork clinking against his plate as he set it down. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I?”

“Absolutely not,” you replied, reaching for your drink and winking at him as you took a sip.

Jake dragged a hand down his face. “I cannot believe you still pull this card.”

“Oh, I’ll pull it every day until the end of time.”

He tried to glare at you, but he cracked first, the corner of his mouth lifting despite his effort to look offended. He leaned back, defeated but smiling like he didn’t mind losing one bit.

“Fine,” he said softly. “If it makes you happy.”

You hummed, smiling and enjoying your victory. Jake watched you like that for a while, a sweet reminiscent smile playing on his lips. Then you felt his feet nudging yours under the table.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, tilting his head toward the exit.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not even hiding your ulterior motives.”

Jake lifted his arms in surrender. “Do I really have to? It’s just you and me here, in wonderful Aruba.”

You lifted a brow at him, pretending you weren’t already halfway melted from the way he said wonderful Aruba.l “Fine,” you muttered, pushing your chair back.

Jake grinned like you’d just agreed to something he hadn’t even asked yet. He tossed a couple of bills onto the table—overpaying, because why not?—and stood up. When he extended a hand toward you, you rolled your eyes again, but you were smiling when you slipped your fingers into his. 

You walked barefoot along the shoreline, fingers laced with Jake’s, your heels dangling from his free hand. The sky was dark blue, stars twinkling overhead in clusters and reflecting on the calm water.

Jake kept swinging your shoes back and forth, humming some tune you recognized but couldn’t place. Every now and then, he glanced down at your feet to make sure you weren’t stepping on shells. Every now and then, he used even the smallest pebble as an excuse to tug you closer and steady you, which was ridiculous because you were walking on perfectly flat sand.

“How’s school been?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You lifted a shoulder. “It’s alright, nothing new. Still hectic. Studio classes feel like they’re designed to kill me slowly. And club activities aren’t helping.”

Jake chuckled, that knowing look on his face making it clear this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the exact complaint. “You could just leave the clubs, you know. Focus on studying instead.”

“Yeah, no way,” you replied, shaking your head. “Those aren’t ordinary clubs. It’s where I’m building my network. Those people are gonna graduate and become successful professionals. I need to be acquainted with them.”

“Yes, but some of them could also become corrupt politicians and rotten businessmen,” he countered.

“I know. And I’m choosing my friends carefully, so you don’t have to worry about me,” you chimed, smiling up at him. “What about you?”

Jake shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Nothing much really happens in engineering.”

“Engineering?” you asked, genuinely surprised. “How come you never told me yuo were taking engineering?”

He froze mid-step. “You didn’t know?” His eyebrows shot up, offended in the most dramatic way. “Wow, you don’t love me at all.”

“That’s not true.” You laughed, but he was already shaking his head, hand on his chest like you’d stabbed him.

“No, it’s fine,” he said solemnly. “I’m just a random hot guy you Facetime every night.”

You slapped his arm so hard he stumbled. “Don’t start.”

He gasped. “I get it now. You were never interested in anything about me, except my body,” he said, hugging himself and leaning away.

“Jake,” you whined, tugging him back. You were already laughing again, cheeks warm. “I’m serious. I didn’t know. You never told me.”

He squinted at you. “I totally told you. Like—like four years ago.”

“You told us you liked ‘building stuff,’ not that you wanted to be an engineer!”

“That’s what I meant!”

“How was I supposed to interpret that?” you demanded. “You could’ve meant LEGOs!”

Jake looked personally wounded. “I did mean LEGOs. But also engineering!”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “This is ridiculous. It’s not that I’m not interested, Jake. It just never came up.”

He stopped, the offended act disappearing immediately. He straightened up and smiled at you. “I know. I was just teasing you.”

You huffed, pouting. “Our time was always short. Our time zones never matched. We always had just a few hours of video call. It… never felt like there was room to talk about the bigger stuff. It was always—” You gestured vaguely between you. “You have no idea how much stuff I want to talk about with you.”

He sighed, the relieved kind. Then he lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “We’re together right now, aren’t we?” he said. “So tell me everything you wanna tell me. All of it. What you want. What you dream about. And I’ll tell you mine too.”

You tried to roll your eyes, but it didn’t hide the smile on your lips. Not when he was looking at you like that. “Fine. If you insist,” you muttered, looking away.

He tugged you into a warm hug—arms around your shoulders, your face pressed against his chest. “And just so you know,” he murmured, voice low near your ear, “you can want me for my body. I get it. It’s a good body. I don’t mind being used.”

You shoved him, only managing to pull away for a second before he reeled you right back in. “Shut up.”

He chuckled lightly, placing his chin on top of your head, and patting your back. And then slowly, his hand moved lower down to your spine, stopping just above your backside. “So…” he whispered into your ear, kissing the side of your head. “How about using me tonight?”

You groaned and pushed him away, but this time, he didn’t pull you back in. He just stood there, grinning. That slow, awful, knowing grin, the one that meant he was up to no good.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, already prepared to bolt.

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “What?”

The sand kicked under your feet as you bolted down the shoreline. The breeze whipped your hair back, laughter ripping out of you before you could stop it. The ocean glowed silver in the moonlight, the breeze cool and soft. You didn’t even look behind you—you didn’t need to. You could feel him gaining on you.

“You can’t run from me,” he called, his voice light, breathy from holding back a laugh.

“Watch me!” you yelled, nearly tripping when the tide rushed over your ankles.

“Get back here!” Jake yelled, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“No!” you shouted back, half-laughing, half-screaming as his footsteps grew louder.

Then a hand wrapped around your waist. You squealed as he spun you, momentum sending you both stumbling into each other. His arms locked around you from behind, his breath warm against your neck. You twisted in his grip, breathless, trying to get away but he was stronger than you were.

“You wanna keep running?” he whispered, arms wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Your breath hitched. “No.”

“Good.” His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “Because I really wanna do this.”

He kissed you hard. Like he’d been waiting for you to run, just so he could catch you. His hands slid up your back, yours curling into his shirt as he pressed you against him, the crash of the ocean roaring behind you. Then the kiss grew deeper, hungrier, as his other hand found your waist and drew you impossibly closer.

The world blurred around the two of you, your heart pounding as he kissed you like he’d finally caught something he wasn’t willing to lose again.

The next thing you remembered was stumbling into the hotel room together, still kissing, his hands at your waist as he pressed you up against the wall. His hands trailed along your waist, carefully and slowly, like he was taking his time reclaiming every inch of you. Your fingers threaded into his hair on instinct, bucking your hips forward to meet his, and the sharp exhale he let out against your mouth told you exactly how much he felt it.

“Do that again,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw now, “and we’re not making it to the bed.”

You shivered, because you knew he meant it.

You tilted your head sideways, letting him ravage the skin of your neck. His mouth trailed down the curve of your throat, slow kisses that grew firmer, teeth grazing your skin and sucking until your knees went weak enough that you had to brace your hand on his shoulder.

Jake grabbed one of your thighs, lifting it and wrapping it around his torso. His erection rubbing against your crotch made your entire body quiver at the sensation.

He lifted his head to look at you then, eyes dark, breath unsteady, like he was holding back only because he knew you liked when he did. His thumb brushed your cheek, gentle in a way that contrasted the heat between you.

“Tell me what you want,” he said softly, like he already knew but wanted to hear it from you anyway.

“You know what I want,” you whined, pressing yourself harder against him.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you, then he kissed you again, holding you firmly as he carried you over to the bed. You expected him to lay you down, but he didn’t. Instead, he sat down, hands moving to your hips, then pulling away from the kiss just to look up at you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, reading clearly into that smile, and the way his fingers slid beneath the hem of your dress, easing it upward slowly and squeezing the skin underneath.

“Ride me?” he asked, still grinning, not even bothering to pretend he was begging. “Please?”

You scoffed, exasperated, but didn’t say anything. Instead, you placed a hand on his chest and he fell on his back at the lightest push. His eyes followed you, dark and hungry, as you lifted your dress over your head and tossed it aside.

Jake lay back on the pillows, breath already unsteady, watching you crawl over him with a look that made your skin prickle. His hands skimmed up your thighs as you straddled his hips, his touch warm, reverent, almost too gentle for the hunger in his eyes.

“You look so pretty up there,” he murmured, thumbs brushing the sensitive spots on the inside of your legs.

You leaned down, kissing him again, slowly and deeply. His hands tightened on your hips, guiding you closer, moving your hips against his, aching for some friction. You grabbed his hand to stop him, pulling away from the kiss to glare at him.

“My bad,” he chuckled, squeezing your thighs. “You’re not gonna make me work for it, are you?”

You rolled your hips just slightly, more of a tease than anything, and his breath stuttered. His head dropped back against the mattress for a second, jaw clenched, a curse slipping out under his breath before he looked up at you again.

“You like it when I do,” you whispered, confidence rising. “The same way you liked it whenever I called you a moron back in high school.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he breathed, almost instantly. “Does that make me a masochist?”

You chuckled, straightening a little, sitting up on his lap. Jake’s hands followed the movement, tracing up your sides, then back down in a slow, possessive sweep. He looked up at you like he was memorizing the sight—your breathing, your posture, the way you held yourself above him with so much confidence it made his chest rise in a sharp inhale.

“God, look at you,” he said softly. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

“Oh, I do,” you replied, rolling your hips against his crotch one more time.

His jaw flexed. “Get over here.”

He pulled you in for another kiss, deeper this time—his mouth hot and impatient, his tongue brushing yours in a way that made your whole body burn up. His hands slid under your thighs, urging your legs wider around him, then unbuttoning his own jeans and shimmying out of it.

You braced your hands on his stomach, feeling every muscle tighten beneath your palms. You lifted your hips slightly, dragging a breathy curse from him.

“Baby,” he cooed, reaching for your face. “Please don’t make me beg for it.”

“You’re already begging, Jake,” you chuckled, finally reaching down between your bodies, tugging his boxers down, and wrapping your fingers around his manhood. His head fell back with a sharp inhale.

That reaction made you smile, then you guided him to your sex with a soft, shaky breath.

Jake’s eyes snapped open, dark and blown. “Baby…”

You steadied yourself with one hand on his chest, the other gripping his shoulder. Then, slowly, teasingly, you lowered yourself onto him—inch by inch, breath by breath—until your head tipped back and a moan slipped out of your lips.

“Holy—” He cut himself off, eyes dragging up your body like he didn’t know where to look first. “Come here.”

You shook your head with a small, wicked smile, staying upright, keeping him exactly where you wanted him: beneath you, watching.

Your hips moved again, a slow grind that dragged a groan out of him so rough it sent heat straight through you. His hands shot to your waist like reflex, and you leaned back slightly, hands sliding over his stomach, feeling every muscle twitch under your touch.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice hoarse, “you’re gonna destroy me.”

“That’s the idea.” You leaned forward just enough that your breath ghosted over his mouth. “So don’t blink.”

Then you set the pace. Slow at first, enough to make him swallow hard, enough that your own breath hitched in your throat. Each rise and fall made your body tighten, every motion sending ripples of desire over your skin. The sight of him with his jaw clenched, and his eyes dark, only spurred you on. Your hips moved faster, smoother this time, picking up a rhythm that made his fingers dig hard enough into your waist to leave faint marks.

His voice dropped, low and ragged. “Baby—slow down—”

“No,” you gasped, the word barely formed.

You lifted your hips again, this time sinking down in one smooth motion that pulled a raw groan from him—deep, helpless, pulled straight from his chest. He looked wrecked already. And you weren’t even close to done.

You straightened your back, hands sliding to your own thighs for balance, and moved with an intensity that made the headboard knock faintly against the wall. He cursed under his breath meeting your movements with upward thrusts that nearly sent you over the edge. Your hands grabbed at his shoulders, nails dragging lightly down his skin as your rhythm faltered for just a moment.

His voice broke as he called out your name. “You feel…—damn it—keep going,” he gruntied, like he’s ffighting not to fall apart too fast

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “Don’t hold it.”

That drove him over the edge.

His breath stuttered, a sharp inhale—and then his hands clamp around your waist, hard. His hips pressed up once, deep enough that you nearly lost your balance and gasped, and then he was gone.

His whole body locked beneath you, a tremor running through him so intense you feel it everywhere—under your hands, between your thighs, across the space where your bodies meet. He buried his face against your shoulder like he was trying to hide the sound he was making, but it slipped out anyway—raw, guttural, and desperate.

The kind of sound that told you exactly how hard you pushed him. Exactly how just much he wanted you. Exactly how completely he was coming apart because of you.

He gripped you tighter, pulling you down against him as if he needed you there, needed the closeness, needed you to feel all of it. His breaths broke into uneven, shaking exhales as the wave passed, leaving him trembling and still holding you like he was afraid you’d disappear the second he loosened his grip.

When he finally looked up, he was wrecked—his hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide. He let out a slow, shaky breath, one hand sliding up your back, still inside you, still trying to collect himself.

You brushed his damp hair back from his forehead, and he leaned into the touch just before he collapsed on the bed with a groan, flinging an arm over his face like he’d just finished running a marathon.

He sighed out your name. “I love you so much.”

You snorted. “I think that’s your dick talking.”

He peeked at you from under his arm, eyes soft. “It’s not,” he said softly, reaching for your hand and tugging you down to his chest.

“And you better stay right here,” he murmured, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You lay tangled together, still naked under the sheets, with no idea what time it was but knowing damn well that it was already the early hours of the day. Your head rested on Jake’s chest, your body sore and tired. Meanwhile, Jake looked completely fine and energized, like he hadn’t spent the entire night making you tremble and cry out his name.

He was playing with your hair as he watched you talk about your dreams and plans for the future. You forgot what the conversation was before this, only that it was brought up after he asked your opinion on Aruban architecture.

