ex for a reason : 21 when he gets nerdy about physics 😍
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𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : when you lowk come to the realisation you have a crush on each other at the same time #goals #soulmates. i can’t believe WE just learned random physics facts through a smau.
:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . 𐙚 Synopsis : YN is a hardworking writer at YG Magazine. After watching her best friend Yuna fail her yet another relationship, her boss pitches her an interesting article : "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."
At Hybe Advertising, executive Sim Jake is fighting for a new girl group's romance campaign. When his boss claims that he knows nothing about love, a bet commences.
pairing: advertiser!jake sim x journalist!female!reader
chapter six
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next chapter is longer but I might not be able to post tomorrow I will be attending a graduation LMFAOOO
:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . 𐙚 Synopsis : YN is a hardworking writer at YG Magazine. After watching her best friend Yuna fail her yet another relationship, her boss pitches her an interesting article : "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."
At Hybe Advertising, executive Sim Jake is fighting for a new girl group's romance campaign. When his boss claims that he knows nothing about love, a bet commences.
pairing: advertiser!jake sim x journalist!female!reader
:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . 𐙚 Synopsis : YN is a hardworking writer at YG Magazine. After watching her best friend Yuna fail her yet another relationship, her boss pitches her an interesting article : "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."
At Hybe Advertising, executive Sim Jake is fighting for a new girl group's romance campaign. When his boss claims that he knows nothing about love, a bet commences.
pairing: advertiser!jake sim x journalist!female!reader
:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . 𐙚 Synopsis : YN is a hardworking writer at YG Magazine. After watching her best friend Yuna fail her yet another relationship, her boss pitches her an interesting article : "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."
At Hybe Advertising, executive Sim Jake is fighting for a new girl group's romance campaign. When his boss claims that he knows nothing about love, a bet commences.
pairing: advertiser!jake sim x journalist!female!reader
chapter three
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private accounts unlocked !! also I'm finally back lolll, thank u berry for helping me with the font once again !! goldfish Jake credits to Pinterest
synopsis: sunoo was a good friend of yours, a good friend who had a crush on you for a long while. between your situationships, you realize he’s slowly becoming distant.
chapter five
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•a/n: im on vacationnn but my headaches are killing me lowkey i hate this… anyways hope u enjoyyy!
ex for a reason : 18 (J)ust (A) (K)nown (E)individual
𝘄𝗰 𝟪𝟥𝟢
it was just a study session.
jake lost count of how many times he’d told himself that as he made his way to your apartment. the words echoed through his mind as you opened your front door, greeting him with a welcoming smile and a brief ‘come in’. it kept replaying as you guided him to your living room, where you had your laptop and notebook out, as well as cushions placed on the ground—sat side by side close enough for him to be aware of the distance.
“so, where do we start?” he pushed the words out, his attention wavering the moment your eyes met his.
“there was this content from week three that i didn’t really get.” you pushed your laptop to sit more evenly between the two of you. “we can start there.”
jake nodded inwardly, perching the glasses atop his nose a little higher, before silently asking for permission of the laptop in your possession.
with the focus now on the actual task, jake slowly found his previous beating heart find its regular steady pace, and the empty feeling in his stomach fill itself back up. the atmosphere felt less intimate and personal, which was all jake needed to comfortably guide you through whatever content you had struggled with.
time became nonexistent as fifteen minutes gradually became an hour and thirty minutes, which neither of you paid much mind to. still, it was only a matter of time before the numb feeling of you legs would turn noticeably hard to ignore.
“let’s take a break.” you stretched your limbs out before hoisting yourself on your feet, a slight limp kicking in. jake didn’t argue back and found himself pushing his body up onto the sofa behind him where you’d been leaning against.
“stay here, i’ll get us something to drink.” you instructed, and without giving him much of a choice, you turned to exit the room.
your absence prompted jake to finally take a proper look at his surroundings. your living room appeared simple, nothing that stood out or caught his attention.
“wait, jake!” you suddenly called out from the hallway, cutting jake’s tour short. “i want you to meet someone.” your footsteps neared closer, and a plethora of scenarios kicked through his mind.
in the next few seconds, you would turn around the corner with what jake thought might be your partner. or your friend. or maybe even a family member.
you turned the corner to enter into the room, and all of jake’s previous suspicions vanished as a small, fluffy ball of hair entered his vision.
there was a wide grin accompanying your face as you walked over towards the coffee table. “this is my child, clover. isn’t she cute?”
and indeed, jake did believe the bunny staring right at him had to be one of the cutest things he’d seen in a while. his face lit up unknowingly, and you didn’t waste a single second to offer clover in his direction.
jake hesitated, his hands twitching upwards before fully accepting her in his grasp. he wasn’t too sure if he was holding her right, so he resorted to lowering her down onto his lap for good measure.
you took a seat next to him, not too close, but still present enough for jake to look up for a moment before looking back down at the life sat on him.
“hi.” he greeted, his voice coming out breathy. your smile widened, and you watched as jake reached a hand out to pet clover by her ear. “i think she likes you already.” you observed, and the assurance was enough for jake to get more confident with his actions as he started stroking all of her body.
you observed in silent awe. jake seemed suddenly all too caught up in the action of petting your bunny that he forgot about you right next to him. and weirdly enough, the attentiveness, as well as lack of, was something you couldn’t find it within you to break.
there was a certain appeal in what had unfolded in front of you. the view of jake, in the gray hoodie you had grown to know him by, looking down at clover with a genuine smile that appeared too affectionate, as well as the spark in his eyes that seemed almost caring, brought a weird fluttery feeling within your stomach region.
“you’re so cute.” jake had cooed in a whisper, and that same fluttering tickled further for a split moment. jake suddenly looked back up, almost as if remembering your existence before an embarrassed flush grew on his face. “what?” he muttered awkwardly.
you had no words to say back for a good long second. “nothing,” you claimed. “this is just cute to look at.”
jake’s mouth itched to drop wide, but he restrained his urges and instead remained speechless. after all, what could he possibly say back that wouldn’t sound weird?
“should we go back to study?” he diverted instead, stroking the mammal one last time.
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𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : their slow progress is just so lovely. someone pls tell her that her goal is to get sunghoon. ALSO BIG CHAPTER NEXT WITH BIG AWAITED EVENT…… hoonyn nation be there
synopsis: sunoo was a good friend of yours, a good friend who had a crush on you for a long while. between your situationships, you realize he’s slowly becoming distant.
chapter four
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•a/n: sorry for the late update yall im sick ;((((
(🎱) After four months of becoming part of your house, Jake Sim is jealous of a guy who knows your mom lore.
jake sim x fem! reader
˗ˏˋ established relationship, riki is an annoying lil bro, romcom, jealous jake, (not so) mean reader, fluff, profanity, suggestive, no smut but ??, mdni! still
wc: 13578
part 1 | part 2 | part 3
By spring, Jake Sim had somehow managed to become a regular presence in your house.
Four months into dating him, he had a designated mug in the kitchen cabinet, a personal drawer in your bedroom, and enough comfort in your house to start cooking for you and Riki.
You’ve also started to believe that Sunghoon and Jay have developed a personal vendetta against you. To make it sound more complicated, you do not care whether Jake and Riki go to parties, usually waving them off with a simple, “It’s none of my business, do what you want.” Except Jake has stopped going altogether, despite your repeated encouragement for him to exercise his individuality, because apparently he would rather spend his Friday nights watching animal documentaries with you.
No hate from the boys of course, they just think you’ve stolen their man from them.
With that, Jake had also met your father formally a month ago over dinner, even though formally was a loose term considering your father already knew him as the Sim boy from charity galas and those adult conversations where surnames mattered in the financial sense.
Still, you had done it properly by telling your father ahead of time, warning Riki not to say anything stupid that involved 100 bucks, and also warning Jake not to say anything charming enough that your father would invite him golfing (he did, they have one scheduled next weekend).
The dinner itself had gone well at first. Your father was polite, Jake was polite, Riki, by some divine intervention, managed to go full minutes without mentioning illegal outsourcing or the fact that Jake had once technically been hired to romance you against your knowledge.
For most of the meal, your father asked Jake about school, soccer, his parents, his plans for college, and Jake answered because he’s always been charismatic and charming the way networking was always going to be an easy thing he can do (your dad was already smiling differently at him like he was that golden jackpot son-in-law). He was respectful, but not stiff; confident, but not cocky. He somehow managed to make your father look interested in a conversation that did not involve stocks, real estate, or golf.
The most unsettling part that might have made you twitch a little — mostly because some still really mad part can’t help but act out — your father turned to you and asked about one of your classes, and when you answered, he actually listened. Not the distracted kind of listening he usually did, where his eyes were on his phone and half his attention remained somewhere else. He actually looked at you and asked a follow-up question like he was interested, and not because it was another thing to check off his to-do list.
You told him about a professor you didn’t like, and he laughed. For a while, it felt normal, and close enough that your chest loosened far more than you would have let it.
You started thinking that maybe it was not too late. That maybe your relationship with your father was not something permanently broken, maybe things could recover slowly through dinners and questions and laughter that did not need an audience to exist — which was stupid.
Then your father smiled across the table and said, “See? This is good for you. I should’ve gotten you a boyfriend years ago. Maybe you would’ve smiled more and mothered Riki less.”
Then you go back to hating him.
You return to that one crime documentary about the daughter who killed her father and start understanding the cinematography on a deeper level. Especially when he keeps smiling like he did not just undo fifteen minutes of character development and storyline progress.
However, because your life had recently developed the irritating habit of becoming emotionally productive, you did eventually understand what happened. It took a very long conversation with Jake in your room that night, where you sat on your bed with your arms crossed. He was careful not to sound like he was defending your father too much, because he was fond of living.
“I’m not saying you have to forgive him,” Jake said.
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying maybe he’s trying.”
He did not tell you your father deserved anything or to let it go. He didn’t flatten the years of hurt into one inspirational sentence and expected you to make it easier for a father that made your life harder. He only said that your dad had been home more recently, that he had been asking about your classes, that he had started remembering Riki’s schedule, that maybe it was too late, or maybe it wasn’t, but either way, he was trying.
“But,” he added, “you might want to know what happens if you try too.”
So, against your better judgment and several documentaries, you decided to try his advice. Not because your father had earned a dramatic reunion scene in the rain or because one decent dinner could undo years of making you the emergency contact for everyone’s inconvenience, but because maybe you owed it to yourself too.
So you stopped actively ignoring him when he was in the house, which was a humanitarian effort, really.
You smiled when he entered the kitchen. Sometimes you even stayed there instead of pretending you suddenly had urgent business upstairs, and also answered when he asked about school. You laughed once when he made a decent joke, then immediately regretted encouraging him because he spent the rest of dinner trying to be funny.
You also agreed to play golf with him one of these days, which Riki called “the most disturbing thing he’s ever heard in his life,” and Jake called it “progress”.
The house became slightly less cold in the places where your father stood. Which was how your father ended up hosting another barbecue in the middle of spring.
Someone’s wife had brought pasta salad in a glass container large enough to feed a small province, but most of the guests were still your father’s friends, which meant executives with white hair and expensive watches that actually were there for casual gatherings in t-shirts and shorts.
You had been standing with them for maybe seven minutes because, weirdly enough, you were fond of them. They were like uncles who had seen you grow up, called Riki “little man” even after he outgrew half of them, and still somehow believed you were fourteen.
Mr. Han tilts his head at you like he suddenly remembers something very important. “Do you remember Beomgyu? He’s in college now,” he says, “Business administration. Very sharp boy.”
Another one of your father’s friends nodded beside him. “Good head on his shoulders.”
Mr. Han looks back at you with a smile. “You could learn a few things from him, you know. Business, discipline, networking. He also plays pickleball now,” he adds, like that is meant to sweeten the offer. “Very popular these days.”
“Right,” you say, because what else were you supposed to say to that? Congratulations to Beomgyu and his racket?
Your father, standing a few feet away with a beer in hand, laughs and shakes his head. “Han.” he points at him lightly. “I know what you’re doing.”
“I’m just saying, they’re around the same age.”
You laugh again, awkward and thin, because this is still technically a barbecue and not a marriage market with grilled meat. “I’m sure Beomgyu is great.”
You take a sip from your cup and consider walking away blatantly right now, until a very familiar arm settles over your shoulders.
“Pickleball?” Jake says easily, stepping into your side like he had been there the whole time. “He’s already where the board members are.”
Your head turns slowly, but Jake does not look at you. He only kept smiling at them, pleasant and entirely shameless.
That earns him a smile from Mr. Han, then a point with the same hand holding his beer. “Exactly. Smart guy.”
Your father laughs like Jake has just said something personally rewarding to him, then steps closer and claps a hand over his shoulder. “Jake Sim,” he says, and somehow says it with the same pride as he would introduce his favorite child (Jake is his favorite child now). “You know his father.”
Recognition moves through them almost immediately. “Ah,” Mr. Han says, nodding. “Sim’s youngest son.”
“The one in engineering?” another asks.
Jake smiles politely. “Trying to be.”
Your father looks far too pleased. “He’s dating my daughter.”
Then Mr. Han’s expression shifts into something amused and knowing, because old men truly hear two surnames in one sentence and start seeing stock prices. “I see,” he says, looking between you and Jake. “So that’s where your head is at. Very strategic.”
“Tying the families early, aye.” one of the other men says.
Jake’s arm stays around your shoulders, but you feel him laugh under his breath.
You stare at him, deeply irritated by the fact that he had arrived twenty minutes late and immediately became the most likable person anyway. They started asking him about engineering, golf, and whether he had considered business on the side, and Jake answered smoothly while keeping his arm around your shoulders. Every few seconds, his thumb brushed lightly against your upper arm, calm and absent, as if he had not just inserted himself into the middle of a soft-launch arranged marriage attempt.
You let him talk for another minute, then you step on his shoe when it’s enough.
Jake’s smile does not move, but his arm tightens around you and you can see the slight twitch on his face. “Ow.”
You smile at the men. “Excuse us for a second.”
Before anyone can answer, you take Jake by the wrist and drag him away from the drinks table, past Riki and his girlfriend, who were sitting on the outdoor couch with matching plates of barbecue.
Riki looked up. “Trouble in paradise?”
You ignore him and continue pulling Jake toward the side of the patio, near the narrow space between the house and the garden wall where the noise from the backyard softens. The second you’re out of view, you pinch his side.
Jake flinches, laughing. “Okay, okay.”
“You’re twenty minutes late. You said you were on the way!”
“I was.”
“From where? Another country?”
Jake lifts the paper bag he had been carrying and pulls out a small white box. He watches your face carefully, already trying not to look too pleased with himself when familiarity settles slowly. “Compensation.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What is that?”
“Open it.”
Your suspicion weakens immediately, which is unfortunate and frankly humiliating. You take the box from him and open it to find the dessert you like from the bakery across town, the one that was annoying to get because parking was terrible and the line was always long for being a local icon.
You look up at him. “You drove across town?”
He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant but his perfectly straight teeth are flashing you already. “They had one left.”
You try to keep glaring at him, but the dessert is sitting pretty in your hands and he’s looking at you like he knows exactly how close he is to forgiveness. You hate that a smile is threatening to curve on your lips, so you shove the box against his chest instead. “You’re still late.”