You told him about your plans after graduation, the steps you were taking to slowly build it up. You told him your dream was to open your own firm and practice architecture as an art, rather than a means to an income. You told him you were a little embarrassed about the fact that your parents will obviously help you build your own company once you graduate, but you were grateful for it too. 

Jake listened intently, his eyes gleaming fondly as you talked. You could see, and feel, that he was proud of you through his eyes, and you couldn’t help your stomach from fluttering at his attention.

“What about you?” you mumbled, half-laughing, half-sinking into sleep. “What’s your dream?”

He was quiet long enough that you lifted your head to look at him. Jake reached up to cup your face. He was smiling, but the look in his eyes didn’t match it. Something shimmered there, tender but with a glint of something else. Something uncertain—fear, perhaps.

“I want you to be happy,” he said softly.

You huffed. “I am happy right now.”

His thumb brushed your cheekbone, then tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know,” he said gently. “But I want you to be happier. Happier than you are right now.”

There was nothing but sincerity in his voice, warm and aching at the same time. Like he meant it. Like he wished he could promise it. 

You rolled your eyes anyway, because his face was too serious for someone who was supposed to be cuddly and sleep-drunk. “Whatever. Boring,” you muttered, leaning forward to kiss him quickly. “I love you.”

He smiled against your lips. “I love you,” he whispered back, fingers sliding into your hair as he pulled you in for another kiss.

Those last days in Aruba passed beautifully. Lazy mornings tangled in hotel sheets, sunlight spilling across the bed while he refused to let you get up yet, mumbling something about “five more minutes” that always turned into twenty. Breakfasts that tasted sweeter just because he insists on feeding you himself. Long walks along the shoreline where you talked about anything and everything.

You spent most of the day at the beach—naps under the umbrella, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek while the breeze moved through the palms above you. He smelled like sunscreen and salt. Every time you looked at him, he was looking back.

Nights were louder. Laughter echoing, drinks you didn’t finish because you got too caught up talking. His hand on the small of your back as he led you through crowded places, or the way he’d pull you close during slow songs at the nightclubs. 

You were seeing the world in gold-tinted glasses, and you could only agree when Jake once said, “Aruba feels like a fever dream.”

And somewhere between all of it, you kept getting this odd feeling in your chest. Like a gut feeling that some impending disappointment awaited you after your days in this sunkissed paradise was over. But you pushed it aside, told yourself you were anxious for no reason.

Jake was here with you. Even if this little vacation was over, he’d still be there for you—maybe not physically, but he’d still be a constant presence in your life. You love him, he loves you. This anxiety was unnecessary.

Befoe you knew it, you  were already walking through security. The airport was bright, cold, and noisy—a huge contrast to the island’s warm and peaceful glow. You kept close to Jake as you walked, your suitcase wheels rattling across the tile while his hand brushed yours every few steps, like he kept forgetting he couldn’t hold it the whole way.

His flight boarded first, and your chest ached at the thought of finally parting ways with him. The idea of going back to your mundane LDR setup was upsetting, but you knew you had to compromise.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” he murmured, kissing your forehead as he pulled you into a hug. “Be safe.”

“Call me when you land,” you demanded, looping your arms around his waist. “I’ll call you too. Even if it’s late.” 

“I love you,” he said softly, hand cupping your cheek. He looked close to crying, with his creased forehead and the glint of hurt in his eyes.

You laughed quietly, reaching up to touch his face too. “I love you more. And don’t cry. It’s not like we won’t see each other again.”

Jake didn’t say anything. He just smiled, then leaned in to kiss you—soft, careful, nothing like the frantic airport kisses you’d seen in movies. You wanted to say something else, something meaningful or witty or reassuring, but all that came out was, “Go. Before you miss your flight.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, stepping away but not quite letting go of your hand yet .He gave your fingers one last squeeze before finally letting go, stepping backward toward his gate with that small, uneven smile he only wore when he was trying not to fall apart.

“Don’t forget to text me,” you reminded him, waving a hand. “If you don’t, I’m blocking you.”

That made him laugh softly, breathily, a little sad. The boarding staff checked his documents, and motioned for him to proceed. He looked over his shoulder one more time, lifting his hand to wave before disappearing into the line of passengers. 

And just like that, the warmth of Aruba faded, replaced by the hollow brightness of the terminal and the loud echoes of boarding announcements.

Your own flight boarded shortly after. You spent the entire time staring out the plane window, replaying every moment from the past few days—the beach, his hand in yours, the way he looked at you that last night as if the future didn’t scare him yet. You already missed him.

The flight was long, but you barely remembered it. You slept through most of it, dreaming in pieces about his voice, his laugh, the feeling of his arms around you. Each time you stirred awake, your first instinct was to check your phone.

As soon as your plane touched down, your heart jumped. You turned your phone back on immediately, waiting for it to light up with a message from him. There was nothing, but you didn’t mind. You tapped his name and lifted the phone to your ear, excited to hear his voice again.

The call rang. And rang. Over and over, but there was no answer. You tried again. And again. Still nothing.

Fear began to creep into your chest.

You tried one more time, listening to the ring until it cut off, leaving a dead, hollow silence in its place. Your heart was sinking, but you tried to calm yourself, willing yourself to believe he was probably still onboard. Or that his phone battery had died.

“Right. That must be it,” you whispered, patting your chest as if it could ease the heaviness pressing against it.

You had no idea then that something beautiful had already died.

You kept trying to reach Jake even after classes started up again, calling whenever you had a free moment, sending messages he never opened. Days passed like that.

You kept telling yourself he was busy. Jet-lagged. Buried in schoolwork. Maybe he lost his charger. Maybe something came up. But deep down, a part of you already knew. You just didn’t want to believe it.

Still, you tried. You called in the mornings, at night, between classes, hoping that maybe this time he’d pick up and explain everything in that soft voice you’d fallen a little too hard for. But the ringing always stopped in the same hollow way, leaving you staring at your screen, heart sinking a little deeper each time.

Eventually, your phone finally stopped ringing altogether. When you tried to call again, the automated voice informed you that the number was no longer in service. Your heart dropped.

With numb fingers, you opened his socials—every account you knew, every platform he used, even the old ones he hadn’t touched in years, all of them were gone. Deactivated. Wiped clean like he’d never existed at all. That was when you finally accepted the truth. 

Jake had ghosted you again.

The days that followed were foggy. You barely moved from your bed. You didn’t eat unless someone insisted. You couldn’t focus long enough to read a single page of your notes. Even the thought of going to class felt impossible—like your body had forgotten how to stand, how to walk, how to be a person outside the hurt.

Every night, you cried yourself to sleep, then slept too much and still woke up exhausted. You hated how easily you broke down, how deeply the loss of one person managed to bleed into everything else. You hated how much you missed him.

But even at your lowest, some small, stubborn part of you refused to stay there. You were stronger than you looked, and your dreams were bigger than whatever fragile thing you and Jake had been trying to hold together.

So slowly, begrudgingly, you began to pull yourself back together. One morning, after lying awake for hours, you finally forced yourself out of bed. You showered. You ate something. You opened your laptop and stared at your assignments until your brain caught up enough to work through them. 

Nothing about it was easy—but it was movement. It was proof that you were still here. You reminded yourself of the future you wanted, and recalled the steps you needed to take toward it—classes, internships, goals, deadlines—slowly reminding yourself that your life didn’t end just because he walked out of it.

Jake had disappeared. But you weren’t going to. And though your heart still ached, you chose to keep going. Not for him, but for yourself.

Leila was furious on your behalf, pacing your dorm room like she wanted to fly to Korea and drag Jake out of whatever hole he’d disappeared into. But after the initial explosion of anger burned off, she looked at you and realized you weren’t falling apart forever. You were hurting, yes, bruised in a way heartbreak always leaves behind, but you were still you. Determined. Stubborn. Chasing the life you’d always wanted. She trusted you to make the right decisions, and she refused to let this ruin you, even when you had days where you wanted nothing more than to break.

Life didn't pause for heartbreak. Studio deadlines, rendering practice, group meetings, portfolio reviews—they all demanded your attention whether you could breathe properly or not. And somehow, the routine helped. It forced you out of bed, dragged you into classrooms, surrounded you with people who barely knew the ache you were carrying inside your chest. 

You threw yourself into your architecture classes like they were the only thing tethering you to the ground. Late nights in the studio became your comfort—your headphones on, your hands full of pencil smudges and tracing paper, your mind too busy calculating measurements to spiral into the silence Jake left behind.

But even while you were rebuilding your life brick by brick, you never stopped trying to reach him. It wasn't an obsession, more like a misplaced hope. You checked his socials, even though you knew they were gone. You contacted a few acquaintances who had interacted with him online, but all you got were apologies and confused messages saying they hadn’t heard from him either. You sent a letter to his home address in Korea once a month, each envelope containing something different—sometimes a long, heartfelt message, sometimes just a single line asking if he was okay. You never got a reply. Not once. Not even a returned envelope.

Still, your life didn’t revolve around your futile attempts. The world kept spinning, pulling you along with it. You grew. You learned. You blossomed. You found yourself taking on more responsibilities, chasing internships, building your network the way you always said you would. Leila cheered every success, dragged you out for weekend road trips across states. There were days when you forgot about him entirely—whole stretches of time where your head was filled with blueprints, parties, new friends, petty college drama.

And then there were nights where you stared at your phone again. Where you typed out a message and deleted it. Where you wondered if he was alive. Or okay. Or thinking of you.

You didn’t let those nights consume you, though. You let them pass. You let yourself feel the ache, let it wash over you, let it fade naturally. And then you kept going. Because your dreams were bigger than the ghost-shaped hole he left behind.

Two years passed like that, with bursts of joy and exhaustion and everything in between. And even though some part of you still carried the memory of him, it no longer held you back.

Graduation came faster than you expected. One moment you were drowning in finals and sleepless nights, and the next you were standing in a sea of gowns and flowers, sunlight hitting your face as your name echoed through the auditorium. People cheered. Cameras flashed. Leila screamed your name so loudly that strangers turned to look.

You smiled for the photos, accepted the hugs, tossed your cap into the air with everyone else. But beneath the celebrations, you could feel in your chest a painful hollow space where a boy with soft eyes and terrible timing used to sit.

Leila nudged you with her shoulder while your family fussed over your medal. “You okay?” she asked, too gently.

“Yeah,” you lied. 

She shot you a look that said she didn’t buy it, but she didn’t push. She just squeezed your hand and said, “He doesn’t get to ruin this for you. Not today.”

You nodded, because she was right. But even then, a stupid part of you wished Jake could’ve seen you walk that stage—wished he could’ve said, “I’m proud of you” the way he used to say it over the phone.

But then again, life goes on. It never stopped for anyone.

After graduation, you packed up your dorm room. Every object triggered a memory—some good, some painful. You found the seashell anklet you bought in Aruba, holding it up and feeling a surge of memories register in your mind—most of it hazy now. It has been a while after all.

You considered throwing it away, but you couldn’t. You tucked it deeper into your luggage instead. Then you wrote one last letter to Jake before leaving the city. You folded it neatly, placed it into an envelope, and dropped it into the mailbox even though you knew you wouldn’t get a reply. But you wrote it anyway. A goodbye of some sort, your own version of a closure.

Because your last goodbye didn’t come with a closure.

Moving to a new state felt like stepping into cold water. Shocking at first, but then you eventually adjust to it. The city welcomed you with hustle and bustle. Your new apartment was small but bright, and the first night you lay in bed listening to unfamiliar traffic outside your window, you felt both lonely and proud.

You called Leila often. “Send me your location so I can track you,” she’d say every day and her concern made it easier to breathe.

Your new job came with its own mayhem. Long hours, demanding clients, supervisors who pushed you harder than any professor ever had. But you loved it. You loved the challenge, the late nights sketching revisions, the thrill of seeing your ideas approved. Your college résumé opened doors quickly, and your passion kept you running through them.

You met people—talented, sharp, funny people. Some became friends. One coworker in particular seemed intent on becoming something more. He’d linger by your desk, bring you coffee, throw soft compliments your way.

One day after work he walked you to the train and said, “If you’re free this weekend… maybe we could grab dinner?”

You froze then, surprised though you already saw this coming. “I—um—I appreciate it,” you said, managing a smile, “but I’m not really… dating. Right now.”

He nodded, gracious and understanding, but the disappointment was there.

Jake was still in your heart like a stubborn tenant who refused to move out.

Still, you didn’t let yourself dwell on the past. You built routines, morning coffee from the shop downstairs, Sunday grocery runs, long nights drafting designs or reorganizing your bookshelf for no reason except that it was calming for you. You picked up sketching again, filling your notebook with facades and tiny corners of the city that caught your eye.

Months passed. Then a year. Then another. Some nights the silence felt cruel. Other nights it felt peaceful.

By the time your second anniversary at the firm rolled around, you handed in your resignation letter. You’d learned what you came here to learn. You’d grown, stretched yourself thin and then whole again. And now it was time to move forward with the plans you originally had for yourself.

When your coworkers found out, the office buzzed with farewells. People from different departments dropped by your desk, sad to see you go, shaking their heads like they couldn’t believe it. Your supervisor clapped you on the shoulder and said, “You’re going to do great things. Keep proving people wrong.”

The coworker who once asked you out handed you a small sketchbook. “For your ideas,” he said quietly. “You’ve got a lot of them.” You smiled, grateful in a way words couldn’t cover.

“Thanks,” you told him, genuinely grateful. “But I’m not officially gone yet. I still have like, two weeks to render.”

“I know. I just thought I’d give it to you in advance.”

That evening you came home after a long day, dropped your bag by the couch, and just stood there. Looking around. Your apartment was quiet and warm. The plants by the window were alive. Your framed certification hung straight on the wall. A stack of sketches sat on your desk. A half-finished project glowed on your tablet.

You built this. All of it. You survived something that once felt impossible. You built a life that didn’t rely on someone else showing up.

You sat down, breathed in slowly, and whispered into the silence—not to Jake, not to the past, but to yourself: “I’m okay.”

And for the first time, you truly were.

Leila was getting married. The news came through a late-night call, her voice practically vibrating through the speaker. “Kevin finally proposed,” she announced, breathless with excitement. You sat up straight in bed, heart swelling with happiness for her.

“Leila, oh my god. Congratulations!” you laughed, pressing a hand to your chest. “I’m so happy for you guys!”

“I’m not done,” she said, dragging out the suspense like she always did. “I want you as my maid of honor.”

Your throat tightened. “Thank you,” you murmured. “Seriously. Thank you for choosing me.”

“Who else would I choose?” she scoffed. “You’re my best friend since middle school.”

You told her you’d come, of course you would. Even though you’d resigned and were technically in between life chapters, you still had a project at the firm that you were determined to finish before officially letting go. You explained all that to her—how you might miss the preparations, how you’d try your best to clear your schedule.

“It’s okay. Just be there on the wedding day,” she said. “Oh, and… one more thing,” she added, pausing.

You could almost picture her hesitating, thumb pressed against her lips. Then finally, she said, “Jake’s coming.”

You froze, heart stuttering. For a moment, the world didn’t move. Your heartbeat clawed up your throat, the phone nearly slipping from your hand.

“What?” you whispered.

“Jake’s home,” Leila repeated, softer this time. “He’s back in town, living in their house again.”

Leila kept speaking, but you weren’t listening. Two words just kept echoing in your ears, again and again—Jake’s home.

“I’m coming,” you said immediately, almost cutting her off.

“What?”

“I’m coming,” you repeated, hanging up.

Impulse took the wheel the second you heard his name, and there was no stopping it. You opened your laptop with trembling hands and booked the earliest flight you could find.

The next day, you were in the air, anxiously hoping the plane would go faster.

When you landed, Leila was waiting for you outside baggage claim, her arms crossed, expression caught somewhere between relief and guilt. You rushed into her hug anyway, and she squeezed you tight.

“Okay,” she started as she pulled away, “before you yell at me—which I know you want to—I need to explain.”

“I’m not yelling,” you said, though you absolutely were about to. “I just… why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

She winced. “Because I know you. And look what happened the moment I did tell you. You booked a ticket within ten minutes of hanging up.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, realizing she was right.

“It’s been over a month since he came back,” she continued gently. “I didn’t know until like, two weeks ago. I just saw him stepping out of their house to fetch some delivery.”

Your stomach twisted. “And? How is he?”

Leila’s silence made you nervous. She reached to squeeze your hand, her expression apologetic. “You should just see for yourself.”

You nodded, jaw tightening as a thousand emotions clawed up your chest—shock, anger, fear, hope, heartbreak

Leila warned you while on the ride to Jake’s. She said he was at a low point, that he was thinner, quieter, shut away from the world. His family went bankrupt, and his parents got divorced. All that he had left was his childhood home. She said you should hear the rest from Jake, but you should know what to expect. You felt a strange feeling of dread and relief as the car pulled over to Leila’s house and you spotted Jake’s next door. You’d been waiting three years for this, and now you were here.

Without hesitation, you walked over to their house and pressed the doorbell, arms crossed, finger tapping on your elbow as you waited for the door to open. Jake appeared not two minutes later.

He froze mid-step, eyes widening as if he couldn’t trust what he was seeing. He looked different, just as Leila had said. Thinner. A little ragged. Worn out from everything life had thrown at him these past few years. His hair was unkempt, his clothes rumpled, and yet, somehow, he still had that familiar air about him that made your chest tighten.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You simply stood there in the quiet while his gaze landed over you—taking in how much you’d changed, how much you’d grown. Then, with a small, almost breathless smile, you said, “Hi, Jake.”

He blinked, shook his head, and muttered something you couldn’t catch. The words weren’t important—the fact that his lips moved at all was enough. Your chest ached, and before you could overthink it, you stepped past him and into the house.

The door creaked shut behind you. You stopped, breath hitching at the sight. Dust-coated white sheets draped over furniture. The counters were littered with instant ramen packets and empty beer cans. Dishes piled high in the sink. The air smelled faintly of mildew and neglect.

Your heart twisted, but you forced a smile as you turned to him. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. You could see the surprise, the shame, the something that wasn’t quite an apology but wasn’t anger either, flickering across his face. He looked away, muttering, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you,” you replied, scoffing like the answer should have been obvious.

Jake’s jaw tensed. Still avoiding your eyes. “I’m not… in the right headspace for visitors right now.”

“I can see that.”

“Right, so please leave.”

You smirked, “Good to see you too,” you said and without waiting, you started picking up a stray packet of noodles, putting it in a bag.

“I’m serious, please leave.” Jake stood just inside the living room, hands at his sides, shoulders sagging.

You ignored him. You always had a knack for ignoring resistance.  Instead, you smiled and continued tidying. Stacking cans. Wiping the counter. Folding a dish towel over a chair. He called your name, making you pause by the sink. God—you hated and loved how hearing him say it made your heart skip.

“Are you gonna help?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder with a gentle grin. “If not, you can go rest for a bit. Take a shower, perhaps?”

Jake’s jaw tightened. He took a step forward, then stopped. You could feel his hesitation, the shame, the grief. You kept moving, sweeping the floor, stacking more beer cans neatly in the trash bag.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

“And you should eat something,” you countered lightly, “but all you have is ramen."

You spoke as though the years apart didn’t hurt, as though the months of unanswered messages and deactivated socials didn’t crush you, and somehow that display of indifference made him tremble.

Finally, his patience snapped. “I told you to leave!”

The shout startled you. Not because of the volume, but because you’d never heard him yell before, especially not at you. The emotion behind it made your heart ache, but it didn’t make you flinch.

You stopped moving, wiped your hands on a towel, and approached him slowly. When you reached him, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. The first time in almost five years that you were this close, that you were able to touch him, and hug him again.

He froze at first. Not moving an inch, and looking like he wanted to push you away. You just tightened your embrace, hand rubbing his back worldlessly. Jake relaxed in your arms, his hands hovering, unsure, before finally wrapping around your waist. And then he broke down—his body shuddering as sobs tore through him. He clung to you, shaking, and you held him just as tightly, comforting not only him but yourself too

“Shh… it’s okay,” you murmured, blinking fast, swallowing your own tears. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t talk about the past, didn’t demand apologies or explanations. That can wait. For now, you just held him for as long as he needed. Until his breathing became steadier, until his shoulders stopped trembling. You just hugged him

“You need a shower, Jake Sim,” you teased softly, eventually pulling back just enough to look at him. “Go on. I’ll get dinner ready.”

He hesitated, looking at you like he didn’t deserve the care, and the concern. But then he nodded slowly, disappearing upstairs reluctantly, leaving you in the silence of the neglected house.

The moment he disappeared, your knees gave out. You sank to the floor, letting everything crash into you—the four years of silence, the ache of missing him, the relief of seeing him alive and real and right in front of you again. You pressed your hands to your face and sobbed, swallowing every sound so he wouldn’t hear.

Then you took a deep breath, wiped your face, and rose to your feet. There was work to do.

You moved through the kitchen, surveying the cupboards. Nothing but instant noodles, chips, and more beer. You laughed softly to yourself, ordered pizza, and began clearing every counter. You stacked dishes in the washer, wiped every surface, vacuumed the living room and pulled off all the sheets covering the furniture. Making the space feel like a home again.

As you worked, your heart felt a little lighter. This wasn’t a fix, but it was a start. You were here for him, and you wanted him to know that.

The pizza arrived just as he stepped out of the shower, a towel slung around his neck and droplets still clinging to his hair. You carried the box to the table while he lingered by the doorway, standing there like a guest in his own house. You pretended not to notice, sliding plates across the table, opening the box as if this were any normal evening and not the first dinner you’d shared in years.

He finally sat opposite you, shoulders stiff. You started talking about the most ordinary things—your last day at work, Leila’s upcoming wedding to her high school sweetheart, the delivery guy who recognized you. Your voice stayed light, almost cheerful.

Jake answered in short phrases, nodding too often, eyes drifting everywhere except your face. He kept wiping his palms on his shorts between bites, like he couldn’t get comfortable in his own skin. Every few seconds, he looked like he might say something, but each time, he swallowed it down and took another pointless sip of water.

You reached for him without warning, letting your fingers skim along his cheek. He froze for a half-second, before he exhaled and let himself lean into the touch. Your hand smoothed over his skin like nothing had happened. Like the past four years hadn’t existed.

He’d aged more than you expected. A little thinner, a little paler, the angles of his face drawn sharper. Time hadn’t been kind to him, it seemed. You let your thumb trace the stubble on his face.

“Growing a beard?” you murmured, half teasing, half studying him.

He cleared his throat. “No, not really. I—I just… nevermind.”

“Mmm. It doesn’t suit you,” you said softly, fond rather than critical. “You need to look good for Leila’s wedding or she’ll kill you.”

That made him laugh, though more reflex than amusement. “I know,” he said quietly. “She told me the same thing.”

Silence settled between you, warm on your side, uncomfortable on his. You picked up another slice, acting like the moment wasn’t fragile, like it didn’t matter that he couldn’t look at you for more than two seconds. He copied you because he didn’t know what else to do.

You went back to eating, letting the conversation flow again. But Jake wasn’t touching his slice anymore. He was staring at the table, breathing shallowly, jaw working like he was chewing on something painful.

Finally, he dropped his slice and pushed his plate slightly away, hands curling into fists.

“Can you please just yell at me already?”  he burst out, voice thin and cracking. “Or slap me. Anything. Do something. Say something. This part where you’re nice to me like I didn’t hurt you is worse.”

Your hand paused mid-air. Slowly, you set your slice down and looked at him fully. For the first time that night, you let him see the exhaustion in your expression.

“I don’t want to,” you said with conviction. “I’ve waited a long time for you, Jake. II’m not wasting any more of it fighting. It’s pointless.”

His gaze softened. For a moment, the guilt in his eyes was overwhelming—like he’d been bracing himself for a storm and instead found a tenderness he didn’t know what to do with.

You stayed at Jake’s that whole week, though you rarely saw him during the day. You were always out helping Leila with wedding preparations—shopping, rehearsals, fittings—only returning in the evenings to a house that still didn’t feel like a home.

Jake hovered quietly around you that first night, flustered and apologetic as he cleaned out the old guest room you and Leila used back in high school. The memory should’ve felt sweet, but it only left your chest aching. He refused to let you sleep anywhere else.

And so the days passed in a fragile routine. You came home tired, sometimes carrying takeout, sometimes bringing groceries. You made sure he ate. You reminded him to shower. You once got him outside the house for a short walk around the block.

He did his best to keep a polite distance. You did your best not to force anything more than simple kindness.

On Friday evening, after a long conference with the wedding planner, you got home and didn’t find Jake anywhere downstairs. 

“Jake?” you called, kicking off your heels. “You alive in here?”

There was no answer. You checked the backyard, the laundry room, even the garage. But he was nowhere. Finally, you walked upstairs. His bedroom door was slightly open, just enough to suggest he had been there recently. You hesitated. The two of you had been careful about boundaries all week.

But you had something to say to him, so you walked in. His room was surprisingly neat. The bed is made, the floor clean, and curtains pulled open to let the evening light spill across the space. Every part of the room was clean, except for the desk.

The desk was cluttered. Stacks of envelopes. Photographs spread across the surface. Pens without caps. Scraps of torn paper. You stepped closer, intending to tidy up a little while waiting for him.

But the second you got a good look of the clutter, your breath hitched.

Your letters. All the ones you mailed him through college. The ones you thought he never received. Every single one. Worn edges, creased folds, smudged ink as if someone had held them too tightly. You picked one up, recognizing your handwriting instantly, and feeling your heart clench.

You reached for the next stack of photographs. You and Jake in Aruba. You and him at prom in senior year. One from a school festival where you were both sweaty and sunburned, grinning like idiots.

On the back of each photo, scribbled in different pens, were notes. Replies. Entire paragraphs responding to things you’d written in your letters. Thoughts he never sent. Feelings he never said out loud.

“I kept this in my wallet the whole time. That way, I could look at it every day. Aruba really was a fever dream. If I could, I’d go back in time to when we were there. And I’d stay there forever with you.” “I thought I saw you today, even heard your voice. Spent thirty minutes running around the grocery store only to find out it was just someone who sounded like you. I miss you. So much so, I think I’m going insane.”“Congratulations on graduating. I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it.”

Each photo, each note made your heart ache, so much that you had to clutch your chest. Tears were rolling from your eyes, blurring the words but you kept reading, picking up the photos one by one.

You picked up another. A cutout from an old high school group shot, jagged at the edges where Jake had trimmed everyone else out. Just the two of you left, laughing at something you couldn’t remember now. The note at the back was new, written the day you showed up at his doorstep.

“I dreamed about seeing you again last night. Like I do most nights. But nothing prepared me for seeing you for real today.”

Your heart squeezed painfully, hand flying over your mouth when a sob almost slipped out.

Jake’s voice called behind you so suddenly you jumped. You spun around to find him frozen in the doorway, a grocery bag in one hand, horror, guilt, grief all flickering across his face at once.

He rushed toward the desk, grabbing the letters, shoving photographs into drawers. “Don’t—please don’t look at those—just—just get out.”

You shook your head. “Jake.”