He steps closer, smiling softly now. “But compensated?”
You look up to argue, but he’s already leaning in. His hand comes to your waist first, gentle and sure, and then he kisses your forehead.
He pulls back with the smallest smile. “Hi.”
You stare at him, though with a glare. And because you’re a woman of discipline and emotional restraint, you pinch his side again, which makes him laugh and catch your hand before you can do it a third time.
Jake looks down at you, still smiling. He lifts the hand he already caught, turns it over, and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
By the time the two of you return to the backyard, the whole place has settled into something warmer and looser. The adults are spread across the patio with beer bottles and paper plates, sunglasses pushed into white hair, laughing too loudly.
You stay close to Jake without thinking too much about it. Sometimes your shoulder leans briefly into his when one of your father’s friends makes a joke. Or sometimes Jake’s arm is around the back of your chair while you eat the dessert he brought you, his body angled toward yours without even noticing it.
When you reach the grill, your father immediately starts explaining some trick about heat zones, and Jake listens because he is apparently very committed to being everyone’s favorite. He demonstrates what he learned by shifting a few pieces of meat to the side and saying something about indirect heat and the physics behind it.
For about six minutes, it works — until one side comes out almost burnt. He gives you a wounded look, which you ignore.
Eventually, the two of you end up in the lounge area by the pool with Riki, his girlfriend, and a few other people around your age. The outdoor couches are low and wide, arranged under the shade with plates balanced on knees, bowls of fruit on the table, ribs stacked on paper trays, and drinks sweating in the heat.
Everyone talks to one of your family friends about college plans, thumb moving slowly as an absent habit now. You lean back against the armrest with a plate of fruit in your hands, listening while Riki complains about how everyone keeps asking what course he wants to take as if your father hasn’t already pretty much decided his career trajectory and started informing stakeholders.
The backyard is warm, the pool is bright under the spring sun, Riki is happy beside his girlfriend, and Jake is sitting there with your legs over his lap. Every now and then, when he thinks no one is looking, he leans in close enough to kiss your temple or the side of your head, quick and quiet, like he still enjoys getting away with it.
You keep telling him people can see.
He keeps doing it anyway.
In the middle of one of the most boring stories ever told, a familiar voice comes from behind you.
“Don’t tell me Nishimura finally brought out the famous ribeye.”
You go still.
Your whole body reacts before your brain fully catches up, your shoulders dropping, your face changing so quickly that Jake notices it before he even turns his head. One second you are beside him, half-listening to someone talk about golf club renovations, and the next, you are staring past everyone like a celebrity just walked back into the yard.
A guy stands a few feet away from the lounge area, sunglasses pushed into his hair, one hand in his pocket, smiling beside his father, whom he has very clearly outgrown in height.
You literally gasp. Riki looks up too, and his expression shifts with recognition.
The guy’s smile widens when he sees you. “There she is.”
You do not even think (that is the first strange thing).
You just stand so fast the plate of fruit almost tips from your hand, set it down somewhere without looking, and cross the space in three steps. He opens his arms at the same time, like he already knows you are coming, and you walk straight into them.
It is not a polite hug, first and foremost.
Not one of those stiff family-friend greetings where everyone performs affection for the parents watching. It is both arms, no hesitation, your face pressed briefly into his shoulder, his hand landing at the back of your head for half a second before sliding to your upper back.
Woahh.
The kind of hug that says this has happened a lot before. The kind of hug that does not ask permission because, at some point in your life, permission had already been given.
Jake stays seated. His hand, still resting near the arm of your chair, slowly curls against nothing.
Because you do not hug people like that.
You barely hug your own father without looking like you are surviving an obligation. You act like affection is something to tolerate, not step into. But here you are, laughing into some guy’s shoulder like your body remembers him before you remember to be difficult.
The guy leans back first, still holding your arms lightly as he looks at you. “You got prettier.”
You hit his chest immediately. “Shut up.”
And you smile, which isn’t polite nor controlled, not the little smug one you give Jake when you know you have won something.
Jake’s hand, now empty on his lap, curls once against his knee.
Riki stops talking mid-sentence when he realizes who it was, his girlfriend also looks. The guy laughs as he holds you. “Wait,” he says. “Did you get taller?”
Your smile drops. “Shut up. You know I’ve been this height since I was fifteen.”
He laughs, then reaches up and ruffles your hair.
Jake’s eye twitches because as far as he knows, that was his thing that he can only do to you. Turns out he doesn’t know a lot at all!
You laugh, and Jake’s mouth stays in a polite line while he psychoanalyzes the guy that got to tease your height, hug you, touch you, and mess your hair — which feels like a shit ton of information to process right now. The guy finally lets you go, but he keeps one hand briefly at your shoulder, squeezing once with old familiarity.
“I missed you, scary girl.”
Now he gets to say I miss you?
You giggle again, softer this time, before you ask him about college, about where he’s staying now, about whether business school has successfully humbled him. He tells you he’s fighting back with bad expectations that hit his pressure points. You ask about his mother, his younger sister, the dog they used to bring over when you were kids, and he answers each one easily, like no time has passed at all and the two years between you was nothing.
Jake stays seated for another second, not because he is upset.
Obviously not.
He is a mature and reasonable person, someone who understands that family friends exist and that not every man who hugs his girlfriend needs to be interrogated the way you used to with people.
Still, the way you keep smiling at him feels like he needs to be the way you used to operate. He’d really appreciate it by asking his background prior to the name.
Before Jake can stand, Riki clears his throat beside you. “Wow,” he says flatly. “No one missed me?”
The guy looks over at him, and his face brightens again. “No way.”
They do the manly dap up, pulling him into one of those half-hug greetings boys do. “Little Rik,” he says, laughing. “You’re as tall as me now?”
“You were literally up to my shoulder last time I saw you.”
You laugh, and Riki points at the guy like this is a legal offense. “See, this is why I didn’t miss you.”
“You definitely missed me.”
“I missed your mom’s cooking.”
The whole thing is familiar in a way that makes the air around you shift, because it’s lived in and the exact setting that didn’t make you feel out of place before. It’s the kind of familiar that does not need explanation, because Riki is smiling, you are laughing too easily, and the guy fits in like someone who used to belong there.
Riki glances at you when the other one’s distracted, eyes moving from you to Jake, then back to you with the expression of someone saying, Are you stupid?
“Oh,” you say, turning quickly.
Jake smiles when your eyes find him, but there is something slightly off about it. Unfortunately, you don’t notice things when you’re too excited.
“Jake,” you say, reaching a hand toward him. “Come here.”
He does. Very normally, or at least that is what he tells himself.
You glance between them, still smiling in a way that is not exactly helping Jake’s current emotional stability. “Jake, this is Hyunjin,” you say. “My childhood friend.”
Hyunjin turns to him fully.
“And Hyunjin,” you continue, shifting closer until your hand brushes Jake’s arm, casual but clear. “This is Jake.”
You pause for half a second.
“My boyfriend.”
For a second, Hyunjin only stares, then his jaw drops. “No way.” he points at Jake, then at you, looking genuinely stunned in a way that is far too dramatic. “Someone is dating you?”
You scoff, offended. “What the fuck?”
“No, I mean, good for him.” Hyunjin looks Jake over, then nods like he is congratulating someone for surviving a difficult licensing exam. “Brave guy.”
Hyunjin then steps forward, offering his hand, which Jake takes and it immediately turns it into another dap. Jake follows smoothly because he is Jake Sim, and because social skills do not abandon him just because his girlfriend has apparently been hugging men from her childhood with the comfort of a weighted blanket.
“Nice to meet you, man,” Hyunjin says.
“You too,” Jake answers.
Usually, Jake’s charm comes easily.
It is one of the more irritating things about him, actually. He can walk into a room where nobody knows him and somehow make himself feel familiar within ten minutes. Warm smile, easy laugh, eye contact, just enough confidence to make people comfortable without making them want to humble him.
Today, however, that version of Jake has apparently taken the afternoon off.
He stands beside you, smiling when he is supposed to, nodding when Hyunjin says something, but none of it lands right. The timing is there, as well as the expression, so technically, the boyfriend is functioning.
Emotionally, he is not.
You are too distracted to notice, too caught in the weird rush of Hyunjin being there at all, of seeing someone who knew the house before it became something you had to manage. Before Riki became less like your brother and more like your full-time unpaid internship, and before your father became someone you even ever had to forgive.
Hyunjin looks around the backyard like he still knows the map of it.
That is what Jake notices first.
Not just the hug, though God knows he noticed the hug. He noticed the way you walked straight into it without thinking, the way your face pressed briefly into Hyunjin’s shoulder, the way his hand landed at the back of your head like he had touched you there before and survived it.
Jake noticed all of that.
But now Hyunjin is looking around your backyard and naming things. Small and stupid things that should not matter, except they come out of Hyunjin’s mouth like he has had them stored somewhere safe for years.
And you smile, not polite nor amused in the controlled way you get when someone makes an unfunny joke. It is easier and younger than that. A smile Jake has seen before, but rarely, and usually only after working very hard to earn it.
Hyunjin gets it by remembering a broken swing.
Great. Fantastic. Jake was hoping for exactly that.
He smiles too, because everyone else is smiling, and he is not insane. He is perfectly normal.
Hyunjin knows things Jake does not.
That is normal too — obviously. People have histories, childhood friends exist, memories do not expire just because someone gets a boyfriend.
Jake knows this. He also hates knowing this.
Hyunjin looks back at you with sudden recognition, like another memory has just come loose. “Do you still know how to make your mom’s mango strawberry smoothie?”
Your smile shifts before you can stop it.
It goes softer, sadder at the edges, like the memory has touched something old enough to still hurt. The word mom has always existed in your house like a glass sitting too close to the edge of a table. Everyone knows it is there, and they move carefully around it. Nobody wants to be the person who knocks it over.
But Hyunjin says it so easily.
You let out a small laugh, looking down at the cup in your hand. “I haven’t made that in years.”
Hyunjin’s face warms with the memory. “Your mom used to make a whole pitcher every time we came over.”
Jake smiles because everyone else smiles.
Normal boyfriend behavior. Healthy. Stable. Very mature.
Except Hyunjin knows what your mother made when the house still sounded like children running around and someone calling from the kitchen. Hyunjin knows your mother as a person who made pitchers of smoothies, who had routines people can remember without making the room go quiet.
Jake only knows her through half-sentences you never finish.
My mom used to… I don’t know, it’s not important.
And then you stop every time.
Jake has never pushed because he knows better. He knows that part of you is locked, and he has been standing outside it with both hands in his pockets, pretending patience does not ache.
Then Hyunjin walks in and the door opens.
Not for Jake. For him.
Jake looks down at his shoes and decides, very calmly, that he possibly hates fruit as a category.
“You should make it again sometime,” Hyunjin says, still smiling. “I’ve been craving it for years.”
You look at him, and for a second, you seem younger and smaller, somehow — but never weak. Just closer to a version of yourself Jake has only ever met in pieces.
You shrug, trying to make it nothing. “Maybe.”
Hyunjin leans back. “I’d pay good money.”
“You cannot afford me.”
He laughs as you laugh. Jake also makes a sound that might count as laughter.
Before Hyunjin can answer, your father calls him from across the yard. He excuses himself with a small laugh, stepping away from the lounge area and toward the adults. His father is already near yours by the grill, both of them smiling like they are about to discuss something boring and expensive.
You turn toward Jake then, finally. Your hand comes to his arm, fingers rubbing lightly over his sleeve. “I’ll just go over there for a bit,” you say. “Catch up with the old men.”
You are smiling at him, a little apologetically, like you know you got swept up in seeing Hyunjin again and are trying to make sure Jake does not feel forgotten.
Which should help (it does not). Jake is currently very aware of the fact that your hand is on his arm, but your attention is already halfway across the yard.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding once. “Go.”
Your smile softens. “I’ll be quick.”
Hyunjin says your name from across the yard, and your head turns immediately. You squeeze his arm once, then walk away.
He watches you go because, unfortunately, he has eyes and no survival instinct.
You slide easily into the small circle with your father, Hyunjin, and Hyunjin’s dad. Your father laughs almost instantly at something Hyunjin says, clapping him once on the shoulder with that proud, familiar affection that makes Jake’s jaw tighten before he can stop it. Hyunjin’s father gestures between you and Hyunjin with his beer bottle, saying something that makes you roll your eyes and smile anyway.
Jake stands there, suddenly feeling very stupid.
Great. Really great.
He returns to the lounge area with Riki beside him, sits down, and reaches for the beer on the table. He takes a long drink, which Riki watches over the rim of his cup. “Damn. Slow down, man.”
Jake lowers the bottle, eyes still across the yard. “I’m fine.”
Across the yard, Hyunjin says something to your father. Your father laughs again. You stand between them with your arms crossed, smiling in that slightly exasperated way Jake loves.
He takes another drink, deeply bothered by a conversation that does not involve him. His jaw tightens, fidgeting with the bottle in his fingers. “They seem really close.”
Riki grimaces immediately before he picks up a piece of fruit from the bowl, mostly so he has something to do with his hands while choosing exactly what words to say. “Yeah, our families were really close.” he gestures vaguely with the fruit, like that should explain anything. “Our parents used to joke about them getting married after college.”
Jake goes very still.
“Mostly joke,” Riki adds, which is somehow worse.
The backyard noise continues around them, and Jake watches it happen with the emotional stability of a man reading his own autopsy report. Because he feels like he’s dying as they speak right now, as Hyunjin looks at you with a smile because he was never scared of you.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
Riki makes a face. “I mean, our dads were close. Same circles, same charity things, same boring conversations about properties and expansion and whatever. They thought it would be good if the families stayed connected.”
“Through marriage.”
“It was rich business people insane, yeah,” Riki says, like this is an important legal distinction. “They kind of kept pushing her to date him.”
The sentence fucks Jake up with a fucking Ak up his ass at this point, and the trigger pulls when he hears Hyunjin laughing with your father over the goddamn music.
Family plans, apparently, that involve marriage jokes the adults obviously actually meant.
“She thought it was stupid. Hyunjin too, I think. They were close, but not like that.”
Jake says nothing.
Riki leans forward a little, lowering his voice. “Bro, I’m telling you this as someone who has made many mistakes involving your relationship and a couple hundred dollars. Don’t be dumb.”
Jake exhales through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “I’m not being dumb.”
Riki looks at him for a second longer, then slowly glances at the beer bottle in his hand. “Okay.”
Jake leans back into the cushions, which is not the body language of a man doing well. It is the body language of a man who has decided to sink into outdoor furniture and let spring swallow him whole. He keeps his eyes across the yard, watching you talk with your father, Hyunjin, and his dad like this is all very normal and not a psychological test.
Beside him, Riki and his girlfriend have gone back to their own conversation, which should be less irritating because it has nothing to do with him, except they have started doing that thing where they speak quietly and smile too much at each other. Jake watches it happen for three seconds and then takes another drink.
He has a decent tolerance, usually. But apparently his tolerance does not account for emotional sabotage through childhood friends and smoothie history, because after almost half an hour, his head starts to feel pleasantly unclear in a way that is not helpful at all.
Across the yard, Hyunjin says something that makes you laugh again. That makes Jake look down at the bottle in his hand and decide the beer is responsible for the shitty jerk in his chest.
“Dude,” Riki says.