“Get out,” he repeated, voice rising. “Just get the fuck out!”

You flinched, startled. He snatched the photos from your hand, turning to shove them into the drawers of his desk. You didn’t say anything and just stared at his back.

“Go home,” he said, bracing his hands on the edge of the desk. “You’ve had your fun, so just go.”

“Why?” you asked softly. “Why did you keep all of this? Why did you choose to live like this instead of just… coming to me?”

He swallowed hard. His throat worked as he searched for something to say. He couldn’t look at you. You stepped closer, placing a hand on his back. “Why did you let me think you didn’t love me, Jake?”

He tensed under your touch. “Because you’re better off without me.”

You stared at him—this older version of the boy you once knew, worn down and trembling and convinced he deserved nothing. You saw him try to shrink into himself, as if he feared even being seen. And suddenly everything made sense. 

He didn’t abandon you. He had abandoned himself.

You let out a shaky exhale. “Do you love me? Still?”

Jake lowered his head, sighing out your name. “What does it matter?”

“Answer me, Jake,” you demanded, reaching to touch his back. He tensed under your touch. “Please.”

“There’s no use asking,” he muttered, head sinking lower when you tried to peek at his face. “You already know.”

You reached to touch his face, but he was quick to move away. Taking a deep breath, you stepped away from him, giving him space.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” you declared, making his head snap to your direction.

“What? No. No. You have to go home.”

“What am I, crazy?” you smirked. “You think I’ll just leave after seeing all this? After knowing what I know now?”

He stared at you, exhausted and overwhelmed, like he was fighting a battle he’d already lost. He stepped aside, raising the white flag. Maybe it was because he was too tired to challenge your stubbornness. Or maybe because he didn’t really mean it when he told you leave. Either way didn’t matter to you.

That night, he slept on the far side of the bed. You slept on the other. Carefully separated, careful not to touch.

Two people, years of history and hurt between them, lying in the same bed again.

You and Jake still danced around the unresolved thing between you, but you were sharing a bed now. The first few nights, you stayed on your side, back turned the same way he was. You never said anything about it, and neither did he.

But then one night, you’d settled under the blanket, pretending to fall asleep before your thoughts could spiral. Jake moved behind you, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight. You thought it was just another night of him tossing and turning. Instead, you felt his fingers on your shoulder. Careful and trembling, like he’d been fighting the urge for days.

You held your breath. For a moment, you were so sure he’d pull you into him and your chest tightened in anticipation. But he didn’t. He withdrew just as quickly, hand curling back against himself as if he’d burned it.

So you made the choice he couldn’t.

You turned around slowly, and Jake froze instantly, like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t. Before he could retreat, you scooted closer until you slipped into the space against his chest, your forehead brushing his collarbone. His body went rigid, shocked, as though he truly couldn’t believe you wanted to be held by him.

You slipped an arm around his waist and nudged your nose into the warmth of his neck. It took him a full three seconds to breathe again. Then another to exhale. Then, finally, he gathered you in his arms. Hesitant at first, then tightly, like he’d been waiting for this for far too long.

Neither of you mentioned it the next morning.

But after that, things got better. You were still awkward. Painfully so at times, but you were talking more. The silences didn’t feel like walls anymore, just pauses you’d eventually fill. You found yourselves sitting closer on the couch, shoulders brushing without either of you moving away. Jake stopped flinching whenever your hands accidentally touched; sometimes, he even did it intentionally.

He hovered in the kitchen when you came home from Leila’s wedding prep, listening as you rambled about vendors and flower arrangements. Sometimes he teased you under his breath. Sometimes he laughed.

At night, you slid into the same bed. He held you without waiting for permission. His arm would find your waist automatically, your face tucked under his chin. He slept deeper like that. You felt it in the way he stopped tossing and turning.

For a few days, it felt like you were both crawling out of the darkness—slowly, carefully, but together.

The wedding day soon arrived. You spent the entire morning getting ready with Leila and the rest of the bridesmaids. You were the Maid of Honor, which meant you were everywhere at once—zipping dresses, fixing centerpieces, hunting down missing relatives, reminding the photographer that yes, Leila did want those candids, even if she said she didn’t.

By the time the ceremony started, you were exhausted but glowing with pride, watching someone you love step into a new life.

Jake showed up just five minutes before the procession started—something the old him would’ve done on purpose, but now it felt like he had genuinely tried. And he looked good. Better than he had this past week. His suit fit, his hair was neat, and he actually looked like he had slept the night before.

He scanned the crowd until he found you. And then he froze, eyes widening, breath catching, like seeing you in that dress knocked the air straight out of him. He tried to recover—cleared his throat, looked away, smoothed a hand over his hair—but it was too late. Anyone watching would’ve seen the way he stared.

You pretended to roll your eyes when one of the bridesmaids gave you a teasing nudge.

The ceremony flowed beautifully. Leila cried at that predictable-but-still-cute part of her vows. Her groom cried harder. Jake nudged you during the kiss, smirking under his breath, like you were in high school again teasing your best friend for being overly dramatic.

At the reception, you fulfilled your Maid of Honor duties, giving a speech that had half the guests laughing and the other half misty-eyed. You told stories Leila would pretend to be embarrassed by later, and ended with something heartfelt enough to make her wipe her eyes again.

Then it was Jake’s turn, not as Best Man—because he wasn’t, but as Leila’s other best friend with whom she spent more than half of her life with. He stood at the mic, awkward at first, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did.

He congratulated Leila, teased her about being a sore loser when they were kids, and said he was proud of the woman she’d become. It was short—Jake never did like crowds—but it was sweet. And the smile Leila gave him was unmistakably warm, the look you give someone who has been a constant in your life.

Jake behaved throughout the event. He smiled for photos. He clapped at the right moments. You caught glimpses of him laughing with old high school friends, gesturing as he told stories, even dancing—badly—with a flower girl who dragged him onto the dance floor. He looked alive and carefree. Almost like the man you used to know.

It made you weirdly happy. Proud, even. You left him alone to enjoy himself, hovering near Leila when she needed something, drifting around to greet guests, savoring the warmth of the evening.

Soon, it was time to leave. The honeymoon sendoff for the newlyweds was done. Your other duties were fulfilled. You were exhausted now, and Jake agreed to go home together without hesitation. 

But something was odd about him now. He was quiet the whole ride home, eyes fixed on the road and not even a glance your way. Whatever carefree warmth he carried at the wedding had been drained out of him and you couldn’t pinpoint exactly when or how or what had happened.

At his house, he opened the door and walked inside without waiting for you. You were kicking your heels off when you finally asked, “Are you okay?”

Jake paused by the staircase, reaching for the balustrade in what you assumed was an attempt to keep it together. Coldy, he said, “You should leave.”

You sighed. Not this again. “Jake, we’ve been over this.”

He spun around and started talking too fast. “You don’t get it,” he said, voice rising. “You—you deserve better than this. Better than me.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Wait, where is this coming from? We were fine just an hour ago.”

“No. Listen to me.” He ran a trembling hand through his hair, pacing toward you, hand reaching out but stopping just as he was near enough to touch you. He clenched his fist, as if to physically stop himself from touching you. 

“You should be with someone who has their shit together. Someone with a future. A real career. I don’t have any of that,” he ranted, stepping back. “Fuck’s sake, I didn’t even finish college!”

You tried to counter. “Jake, it’s fine. You’re a little lost right now, but you still have time to turn things around. Nothing about this is permanent.”

“It’s not fine!” He turned back to you, eyes wild with self-loathing. “I’m hopeless, okay? I’m fucking incompetent. I don’t have anything to offer you. I’m just holding you back.”

“You are not holding me back,” you insisted, getting exasperated now. “Why would you ever think that?”

Jake scoffed like he didn’t believe that for one second. “Then why are you here? Huh?”

You looked at him like he’d spoken in riddles. “I’m here for you.”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed. “You heard I was back so you left everything behind and came running to me. You left your nice home, and abandoned an amazing career. How is that not holding you back?”

“Where did you hear that from?”

“So it’s true then?”

“That’s ridiculous—”

“Okay, enough.” His voice cracked. “Can’t you see? You have no future with me. You’re too good for me. I don’t deserve you. Not when I’m like—” He gestured vaguely. “---this!”

Your chest tightened. There it was. The line you’d heard a dozen times already, the excuse he clung to like it was salvation. It made something hot and sharp twist in your chest.

“You know what? You’re right,” you said quietly, “You don’t deserve me.”

Jake’s head snapped up, startled. It was as if hearing the same thing from your mouth somehow made it real to him.

“But here’s the thing,” you continued, stepping toward him. “You know that much. You know you’re not doing enough. But you’re not doing a damn thing to fix it.”

He blinked, stunned. He uttered your name, but you cut him off.

“So, yes, Jake. You don’t deserve me,” you said, a single tear rolling down your cheek. “And I’m done tiptoeing around your feelings. I’m done comforting you when you should’ve been at my feet, groveling and begging me to take you back.”

“Baby…” His voice wavered, soft and desperate.

“So what now?” you said, eyes burning. “You love me but you’re telling me to leave you alone? Fine. I’m leaving.”

You turned toward the door, and Jake broke instantly. 

“Wait—wait, no—” His voice cracked as he lunged forward, grabbing you from behind. His arms wrapped around you so tight it almost hurt, his breath shaking against your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he choked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just—I can’t—please don’t leave me.”

A sob tore out of you, but you swallowed the rest, one hand aggressively wiping the tears on your face. “You can’t tell me to leave and then beg me to stay, Jake,” you said, your voice shaky. “You have to pick one. And you have to stick to it.”

His arms loosened a little. You felt the hesitation. The fear. The indecision that had been running his life for years. And with that, it was clear to you that he still didn’t know what to do about this situation. He still didn’t know how to choose you.

You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly. “I’m not coming back unless you figure your life out, Jake.”

You pulled away from his hold, turning to face him. “You said so yourself, I deserve someone who got their shit together. So figure it out, and maybe I’ll come back. Or maybe you’ll find it in you to love yourself. Because that’s the only way you can love someone completely.”

And you walked out the door.

You didn’t come back.

Not after the wedding. Not after the awkward goodbye. Not after the weeks of waiting that stretched into months and then hardened into resolve.

You built your own firm—just like you said you would. Practicing architecture as art, not just a career step or a way to impress clients. It was exhausting, thrilling, and completely consuming. It kept you busy. Kept your mind off things that would only steer you off your path.

Jake became a memory you shoved to the very back of your mind. You didn’t hate him. You just let him go.

A year and a half passed, and your firm was making waves in the industry. Life was looking up. Your path was toward the future, fast and steady.

But of course, the universe had a sick sense of humor. On an early Monday morning, you walked into your conference room and found your past sitting there—hair longer, shoulders broader, eyes clearer. He looked healthy. He looked good. He looked like someone who finally had his life together.

“Jake?” you blurted.

He turned immediately. “Hey,” he said, standing up at once.

“What are you doing here?”

He smiled as he adjusted his glasses. “I’m here for the interview.”

Your brain short-circuited. Before you could say anything, the door swung open and your HR head—Julie, a friend from college—walked in.

“Oooh, good morning, boss. You’re here early,” she chirped, breezing past you as she sat across from Jake. “This is Jake Sim. One of the applicants we shortlisted.”

“Mr. Sim, this is—”

“Oh, I know her,” he replied, smiling. “I’ve heard a lot about her.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty popular these days,” Julie said, grinning with pride. She motioned to the empty seat beside her. “Shall we?”

You sat, keeping your face neutral and professional despite the chaos in your head.

You prided yourself on staying unshakeable at work—especially now, with your own firm, your own team, your own reputation. But nothing prepared you for the sight of Jake Sim in your conference room, sitting across from you, portfolio in hand, applying for a job under you like he wasn’t one of the first people who ever heard about your dream of building this very firm.

“Mr. Sim,” Julie began, scanning his resume. “Your internship supervisor had nothing but praise for you.”

“I worked hard,” he said, confidence glowing in his posture. “I wanted to prove I could handle responsibility.”

You weren’t sure if he meant the internship or everything else he’d dropped years ago. You cleared your throat, nodding at Julie to continue. 

“You graduated with distinction. That’s impressive considering you had to take time off from school,” said Julie, poring over his resume.

“Thank you.” His gaze softened. “I tried my best. And I was deeply inspired. Still am.”

You ignored the meaning buried under that. “Why this firm?” you asked, cutting Julie off.

He took a breath, choosing his words carefully. “Because it’s well-run. It has a clear direction. Strong leadership. And,” he paused, looking straight into your eyes.  “And I would love to work here… for you… if you’ll have me.”

Julie nodded eagerly, completely unaware that this was painfully layered. “So, you’re saying you wanna work here because of our boss?”

Your cheeks heated instantly. Jake laughed softly. “If you put it like that…”

“Oh, relax,” Julie teased. “You’re not the first engineer who applied here just because the boss is gorgeous.” She nudged you.

You shot her a warning look before turning back to Jake. “You’ll be on probation. Performance-based. Regularization isn’t guaranteed.”

“Of course.” His eyes never left yours. “I expected that.”

You clicked your pen. Needed something, anything, to do with your hands. “How soon can you start?”

“Anytime.” His expression brightened. “Today, if you want.”

You scoffed. “You can’t spring this on me on a Monday.”

Jake blinked. Julie blinked. You prayed for the floor to swallow you whole.

“I mean—well… you can start tomorrow, after I—err—we’ve had time to figure things out.” You cleared your throat. “We need to review your application first.”

Julie raised a brow. “Do we? Boss, he’s already shortlisted. We reviewed him. And we need an engineer ASAP.”

You turned to Julie with a knowing look. “We will review the application.