His girlfriend looks at the bottle, then at Jake, with gentle concern. “Maybe slow down?”
Jake sits up a little. “I’m slowed. And comfortable.”
“And very obvious too.”
Before Jake can respond, your shadow falls over him. You are standing in front of the couch with one hand on your hip, eyes moving from his face to the bottle in his hand, then back again. “What are you doing?” you ask.
“Sitting.”
You narrow your eyes at Jake, and he smiles up at you like he is very normal and not currently being held together by jealousy, ribs, and fermented grain. Then your hand reaches down for his. “Come on.”
He looks at your hand, then at you. “Where?”
“We’re playing billiards.”
Riki sits up while Jake processes that that was an actual sentence said to him. “Dad’s table?”
“Hyunjin brought it up.”
Riki’s girlfriend brightens a little. “That sounds fun.”
You tug Jake’s hand. “Up.”
He lets you pull him to his feet, mostly because refusing would be suspicious and also because your hand is warm around his. The moment he stands, the yard tilts for half a second, though not badly — just enough that he becomes very aware of the fact that maybe he should have listened when Riki’s girlfriend told him to slow down.
You notice immediately, your hand tightening around his. “Are you okay?”
Jake nods. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
He nods again, then leans down before you can say anything else. His forehead brushes yours, warm and a little unsteady, though his smile is still soft enough to make your concern shift into something else.
“Yeah,” he says. “I just missed you.”
You blink before you giggle, which is probably unfair to him. Your hand lifts to his cheek, palm settling against his very warm skin. His eyes are focused on you with that specific heaviness that makes your suspicion return immediately. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
He shakes his head. “No.” His smile grows slightly, lazy at the edges. “I just feel warm around you.”
Riki makes a noise from the couch. “That was disgusting.”
His girlfriend elbows him lightly. “It was cute.”
You ignore them and press a kiss to Jake’s other cheek, mostly because he is being stupid and warm and looking at you like you are the only thing in the backyard that has managed to make sense all afternoon.
He stares at you with a strange, softened expression, because you’re softer today. Somewhere in the reasonable part of his mind, Jake understands that you are allowed to be sweet to him without it becoming a federal mystery. You are his girlfriend.
Still, it feels different right now. It has no resistance in it, no insult tucked into the corner, no eye roll, no little shove afterward. Just your hand on his cheek and your mouth against the other, easy and warm — which should make Jake happy. Unfortunately, it also makes him suspicious, because apparently jealousy has turned him into someone who sees affection and thinks it’s too easily given.
Did Hyunjin do this?
That is an insane thought.
Did seeing Hyunjin make you softer? Did laughing with someone from before make the house feel easier? Did remembering your mother through mango strawberry smoothies loosen something in you that Jake has been trying, carefully and quietly, to reach for months?
Was Hyunjin the reason you were smiling like this? Was Hyunjin the emotional WD-40?
Terrible thought. Horrible and deeply undignified.
Jake smiles, but it comes out bitter and sharp at the edges. “Why are you so happy?” he asks.
For a second, the backyard noise fades strangely around you. “What?”
“I mean,” he says, then stops. “You just. You look really happy.”
Your brows pull together. “And that’s bad?”
“No,” Jake says quickly. “No, it’s not bad.”
He should say more after that, like something normal, preferably. But nothing comes to the brain that’s usually reliable enough for charm and math and conversations, which simply sits there with its hands folded.
Your expression stays confused for a moment longer before you sigh. You pat his chest once, light and dismissive, but your mouth still curves a little like you do not fully mind him being weird. “Come on, you’re on my team.”
The pool table sits in the sunroom. Riki picks the least chipped cue stick, and immediately starts chalking it like he is about to get serious. Jake, for the first time in thirty minutes, feels something close to purpose.
Because billiards, he can do.
Billiards is math, angles, force, control, clean shots — his area. This is where he can stop being a jealous idiot with a beer bottle and start being impressive again. A man with skill and composure, a man whose girlfriend will watch him sink a perfect shot and remember that he is, in fact, her boyfriend.
You pick up a cue stick and walk around the table, studying the rack like you know exactly what you are doing. Jake watches, already softening despite himself, because you look focused in that way that always makes him want to kiss you and also stay out of your path. A complicated emotional position, but he has adapted.
“You’re breaking?” Hyunjin asks, amused.
You glance at him. “Do you have a problem?”
“No,” he says. “I just remember how bad you were.”
You hit Hyunjin lightly with the back of your stick, just against his arm, and he laughs like he expected it. Worse, he looks at you while laughing, like getting hit by you is part of the experience he’s so familiar with.
Terrible start for Jake, actually. He feels like he’s breaking.
You scoff and turn back to the table, leaning down to line up your shot. Jake’s attention immediately gets divided between your form, Hyunjin’s face, and the strong moral belief that Hyunjin should stop knowing things.
You break the rack, the cue ball hits the triangle, the balls scatter weakly, and all the balls stop nowhere near a pocket. For half a second, everyone is quiet, until Hyunjin laughs so obnoxiously loud.
You turn and point the cue at him. “I will hit you harder.”
Great. Jake’s convinced you’re actually hitting on each other.
Jake steps forward, calm and polite and completely deranged in a quiet way he never ever is. “Solids or stripes?”
You look at the table. “We haven’t decided teams.”
“I thought you said I was on your team.”
“I did. But we’re five—”
“Good.” Jake circles the table once, assessing the layout with too much seriousness for a backyard game. “Then we’re solids.”
And that makes the room go quiet, horribly quiet enough that you make eye contact with Riki. Neither of you says anything, but the conversation is clear.
You turn back to Jake, trying not to look amused before the game even really began. He leans over the table, lines up his shot, and hits the cue ball cleanly. One of the solids drops into the corner pocket.
Hyunjin lets out a low whistle. “Okay.”
Jake lines up the next shot and sinks another one.
Riki looks at you. “Your boyfriend’s kind of intense right now.”
You look at Jake, who is already walking around the table with his cue in hand, studying angles like there is money on the line. “I’ve noticed.”
Jake misses the third shot by a little, the ball knocking against the edge of the pocket before rolling away. He straightens, jaw working once like the table has betrayed him.
Hyunjin steps forward. “My turn?”
Jake moves aside with a polite little gesture. “Go ahead.”
Hyunjin takes his shot and gets one stripe in, clean enough that he looks pleased with himself to even look at you. “See? Still got it.”
Riki reacts. “You’re pretty good.”
Hyunjin shrugs. “Used to play here.”
Jake’s hand tightens around his cue because of course Hyunjin used to play here, of course the pool table has lore, of course every object in this house has apparently been emotionally notarized before Jake ever arrived in your life.
Hyunjin laughs, and Jake decides, with full awareness of his own pettiness, that he now has to beat him badly.
Hyunjin then leans for his next shot, although this one he misses.
Jake says, very calmly, “Tough angle.”
Hyunjin looks at him, amused. “Was it?”
You step up next, deciding to ignore all the tension that’s not supposed to be there, and lean over the table to line up your shot. Jake watches from beside you, one hand around his cue as you hit the cue ball, and it rolls past the pocket by barely an inch.
Jake immediately steps closer. “You rushed it,” he says.
You stare at him for a second, already irritated. “Did I ask?”
Hyunjin, leaning against his cue on the other side of the table, smiles a little and says, “Yeah, she hates being coached.”
Jake looks at him only for a second, but you catch it. The quick glance, the small clench in his jaw, the way he immediately looks back down at the table like he is trying to make his face behave.
“I know,” Jake says.
Riki’s girlfriend clears her throat, probably sensing that the room needs another person to do literally anything else. She reaches for Riki’s cue and steps forward. “My turn!”
She leans over the table, takes barely three seconds to aim, and hits the cue ball cleanly. One of the solids rolls straight into the side pocket.
Riki immediately stands straighter. “Yup. That’s my girl.”
You laugh, and his girlfriend looks pleased in that quiet way, trying not to smile too much while Riki points at the table like he contributed to the shot through moral support.
Jake goes next when she misses the next. He gets one in, of course, because physics is on his side the way emotional instability isn’t. The next shot does not go as well though, it hits the edge of the pocket then rolls away.
You make a small sound to tease. “Tragic.”
That gets the smallest real smile out of him, which feels like progress until Riki takes his turn and misses so badly the cue ball barely touches anything. Everyone laughs at once, and he turns to his girlfriend immediately like he needs major reassurance that she still thinks he’s attractive.
“That was the table,” he says.
She pats his arm. “Sure.”
Your turn comes again after that, so you move around the table, trying to ignore the fact that Hyunjin is watching with that amused little look like he already knows whether you are going to miss.
You lean down and study the shot, and Hyunjin shifts beside the table. “If you angle it a little more to the left, you might get it.”
Jake moves before you can answer and you feel him behind you before he speaks. “Not left,” he says, voice calm. “You’ll hit the stripe first.”
He’s close enough now that you can smell the beer on him, faint beneath his cologne, so when you look at him over your shoulder you see him watching you carefully, waiting for you to decide whether he gets to stay there.
For a second, neither of you says anything, and somehow the whole sentence is there anyway.
You look at him a moment longer, still mildly irritated, then you turn back to your shot without telling him to move away. Because that is answer enough.
Jake steps in quietly behind you, careful now. He does not crowd you, but he is close enough that his chest nearly brushes your back when he leans over to see the angle. “A little straighter,” he says, low enough that it feels meant only for you. “Not hard. Just follow through.”
You let him adjust the angle, his fingers brushing yours for half a second. It is stupid, how warm your face feels from something that is technically just billiards advice. Stupid, and very inconvenient, and unfortunately not helped by the way Jake’s voice drops when he says, “There. You’re good.”
You stare at the ball. “You smell like beer.”
He smiles behind you, his hand still on yours. “Focus, baby.”
No one else sees it, mostly because everyone else is looking at the table. Jake's other hand drops briefly to your butt, giving it a quick smack before he steps back like he did absolutely nothing.
You freeze for half a second, warmth curling in your abdomen. But you pay him no mind: you shoot. The ball rolls cleanly across the felt and drops into the pocket.
You straighten immediately, refusing to look too pleased. "I would've done that anyway."
When you glance at Jake, it is only for one second but he sees the warmth on your face, the way you look away too quickly, and the tiny effort it takes for you to pretend you are completely unaffected. His smile settles softer, but there is still something smug at the edge of it.
“Of course,” he says.
Jake only smiles and steps closer when you line up for the next shot. This time, you let him hover without making a comment, mostly because the last one went in and you are unfortunately results-oriented. He leans in just enough to look at the angle, one hand resting on the table while the other points lightly near the cue ball.
“A little softer this time,” he says.
“I know.”
“Okay, sorry.”
Still, you take the shot the way he suggests. The cue ball hits yours cleanly, but the angle is off by a fraction, and the ball taps the edge of the pocket before rolling away.
He hums, very softly, but no coaching because he knows you know.
Hyunjin takes his turn after that, still amused but smart enough not to say anything about whatever just happened. He leans over, lines up the shot, and sinks one of the stripes cleanly. He straightens, grinning. “Watch and learn.”
You scoff. “Luck.”
Jake steps in beside you suddenly, though not abruptly, his arm slides around your waist again, a hand settling low at your stomach. He does not even look down when he does it, he just keeps his eyes on the table, calm and unreadable.
You look at him though he keeps his gaze at the table, nodding when Hyunjin gets it. “Nice shot.”
Hyunjin glances at Jake’s arm around you, then at his face, and Hyunjin’s mouth curves like he is trying not to laugh. “Thanks.”
You lean your shoulder back against Jake’s chest for one second, just enough for him to feel it. When Hyunjin misses the next shot, Jake’s thumb moves once over the fabric of your shirt.
You do not look at him when you say, “Your turn.”
Jake’s mouth curves near your temple, like he doesn’t want it to be his turn yet.
“Impress us.”
“Us?”
You glance at him now. “Me.”
He looks at you for a second longer, and the jealousy does not disappear, not entirely, but it goes quiet. Then he steps away from you, lines up his shot, and sinks the next solid with the kind of calm that makes Riki groan into his drink.
Jake lines up for the next shot with that calm, focused look on his face, which lasts all of three seconds before Riki says something from the side of the table purely to be irritating. It works, because Jake’s shot goes slightly wide and misses the pocket by a long way.
He straightens slowly and looks at him. Riki looks back with his drink halfway to his mouth, suddenly pretending innocence while Jake lifts the cue slightly in his direction to suggest that being hit with the equipment has been a possibility.
Riki’s girlfriend takes her turn, because honestly she has been quietly carrying the game while everyone else deals with whatever strange male pride thing has started happening around the pool table.
You are standing near the side, waiting for your next turn, when Hyunjin ends up on your left and Jake ends up on your right. It is not intentional, probably, but it feels intentional enough that you notice the way they both stand a little too straight beside you.
Hyunjin glances past you toward Jake. “You’re pretty good. You play a lot?”
Jake leans lightly against his cue. “Enough.”
Hyunjin nods. “Could tell.”
“Yeah?”
“You take it seriously.”
Jake’s smile stays polite. “Yeah,” Jake says. “Usually depends who I’m playing against.”
You look between them and see that they’re both smiling, but neither smile is friendly enough to be trusted or even be remotely comfortable to be sandwiched between.
Hyunjin shifts his cue from one hand to the other. “Well, this table has a way of humbling people, so,”
Jake glances at the table, then back at him. “Must be nice. Having all that history with the table.”
Hyunjin laughs under his breath, because that one lands exactly where it is supposed to. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Jake looks at him with the kind of pleasant expression that would pass anywhere else. “But I’m a fast learner.”
Hyunjin raises his brows, more amused that he expected to be.
The silence after that is not long, but it has enough weight to be embarrassing. You roll your eyes. “You’re both acting like kids.”
Hyunjin looks at you, brows knitting like he has no idea what you mean. “What? It’s just small brotherly banter.”
Jake laughs, but it’s cleaner and flatter, polite enough to pass but not warm to belong to him. “Yeah,” Jake says, still smiling. “It is.”
You ignore them, mostly because they are right and you hate that. Then you point your cue toward the table. “Can I take my shot now, or do you two need to finish whatever this is?”
Hyunjin steps back immediately, hands raised. Jake steps back too, quieter. “All yours.”
You take your shot without either of them telling you what to do. The cue ball rolls cleanly across the felt, clips the solid at the right angle, and sends it straight into the corner pocket. You then line up the next one, hitting it softly, and it drops into the side pocket.
Hyunjin laughs. “No coaching needed, then.”
You glance at him, but only briefly, because your eyes move to Jake almost on instinct.
For the record, you do not even mean to do it. You just look at him first, like his reaction is the one that matters most. So when your eyes find his, something in his expression shifts — a bit smug and pleased.
He lifts his brows slightly. “Nice.”
You try not to smile. “Just nice?”
Jake’s mouth curves. “You want more?”
You roll your eyes before the smile can fully happen and shove lightly at his arm. Jake barely moves, but he looks very pleased anyway, which is the problem with him.
The game continues for multiple rounds like that for a while, with everyone getting less serious and somehow worse at the same time. Hyunjin keeps making comments under his breath whenever you line up a shot, Jake keeps giving advice only when you let him, and Riki keeps acting like the table is shitty and therefore needs to be replaced. His girlfriend, unfortunately for his pride, remains the best player by accident, sinking balls with very little effort while Riki stands beside her looking proud of achievements that are not his.