Julie stared at you, bewildered. Then at Jake. Then back at you. “…Right. We will.” She turned to him. “We’ll be in touch once we’ve processed everything.”

Jake stood and gathered his papers. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

Julie walked him to the door. Before stepping out, Jake paused and glanced at you. “It’s good to see you again,” he said with a smile, one that reached his eyes, one that melted your heart.

As soon as he was out of sight, Julie sat back on the chair beside you, eyes bulging out of their sockets. “That’s him? Jake Sim? Your first love?”

You pushed your chair back and stood. “I better not hear people gossiping about this in the office, Jules.”

Her eyes widened, hands flying to her mouth. “So it’s true!”

You ignored her and walked out of the room. You headed straight to the hallway and boarded an elevator. You pressed the button harder than necessary, heels tapping impatiently on the floor. You felt hot all over—shock, confusion, anger, something frighteningly close to excitement. The elevator doors opened and you rushed out, thinking he’d be long gone.

But Jake was still there. Sitting on one of the lobby chairs, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He stood up the moment he saw you, his face lighting up.

You crossed the lobby, stopping just a few feet away. “Why are you still here?” you asked, more breathless than you intended.

He swallowed, eyes never leaving yours. “I was hoping you’d follow me out.”

You let out a short, involuntary huff. Of course he was. And of course you did. A bitter part of you noted how neatly that aligned with what he once told you—that you always came running after him. To this day, despite your efforts to let him go, that fact remains true.

Jake stepped closer, not enough to corner you, but enough to make it clear he wasn’t hiding or retreating this time. “I’m not the person you left,” he said quietly. “I learned how to take care of myself. How to love myself. How to stand on my own two feet.”

Your heartbeat stuttered, but you kept still. “And now,” he continued, voice steady, “I’m taking another shot at happiness.”

“Why come here?” you asked.

He held your eyes as if this entire moment depended on honesty alone. “Because this is where my happiness is.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly at your sides. He noticed. He stepped in gently, easing your hand open, coaxing your knuckles to relax. “And this time,” he murmured, “I came to you.”

You blinked slowly, steadying yourself. Your chest felt uncomfortably tight, like someone had reached inside and tugged at a thread you’d spent a year and a half trying to cut clean. The lobby around you faded. It was just him, standing in front of you with every intention to love you. No excuses, no fear, no pushing you away. He was choosing you, wholeheartedly, for the first time.

Part of you wanted to back away. Another part wanted to fall into him. Instead, you held your ground. You’re not about to forgive him that easily. Leila would kill you if you did.

“Probation,” you muttered, looking down at your joined hands.

Jake laughed under his breath. “I can work with that. I’ll do my best to get a permanent contract.”

“Permanent contract?” you asked, brows knitting. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“No—that’s not—I thought we were talking about—wait…” He paused, genuinely considering it. “Would you say yes?”

You scoffed. “You’re taking a mile a minute, Jake Sim.”

“You’re the one who brought it up!” he shot back, snorting.

As his laugh faded into the quiet lobby and his fingers laced with yours, you felt the echo of every version of yourself that ever loved him. You looked at him, at the hope in his eyes, at the decisiveness you once begged him to learn, and felt something loosen in your chest.

This was not a love story. It was a story of love—how it found you, shaped you, fractured you, nearly ruined you, and somehow circled back to you once more. And finally, finally, it looked like love was here to stay.

[fin]

[ebitsujun]

hiii! can you pls do roommates (or any trope where they live together) enemy jake x fem reader, reader goes grocery shopping and picks up a new brand of chocolate shes never seen before, jake sees her in the kitchen taking out groceries then sees chocolate, eats like 2 whole pieces and reader gets upset but decides to try it out herself, chocolates turn out to be aphrodisiacs and theyre both super horny but reader thinks she has a headache (idk😭) so she comes out to get water and sees jake rock hard on the couch and you know where to go from there queen 👀 and pls dont include anal 😭😭 THANKSSSSS

22.23, sim jake

enemy!roommate!jake x fem!reader, aphrodisiac chocolates, cowgirl, boobies

You'd just gotten back from the market, arms aching from carrying bags up three flights of stairs to the apartment you unfortunately shared with Jake.

Your roommate. The guy who left his wet towels on the bathroom floor, who played his music too loud at 2 AM, and who ate your leftovers without asking.

You were unpacking groceries in the kitchen when he entered, freshly showered, hair damp. He leaned against the doorway, watching you with that lazy smirk.

"Need help?"

"No," you said shortly, not looking at him.

His eyes scanned the counter, landing on the small, sleek black box you'd set aside; a new brand of dark chocolate you'd never seen before, wrapped in gold foil.

"Ooh, fancy," he said, and before you could stop him, he'd plucked the box from the counter, opened it, and popped two whole squares into his mouth.

You stared, your blood beginning to simmer. "Are you serious?"

He chewed, raising an eyebrow. "What? It's just chocolate."

"It's mine. I bought it to try!"

He shrugged, unrepentant. "Tastes good. Kind of... spicy."

You snatched the box back. Only three pieces left. You were so annoyed you decided to eat one right then, just to spite him. The chocolate was rich, deep, with a strange, warming aftertaste that spread through your chest.

Jake watched you, his smirk fading slightly. "You okay? Your face is red."

"I'm fine," you snapped, though you did feel unusually warm. "Just get out of my kitchen."

An hour later, you were definitely not fine. You were lying on your bed, feeling a strange, restless heat coiling low in your stomach. Your skin was oversensitive; the brush of your sheets felt like too much. You put a hand to your forehead. Were you getting a fever? You felt flushed, achey, and... tingly.

You decided you needed water and maybe some medicine. You pulled on a loose t-shirt and shorts and padded out to the living room.

The sight that greeted you made you freeze in the doorway. Jake was sprawled on the couch, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. His sweatpants were tented prominently, the fabric strained over what was clearly a raging erection. He was breathing heavily, one hand gripping the couch cushion so tightly his knuckles were white.

Your mouth went dry. He heard your gasp and his eyes flew open. He jerked upright, trying and failing to adjust himself. His face was flushed, his pupils blown wide.

"What the hell," he gritted out, his voice rough. "What was in that chocolate?"

The accusation snapped you out of your shock. "Me? You're the one who ate it without asking! This is your fault!"

"My fault? You bought the damn thing!" He stood up, and you couldn't help but stare. The evidence of his arousal was impossible to ignore. A fresh wave of heat crashed over you, settling between your legs with a sudden, embarrassing wetness.

You took a step back, but your body felt like it was moving toward him, not away. "It was just chocolate..." you whispered, but the protest died in your throat.

He took a step closer. The air between you crackled, thick with a tension you'd always had buried under arguments and annoyance. Now, it was raw, unmasked, a live wire sparking in the space between your bodies.

"Doesn't feel like just chocolate," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. "You feel it too. Don't lie."

You were breathing just as heavily as he was. The angry words died, replaced by a hunger that mirrored the fever in your veins. Your eyes locked.

It was Jake who broke first. With a low growl, he closed the distance, his hands cupping your face, and his mouth crashed down on yours.

You moaned into his mouth, your hands fisting in his shirt. He tasted like the spicy chocolate and something uniquely Jake.

He walked you backward until your knees hit the couch, and you tumbled onto it, him on top of you. His weight was delicious, anchoring you as he kissed down your neck, his hands sliding under your t-shirt.

"You drive me crazy," he muttered against your skin, his fingers finding your nipple and pinching lightly. You jerked with a hiss under him, pushing at his chest.

"You... first..." you managed to gasp, arching into his touch.

You reversed your positions, now you were straddling his lap, looking down at him. His eyes were dark with lust, his hands gripping your hips.

You shifted, helping him push his sweatpants and boxers down just enough. You weren't wearing panties under your shorts, and he was red hard under you. You sank down onto him in one slow, searing slide, both of you crying out at the intense, perfect fit.

The chocolate's effect was like a truth serum for desire, stripping away every inhibition. You moved on him, setting a frantic, desperate pace, chasing the heat that. He met every thrust, his hands on your hips guiding you, his mouth on your breasts through the thin cotton of your shirt. But he needed more, he removed your shirt and buried his face in the valley of your breasts, squeezing himself between them, kissing and marking and licking. You bounced on him, circled your hips to chase your own pleasure.

The chocolate was running through your veins, a constant itch in your pussy that Jake's cock kept hitting.

The bickering, the anger, the years of tension; it all fueled the fire. You rode him hard, chasing your release with a single minded focus, spurred on by his groans and the slap of skin. He clawed at your ass, pulling you to himself, raising you up and down on him, splitting you in half.

"Jake," you chanted, your climax building like a storm.

"I know, I know, baby," he grunted, his own control fraying. He sat up slightly to capture your lips again, the kiss messy and deep and that was all it took. "Come on my cock, make a mess."

Your orgasm ripped through you, a silent scream against his mouth as you clenched around him. The sensation pushed him over the edge immediately, and he spilled into you with a ragged shout, his body shuddering beneath yours.

The feverish heat was receding, leaving a bone-deep satisfaction in your bodies. You were still straddling him, foreheads pressed together. Slowly, you opened your eyes. Jake was looking at you, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow, familiar smirk touched his lips. "So... we should buy more of that chocolate."

☆彡 @smriki @lilidiors @sunghoondoll @kookiesnkim @nish2shh @starniras @yunjinsart @hoomin10 @m1ntsunwoo @01209r @yourghostneighbor @wishieyu @angelhyuka @mxxrtality @domfikeluva

let me know if you want to be added to my permanent tag list!

[hoonkitti]

cybersex ─ ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

rules are meant to be followed, but unfortunately for jay—jake couldn’t be bothered. not when it comes to you.

𓊆심재윤 x fem reader ft. 박종성𓊇 i want ya p.c, sit on my laptop. push all my buttons. baby, please don't stop. download all over me. dial me up. it's time for cybersex. ─ cybersex, next ⫶ 𐔌masterlist꒱

𓆩♡𓆪 based on this but i switch to ikeu bcs!! it reminds me of @puppybelles for some reason i love her /pos ‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪,,, and @lilidiors helped me w pairing and song choice ily! i hope you enjoy ˘͈ᵕ˘͈⸝* if you do, please don't hesitate reblogging and let me know what you think. means so much to me.

word count 8.8k content advisory morally grey characters, jealousy/possessive behaviour, flirting, live streaming, boundary issues, love triangle lowkey, cheating but also not really bcs jay knows? innocent/naive reader, jake is not a good friend, jay is a good boyfriend :( smut advisory A LOT of making out & PDA, sex on live, voyeurism, breasts playing, grinding, profanity, dirty talking, doggy style, pussy eating, throat fucking, blowjob, 69, squirting, doggy-style, cumshot, creampie, i didn't proofread the smut scene because i got shy ok bye...

jay hates it when you have a good day.

not out of bitterness—but a good day means a good stream.

and a good stream means donation comes in like waterfall, which means—

jake and you did something upon the viewer's request.

“are you going now, baby?” jay leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as you fix your hair in the mirror with that stupid, bright, pre–stream glow on your cheeks. fuck, you’re so pretty, all the damn time.

you’re humming as you grab your bag, and that’s how he knows jake must’ve messaged you something that made you grin earlier. “baby?” he repeats, tone light, smile strained. he tries to sound casual, nonchalant, boyfriend–normal, not boyfriend–threatened–by–your–cohost–with–that–big–dick. 

but his eyes twitch, and that gives him away.

you finally look up from your phone, smiling sweetly. “mmhm,” you chirp, leaning in to kiss him. “ikeu—jake wants to test new lighting before we start later.”

of course he does. of course jake will buy new lighting almost every week just so you can be over his house two hours earlier. 

your boyfriend forces a smile, placing his hands on your hips with a nod like it’s all fine and reasonable. he pecks your cherry lips, pulling you flushed against him. “yeah. lighting. very important.” he murmurs against the kiss, tilting his head slightly. 

he wishes his hands on your body can keep you in place.

but you pull back, your arms still around his neck. 

“don’t wait up, okay?” you say, swaying gently. jay’s eye twitches again. “oh, sure. yeah. why would i wait up?”

you laugh, because he’s being dramatic again and he knows you know, and he hates that you find it cute. it’s really not cute—but for you, he just has to pretend like it is. you pat and pinch his cheek, pecking before turning to grab your things. 

“he’ll send me home, so you can just chill, okie?”

jay nods, standing there like a dumbfounded man as he watches you apply another thin layer of lipgloss as the first coat is on his lips.

fuck—it’ll be on jake too, won’t it?

“uh… text me when you get there baby,” he calls out as he follows you heading for the door.

you hum your agreement, slipping your flats. “alright, baby.”

a beat.

“and—uh, don’t uhm—” jay swallows the lump in his throat, scratching the back of his neck. heat rushes towards his cheeks as you turn to look at him to continue. when he doesn’t, you cock your head slightly, figuring it out—

a smile etches across your pretty face. “no making out for more than seven seconds?” you finish from him, fluttering your lashes innocently. 

two seconds at most—but jay swallows the thought down. instead, he sighs and nods, shoulders visibly dropping. “yeah…” 

you giggle, nodding before skipping a few steps to peck your boyfriend on his cheek. “i’ll tell that to him!” you pull back, wiping your lipstain on his cheek with your thumb. “it’s always jake who goes against your words,” you continue with a small pout, lips puckering so adorably.

jay just nods in defeat—who in their right mind would wanna kiss you for only two seconds? as much as he hates to admit it, he really, truly, genuinely understands jake. but if now he’s together with you—your boyfriend!—jake needs to respect that.

but jay supposes old habits die hard. seven seconds might sound long to some—but back then you and jake would make out for a whole, fucking, minute! do you know how crazy good your breathing control technique must be to kiss for a minute?

but you’re giggling again, shaking your head as you leave—bidding one last goodbye—and jay, left alone in the doorway, sighs. 

a man defeated by a lighting test and a boy named sim jaeyun.