At some point, Hyunjin flicks Riki off after Riki calls one of his shots ugly. Riki flicks him off back, misses his next turn completely, and then has the nerve to blame the table again.
It gets easier after that. People laugh more, the adults call over from the patio every now and then, and Jake actually exchanges a few light messages with the childhood memory shape of a man. Once when Riki took a shot, the cue ball clips the edge of one ball, ricochets wrong, hits the side rail too hard, and somehow jumps slightly before bouncing off the table entirely.
By the time your turn comes around again, the game is barely organized with exhaustion. You lean over the table, aim for the 8-ball, and hit the cue ball carefully. It rolls cleanly across the felt, catches the ball just right, and sends it into the corner pocket with a neat little drop.
Hyunjin claps once, grinning. “Wow. Good job, scary girl.”
You laugh, still pleased from the shot, and Hyunjin lifts his fist toward you. It is automatic enough that you meet it without thinking, knuckles tapping lightly against his before you turn back to the table, still smiling like the whole thing is nothing.
Jake watches it happen, obviously, because it’s not like he can’t.
It is literally a fist bump, an action so harmless it should not mean anything at all. There is no reason for it to land wrong — but it does.
Because you and Hyunjin are apparently a team now. You and Jake won the round, you are on Jake’s team, you chose him, you looked at him first after your shot, you let him help you, and he knows that because he saw it with his own two eyes, which are currently being extremely unhelpful.
Still, Hyunjin says a childhood petname, and you laugh because he doesn’t annoy you.
Jake should feel like he won, but for some reason, he feels like he just lost.
He sets his cue back against the wall a little too hard, loud enough that you guys look over immediately. Jake ignores it, already stepping away from the table and pushing a hand through his hair like he is only hot from the weather and not quietly becoming unwell near recreational furniture. “I’m gonna check on the food,” he says.
You turn toward him, smile still half-there. “What?”
But Jake is already moving, not even sparing you a proper glance before he steps out and heads toward the grill.
For a second, you just watch him go. He is standing near the grill now, beside your father, who is talking to him about something with tongs in hand. Jake nods at the right places, smiles when he is supposed to, but even from where you stand, something about it looks off.
Hyunjin looks genuinely confused, which makes the whole thing worse because he really has not done anything wrong. He only showed up, hugged you, remembered too much, and existed near your boyfriend too much.
His mouth curves, but gently this time. “He jealous?”
You stare at Jake. “No. He doesn’t get jealous,” you say, like that settles it. “He’s not insecure.”
Hyunjin shrugs, clearly not convinced but smart enough not to argue with a woman who is already looking mildly irritated. “Okay.”
You look over at Riki instead, who’s standing near the edge of the pool table with his girlfriend beside him, both of them suddenly very invested in doing nothing. Riki meets your eyes for half a second, then looks away with the exact expression of someone who knows something and would rather be medically sedated than involved.
So you give up and cross the yard.
Jake is apparently left in charge of the meat while your father has gone inside to get more sauce. He stands there with the tongs in one hand, eyes on the lamb chop, and when he realizes you’re near, he does not look at you right away, but you see it anyway. The slight pout sitting at his mouth, the stubborn set of his jaw, the very obvious attempt at looking unbothered.
You stop beside him and glance at the grill. “Dad trusts you enough with this?”
Jake flips one piece of meat and does not answer. You wait but he keeps looking at the grill, clearly more invested in it than he is with your presence.
You slowly tilt your head. “Are you ignoring me?”
Jake exhales through his nose, still not looking at you. “Thought you were busy entertaining your fan club.”
There it is.
You blink once, then press your lips together because laughing feels dangerous. Not because it would hurt him, exactly, but because Jake looks genuinely annoyed, and it is made about ten times worse by the fact that he is holding tongs and standing beside barbecue like a wounded suburban husband.
“My fan club?” you repeat.
He finally looks at you, and the pout is still there, faint but visible enough to ruin his entire case. “Yeah.”
You stare at him. “Hyunjin?”
He looks back at the grill. He flips another rib, then immediately frowns at it. “He’s nice.”
You scoff. “He is.”
“Great.”
You look away to hide the smile that starts pulling at your mouth, because there is no possible way you are letting him know that his sulking is doing anything except making him look ridiculous.
His jaw shifts, and he turns one of the meats again with far too much attention for someone who is not emotionally projecting onto barbecue. “Do you two always act like that?”
You look back at him. “That’s very specific.”
Jake gives you a look, then immediately looks back at the grill, because apparently maintaining eye contact during jealousy is where he draws the line. “You know what I mean.”
You sigh, crossing your arms. “Yeah, kind of. We grew up together.”
He scoffs loudly and dramatically. “Right,” he says, tongs clicking once against the tray. “I almost forgot.”
You stare at the side of his face. “Jake, you sound insane.”
He gives the grill another unnecessary look. “Wow. Good to know.”
You press your lips together again, because now you are definitely trying not to laugh. It is not funny, technically. Your boyfriend is clearly upset, and you should be taking that seriously. But he is also standing there in front of your father’s grill, pouting at lamb chops because another guy called you a childhood nickname.
Jake looks over at Hyunjin across the yard, long enough to make himself worse.
Hyunjin is standing by the pool table still, laughing at something Riki says, his posture easy, his expression relaxed, the whole package annoyingly well-adjusted. He is older than both of you by maybe two years, which is not a lot, but apparently enough for Jake’s brain to start acting like Hyunjin is far more superior in your type list.
You like responsible people. Hyunjin is responsible, the kind that comes with business school and a clean laugh. He also has seniority, not just some random guy trying to impress you now. He is the original file, the older family-friend version, the one who knew you when you were a child, when Riki was small enough to be called Little Rik without irony, and when your mom was still around.
Jake has spent four months learning how to be close to you, and Hyunjin had a decade-long free trial.
Terrible. Unfair.
Jake looks back at the grill and flips one meat with unnecessary aggression and drama.
You see all of it and before you can say anything, Hyunjin appears beside you.
He stands there with both hands on his hips, looking far too casual for someone walking into a situation that already has smoke coming off it — emotionally and literally. “Riki and his girlfriend want to try your mom’s smoothie thing,” he says. “You should make it.”
Jake goes very still and then he sighs so loudly that it sounds like he has just been asked to blend his own downfall with ice and honey and evidence, right in front of your father’s grill.
You look at him quickly, but his eyes don’t meet yours.
Hyunjin, unfortunately, does not seem to realize he has just thrown a grenade into the barbecue area and asked if anyone wants a straw. “If you still remember how.”
You open your mouth, but your father comes back at the same time, sauce mixture in hand, completely oblivious to the fact that the three of you are standing in a very strange triangle of old history, jealousy, and grilled meat.
“Here,” your father says, reaching for the tongs. “I’ll take over.”
Jake gives them up immediately.
Your father starts brushing sauce over the ribs, already talking about heat and timing and whatever else men say to impress 20-year-olds with backyard cooking. You stand there, still watching Jake as he runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight.
Then he is already walking toward the house, no glance at you, least of all an attempt to make it look normal. He just turns and goes inside without another word — which is concerning, because Jake never ever gets passive with you.
Your father keeps brushing sauce on the ribs. Hyunjin looks between you and the door, finally starting to understand that maybe something really is off.
Before Hyunjin can even say anything, you turn to him.
“Leave me alone for a while.” It comes out sharper than intended, but you do not take it back. You are too annoyed now, with Jake, with Hyunjin, with the smoothie, with the fact that everyone keeps remembering things out loud like your life is a group activity.
Hyunjin raises both hands, surprised but not exactly shocked. He has known you long enough to recognize when you are about to become unpleasant to be efficient. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah. Sorry.”
You do not answer, you only turn and follow Jake inside.
The kitchen is cooler than the backyard, the noise outside turning muffled the second the sliding door closes behind you. He’s standing in front of the open fridge, one hand gripping the handle, staring into it like the composure might be sitting behind the orange juice.
“What the hell is your problem?” you ask.
Jake does not look at you. “I’m getting water.”
“You walked out.”
“It was hot.”
“Jake.”
He reaches for a bottle, closes the fridge, then sets it on the counter without drinking from it. Truly natural behavior from a man who definitely came inside for hydration and not because he was one memory mentioned away from combusting truly.
You cross your arms. “Are you seriously ignoring me now?”
“I’m not ignoring you.”
“You left without looking at me.”
He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry.”
“No, keep going. This is very mature.”
He looks at you then, and there it is again. That weird, tight expression, which is not anger exactly, just something more embarrassed than that, which somehow makes him look even more irritated.
“I said sorry.”
“No, you’re being a dick,” you say, genuinely this time and you hold his stare. “And you’ve been acting weird all day. Literally what, over a smoothie?”
Jake looks at you — irritated, unimpressed, still unfairly hot, which feels disrespectful given the situation.
Then he says, “Yeah. I was jealous.”
You blink, thrown off by the honesty. “What?”
“I was jealous,” he repeats, slower this time. “That’s what you wanted me to say, right?”
You stare at him. “Over Hyunjin?”
“Obviously.”
You laugh once, but it comes out more shocked than amused. “Jake, he’s my childhood friend. He’s basically family.”
“I know.”
“You met him literally today.”
“Yeah, and he already knows more about your life than I do.”
That makes you pause.
Jake looks away first, jaw tight, like he hates that he said it but not enough to take it back. “He knows the dog. The swing, the pool table, the smoothie, your mom. He walks in and everyone just opens up around him like he never left, and you looked so happy.” He exhales sharply. “And I know that’s not a crime. I’m not stupid. I know you didn’t do anything wrong.”
You cross your arms tighter. “Then why are you acting like I did?”
He scoffs. “I’m really not.”
“You walked out.”
“Because I didn’t want to stand there and keep watching it you,” he says, finally looking back at you. “With him.”
Your face shifts. “There’s nothing with him.”
“I know. He didn’t flirt with you. You didn’t flirt with him. Nothing happened but it still felt shitty.”
You look at him for a second, trying to decide whether to be mad or confused. “Because he knows old stories about smoothies?”
“Because he knows old stories I’ve been too scared to ask about.”
That lands in a way that makes you shut up and tighten your arms around yourself.
Jake rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t ask about your mom because I know how you get when people even come close to that. I know you’ll tell me when you want to. I’ve been trying to respect that.”
“And I appreciate that,” you say, voice tightening. “But that doesn’t mean I can suddenly talk about it just because you feel left out. You can’t just force that out of me, Jake.”
“I’m not asking you to suddenly talk about it —”
“It sounds like you are.”
“— I’m asking you to stop acting like I’m insane for feeling something,” he says. “Hyunjin said your mom like it was easy, and you let him. I can’t even say her name without feeling like I’m about to hurt you.”
The kitchen feels too cold now.
Outside, the barbecue is still going, muffled voices and laughter coming through the glass like nothing inside has shifted. Your father is probably still brushing sauce over ribs. Riki is probably eating something he did not cook, living his happily ever after with a girlfriend who isn’t even half as difficult as you.
And Jake is in front of you, looking jealous and hurt and too honest for how angry you still want to be.
“He was there,” you say. “That’s why he knows. That’s it. Not because he’s on some leverage like you’re making it look like.”
“I know that.”
“Good. Also know that he didn’t earn anything like dumb arcade tickets to know ‘lore’ about my mom. He doesn’t get more of me because he knew me first.”
Jake’s mouth tightens. “It felt like he did.”
“Well, he doesn’t. You should already believe me on that!”
“I do,” he says quickly. “I believe you. I just don’t know what to do with the fact that you looked at him like he was home.”
You go still, completely frozen.
His voice drops. “And I was right there.”
You stare at him, the anger in your chest suddenly turning uncomfortable, because that is too close to something you do not want to sort through in front of him.
“Hyunjin isn’t home,” you say. “He just remembers what it used to feel like. And maybe I missed that,” you add, quieter. “Maybe I missed someone remembering it with me. The smoothies, the dog, Riki being small, my dad being different. I don’t know.”
Jake looks at you for a long second, being careful with what you're telling him.
Then he asks, “And I can’t be that for you?”
Your throat tightens. “Jake.”
“No, I’m asking.” His voice stays low, but there is hurt under it now. “I know I wasn’t there. I know I can’t remember it with you the way he can. But I can listen. I can know it now.”
You look at him. “Don’t make me feel bad for not saying everything to you.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“You kind of are.” Your voice rises before you can stop it. “I need time with things. You knew that when we got together. You knew I don’t just open up because someone cares about me enough.”
“I know that.”
“Then act like it.”
“I have been acting like it,” Jake says, sharper now. “That’s the whole point. I’ve been waiting. I’ve been careful. I don’t push because I know you hate it. But today, Hyunjin walked in and touched the exact thing I’ve been scared to even mention, and you looked at me like I was dramatic for noticing.”
You stare at him.
He exhales, rough and frustrated. “I don’t think I earn your pain because I waited. I’m not treating your life like a prize. But I am allowed to feel like shit when someone else gets to stand there and talk about your mom like it’s easy.”
“It’s not easy,” you snap.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You saw me laugh and thought it was easy. I shouldn’t have to tell you to know that either, because you should.”
“Baby,” he huffs, “I’m not a mind reader.”
Your mouth parts like you have an argument ready, but nothing comes out.
Jake looks at you, breathing harder. “You left me there.”
“I went to talk to someone I grew up with.”
“Right. And completely forgot I was beside you.”
“I didn’t forget you.”
“It felt like it.”
You laugh once, sharp and disbelieving. “So you get to be a dick about it?”
“I wasn’t being a dick. I didn’t disrespect anyone out there. I didn’t say anything to Hyunjin. I didn’t even say anything to you.”
“That’s not the defense you think it is.”
“I walked away,” he says. “That’s all I did.”
“You walked away from me.”
“Because I didn’t want to stand there and keep feeling stupid.”
You stare at him.
Jake’s jaw tightens. “I wasn’t trying to punish you. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I just didn’t want to stay there watching you and Hyunjin talk about your whole life like I was some random guy at the grill.”
“You’re not a random guy at the grill — you’re the guy I like. You’re the one who comes over. You’re the one who eats in my kitchen, drives Riki around, and holds me when I don’t want to talk.”
Jake’s face shifts, but you keep going because now you cannot stop.
“Hyunjin knows old things because he was there. Fine. But you know me now. You know when I’m mad. You know when I’m quiet. You know when I’m about to cry and pretending I’m not. He doesn’t get this.” You gesture between you two. “He doesn’t get us.”
Jake stares at you. And then he gets quieter, “But he gets the part I don’t know how to reach.”
You blink.
“That’s what I’m jealous of,” he says. “Not because I think he owns it. Not because I think you owe it to me. I’m jealous because I want to know every part of you, and there’s this huge part I can’t even ask about without feeling like I’m going to hurt you.”
Your throat tightens.
“And I hate that he can stand there and remember it with you,” Jake says, voice rough now.
“He’s my childhood friend.”
“And I’m your boyfriend.”
“Exactly,” you snap. “So why are you still jealous?”
“Because I love you.”
Both of you stop.
The whole kitchen goes still.
Your mouth stays slightly open, the next argument still sitting there, suddenly useless. He freezes too, eyes on yours, chest rising once like even he did not know the words were coming until they were already out.
Jake looks absolutely horrified.
Not because he regrets it, but because this is probably the worst possible way he could have said it. No perfect timing he planned to do it, no nice romantic moment, just him standing in your kitchen, jealous, upset, holding too much hurt in his hands until the truth slipped out and hit the floor between you.
You blink. “What?”
His jaw works once, and he looks like he might take it back. The whole thing is so violently unplanned that even the universe seems embarrassed.
But then he exhales.
“I love you,” he says again.
He looks at you like he is done pretending this is about Hyunjin, or smoothies, or who knew what first. Like he has finally reached the actual ugly center of it and has no choice but to stand there.
“That’s why,” he says. “That’s why I’m jealous. Because Hyunjin knows a part of you that I don’t,” he says. “And I hate that.”
Your throat tightens.
“I hate that he can say something about your mom and you understand him immediately. I hate that he can bring up some old thing and you just know what he means. I hate that he was there for things I can only guess about.” His voice drops. “And I hate that I’m jealous of that, because I know it’s not fair.”
Jake lets out a breath, almost embarrassed. “But I am.”
The kitchen feels too small again, but not in the angry way anymore.
“I love you,” Jake says again, softer this time. “So yeah, I want to know those parts too. Not because I think I deserve them.” His eyes flick over your face. “I just want to be close to you there too.”
Your lips part, but nothing comes out.
For once, Jake does not push. He only stands there, looking at you with all that hurt still on his face, but also something warmer now. Something scared and hopeful and very, very him.
“I don’t want Hyunjin erased from your life,” he says. “I just hate that there’s this part of you I want to take care of, and I don’t even know where it is.”
Something about that sounds worse than the jealousy, worse than the smoothie, worse than the fan club comment and the meat abandonment and every dumb thing he has done since Hyunjin arrived.
“I don’t want you to take care of me,” you say, but your voice has lost the sharp edge it had before.
Jake nods immediately, like he was waiting for you to say that, like he understands the difference even if it took him a terrible amount of jealousy and one emotionally damaged barbecue to get there.
“I know,” he says. “I know.”
He steps closer, he only reaches for you carefully, hands settling around your elbows, warm and steady. He looks down at where he is holding you, then back up at your face.
“I want to love you,” he says.
Your chest tightens so hard it almost feels inconvenient.
He swallows, but keeps going. “Not fix you, or take over, or push my way into things.” His thumbs move once, barely there, against your arms. “I just want to love you. All of you.”
You stare at him.
For once, there is nothing sharp ready in your mouth, which has been the only thing he can do: disarm you.
Just Jake, standing in your kitchen with the fridge humming behind him, looking at you like loving you is not some heroic thing he is offering, but something he is already doing badly and honestly and trying to learn how to do better.
“I don’t know what to say,” you admit.
Jake closes his eyes briefly, and you are standing close enough to feel the way his hands pause around your arms.
“It’s okay,” he says.
You stare at him. “Jake.”
“I mean it.” His hands loosen slightly, like he is preparing to let go of you before you can ask him to. “You don’t have to say anything. I didn’t say it so you would.”
“I know.”
“I just said it because it’s true. But I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he says. “Especially not after tonight.”
You look at him for a second, then shake your head. “That’s not why I don’t know what to say.”
Jake goes still, and he watches you swallow, annoyed by how difficult every word feels. “It’s not because I don’t feel anything.”
His eyes stay on yours.
“It’s because I do,”
You stop at that because that is apparently as far as your vocabulary can go before it starts failing you completely. Big surprise. You have always been terrible with words when it meant your feelings, which is deeply inconvenient for someone who has built most of her personality around sounding like she knows exactly what she is doing.
Jake looks at you carefully, still holding himself back — that makes it worse, because he’s so worth it.
You do the only thing your body seems capable of doing. You hit his chest very lightly, more of a tap than an actual hit, but he still looks down at the spot like you have given him a formal complaint.
“What was that for?” he asks, voice quiet.
You do not answer.
Instead, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him down to your height. He barely has time to react before you kiss him.
For half a second, he goes completely still, probably because his brain has not caught up yet. One moment you were arguing with him in your kitchen, and the next, your hands are in his shirt and your mouth is on his, giving him the answer you cannot say properly.
Then he exhales against you.
His hands move from your arms to your waist, careful at first, then steadier when you do not pull away. He kisses you back like he is relieved and still scared of being relieved, like he does not want to assume too much but cannot help holding you closer once you let him, pushing his tongue into your mouth and you gasp.
It is messy and badly timed and still a little upset around the edges, with barbecue smoke clinging to his shirt and a water bottle forgotten on the counter beside you. His first I love you is still sitting between you, dramatic and unplanned, but now your hands are curled in the fabric of his shirt, and Jake is kissing you like maybe this is enough of an answer for now.
When you pull back, neither of you speaks immediately.
His eyes open slowly, stuck on your mouth then your eyes.
You look at him for one second, then glance away because his face is unbearable. “Don’t look at me like you won.”
His mouth curves, soft and stupid. “Did I?”
You hit his chest again, just as lightly. “You’re so annoying.”
Jake’s smile grows, but his voice stays careful. “As annoying as Hyunjin?”
Despite yourself, you giggle. It comes out small, caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion, but once it is out, you cannot pull it back.
“No,” you say, still smiling. “You’re more annoying than Hyunjin.”
His brows lift. “More?”
“Significantly.”
He looks down like he is absorbing the insult with the seriousness it deserves. “Wow, after the big three too.”
You roll your eyes instead of answering and pull him down again.
This kiss is softer than the first one, less like an argument trying to find somewhere to land and more a response that speaks for itself. Jake’s hand comes back to your waist, careful, before sliding to your back to pull you closer.
You pull, looking back up at him. “Come upstairs.”
Jake stares at you, but you do not explain, and maybe that is its own explanation.
Your room is quieter, the backyard noise distant through the walls. The second the door shuts behind him, the air changes again, but not in any sharp way.
When he reaches you, you grab the front of his shirt again. You pull him closer and kiss him again, not to answer everything, but because he is here, and you want him here.
Jake kisses you back gently, hands resting at your waist. When you pull away, he does not chase it — he only stays close, forehead touching yours.
Your fingers move to the hair at his nape, playing with the ends lightly while you keep your eyes somewhere near his collar instead of his face. Jake stays still, like even that small touch is something he is trying not to react to too much.
You frown. “I hated that. It felt like you were ignoring me.”
Jake looks at you for a second before his mouth curves in that smug and arrogant way.
“You wanted my attention?” he asks, all fake sympathy and quiet teasing.
You shift closer instead of answering, which is already enough of an answer and unfortunately humiliating for you as a person. “Whatever,” you mutter.
Jake’s smile grows, because he obviously enjoys you.
“Whatever,” he repeats softly.
His arms move around you more securely, pulling you closer like he has decided not to waste the opportunity. You let him, because apparently your pride has left the room to get water and will not be returning soon.
You close your eyes for a second, hating how good it feels to be held like this after being mad at him. “I don’t like when you go cold on me.”
He nods.
“You’re not allowed.”
His mouth brushes lightly against your temple. “Okay, I’m sorry.”
For a while, neither of you says anything. It is quiet but doesn’t feel empty, while he keeps you close, one hand slow against your back, the other resting at your waist. Then he pulls away a little, just enough to look at you properly.
You look up at him through your lashes, still frowning a little because it is easier than looking as affected as you feel. His eyes move over your face carefully, like he is checking whether you are still mad.
Then he whispers, “I love you.”
Your breath catches and Jake catches it immediately. Something in his expression changes, quiet and pleased in a way that makes your stomach flip. You just shift a little closer without meaning to, and that is enough for him.
He leans down, bypassing your lips as his meets the soft skin of your neck.
“I love you,” he whispers against your pulse.
The hand on your waist slides down to the hem of your pants, until his hand glides inside and underneath your panties. The pad of his fingers touches your clit, and your bodies tenses against him as a small and soft gasp escapes your mouth.
“Jake—”
He rubs on you softly, while the hand on your back pulls you impossibly closer to him. His long fingers slip in between your folds, stroking from your clit to your hole.
“Compensation, my love.” he says as he kisses your neck, just before he gently backs you against your bed.
(🥐) After Riki Nishimura’s hundred-dollar boyfriend scheme works a little too well, everyone now has to survive the aftermath: family dinner.
bf! jake x fem! reader
˗ˏˋ riki is your younger brother, he's annoying, romcom, highschool au, (kind of) mean reader, patient jake, fluff, just fluff, cute stuff
📌💌 very short ficlet sequel of PLEASE JUST TAKE MY SISTER OUT.
anj’s note: i didn’t expect the amount of people to ask for a sequel, im honestly soo happy you guys enjoyed please just take my sister out. i literally did not see it coming at all?!?! i also didnt realize how many people would relate to y/n LMAOOO anyway a few asked the meeting with riki’s girlfriend for the sequel, so here it is! i really enjoyed writing this so i hope you would as well. i might write an actual part 2 because i really do enjoy their dynamic ughh im just not sure how to rn!! ALSO very important, jake and riki is exactly how i picture them age-wise in the photo.
Jake Sim has always been the only person who knew how to hold you without making you feel like something fragile.
He had seen the sharpness, the control, the way your love sometimes came out harsher than your intentions, and it held on through a kind of grip you didn’t know how to adjust. He knew what everyone else called cruel from you was usually just your fear, standing with its arms crossed, pretending not to care. Somehow, he never flinched from the ugly parts. He never tried to smooth you down into someone easier to like, and never prayed for it either — because he liked you the way you are.
Unfortunately, Jake’s personal experience with loving you did not come with a training manual for the general public, to everyone’s unfortunate fate. Other people, tragically, were not Jake Sim.
You were better now, in ways that mattered. Not kinder, exactly, not in the way that made you softer or easier to digest, but more patient and less convinced that every person who entered your life needed to be assessed for specific requirements. Maybe you were a bit classist in the sense that it has nothing to do with class, you didn’t care if someone was rich or poor, actually. You cared if they were stupid, careless, or suspicious.
You had learned how to pause and consider how people would react to you. Sometimes. On good days. With enough effort without giving more than necessary — you’d never give in work for people you couldn’t care less about. Your mouth remains a separate legal entity that needs strict supervision, far greater than your own, wherein Jake actually steps in.
Now, he didn’t have you tethered on a leash, because that would mean he had control over you, and Jake doesn’t believe in fairy tales. He also believed in dismantling the kind of patriarchal system that insisted difficult women only became lovable after a patient man sanded them down into something more socially acceptable. So to say your boyfriend has managed to tame you down and has completely changed you for the better of fitting in social codes! is bullshit and is something that would never happen. That was propaganda. That was something a man with a podcast would say.
It was more of… he had emergency preparedness.
Which was why, by the time you finished preparing food, Jake had already arranged the plates on the dinner table to help you out without getting in your way and letting you do your own thing. Forks on the left, knives on the right, napkins folded neatly beside each plate. He even set out water glasses, juice glasses, and, for some reason, wine glasses.
Riki stares at the table. Then at Jake. “Why are there wine glasses?”
Jake scoffs, like Riki was unreasonable. “For drinks.”
“She’s seventeen. She doesn’t drink wine.”
“I know.”
“So why are there wine glasses?”
Jake picks one up and inspects it like this was a very normal conversation. “For juice.”
Riki blinks. “Juice.”
“You can put juice in a wine glass,” Jake says.
Riki only stares at him for a long second before looking at you, as if expecting you to step in and restore reason to the room. Unfortunately for him, you are too busy adjusting the serving dish in the center of the table, making sure it sits exactly where it should.
“It looks nice,” you say simply.
Riki exhales, defeated. “She’s just coming over for dinner.”
You glance up. “I’m aware.”
Still, you leave the wine glasses where they are.
It is not that you are nervous. At least, that is what you tell yourself while wiping the counter for the third time, checking the food twice, and pretending not to notice Jake quietly moving around the dining area in the way he always does now, helping without getting in your space. He knows better than to take over. He only fills the gaps you leave behind, setting down plates, moving chairs, handing you a towel before you ask for one.
“You’re doing too much,” Riki says finally, watching as you wipe the edge of the counter one last time.
“I made dinner because she’s coming here for the first time.” You glance at him, and for once, there’s no sharpness in it. “I want to put effort,” you say. “She’s important to you, so I’m going to treat her like she is.”
Before anyone can say more, the doorbell rings.
Riki freezes dramatically — shoulders stiffen, his hand goes briefly to his hair, and for one second, he actually looks seventeen with his first love, scared because you’re meeting her. Your expression softens before you can stop it, watching him mumble a few things beneath his breath and reach for the foyer.
You straighten, inhale once, and deliberately relax your face. Your eyebrows loosen first, then your jaw. You try to make your mouth sit neutrally instead of in the natural line that has apparently made several people assume you find their presence uncomfortable. You even relax your cheekbones, which is a ridiculous thing to become aware of, but you do it anyway — only to try and smile anyway.
Jake notices, obviously. He comes to stand beside you, his arm slipping over your shoulders, warm and easy. You glance at him, trying not to ruin your work. “What?”
He presses his lips together, but his eyes are already amused. “Nothing.”
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m not.”
“Are you making fun of me?” You glare at him, but unfortunately, ends up ruining all the work you have just done.
He laughs under his breath and pulls you a little closer, not enough to make a scene, just enough for his thumb to brush once against your shoulder. “No. You just look cute.”
The front door opens, which makes you and Jake both go quiet at the same time, though his arm stays comfortably around your shoulders while you immediately stiffen.
“Relax, okay?” he murmurs, low enough that only you hear him.
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re not.”
“I was,” you whisper back, eyes fixed toward the hallway. “Riki is making me tense. You’re also making me tense.”
His mouth twitches. “He’s nervous.”
“He said it himself, it’s just dinner.”
“I know, baby.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m literally holding you.”
“Exactly, now I’m tense again.”
He laughs under his breath, and you glare up at him again, which, unfortunately, ruins your face for the second time. He only looks more amused, his thumb brushing slowly against your upper arm as if trying to smooth the tension out of you by touch alone. From the foyer, you hear Riki’s voice, lower and softer than usual, which makes something inside you pause. He says something you don’t catch, then a girl answers, her voice careful but sweet. There is the quiet sound of shoes being removed, then footsteps moving closer toward the dining room.
Jake’s hand starts moving lightly over your arm, not enough to distract you, just enough to remind you to breathe when he can feel that you’re growing nervous too.
You’re nervous because for the first time since Jake, you care about being liked.
Riki appears in the doorway first, already looking embarrassed before anyone has even done anything. His hand hovers at the small of her back, not fully touching, just guiding her forward like he wants to be careful with her but does not want anyone to notice. That alone makes you want to be nicer immediately, though instinct comes first and you also want to make fun of him.
The girl, neat and pretty, exactly the kind of girl you expected Riki to like. Not loud kind of pretty, or trying too hard to be noticed. Just soft-faced and carefully put together, with her hair tucked behind one ear and both hands holding a small paper bag in front of her. She looks nervous and polite, but not helpless and boring. There is something bright in her expression when she glances at Riki, something that makes his ears go red when he catches it.
He clears his throat. “This is her.” He immediately looks annoyed with himself for a shitty introduction. “I mean, this is my sister.”