——

“hi everyone!” you chirp playfully, waving one hand towards the camera while the other rests comfortably on jake’s hands on your lap. you’re perched on his lap like second nature—because for the two of you, it always has been.

jake leans in from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as he flashes a grin at the chat, fingers tapping lightly on your tummy in absent rhythm. the comments exploded instantly, a wall of heart emojis and exaggerated screaming. 

you giggle, cheeks warming as you lean back against his chest. 

“did you guys miss us?” jake asks, voice low but teasing, his breath grazes your ear in a way that makes the chat go feral. he shifts you on his lap and adjusts the camera angle with one hand while keeping the other securely wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. 

“what should we do today?”

it began just a few years ago—two, maybe three, depending whether you count the test stream where the audio kept cutting. back then, you were just friends who looked good on camera—good in bed, jake’s big cock and your cowgirl riding skill—easy, natural, unforced. 

there weren't a lot of viewers in the beginning, but it blew up fast. pretty fast. faster than either of you could process. of course, having sex on live wasn’t the only thing you two did. you guys also tried out new toys, took the viewers’ requests, casual livestreams, sometimes jake plays games, sometimes you show off your shopping hauls.

but it’s the godly sex that makes everyone just love the two of you.

your face—pretty in a way that screenshot can’t fuck you up. jake’s—handsome in a way that made people envy and pause mid–scroll. your body—so nice and perky, tensed up, sensitive, soft. jake’s—toned, nicely muscular, huge… huge cock.

but of course nothing can beat the chemistry. 

jake fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, and you ride him like you have all the energy in the world. anyone, even first timers, can tell that you guys are not just co–workers, or friends, or fuck buddies—not with the way jake caught your lips mid-creampieing, not with the way you moaned his name oh–so–lovingly, not with the way jake once confessed to you while eating you out.

nothing, truly nothing, performs better only than a good–looking pair that doesn’t act.

people shipped you hard instantly .

neither you nor jake ever denied it. never clarified, never said “we’re just friends!” or “it’s not what you guys think.” why would you? the mystery was good for numbers, the tension good for views, and the teasing good for your growth. 

you and jake just let the world believe whatever it wanted, while off–camera… your relationship was its own confusing, comfortable thing with no name and no rules!

except… now.

“eat… her out?” jake reads slowly, brows lifting as the corner of his mouth twitches. he murmurs it under his breath, but the mic catches every syllable. 

your eyes widen immediately. clapping your hands over your mouth, you muffle a half–laugh, half–horrified squeak. “guys!” you gasp, leaning forward. “nooo, we can’t—we can’t do that anymore!” 

your partner looks at you, deadpan at first—then turns to the camera with an unimpressed stare, but the corner of his lips twitch into a smirk. “are you new here?” he asks, half a chuckle, half amused. jake wraps his arms around your waist as he pulls you closer against his chest, propping his chin on your shoulder.

“our yn has a boyfriend now… he’ll hunt me down if we even tried half the stuff you guys are asking.”

you nod, humming. despite what jake just clarified, your fingers absentmindedly laced around jake’s on your lap. “mmhm,” you smile, leaning back. “this is somewhat… a safe stream now,” you continue, although it sounds more like a question. 

jake nods, all innocent agreement. “we’re reformed,” he repeats dutifully. “but…” 

he leans in, nothing new that makes your breath or chest stutter. his lips brush against your cheek in the lightest graze, warm enough to feel. his eyes flick toward the camera, then back to you, lashes low, mouth curved in a smile that is absolutely not reformed. 

“we can still kiss, right, yn?” he asks sweetly—too sweetly—eyes dropping to your parted lips like he’s asking for permission, despite already knowing the answer. 

you giggle, the chat explodes.

“mmhm, of course,” you reply softly, trying to keep your voice steady. your smile easy and casual, like… like this is all fine. “we can still kiss.”

jake’s grin widens, slow and triumphant. he just won something jay definitely wouldn’t approve of—but have to come to acceptance. this is work, jay needs—he must put his personal feelings aside. 

with that, the boy leans in to catch his bottom lip between his teeth, a soft tug that flutters your tummy. tips quickly rain in—but jake doesn’t look away from you. his hands, large and steady, slide from your waist to the side to press you closer. 

you’re perched on his lap, both legs draped over his thighs on either side, the thin fabric of your top riding up just enough to tease but not enough to break any rule jay had set. 

“mmhm?” you hummed, fingers curling into the hair at his nape, tugging lightly when jake pressed his lips against your soft ones. it’s slow at first—testing, teasing, pulling just a fraction before meeting again. the kind of kiss that says we remember how this used to go. 

his tongue traces the seam of your lips where he wets the flesh. you let him in with the softest, dreamist sigh that the mic catches. the angle’s perfect for the stream, you on your side, back arching slightly, jake’s sharp jawline, the way his fingers drum your waist absentmindedly.

“mngh,” jake moans softly as his lips mold and melt with yours, the sound vibrating straight through your chest. he cups your jaw as he guides your face still. you tilt your head, deepening the angle, and his tongue slides against yours in a slow, lazy drag that makes your toes curl. 

the kiss turns wetter, messier—definitely more than seven seconds—with a thin string of saliva glints when you pull back for air, only for jake to crash right back in. his thumb strokes your cheek, then slips to the corner of your mouth, smearing the gloss you’d applied before coming here. 

before coming to jake’s house.

you nip his bottom lip—he groans again, hips twitching beneath but doesn’t grind up because—rules.

these stupid rules are fucking killing him.

your fingers twist tighter in his hair, angling him exactly where you want. the mic picks up every slick sound: the soft click of teeth, the breath hitch when his tongue curls, the wet noises when lips meet, the soft moanings and fabric rubbing against fabric. 

“yn,” he breathes, and you answer by sucking his tongue gently. his hand slides from your jaw down to your clothed tits, where your nipples had long hardened and perked up beneath the top. it’s visible. jake doesn’t pull your top up for the viewers but instead, slips his hand beneath where he begins cupping, fondling, playing with it.

his thumb brushes and flicks your perky nipple and you let out a soft moan. 

the chat is feral. tips ping like slot machines—a lot, a lot, and a lot—requesting to please go further, just ignore the rules, begging jake to please just fuck you like how he used to.

you both ignore it, busy moaning and sucking off each other’s faces. his tongue dances with yours, swirling, twirling, swallowing saliva. 

the chat begs for more.

they don’t get it.

——

“mhh, fuck,” jay groans, tipping his head back. 

you wrap your lips around the head of his hard cock, rolling your tongue across the tip to lick clean his precum before bobbing your head back and forth on his cock. the tip glistened as you stroke the base, pulling and pushing the skin. 

“mmh—” your cheeks hollow as you work on sucking him, trying to fit your boyfriend’s big length as deep as your mouth could. his pulse throb against his tongue, and your tongue slides along the veins and texture of his dick.

jay hisses through his teeth and thread his fingers through your hair where he gently grips it to anchor himself, slowly thrusting his hips shallowly into your mouth. “there ya go,” he murmurs, watching you through his hooded eyes. “like that babygirl, j’st like that.”

your eyes flutter and roll behind, one eye twitching as the head hits your uvula like a bell. “hngh—!” you choked out a moan, pussy twitching and throbbing as jay’s lovemilk from earlier oozes out onto the wooden floor.

your boyfriend uses your mouth for leverage as he fucks your throat, his head throws back, balls tightened at the feeling of your gags and vibrations from your chest. “fuck, a lil bit more, babe,” he moans, growning, fucking your mouth like a pussy.

it’s a mess everywhere—saliva, tears, cum—a sloppy blowjob is jay’s favourite way to receive a head. and your warm, goddess mouth is unbeatable. you relax your throat (which really, isn’t the hardest thing to do after taking jake for years), one hand massaging his thigh while the other his balls.

he tenses up, toes curling as he slides his cock in and out of your wet throat tunnel. “shit, shit, baby, jerk me off, jerk me off,” he instructs. you nod, slipping out of his cock to wrap your hands around his wet cock, stroking it back and forth. 

you lean in to lol and roll your tongue around the head, teasing and swiping the tip of your tongue on the sensitive slit. “mmhm,” you hummed, looking up to him with your pretty lashes fluttered. jay’s lips parted slightly, breathing shallow as his jaw tensed. 

you spit a glob of thick saliva on the tip, and it slides down along his shaft and uses it as lube, stroking it harder and faster with occasional pumps as your mouth keeps working around the head. “fuck, baby, ‘m gonna—” he stutter as he feels his cock jumping and twitching in excitement.

with a groan, thick ropes of cum shoots right inside your mouth, coating the domain white. this is his second time cumming tonight—he throws his head back in ecstasy, catching his breath before looking down at his girlfriend. 

lips smeared with spit and cum you lick and clean around the remaining before swallowing. your throat bobs as the cum slides down and enters your tummy.

a grin breaks through your face, looking up at him cutely. too sweet. you tilt your head up at jay, eyes big, voice soft.

“good, baby?” 

your boyfriend exhales shakily, “amazing, love,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your jaw. then he pauses, his brows pinch together. “but…” his eyes narrow as he pulls you up on the bed. “okay—what’s up?”

your smile freezes. you blink once. twice.

“w—what do you mean?” you ask, a shade too bright. 

jay cocks his brow, studying you the way he always does when… he knows you’re being just a little too nice. you’re always nice—and sweet, but a good boyfriend can always, always tell when the combination is too much. 

“you’re acting weird,” he says quietly. “like… guilty weird.”

you open your mouth—but instead bites your lip when you realise there’s no way out of this. caught. “... sorry,” you whisper, looking down on your lap. your fingers gently pinch your thigh to distract yourself. 

jay just hums, wanting you to continue.

your cheeks heat up as you glance at him, lip puckered. “he… accidentally broke a rule,” you manage, blinking as you scoot closer to him. jay doesn’t need to ask who he is—it’s obvious, everyone knows. especially in this context where only one person has a rule when being with you.

jake.

“we were kissing and his hand—ugh, it’s always his hand—comes up and fondles me…” you continue with an even deeper pout, eyebrows knit together as guilt blossoms and comes spilling out. jay’s eyes widen, jaw dropping slightly, but before he can say anything, you quickly interrupt. 

“we just got too carried away because the tip is so, so big!” you blurt, cheeks heating as your hands flutter in mock horror. the tip is one of the biggest you’ve ever received! 

there is a full two seconds of silence as jay blinks, his frown deepens. 

you blink.

your own words finally catch up to you, and you gasp, flailing. “the—the cash tip! the donation! not—not that tip!” you squeak, shaking your head violently. “oh my god, jay, please! i meant the donation! we didn’t break the the rule!” 

you bury your face in your hands, whining. your boyfriend presses a hand to his forehead, exhaling the loudest, most exhausted sigh of his life. his voice comes out thin and strained. 

“... okay. okay. just—slow down, you’re killing me…”

you peek up at him through your fingers, lower lip wobbling. “sorry…” you whisper. jay rubs your thigh gently, trying to soothe you—even though he’s the one who needs soothing. “so… you two kissed and touched… because someone donated a big tip.” 

you nod frantically. “yes! that’s it… i swear.”

your boyfriend stares at you for a long, long moment. then lets out a tiny, resigned laugh he didn’t mean to let slip. his fingers brush over yours as he brings your hands down. a sigh escapes him—long, tired, but still full of love. “so i shouldn’t watch the replay?”

“better not…” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze.

he shakes his head. your boyfriend mutters something under his breath that you didn’t catch, but neither you nor him press further. 

jay lets you get away with it—because when it comes to you, he always does.

any boyfriend in their right mind would’ve said no. no way in hell would they let their girlfriend spend hours every week sitting on another guy’s lap, laughing with him, reading flirty comments, playing into a ship that millions of strangers still genuinely believe in—despite the couple itself saying they’re not together.

and the girl has a boyfriend.

but jay does. 

because first—jake is his friend. the one who introduced you to him in the first place. second—jay trusts you, even if he doesn't trust jake nearly as much anymore. and third—he refuses to be the insecure boyfriend. he’d rather swallow jealousy than admit he’s threatened.

even though he has all the right to be jealous and insecure. his girlfriend is not working with a really handsome colleague doing finance or marketing—she’s sitting on his lap, kissing him, and doing fanservices for money.

but jay tells himself it’s all fine. normal. mature.

but every time you glow after a good stream, every time jake’s hands linger a second too long on places he shouldn’t be… every time the chat makes jay wonder who’s actually your boyfriend—

he starts wondering if this “right mind” thing is something he gave up a long time ago.

and this act of feigning nonchalance is the insecurity itself.

——

it’s not that jake doesn’t care if he’s breaching the “bro code” or anything. 

he’s not heartless and he’s not that much of an asshole to try ruining jay’s relationship or pretend his feelings don’t matter. but he also isn’t going to tear down everything he built just to make his friend feel secure. 

the streams existed long before jay became your boyfriend. 

what’s jake supposed to do?

stop streaming?

act like the channel never exploded and the two of you gain so much money out of it? 

be serious… 

jake tells himself he’s not doing anything wrong. yeah, you and jay have your boundaries now—ones jake reluctantly agreed to. no more grinding, no more receiving head from his favourite girl, no more eating you out. aside from the obvious sexual acts—what jake can’t get behind and agree is to not kiss you for more than seven seconds?

that’s just absurd and stupid. yeah, unfortunately that’s the one rule he’ll always break.

whatever jay feels—if he feels threatened or anything, that isn’t jake’s problem. 

he was here first. everyone fell in love with the two of you first. 

and if jay feels like he’s walking into something he can’t ever compete with… well, jake isn’t exactly going to fix that for him.