The girl smiles at you, a little shy but trying. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”
You make sure your face is still behaving before you smile back, lifting your eyebrows and relaxing your eyes. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
“And this is Jake,” he says, already sounding tired before the sentence is even finished. “My friend. Her boyfriend.”
Jake smiles. “Hello.”
For a second, it goes very well.
Riki’s shoulders lower slightly and Jake’s arm loosens around you. Riki and the girl steps further into the dining room and she notices the table, the food, the glasses, the napkins, the ridiculous amount of effort you had pretended was casual even though you really did give more than you would.
“This is really nice,” she says, smiling so wide and bright, then seems to remember the paper bag in her hands. “Oh, I brought something. It’s just pastries. My mom said I shouldn’t come empty-handed.”
“That’s sweet,” you say, already nodding in appreciation.
Then she adds, with a small nervous laugh, “Especially if it’s you.”
What the fuck does that mean?
You pause, though it isn’t a big, dramatic thing. To anyone else, it probably looks like you are simply processing what she said like a normal person. But unfortunately, everyone in the room knows you and knows that you are not doing that. Riki freezes first, because he has lived with you long enough to understand what careless words mean to you, his face going blank.
Then you nod slowly, because the worst part is, you are not even mad. You are curious, deeply curious, academically curious, the kind of curious that has ruined evenings before because you’re an older sister who can’t let things slide.
“Sorry,” you say, still polite. “What does that mean, exactly?”
She looks suddenly unsure. “Oh. Riki just told me you’re a bit unhinged sometimes. So I wanted to put my best foot forward.”
She is smiling, though not plainly rude, she looks like she has said something funny and is waiting for the room to understand it as a joke. Riki seems to understand this too, because he lets out this small, awkward laugh, like he is trying to help her land the joke before you set it on fire. Jake does the same thing, smiling polite and easy, to smooth the room over, but his arm tightens around your shoulders, and he straightens beside you, casual enough that it might pass as posture.
You, however, are not laughing yet. You are looking at her, a little amused, even impressed. Because she is standing in your dining room, holding pastries with both hands, looking sweet and proper, and somehow still had the nerve to call you unhinged to your face before the dinner you made yourself.
Interesting. Very interesting.
You nod once, slowly. “Okay.” then you breathe. “Calling me unhinged five seconds after walking in is —”
Then Jake’s hand covers your mouth.
One second you are speaking, the next his palm is gently but firmly over your mouth, cutting off whatever fire had been lining itself up behind your teeth. The room goes silent, then you slowly turn your eyes up to him. Jake smiles at Riki’s girlfriend like this is normal, like he did not just manually mute you in your own house.
“She thinks you’re funny.”
You make a muffled sound against his hand.
He glances down. “You do.” He keeps his hand there even when you glare at him.
Riki stares at the two of you with a mixture of horror and resignation. “Yeah. They’re like that. Sorry. It’s kind of their dynamic.”
His girlfriend looks between you and Jake, then at Riki, then back at you. For one second, she seems unsure whether she should apologize, laugh, or leave the pastries on the nearest surface and run — which is what most would consider the safest option, but instead, she laughs. It is small at first, but it turns real when she sees the way Riki’s ears have gone completely red and the way Jake is still holding you like a person trying to keep a cat from knocking a glass off the table.
“I’m sorry,” she says, smiling now. “I really meant it as a joke. I just thought of breaking the ice a little.”
Jake slowly lowers his hand, but his arm stays around you just in case. You hate that, you hate being treated like a rabid animal (you are, in this scenario, you really are). You inhale through your nose and fix your expression with as much dignity as possible. “I know. I understand the joke.” but you’re not laughing.
You nod once, polite. “I just think it’s very brave.” Jake’s eyes close for half a second. “It takes a lot of confidence to walk into someone else’s house shamelessly —”
Jake’s hand covers your mouth again, faster this time around. More resigned, like he knew the first intervention had only delayed the inevitable and was now dealing with the consequences of optimism.
You freeze beneath his palm, offended all over again.
Jake smiles at Riki’s girlfriend. “She appreciates your confidence,” he says smoothly. “And the pastries. We’ll eat them for dessert.”
Your eyes narrow, attempting to talk but your words are muffled. He keeps his hand there.
Riki, who looks like he is aging in real time, turns to his girlfriend with a stiff smile. “Let’s just eat. She cooks great food.”
The sudden rushed compliment makes you pause, which works better than Jake’s hand. Your irritation loosens by half an inch, and only then does he slowly remove his hand from your mouth, before placing both his hands over your shoulders and gently steer you toward the kitchen.
The second you reach the kitchen, you whip your head to him and whisper, “She called me unhinged.”
Jake reaches past you for the serving spoon. “Technically, Riki did.”
You stare at him. “And she repeated it. In my house.”
“She was just joking, baby.”
You grab the bowl of pasta from the counter, still whispering because you are civilized, apparently. “And you covered my mouth twice. That was crazy of you.”
He sighs. “I had to.”
“No, you did not have to.”
“You were about to call a seventeen-year-old shameless.”
When you freeze because he did make a point without having to rub it on your face, he then exhales a laugh and takes the heavier dish from you before you can protest, carrying it like he knows you’ll keep arguing better with your hands heavy. “You’re doing fine. Just be careful with her, she’s new.”
You inhale once, slow enough to remind yourself not to speak in weapons, then head back to the dining room with Jake following behind you, dish in hand and looking far too pleased for someone who had just done censoring. Riki and his girlfriend are already seated when you return. She sits neatly with her hands in her lap, taking in the table with careful politeness, while Riki looks like he has not breathed properly since he opened the door.
You smile again, because she’s new and you don’t want to scare her anymore. Jake catches it and has the audacity to look fond. You then sit across from them while Jake sits beside you, close enough for his knee to brush yours under the table, which you pretend not to notice.
For a few moments, dinner begins normally.
Plates are passed around, the wine glasses are filled with juice, as Jake planned. Riki relaxes little by little, especially when his girlfriend compliments the food and you do not immediately ask her for a detailed explanation of what she means by that — even though you want to ask just that. You only say thank you, which makes Jake glance at you like you have just performed a miracle.
Then Riki reaches for the tongs. “What do you want?” he asks her, voice quieter than usual.
She looks at the food, still shy. “Maybe just some of the crab rangoon bread.”
He nods and puts a few on her plate, carefully enough that you have to look down at your own plate to stop yourself from smiling too hard. Because it is sweet, sweeter than the teenage boy had ever been to anyone.
Unfortunately, Jake also notices. Without a word, he reaches for the tong, mimicking Riki’s careful expression so obviously that when you realize, you immediately swat his hand away.
“Stop.”
Jake bites his lip, trying not to smile. “What? I’m just serving you.”
“Stop it.” you hiss before you give him a look, but he only lowers his head and reaches for his glass, still smiling into it like he thinks he is subtle. He is not subtle. He has never been subtle a day in his life when it comes to annoying you.
Across the table, Riki stares at both of you. “Can you two stop?”
Jake, unhelpfully, says nothing, while you sigh and apologize.
Dinner continues after that, though with the fragile peace of something that knows it has survived two near-death experiences already. Riki’s girlfriend eats carefully at first, then relaxes when you ask if she wants more pasta instead of asking for her full academic history. Riki, to his credit, keeps checking on her without making it too obvious, which unfortunately makes it very obvious. Then she looks around the dining room, her eyes moving from the shelves to the framed photos, the organized sideboard, the little dish near the entryway where keys are kept. “I really like your house,” she says. “It feels so put together.”
You glance up from your plate. “Thank you.”
She smiles, encouraged. “Riki said you did most of the organizing.”
You are in the middle of taking a bite of pasta, which means the thought arrives before the social filter does. You chew once, swallow, then ask very casually, “Did he also tell you why I had to?”
Jake nearly chokes on his juice, the liquid gurgling in the cup though not loudly, but enough that his hand immediately goes to his mouth and Riki looks like he has just aged another five years in front of the girl he likes. Under the table, Jake’s hand lands on your thigh so fast it might as well have been an emergency brake.
You look at him and he looks back at you, eyes wide, expression painfully calm. His hand squeezes your thigh once, gentle but firm, because apparently this is what your relationship has become now. Morse code for please be more careful.
Riki’s girlfriend looks between everyone, confused but still polite. “Oh, I mean, he just said you’re really responsible.”
“That’s one word for it,” you say.
Jake’s hand tightens again, which makes you look down at his hand, then back at him. “What?”
He smiles at the table. “Nothing.”
Riki puts his fork down slowly. “Can we not?”
His girlfriend presses her lips together, trying not to smile, and the effort makes you pause. She does not look scared this time, because if anything, she looks like she is starting to understand the rhythm of the room. She’s starting to understand you beyond Riki’s unhinged stories about you, and for the second time, another person doesn’t feel like scurrying away.
That should embarrass you. And it does, at least a little, because you’ve learned social awareness. So you pick up your glass and take a sip, choosing to let the subject die before it grows bones and starts walking around the table. After a second, you say, “Sorry. Thank you. I do most of the organizing.”
Jake’s hand relaxes on your thigh and Riki exhales. His girlfriend smiles, warm and careful. “It’s nice. It feels like someone really takes care of it.”
That lands softer than you expect, and your spine relaxes so profoundly. For once, you do not make a joke out of it. You only nod, looking down at your plate. “I try.”
Jake’s hand stays warm on your thigh for another second before he lets go and reaches for his glass. He looks across the table, eyes moving between Riki and his girlfriend. “So,” he says, lighter now. “Where did you two meet?”
Riki pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “School.”
Jake nods slowly. “Wow. Detailed.”
You huff a small laugh before you can stop it, and Jake glances at you, pleased with himself. Riki glares. “What else do you want me to say?”
His girlfriend laughs softly, then looks at Jake. “We got paired for a project.” Her shoulders loosen a little more. “He was really serious about it. I thought he didn’t like me at first.”
Jake turns to you, voice low but not low enough. “He’s your brother.”
You nod solemnly. “Unfortunately, yes.”
His girlfriend smiles wider now, looking more comfortable than she had when she first walked in. “It was cute, actually. mean, he was responsible,” she says. “During the project. He kept checking if I was done with my parts, and he fixed the slides when the file got messed up.”
No one says anything right away, not even Jake who usually teases the shit out of the younger boy. Not because there is nothing to say either, but because Riki looks so embarrassed that teasing him feels too easy, and maybe a little unfair. His ears are red again, his fork held loosely in his hand, his eyes stuck on his plate like looking up might make the compliment worse.
You look at him and feel something quiet pull at your chest.
Responsible and nice.
It is strange hearing someone else say that about him, not because you do not believe it, but because you know him differently. You know the boy who forgets to answer his phone, who leaves his shoes by the door, who argues about curfew every time. You know him as your brother before anything else, the one you have to keep taking care of. But she knows this version too, the one who fixes things, checks on people, and doesn’t freak out when there’s a problem.
You clear your throat and look back at your plate before your face can do anything embarrassing. “That sounds like him.”
When you glance up again, Riki is looking at you. Not shocked exactly, because he is not unused to you caring. His expression shifts, small and unsure, like he does not know what to do with being seen properly by you. Not just as someone you have to worry over, but as someone who could be responsible without you standing over his shoulder. Maybe you have been so busy seeing him as a problem waiting to happen that you forgot he could also be someone else when you were not looking.
Maybe you have been unreasonable, and once the thought settles, you look down at your plate and take another bite before your face can fully betray you.
Jake notices anyway. And so he takes over for you.
He sits back, smiling now. “So, what tricks did he pull out of his ass after the slides? Did he act mysterious? Pretend he doesn’t care?”
His girlfriend laughs, and this time it comes out easier. “A little.”
Riki looks at her immediately. “No, I didn’t.”
“You kinda did.”
You and Jake laugh before you can stop it, and Riki points his fork at you. “Don’t laugh,” he says.
His girlfriend smiles into her glass, clearly enjoying this more than she expected to. The nervousness has not disappeared completely, but it has softened enough for her to look around the family table without looking like she is waiting for someone to test her.
After that, the questions continue, though you make sure they sound less like a background check and more like actual interest. The stories come out between bites, one after another, most of them harmless, some of them embarrassing, and nearly all of them at Riki’s expense. Jake keeps the teasing light, Riki keeps hating it, and his girlfriend keeps laughing in a way that makes him look down at his plate every few minutes like that will hide the fact that he likes hearing it.
The room relaxes in small things.
Riki stops sitting so straight, his girlfriend reaches for the juice herself, and Jake’s chair shifts closer to yours without either of you saying anything. At some point, you stop trying so hard to manage the room. Jake does most of the talking now, the three of them fall into conversation easily, voices overlapping, laughter coming in small bursts.
You let yourself sit quietly while you continue eating your food, listening more than speaking, watching Riki talk to someone who looks at him like he is not a problem to solve or a boy to keep alive through constant reminders. She looks at him like he is someone she likes, someone she chose willingly.
At some point, his girlfriend glances across the table and catches your eye. You know you could nod politely or look away or pretend you had only been reaching for your glass.
Instead, you smile at her. Not the careful one you had built earlier with relaxed eyebrows and softened cheekbones. But a small and sincere one.
And she smiles back. Something quiet settles between you, not approval exactly, because you are not her teacher and she is not there to pass. Just an understanding that she is trying, and so are you.
Later, when everyone has started moving around after dessert, the room breaks apart naturally. Riki and Jake end up near the sink, arguing over who is actually helping and who is only standing there only trying to look useful, obviously not wanting to get an earful from you. Your brother’s girlfriend gets pulled into the conversation for a while, laughing softly when Riki complains that Jake is “too comfortable” in the house, but eventually the noise settles behind you as you slip out to the front porch with one of the pastries she brought.
You lean against the railing, pastry in hand, and take a small bite. It’s good, soft, sweet, and clearly homemade, which makes you feel slightly worse about almost interrogating the girl who brought it.
The door opens behind you a minute later. You glance back and find her standing there, hands clasped in front of her like she is not sure if she is allowed to join you.
“Hi,” she says.
You swallow. “Hi.”
She looks at the pastry in your hand, then smiles a little. “Is it okay?”
You look down at it, then back at her. “It’s good.”
Her face brightens, visibly relieved. “Me and my mom made them.” She steps out slowly, leaving enough space between you like she is still learning the proper distance. You appreciate that more than you probably should.
For a moment, both of you just stand there, looking at the front yard while the muffled sound of Riki’s voice carries from inside. She breaks the silence as she says, “I’m sorry again. About earlier. The unhinged thing. I really thought it would be funny.” she winces.
“It was funny,” you say. She gives you a look like she does not fully believe you. You take another bite. “Eventually.”
That makes her laugh, small and careful, but real. Still, you notice the slight rigidness of her shoulders, and her fingers when they fidget with one another. She’s trying, that becomes obvious because you don’t recall anyone willingly staying alone in one room with you — not before or after Jake.
You take another bite of the pastry, buying yourself a second before you say anything too sincere. “I’d like to think that I’m not scary all the time.”
She smiles. “I know.”
You try not to snicker. “You don’t know that yet.”
“I kind of do,” she says, then looks embarrassed by her own confidence. “I mean, Riki talks about you a lot.”
You lower the pastry slightly. “Does he?”
She nods. “Yeah. He complains, but not in a bad way.” she says, laughing softly. “It’s more like… he’ll say you’re annoying, but then he’ll mention you picked him up from practice. Or that you made him eat before school. Or that you texted him because it was raining and he forgot an umbrella.”
Inside, Riki says something loud enough to make Jake laugh, and you remain quiet here. His girlfriend looks toward the door, her expression softening in a way that makes you pause, because you recognize that look. It’s the way Jake looks at you when he thinks you aren’t looking.
“He acts like he hates it,” she says. “But I don’t think he does. I think he likes knowing someone checks.”
You do not answer immediately, because there is nothing funny sitting close enough for you to grab. No sharp comment or an easy correction, just the truth, standing there on your porch in the shape of a seventeen-year-old girl who somehow sees your brother clearly.
So you nod once. “Maybe.”
She glances at you, then says, quieter, “I like him a lot.” Her eyes widen slightly especially when you look at her, like she has surprised herself by saying it directly. “Sorry. That was sudden.”
“No,” you say with a chuckle. “It’s okay.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I know we’re young, and it’s not like I’m gonna marry him right now or anything. I just wanted you to know I’m not trying to get him in trouble or make things harder for you.”
It isn’t some grand statement, but it makes you freeze. It is actually the plainness of it that gets you, the fact that she says it like she understands there is something to make harder.
You are not Riki’s mom, you have never been his mom, and you will never be his mom. But somewhere along the way, between your mother leaving and your father forgetting the smaller parts of parenthood, you had become the person who checked the locks, remembered his schedule, asked if he ate, picked him up, got mad when he lied, and stayed awake when he was late. You gave up so many normal years to make sure he was safe, and he gave you so much shit in return, so much stress, so much noise.
A boyfriend too, apparently, which was still deeply annoying.
You blink once, but your eyes are already starting to sting.
She notices immediately. “Oh my God, I’m sorry.”
You let out a small laugh and look away, wiping quickly beneath one eye with your finger. “No, you’re fine.”
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
You sniff once. “I’m barely crying.”
That makes her smile, nervous but relieved. You both stand there with the porch light above you and the muffled sound of boys arguing inside, just before you take another breath, then glance at her.
“He told me,” she says softly. “Uhm. Just. About your mom. And your dad.”
Your face stills and she rushes to explain, eyes widening. “Not in a bad way. He wasn’t gossiping. He just said you had to do a lot. That you’re strict because you had to be. And I think I understood that more after meeting you.” She smiles a little, almost apologetic. “I mean, yes, you’re scary.”
You laugh despite yourself, and she laughs too. “But not in the way he made it sound. It’s more like...” She pauses, searching for the words. “You were kind of just left with him.”
It ruins you enough for your throat to tighten and your eyes to grow wet again before you can stop them. She looks panicked again, hands up like she wants to hold you. “I’m so sorry. That sounded so sad.”
“No,” you say quickly, laughing under your breath as you wipe at your eye again. “No, it’s okay.” You nod, then look down at the pastry in your hand because it is easier than looking at her. “It’s just weird.”
“What is?”
“Hearing someone say that,” you admit, voice quieter now. “Other than Jake.”
Her expression softens and she laughs quietly, looking down at her hands. “Riki talks about him too.”
You blink. “Jake?”
“Yeah.” Her smile grows a little more embarrassed, like she already knows what she is about to say will sound too sweet. “He said Jake is the only one who can tell you to calm down without making you mad.”
You stare at her as she glances toward the door, then back at you. “I think I get it now. It’s just nice. The way he looks at you.”
You immediately look away. “Okay.”
“I know. Sorry. That was cheesy.”
“It was very cheesy.”
“But very true.”
You take another bite of the pastry, mostly to give yourself something to do that is not react like an idiot. “You’re bold.”
“I’m learning from you.”
That makes you laugh. “You’ll need it,” you say, glancing at her. “If you’re going to be around a lot.”
For a second, her face goes completely still. Because the meaning seems to land, and her whole expression brightens before she can stop it, which isn’t loud or dramatic, just this shy, happy thing that she immediately tries to hide by looking down at her hands.
Riki appears halfway through the door a second later, squinting at the two of you like he has walked in on a meeting he was deliberately not invited to. His eyes move from her face to yours, then immediately to the pastry in your hand. “What are you doing?” he asks, already suspicious. “Are you threatening her?”
You give him a deadpan look. He stares back, of course.
“I’m eating,” you say.
His girlfriend laughs softly and steps closer to him. “She’s not threatening me.”
He still does not look convinced, but his hand finds hers anyway, like he has forgotten to be embarrassed for half a second. She lets him, smiling down at their joined hands, and the sight makes your face do something dangerously close to softening.
Jake then appears behind Riki. He takes one look at the porch, at the way Riki and his girlfriend are standing together, then at you. He steps around Riki and comes to your side, his arm slipping around your waist before he presses a quick kiss to your temple.
Riki’s face twists immediately, while his girlfriend, however, makes the worst possible sound, somewhere between a laugh and a squeal she clearly tries to hold back.
Jake ignores them completely, looking down at you instead. “Can I steal you for a bit?”
You barely get to frown before he guides you back inside with a hand at your waist.
“Steal me?” you repeat under your breath.
“Borrow,” he corrects, smiling.
The kitchen warmer from the leftover food and the light above the counter. Jake brings you there gently, not cornering you exactly, just turning you until your back rests against the counter and he stands in front of you, hands on your hips while yours stay on the pastry.
He only looks at you, then his gaze drops to the pastry on your hands, just before you take another bite. “I wasn’t done.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s good.”
His brows lift, innocent in a way that has never worked on you. Then, without looking away from you, he leans down and takes a small bite from the pastry in your hand. He straightens slowly, chewing while eyes remain on yours. For some reason, that makes your face warm faster than anything else he has done all night.
Then, very maturely, you say, “Ew.”
Jake laughs immediately, the sound low and pleased, because he knows you well enough to hear what you are actually doing. You take another bite from the same pastry anyway, mostly out of principle, and his smile only gets worse. Then he leans closer, pressing his forehead down against your shoulder with a quiet laugh. His hands stay at your hips, warm and steady, keeping you there without really keeping you anywhere.
“You’re so mean,” he murmurs.
“You know what you got into.” You huff, but it turns into something too close to a laugh when he presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then another, higher, near the side of your neck, soft enough to still feel like teasing. You try to keep eating like this is not affecting you at all, but Jake knows you too well, and the small smile against your skin says he caught it.
“Stop,” you mutter, though you make no actual effort to move.
He lifts his head just enough for his mouth to brush near your jaw, playful and warm. “Did she call you unhinged out there too?”
You glare at the cabinet over his shoulder. “No.”
“Did you call her shameless?”
“No.”
His brows lift, impressed. “Really?”
You swallow the bite of pastry and give him a flat look. “I don’t like how surprised you sound.”
His smile tilts. “‘Cause I know what I got into.”
You stare at him for a second before realizing he has only thrown your own words back at you, and you roll your eyes, but the smile slips through anyway. Instead of saying anything, he lowers his face and rests his mouth against your hair. Not quite a kiss, just there, warm and quiet and resting. You sigh and lean into him too, your weight shifting from your feet to him, and Jake takes it without needing to adjust.
“I like her,” you say after a moment.
His lips move against your hair. “Yeah?”
“A lot.”
Jake lifts his head just enough to look at you, and his expression is teasing, but his eyes are too soft to fully sell it. “Wow. A lot?”
You narrow your eyes. “What?”
His gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before returning to your eyes, entirely too pleased with himself. “I thought I was the only person allowed to understand you and survive.”
A laugh slips out before you can stop it, light and embarrassingly fond. He lets out a faux disappointed sigh, shaking his head but his smile is kinder. “Now there’s competition.”
“She brought pastries.”
“Very strong opening.”
His thumb brushes once at your side, your throat tightens before you can stop it. Jake lowers his voice. “I’m still the one who gets to hold you after.”
You only look at him, standing close enough that the kitchen feels smaller around you, the pastry forgotten between your fingers, his hands steady at your waist. Jake looks at you for another second, like he is waiting to see if you will tell him to stop.
You do not.
So he leans in and kisses you, soft at first, careful enough that you almost hate him for it. Your eyes close before you can think better of it, and the hand not holding the pastry slips up to his shoulder. Then his hand tightens at your waist, just a little, and the kiss deepens enough to make your thoughts go quiet. Your other arm finds its way around his shoulders too, pastry and all, awkwardly trapped somewhere behind his neck.
He laughs against your mouth, a smile pressing into yours. When you pull back to breathe, he does not go far, his mouth drifts to your jaw instead, and you let out a small, helpless laugh before you can stop it.
“Jake.”
“Hm?”
You tilt your head anyway, trying to sound annoyed even though you are smiling. “Behave. They’re still here.”
He pauses against your jaw before he laughs, low and quiet, his forehead dropping to your shoulder again. “These fucking kids, bro.”
You laugh properly this time, unable to help it, and shove at his chest with the back of your hand. You point the pastry at him. “You’re literally twenty.”
Jake lifts his head, face still tucked too close to yours, and shrugs like you have just made his point for him. “Exactly.”
He only smiles, then wraps his fingers around your wrist and gently brings your hand closer to his mouth. He does not even ask this time. He just holds your gaze, entirely too pleased with himself, and takes another bite from the pastry you were very clearly threatening him with.
You stare at him. “You have a problem.”
Jake swallows, still smiling. “You’re my favorite problem.”
Your eyebrows pull together immediately.
His smile drops by half. “Wait.”
“I’m a problem?”
“No.”
“You just said I’m a problem.”
Jake presses his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh because he knows that would only make this worse. His hand is still around your wrist, but now he looks like he has realized he is holding evidence at the scene of his own crime.
“I meant,” he says carefully, “you are my favorite person who causes problems.”
You stare harder. He closes his eyes for a second. “No. That’s worse.” He exhales a laugh. “Okay. You’re not a problem.”
“Good.”
“You’re just a lot.”
You scoff. “Wow.”
“No, no.” Jake’s hand tightens on your hips you try to pull away, though he is smiling too much to look even slightly sorry. “I like a lot. I love a lot.”
Your face warms before you can stop it. Then, because apparently he has decided to make it worse for your health, he shrugs. “I’m greedy.”
A laugh breaks out of you before you can hold it in, sudden and helpless. You turn your face away, but he follows just enough to catch it, smiling like he has been waiting for that sound all night. “You say terrible things.”
Jake’s smile softens, but he still looks entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m being honest.” His hands settle at your waist again, warm and steady. “You’re scary that I like. Mean that I like. Bossy that I like.”
You stare at him for half a second before another laugh slips out, softer this time, shaking your head because he is genuinely ridiculous. “That is not how compliments work.”
“It worked.”
You hate that he is right.
You hate that he is looking at you like that again, like every difficult part of you is something he has already made room for, and does complain about it. Like he is not trying to soften you into something easier. He’s seen it, and still somehow looks at you like you are the easiest choice he has ever made.
So you stop arguing. You catch the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the collar, and pull him down to you. Jake’s breath catches a little before your mouth meets his again.
This kiss starts soft, but only for a second. Then his hand tightens at your waist and your arm slides around his shoulders, the pastry still trapped awkwardly in your other hand, and you cannot bring yourself to care.
Riki and his girlfriend are somewhere outside. The dishes are still in the sink. Someone could walk in and you should probably be thinking about any of that, because it’d be embarrassing to be caught pressed on the counter like this.
But you do not. Your mind goes blank in the simplest, stupidest way, all because Jake is here.
Jake is close, the warmth under your hands, the smile against your mouth, the person holding you like he already knows where all your sharp parts are and has never once thought to let go.
So, for once, you let yourself stop thinking. You just kiss him back.
synopsis: Where Ni-ki doesn't do anything more than one nights and your just can't forget the blond
cw: masturbating, voyeurism, choking, stalking, lap dance, kissing
one | two (here) | three
The stage was already occupied with Lyra and her match as you guided Heeseung backstage, his fingers intertwined with yours, following you around without any objections.
“What’s your name?”
“Crimson”
“The real one”
You just glanced at him over your shoulder, “Crimson, you’re up!” The madam shouted a smirk graced your lips “Lucky timing” you answered as you pulled Heeseung onto the stage. The crowd erupted in screams, the girls were cheering you on as you brought the man to the center of the stage where the chair was placed.
The lights dimmed, the music picked up, you slowly dragged your hand up Heeseung’s shirt, feeling the mans muscles flex, he swallowed, his eyes scanning your figure. You pushed him down, his body obeyed your command, he was completely relaxed under your touch as you slowly turned around and let your hands trace your curves. You then turned towards Heeseung again slowly raising your leg up and placing it between his legs, he spread his legs even more.
He sat there, manspreading and leaned back, arms crossed just watching you with a smirk, you slowly raised your leg up to his chest and pressed it, he grabbed your ankle with one hand and placed a kiss on your leg before trailing upwords towards your knee.
You fisted his hair with one hand and leaned down, your lips brushed against his, you slowly smiled before turning around and sitting on his lap fully, Heeseung’s hands immediately came around your hips, his warm hands tracing your ass as you grinded on him.
You bent over, whining and twerking as his hard on poked you. You wrapped your legs around the chair and let yourself fall back in between his legs, you hair sprawled all across the floor as Heeseung groaned, you let your hand grab a bunch of cash and place it between your tits.
Everyone was watching— you could feel the eyes on you. The attention of men women and him. You couldn’t see him yet you could swear he was watching, you raised yourself back up and Heeseung was waiting for you with open arms, you raised your hips up slightly and Heeseung slammed you down immediately.
You moaned slightly, rocking your hips back and forth, dry humping the guy who was kissing all over your tits was a great way to forget pretty much anything. The track ended and cheers begun, the madam called another girl onstage and you dragged Heeseung to the back, when you guys were alone in the dressing room you guys both looked at each other.
He chuckled first and the you begun giggling before you could name the emotions that were surging through you, you both were laughing. “You are one hell of a woman Crimson” Heeseung whispered “Thank you” you just answered back in a whisper.
Suddenly the door banged open making you flinch, Heeseung lost all his humor as he turned to the door, it was the blond. Ni-ki stood there, his hand was on the door, he looked at Heeseung dead in the eyes— ignoring you “Let’s go” you looked back at Heeseung, he now had a gun in his hand that you didn’t feel on him before.
You’re eyes widened slightly “Later sweetheart” Heeseung said now seemingly angry too, you just nodded as Heeseung passed Ni-ki and walked down the corridor, you turned around to take of your makeup for the night as you looked into the mirror you saw Ni-ki standing behind you.
You gasped, shock coursed over you as his hand wrapped around your throat and your back slammed against his body. He didn’t say anything as his brown eyes searched yours, his hand wasn’t letting go, you felt your breath slowly fading away.
You stepped on his feet with your heel, elbowed him in the stomach and yet he didn’t move even an inch, he just clenched his jaw, he didn’t say anything as he bent his face down towards yours and bit your lip, the same place Heeseung bit you before letting you go.
You turned around ready to scream at his face but he wasn’t there. “Fucking prick” you ran your hands thru your hair but your heart kept beating, there was a pink tint that sat on your cheeks, you closed your eyes— fuck.