“hngh—i’ve been wanting to try this…” you wriggle a bit on jake’s lap, settling in without thinking, the olive young bag rustling between your knees. his gaming chair tilts back a little with the weight of you, and he exhales through his nose.

his hands… are underneath your top again, fondling and massaging your tits. the drag of his knuckles ghosts beneath the fabric, obvious movement visible through your shirt. “this is the powder they’ve been talking about—mhh,—all over tiktok…” you murmur, biting your bottom lip as you pull out the compact powder. 

the plastic crinkles, soft puff and plastic still inside. “my boyfriend bought it for me. he said it’s sold out everywhere.” 

jake hums—low, almost dismissive. “mm. yeah?”

you nod eagerly, leaning back against his chest. your top shifts with every motion, not distracting enough but you can see the small ridges of his knuckles  pushing up from beneath, thumbs flicking your perky nipples, pinching and tugging. “look, hgnh—,” your breath hitch, twisting around on his lap. 

“it has a blur finish! and it’s m—matte,” you moan softly, head tilting to look at jake. “isn’t it cute?” 

jake glances at the powder, but his eyes flick back to you just as fast, heavy. his head then dips down to the crook and warmth of your neck where he begins leaving butterfly kisses along your skin. he doesn’t really care about all of those… not really…

“jay bought all this?” 

“mmhm, been wanting these for a while now,” you laugh, rummaging deeper into the bag, oblivious to jake rolling his eyes behind you. the chat explodes in laugher—viewers commenting he’s jealous a thousand times, some telling jake makes a better boyfriend for you—

yet, none of them ever calls you a cheater, or a whore. 

or at least, jake never allows them to.

your partner rubs your perky nipples between his thumbs, rolling the nub in circular motions. you moan softly, back arching and sensually grinds on his clothed cock. he squeezes your boobs, the cotton stretches tight, the shape of his knuckles clear and unmistakable. 

“you can just ask me, lovely,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. you giggle, nipping your head back as jake tugs your nipples again. “you’d buy it for me, ikeu?” 

jake nods, leaving wet tongue trails along the side of your neck—no marks, sim jaehyun, jay once warned in which jake replied with a roll of his eyes. 

“of course i would,” he murmurs, darting his tongue out to lick the shell of your ear, all while his hands are doing their thing. jake kisses your helix, nipping it between his lips. “i’d buy you everything you want,” his voice drops lower, drawing pattern with his tongue only he knows.

“everything you point at, everything you dream about… i’ll put it in your hands before you can even ask.”

he pauses, breath warm against your ear.

“i’d spoil you better than anyone.”

that wasn’t a fanservice. your eyes widen, your hands pauses mid air, still holding the cosmetics your boyfriend had bought you. jake moves his lips to brush the apple of your cheek—pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of your eye. 

warm skin, a kiss you can feel in your chest. 

he pulls back only enough for you to see the flicker in his gaze, just centimetres away—you can feel his breath fanning over you. 

“put on the lip gloss he bought you for me baby,” he murmurs, voice low enough but the mic still catches it. his lips hover just a fraction from yours, the smallest tilt of his head away from turning it into something reckless. 

you blink at him, lips parting before it curls into a sweet, innocent, shy smile. 

the chat explodes—this is heaven for people who love cheaters, cheating, and cuckolding. fuck—better than those caught–red–handed porn, this is the real shit.

this is actual love. actual cheating. 

jake smirks, eyes dropping to your fleshy, soft, pretty lips.

“i wanna kiss you.”

——

it had been a few weeks now… your one year anniversary is coming up—and jay is finally getting sick of pretending he’s confident and above jealousy. the thing about pretending is that it’ll eventually crack—and tonight, jay feels it splinter.

jay watches from the couch as you take off your shoes, coming back from a night lecturer, humming lightly. you walk past him, dropping your bag on the table, and heading to the kitchen. probably making yourself a warm cup of tea.

he tries to breathe through it, he really, really does. he digs his nails into his palms, shifts his weight, sits up straighter, but still can’t unloose the tightness in his chest.

when you step back into the living room to nestle next to him, that’s when jay exhales. 

“baby,” he calls softly. you look up instantly, eyebrows raised. “can we… talk for a second?”

you blink at him, fingers still curled loosely around your cup. jay never asks to “talk” unless it’s something serious. most of the time, he’ll just say it to your face. you shift to face him, tucking one leg beneath. “...sure,” you reply softly. “what’s wrong?”

your boyfriend’s eyes flick to your face, then away. he swallows the lump in his throat. this is harder than he expects it to be. it shouldn’t be hard—because it’s just… common sense… but fuck. 

why don’t you have it?

“i’ve been thinking,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “about us….”

you don’t interrupt, but your breath catches. you know where this is going. the thing about you and jay’s relationship is that it’s perfect—really. it’s perfect if you can put aside the things that you do with jake. everything’s perfect—so when jay wants to talk about the relationship, your mind always goes back to jake.

because that’s the only thing that’s flawing your relationship.

at one point. it makes you feel like you’re cheating on him… but you’re not—you’ll never!

he gives you a tiny, strained smile, like he’s trying to reassure you everything’s okay, even now. “i’m not mad, okay?” he adds quickly. “i just want you to know how i feel too and…”

his lips form into a tight line. “i… i don’t think i’m fine with it,” he admits. “i thought i could handle it. i wanted to be the boyfriend who isn’t controlling, insecure, or unreasonable.” 

his voice dips, trembling slightly. 

“and i know it’s unfair because you and jake have been doing this way before i’m in the frame. and i know it’s work, and it’s making money, and i trust you,” you see the way his throat bobs as he swallows the nervous lump. “but every week, i feel worse. i feel like i’m watching you drift just a little further—or me, i feel like i’m losing myself.”

“you know what i mean, right?”

you reach for him on instinct, but jay gently catches your hand before you can. he rubs his thumb on the back of your hand. 

“i don’t want to feel like this to myself, our relationship, and certainly you.” he whispers, eyes finally meeting you. jay squeezes your hand once. your heart pounds, the weight of his honesty sinking deep… 

“so i need to know,” he says softly. “what are we doing? and… do you still want to be with me like this?”

——

you’d been practicing the words the entire walk over, mouthing them into the air. 

jake, i don’t think i can do this anymore… jake, i’m sorry… jake, i think it’s better if i focus on my relationsh— all the lines tangled together, tightening in your throat the closer you get to the corner to his house.

maybe jay’d been right. you are… kind of selfish, aren’t you? what if it were you? what if you were the one waiting at home, trusting him, choosing him, trusting to choose him—all while he was around hanging himself to another girl?

what if you were the one sitting on the couch, pretending not to feel sick every time he mentioned another girl’s name? what if you were the one swallowing jealousy because that’s what “secure” people do?

your stomach twists, swallowing the lump in your throat. your boyfriend’s face flashes in your mind—even when he was hurting, he’d still try to reassure you. you couldn’t imagine jay with somebody else, wouldn’t forgive if something like that happened to you.

you’d hate him—crumble trying to understand why you weren’t enough.

so… what makes this any different? 

maybe you are selfish. because you only ever think about your feelings, your happiness, how much you’re making easy money out of pleasuring yourself in front of thousands to see. you’d never survive being in jay’s shoes… and yet you still let him wear it.

if the roles were reversed, you think, i’d break up immediately. 

by the time jake’s house comes into view, your practiced lines feel like something you should’ve made clear and said a long time ago. you swallow hard, guilt on both sides burning thick at the back of your tongue.

you might be selfish… but you’re not a coward. 

the door swings before you can knock.

jake beams at you, hair messy, cheeks flushed with adrenaline. he’s like a puppy—”yn!” he practically shoes, grabbing your wrist and tugging you inside. the door automatically shuts behind. 

“baby, oh my god—guess what?!” he continues, excitement pours over like an overfilled sink. your brows knit in confusion, tilting your head, but allows jake to hold you by your forearms. he chuckles at your expression, bright and breathless, his perfect row of teeth flashing as he leans in, eyes sparkling.

“we hit one million subscribers!” 

the words slam into you—and everything—the rehearsal, the selfishness, what jay’d said last night, all vanish as if someone’s wiped your mind clean.

your gasp is immediate, your face lighting up before you can stop it. “no way—really?!” you squeal, hands flying up to cup his cheeks, all guilt dissolving into genuine excitement. you bounce on your toes excitedly, tugging him closer, laughing because—

this is big, this is huge, this is everything the two of you worked for! hitting this milestone means a lot of opportunities, tips become bigger, monthly subscriptions’ fee increases, it’s easier to get recognition and be recommended! 

jake beams even harder at your reaction, chest puffing with pride, his hands sliding down to your waist to steady your happy shaking. you’re smiling so wide it hurts, hugging jake tightly, and kissing his cheek, babbling—”jake! oh my god, one million? really?”

and the quiet, heavy truth you came to say—the one about ending the streams, choosing jay, doing the right thing—gets buried instantly beneath the thrill of celebration. 

“yeah! i just checked,” he smiles, tucking a strand behind your ear. “i can’t believe it either. we worked so hard—you’ve done so well.” he continues with a soft hum, leaning softly to peck the apple of your cheek.

you let him, still grinning. then, you tug on your bottom lip, biting back an even bigger smile. “so… what now—? what are we doing tonight? are we celebrating?” you ask, voice bubbling with excitement. 

jake’s eyes soften, warmth pouring into every line of his face. his hands linger on your hips where he gives you a light squeeze. “something special,” he murmurs, almost conspiratorial. you blink up at him, expectant. 

jake leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then hovers over your lips with a breath that sends goosebumps down your spine. “we should give them what they’ve been wanting,” he says, voice lower now. 

“it’s a big occasion tonight. we’ve got to celebrate. one million… we can’t just let that pass.” 

your breath catches. the air feels hotter…

jake cups your face with both hands, looking at you like you’re his lucky charm that made all this happen.

“jay… surely will understand it, right? we’ve worked too hard for this. gotta show them how much we appreciate ‘em.”

blinking, you swallow the lump in your throat before—

nodding.

the second the counter flicks over to 200,000 viewers, the chat practically explodes. of course people came running; all because of the little title jake named the live earlier—

doing something special for 1M celebration ❤️

“ah, there we go!” jake exclaims, leaning closer to the monitor from behind you with a grin so wide it splits his face. you giggle as he rests his chin on your shoulder, watching as a blur of hearts, donation banners, and screaming caplocks messages fly by too fast for the eye to catch.

his hands slides to your waist where he pulls you closer to him, fingers drumming against your tummy. then, he glances at you, eyes bright with that intoxicating mix of pride and adrenaline. “one million,” you mouth, cheeks warming. 

jake nods, pecking your cheek. he flashes the camera a teasing smile. “since everyone’s here… we have something really special for you guys,” he says in which you reply with a nod before adding, “mmhm! we’re so grateful to reach a million subscribers tonight, and we’ve been planning it for a while now…”

your partner’s hands snakes up to lift your top up until it pools on your chest, resting just over your covered tits. you bite the inside of your cheek as jake then palms your tits over your bra, giving the viewers an insight of what’s coming next. 

the comments go feral instantly. they haven’t seen such action for so long…

jake nips the shell of your ear as you lean just a little closer into his side. “one million of you,” jake’s voice drops into something more intimate, his thumb brushing the padding of your bra. smiling so earnestly it makes your tummy twist in the best way, “it feels wrong to celebrate it just between us… so we wanna give you something unforgettable.”

then he glances at you again, eyes softening. 

“yeah, baby?”

——

jake lets out a deep, sensuous moan as your lips wrap warmly around his throbbing, aching cock. “mhh, fuck,” he groans, diving to caress your pussy with his tongue. a relieved sigh escapes your lips as he licks long strips between your folds before the shorter ones.

your moans are muffled as you slide more of jake’s needy cock into your mouth, trying to fit all of him inside—and letting the increasing viewers know how much of a good jake’s cocksucker you are. his reaction is immediate as jake lightly bucks his hips and thrusts his shaft straight into your throat.

“ngh—!” your pussy twitches and pulses as you begin to move your hips back and forth on his handsome face, nudging his sharp tongue and wet hole against his eager mouth. his hands come to fondle and spread your asscheeks, wet thumb circling your anal hole teasingly. 

jake’s groans, grunts, and moans are sending vibrations through your pussy—and escaping through your mouth as you gag yourself around his cock, bobbing your head back and forth. the chat is going feral—a rapid–fire blur that never stops moving, like it’s trying to claw out of the screen and join the two of you.

donations and tips flood in so fast the alert sound barely has time to finish before the next one chimes. 

$50 — HOLY FUCK SHE REALLY CAN DEEPTHROAT

$100 — i fucking missed this 

$120 — another 200 if jake cums in her throat

$80 — brother he ALWAYS cums inside LOL

$150 — fuckkk who else fapping rn…

every colour coded notification lights up the room as the number keeps climbing—200k, 210k, 240k—viewers piling in like they’re afraid they’d miss a single second. 

neither of you really pay attention to the chat though, not when there’s something so, so much better infront. something you’ve both been waiting on for months, held back by rules and timing and self–control that finally snaps. 

jake lavishes on your clit, tugging, sucking, flicking the tip of his tongue on that little pea. simultaneously, you move your hand to tuck a fallen strand behind your ear prettily, before playing with his balls. your cheeks hollow as you suck him deep, eyes rolling lewdly behind your sockets.