Later that night when you arrived home, Lyra had already fallen asleep, she arrived home sooner than you, after the whole situation you had you threw back a few shots at the bar, making sure you had enough for a good nights sleep.
When you got out of the shower your phone rang, you didn’t look at it, drying your hair and applying your night cream first. Only when you got into the bed you checked your phone, it was an unknown number.
“Did you go home?”
You stared at the message, fear and thrill coarsed through your veins, could it be…
“Ni-ki?”
Three dots appeared and disappeared.
“Good”
“You know who you’re talking to”
“You’re crazy, how did you get my number?”
“Never do that shit again”
“?”
There was silence from the other side, you stared at the screen for a minute before the message appeared.
“Don’t pull that shit you pulled with him again”
You furrowed your brows, a kid wasn’t going to be telling you what you could or couldn’t especially after kid whom berated you.
“I don’t know what you have confused here Ni-ki, stripping is my job and I’d be fucking damned if I stopped for a 19 year old kid.”
“20”
You scoffed in disbelief as you threw your phone somewhere on the bed, you didn’t care for whatever the fuck he had to say anymore, what a weird kid.
Your phone vibrated with a few more messages before it begun to buzz, you ignored it once, twice, the third time you reached for you phone to put it on dnd.
“Answer the phone”
“Last time I’m warning you Crimson”
You answered the phone, Ni-ki was silent, you just sighed before muttering “What do you want Ni-ki” he chuckled, his voice was deeper over the phone you closed your eyes a shiver ran down your spine, “I still haven’t heard you say it” you rubbed a hand over your face “Say what?” He answered in a heartbeat. “Say that you won’t be fucking entertaining random men on stage kissing them” you sighed.
“That’s my job Ni-ki, those men pay my bills, those men fund my life style” it was Ni-ki’s turn to scoff “You know, I’m far more capable of doing that and more compared to any man at that club” you laughed, it wasn’t a cute laugh— you didn’t intend for it to be. “How old were you again” you asked “Twenty” he answered, you laughed some more.
“You think I’m gonna stop working and let a kid take care of me?” There was a silence that made you feel even more giddy “You think twenty is a kid?” You chuckled “Sorry, a baby” you corrected yourself. “You were offering to give a baby a lap dance then?” His tone was mocking, you felt that weird feeling in your gut again.
“That was my mistake, you’re right. You looked young I shouldn’t have.” Ni-ki clearly didn’t expect this answer out of you. “In the end it all happened with Heeseung anyway so it all worked out but I won’t approach you anymore.”
Ni-ki scoffed “Even if you approached me nothing would have happened— I don’t date, much less strippers.” You could hear the anger in his tone “So what you just sleep around with a girl and fund her life?!” His answer came in fast “If I want to yeah, mostly sleep around.”
“Goodbye Ni-ki.”
With that you hung up the phone, you were fuming— you put your phone on airplane mode and closed your eyes, you were going the fuck to bed. Fuck a blond asian men with dark brown eyes and deep voice. You knew men never took you and the girls who worked in the industry too seriously but it didn’t make you much less of a human then any other highly educated lady.
Whenever you talked with him, it made you insecure, the feeling never really went away, you didn’t understand what it was. His sharp eyes and cold demeanor or his ego that made you so interested in him. Was it his voice that made you get wet or was it the reminder he left on your neck, soft bruises that were throbbing now that you focused on it.
Was it his soft warm lips that made you slip your fingers inside your panties or his brooding height that made you imagine how being under him would look. Your fingers rubbed circles around your clit as your eyes fluttered closed. You could smell his cologne, hear his voice, feel his strong hand around your neck, you fastened your speed up “oh fuck, ni-ki” you whispered. His name slipped out so easily, your back arched off the bed and your breath was knocked out your lungs.
You closed your eyes and sighed, what a fucking asshole, making you cum even when he wasn’t there.
Ni-ki could forgive you for hanging up the phone to his face after that little show you put on, just for him.
:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . 𐙚 Synopsis : YN is a hardworking writer at YG Magazine. After watching her best friend Yuna fail her yet another relationship, her boss pitches her an interesting article : "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."
At Hybe Advertising, executive Sim Jake is fighting for a new girl group's romance campaign. When his boss claims that he knows nothing about love, a bet commences.
pairing: advertiser!jake sim x journalist!female!reader
chapter two
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By 7 PM, Jake was waiting in his car for YN. He called her saying that he arrived. 25 minutes later, YN showed up. Normally she showed up exactly on time; however, in order to piss Jake off, she came down a little bit later. Jake, trying to impress Yn for his bet, did not say anything. Jake started driving. ‘You can put on any song; the aux is yours." Yn was going to put Chase Atlantic on first since they were going to their concert, but a brilliant idea came to her mind. She opened her perfect playlist called ‘White girl music supremacy.' The first song? You Belong With Me by the one and only Taylor Swift. Jake actually enjoyed that type of music, and it was a known fact, but YN did not know that yet, so her plan failed. But do not worry yet, she has even crazier ideas. Fast forward; they made it to the venue. "Do you want to get a few drinks here? I always come here with my friends before a concert; their drinks and foods are delicious," Jake said, staring at Yn with the happiest smile on his face. "Of course, lead the way."
Yn took a brief look at the menu, and she decided on the most expensive cocktail on the menu. She actually felt sorry for Jake; he seemed like a nice guy. But she had to stick to the plan. They both ordered their drinks and began talking. Talking to each other was easy for them; the conversation was flowing away like water.
They both noticed their love for dogs; Jake kept talking about Layla. "You should meet her sometime; she would adore you," Jake said. They also talked a bit about Chase Atlantic and their songs. Jake mentioned that his favorite song from them was Slow Down. Yn kept that in mind; she had a genius idea. After some time they decided that it was now the time to leave the restaurant and go to the venue.
The concert commenced, and Yn and Jake sang their hearts out for a while. Yn knew the setlist; 1 more song and it would be Jake’s favorite song. Now was the time to get in action. "Jake, I am really thirsty. I need a cola like right now, and it has to be the one at the entrance because I can’t drink any other brand."
"Right now? Babe, I don’t think I can come back fast if I leave now. Can you wait a bit, or I can maybe get you something from nearby stands?’ "Oh…" Yn’s face immediately dropped, a sad expression taking over. "No, it’s fine; I will just suffer without being able to sing or anything." "No, no! I will go get it right now," Jake shouted, already running away. As soon as he left, Yn’s sad expression turned normal as Slow Down started to play. Mission accomplished, but I am not done for the day, Yn thought.
10 minutes later, Jake reappeared. Missing his favorite song and also being exhausted, he came back with the cola, anything for his ‘girl’ after all. "Here you go, pretty." Jake panted with a tired smile on his face. Yn paused, staring at the cup without saying anything. "Is something wrong?" A tiny twitch formed in his right eye. "This is this not zero… I cannot drink sugary drinks; I am on a diet. They are horrible for me." Jake’s face stayed frozen. "You did not mention...that."
"I didn't?? "Oh, maybe I am just a stupid girl…hahaha. It's okay; I will just hold it, but if you could switch it, that would make me the happiest girl in the world!" Jake started at the cup and Yn, praying for strength. He kept his smile on his face. "You are so right, babe; your diet is so important for you, and I truly messed everything up." Yn blinked. "Wait, so—"
"I will give you my own water, and when the concert ends, we will go anywhere you want to eat and have a feast. And you can drink as much Cola Zero’s as you can. I would go again, baby, but I just can’t leave my girl alone like this; they might steal you away from me. We are going to leave right when the concert ends. Is that okay with you, Ynnie?" Jake grinned.
Yn’s initial thoughts were, 'Damn, he is good,' her heart doing a little flutter that most definitely had everything to do with Jake. She obviously could not argue with that. After the concert, Jake kept his promise and took her out and bought her so many overpriced Colas (Zero, of course.) And then he dropped her off, kissing her cheek and waving her bye. Yn opened up the groupchat.
Note : I made a quite a few typos on this one...Just ignore them thank you :)
synopsis: Where Ni-ki doesn't do anything more than one nights and your just can't forget the blond
cw: smut (in part 3) wc: 1k~
one (here) | two | three
You were covered in glitter, your wig sat tight around your head and your dress— if you could even call it that hid nothing.
You slipped your feet into your pleasers as the madam called you “Crimson, baby come on!” You smiled at her before getting up.
“It’s full tonight” you whisper she just nods before leaving, your song begins so you take a step onto the stage as you approach the pole a few whistle and a few chant your name.
You were notorious, known and desired.
You worked in one of the elite luxury strip clubs, the sentence seemed ironic whenever you said it aloud but it was true.
The elite loved the girls they deemed lover then them, CEO’s, criminals, actors and actresses, singers, directors etc.
You grabbed the pole and slowly raised your leg, wrapping it around the pole before doing a few spins, as the song picked up you begun to work the pole as you pleased and the money begun coming in.
You smiled as the dollar bills and euros begun to land on you, grasping everything and throwing it in the air before clanking your heels together.
The set was three songs and then you were going to do lap dances and private rooms, as you finished up one of your regulars waved you over, you smiled at the man before turning around.
“The old bastard.” You muttered as you placed all of your money into your money pouch, “The one with the limp dick ?” One of the girls asked “Ew” you muttered as your friend Lyra giggled “It’s true one of the girls walked into a private room and saw him trying to get it up but failing to do so” you gagged.
As you got out of backstage and started walking around the men begun to get handsy with you, you looked for your regular but he wasn’t where he was a moment ago.
Instead you saw someone else in the back, a seemingly young looking guy with a grey zip up, he was wearing jeans and a wife beater, his hood was up but se of his blond strands were falling, he was facing you although you weren’t sure if he was looking at you.
He had on expensive shoes but other than that he was at the wrong place or at least he looked like it, you approached him.
He didn’t move as you walked closer to him stopping only when he looked up and god fucking damn was the kid hot.
He had a baby face in the sense that he looked young 21 at most but he was handsome, a sharp jaw and even sharper eyes, he looked angry his brows were furrowed and his lips were full, he smirked as he spoke but his tone was angry “Yes..?” You smiled, fuck his voice was deep.
“Anything I can help you with ?” You ask, he scoffed. “Nothing you can help with” your smile never left as you turned around “Your choice” and you suddenly saw your regular approaching you or so you thought before he spoke “Ni-ki, son how are you ?” You glanced back over your shoulder only to come eye to eye with the guy
Niki answered, his eyes never leaving yours “Fine, you owe me an explanation Baron” your regular glanced at you nervously before muttering “Crimson darling maybe another day” you giggled “Ofcourse, call me when you need me” and as you walked away you heard their footsteps also disappear behind you.
The guy stuck to your mind for some reason— blond hair and dark brown eyes, he seemed so out of place yet so confident. “Still thinking about the kid ?” Lyra who was also your flatmate asked from the kitchen, she only had panties on, her hair wet and the towel she slung around her neck was covering her tits but nothing more.
“No…” you said from the couch you were in a sports bra and some short shorts and Lyra just looked at you with a soft sigh “…maybe” you mutter. “Girl— you know the kid is young” she said “I know, I know” Lyra smirked “But the mother fucker is handsome” you just giggled as she sat next to you “Plus you’re not granny status yet” she muttered
“I’m 25 and you’re the same age as me” Lyra laughed “I’m not 25 yet there is still a month left” you groan “Oh my god Lyra” she threw her legs over your thighs and muttered “You know I’m joking— and if he ever were to you know get it on with you” she slowly raised her leg up and pushed you back “I’d be down to join” you smiled “I miss when we used to go crazy in collage” she muttered “We can always do it again Ly” she smiled at your answer.
The fallowing nights you saw him, sometimes in all black and sometimes in a hoodie, he was always at the very back, he always watched your set and then disappeared to the back of the club, you realised later on that he was some sort of dealer or somebody in a crime organization by the way the men watched him.
He never approached them, they came up to him. You put on your show every night making sure that it was your “best one yet”— you didn’t know when it started, your crave for his affection, for his gaze to land on you and stay.
After a week there was a party being thrown at the club, a party meant one of two things either you were going to make a lot of money or you’re gonna run back home, the men were even more barbaric during the parties, they didn’t ask for sex, they assumed that it was given— sure for some girls it was true they saw the opportunity and took it, it was a good way for quick cash but some refused it which never really ended up sweetly.
The club gave every girl an S.O.S. Bracelet to use whenever they were in danger, if you press it a signal would be sent and the bouncers would come get you, if you didn’t want help just don’t press it was the most they offered.
“You girls are gonna bring a guest to the stage and give a lapdance to whomever it may be, make a show out of it” the madam announced, this wasn’t anything new.
What was new was the blond man’s appearance, you never saw Ni-ki at a party ever now or was it that you simply never noticed him ? As the music and the lights changed you kept spinning, the money fell all over the stage and as the madam gave you guys the signal from back stage, everyone begun to scatter around the crowd trying find the person they’re supposed to dance on.
You looked around the crowd for someone to choose before you could even take a step, Lyra pushed you full force— you flung forward, until a strong hand held you, you looked up it was the blond, your heart picked up, his eyes drifted all over you as he took a deep breath his jaw tightening.
“Come to the stage with me” you blurted out and he just gave you a stern “No” you felt your heart sink “Shy ?” You asked but not because you actually thought that he was shy, because you didn’t trust your voice not to break, his short answer felt like a rejection to everything even though there was nothing to reject, it felt like he rejected your mere idea of finding him attractive.
You didn’t know hot to explain the sinking feeling in your gut as he let you go abruptly and just looked down at you, you’re pleasers were shorter this time. He suddenly felt like a giant and you stomach churned “Maybe I just don’t want to be on stage with a cougar” he glanced sideways before exhaling, done with the conversation.
You sucked in your stomach and stood taller, he noticed— there was a smirk to show that he did. “Insecure ?” You felt your throat close up now fully. You turned around and took a step, Lyra was waiting for you with a smirk but as you approached her she realised that there was something wrong “Never. Do that ever in your fucking life ever again.” You just whispered to her but there was hurt in your voice “I- fuck I’m sorry” Lyra said, she tried to grab your arm but you brushed past her, it wasn’t her fault and yet you felt too embarrassed to even face her.
It was time to get on stage and yet you didn’t have anybody to go to stage with, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, you didn’t even want to dance after that, sure you were objectively a beautiful and desired woman and yet when the guy you craved attention from didn’t give it to you it all felt… empty.
At that moment someone else entered the club, you glanced at the man entering because you were already standing by the door contemplating going outside for the whole thing. The man was tall and had dark hair, he was also dressed casually seemed to be the same age as you or younger, a cigarette was hanging from his lips, great another one was your first thought before the man looked at you, his cologne made you want to take another deep breath.
He took a drag before taking the cigarette from his lips and offering it to you, “You look like you need it baby” you chuckled at first but the laughter came out of no where— it sounded wrong, you were so frustrated you just started laughed but he didn’t budge, he just stood there letting you get your steam off and when you were done with you manic laughter he just took a quick glance at the cigarette as if to urge you.
You slowly bent over, wrapping your lips around the filter, taking a drag— you look up at him “… fuck” the guy bit his inner cheek and looked away as you straightened up letting the smoke drift from your mouth
“What’s your name?”
“Heeseung”
“Wanna come to the stage with me Heeseung?”
“If you keep saying my name like that I might do anything you want from me baby”
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