“j’st like that baby, mouth stuffed full of my cock…” he tilts his head back, a guttural groan escape his tummy as he bucks his hips upwards, slamming the tip of his cock against the back of your throat. “ack—!” you gag, saliva dripping down along jake’s length and coating his balls. 

he continues thrusting his cock inside, hips twitching with every single time the mushroom head brushes against your uvula like a bell. jake doesn’t leave you unattended—he runs his tongue back and forth, lapping, slurping at your entrance. how he’s missed his favourite cunt ever…

you finally pull out and withdraw your mouth from his throbbing cock, releasing it with a pop sound that the mic catches. straightening your spine, you’re sitting directly on jake’s face as you jerk him off, soft dainty hands around his scary big cock, reading the chat.

it’s hard to stifle your emotions—pearl of tears stream down your rosy cheeks as you sniff, hands moving up and down with a slicky sound as you buck your hips against jake’s face. “hngh—p—play with my tits?” you murmur, swallowing the lump in your throat as you bring up one wet hand to fondle your tit for thousands to see.

beneath you, jake spits in your cunt, plunging his tongue into your twitching little holt, nose pressed against the curve of your ass as he shoves his face. he doesn’t know what’s happening up there—doesn’t really give a fuck as long as you’re enjoying yourself too.

you whimper, arching your back sensually. your perky nipples are glistening with saliva and precum as you run your thumb over your bud, flicking it. the viewers are going wild, and you can only imagine what they’re doing behind the screen.

with their pathetic hands around their cocks… wishing they were jake eating your tight little pussy—jerking off to the sounds of your moanings and the wet noises he’s making from slurping and sucking your cunt. 

the girls—they must’ve wanted to be you. getting to kiss, sit on, fucked by jake… who wouldn’t want that?

the thought only riles you up as you grind your hips against his face, walls spasming around jake’s tongue plunging and fucking your hole. “more, more—jakey, fuck me with your tongue,” you whimper, nipping your head back as you press your thumb on the tip of his cock, teasing the slit. 

with a muffled moan, jake starts making out with your pussy, kissing your folds like it’s your lips. his tongue continues to delve deep into your sloppy cunt, exploring the domain as the tip drags along your velvety walls. 

“j—jakey!” you whine, pressing your lower body hard on his face. jake curls his tongue to press on that soft, gummy spot in your cunt. you tense up, hips trembling as your breath hitches. “hah! there, there, there, oh my gosh, mmhm,” you writhe above him, picking up your pace in stroking jake’s throbbing cock.

it twitches with every move of your hand, every jerk only builds pressure in his stomach. his lips never stop working, sucking your clit noisily, muffling against your cunt. “‘m gonna cum, gonna cum on your face,” you whimper, gyrating against his mouth as you rub your wet cunt all over his face—making a mess. 

jake smirks as he thrusts and curves his tongue along your walls. they contract and pulsate around his tongue. your partner squeezes your ass before striking a slap—quickly smoothing the red mark by caressing the flesh. 

you let out a meek cry—insticntively tightening up. every thrust inch you close to a release. pleasure ripples through you in fluttering waves, every breathy little sound you let out only make jake’s pulse thrum harder. 

your hand must be crazily good too—even without your warm mouth around him, he feels himself getting close to his climax. jake spreads your asscheeks and pulls back just enough to moan, “fuck, gonna cum baby, put that fucking mouth to work, please,” he grunts, quickly diving back to his meal.

nodding, you lean down to suck on his cock, mouth enveloping and molding around his growing erection. it throbs against your tongue. you slur for his semen, burying your nose into the curve of his balls where you deepthroat him. 

his hips buck shallow as you loll your tongue around his shaft, fondling his balls underneath. this is giving your neck a workout—with one hard thrust deep into your throat, jake cums right inside your mouth—shooting down your throat as you feel it sliding down the tunnel. 

your eyes widen before they flutter shut, rolling back as the warmth spills down, thick like cream, salty like butter. he doesn’t stop, flicking the tip of his tongue against your flushed pussy, kissing and slurping all your slickness. 

“hah—!” you pull back, gasping for air as cum dribbles down your chin. your throat bobs as you swallow, grinding your hips against his face in fluid motion. jake groans underneath, hands gripping your ass tight as you rock your hips—chasing your high he’s coaxing. 

still jerking him off, you moan, “gnna cum, jakey,” you breathe, the side of your palm hitting jake’s base. “go on, babe,” he rasps, grazing his teeth against the skin. the intensity of your desire only grows, and with each passing moment, the pressure builds up in your tummy.

“squirt on my tongue, let me taste you.”

as if you’re washed down by a wave of pleasure—your body convulses as you cry out his name, head and back arching in sheer pleasure. “fuck, jake—! oh my gosh!” orgasm surges through you. your climax tears as you squirts right on his tongue. 

he lays his tongue flat against your entrance, spreading your folds as he swallows your juices down. your hips buck uncontrollably, body trembling from the pleasure. 

panting and twitching, your thighs tremble before jake lifts you up just barely to catch a breather. “i’ve missed my pussy s’much,” he licks around his lips, savouring the after taste. you reply with a whimper, chest heaving. 

you lift yourself off jake with breathless little gasps, scrambling onto your knees beside him. he’s sprawled out beneath you, and you bent down to kiss him. “mmh, ngh,” soft moans spill from your lips as jake attaches his lips against yours, short, sensual, and soft—catching your lips with every move.

his hand snakes to cup the back of your head, and the other guides your hand back to his aching cock, getting himself hard just as quick again. “shit, jerk me off, baby,” he murmurs. you nod, sticking your tongue out like a kitten in which jake instantly starts sucking on. he darts his tongue as well, dancing and tangling along with yours. 

just a few feet away, the number on the screen jumps, spilling into the half–million range that neither of you even glance at it. 

your palm meets jake’s base eliciting a squelching noise that fills up both the room and mic—just within seconds, he’s hard and throbbing again. 

not being able to contain it any longer, jake grabs your arm and urges you forward, sinking you onto your elbows and knees across the mattress—facing the camera. settling you on all fours, your ass end provocatively arched upward. “ah!” you cry out, about to look back on your shoulders but your partner quickly pushes your head down, muffling your sounds.

“can’t believe i let my pretty girl be someone elses’,” he grunts, positioning himself behind you. you feel his hard cock probing at your entrance as jake pulls you closer by your hip, flushing your ass against his pelvis. 

biting down your lower lip, you naughtily position his cock between your asscheeks before lightly jiggling on it. “c’mon jakey,” you plead, feeling your cunt already twitching in need. scoffing, jake don’t need any more encouragement—wrapping his hand around the base, he plunges his cock inside with a powerful thrust. 

“ah, fuck—!” you cry out. all his length buries himself inside almost instantly, filling you to the brim. this is it—everything jake’s ever wanted for so long. “fuuuckkk,” he grunts, almost collapsing on your back. 

his hands grip your hips, initiating a slow (at first) rhythm, guiding you back and forth onto his cock. “still so fuckin’ tight…” he rasps, wanting to continue it with a—jay doesn’t fuck you enough, baby?—but choose to leave it out in case you suddenly feel guilty. 

but that’s the truth, isn’t it? that there’s no cock out there that’s bigger and better than jake’s.

the languid pace doesn’t last very long—he maneuvers his hand from your hip to cup your hanging tit, the other spreading and fondling your asscheek. jake begins thrusting into you with intensity that leaves you breathless, cheek rubbing against the sheet. 

“jakey—! shit, hngh, so deep!” you moan, fingers curling into his fabric. he starts to pound you hard, hips slapping against your ass with each harsh thrust. as if that’s not enough, jake delivers a spank to your asscheek, the mic catching the slap sound.

the chat is quick to bomb with tips asking for more—and more, and more. 

your pleasure spills out in a trembling moan, breathy cries mixing with every echo of your skin slapping together. “fuck, fuck, fuck, your pussy feels so good, baby,” he moans behind you, adam’s apple bobbing at the sight of your ass jiggling with every single short thrusts. 

your walls grip him like a vice as he rocks his hips back and forth. you’re too hot to not be shared—jake’s hand from your tits slides up, curling loosely around the front of your throat, guiding you upright until your back is flush against his chest.

“hngh—?!” you gasp in confusion, eyes wide as you’re met with your own reflection on the computer screen—alongside the tips and donations that keep pouring like waterfall. his breath fans over your ear, voice dropping to a low rumble. 

“c’mon baby, show your pretty pussy for them,” he rasps, cock disappearing as he slides it back inside, straightening you up. blood rushes up your cheeks as you cover your face—being so naked and displayed, pussy glistening with slickness, tits bouncing with every single thrust jake delivers into your cunt.

it’s borderline humiliating but it’s also… turning you on. 

“shit, look at this. they wish they were me—fuuuck,” jake uses his other hand to fondle your breast, tugging your perky, hardened nipple forward. you yelp with each pinch, the pain only adding to the pleasure. “more, jakey, more,” you beg, tipping your head back.

he hums and obliges, rolling his hips in short thrusts, pace becoming more powerful, more brutal. the head of his cock kisses your cervix, each veins dragging your velvety walls along. “you make me crazy,” he murmurs, moving to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, sniffling the scent of your shampoo.

jake suddenly slides his hand down to rub your sensitive clit—middle finger rubbing and dancing over your clitoris—sending a jolt through your body. “jake!” you gasp, shutting your eyes tightly at the mixed, overstimulating pleasure you’re receiving. 

pinching your bud, jake clamps his teeth down on your shoulder. “tell them how good ‘m making you feel, baby.” he groans, the sound of his balls slapping against your puffy cunt reverberates throughout the room—you’re worried it might be too loud for the viewers. 

swallowing the lump in your throat, you nod—lips parting to reply but the words get stuck in your throat. it’s hard to form sentences when you have a huge cock shutting you up with every pound. “hngh—i—” you breathe out, head lolling on his shoulder. 

“y—you guys… feels s’good, jakey’s cock is amazing…” you slur out, eyes rolling backwards. the end of his lips curl into a smirk as he flicks your clit, spreading your labia with his fingers. maybe it’s because it’s been forever since he last got his dick wet—but heat quickly coils up in his stomach, deep and pulsing. 

jake’s close to cumming and it’s all your fault.

your fingers grip his forearm, nails scratching red against his skin. molten pressure spreads through your limbs as your mouth parts in both silence whimpers and loud moanings, sensation quickly overwhelms you as he presses his fingertip on your clit—sending electricity over your frail body.

$250 — CREAMPIE PLEASE FUCK

$200 — shess so fucking hot wtf

$100 — are they together? please tell me 

$180 — no she has a boyfriend

$220 — chat i’m about to let out the biggest load EVER 

“wanna cum, jakey, i wanna cum.” you squeal, spreading your thighs wider as you start bouncing on his cock to chase your own high. this position has the dexterity to stimulate you differently compared to all the other positions you’ve ever been in. jake moves from your neck to your ear, nipping and licking along the shell.

“you wanna cum baby? wanna cum on my cock?” he teases, slamming and bucking his hips up that the tip slams against your cervix. you nod eagerly, head lolling back as you clutch onto his arm in overwhelming ecstasy. 

“please, jakey please—? i wanna cum on your coooockkk,” you plead, toes curling. jake cups your chin to turn your head so he can attach his lips against yours. he doesn’t slow down one bit—your pleadings only seem to rile him up even more as he groans. 

obliging, jake’s needy, throbbing cock twitches inside of you until he finally, finally bursts—shooting ropes of warm, thick semen deep into your womb, painting your walls white and filling you up completely. 

gasping out loud, the ecstatic and sudden rush tips you over the edge as jake continues to lap his tongue on your lips, tongues intertwining and dancing together. “mhh—hngh!” you cry out, letting another round of squirting, wetting the bedsheet like waterworks. 

“oh, fuuuck,” he muffles, tightening his grip around your neck. your muscles clench and clamp tightly around his throbbing cock as he pumps and coax every last drop of him into your greedy cunt. the force almost causes you to lose balance and stagger forward, but jake keeps his grip steady. 

after what feels hours—jake slowly lets go of you, letting your frail body sink into the sheets, too exhausted to hold yourself up. after a few lazy thrusts, just to ensure your body properly receives his cum, jake finally pulls out with a soft wince. 

“damn…” he murmurs, chest heaving as he catches his breath. he spreads your asscheeks to watch his cum seeps out of your puffy cunt, trailing down before wetting his sheets, mixed with sweats, squirt, and just body fluids. 

jake runs his hand through his damp hair, brushing it back before he lifts you up and pulls you on his lap, securing your tired body against him. you instantly melt into his hold, eyes fighting to stay open. 

“well…” he grins, pressing his cheek with yours cutely. jake wraps his arms around your waist, pressing you flush. you blink, swallowing the deserted lump in your throat. “mmh—hngh,” you twitch, holding jake by his arms. 

the chat goes chaotic—comments flashing by so fast it’s almost impossible to follow. notifications keep piling up, each one pinging over the last as jake tries to read one. the little donation jar at the side that only the streamers can see showcases almost more than half a million tips—that’s like… more the amount that the two of you would get monthly. 

with a light chuckle, jake hums, nuzzling into your warmth. “looks like we just broke the website,” he murmurs. “more than half a million tips… can you even imagine, baby?”

he shifts slightly, fingers brush over your side lazily. 

jay’s probably going to kill him, he can already picture it—the boyfriend slapping his fast against jake’s front door so loud it might as well alert his neighbors, screaming and cussing the shit out of him…

you asshole—! we agreed, we fuckin’ agreed! 

jake lets out a soft sigh. honestly, he can’t even be mad. he’d do it again a hundred times but maybe in a different way… one where jay absolutely won’t find out…

“baby?” he whispers into your ear. you hum in response, eyes fluttering as you shift to a more comfortable seating position on his lap. jake delves deeper where his lips brushes your ear, whispering,

“maybe we should start selling private videos next?”

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